And when I needed his help the most? Where was good ol’ Dad? Getting myself to school each day and making sure I had a place to sleep and enough to eat, I could handle. At least most days. This was my last day as a twenty-two-year-old, for gods’ sakes. Most of my college-aged friends still had parents paying for everything. Zombies playing with my insides wasn’t something I even wanted to try to handle by myself.
“Will you at least tell me why you’re picking on me?” I asked, not caring much either way. “What did I ever do to you—wait, don’t answer that.” No response. “Seriously, dude, there are two questions floating around you unanswered. I think I deserve to know why this is happening.”
My patience—what little I had—disappeared, and my lethargy morphed into something very different as I refocused my remaining panic into anger. I had no desire to find out if the zombie liked the way I tasted. From out of nowhere, the cover of the last romance novel I’d read popped into my mind and destroyed what anger I’d mustered. I glared into the zombie’s golden eyes.
As the dim light hovering in the alleyway faded, I wondered if this was the end. I tried to relax. I closed my eyes and imagined my personal happy place—my local coffee shop, of course—and waited. Several minutes ticked by, and my eyes popped back open. The filthy alley and my new cheeseheaded friend were not going away.
A fierce flush of heat screamed through my body, and a sharp prickling sensation tumbled inside my gut. Thankfully, the effects from whatever the zombie had used to numb my body hadn’t disappeared completely. The thought of feeling everything he did upgraded my nausea level from merely uncomfortable to seriously severe. The twisting in my midsection made me wonder if he were tossing a salad as his hands dug and flipped my insides around.
Several of the flying bats dropped from above but bounced away before hitting the zombie’s head. A few minutes later more appeared as if hovering overhead. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t get to us. I let out a long sigh. At least something finally was going my way.
My thoughts turned back to dying. Didn’t people go numb as they died? Surely, my current discomfort was a sign death wasn’t in my immediate future. I also knew I should be in full-blown panic mode right now, but strangely, I felt almost tranquil.
“Would you please stop?” I moaned, not liking how my body jerked from side to side. My head fell sideways, and a warm glow surrounded everything lying about the alley floor. Tiny lights blinked behind the stinky garbage and boxes piled close to the brick walls. As my vision darkened, murky greens and blues fluctuated around the objects as the colors gradually intensified.
The bat things squealed. The zombie waved his arm, and they all fell to the ground. If they were dead, I couldn’t tell, nor did I care as I glanced back at the zombie. My wide eyes riveted on Cheesehead’s sudden aura, glowing brighter than anything else around us, covering him in golden light. Even though he appeared as if rats had gnawed on his body, overall, I was sort of shocked he didn’t look as bad as I’d first thought.
Wait a minute.
Zombies didn’t have heat, so he shouldn’t have an aura. They were cold and dead, hence the ooziness and holes where holes shouldn’t be. I narrowed my gaze, trying to get a closer look at the creature noodling inside me. For something with no muscle tone, he moved quite fast. His mouth made fishy noises, the swollen lips popping in and out like a guppy. I’d have puked if I could only make my body work right.
Whatever breath remained in my lungs hit a barrier somewhere near the middle of my throat. A heavy, miserable sensation hung over me, like a blanket snapped in the air, hovering for only a moment, then descending with an offering of safety. However, nothing about my current situation suggested a protective haven.
Cheesehead squeezed my hip. I met his gaze and found I could now lift my head a couple of inches from the ground. I might have to rethink my tormenter’s new nickname. The longer I stared at him, the holes in his face were more like pockmarks from bad acne than Swiss cheese. His glistening yellow eyes stared back.
I shivered from the sensation of being stalked by a wild animal. The trapped air burst through my clenched teeth as my head fell back onto the cold bricks. I tried to concentrate and failed at slowing my rapid breathing.
Alice’s rabbit hole had sucked me in . . . and I wanted out.
My head tilted to one side and I found myself staring at the building across the street. A sudden movement a few feet from the alley’s entrance caught my attention. The dirty bricks flew together and fell into a large swirling pattern in the wall, reminding me of a spinning pinwheel—something I’d loved making and playing with as a young girl. In seconds, the vortex grew into a circle covering most of the wall. At its center churned a foaming charcoal-colored mist.
My body shook as I tried to sit up, but the hand resting on my hipbone held me down. My eyes fastened on what now reminded me of a witch’s oblong cauldron, the thick, gray smoke billowing from its cryptic depth. Something wavered inside the surging hole and seemed to be coming toward us.
As the undulating figure drew closer, I made out a head and arms. Weirdly, the legs were covered by a dress . . . or maybe it was a robe. It was hard to tell in the dim light. The person’s quick, choppy walk seemed familiar, and my eyes ached from squinting as I tried in vain to see who it was. Holding my breath, ignoring my lungs as they screamed for relief, my eyes widened in alarm as one leg stepped through the hole followed by an entire body.
A knot formed in my throat. I couldn’t stop the painful gasp hiccupping through my compressed lips. Unfortunately for me, I recognized the man striding toward me. He seemed more put out than worried. Doesn’t bode well for me.
“Dad,” I squeaked. I stared at him wide-eyed, unable to blink; my eyelids had frozen open. “What’s going on? What have you done?”
My father stopped, towering above me. Deep in his black eyes lay an emotion I couldn’t decipher. His eyebrows bunched together, giving him a gruff, caveman look. His mouth twitched, and surprise flickered through me as the severity of his expression morphed into sadness.
His features softened. I’d almost forgotten how attractive my dad was. I hadn’t seen him in a while, but he hadn’t changed. At all. One would think by now he would have crows’ feet in the outer corners of his eyes and at least a few gray hairs. He had to be getting up there in years. This was the same face I had looked up to and worshiped when I was a young girl.
I hoped I inherited his genes. Seriously, what woman wanted gray hair?
I shook the notion off as I would an annoying fly. Yeah, the last few years hadn’t been easy, and I’d practically fended for myself. He hadn’t been around for school functions, proms, or anything else high schoolers did. Resentment? You bet. Losing Mom hadn’t been easy for either of us. From the look of things now, his job still came first—whatever his job was. Maybe one day I’d forgive him for practically abandoning me, but today wasn’t that day.
The tingling in my gut disappeared. I wanted to know what Cheesehead had done to me. I opened my mouth but hesitated. Something felt off. I sat in silence trying to figure out what had changed. The empty helplessness I’d carried inside me since my mom died was now gone. I frowned. My loneliness wasn’t it, though. Something else was different. No matter how hard I tried to discover what it was, the knowledge remained elusive. With my current luck, figuring it out probably wouldn’t be for the better.
In my very eventful life—all twenty-two years, eleven months, three weeks, and six days of it—I’d fought against the world, including myself. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. Made life hard and lonely. I never had many friends, and the few I did have had moved away to attend other colleges. I was lonely. Maybe with my birthday tomorrow, I’d turn over a new leaf. Snicker. Yeah, right. I continued to ignore my father and stared at the roiling clouds above me, wishing the calm autumn day would return, and
I could erase everything that had just happened.
Cheesehead reached over and grabbed my elbow, but his slimy hand slipped off with each try. I jerked away from the gross appendage and forced my sore body to sit up. Gingerly, I reached down and lifted my torn, bloodstained shirt. My stomach looked normal. No gaping hole, no dangling guts. The only proof remaining of what the zombie had done was a faint, zigzagging line bisecting my middle, which seemed to disappear as I watched. Instant healing . . . how weird. Was I hallucinating? Hallucinations would explain the bizarre Walking Dead figure staring at me.
My father’s strained tone broke through my dazed and rambling thoughts. “Johnna, I’m . . . I’m not responsible for this.” He dragged his fingers through his rather longish black hair. “Well, this part, yeah. Though I had a good reason. I admit I haven’t been here for you much. In my defense, I thought I was protecting you. It wasn’t . . .” He stopped and threw the zombie a dark glare. “You were supposed to bring her to me so I could remove it, not you.”
Glancing back to me, he took a deep breath. “It was hard after your mom left.” His jaw clenched as he straightened his back. I stared at the way his fists bunched at his sides, the knuckles white.
Stubbornness was a bad trait to have, and I had it in spades. I wanted to prove myself to him, determined to show my father I could take care of myself and didn’t need his help, so I forced myself to stand, albeit on shaky legs, and wiped the dirt off my butt. My strength of will kept me upright.
“You know, you weren’t the only one affected by Mom’s death. And please quit saying she left. She died. She isn’t coming back. The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can get on with your—”
“Johnna, stop talking and, for once, just listen. Please. You have no clue what’s happening.” The words tumbled out of my father’s mouth so fast, it was hard to understand them, but his use of the word please got my attention.
“I don’t expect you to understand. For your own good, do what I tell you without arguing. We need to leave—”
“Here’s the issue, Dad. I don’t want to understand what you’re talking about. I’m perfectly content living my life as I have been.” My eyes narrowed. “The only thing I want you to explain right now is what those batty-looking things dive-bombing me were.” I jerked my thumb at the zombie still squatted near my feet. “Or, why Cheesehead the zombie here played doctor with me without asking first.”
The mottle-skinned creature rocked from his toes to his heels, yet everything remained solidly intact. Shouldn’t his dry, withered limbs break off? An ear or arm drop to the ground? Just how dead was this zombie? His kneecap pressed against the parchment-like gray skin peeking through the hole in his threadbare jeans, which still looked as tight as they had the first time I’d noticed. His leg bones should be poking right through his rotting skin about now.
I gave myself a mental slap. The last thing I should be worrying about was a dead man’s jean size. Maybe my school counselor was right, and I needed to find myself a good psychiatrist. A wandering mind was such a pain, especially mine.
“I sent the imps.” Dad maintained an even tone and a great poker face.
“The what?” I stepped back, wrinkling my nose at him. “Why did you send them? They scared the shit out of me.” I wasn’t sure what made me angrier—the complacent way he told me or the fact he’d sent the little beasts in the first place. “The kamikaze routine they did on my back really hurt—”
“The why currently doesn’t matter. The only thing I cared about was Niki getting to you before the dark mage—sorry, Max—killed you.”
That stopped me. And my heart. What had I ever done to this Max fellow? Maybe I’d not always been the nicest person, but why would a total stranger want to kill me? An involuntarily shiver shook through me as a chill prickled over my skin. Eerie music—Twilight Zone theme, maybe?—went off inside my head.
“Excuse me? I don’t know who in the hell Max is. And who’s Niki?”
“Johnna, language.” My father leaned forward until his face loomed directly in front of mine. His once-chocolate-brown eyes were now black, which I chocked up to the dim light. “We have to go now.”
My jaw jutted out while I pointed my finger, knowing how much it irked him. “No. I’m not going anywhere until you explain why you left and what’s going on.” My temper now controlled the rational part of my mind. Leaving without a reasonable explanation wasn’t a possibility . . . maybe not even then, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. The magical world had always called to me, and now was my chance to find out more about it.
A small kernel of satisfaction filled me as Dad struggled to keep his emotions in check. The familiar tick of his cheek muscle almost made me smile. He stepped back a few paces and assumed a familiar, relaxed, military stance, legs spread wider than normal and muscled arms crossed over his chest.
A growling sound rumbled from his throat. “Make it fast. What do you want to know?”
Talk about a loaded question.
A hundred things raced through my mind. Why did Mom die? Where had my dad disappeared to? Why did he never play with me as a child? Did I have any other family?
I reluctantly focused on my immediate problem and met his gaze without trepidation. “Why did you leave after Mom died? Why is this man chasing me? Oh yeah, and why don’t you like me?”
The last question startled him. He was good, though, and masked the brief flicker of dismay flashing across his face.
“I don’t dislike you.” His frustration was palpable. “We don’t have time for this.” He expelled a huff of breath. “Johnna, we’re trying to save your life, so could you please try to cooperate? The plan had been to get here sooner . . . I’m sorry. We ran out of time and,” he glared at the zombie, “apparently, Niki had no choice but to remove the key.”
“For the second time, who’s Niki? And what key?” I rubbed the center of my forehead where the dull throb I’d ignored all morning found a new lease on life and made itself known again.
“The zombie’s name is Niki.”
“Cheesehead? Why?”
“Well, it’s customary for a person’s parents to name them when they’re born—”
“Dad, seriously? You know what I meant. What did he do to me?”
“He stopped your heart.”
I scrunched my face in confusion. “I’m dead then. Wait—how can I be dead if I’m talking to you?” I pinched my arm and winced. It hurt. “Do ghosts feel pain?” I knew I was acting more like a five-year-old child, but I couldn’t help it. Talking and dealing with my father always made me feel like a child. Throw in the strangeness of my current situation, and I was surprised I wasn’t sitting in a corner sucking my thumb too.
Dad chuckled. Wow, I hadn’t heard him laugh in years. “No, daughter. You are not a ghost. You are very much alive. Max is after you because of your mother’s diary key, and only a demon enforcer has the power to remove said key.”
I closed my gaping mouth and glanced at Niki, my gaze lingering longer than it should have, but I could have sworn I saw the hint of a grin. Shaking my head, I turned my attention back on my dad. “Wait a minute. What in God’s name is a demon enforcer?” I pointed at the zombie who tried to look invisible and failed miserably. “Let me get this straight. He killed me, yet I’m still alive?”
I was so confused. I recognized my dad’s tight-lipped expression. It meant he wasn’t going to answer. I ground my teeth together. “Fine. Explain the key.” I again stole a quick peek at Cheesehead . . . uh, Niki. The zombie, still squatting on the ground, looked uncommonly like a wingless gargoyle. Nope, the new name didn’t fit. I’d stick with Cheesehead.
“After your mother left, I put the key in the only safe place I could think of. Inside you.”
“Well, shit.”
My dad’s brow rose. “Not exactl
y.”
I growled. “What did you do, say a few words and poof, it magically disappeared inside of me?”
“Well, yes. Not quite like that, but yes. And since when do you know I could do magic?”
“Give me some credit for having brains. People were always appearing out of nowhere outside your workroom door, and you were always barking orders at those bat things.”
“Hmmm. Well, anyway, Niki combined his power with my magic, and the key became an extra rib. It’s a skeleton key—so to speak.”
I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? So pathetic. You’ve got nothing better than a corny pun?”
They blankly stared at each other then back at me. In unison they answered, “No.”
“Ooohhhh.” I groaned as my annoyance meter rose higher. I rubbed my eyes, thinking I would’ve much rather been in my nice warm bed, curled up with a good book.
Then it dawned on me. The zombie had said, “No.”
Zombies speak?
I glared at Niki. “You can talk?” He nodded but didn’t offer any other tidbit. Figures. “It would have been nice if you’d told me what you were doing instead of scaring the hell out of me.”
Dad leaned forward and tucked a stray strand of my wild hair behind one ear. “I’m sorry, Johnna. I’d hoped it would take Max longer to figure out where we’d hidden the key.”
For the first time in my life, I had no response. My usually stuffed head was empty. I studied their calm, stoic expressions, and for some strange reason relaxed. After a moment, I narrowed my eyes, sharing a glance between the two as an idea took root.
“Where’s the key now?” I asked my father.
In Mage We Trust (Of Mystics and Mayhem Book 1) Page 2