Life’s a Witch

by Skyler Andra

  A familiar heat rose between us. Every stroke of his hand along my skin coaxed it brighter and hotter. Despite the danger, of wanting to leave this place and stay away from these criminals, I couldn’t tear myself away him. His hands tangled in my hair, gently pulling, tilting my head back so he could kiss my neck. He sucked on my lower lip running his tongue across exploring me with a tenderness.

  Fuck. I was giddy from his touch. A torrent of need filled me, and I sucked on his bottom lip, eliciting a deep and husky groan. He tasted, like hazelnuts and cinnamon.

  No. No stop Astra. The angel on my shoulder reminded me.

  Tor was unpredictable, risky and forbidden, and the smart thing would have been to run like hell, but each soft and sensual kiss dragged me deeper under his spell. Those damn hands, his fingers digging into my arm with a gentle pressure, the circles he traced on my back, worked their magic on me.

  Oh, wow. This was such a bad idea. I’d opened a door I might not be able to close. Tor looked like the hero in every wet dream I ever had, and I was filled with a desperate urge to deepen our kiss and encourage more from him. Training be dammed. I only wanted to stay right here with him. All day and night.

  But then he groaned, pulling his hands from my hair, and rolling onto his back, his breaths heavy.

  No. More please. Tor had an inviting warmth that drew me in, making me want to get even closer. Like straddle his lap closer.

  I shifted onto my side, propping my head in my hand.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “We’re late, and Knoxe is not gonna be pleased.”

  Fuck. Way to drench the fire. Like spray it with a fire truck drenching.

  Tor stroked my face and then kissed my forehead. “After training, I’m gonna kill Devon for what he did.”

  Everything that had happened last night came back in a hurricane force I pressed a hand to my neck. Bandages. The evidence.

  Oh, fuck.

  The warden’s voice tolled in my head. You’ve started a war. Things are going to get ugly. This was just the beginning.

  Chapter 24

  Pascal

  My skull ached, desperate for another tuning, to calm the harsh, solid and unnatural noises besetting my senses. I clasped my head and rocked back and forth. The thud of other prisoners, their mindless chatter, grunted threats, clanging iron, shouting guards all combined to drive me into a pit of madness and despair.

  Gangster rap thumped a few cells down and I cringed. Rap and all the nasty lyrics, carried a dark potency that scratched and distressed my system. I needed the peace and quiet of nature, the buzz of bees, whoosh of wind through trees, and burble of water. Anything but the clatter inside the prison. This morning it was even more painful than usual when combined with my headache.

  The metal cell door clanged, and I jolted. A sentry had opened my cell for me to get ready for breakfast, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t function.

  “Get up.” Not my usual sentry. This one was new. “Eat breakfast.”

  “I’m not hungry.” I grabbed my noise-cancelling headphones from the seat beside my bed.

  Last night had unsettled me more than usual. Devon had followed through on his threat from the dining hall and attacked Astra in her cell. Sensitive to frequency of any kind, I’d absorbed some of Devon’s dark menace and Astra’s panic and fear, and the powerful mix of emotions had upset the delicate balance of power inside of me, and I hadn’t slept at all. All night, I’d worried for her, trying to play a tune on my forks, only getting a weak flash of metal.

  I cranked up Beethoven’s symphony number nine. The notes blocked out the metallic, grinding din that woke me every morning. After two replays of the song, my body hummed like a violin string caressed by a fiddle, calling my senses to align and my focus to attention. Now, I could finally concentrate.

  From the pouch under my pillow, I removed my tone bars from my pocket, and they clinked on my palm. I struck my tuning fork, releasing a weak but soothing tone into the air again and again. The waves passed over and through me, penetrating my mind and nervous system.

  Music posters and abstract prints on my wall above my bed rustled from the slight breeze. No one had noticed my powers growing stronger, fighting the dampening effects of the prison. And no one would. I didn’t want to be put into The Hole or maximum security.

  I straightened other items moved by my magic, stacking the library books neatly on the shelf above my bed, righting a picture frame of my adoptive family, and returning the toilet roll that had fallen from the dispenser. Everything neat and sterile. I couldn’t handle mess.

  I stretched, taking a deep breath. Now I was ready for breakfast. I left my belongings in my room, locking the cell to protect them from thieves. Before breakfast, I had a shower and slid into my uniform, and then headed for the watchtower, ready to track the mothman.

  This tuning routine I practiced every morning, before sleeping, sometimes even during a mission. Tuning myself in mind and body to reduce the sensitivity of my extra sensory nerves. The effect was temporary, but it was necessary to suppress the responses as much as I could to remain useful to the team and the Guardians. But after the mission was over, I’d suffer, and this small action would cost me.

  It already cost me, in the form of sharp headaches. Every day they got worse, making it hard to concentrate, and difficult to direct my powers. My mistakes made Knoxe even moodier, and I didn’t know what else to do to ease my sensitive perceptions and the unwanted side effects of my condition.

  Raze and Knoxe were already in the watchtower, studying computer screens, pointing at different things and discussing them.

  When I entered, Knoxe commanded, “Pascal, track the ethereal lines.”

  He was firm and strict, and I responded well because I needed discipline to keep my routines established and my meltdowns in check.

  With a nod, I got to work, sat at a desk to study the glowing lines of veil energy on the magical parchment, crisscrossing in a grid pattern. First, I checked the location from yesterday where we’d lost the mothman near the football field. Two lines crossed a quarter of a mile to the east.

  I trailed the lines to this convergence, observing a deeper color and fuzziness to the energy. Signs of an opened portal, but not opened by magic. Normally, the veil lines were a bluish white like lightning. But some effect had darkened them. I studied this strange pattern, committing it to memory, then examined the rest of the map for something similar. Fives miles south, I found another portal amid a cluster of hangers at the airport.

  “Found something,” I mumbled and Knoxe got up to look. With my forefinger and thumb, I expanded the phenomena, the way someone would zoom in on an image on the computer. “Someone opened a portal there.”

  Knoxe gave me a stiff nod. “Good work. Let’s pack up and check it out.”

  Astra and Tor wandered into the room. Tor stood very close. Too close. I didn’t like anyone in my personal space.

  “You’re late.” Knoxe’s clipped words conveyed his displeasure. I only recognized it because it was the same tone my adopted mom used on me when I’d done something wrong and eventually learned what it meant.

  “Cut us some slack, boss.” Tor frowned so hard lines swathed his forehead. “Last night was a shit show.”

  Knoxe’s intensity lightened and he approached Astra, examining her. “Did that bastard hurt you?”

  Her eyes flickered open and shut a few times when he ran his fingers along her bandage. “Nothing that won’t heal.” Then she touched another spot on her arm where I assumed Devon had cut her.

  Knoxe clasped her upper arm. “If that bastard touches you again, you let me know.”

  Her little heart-shaped mouth turned up, lightening her gloomy face. “Okay.” She fiddled with her hands.

  “You all right to go on this mission?”

  “I just want out of here.”

  He nodded, holding onto her for longer than he should have. “All right.”

  I mimicked her, smiling, and she
gave me a little wave. My chest burned with a strange and warmth. I didn’t want Devon to hurt her again either. She’d stood up to that bully, and just like Knoxe and Tor, I’d do everything in my power to protect her. It’d take a few more tunings to get stronger, and then I could use my magic inside the prison.

  Knoxe slowly backed away, rubbing his forehead and putting a hand on his hip. “Um.” He glanced at my computer screen and that fire returned to his eyes. The dark one that craved Styx’s blood. “Pascal’s got a lead. Gear up, we’re checking it out.”

  ***

  “Everyone spread out.” Knoxe secured his weapon’s belt to his waist and the rest of us did the same.

  I studied the airport, the taxis and cars dropping off passengers, mainly fly in fly out miners and staff, a car rental facility for travelers, cafeteria and freight company. Rows of cars lined the parking bay, some stretching up to the Aero Club, Royal Flying Doctor’s Service and charter companies who did air tours of the region.

  “Tor, you’re with me this time. No more tricks.”

  Tor bent his head and nodded. “Yes, boss,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Astra and Raze, you’re with Pascal.” I straightened when Knoxe called her by her proper name. Something he’d not done since she’d arrived.

  Her expression froze as she stared at him.

  “Pascal, buddy.” I looked up at Knoxe’s kinder tone, one he only used when he was in a better mood. Ever since he’d touched Astra, his fierceness shifted into something lighter, something I didn’t quite understand without my full magic. “Scan the area, please.”

  Please? Wow. He never said that.

  I produced a string of tones. A crack of pain split down my forehead, and I winced. As each vibration returned to me, the ache intensified.

  Fuzzy images formed in my head. I struggled to concentrate and sort out the pictures and what they showed me. Outlines of buildings and blurred objects inside them.

  I blinked several times and squeezed my tone bars. Sometimes it helped me to channel my focus. The images sharpened somewhat. Aircrafts, hangers, a repair workshop, administration buildings, baggage claim and transport facilities. No mothman. I pressed a hand to my temple.

  “You okay there, buddy?” Tor pressed a hand to my shoulder.

  I jerked away. “Yeah.”

  “Pascal?” Knoxe pushed for an answer.

  “Hang on.” I held out a hand.

  I focused on the object shimmering in my mind, and I sent out another frequency to get a bigger picture. After a few moments, the image honed, and the undulating motion slowed, allowing me to decipher the sparkling remnants of a recent portal.

  “It’s not here,” I told Knoxe. “I think it transported out of here recently.”

  “Dammit.” Knoxe removed the magical parchment tucked between his belt and hip and unraveled it. He zoomed in our location, trailing the fuzzy fibers of the portal that signaled the gantii’s movement. “It’s at the old mining mullock heap.”

  “What the hell is it doing there?” Tor asked.

  “Get in the Impala.” Knoxe moved toward his vehicle.

  In ten minutes, we’d travelled south, and pulled up at Broken Earth Café, a building situated on the edge of the remnants left over from mining. Below, a departing train’s horn wailed as it carted away the mined silver, vibrating in my chest. Beyond that, I sensed the buzz of machines from industrial and commercial businesses. Behind us, I detected the wind brushing along the road cut into the gently sloping hillside. I turned to examine the brilliant orange rock, dusted with short desert bushes, leading up to the Starview Primitive Campsite.

  “Fuck, witnesses,” Knoxe muttered as he reattached his weapons belt.

  Sweat beaded on Astra’s forehead, and she swiped it away with the back of her hand.

  “Don’t get it on your uniform.” I handed her a few clean tissues from my pocket.

  “Thank you, Pascal.” She smiled and dabbed her forehead and upper lips.

  I preempted Knoxe’s order and struck my tone bars in all directions, sending out pulses of sound. Each strike hammered in my head, and I winced and bit my lip.

  “Buddy?” Tor touched my arm.

  I moved away a few paces. “I’m fine.”

  The images came back again. This time they informed me of a tall and fuzzy shape to our right. The mothman

  “It’s behind the memorial.” I pointed at the uneven metal panels, rusty in color, beyond the metal boardwalk leading to it.

  “Head out.” Knoxe motioned with his hand. “Let’s catch this mothman. We need this damn lead. I won’t have Devon’s clowns catch Styx.”

  We marched across the mullock heap, rune blasters ready, gin and tonic grenades in hand, and Raze carrying the magical netting trap. Our boots crunched on the uneven rocks beneath our feet.

  “Split up.” Knoxe and Tor headed straight ahead, jumped over the boardwalk to cross to the monument front on.

  Raze, Astra, and I approached from the side. Hot air blasted my face, smearing it with the dust from the ground. Sweat rolled down my forehead and upper lip. The sun beat down on me, and I squinted against the bright light. Every step heightened the pain in my head, and I had to stop for a moment, before continuing. Raze didn’t notice, or at least, he didn’t stop hunting to help me.

  Astra stopped and waited for me. “You okay?”

  “Fine.” I lied and grit my teeth.

  When we rounded the monument, Knoxe and Tor were waiting for us.

  “Where is it?” Knoxe asked.

  I used my tuning forks to do another scan. The pain this time was crippling, and I stumbled. Images flashed in my mind, but I couldn’t make sense of any of them. I glanced at my tuning forks. I didn’t understand. They were supposed to help ease my sensitivity and realign me.

  “I… I…” I spun three hundred and sixty degrees.

  “Pascal, what the hell is wrong with you?” Knoxe’s words were piercing and direct, like a viola, and I flinched.

  “I can’t find it.” I turned again, blinking the sweat out of my eyes, the thud so bad I couldn’t tell left from right.

  “Pascal?” Knoxe’s tone vibrated with impatience and annoyance. This contract meant a lot to him. I couldn’t afford to screw up. “Pascal?”

  Someone sniffed nearby me. I didn’t know who because I clenched my eyes shut and rubbed my brows.

  “He’s not well.” Astra’s soft and sweet tones calmed the tension in my head.

  “I smell the Marra Wugul,” Raze announced. “It’s over the hill in the campsite.”

  “Clear out.” Boots crunched as the team crossed to the location.

  I couldn’t move. The pain in my head was blinding. It blurred my vision, and I blinked. Something was wrong, and I didn’t know what to do.

  “Pascal?” Astra’s light strokes on my arm calmed my fiery nerves and aching forehead and temples.

  “Keep talking to me.” I panted.

  “Um. My mother and sister live back in Sydney.” She soothed the thumping inside me. “I have a dog, Bosco. He likes to eat duck poop.”

  “My dog did that too. ” I smiled at each word and tender arm massage. “The vet said it was natural.”

  She laughed, short and soft. “And I’ve got a cat called Rascal.” Each word, like musical notes on a flute, cleared the fog in my mind and stifled my headache. I liked her voice. “Umm. What else? My dad left when I was six and my mom never remarried.”

  My head and neck felt tender and raw, but nowhere near as painful. Her story cleared my vision, and I blinked hard and glanced at her. Lines scored Astra’s forehead, and she clenched her mouth tight. She squinted in the bright sunlight, which emphasized the blue of her eyes, and the orange streaks in her brown hair. Gosh, she was pretty. Kind, too.

  “Do you keep in contact with your dad?” She rubbed me a little harder at that question.

  “No. He remarried and had two other children.” She went quiet then.

  “I’m sorr
y.” I glanced down at her hand, suddenly surprised that I’d let her touch me.

  “It’s okay.” She stopped massaging me. “Hey, do you like punk music?”

  “No. It hurts. I like classical.”

  “Oh.”

  “Incoming. Get ready.” Knoxe’s voice came through the comms bracelet.

  She looked at me. “Are you okay?”

  I wiped my upper lip. “I think so.”

  “Three hundred feet south.” Another message over the comms.

  Astra and I spun to catch the mothman sailing down the landscape, chased by Raze, Tor and Knoxe.

  I readied my tone bars, despite the pain it would cost me to deploy my magic.

  Astra lifted her hands, ready to bring the gantii down.

  “Pascal Now!” Knoxe barked.

  The mothman swept towards us in a flutter of wings. Its red eyes burned into my brain.

  I squeezed my bars until it hurt. Then I let out a tune that blasted through the air with such power it knocked the mothman to the ground. The gantii leapt back to its feet, scratching at its eyes. Head pounding, I released a second blow, one that incapacitated the beast, and it crumpled to the ground, weakly scratching at the rocks and dirt.

  Astra’s power charged in preparation.

  Raze, Tor, and Knoxe dashed down the hill. Tor slipped and fell, sliding down the hill. Raze pushed ahead with abnormal speed. Knoxe hurried after him, pumping his arms and legs, but unable to keep up. When they were within range, Raze removed a net gun from his belt and shot out a magical blue mesh over the gantii, and it thrashed inside of it.

  “Get this thing back to the Guild for interrogation.” Knoxe seized the gantii’s feet. He waited for Raze to lift it underneath its arms. Soon, they were joined by a dusty Tor who helped hold the creature by the torso. Together, they all lifted the hulking gantii, carrying it to the car.

  Relieved that we caught it, I massaged the back of my head.