Rowan’s hand snaked over and squeezed mine.
“Before you get too carried away,” Elspeth said, seeming once again to read our mood, “let me say that magical time travel is forbidden and that the book says here that the Tempest was destroyed centuries ago by the High Council, lest it fell into the wrong hands.”
Hope poured out of me like air leaving a deflating balloon. “It’s gone?”
“Quite gone, I’m afraid,” she said.
The three of us exchanged devastated looks, realizing that we’d likely come all this way for nothing.
“What about this one?” Disha said, pointing out the last floating book that had been summoned.
Elspeth readjusted her reading glasses and gestured for it to hover closer.
“Well, this is a discography compilation of all songs that have magical origins. The location spell has turned it to the page on the band, Scorpions, who had a hit song in 1991 called Wind of Change.”
“That can’t be it,” I said dismissively.
Elspeth shrugged, shut the book. “Sorry, kids. I guess I’ll dig out those biscuits I promised before you head back. Feel free to have a quick look around before you go. You never know when you’ll be back again.”
She walked back through the doorway, leaving us in stunned silence.
Rowan blew out a breath. “So that’s it, then. Trail cold. Goose chased.”
“I’m sorry. We’ll keep trying,” I ran a hand down his arm while Disha walked to the pile and reopened the discography book.
“See, I thought so. Guys.” She gestured us back over and jabbed a finger at the page on the Scorpions. “I was skimming the words before Elspeth closed the book, and I thought I saw something interesting. Even though this band is German, one of the members, the drummer, did a study abroad right before their first number one hit in 1988. They were a nothing band before and then suddenly hit number 5 on the Billboard charts.”
“Isn’t that every band?” Rowan asked. “Have you ever watched VH1’s Behind the Music?
Disha shook her head, dismissing his comment. “Look at where he went to school during that time.”
We leaned in, scanning the words.
The drummer attended the Supernatural Academy. Our Supernatural Academy.
“What are you saying?” Rowan asked.
“I don’t know,” Disha said, “but it seemed he might have gotten some inspiration while he was there. Maybe he even saw the compass.”
“But it says he left the Academy in 1987. Wind of Change didn’t get written until 1990,” Rowan reasoned.
“Read the next line.” Disha put her hand on her hip as if daring him to challenge her again.
“‘He often traveled back to the United States and did some of his best writing and recording in Atlanta and on Hilton Head Island, his other homes.’”
“Isn’t Hilton Head on an open body of water? A place where tempests can happen?” Disha’s big eyes were wide as saucers.
“So this could be a clue?” I asked.
“It could be a clue,” Disha said pulling out the compass. “Is it a clue?” she asked it. When it didn’t respond, she patted its lid. “I know. You don’t want to make it too easy on us.”
We were still mulling this over as we ate our biscuits at the kitchen table and then headed back to the stream. Elspeth had been a fine host, but we really needed to get back before the football game ended and the students left the stadium. She stuffed our pockets with pastries—I didn’t have the heart to tell her they’d be ruined on our way home—and gave us kind pats on the back.
“Good luck with your search,” she called as we waded back into the water, then went back into her house.
Berat, the donkey, called, “Yakında görüşürüz!”
“Gesundheit,” Disha said with a wry smile.
We stepped into the stream and held hands, focusing our energy. I looked over my shoulder once more to give Elspeth a smile, but she was gone. I hoped I’d see her soon.
I started to channel my cuffs’ power.
“Wait!” a male voice called. “Don’t go so soon.”
We glanced up the hill at the man who’d broken our concentration. My eyes landed on the bowler hat and drew down to the perfectly coiffed mustache hiding his jagged facial scar.
Sebastian Mink.
How in the world was he here? Had he put a tracking spell on us?
He smiled, striding forward, using his cane to cross the rugged terrain. “I thought that was you,” he called cordially, cutting a swift path in our direction. “Rowan Underwood, what are you doing in Turkey?”
Rowan’s mouth opened and closed as if he himself weren’t sure.
“Wow, what a surprise,” Mink said, tossing his hat aside. “You know, when I said I was hoping to see you soon, I didn’t know it would be this soon, nor would I be this lucky.”
This was bad. We needed to get out of here before Mink called the dean and reported us. I tried to engage my cuffs, but Mink threw a spell in my direction and my body suddenly froze.
Mink was attacking us?
Panicked, I turned my eyes to Disha, and she seemed similarly frozen. Only Rowan had the ability to move. He sloshed around in the water, glancing from us to Mink.
“I like my prey to have a fighting chance,” Mink said, tossing off his cloak. “You see, vampire hunting is still legal in Turkey. And we are, in fact, in Turkey, foolish, foolish, boy.”
Then Mink drew a long sword from inside his cane and charged at Rowan.
Chapter Twelve
FALL SEMESTER
LATE OCTOBER
“Elspeth! Davetsiz mis—” Berat brayed out a warning, but a spell from Mink—delivered even as he charged—silenced the donkey immediately.
As Mink ran toward the stream, Rowan crouched and leaped out of the water as if he were The Hulk. Landing on the shore, he took the fight away from us.
Mink skidded to a stop, tracking with his hunter’s eyes as Rowan landed, then dematerialized. My eyeballs swiveled, searching for the villainous warlock. A mustache appeared behind Rowan, then the rest of the man’s body.
A scream of warning rose up my frozen throat and stuck there. Rowan was about to be killed!
Aided by his vampire instincts, he reacted, dodging away just as Mink thrust his sword through the air.
Beside me, Disha shut her eyes, but I went on staring, urging my cuffs to break the spell that kept me frozen. Come on, come on, come on!
Ducking and sweeping a leg in a wide circle, Rowan tried to kick Mink’s feet away, but the vampire hunter jumped and, as he landed, aimed his sword at Rowan’s heart.
Rowan threw his hands up, a shield shimmering in front of him. Mink’s sword struck. Magical sparks flew.
“You’re not supposed to have magic, boy,” Mink growled in anger. He raised his sword again, though, this time, it glowed red, imbued with a spell to fight Rowan’s.
As the blazing sword came down again, Rowan kicked back and rolled away in a blur of arms and legs. Mink’s stabbing sword embedded itself into the ground. He yanked it out and slashed it angrily as if he were carving a letter in the air like freaking Puss in Boots—maybe this was a Bizarro Shrek, after all.
“You can’t escape me,” Mink said, circling Rowan. “I’m the best vampire hunter in the world. I’ve killed dozens of your kind, most faster and more talented than you, boy.”
This had to end before Mink got the better of Rowan. Panic clouding my thoughts, I clenched my teeth, focusing on my pent up magic, assessing it carefully to figure out what sort of spell was keeping it frozen.
Mink attacked again, flaming sword lashing at the same time that he released a ball of fire from his other hand. Rowan threw his hands in front of his face, conjuring another shield. It came to life with a flicker. Fire blasted against it, enveloping it and eating away at its edges.
Mink growled, leaning into the shield and pouring all he had into it. The fire broke through. The shield dissolved.
&nb
sp; Rowan threw himself to one side as the blaze shot forward, but he wasn’t fast enough. Mink’s magic caught the sleeve of Rowan’s shirt and lit it on fire. Rowan rolled across the ground, smothering the flames, then jumped up, eyes darting as if searching for a way out.
I had to hurry. Things were getting out of control. Frantically, I performed my own search inside myself, almost visualizing Mink’s magic holding mine in place. Like so many butterflies pinned to a corkboard, tendrils of my power seemed stuck to my body.
Concentrating on one of the pins, I mentally tugged at it. It didn’t budge. I pulled again, this time giving it my all. It came loose, but there were hundreds more. This was going to take too damn long!
“I have never harmed anyone,” Rowan said, keeping a safe distance from Mink as they circled each other on the torn up lawn beside the stream. His clothes were caked with mud and grass, but his eyes shone brightly as he clocked Mink’s every move with his preternatural vampire senses.
“That’s not what the Knightley boy said. And, anyway, it’s only a matter of time before you rip someone’s throat out. It’ll most likely be your cute girlfriend over there,” Mink flicked a glance at me, stalking around with his sword ready.
Rowan’s teeth flashed at Mink’s mention of me. “I thought you were my father’s friend.”
“Until he betrayed me, flushing all his beliefs down the toilet because his stupid son went and got himself turned into a vampire.” Mink sneered, twitching up one side of his coiffed mustache.
Rowan’s face twisted with incredulity. “You don’t expect him to kill his own son, do you?”
“I killed mine,” Mink said. “Stood by my principles when it counted the most because I’m no hypocrite and live by what I preach—unlike Macgregor who, for his own sake, has now corrupted the Academy.”
He killed his own son? Who in the hell were we dealing with?
Rowan stepped back, moving closer to Berat’s fence, where a pitchfork rested against it. The terrified donkey ran to the back fence watching tensely.
Rowan’s hand crept toward the pitchfork slowly. “I don’t know why you want to kill me, Mink. I’m a Supernatural, just like you.”
“Is that so?” Mink laughed. “Next you’ll tell me you actually like being a Lesser.”
Rowan stared back but gave no answer.
“I didn’t think so.”
I frantically released another tendril of my magic. I hadn’t stopped ripping out Mink’s pinning restraints, but there were so many of them, I didn’t think I’d be able to free myself before the deranged warlock got the better of Rowan.
“As a matter of fact, I know you’re on a wild goose chase,” Mink went on in a mocking tone. “Hoping to reverse your transformation.”
How the hell did he know that?
“Well, let me relieve you of such false hopes,” Mink said, feigning an attack with his sword and causing Rowan to snatch the pitchfork and hold it defensively across his body.
Brandishing his sword playfully, Mink clinked it against Rowan’s rusty, makeshift weapon.
“There is no way to reverse your condition, Underwood,” he continued. “No way your dead body can draw magic directly from the source ever again. You are an abomination. A remnant from a time when dark witches and warlocks used their powers to create soldiers. A vessel to ancient magic that gives you a few Supernatural qualities. That is all.”
What was he talking about? Did he mean that other Supernaturals had been created by us through the use of dark magic? I’d read plenty on vampires, and I hadn’t encountered a mention of this. Could it be true?
I unpinned another section of my magic. My fingers twitched and, under the water, my feet shuffled. I tried to shoot an electrifying spell at Mink’s back, but nothing happened. I needed to release the rest. Now!
“But enough of idle talk,” Mink said and ran at Rowan, his sword raised over his head.
Rowan held up the pitchfork to parry the blow, but the sword sliced through the tool’s wooden handle as if it were made of pudding. Dropping the pieces, Rowan jumped back, fast as lightning.
Mink kept up with him, matching the vampiric speed by the use of some spell. As he went, he slashed his sword, forcing Rowan to form another shield to block the attacks. But his supply of magic was running out. I could feel it in my veins, a sort of pull that let me know he needed me, but my magic was still pinned.
Another blow from Mink. Rowan’s magic shield stopped it, then went out. Seeing his chance, the vampire hunter struck again. Rowan kicked hard at Mink’s arm like some sort of martial arts expert and sent the sword flying from his attacker’s hand. But, seemingly out of nowhere, Mink pulled out a dagger, imbued it with power from a spell, and slashed it across Rowan’s shoulder, slicing with steel and magic. Rowan growled in pain and fell to the ground.
Sebastian Mink stalked to Rowan’s fallen shape and pulled a stake from the folds of his jacket.
“NO!” A scream ripped from my throat as I pulled with all my strength, the last restraints on my magic ripping free. Disha’s eyes widened in surprise. The donkey gave a tortured bray. Mink flinched, his head snapping in my direction.
I was floating above the water, my cuffs flaring as energy coursed through them, shining bright as twin suns. Wind whipped around me as golden streamers of magic coiled around my body.
Mink turned back to Rowan, wanting to finish before I got to him. A magical shield meant to block me began falling around Mink as he plunged the stake toward Rowan’s heart.
“Oh, no, you won’t,” I said, casting a hand forward and releasing an electric bolt straight at the vampire hunter.
He was a mere inch from striking his target when my magic blasted him into the air. The stake falling from his stiff fingers, he flew ten feet away from Rowan, then crashed to the ground, spraying up dirt and grass.
Below me, Disha staggered as Mink’s spell broke. She cursed and started wading toward Rowan. Wasting no time, I levitated myself to the shore and landed next to him. He was twisting in pain, his shoulder smoking and spewing dark blood.
The smell of burnt meat and something else, something acrid and dead, clogged the air. Involuntarily, I pressed a hand to my nose and held my breath. Rowan noticed my expression, flinched, and turned his face away.
Shit! Now he would think I was disgusted by him.
But there was no time to apologize for recoiling from the smell. Sebastian Mink was groaning and sitting up.
Before I could think of what to do, a cloaking spell fell over us. I glanced back toward the stream, where there was no sign of Disha. She must’ve been protecting us from Mink.
Pulling Rowan to his feet, I draped his uninjured arm over my back and levitated us back into the stream where I’d last seen Disha wading. As soon as we sank into the water, she grabbed me, her invisible hand desperately clamping around my wrist.
“Let’s go home!” she urged under the protection of our cloaking spell.
I visualized our campus, our fountain. My cuffs throbbed. The water began bubbling around us as if it were ready to boil us alive.
At the shore, Mink was clambering to his feet, blinking around in confusion. He was probably wondering why his magical shield had failed to protect him, how a mere sophomore had managed to best him.
The stream continued to roil. Light sprang from the bottom, drawing Mink’s attention. As soon as he spotted our retreat, he ran in our direction, arms up, magic erupting from his fingers.
I wrapped my arms around Rowan and Disha, turning my back on the attack and conjuring the image of the Enlightenment Fountain.
My body became a conglomeration of small particles. The stream quickly washing me away, I swirled and swirled and swirled, then got put back together thousands of miles away.
I blinked at the spouting turtle above me. Chilled, clear water surrounded us.
Home at last.
Exhausted, we staggered and collapsed into the fountain, turning the water brown with our muddy clothes.
>
Disha came to her senses first and started dragging Rowan out of the water, pulling on his uninjured arm. He moaned and squirmed in pain, feet thrashing. I shook my head to clear it and began helping Disha, taking Rowan by the other arm.
As we pulled him out of the fountain aided by a boost of magic from Disha, we deposited him on a grassy patch and knelt next to him, panting.
Disha grabbed her head. “Shit shit shit. That was… gah!”
Teeth clenched, Rowan pulled bent knees toward his chest and growled. Fighting my exhaustion, I turned my attention to his wound. His shirt was stained with mud and black blood. I forced him to lay flat on his back and tore his shirt open, sending buttons flying into the lawn.
A straight, deep cut went across his shoulder, splitting his deltoid muscles. I took off my shirt, made it into a ball, and pressed it against the wound, mouthing a healing spell. I was left in a tank top, too thin for the chill of the night. After a moment, I removed the balled-up shirt to examine the wound. It was the same gruesome mess.
“Why isn’t it healing?” I asked desperately. “I thought vampires are supposed to heal on their own.”
At least that was what I’d read, but maybe that was wrong. Did that mean he could die from this? I’d read that only a stake to the heart, fire, and decapitation could kill a vampire, but maybe Irmagard’s books in Idaho had been as old as her beet farm. They’d certainly looked ancient.
“It’s not a regular cut, Charlie. It’s was caused by an enchanted blade, powerful magic. It will take longer than normal to heal.” Disha rose to her feet, her head swiveling from side to side as she seemed to ponder what to do next.
We could hear loud cheering in the distance. The homecoming game had not ended yet, but it must be close to finished. We had to get out of here.
“Will he… ?” I couldn’t bring myself to ask my question.
Disha glanced down. “No, he won’t die,” she said, guessing my concern. “It must hurt like hell, but it can’t kill him.”
Oh, thank God!
Still, I hated to see him suffer this way. Would his pain ever stop? Why did some of us always get the shitty end of the stick?
Supernatural Academy: Sophomore Witch Page 9