Malevolent (The Puzzle Box Series Book 1)

by K. M. Carroll

  Please spare Libby.

  Chapter 5

  Libby

  Despite the pouring rain, I ventured out the next morning to find Mal.

  It seemed like I walked miles out to the garage to get the golf cart. I wore a coat, and over that a raincoat, and the cold still ate into my vitals. Yesterday's energy was a half-remembered dream. Had I really walked all the way out to the bee station, and then the blueberry field, where I had dumped Robert? The thought of attempting all that now made me want to crawl back in bed. I had forgotten my knife, too, and couldn't bear going back for it.

  I left Suki at home, and drove through the dripping, muddy orchard to the bee station. It was a gray, rainy day, just cold enough for a veil of mist to hug the horizon. A good day to stay indoors with a cup of hot tea and a book. Maybe after this visit, that's what I'd do. All I needed was a little honey.

  Mal was the only beekeeper to brave the weather that day. His scarecrow frame was draped in a brownish raincoat, and he wore rubber boots. He scrubbed at the pavement with a push broom, flinging chunks of muddy water off the concrete slab. As I pulled up, he stopped and regarded me from under his dripping hood.

  I sat with both hands on the steering wheel and listened to the rain drumming on the cart's roof. I didn't want to stand out there in the wet. But before I could force my mouth to form the words, Mal walked to the cart, broom in hand. "Hello. How are you today, Libby?"

  His eyes were gray-green, like the rain. His hair was slick and dark with moisture under the hood, and bruises colored his left cheekbone purple and yellow. He reached the cart, pushed back his hood a little and stared at me.

  He exhaled softly, "Oh."

  I held out my bandaged hand. "I broke up with Robert yesterday. He bit me in revenge. But all I need is a little more honey, and I'll be okay."

  Mal set his broom against the cart and took my hand. His cold fingers gently rubbed the bandage, and his eyebrows drew together in a sad, hopeless look. "I'm afraid ... I have no more honey."

  My hopes snuffed like a candle flame. "No more? For real?"

  "Robert attempted to exterminate my bees yesterday. I had to feed them my last honey to ensure their survival." His voice was soft and sympathetic.

  I pulled my hand away and sat back in the seat to stare at the rain. Volcanic heat rose inside my chest. If only I'd stabbed my ex-boyfriend when I'd had the chance. "Blast you, Robert."

  Mal pointed to the passenger seat. "Mind if I sit down?"

  "Go ahead." I wasn't exactly comfortable with him so close, but once he was seated, I found that I didn't mind him. He folded his hands in his lap and gazed at them.

  "My bees will gather more honey, of course. But it will be the end of March before I can harvest it."

  My heart sank a little lower. March! And here it was only the second week of February. "What about the other hives? Do any of them have extra?"

  "Even if they did, it would not help you."

  "Why not?"

  Mal didn't answer. He gazed at the dripping trees instead, and I had a clear view of his battered face.

  "What happened to you?"

  The corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. "My brother was interrupted in his bee genocide."

  "I hope you pounded him."

  "Yes."

  The quiet, final way he said it implied Robert had come off worse. A savage corner of my mind pumped a fist--the part that gloated over headshots. Funny, I had no remorse about breaking up with Robert. No more dealing with him hanging around and smothering me with long hugs and kisses.

  "I think you're right about him being a vampire. He's bitten me before. Sneakily, so I didn't catch on."

  Mal nodded. He was too thin to be handsome, but his pointed nose and chin kept me looking at him. Maybe, if he took better care of himself, and got some clothes that weren't second-hand, he might look more human.

  He studied me with his rain-colored eyes. "Do you believe in the supernatural?"

  "I believe in Jesus. Not sure about vampires, though."

  He let out a breath, as if he'd been holding it. "I share your belief in Christ. Unfortunately, I also know empirically that vampires exist."

  The way he mentioned Jesus and vampires in the same breath sent a cold shudder through me. "Not sure I follow, about the vampire thing." I looked at my bandaged hand. "So, you're a Christian?"

  "I was."

  "What are you now?"

  He didn't answer for a long moment, but his eyebrows again had a mournful slant to them. "I am under judgment."

  "For what?"

  "That, I cannot explain so easily."

  Silence stretched between us. I puzzled over him--he used to be a Christian, and now was being judged, but for what? Maybe it was that crime that had gotten him sent to jail.

  "Well, I asked God about you, and he gave me the jars of clay verse."

  Mal's eyebrows rose, and his eyes turned green. "Really now. What verse is that?"

  I read it off my smartphone. "However, we possess this precious treasure in frail vessels of earth, that the grandeur and exceeding greatness of the power may be shown to be from God and not from ourselves."

  He sat back in the seat and stared at his hands in his lap. His eyes misted, and for a moment I thought he was going to cry. "That is ... beautiful." His voice was suddenly raspy.

  A lump formed in my throat. I hadn't expected a Bible verse to make both of us weepy. I patted his shoulder. "Don't cry. You'd get me crying, too."

  He drew a deep breath, wiped his eyes, and sat up. "You deserve an explanation, I think, about me, and Robert, and vampires. Then you will understand what such a verse means to me."

  I swallowed. "I haven't made up my mind about the vampire thing. Still ... I mean, Robert bit me."

  Mal nodded, and his eyes smiled. His mouth even curled a little. "Do you believe quantum particles exist?"

  I blinked. "Sure, but that's science."

  "Are you aware that the Earth is constantly bombarded by cosmic radiation?"

  Where was he going with this? "Yeah. It causes clouds to form, doesn't it?"

  He raised an approving eyebrow. "Yes. Very good. What science has not discovered is that a secondary particle accompanies the rays. I call them life motes, but I do not fully understand them. They are absorbed and metabolized by plants, and ingested by animals."

  "Life motes?" My turn to raise an eyebrow. "Is this going to be a discussion about chi?"

  He almost-smiled again. "No. It is difficult to harness the power in the motes, but various people have found ways. Motes respond to observation and interaction. Some call them magic."

  "Whoa, whoa." I held up both hands. "You're not going to tell me that your bees harvest magic and make honey out of it." I couldn't keep the sarcasm out of my voice. We'd gone from the supernatural I could believe to the supernatural I couldn't.

  But he simply fixed me with his strange eyes. "It made you well, did it not?"

  "Sure, but honey has nutrients and stuff. You told me, yourself."

  He turned away and watched the raindrops splatter on the cart's hood.

  I waited for him to respond. The longer he sat there, the more I had time to think about what I'd said. My knee-jerk reaction hurt his feelings. And what if he was right? Science was always finding new particles. Was it so hard to believe there were life motes? I mean, quantum physics might as well be black magic.

  I sighed. "Okay, for the sake of argument, let's say I believe you. Do all bees gather this stuff?"

  "No." He continued in his patient tone as if I had not been rude. "I have specially bred my bees to detect and gather motes. They are, therefore, of inestimable value. The honey they produce has a variety of uses, including curing my brother's victims."

  I couldn't believe this--it was too fantastic. His explanation fit the observed facts--but what an explanation! If this mote thing was real, I'd just stepped out of my familiar world into Neverland. A shiver ran through me, and my cold hands turned a
degree colder. I had a sudden urge to leap out of the cart and run.

  Yet--precious treasures in frail vessels. God had already told me that he made the motes--Mal only used them.

  But, by extension, that made vampires real, too.

  I struggled to voice the nameless fear rising in me. "Will I--will I turn into a vampire?"

  Mal looked at me, and his eyes dimmed to ash. "No. You will be only a thrall."

  His tone sent fresh jitters through me. "A what?"

  "A being under the power of another." He gazed at the beehives in the near distance. "It has to do with the motes--all particles have a positive and a negative charge. A negative life mote is, of course, a death mote. Creatures like Robert are awash in death motes, and transfer them to their victims in their saliva."

  He laid a hand on my bandaged hand. "You are suffering much damage from the death motes in your blood. While the honey tipped you back toward recovery, Robert's bite extracted them. He feeds upon the life motes in other beings."

  I tucked my hands inside my warm coat. I couldn't believe this stuff--it was too fantastic--but particles with positive and negative charges made sense. These particles happened to be charged with life or death. Despite my chill, I was sweating with tension. "The doctors said I have Valley Fever."

  "Then my honey should not have affected you."

  I opened my mouth and shut it again. It had made me well for one glorious day. I couldn't deny it. And Robert's bite had immediately made me sick--then Robert tried to kill the bees.

  Robert's actions made no sense--unless Mal was telling the truth.

  He slid out into the rain. "Come. I will show you the motes themselves."

  My curiosity was stronger than my weakness from the cold. I climbed out into the rain and followed him.

  Mal

  Libby reeked of death. Robert had recently fed upon her, certainly. I could not fathom how she still lived, other than sheer force of will.

  Despite her condition, she brought me word from God himself that I had not been forsaken. Judged, yes--but still a frail vessel of precious treasure. It was like a divine hug. And I, who had condemned myself to loneliness and silence, found my hopes unexpectedly growing.

  Perhaps, despite my condition, there is yet a way that I might be restored.

  I now owed Libby a debt of gratitude. I must heal her, if only to lend aid to a brave soul who had fought the corruption for so long.

  My trunk hid among the hives, appearing as one of them until I opened it. Inside, among other oddments and my puzzle box, was my particle viewer. It resembled a small telescope with several seashells tied to it, although its inner workings were far more delicate than that. It was wrapped in a plastic garbage bag. I lifted the telescope out into the rain, shielding it with my raincoat, and examined the nearest hive with it.

  The bees appeared as spots of bright yellow light. Dusty golden particles swirled around them. More light glowed from inside the hive, where the colony was spinning pollen into gold. The light was not as bright as I would have liked, but they were recuperating from their poisoning.

  I beckoned to Libby. She looked through the telescope, and gasped. "It's all glowy! That's what life motes look like?"

  "Yes." My heart swelled with pride. I had never shown anyone my bees through the viewer. I was revealing one of my secrets--one that I had wrested from the Marchers themselves.

  Deep in my heart, however, uncertainty ate at me. Trust few. Yet I was trusting Libby with the secret of magic. Perhaps I was truly making a fatal mistake.

  Libby was unaware of my struggle. She stepped back from the viewer and gaped at me. "You should write papers on this for the science journals! This is amazing!"

  I nodded, now weighing every word I spoke. "There is a dark side. Hold your hand in front of the lens." I adjusted the focus.

  Libby examined her injured hand through the viewer, and recoiled, squinting as if she had been given a close-up look of roadkill. She looked at it with unaided eyes, then again consulted the viewer. "There's black junk on my skin--like mold on bread. That's what death motes look like?"

  "Yes. It is ... unpleasant."

  She gazed at me for a long moment, as if thinking, the viewer in her hands. "You know, I didn't think I would believe you. But here's the proof--life and death motes, and the way that honey made me feel. I keep trying to argue against it, and I can't."

  I shrugged. "Why would I lie to you? I have nothing to gain." And everything to lose. Why had I told her so much?

  She hefted the viewer. "Have you ever looked at Robert with this?"

  "Yes. He appears as a black, rotten mass. It is little wonder he spreads sickness wherever he goes. He is like an uncovered septic wound."

  Her jaw clenched. "Well, he's not going to kill me." Her fierce determination boosted the vitality in her blood, and for a moment, golden motes gleamed through the blackness that covered her. I swayed backward by instinct, keeping enough distance between us so that I did not draw on that iota of life.

  Her fighting spirit had kept her alive. In all my life, I had never met anyone able to fight death itself in such a way.

  In one fatal second, I began to admire her. I blame the proximity of the puzzle box.

  Libby turned the viewer to examine the other hives. "Your bees are much brighter than the rest. Except those four on the end--they have black around them."

  Oh no. I took the viewer and looked. Four hives had nearly ceased to glow, and black motes swarmed around the entrances like gnats.

  "I did not replace those hive boxes," I muttered. "Now I see that I should have."

  "Won't the rain wash off the poison?"

  "Yes, but the motes are targeting weakened bees. And my honey is gone." I replaced the viewer inside the trunk--it would not do for Libby to inspect me--and knelt beside the hives to listen.

  The colony's songs were discordant, almost painful to my ears. I said softly, "Queens and subjects, what must I do to help you?"

  "More life, more life," they sang. "Honey?"

  "I'm sorry, but there is no more, and my salve is unfit for your consumption."

  They hummed, then trilled, "This is a good place. You can draw on its life."

  I sighed and bowed my head. Ever I was forced to call upon my own black power, and ever it attempted to consume my last shreds of humanity.

  I returned to the trunk. Libby watched me, arms folded, rain pattering on her coat. "Did the bees say something?"

  I had already told her too much. I shrugged and dug into the trunk's contents. I shoved things on top of the puzzle box, as if hiding it from sight could minimize its humanizing effect on me.

  "You spoke to those bees and they answered you. I just couldn't understand them."

  My arm arrested in its search. She had heard them speak. No one ever heard that. What could it mean? Was she simply observant, or did she have a natural penchant for magic? Perhaps there was a reason Robert had targeted her.

  Beneath the rigid logic that kept me following my creed, my loneliness cried out for her companionship. I desired to tell her everything, there in the rain among my bees, but I held my tongue in check. I had ruined my own life before through too much talk--I was not foolish enough to do it again. A secret, once told, was no longer a secret, and betrayal was a breath away.

  "Yes, I understand my bees. I've grown adept at interpreting their innate language."

  That was all she needed to know.

  I withdrew several items from the trunk. An iron rod, a stick of chalk, and a box of powdered rowan berries. I would not be able to pass this off as science. "You should go. It is cold, and you are ill."

  "I want to help. It's my fault he hurt your bees."

  I rose to my feet and met her eyes. Dark, vibrant eyes, either gray or brown. Brown hair fell in wisps from under the hood of her raincoat, delicate and soft. Her face, while gaunt from illness and nearly as pale as myself, still burned with life. The very thing I had lost so long ago.

 
My resistance gave way. I kicked myself for it, but the girl had bewitched me. I exhaled through pursed lips. "Very well. Watch and do not touch."

  I drew circles around all four hives, murmuring to my bees to remain inside. The wet pavement turned my chalk to a smear of white. Then I marked the compass points with rowan powder that instantly soaked up the rain. I walked clockwise around each hive, touching the iron rod to each point, and pushing a burst of powerful, magnetic death magic into each one.

  At the conclusion of each circle, the chalk and powder fizzed away into nothing. The magic drew life through the ground from the surrounding orchards and fields. A tiny amount, comparatively, but enough to heal each colony. The ground inside the circle grew warmer.

  Libby inhaled deeply. "Whatever you're doing, it's making me feel better."

  I studied her in my peripheral vision. I could better see mote concentrations that way. Golden light swirled into her diseased, blackened body, and some of the black peeled away.

  She had a magical affinity, certainly. Perhaps enough to be a Marcher. But what did I know of such things? I, who learned from stolen books and by spying on secret ceremonies, until captured and punished ... but they could not strip my memories.

  I inhaled and mentally shook myself. It did no good to dwell on the past.

  Libby walked to each hive and listened to the hum inside. "They sound normal again. What did that do, anyway? Could you draw a circle around me and heal me?"

  I stroked my chin. "I honestly do not know. Your problem is more extensive than theirs."

  Three bees landed on my shoulder and sang in my ear. "She could be healed at a place we have found. We could show you."

  I nodded at Libby. "The next sunny day we have, I will attempt it. I must do research, however."

  Her face lit in a smile that quickened my pulse. Emotion quivered inside me--new, raw, frightening emotion. Blast the puzzle box and its positive emotions! I must find a more distant hiding spot for it.

  She stepped forward and held out a hand. "Friends?"

  My heart lurched as I shook her cold hand. "Friends."