by Dodge, Lola
For any reason.
Agatha tsked. “That’s you, honey. Have you been overfeeding?”
“Only on the willing.” Xavier’s fangs poked over his lips as he grinned and offered a saucy wave. “Catch you same time next week.”
“I’ll pencil it into my calendar.” Agatha shut the door behind him and whatever he’d given her disappeared into her pocket. She fixed me with a look so stern that the question I wanted to ask shriveled in my throat. “This stays between us, cupcake.”
Seriously? What was she selling under the table? I nodded, but I still had questions. “I didn’t know there were vampires in Taos.”
“Mannikins. All flavors, including vampire.” She waved a dismissive hand. “They stay their enclaves around the vortex unless they get peckish.”
“What did you make for him?” Might as well press my luck.
Agatha waved a finger. “Between us.”
“Okay. Between us.” If Agatha was baking snacks for mannikins, I wasn’t sure I wanted to stick my nose in her business. Mannikins passed as human but were either partly or wholly something else, and that something else could be a real killer.
If Agatha was selling to them, I could only hope she had Syndicate-approved contracts. Either way, I didn’t need the extra trouble I’d get from being nosy.
But I was going to keep an ear open, just in case anyone else knocked on the back door.
More days passed in a haze of old leather bindings and yellowed book pages. It pained me, but I ended up skipping my baking classes at Taos Community College. I was better off hibernating when I might accidentally kill my classmates.
As much info as there was on death magics, the books only talked about gaining or harnessing power over the dead. Not one scholar or spellbook mentioned how to get rid of that power when it was stuck to you.
I tried a few other minor cleansing spells meant to purge evil energies—burning ritual candles and surrounding my bed with selenite crystals. I drew the line at skinny-dipping in moonlight because Wynn would insist on following and no way was he seeing me naked.
Nothing worked.
I needed more books.
After my first shower in more days than I’d admit, I was ready for an excursion to the Wus bookshop. Their entire upper floor was packed with spellbooks, and I’d never gotten the chance to poke around, but I couldn’t imagine anywhere else having a better necromancy section.
Wynn shadowed me on the short walk down the street. I was wishing we’d taken the car by the time we made out of the cold. I jammed my mittens into my pockets and rubbed my hands together in the bookstore’s heat. The place smelled like new paper and ink, and I took a second to admire the new additions to the cookbook display.
“Anise.” Bradley Wu shot a toothpaste-commercial smile from behind the register. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“I was hoping to do some necromancy research.” I’d forgotten Bradley would be here or I would’ve put on makeup. Or a ball gown. With his dark hair gelled up, he was model-hot, but more in the way that I wanted to stare at him than do anything about it.
“In the upstairs collection? What do you need?”
“Necromancy books.” There were no tourists around, so I figured it was okay to ask.
“Well…” He glanced at the ceiling. “We have a few books that Agatha probably doesn’t have, but Mom keeps the good stuff locked up in her office. Or the bad stuff, depending how you see it.”
“That makes sense.” Necromancy tips and tricks weren’t the kind of thing you wanted out on the streets, even among witches.
“Want to head up and I’ll call home? I’m sure she’ll lend you a few in these trying times.”
“Thanks, Bradley.” I headed behind the counter to the narrow secret stairway, but I felt a presence at my back and stopped short. “Wynn?” He usually napped on the sofa in the kids’ section when I visited. “What are you doing?”
“You remember the last time we were here together.” His voice was flat and not at all asking a question.
I scrunched up my face. “If I’d known I was going to get abducted—”
“So I’m following.”
This time, I couldn’t argue. I tromped up the stairs and into the shelves. Converted from a regular house, the upstairs was a maze of little rooms and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I remembered a room that looked like a walk-in closet with a Victorian armchair and a whole lot of black-spined books. That was my best guess on the necromancy section.
And I was right.
I scanned the spines and pulled down a few promising volumes. Wynn took up his post in the doorway, folding his arms and closing his eyes for a catnap. I hadn’t planned on sticking around to read, but I got sucked into a handwritten journal detailing how to use crystal grids in death magic meditations.
When footsteps thumped up the stairs, Wynn snapped to attention. Blair popped through the doorway, and Beth followed behind her, holding a stack of books—a mixed bag of glossy spines, old leather bindings, and spiral-bound notebooks. Beth set the stack on the floor next to my chair.
“Sorry.” Blair pushed back her long, black hair. “I meant to send these over sooner, but that guy from Santa Fe tracked us down. He’s been hanging around the parlor, having reporters call and ask us questions. Total nightmare.”
I winced. Human attention never ended well in our world. They either wanted problems fixed or made problems of their own.
Beth stood with her hands tucked behind her back like none of this bothered her. I couldn’t help but ask. “Were you upset meeting Carl again?”
“Why would I be?” She tilted her head to the side.
“He was your husband.” I frowned. She wasn’t so much working out her life’s regrets as bleaching them away.
“Forty years is a long time.” Beth pursed her lips in thought, showing as much expression as I’d ever seen on her face. “If I hadn’t died, I would’ve hated him by now.”
Wow. What a love story.
“How about you?” Blair held out her hands, one palm up, one down.
I held my breath as I mirrored the gesture. Palm to palm in a witches’ greeting, our magics sparked.
Her energy was dark and rich, like melted chocolate. It also had a smoky green quality that I recognized because the same energy bled from my palms, glowing brighter than my own reddish power.
“No improvement, huh?” I didn’t need her to confirm.
“If anything, it’s worse.” Blair snatched back her palms.
I sighed. “Maybe I should start learning to raise the dead.”
“I’m up for it if you are.”
“On second thought…” I’d never be up for zombies.
“What else have you tried to do to purge the energy?”
“I baked a death spell.”
“Like, killer cookies? You can do that?”
“More like murder macarons. I can now.”
“Wild.”
“I know.”
“No. I don’t mean wild like crazy, I mean wild like that shouldn’t be possible. Do you know how rare it is to be able to enchant an object with death magic?”
“How rare?” My throat tightened.
I wasn’t going to like this answer.
“You’ll read about enchanted weapons that kill anyone who touches them, but that’s the thing. No one ever touches them willingly. They give off this obviously deathly energy that repels anyone with a brain. If you can charm death into something without making people run in the opposite direction, it’s the rarest, most dangerous kind of magic you could imagine.”
“But it’s temporary.” It wasn’t something I’d carry my whole life. That couldn’t happen.
“Still.”
I grabbed the stack of books at my feet. “I’d better visit Sylvia.” My mom’s old friend was the cleansing queen of Taos, and I needed the magical equivalent of a hot shower. Not that it was likely to fix my problem, but it couldn’t hurt.
“I�
�ll look through the rest of Mom’s restricted books and message you if I find anything,” Blair said.
“Thanks.” I’d accept help from anywhere at this point.
I carefully balanced my book stack on the way down the stairs and said my goodbyes to Bradley and Blair. Shifting the books, I maneuvered to open the front door.
Wynn surprised me, pulling it open.
I gaped up at him. “Thanks.”
He nodded without really looking at me. His gaze was already flicking back and forth, scanning the deserted plaza. I was extra conscious of him at my back. He was a great bodyguard—maybe even too dedicated of one—but he so rarely did anything nice or even polite.
Maybe I should feed him more often?
Sylvia’s herb shop was only a short walk down Witch Way. We passed cottages and castles and a squat strip mall, each one with a sign bearing the Spellwork Syndicate’s sigil, a pentagram flanked by mirrored S’s.
I could see Sylvia’s mailbox when Wynn wrenched me by the shoulder.
So much for polite.
“What are you—?” My question choked off.
Wynn stood between me and a man in a trench coat. “What’s your business?” His gruffness was finally situation appropriate.
The man grinned, flashing unnaturally sharp teeth. His trench coat covered his bunched shoulders, and his nose was oddly stumpy on his narrow face.
Something about him looked more cartoon character than monster. Like he’d been drawn instead of born.
A mannikin?
“You’re Agatha’s apprentice.”
The certainty in his deep voice made my heart putter. I kept my mouth shut. There was nothing I could answer that wouldn’t put me in a spot, because odds were, he wasn’t approaching me on the street for baking tips.
“I’m Girrar.”
“And?” Wynn shifted his weight, ready for a fight.
I relaxed the tiniest bit. I wasn’t alone. “Can I help you?”
“Heard you’re cooking up death cakes. I’d love a taste.”
“You heard wrong.” I ducked back behind Wynn.
How had word gotten out? Not from Agatha.
Xavier? He must’ve told the other vampires.
But was Girrar really a vamp?
Xavier had looked like a regular rich guy. Girrar looked lumpy, odd, and out of proportion. If not for his fangs, I wouldn’t have thought vampire.
“We’ll make a deal.” Girrar flashed a palmful of gold and crystals that sparkled for a second before he palmed them back into his pocket.
“Not interested.” My voice was firm. He would’ve had a better chance of winning me over with a handful of twenties.
Girrar stepped forward. When he smiled, his fangs dug into the flesh of his lower lip. With a little face paint, he’d look exactly like a nightmare clown.
I shuddered.
“Are we going to have a problem?” Wynn reached underneath his coat, grabbing for a knife or a gun or something else dangerous.
I focused on the power in my soul, ready to call it out if this turned ugly.
Death magic and all.
“No problems.” Girrar lifted his palms. “I’ll see you again. Make a deal.”
“I don’t want to make a deal,” I insisted, already shuffling away from him.
Girrar stayed planted, grinning that uneasy grin.
Wynn followed me up the walkway to Sylvia’s herb shop, keeping a wary eye on the mannikin. I hurried inside and shut the door behind us.
Long minutes passed before Girrar shuffled away, cutting through the yard of the peddler’s shop and disappearing into the shrubs.
A sickening feeling spread in the pit of my stomach.
What if I’d been alone? Would Girrar have taken no for an answer?
I sagged against the door, trying to take deep breaths of the sage-scented air. “Thanks.”
“It’s my job,” Wynn said.
“And?” We’d had this argument before.
He shrugged.
I rubbed the goose bumps on my arms and headed back to find Sylvia. I needed this power gone before every mannikin in town dropped by for a visit.
Six
Sylvia’s cleansing didn’t lead to any miracles, but it did make me feel a little lighter when I retreated to my stronghold in Agatha’s library. As much as I hated missing classes, I wasn’t going outside if mannikins were waiting to ambush me. Even if that meant repeating the semester.
Perching on the window seat at the back of the room, I could peek through the curtains and spy on the back door. Agatha had regular early morning and late-night visitors who left the house kitchen with tiny boxes of who knew what.
Most of her side customers looked human enough that they wouldn’t draw attention, but I flat-out gaped at the big, hairy creature who I could only describe as a sasquatch. He wore a puffy orange hunter’s vest over his Chewbacca locks and left clutching a box of donuts.
It felt like the world spun under my feet. Nothing made sense anymore.
Blair’s books filled in a lot of my knowledge gaps about necromancy but didn’t say what to do if you weren’t interested in death magic. I kept reading, determined to check every possible page.
When my stomach rumbled again, I snuck down to the kitchen and tossed lunch supplies into a basket. I didn’t want to hang around in case more of Agatha’s guests showed up, asking what I could bake them.
Upstairs, I pushed books out of the way to clear a space on Agatha’s worktable. Instead of closing the door on Wynn as usual, I’d left it open. “Do you want a sandwich?”
Wynn hovered in the doorway, eyeing the package of ham I held up. I guessed he was hungry but didn’t want to accept anything from me? I pushed the plate I’d brought him across the table. “You can make it yourself if you want.”
Warily, he padded across the floor and pulled up a stool. He lay his sword across the table, and I tossed him the bag of bread.
“I’m not going to poison you.” I grabbed a slice of cheese before pushing the package to him.
“I know.” He set two slices of bread on his plate and loaded both sides with ham.
“Why do you still hate me?” It probably wasn’t the best time to ask, but I hadn’t spoken to anyone in days and the question slipped out on its own.
“I don’t hate you.”
“You don’t like me.”
“It’s complicated.” Wynn slapped both halves of his sandwich together and bit into it dry.
“There’s mayonnaise.” Unless he disliked me so much he wasn’t willing to ask for condiments?
“This is how I like it.”
“Are you just saying that?” I grabbed the bag of chips and poured a handful on my plate before flipping the bag over to him. If he refused chips, there was definitely something wrong with him.
He took a handful and dumped them on his plate. “Why would I lie about a sandwich?”
Because you live to be difficult? I managed to keep the words in but gave him a look that said what I was thinking while I crunched on a chip.
“I’m not here to be your friend.”
Obviously. “So, we can’t be polite to each other?” We were together all day, every day and the constant tension he threw out was going to give me migraines. There was only one way I could think of to make him tone down the hate vibes. Opening up, no matter how much I wanted to stay clamped shut. “Do you know what my life was like before I moved to Taos?”
“No.”
“I dropped out of high school after everyone found out I was a witch. My mom worked so much, I was always home alone unless I was working too. Now I can’t work, and I can’t ever be alone. You’re like my shadow and all you do is glare.”
He took another bite of his sandwich and heat flushed my cheeks. I’d definitely said too much, but the words had been building up inside me for weeks.
“What do you want to do about the mannikins?” Wynn asked, straight out of left field.
“The mannikins?”<
br />
He nodded.
Wow. Since when did we talk about practical things? I’d take that olive branch. “I’m not planning on going anywhere they can approach me. If we see any more, hopefully, we can ignore them.”
“Good. They’re dangerous.”
“You’ve dealt with them before?”
“Some.” Wynn chewed and swallowed, as wordy as ever.
“And?”
“And you should stay away. They all have schemes and powers.”
I’d figured that much out on my own. “Sounds like we’re staying inside.”
He worked on his sandwich. Instead of trying to pry out any more answers, I went back to my book.
Wynn pushed his plate across the table. Using the underside of his gauntleted arm as a pillow, he rested face-down and his breathing instantly evened. Asleep already.
I bit into another chip, enjoying the crunch. Wynn didn’t flinch. He wouldn’t until I tried to leave the room. I’d never figured out if his sleep alertness was a Wynn thing or a Shield thing.
Now I had a fresh topic to research. Shields and Shield contracts.
I spent the afternoon scanning through handwritten notebooks and pulling the ones that looked promising. I didn’t mean to start reading but got sucked into someone’s yellow-paged diary detailing the early days around the Vortex. The Taos Pueblo held their ground against the government’s attempts to drive them from their land, but then witches, warlocks, and assorted creatures had rolled in, looking to steal real estate on the vortex.
After decades of fighting and losses all around, the witches and Natives finally formed a peace treaty, agreeing that the land—and the vortex—should stay under the care of its original inhabitants.
But only the witches agreed. Everyone else kept fighting.
That was when the Shields were formed. The witches recruited stray warriors from the worlds on the other side of the vortex, turning them from troublemakers into protectors.
Intrigued, but realizing I’d gone off on a research tangent, I set the book aside for later. After my magic was fixed.