Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Identity

by Lydia Sherrer

  He liked to stay focused on the important stuff.

  Unfortunately, there was quite a bit of danger and possibly death between him and the completion of his list, so if he ever wanted to eat Kentucky Fried Chicken in its native environment, he had to survive his current task, which was interpreting Mallory’s laconic directions to Mega Caverns. There were many things Mallory excelled at, but being a navigator on a road trip was not one of them.

  “So, I take a left here?”

  “Right.”

  “Wait, I take a right?”

  Silence.

  “Glaring at me doesn’t help, Mallory, just tell me which way to turn!”

  “Turn right, you idiot!”

  Sebastian stomped on the brake and jerked the wheel right, turning from the busy Poplar Level Road to a small and rather unimpressive street called Taylor Avenue. They passed an abandoned grocery store on their left, and a few little houses on their right, before the road started slanting down and the scenery on either side changed to small businesses and corporate offices. It looked like any typical business park, except there was more grass and less green—Kentucky had much fewer coniferous trees than Georgia, and Sebastian’s mood wasn’t helped by the multitude of depressingly brown and naked branches. The lack of evergreen trees also meant less places to hide from a certain pair of roaming, magical eyes.

  “Slow down,” Mallory said. “We’re getting close.”

  “Kip, get up here and tell me if you sense that nosey raven,” Sebastian called to the backseat.

  With a graceful leap, Sir Kipling landed in Mallory’s lap—much to her displeasure.

  “I’m not your cushion, cat. Find your own seat.”

  I AM NOT YOUR DOG, HUMAN. FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO ORDER AROUND.

  Sebastian bit down on a laugh and focused on finding somewhere to pull over and park so he didn’t have to keep taking his eyes off the road to read the cat’s words.

  “Which direction is the Mega Cavern?” he asked Mallory.

  She pointed to the left, so he turned right and pulled into the parking lot of some local community center. There wasn’t much cover to be had, but he parked underneath a tree leaning out over the far corner of the parking lot. At the very least, it made the car harder to spot from the air, though he had no idea if John Faust’s raven would recognize his aunt’s car anyway.

  “All right, Kip, give us the lowdown.”

  It was getting dark, but the words above Sir Kipling’s head glowed faintly, so neither of the humans had any trouble reading them in the dimness.

  THE RAVEN IS CLOSE. The cat’s head swiveled, then stopped. THAT DIRECTION. IT IS NOT MOVING.

  “Right. How do you want to do this, Mallory?”

  “Oculus will be watching the front entrance and probably doing intermittent sweeps of the area. We won’t need to worry about spells my father has left to detect wizards, and there are too many mundanes around to make standard detection spells useful. But there will be surveillance cameras down at the mine.”

  “Great, so we have to hide from Oculus and from whatever poor bloke is just doing his job at the front gate.”

  Mallory nodded. “For now. Let’s get closer on foot and see if we can spot the raven without him spotting us. It can see in the dark, so dusk will be the best time to surprise it.”

  They piled out of the car and Mallory got to work strapping on various pieces of gear. They were both dressed in dark clothing—Mallory had demanded “dark” over “black,” since pure black was more noticeable at night than muted shades of brown, blue, and gray. Her clothes were the color of deep shadow, strikingly similar to Sir Kipling’s own gray coat, and she cut a sleek figure in her form-fitting “ninja” clothes—complete with tight gloves and a headwrap that covered everything but her eyes. Sebastian was much less impressive in navy-blue sweats turned inside out to hide their Atlanta Braves logo.

  After rummaging around in the trunk, Mallory handed him a compact, tactical-looking backpack, and he obediently slung it across his back and tightened the straps. Once it was situated, she showed him the clever compartment in the bottom where his revolver was holstered. The gun was held in place by a hard, molded clip which would release if he gave the gun’s grip a hard tug. Mallory made him pull it out and replace it over a dozen times until she was satisfied he could do it without dropping the gun or accidentally pressing the trigger.

  Finally, she donned her own backpack and opened one of the hard cases to withdraw a very odd-looking object.

  “Is that...a paintball gun?” Sebastian asked, incredulous.

  Mallory didn’t answer, simply shut the trunk of the car and nodded to Sir Kipling, who sat by one of the back tires. The cat trotted off across the parking lot and Mallory followed at a brisk walk. Shaking his head, Sebastian started after them, feeling naked and vulnerable without the familiar, if uncomfortable, tingle of fae magic in the back of his awareness.

  Sir Kipling led them through a small patch of woods on the far side of the community center, then across Taylor Avenue and into another stand of trees that surrounded the parking lot of a car repair shop. Here, the cat slowed down and began to creep along, using the rows of cars awaiting repair as cover.

  Finally, Sir Kipling stopped and crouched beside a low-slung sports car whose bright-red paint job was dulled by the creeping dusk. The streetlights on Taylor Avenue had yet to come on, and there was no sign of a lamp pole anywhere in the repair shop’s small parking lot, so they were as hidden as they were going to get.

  Sebastian and Mallory crouched by Sir Kipling and watched closely as more golden letters appeared, though these were very small and stayed near the cat’s head.

  THE RAVEN IS SOMEWHERE IN THE TREES BEYOND THIS CAR.

  Mallory nodded and dug in her backpack, then pulled out a black cylinder that she put to her eye. Sebastian realized it was a monocular, probably with night vision if Mallory expected it to help her in this low light. He remained crouched as she raised her head just enough to peer through the car’s windows toward the stand of trees beyond. It was difficult keeping still as he waited. The tense urgency in every muscle demanded action, so he occupied himself with scratching Sir Kipling under the chin to distract himself.

  After a good five minutes, Mallory finally sank back down on her heels and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I found Oculus. Be ready to follow me out when I say go.”

  Mystified, Sebastian nodded as Mallory unslung her paintball gun, stuck a hand into her pack, and withdrew a black lump of cloth. She shoved it into Sebastian’s hands, then turned to crawl on hands and knees to the rear of the car. Once she had stretched out flat on the asphalt, she scooted until she could peer around under the bumper and aim her gun toward the trees. As she got into position, Sebastian shook out the cloth she’d given him and found it was a drawstring bag with something soft and lumpy inside. Sebastian was busy wondering what in the world it was when there was a soft click-click-click accompanied by puffs of air. Immediately, a raucous cawing erupted from the trees. There was another string of rapid-fire clicks, and then the cawing turned all warbly and garbled as it swiftly dropped from overhead to ground level.

  “Go!” Mallory said, and levered herself up to her feet, gun still in one hand. She was off in a flash and Sebastian and Sir Kipling sprinted to catch up. They quickly reached the edge of the woods where Mallory charged headlong into the underbrush, heading toward the angry croaks and sound of thrashing. Sebastian reached Mallory’s side just as she pointed her gun at the flopping form of Oculus and started pumping the trigger, sending a barrage of paintballs into the construct’s form. They burst in showers of liquid that coated the raven, but Mallory didn’t stop until the construct’s movements began to slow and it flopped over onto the leaves with a feeble squawk.

  “Did you just take that thing out with paintballs?” Sebastian whispered, awestruck and gleeful in equal measures.

  “Give me the bag,” Mallory snapped and knelt to pin the feebly struggling constr
uct to the ground.

  Sebastian handed it over and she withdrew a bundle of cloth strips. After shooing Sir Kipling away—the cat was busy sniffing the construct’s beak as it clacked open and closed in impotent rage—Mallory began winding the cloth tightly around it, using the first strip to secure its wings to its sides so it could no longer fly. By the time she was finished, her captive resembled not so much a raven as a mummy. She tied off the last strip, then stuffed the construct into the bag and slung it over her shoulder.

  “Come on.”

  They followed Mallory back to the Buick in relative silence. Sebastian was forced to bite down on his questions after he tried to speak and got only furious shushing motion from Mallory in response. Once they were at the car, Mallory opened the trunk and got out a plastic jug full of cloudy-looking liquid and a heavy-duty trash bag from one of her duffels. She put the captured construct in the bag, ignoring its muffled noises of protest, then poured the entire contents of the jug over it. Lastly, she tied off the bag and closed it up in the trunk, leaving the construct to soak in a bath of whatever-it-was by itself.

  “What was in those paintballs and that jug?” Sebastian asked, now that the construct was out of commission.

  He thought Mallory wasn’t going to answer, because she turned away and headed back the direction they had come. But when he caught up with her, she finally spoke.

  “Iron salts.”

  Ah. So that was it. He remembered the way Lily had used a spray bottle of iron salts dissolved in liquid to gum up some of John Faust’s spells back when they’d followed him to England. “Okay, that’s pretty nifty and all, but how did you know it would work on Oculus?”

  “I didn’t. But there was a good chance it would. A wizard’s best defense against mundanes has always been secrecy, because magic has weaknesses just like everything else. I’ve spent quite a long time finding out what those weaknesses are.”

  Okay, that wasn’t ominous at all.

  It still seemed too easy, but then there was no telling how long the iron salt’s effect would last. Also, it had been pure luck that the construct had been in a time and place where they could sneak up and hit it before it took flight—and by they he meant Mallory, who was obviously one heck of a shot. He wondered if John Faust had any idea of the enemy he had created, and reminded himself for the umpteenth time never to get on Mallory’s bad side.

  “So, the creepy bird can’t follow us around now, but I doubt Mr. Fancypants could have missed it squawking up a storm. He’ll know we’re coming.”

  “He’ll know something is wrong, but nothing more. That’s the best we can do.”

  “Okaaay. So, how many other tricks like that do you have up your sleeve?”

  Mallory didn’t answer, which Sebastian had more or less expected. But he noticed she still had her paintball gun, letting it hang from its cross-body harness so that her hands were free. There was no telling if it would do them any good against a wizard, but Sebastian thought seeing John Faust hit in the face with a few dozen paintballs would be worth the risk of finding out.

  They were about to cross Taylor Avenue again when Sebastian felt an uneasy lurch in his stomach. He stopped, brow furrowed as he stared at his left hand where he wore the Dee family ring. His hand was tingling with pins and needles, as if it had been numb and was now waking up. Was this one of its warnings?

  Sir Kipling’s sudden hiss made him react on instinct, and he pulled Mallory back away from the road to crouch behind a row of evergreen bushes.

  “What is it, Kip?” he whispered.

  But the cat didn’t need to answer, because a tingling on the back of his neck brought his head up. He spotted a pickup truck with a tarp-covered bed approaching from the direction of the main road. Sometime during their trip back to the Buick, the sky must have darkened enough to finally trigger the streetlights, and in their glow he recognized the driver of the truck.

  It was one of Roger’s witches—the big one with muscles like iron bands. Sebastian couldn’t see much of his face, but his dark, tattooed hands gripping the steering wheel were unmistakable.

  The truck was almost level with them when a sudden idea struck.

  “Kip, can you jump in the back of that truck and follow the witch without being seen?”

  Before his question was even finished, the cat was off like a shot. Sebastian could barely discern his shadowy form as he raced diagonally toward the road, trying to catch the truck. Unfortunately, the vehicle was going too fast.

  “He’s not going to make it,” Mallory said. “But the road curves up ahead and the entrance to the cavern is just over there beyond those trees. He should be able to jump in when the truck stops to go through the security gate. Come on.”

  Running at a low crouch and hoping the witch didn’t look in his rear-view mirror, Sebastian sprinted across the road with Mallory. Sir Kipling, who had slowed and turned around when it was clear he wasn’t going to catch up to the truck, quickly joined them. Sebastian relayed Mallory’s words in a few short pants, and all three of them raced across the repair shop parking lot and into the trees behind. Barely a dozen yards in, Mallory abruptly stopped and grabbed the back of Sebastian’s sweatshirt, nearly choking him when her grip jerked him to a halt.

  “What the—”

  “There’s a cliff, dummy.”

  And indeed there was. In the darkness, Sebastian wouldn’t have seen the abrupt drop-off in time to stop himself careening over the edge and down to a grisly death.

  “Geez, thanks for warning me,” he bit out, trying not to grit his teeth at the pain in both his ribs and now in his neck. But Mallory didn’t appear to hear him, as she was too busy giving Sir Kipling rapid instructions.

  “Over there to the right, the limestone cliff has trees and brush growing on it where the slope leads down to a small lake they left from the original mine. You can scramble down there and over to the entrance. Hurry!”

  Without a word Sir Kipling dashed off, his paws making only a soft pat-pat-pat in the leaves for a few seconds before he disappeared into the underbrush.

  Having been left once again with nothing to do but wait, Sebastian decided to stave off his anxious impatience by doing a little scouting. He crept to the edge of the cliff and found a sturdy sapling to hold onto as he peered out over the edge. Seventy feet below him was the paved entrance to the Mega Cavern, with security lights bathing it and the parking lot beyond in a golden glow. More than a dozen cars were still parked in scattered spaces—Mallory had mentioned on the way up that the tourist portion of the cavern didn’t close until ten or so. A gated fence surrounded the parking lot, blocking off access to several other gaping holes in the sheer limestone walls. Apparently the old mine had multiple entrances, but only one of them must have led to the section that had been converted into warehouses, because only the entrance directly below him had all the security bells and whistles.

  As his eyes swept the parking lot, taking in the layout, a set of headlights rounded the bend where the entrance road curved up an incline and away to become Taylor Avenue. The headlights soon turned into the pickup truck the witch was driving, and Sebastian watched as it slowed and came to a stop just underneath the cliff’s overhang. As soon as it was stationary, a gray shadow detached itself from the bushes growing along the cliff’s base and whisked underneath the overhang and out of Sebastian’s sight.

  Satisfied, Sebastian pulled back from the cliff’s edge and returned to Mallory, who was leaning, motionless, against one of the dark trees.

  “He’s in. I guess all we can do now is wait.” And hope, though he didn’t say that out loud.

  ***

  Waiting was excruciating. As the minutes dragged by, Sebastian’s impatience built exponentially until he had to start pacing to keep himself sane. Soon, he had worn a little trail in the underbrush where they had hidden themselves. Mallory, of course, sat motionless the entire time, leaning back against her tree. After nearly an hour had passed, however, she must have decided h
e’d brooded long enough, because she rose and made him practice his basic attacks and blocks she’d taught him the day before. When he complained that there was barely room to move among the trees, she told him to adapt to the environment and that the difficulty would build his character. Unsurprisingly, that did not improve his mood, and he simmered in silence as he practiced. At least he was doing something constructive, and he did need these skills, even if it was going to be a pain in the butt—and every other part of him, it seemed—to learn them well enough to count for something. On the bright side, the movement warmed him up, which was nice since Kentucky was considerably colder than Atlanta. If he ever came back to eat fried chicken or ride a zipline, it was definitely going to be in the summer.

  Eventually Mallory made him stop and sit down to drink some water and eat a few of the sandwiches and snack bars Mrs. Singer had wisely packed for them. When they finished and Sir Kipling had still not returned, Mallory told him to stay put while she headed off to scout. Sebastian would have rather stumbled around in the dark next to a cliff than be left alone to wait, but he didn’t bother mentioning that to Mallory. Someone had to stay to meet Sir Kipling when he returned, and Sebastian was man enough to admit that his sneaking skills weren’t as good as Mallory’s, even if he could be perfectly silent with his ring. Mallory disappeared with barely a rustle of leaves, and Sebastian was left with only his thoughts for company.

  That, as he had learned over the past few days, was a dangerous thing.

  Being in the middle of a large city, the sky wasn’t exactly pitch black, even among the trees. Plus, the lighting from the Mega Cavern’s parking lot down below provided a bright-enough ambient glow that Sebastian could see the outline of the trees around him. It was still dark, however, and ever since his disastrous dabbling in the demonic all those years ago, he had grown to hate the dark. The voices in his head had always been worse at night, in the dark, when he was alone.