Wayward Magic (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 2)

by Melinda Kucsera

  At first Aamira thought the child was talking to the horse, but then someone else sat down across from them. Or kind of someone. Aamira could see right through her; a girl of maybe thirteen, long blonde hair and beautiful light blue eyes. Aamira thought her heart would stop right then and there. This was her friend Clara, the friend who had died years ago, the friend that Escort guy had taken away.

  “I think that’s an excellent idea, Quinn,” Clara responded, as if her being there was the most natural thing in the world.

  “Clara?” whispered Aamira. “MY Clara? But… you’re dead! Is this my imagination? How am I seeing you? I don’t understand.”

  Clara shrugged and nodded toward where Aamira’s knee touched Quinn’s. “You’re asking me? This is your thing, not mine. Go figure.”

  Aamira reached for her friend but then pulled back. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she touched her friend and didn’t want her to disappear. “Why are you here? I still miss you so much! Are you okay?”

  “I miss you too, and yeah, I’m fine. But you have a problem because Dead Guy has a problem and that gives me a problem. ’Parently he was getting ready to collect a kid and you are slowing him down. What gives?”

  Aamira picked up a few blocks and stacked them as if she were playing, just in case anyone was watching. “He took you away, didn’t he? What is he? I think he was going to kill a little boy yesterday. How do I stop him from taking more kids?”

  “You’re asking all the wrong questions, girlfriend. I like what you’ve done with your hair, by the way.” Clara turned her head and smiled at the little girl sitting with them, but Quinn seemed uninterested in their conversation. The ghost continued. “He doesn’t kill kids, silly. He just collects them when their bodies won’t let them live any longer. When they’re ready to go.” The little girl looked up and smiled at Clara, then went back to building her horsey barn.

  “They don’t have to go,” pleaded Aamira. “I can help them. They don’t have to go with him.”

  “Yeah, I know. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Like with me.”

  That brought Aamira to the verge of tears. “I tried to help you, I really did. I’m so sorry…”

  “That’s the point. You tried, and it helped for a while… but not for long. Not your fault, girlfriend; I was too far gone. My body was worn out and I had to go.”

  “I can control it better now, I’m helping kids get better.”

  “Sure, I know that. Think about it: you didn’t even know you were a healer back then. You were eleven years old! Don’t beat yourself up about it. Well, maybe just a little… I think it was your mentioning me that made ol’ Dead Guy look me up and ask me to talk to you. You have the bestest memories of what was a truly crappy time for us both!”

  “The best and worst, yeah. Hey, right after you left, I tried helping someone on purpose for the first time, and I blew up a toilet! I had absorbed so much illness that I couldn’t hang on to it and I busted a crapper! Like… BOOM! All over the place.” The girls laughed, young again, an exquisite, carefree moment.

  Suddenly, Aamira felt confusion; somehow, she just knew. It was a flicker of darkness across her vision, a hollow pain in her chest, a heaviness in the pit of her stomach: that dark entity was nearby, he was back. Aamira looked up but saw nothing suspicious. Clara, still thirteen, watched her reaction. Alarm bells were going off in Aamira’s head; no, in her heart; no, not her heart, in Jeremiah’s heart. He was in trouble, and that freakin’ Escort — ‘Dead Guy’, Clara had called him— was back.

  “No… he’s after the boy! No! I can’t let him…” And she was off and running to the pediatric ICU.

  Aamira stood in the doorway, searching for Jeremiah. It wasn’t hard to find him; she just had to listen for the gentle alarm bells and look for where the nurses were congregating. There he was, in the middle of it all. Swift hands and sure minds were working on the toddler, lying lifeless on his bed in the midst of the commotion. Aamira was pushed out of the way as more people entered, intent on helping if called upon. It was their job, and they were well trained, and they loved their charges. Minutes passed, her heart in her throat; she knew they wouldn’t let her near him when he was being worked on. All she could do was watch, desperate tears in her eyes. I tried so hard to make him live! It’s not fair! Leave him alone, let him live! For a moment, she thought she could see the Escort. He wasn’t looking at the boy, he was looking at her. Then the apparition was gone.

  A collective sigh went up among those present and they quietly drifted back to their assigned jobs, leaving Jeremiah’s nurse checking leads, measuring medicine pump outputs, and covering his small body up to his waist. She smiled at her patient, and he squirmed restlessly.

  Aamira gasped. “He’s alive? He’s okay?”

  The nurse beckoned her closer. “He’s okay, just a momentary crisis, but he’s decided.”

  Aamira looked at the toddler’s face, incredulous when he looked over and smiled at her. Alive! I won! Whatever that Escort guy was, I won! Jeremiah is still here!

  The nurse smiled at her small charge. “He’s decided he’s going to stick around, haven’t you, Jeremiah? Yes, you’re going to be with us for a long, long time.”

  Something still wasn’t right, she could feel it in her bones. A malaise she couldn’t describe yet couldn’t dismiss, an uneasiness that was turning her delicate stomach upside down. The toddler was doing better, so it wasn’t that. She felt the Escort was still somewhere nearby, he just wasn’t in the room any longer. He… Aamira’s breath caught in her throat: she understood. Jeremiah wasn’t his target today; it was someone else. But who? The next darkest aura was Quinn’s, but she was with Clara, and Clara…

  …had just been talking about collecting kids …when they were ready to go.

  Aamira hadn’t even made it back to the playroom when she saw the renewed commotion, the organized chaos of yet another emergency, a stunning déjà vu moment. They had Quinn on a gurney and were wheeling her down the hallway and out of sight of the other children, working on her the entire time. Aamira reached out and touched her shoulder as they passed, but it was no use; she could see the girl’s aura was gone, completely gone.

  But further down the hallway she saw just an outline, just an echo, of her friend Clara, who was waving goodbye. And Clara was holding hands with Quinn, who was smiling and clutching a ghostly image of her horsey.

  The little girl who promised herself she would never enter a hospital again has grown into a talented and dedicated young physician specializing in children’s care, hiding her use of a forgotten magic that might save so many lives. But stealing kids from the jaws of death comes at a price: a messenger of death wants to steal them back. He might settle for taking Aamira instead. Find out in Forgotten Magic.

  About the Author

  As a newspaper reporter, Realtor, and paralegal, Barbara Letson told other people's stories. Now she tells her own, writing tales filled with magic, mayhem, monsters and ghosts.

  Her urban paranormal fantasy series, Fort Hopeless, follows Bobbi Harwood, a reluctant witch who returns to her ancestral home to discover she is next in line to inherit the family curse and is charged with protecting the town from ancient harm. ‘Aamira’ is the origin story of one of the main characters. The first novel in this exciting new series, Fortress of Fear, releases in Fall 2020. For more by Barbara Letson, visit www.ghost-stalkers.com.

  Don’t forget to grab your copy of our next anthology, Forgotten Magic, for another exciting chapter of Aamira’s story.

  The Ones Who Fight

  C. S. Johnson

  “The Ones Who Fight” is the second part of “Omelas Revisited,” a short story about a futuristic, utopian society that uses magic to maintain its Community’s happiness and order. With the Bloodmagic, the substitutionary magic, a young boy continually takes on the pains of injuries and the shame of disputes. Skyla Mercer found out the truth about her life and found the boy. But what will she do now? Will she
stay in the City by the Sea and accept that someone else has to suffer for her perfect life, or will she choose to walk away from the City? And there is also the matter of Aiden, the boy she’s never fully known how much she’s loved—can she leave him as well, since he’s already chosen to stay in the City? We all want choices that don’t cost anything to anyone, but that is not the nature of reality. I like how Skyla’s choices are not easy, with multiple factors that will be affected. Doing the right thing is often much more difficult than we realize, and it takes a lot of bravery to face the cost of our choices in the end.

  C. S. Johnson

  A young boy is held captive by the City Elders, perpetually suffering because of magic and technology. As Skyla and Aiden resolve to save him, they face temptation of a perfect life—one they would share together, if the boy keeps suffering. Can they still fight, despite the cost?

  I did not know how much time had passed while Aidan dragged me through the streets. He was kind enough to make sure no one saw me as I tried to stop crying.

  I was grateful for Aidan’s kindness and his thoughtfulness. My tears were dissolving as they escaped me, but I was sure I looked awful. All I could see as we walked was the boy and all the horror surrounding him.

  No. This can’t be true.

  In my perfect life, living in the City by the Sea, there was a tower that gleamed with sunlight, its bricks white and bright, a pinnacle of brilliance striking out in the world. It was the tower where we gathered to celebrate throughout the year; it was the place that housed the Learning Ceremony, the Community’s formal initiation into adulthood—

  It’s not a “perfect” life. Stop calling it that.

  I’d been excited to go there, and even more happy to have Aidan by my side as he sneaked me into the tower.

  But then I went inside.

  Inside the tower was a young boy—a boy who was constantly tortured. A boy who was subjected to bear all my life’s pains, everything from smaller inconveniences to larger agonies. He had, like all of the Community members, a shard in the middle of his forehead, one that glowed with constant suffering. As I had watched him through a layer of tears, he called out to me.

  “Can you walk?” Aidan asked beside me.

  I didn’t answer him. How could I? He might have just rescued me from the tower, but the scene I’d witnessed relentlessly repeated itself in my mind. Sickened, I relived that moment of tragic discovery over and over and over again, and I had to steel myself against the oncoming ocean of inner torment.

  Forcing myself to stop feeling was the only way I could stop the boy from taking my pain away from me. All of my life had been perfect, up until that moment, and it was all because of that boy.

  There was another sudden surge of pain in my forehead, just below the jewel that rested in the middle of my brow. My fingers pressed into my temples, as I forced myself to breathe; as much as it pained me even more, I held onto the memories of the terror I’d seen, determined to see the small, frail boy before me, the one who bore the marks of my life’s imperfection.

  “Skyla.”

  Aidan’s voice seemed to come from far away, and the world spun as my head snapped up, looking at him.

  “Skyla, hold still. I can help,” he said.

  “No, no you can’t,” I whispered. “I saw what was happening in there. That boy. He’s taking everything from us. He’s suffering for us.”

  My eyes squeezed shut as another twinge of pain lanced through my forehead, this time more urgent and demanding than before.

  “I need you to hold still,” Aidan hissed, taking my cheeks between his hands. He stepped up next to me, letting the shard on his forehead scrape against mine. The pain terrorizing me—the one demanding I give up my memory—began to fade, lessened by the friction between Aidan’s shard and mine.

  “What are you doing?” I asked him quietly, opening my eyes to see his icy blue ones staring into mine.

  “How are you feeling?” His voice was deceptively calm; his eyes were wild as I watched him. He was likely regretting his actions, or he was unsure that showing me the tower had been the right thing to do.

  He seemed to realize there was no going back, though. A moment later, he pulled back and pressed into my shard, before twisting it.

  “Ouch,” I muttered, but a second later, I was surprised to see he’d managed to pull part of it out of my forehead.

  “What is—what did you … ?” My mouth dropped open as I stared at the top of my shard, watching as it faded from the blue to a deep obsidian.

  “At the Learning Ceremony, the Elders surrounded us, thanked us, and then one of them, Lady Sula, reached forward and touched the shard, pressing into it, almost as if she was adjusting it. Some of the other kids’ shards came out, just like yours,” Aidan explained. “After that, I wasn’t able to forget things anymore, or at least, not as easily.”

  “That’s so strange,” I said. “What do you think it’s made out of?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I especially wasn’t able to forget about the boy. But I wasn’t able to speak about it, either. Not freely.”

  “So the shard is controlling us?” I asked. I took the small jewel from Aidan. I’d always loved my shard. As I turned it over in my hand, I saw there were two small metal rods sticking out from the bottom, no doubt where they connected to the small divot in my forehead.

  I touched my forehead, tenderly feeling the shard’s setting; it felt round and smooth, but there was a humming quality to it, almost like a magnet. I did not have any further idea of what it truly was, or what kind of power it housed.

  “I don’t know if it controls us,” Aidan admitted. “But it makes sense to me. I know, from working, that the Community Elders have access to some highly advanced technology. Let me see if I can adjust yours like they did mine.”

  With Aidan’s help, I put the shard back in my forehead; for a moment, I took a quick inventory of myself, feeling only a queasy blend of fear and freedom at the loss of my ignorance. When it did not disappear, I grimaced; I did not like this, even if it was better knowing the boy did not suffer with my pain.

  “How are you?” Aidan asked.

  “Terrible,” I admitted with a half-smile. “But I have to say, I don’t know if this is technology. There’s something about it that still has an unreal quality to it.”

  I pressed my finger down onto the shard again, surprised to feel a sense of overwhelming contentment drip onto me. It didn’t seem quite right to me, the idea of technology transferring all my pain to someone else for their full experience. And for me to feel something else instead? It all seemed too preposterous for words.

  But there were things I did know for sure now, including the suffering boy in the tower by the sea.

  “Your guess is as good as mine as to what it is, exactly.”

  I gave Aidan a trembling smile. “We don’t have the luxury of guesses anymore, do we?”

  “We always have time to remain complacent,” Aidan said, his voice resigned.

  I scowled. “Well, now we have to do something about this, Aidan. It’s not right what they’re doing in there. They’re making a small, innocent boy take on all our pain and suffering.”

  “I know,” Aidan said, his voice edged with regret and impatience. “I’ve known for a year now.”

  “Why haven’t you done anything before this?” I asked, suddenly curious. Why would Aidan—someone I trusted more than I’d realized—allow someone to suffer wrongly for so long?

  “Skyla … ” He sighed. “It’s very hard to leave the City by the Sea.”

  “After seeing what they do?” I frowned this time, indignation settling inside my heart. I wanted to leave right at that moment and never look back. My eyes welled up with tears at the mere thought of that lonely boy, the one surrounded by terror, the one who took all my trouble away. “How could you stay?”

  “You know why, Skyla. My whole life is here,” Aidan whispered. “And so is yours. You have your House Mother,
your House Father, River, and all of your friends, just as I have mine. They’re here, and all of the people who are here have chosen to stay here.”

  That was true.

  “Our lives are happy, even if we know that it’s because of something that’s beyond terrible,” Aidan said.

  Some part of my memory chimed at Aidan’s familiar words, and I was ashamed to recall that I’d had similar thoughts. Aidan had stayed for the very reasons I’d thought leaving was impossible.

  But …

  “But that doesn’t make it right!” I yelped, and Aidan put a finger to my lips.

  “What good would it do, for me to walk away?” he asked, his voice a low whisper between us. “The boy would still suffer if I left, and I would suffer, too. Many people stay because this place is part of who we are, and we don’t want to leave the people we love.”

  His eyes softened as he looked at me again. The clear blue of his irises pierced into my soul, and I realized why he wanted to stay. A raging fire burned within me all of a sudden, the flame hot and urgent as it sent tingles through my whole body before the heart of it settled, curling around inside of my belly.

  “I love you,” Aidan whispered. “There are a lot of moments of my life where I feel as though I am waking up from a dream, as though I am forgetting something important and I need to lose myself again if I am going to find it. But when I see you, I know I am home.”

  He stepped even closer to me and took hold of my hands. “I am not going to leave my home, Skyla.”

  I squeezed his hands back. If I was his anchor to reality, he was my reason for hope. He might have stayed behind in the City by the Sea, with all its hidden darkness, but he did not agree with it.

  And that meant it was possible we could do something about it.