Shattered (Tempest Coven Novels)

by Wendolyn Baird

  “No,” I assure her. “No, there's enough time for that tomorrow. Just go get some sleep. We'll talk better after we rest anyway.”

  Chapter 18: Tania

  “TANIA, YOU NEED SOME rest.” Atlas is speaking to me, but all I can do is stare back.

  Whatever he's thinking, all I want to do is figure out today, and know I'm safe. But according to him, talking can wait. What timeline is he working on? His own, or the one where I have a little less than two weeks to find my sister and escape this town?

  “Tania, you're safe. Now you need to sleep. We have work to do tomorrow. Did you want to stay on the couch, or are you going to your room?”

  How did the guest room turn into my room? When was the last time I had my own room outside the RV? These questions trigger a sense of action in me, giving me the strength to rise and speak.

  “Good night, Atlas. And thank you, again, for everything.” My voice is soft, but he acknowledges it with a slight smile gracing his haggard face.

  “Let me help you down the hall, then I'm going to check the wards one last time before I turn in.” He supports my weight, allowing me to lean against him so my leg doesn't hurt as badly as it would if I stumbled around alone. Elara winds her way about our feet, pushing against my ankles when they feel weak, and supporting Atlas in his task. It's peaceful.

  I don't know what to make of Atlas anymore. It's easy to forget why I'm here when he's holding me, even though I know it's not romantic in the least. I just miss having easy problems like crushing on a guy. Even so, I'm starting to like him too much, and it would be unfair for him if he felt the same way back.

  What will happen to his world after I leave?

  He's so selfless and doesn't seem fazed by my rudeness when it slips out. In fact, he hasn't even mentioned how he wouldn't have had to save me if I'd just met up with him when I was supposed to. Instead, he brings me water and some medicine, then closes the door.

  My thoughts are too scattered, and the worst of them are flitting around just beneath the mundane. It's too hard for me to stay awake anymore, so opening the curtains, I curl up under the heavy quilt, careful with my aching leg. The glass is curiously fogged over but turning my face to the stars that barely twinkle through it, I allow Elara's purring to lure me to sleep.

  SASHA'S FACE IS RED from the sun, bright splotches appearing on her cheeks as she huffs.

  “Tania! This, isn't... funny!” She pants at me, hands on her dirt covered knees. The air smells like sunblock and soil, and the hard stones beneath my feet wobble unsteadily.

  “Come on Sash, it's not that much further, I promise, you'll love it!”

  I'm gasping through my words, and laughing despite the stitch in my side, positive that she'll agree in just a few minutes. The warm air feels comforting, but the heat at my neck warns me of the lack of sweat.

  Robert said this region had a dry heat, more dangerous than most. I'd brushed him off originally, but eyeing Sasha now, the laughter fades from my lips. Her strawberry blonde hair is matted in its bun, and the light sundress she has on is streaked with chlorophyll and sweat. Why did she even bother packing a dress to go camping in?

  “You said we were going to check out a spot of flowers next to camp. This isn't freaking next to camp! This is a whole damn mile away.” She kicks off her shoes and empties them of rocks, and it's that small gesture that reminds me of my responsibilities.

  She's nineteen. It's my job to get her started in the world, not drag her on a hike she wasn't expecting. Encourage her, protect her.

  But then mother's voice pops into my head, questioning me how a witch is going to survive if she can't even handle a mere mile of nature. She should be able to handle the arid air that surrounds us, even if she still has trouble flying.

  Sasha's face still holds the slightest hint of baby fat, and I watch her hands tie her laces in awkward loops, the same way they have for the past thirteen years.

  “Come here, Bug.” My concern for her wins out, like always. “I've got some water and a fan in my bag, let's get you cooled down.”

  A GENTLER SUN WAKES me from my dream, and I struggle against a barrage of regret as I dress for the day. An hour later, I find myself sitting at the kitchen table, with a cup of coffee scorching my palm, and though Atlas is watching me curiously, I'm still not ready to talk.

  Last night's dream brought a fresh wave of pain with it, and I'm still having trouble surfacing above it. Maybe it was before the dream, maybe it had to do with remembering the last place I'd had more of a home. A place without wheels or a daily check out time.

  I shut my eyes and focus on the heat at my palms, curling my fingers tightly around the ceramic. I hate the heat here. It's heavy and damp, but it's the same heaviness as in Seguin. The same type of darkness that twists through the summer months.

  “Elara, get off,” I snap, irritated by the tiny claws batting at my laces, and pulling me out of my fog.

  “Ah, she speaks!” Atlas exclaims from his place at the counter.

  “Sorry, I just didn't sleep well last night. There's been a bit going on.” Okay, yeah. That's an understatement. One that needs no explanation to the person I've dragged into the mess with me.

  “Hey, no worries. I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he swings his legs over a chair and sits down across from me, lowering his chin to better see my eyes. “I don't know about you, but yesterday was absolutely horrible. Do... do you want to talk about it at all?”

  Sad dreams, bad memories, and the stress of being stalked by some sort of evil in a small town? I'd rather pretend I was an ordinary girl, without the power to manipulate the more mundane parts of nature. “Um, no preferably not. Anything else we could talk about?”

  “Alright, first things first. What about food, what do you usually eat for breakfast? I like actual breakfasts with a full menu, but then again, I'm an early riser and cooking tends to occupy a good bit of time. That's always nice, because if I'm busy, I can't focus on the fact that I live alone.” He cringes and rubs at his jaw, “Or the fact that I just admitted how pathetic I am. Can we ignore that part? Let's ignore that part?”

  His face is so open and embarrassed, that it draws a grin out of me. If he wasn't such a good person I'd be tempted to laugh outright.

  Dropping my head down, I shake my head and try to be serious. “Sure Atlas, we can ignore that part. Uh, I like sweets half the time. Pancakes count. And then eggs, but only if they're cooked with something else or fried in a sandwich.”

  “Why do pancakes count as sweets?”

  “Because they're only good if they're drenched in syrup and butter or filled with chocolate chips.”

  Atlas raises an eyebrow at me and pushes his hair back, the sunlight catching his grin. “So basically, you like sugar, not pancakes.”

  “That's why pancakes count.”

  Shoving off of the table, he crosses over the short space to the fridge. “Alright, I'm not big on sweets, so I'm making eggs. But I grabbed some cinnamon rolls at the store you can heat up.”

  My stomach is honestly rolling into knots, so the thought of any sustenance beyond coffee is nauseating. But I'm going to have to take the pain meds Jason left for me if I'm going to get anything done today. If I take them on an empty stomach, I'll be useless.

  “How about I help you with the eggs? I'm going to need more than sweets today.”

  “No offense, but you'll do me more good by not injuring that leg more. Stay off of it, let it heal. Besides, I can handle frying up a few eggs.”

  It's nice that he's thinking of my recovery, but I can't allow him to do everything around here. He's not allowed to be dragged into this hell hole and take care of me completely. That just isn't fair.

  Pushing away from the table, I carefully scoot my chair over to the stove top and lean against the counter.

  “No offense,” I start, throwing his words back at him. “But I actually can actually do something besides sitting around, and I wanted tacos, not fried eggs.”


  His face goes blank, and he scratches the back of his neck absentmindedly. “Tacos? For breakfast? I can't say that was part of your original description on what counts as breakfast.”

  “Yeah, taquitos? Breakfast tacos. A little something I came to love in Texas.” Jerking my chin towards his refrigerator, I add, “I'm a little surprised by your confusion. I was hopeful when I found fajitas in your fridge. It's been awhile since I had some good Mexican food.”

  He shrugs down at me, the dark polo he's wearing pulling upward with the movement. “We have Mexican food, a little at least. But no breakfast tacos.”

  “Huh, must be a Tex-Mex thing. What about Frito pie?”

  I'm met with another blank stare, and something giddy rises in my chest. “Oh my gosh. You've never had a Frito pie, have you?”

  “Will you stop staring at me like a freak of nature? You're the odd ball here, it's not my fault I don't travel around and eat a bunch of strange foods. What the hell is a Frito pie?”

  “Uh, it kind of is your fault. You could travel if you wanted to. As far as Frito pie, well, let's just call it dinner.”

  “Not sure I want to, but okay.” He eyes me questioningly. “You know what, yeah? Okay. You can handle dinner tonight.”

  There's something close to happiness floating about me as I scramble up the potatoes, eggs and bacon. It's not really peaceful, and it's nowhere near actual joy, but it's something. Something I can work with. A moment where I don't feel trapped, my stomach isn't twisting, and the grey haze that follows me like a cloud, isn't looming over my head. These little, simple tasks, and knowing I have someone at my back... it's something I can get used to. Granted I don't get myself killed first.

  “Where are you right now?” Atlas’ voice startles me out of my thoughts, and my hands flinch away from the napkin I'd been wringing.

  “I'm sorry, just thinking.”

  He leans in towards me, his dark eyes searching my face. “Yeah, I can see that. It's just,” Atlas rubs his face, grimacing as his hand passes over the stubble at his jaw. “Look, we're in this together right? Whatever prophecy you got roped into, roped me into as well.”

  So, he does realize how tightly I've trapped him in. At least he knows I didn't mean to.

  “That means,” he continues. “We've got to be able to communicate clearly. Whatever is bothering you is obviously really heavy. Look, I trust you, and I believe you're starting to trust me. So, whatever is going on, you've got to work with me so I can make sure everyone gets through this mess okay. Okay?”

  I owe him some honesty. That much I can do. So, drawing in a deep breath, I press my palms to the table and agree.

  “Okay.”

  Where to start? Where to go? I knew this conversation would have to happen sometime; I just wish it weren't now. Or ever. My eyes are aching from the deep pressure building up in my head. I can just visualize my skull expanding like some type of macabre balloon and shrieking out steam the way a teapot might. My God, how wonderful it would feel if I could just release the pressure like that!

  But no. No luck. So instead, I draw my mug closer to me and turn my face to meet Atlas’ warm eyes.

  “Can you please find me one of those little magic pills Jason left here? And that stack of coasters too, please.” Motioning at the pale, wooden discs on the counter, I gingerly bite at the sore side of my mouth, testing the healing cut.

  Long legs unfold and raise up this giant before me, as he moves through the small, sun filled room to get me my requests. Lean muscles move with the slightest movements, and my eyes follow the line of Celtic knots at his wrist.

  “One pill, as requested,” he slaps the small oval into my palm. “And one stack of coasters.” Waving them near his face, he sits heavily on his seat and leans in stubbornly. “Now, spill.”

  Lukewarm coffee coats my throat behind the pain med, and I use its comfort to fortify me.

  “What do you know about Death Covens?”

  “Death? Covens? I can't necessarily say that I know anything about them, but I can guess they aren't anything fun.”

  Shaking my head slowly, I spin the coasters around in neat little circles. “No, not fun at all. They're closer to cults than anything else. The type of group that any sane person would avoid. Unfortunately, they're also really good at appearing docile and inviting to unwitting witches.”

  “Sounds like a wretched type of witch. But what does that have to do with you?” With his mouth pulled into a confused frown, he waves his hand at me to continue.

  “These are like covens,” I say, pointing at the three perfect circles. “Each one consists of several families, people with similar crafts or beliefs. You know my coven is named the Tempest Coven. We are especially well gifted with chaotic affinities. Divination, snake charming, flying, things like that.”

  Picking up the salt and pepper shakers, I stare unwaveringly at the placemats, not at all ready to meet his searching gaze.

  “Some witches, practice only light magic,” I shake the salt, letting the white particles scatter onto a coaster. “Others delve slightly back and forth. Mainly light, with a few darker practices or spells thrown in. Crystal gazers who seek the dead are like this.” Shaking the pepper, I watch as grey covers a second coaster.

  Glancing up, I watch as his queried expression softens in understanding. “That,” I say, swirling the pepper with my fingertip. “Is like my coven, and more specifically, my younger sister. She's my favorite person in the world; and our mom, well she was always a little harsh. She always wanted us to be stronger, more independent than everyone else. But Sasha never was, so when she wanted to leave home, I took her in. What I didn't know, is that the area we moved to was filled with dark magic. Ancient, unrelenting, and deadly. Not grey but pitch black.”

  With the last sentence on my lips, I gently take Atlas' coffee cup and place it on a third coaster, watching the dark liquid splash and ripple inside.

  “So, your sister fell into it?” Atlas’ soft voice breaks my monologue, and I nod, the lump in my throat threatening to halt my breath.

  “I should have seen the signs, but I didn't. There are some covens who thrive on Black Magic, and they don't fully belong to this world. Sasha didn't know... she thought she could help someone.”

  The gritty feeling of pepper stings against the ragged scrapes on my fingers. I should pull my hand away, wash off the pepper. Instead, I continue to press my fingertips into it, relishing the burn.

  I've never been a seance kind of girl. The dead always make their presence known, but that doesn't mean I've got to pick up the phone. Usually their pain twists any sort of communication into a game where a witch could easily get lost between worlds. The living world and the Other Realm are desperately far apart, but the Shadow World that connects them is easily enough breached if you have the right tools. It's getting back that's the problem.

  Focusing on my nail polish, I take a deep breath in through my nose, and try to fight the chill that's shaking my body. Curtains move, and I can hear my hair crackling against my ears, full of sparks. Calm. I need calm. The ground is warded, the house is safe. Atlas wouldn't let anything get me.

  “Tania?” A dim voice is echoing through my head.

  “Tania?” There it is again. Why is it so loud now?

  “Tania!” A warm hand grasps mine, and my ears start processing things at a normal decibel again.

  Heat shoots out of my fingers, shocking Atlas as he drops my hand, “Are you okay?” He demands, alarm visible on his face. Maybe I am a human teapot; my face feels like it's steaming.

  I clutch my temples with my palms and try to focus. “I'm fine now. Just, bad memories. What I'm trying to say is... yesterday at that house, I swear there was a witch there, but not there.”

  “Okay, you've officially lost me. I want to help, but you have to back up some. How are these two things connected?”

  “Well, you know about the Shadow World and Other Realm, right?” I flick my eyes up to confirm we'
re on the same page, and he meets me with a hesitant nod. “I think a witch- ghost, is stuck in the Shadow World and that house had a thin spot in the veil. I also think that's part of why I'm here; it's possible my sister is stuck somewhere on the other side too.”

  Understanding dawns on his face, and his mouth drops open just slightly. “But if she's on the other side, how can you find her? You can't seriously be suggesting trying to cross the Veil?”

  “Oh, hell no! I'm hoping that if I can figure out what happened to the woman at that house, maybe it will tell me how to get Sasha back.”

  With the thought of jagged wounds running across my mind, my hands begin to shake as I broach the next problem with Atlas.

  “The animal? You've never seen it before, right?”

  His mouth draws downward. “No, can't say I have. Nobody has, I've messaged everyone I can think of.”

  “Well, what about that house? There's no local legends surrounding it?”

  “No.” His voice is openly confused, and I struggle to connect the dots between the separate events. “Why?”

  “It's just,” I hesitate, terrified to word my fears out loud. “I think whatever that beast is, it killed her, or kind of killed her. The witch is a ghost, but she's stuck in the Shadow World by something, and her face...” I can't go on. The gaping wounds that covered her body were so severe, and her empty eye sockets make me wonder if her eyes were ripped out of her mortal body.

  Atlas covers my hand in his, the warmth steadying my shaking palm. “Tania, just say it.” His voice has dropped down to just a whisper, and in my apprehension, so have I.

  “Something, or someone controls that beast. She said someone was going to try to steal me. She was trying to warn me and then when I fell, Atlas, I swear, something was dragging me down yesterday.”

  I feel his hand stiffen, and withdraw as he sits back in his seat, back straight as a rod. “Witches have never been very well welcomed here... And the ones that try to stay always run into trouble. If what you're saying is correct, it could be possible that's all on purpose.”