by Ramy Vance
Or maybe it was something else … a human thing. Humans crying for humans? I doubted that, too. I’d seen so many wars and random killing—hell, I’d committed many of those—and I’d never seen this kind of reaction.
No, there was something else going on. But what it was, I could not tell.
And then I saw Deirdre crying and knew that it wasn’t just humans who were being affected. Whatever they felt, Deirdre felt it, too.
“Wrongful, violent death shakes us all,” I thought.
Deirdre nodded in agreement.
OK—so we all felt his death. Very well, then … let me pay my respects. We got near the frozen image of him; looking into his kind blue eyes, I knelt down and picked up a candle that had gone out and lit it from the flame of another.
I stared at his image for a long moment, wondering how my life would be different here if he were alive and well—and my boss. I wondered if our friendship would have grown. I suspected it would. After all, we’d be spending a lot of time together, shelving books, categorizing the museum collection, taking care of the old building’s needs. That would have been a good thing—but now it was gone.
And soon, I’ll be gone, too, I thought, shaking my head and crying.
A HAND TOUCHED MY SHOULDER. I whirled to see Egya standing behind me.
“Why,” I said, “do you always show up when I least want you to? Which is to say, why do you show up at all?”
But Egya wasn’t paying attention to me. He was pointedly looking everywhere else but at me, his eyes shifting back and forth.
“What is it?” I said, whispering now and drawing closer.
“Look,” he said.
I turned to see that most of the people standing immediately around the memorial were looking at us, no longer speaking, just staring in silence. Their tears were turning into curled lips and clenched fists. But why would they direct their anger at me? Was it because I had been there at his death? How could they know who I was? As far as any of them knew, I was just another student paying her respects. I scanned the area around me for Deirdre. She was standing about ten feet away, under the canopy of the old oak tree. Her hood was still over her head and she was looking down, mournful and lost in her own grief.
“Sheesh,” I said. “What’s everyone’s problem?”
“Come,” Egya said softly. “Walk with me and watch their eyes.”
We walked over to Deirdre. As we did, everyone who was within ten yards of us looked up at our passing and stared, hate painting their faces. But that wasn’t the strangest thing about this. As people fell outside of the ten yards, they’d stop staring at us and continue their conversations as if they hadn’t been trying to bore holes in us with their eyes.
“A curse,” I whispered.
“Strange guess for someone who is just a human girl,” Egya said. Then he shook his head. “This is not a curse—there is too much emotion. This … is a hex.”
I swallowed, digesting what he’d just said.
A hex was serious business. Think of them as souped-up versions of curses, the difference being a curse was a general suggestion that things “go wrong” for its intended victim—bad luck, disease, poverty, lost love, even death—but because it was just a suggestion, a gentle nudge that things fall apart, it can take forever to happen, if it happens at all. It is entirely possible the intended victim’s immunity (as in the case of disease) is strong enough to ward off the curse. Or perhaps the target is incredibly lucky or rich or in love, and thus the curse falls flat.
A hex was something else entirely. The right hex, with the right amount of time burnt for the proper amount of magic, not only causes bad luck, disease, poverty, lost love or even death—you can get really specific with its terms and conditions. Say you wanted the victim to die in a spectacular fashion, maybe get hit by a bus. No problem. The victim will find themselves wandering into a highway for no reason at all. Lost love? The intended victim will happily take photos of themselves with a sheep (in the, erm, biblical sense) and send it to their lover with the subject line I’ve found someone who fulfills me in ways you never could.
Hexes were the Terminators of curses.
I closed my eyes. Even when I couldn’t see the people glaring at us, I could still feel their rage. But to say they were merely angry at us would be wrong. The hatred they focused on us was palpable. You could literally feel it. And I don’t mean that as a euphemism or an exaggeration. I mean that making eye contact with them created a sense of tension that felt as if someone had wrapped a garroting thread around us and was pulling. Hard.
But I couldn’t let Egya know that I—someone who was just a girl—knew the difference between hexes and curses, so mustering all the acting skills I’d learned from daytime soaps, I widened my eyes. In a worried, trembling voice, I asked, “What’s the difference?”
He smirked at this question—evidently not believing my Days of Our Lives shock. “One is bad. One is terrible. But at least hexes have one thing to our advantage. They don’t last long. Too much burnt time is needed to keep them up.”
“Why us?” I whispered.
He cocked a thumb toward the library. “Not us … you.”
“Me? How do you know?”
“I’ve been following their eyes. Always trained on you. Not your changeling friend. Not me. You.”
I scanned the crowd as we reached Deirdre. Egya was right—all eyes were on me. I nodded. “OK, it’s me. But why?”
Egya shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious? You disrupted the killer’s ritual and he wants you to suffer for it. This killer of yours is a vengeful spirit.”
“But if I am the focal point, then why aren’t you affected? Or Deirdre? Why aren’t you two staring at me like you wanna spill my guts?”
He shrugged again. “Because we know you.”
I gave him a look. “Hardly.”
“We know you enough to know you aren’t our enemy. But they—” he pointed to the crowd “—they don’t know you from Eve … and that is all that is needed to turn a stranger into an enemy.”
“Fine. Let’s say I believe you. What kind of ‘fun’ exactly did I interrupt?”
“Not fun. Ritual. Do you really think Dr. Dewey was strung up for fun, just-a-girl?”
“Don’t call me that—and yes, why not?”
Egya narrowed his eyes like he was trying to figure me out. “What kind of killers would go to such lengths ‘just for fun’? No—the killer was performing a ritual, preparing the body for something … bigger.”
The thought that the killer wasn’t just maiming the librarian for his or her twisted amusement hadn’t really crossed my mind. To be honest, I used to kill for fun … I guess I assumed that if I did so, then most killers would be like me.
“What ritual?” I asked.
“I have no idea. And we don’t have time to consider this now.” Egya pointed at two boys who were starting to walk toward us. They were two of the three hockey players from yesterday—the ones who had been picking on Mergen—the big one with the now thrice-broken nose and the short one with the unfortunate ponytail. “Their hate will turn to rage. The rage that will be directed at you—and anyone they consider to be your friend.” He gestured at Deirdre, and I could see the third hockey player now heading toward her.
I walked over to Deirdre and whispered, “Pull your hood on tight and get rid of those leaves. We’re leaving.”
“Why?” she gurgled between her own tears. “We just got here and I have yet to sing ‘The Solemn Ode to the Dead.’ ”
“We’ve got to go. Now. Move it.”
Deirdre might have been a bubbling mess of emotions, but she was, first and foremost, a trained warrior. And as a trained warrior, you learn to trust the instincts of those around you—especially those you have pledged your sword arm.
Without bothering to wipe away her tears, she plucked the leaves from her head, dropping them to the grass at her feet, and swept her hood over her head.
“Good,” I muttered. “L
et’s go.” Grabbing her by the arm, I guided her toward the main gate. It was only a few feet in front of us when the two hockey players from earlier blocked our way.
“The Other lover,” Broken Nose said. His voice was comically nasal with that plaster cast covering his schnoz. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as everyone else,” I growled. “Paying my respects.” I tried to push past them.
Without warning, Ponytail pulled at my ponytail—ironic, really—at which point Deirdre grabbed his wrist and squeezed.
“Ahh—”
But before he could let out a full scream, I covered his mouth. “Deirdre, let him go,” I said.
She did as I asked.
Broken Nose tried to intervene, but I put a finger up to his lips, just touching the bottom of his casted nose so that his eyes watered with pain. I said, “Not here and not now. I will not let Dr. Dewey be disrespected by the lot of you. So if you want me, come get me. Bring your brood—” I gestured around us with my chin and suddenly saw that it wasn’t just the three boys I’d seen walking toward us. Three more of their hockey friends had joined them … plus, there were a lot more students ready to join the fight all around us. I gulped and repeated, “Bring your brood. We’ll be waiting in the alleyway behind the bookstore.”
I held on to Ponytail’s mouth while Broken Nose considered this. Before he could object, I added, “Besides—look around you. See all the campus security? We don’t want them interrupting a good fight, do we?”
I pointed to several security guards mulling about.
Broken Nose looked around and nodded. “Behind the campus bookstore,” he agreed, a cocky smile creeping in the corners of his lips. “How do I know you’ll be there?”
“Because,” I said, finally pushing Ponytail away and brushing past them. “You can follow me there right now.”
“Brave girl,” Egya said, pulling in close to me.
“Not brave,” I muttered to him as we walked through the crowd. “If hexes work the way I think they do, a fight in this place will only mean we have to face off against more and more people as it grows in strength. We can take care of a half-dozen testosterone-fueled idiots, can’t we?”
Egya snorted in answer.
“But,” I continued, “I have another reason why I want an alleyway showdown. If this is a hex, then the killer must be somewhere nearby, right? He—”
“Or she.”
“—or she may even join the fight. It will be easier to pick him or her out behind the bookstore.”
“Pick him or her out as we’re being stomped to a pulp,” Egya said. “Excellent plan.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. We have a changeling warrior with us.”
Egya looked over at Deirdre, who was cracking her fingers, Bruce Lee–style, as she walked just behind us. “Indeed,” he said, grinning. “Indeed, we do.”
“Besides,” I said as we made our way to the main gate, “I meant what I said. Dr. Dewey deserves more than having a fight break out at his memorial.”
Just as we made our way off campus, a speaker scratched, cutting through the general noise of the crowd. Looking back, I saw Justin holding a mic attached to a portable amp. He was standing on the rim of the water-fountain base, the founder’s statue beside him. He suddenly looked like some ancient Roman god giving the opening commencement for a spring festival.
And somehow, as if the fates were conspiring against me, our eyes met as Egya continued to pull me away. I was walking out on his speech … and he saw me doing it.
Maybe I was also cursed?
UP, UP AND AWAY!
T he main campus was a roughly square gated area that covered a dozen or so acres in the middle of the city. Immediately surrounding campus were several buildings that played supportive roles to the education of a future generation. School-supply shops, buildings that housed more classrooms, the smaller libraries or study rooms, and student cafés, restaurants and bars.
The bookstore was the largest building adjacent to campus; an alleyway cut between it and the Faculty of Management building. Since the alleyway was between the bookstore and the lamest faculty building, I figured it would be empty.
I figured wrong.
Mergen was sitting there leafing through a basket of old books he probably got for pennies at some charity shop. From the way he scanned the pages, I figured he wasn’t finding much to eat in Harlequin romances, old Westerns and hard-boiled detective novels. Still, he wasn’t looking as emaciated as he’d been just earlier today, so I guess those old trash novels weren’t completely devoid of Truth.
That, or he was still getting nourishment from my little outburst earlier.
Mergen looked up as we walked by, and I considered ignoring him, but quickly realized that wouldn’t work. The hex was on me—me … and anyone considered my ally. Three of the mob following us had been on the receiving end when I defended the pale white rider, and one of them was sporting a broken nose from it. They’d see him as a bonus.
“Follow me,” I said. “Your life might just depend on it.”
“Mmm,” Mergen said, licking his lips. “Yes, it just might.”
I DREW the crowd into the alleyway, careful to pull them into the far end so that we—as in, my “gang”—were actually spilling out into the other exit. That way, I figured, they couldn’t sneak up on us and block off our escape route. I was hoping that this way we would get there and, seeing who showed up, I’d have a fairly good sense of who the killer was. We’d fight—maybe. Normally I’d think this would digress into some posturing, a bit of blustering bravado, insults and maybe a few shoves, before fizzling out into nothing. After all, these kids didn’t want to get into a fight any more than we wanted to have one. Unless maybe their leader was going for a record and wanted his nose broken again.
But we were hexed—which means they were compelled to attack.
No worries, I thought—I’d already seen how Egya could handle himself, and Deirdre was a born warrior. Mergen was my only concern, and he was the freaking avatar of the Turkish god of war and wisdom.
“I think this is far enough,” said Broken Nose, and in this dark alley, that ridiculous nasal voice was even more comical. “We don’t want to be on the main road and attract the wrong kind of attention, right?”
So let’s let the blustering bravado begin, I thought.
Egya and a couple of the hockey minions chuckled at this. So they weren’t so far under the spell that they didn’t see the absurdity of the situation. Good, I thought, silently this time, I can work with that.
I stared at an asshole who, when unhexed, had wanted to pummel a poor defenseless Other for the crime of being different. Hexed asshole and unhexed asshole were pretty much the same guy—just minus any inhibition, common sense or fear. A fight was coming. I knew it. He knew it. Everyone here knew it. Which meant there were really only two questions left to be answered.
Was the guy (or gal) responsible for the hex in the crowd?
And how long until my side ran?
I scanned the crowd. As far as I could tell, everyone was human. A hex—as powerful as it was—needed magic. And since magic had left with the gods, a human conjuror was out. Sure, in the old days, a human witch, shaman, warlock or mage could have cast a spell like this, but he (or she) would have sold their soul to a demon, fae or whatever malevolent spirit said spellcaster ascribed to. But those days were gone (as was evident by my lost appetite for blood), so that meant the caster would have to be an Other.
And there were no Others in the crowd.
The only Others here were on my side, and despite desperately wanting to be human—with all their idiosyncrasies and pettiness—I was on theirs.
All I saw were the three assholes from yesterday and three more of their hockey friends, a group of cheerleaders, four goth kids (of everyone I saw, you’d think they’d be on our side at least) and—crap—one of Justin’s frat brothers. I didn’t know his name, but he had been there when Nate teased us.
>
Of everyone here, he was the only one who knew me—well, knew of me. He knew his O3 Bro and I were flirting and that he’d have a lot of explaining to do if he went back to the dorm with my blood on his hands. Maybe I could use that.
“So,” I said, “how does this start?”
“That’s a great question,” Broken Nose answered. “Since it’s going to end with your funeral, and since civility didn’t leave with the gods, I’ll let you tell me how this all starts.”
“We could not do this,” I offered.
“Oh, no,” he said, sneering. “This is happening.”
Mergen affirmed this by smacking his lips in agreement. Guess this guy ate Truth even when it was being served up with a beating.
“Why?” I said, ignoring the Truth of the situation. “Come on—you have to feel that this is wrong, don’t you?” I gestured at the crowd. “Why do you all hate me so much? Most of you don’t even know me. And as for you—the only person who kind of knows me—” I pointed at Justin’s friend “—am I really that bad of a person that I deserve what’s about to happen?”
Reasoning with the angry mob—if only Frankenstein, Dracula, Quasimodo or the Beast had thought of trying. They probably had … and then took one look into the mob’s rage-filled eyes and opted for the fight-or-flight options.
Justin’s friend gave me a regretful look before lowering his head. “Ah, Justin … Justin really likes you.”
I looked at Mergen for confirmation, but he just shrugged. I guess when it comes to matters of the heart, Truth is murky. “Still,” I thought, “given that this guy is being compelled to hurt me, I’m going to give his revelation the benefit of the doubt—Justin likes me. Yay!”
“Ahh, Kat—this is not the time,” Egya whispered in my ear.
“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”