Sugar Spells

by Dodge, Lola

  I’d been writing it off as a writhing mass of bats—which it was—but I should’ve been looking closer. It wasn’t just vampire bats up there, waiting to swoop down and suck us dry.

  There were brown bats. Black bats. Gray and white bats. Some the size of golf balls, some the size of house cats.

  All with crumbs of their own magic.

  And Girrar didn’t control any of them.

  In a mystical cave, of course there’d be magical bats. And magical creatures, I could win over.

  Earn their trust. Get their help.

  The little ones had to hate Girrar as much as I did. His big bat brothers were eating them.

  “I have an idea.” I dug into the pile of groceries we hadn’t put away, searching for the bags of stuff Girrar must’ve pulled straight from Fiona’s refrigerator. With a little digging, I found the stash of fruit. I grabbed a banana and peeled it on my way to visit the puff-bats.

  Wynn watched as I held the banana up to the little bats. He’d have to figure out what I was up to because I didn’t dare say it out loud.

  The bats cowered and shrank tighter into their group. My arm was starting to get tired of holding the banana when one brave one finally poked its cute yellow nose in the air and sniffed. Holding my breath, I moved the banana closer.

  It took a bite.

  Then it made a noise I could only describe as a happy chitter—and all the bats in the family started chowing down. For the first time since we landed in this hellhole, I remembered how to smile.

  People, animals, mystical creatures—keeping them well fed was always the best strategy for making friends.

  If I made friends with a few million of the cute ones, we might be able to overthrow their evil overlord.

  And finally get the hell out of this cave.

  Twenty-One

  Now that I had half a plan, I put my head down and baked.

  Baked and baked and baked.

  So many macarons that I dreamed in black circles whenever I stopped long enough to catnap.

  Batnap?

  After the first few batches, I enlisted Wynn as my sous chef. He washed dishes, measured out flour, and helped separate the endless supply of eggs that Girrar kept replenishing. With his help, I could bake more batches faster, keeping the man-bats fat and happy. That gave us more time to sneak around exploring the caves and befriending the good little bats. We had a whole colony of puffballs sheltering in the house and squeaking for pieces of fruit.

  I tweaked my macaron recipe each time, mixing in different herbs and food colorings so that each batch looked and tasted a little different. If and when I dripped in poison, Girrar would never notice.

  Wynn didn’t have any complaints until he saw me pricking my finger and dribbling red sauce into the batter.

  “Use my blood.” He stuck out his hand like he was offering me a penny instead of his actual lifeblood as the main ingredient in a death spell.

  “I don’t think that would work.” And I wouldn’t let him sacrifice himself even if his blood could fuel the magic. As little as I wanted to be casting the same death spell over and over again for an army of giant bats who might go rogue and kill us anyway, it was my death spell.

  Blood magic wasn’t necessarily good or evil—witchcraft was all about intention—but when you started casting spells with someone else’s blood…

  That was my line.

  I wasn’t crossing it just to spare myself a few finger pricks.

  “The offer stands.” Wynn hovered near my mixing station, maybe hoping I’d change my mind.

  I waved him off. “It’s done.”

  “There’ll be more chances.”

  “True.” A lot more chances, even though I’d keep saying no. But I was already losing track of time. Had we been in the cave for days?

  Weeks?

  Girrar had resupplied our groceries more than once, but we were only sleeping in short shifts. Half to make more baking time. Half because vampire bats snuck in whenever we slept at the same time. Both of us looked like patchwork people, covered in gauze and makeshift bandages.

  The only reason I was positive time was passing was my shifting magic. Leaning against the oven, waiting for the latest batch to finish baking, I conjured flames to my fingertips.

  Red, orange, and yellow, they sparkled under my skin and bled out like five dancing candle flames. After baking who knew how many batches of murder macarons, the threads of green-black poison had finally almost disappeared.

  But I couldn’t celebrate my power going back to normal.

  What happened when the death magic faded?

  What happened when I couldn’t bake the spell and keep the man-bats fed?

  My knees rattled and my flames guttered back to nothing.

  Because what happened when my blood made a better meal than my magic?

  “You okay?” Two words, slow and low and filled with genuine concern.

  “Are you okay?” I was starting to wonder if this version of Wynn was fake. A bodyguard Girrar had conjured as a joke. A softer, gentler Wynn than the original.

  “Trapped in a cave.” He shrugged. “Otherwise? Fine.”

  A sharp breath slipped through my lips. Not quite a laugh, but closer to one than I’d come in a while. “You’re being…” Nice seemed like an understatement. Wynn was an actual rock. But a shiver crawled down my neck at the thought of saying that out loud. Not happening. I twisted my fingers in the hem of the giant T-shirt I’d borrowed from Fiona’s clothing pile. “You haven’t been yourself.”

  “You don’t know me that well.”

  Not long ago, those words would’ve come out of his mouth ringing with a challenge. Now they were more a statement of fact.

  And Wynn was right.

  I didn’t know him that well.

  I crouched to peer into the oven, giving myself an excuse to look away from him. “You didn’t want me to know you.”

  The longer he took to respond, the more my shoulders scrunched up to my ears. I shouldn’t have said anything.

  But was he really not going to answer?

  Finally, Wynn let out a long breath. “I’m still not sure I do.”

  “Oh.” The boning knife that jabbed between my ribs was as much a surprise as the first prick of tears. I didn’t like Wynn. Not like that. But hadn’t I at least earned his basic respect? “I thought…”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  I peeked over. He was scratching his temple, but I couldn’t read his expression.

  “What way?” I wasn’t sure why I was pushing either, but some little part of me needed to know what he thought. Why he wouldn’t open up.

  “You’re someone worth knowing.” His words were surprisingly gentle. “But I’ve had enough of witches. Enough of magic.”

  I nodded, took a breath. This wasn’t about me. “I don’t blame you.” Even though a little sting clung to my eyes. I was the one being mushy. “I’m definitely tired of mannikins.”

  I wasn’t sure if the man-bats counted as mannikins—they might not be human enough—but I was beyond exhausted with Girrar.

  “We’re going to take care of that.” His voice was so sharp, I knew that taking care of would involve slasher-film amounts of stabbing.

  “We will.” I wasn’t as confident as Wynn—or as determined to leave a body count—but I tried to keep my thoughts focused on escaping.

  When the latest batch of macarons was as ready as it could be in cave conditions, I grabbed the trays from the oven. I’d rushed the recipe so much the macarons were squishy instead of crisp on the outside, but I wasn’t feeding food bloggers.

  The giant bats didn’t care about anything but death magic, and I’d dripped in enough extra blood that my recipe was another murdery success.

  I carried my haul outside, bracing for another feeding frenzy.

  Girrar and his cronies were waiting because they were always waiting when I was serving up fresh death.

  I winged the macarons into the
mass like I had so many countless times before.

  When a fuzzy gray bat fled the ceiling, dodging the sea of teeth, it came a whisker-width from turning into an appetizer. I snatched it out of the air just before a massive set of jaws clamped down.

  The bat trembled in my palm.

  “It’s okay.” I gave the poor thing a little pat and pressed it to my shoulder. It clung gratefully to my T-shirt and squeaked a few sharp noises. It must’ve announced I was a safe perch because a few other bats dropped down to cling. I tensed when one grabbed onto my bun, but I forced my shoulders to relax.

  These were the cute bats. The ones I was trying to win over. I’d filled my pockets with dried fruits and handed out raisins as peace offerings.

  The bat on my shoulder had the weakest, most wavering magic. But power was power and all the others nestled against me had magic of their own.

  Working with them was still my best plan.

  But their barely there magic was as weak as a tapping finger compared to the pulses of power that beat like war drums around the cave.

  I fought to untangle the energies and figure out which powers belonged to who—or what. The man-bats had the most chaotic energy. It jumped and dove as wildly as they did, fighting over the last macarons.

  When they came too close, they loomed larger than I remembered. Fangs longer. Bodies thicker. They’d grown bigger than St. Bernards and were more muscle-man-on-steroids sized now.

  Because some idiot kept feeding them.

  Girrar’s energy was its own thumping heartbeat. Much stronger than theirs. He’d grown so tall he towered over Wynn, his bunchy shoulders straining the fabric of his trench. His chin was sharper, too. Like his bat side was winning out now that he was back in his horrific natural habitat.

  He’d been feeding, but he was still stashing macarons in his pockets.

  For who?

  A more curious touch of power made my scalp tingle. I glanced around the cave. I couldn’t narrow down the source, but I knew it wasn’t coming from Girrar’s brothers. Their energy was demanding. Ravenous. Violent.

  Never curious.

  Before I could find which bat was checking me out, a more sinister energy echoed from deeper in the cave. Its rhythm matched the pulse of Girrar’s, but deeper.

  THUNK.

  THUNK.

  The sound bounced against my brain and froze my nervous system so hard that the macaron tray slipped from my fingers. It hit the porch, but I didn’t notice if it broke. I stretched and strained my magical awareness, trying to find the source of that unimaginable power.

  Somewhere deep in the cave.

  A slow heartbeat, growing faster and faster.

  THUNK.

  THUNK.

  THUNKTHUNK.

  THUNKTHUNKTHUNK.

  My heart matched the pace of the drumming and then one-upped it, beating hummingbird fast and pumping my veins with the creepiest, crawliest sense of foreboding.

  Somewhere in the darkness, someone—something—was waking up.

  Soon.

  “We await your next treat.” Girrar disappeared Cheshire-cat style, his fanged-grin fading last, but I couldn’t be afraid of him anymore.

  I was afraid of his master.

  That was the only thing this power could be. The dimension’s true owner.

  I hustled back into the house and jammed the door shut behind Wynn. Agitation must’ve hummed through my skin because the bats that still clung to me started to chitter and stir.

  “Sorry.” I grabbed a blanket and tried to focus on transferring them over instead of worrying about the magical heartbeat at the edge of my thoughts. But now that I’d heard it, I couldn’t unhear it or forget what it meant.

  We had to get out of the cave.

  Now.

  Before that thing—whatever mythical force of nature it was—woke up from the ancient spell/prison/curse had kept it dormant until it got a taste of my stupid magic.

  I grabbed a banana from the pile of fruit on the coffee table and tried to peel it open, but my fingers weren’t working right.

  “What now?” Wynn took the banana and peeled it in one go before handing it back.

  I offered little pieces of banana to the bats, only vaguely hearing their happy chitters. “Something’s wrong.”

  “I see that.”

  “There’s…” How much could I even say? Girrar would hear if we started planning to fight back and I didn’t want him knowing I’d figured out what was going on.

  I was about to resort to charades when another burst of curiosity poked between my shoulder blades. I sat up straighter and Wynn did a 180, turning to glare at the window.

  “What is that?” I went to peer through the curtains, but all I saw was the same cavescape as ever.

  Bats. Rocks. Piles of guano.

  “I thought someone was watching us.”

  “Really? I just felt magic.” I opened the door and peeked through. “Should we check?” I was curious what kind of creature would be curious about us, but I mostly wanted to get Wynn alone in one of the caverns with a roaring river. That was the only way I’d be able to whisper how screwed we were.

  He produced a knife in each hand, which was Wynn for let’s go.

  The fireplace shovel was my weapon of choice.

  Easier to swing than stab.

  Outside, I opened myself to the energies swirling around the cave. I had to tone down the low-level bat chaos to pinpoint the powers that stood out. That little note of curiosity never stopped ringing. I followed it into the tunnel maze, and Wynn followed me, hopefully paying attention to our route because Girrar hadn’t delivered on his string request.

  The farther we followed, the closer we came to the drum-like pulsing at the heart of the cave. I wasn’t sure we wanted to move closer to that power yet, but I decided to keep moving forward. This smaller force had nothing to do with that pulse and I wanted to see who it belonged to.

  We kept walking until a glow filled the tunnel. It was brighter than the ambient light that kept us from bumping into walls, but not as bright as daylight.

  When we stepped into the next cave, I realized why.

  Glowing, bioluminescent mold grew around the walls of a globe-shaped cavern. Everything was bluish-white. Almost like we’d stepped inside a blue-raspberry snow cone. It was the first cave we’d been through that had a ceiling population of zero bats.

  But the cave wasn’t empty.

  I could feel the same curious presence. It brushed against my shoulders. Then the backs of my legs. The magic tingled but didn’t hurt.

  “Hello?” My tentative voice echoed around the dome and I raised my shovel, ready for anything.

  I knew Wynn spotted motion when he shifted to shield me. I followed the path of his wary gaze.

  Two round black eyes peeked at us from behind a rock pile. I couldn’t see the bottom of the creature’s face, but it had white fur and long, tuft-pointed ears.

  More cat than bat?

  Not wanting to startle it, I eased into a crouch, setting down my shovel and putting myself closer to its level. “I’m Anise. Who are you?”

  It poked its head out a little farther, blinking and sniffing.

  It had a batty stub nose, but a round, catty mouth and a ruff of thick white fur around its neck. When it hopped out of its hiding spot, I knew this thing wasn’t any kind of threat.

  It was a squeezable little fluff ball.

  It hopped on its back paws, bunny-style, but had clawed bat hands in front and bulky shoulders where its folded wings were hidden in fur.

  I wanted to pet it but not because of compulsion.

  Because, how could you not pet something so fluffy and adorable?

  It shuffled over, and my heart squeezed with every movement. Wynn tensed like he didn’t see how cute this thing was. It stopped short of my outstretched hand, peering up at Wynn’s knives.

  “Can you put those away?” I was trying to keep my fingers as still as possible while projecting my inner
flames as a warm, cozy hearth fire instead of the kind of scary, smoky wildfire that scattered little forest creatures.

  “Not unless you tell me what that thing is and why it’s not a threat.”

  “I have no idea, but it’s not a threat.” I could still feel its magic—bubbly, curious, and way stronger than I’d imagined, but not a danger.

  Wynn did not put his knives away.

  I crouched lower and the battycat sniffed my fingers. Smelling leftover banana?

  Moving slowly, I pulled out a raisin. “Are you hungry?”

  It sniffed with more interest, then grabbed a raisin between its claw-paws.

  I practically cooed.

  Which was not like me. My fingers curled back.

  Was this a trick after all?

  A spell?

  Girrar still had my magic banned so there was nothing I could do to sound the creature out, even if I knew that kind of spell. All I could do was sense its power and intentions, and I didn’t feel it doing anything but chomping on that raisin while its snout did a happy wiggle.

  My instincts never let me down when I remembered to listen to them and this was one of those times that I just knew.

  This little creature was a keeper.

  I reached to scratch behind its ears. It leaned its soft fur into my touch.

  That made it official.

  We were best friends.

  It munched down the rest of the raisins then crawled up to sniff my pocket, searching for more.

  I spread open my hands. “No more snacks unless you want to come back with us.” And I really hoped it did?

  It dashed off, bouncing to the tunnel across the way, then paced a circle around the archway. Its short tail had a lion tuft at the end, and it flicked back and forth in obvious irritation when I didn’t respond to the creature’s chorus of chirps.

  It bounded back across, slipped through Wynn’s ankles, and made the same irritated circle in the mouth of the tunnel we’d entered through.

  I assumed it wanted to show us something? “I can’t understand you, but I’ll follow if there’s something we need to see.”

  It hesitated, moving to perch on its back paws in front of me.

  My thighs were shaking after crouching so long, but I held steady through the burn. It nudged my leg with its head.