Unturned- The Complete Series

by Rob Cornell

  “It’s happening again,” Fiona said. The quiver in her voice pinched my heart. The events of last summer had put Fiona in the crosshairs of a hunter hell-bent on putting me down, and who had almost put Fiona down in the process.

  I shook my head. “It’s not the same.” Not exactly a lie, though it tasted like one. And ended up pointless, because Mom dropped the truth right after.

  “No,” she said. “It’s worse.”

  “You weren’t even there for it,” I snapped. Then cringed at my pathetic defensiveness.

  “Our house hadn’t burned down then,” she shot right back. “It’s worse.”

  I covered my face with my hands. They smelled like ash. The smell wound its way into my mouth and gave me a taste of ash as well. I wanted to say something reassuring. But what? Mom was right. This was worse. And I was no closer to knowing who or what was behind it all. Vampires in suits. Not much to go on.

  “I need some time to think this through.”

  “You’re welcome to stay here,” Fiona said. “You obviously can’t go back to the house.”

  As tempting as the offer sounded, I didn’t want to put Fiona in danger again. Our mere presence probably put her at risk.

  Then why did you come here, idiot?

  “No,” I said. “We’ll check into a hotel somewhere. I don’t want to put you out.”

  Fiona side-stepped as if she meant to bar us from leaving. “To hell with that noise. You two are staying. You are not putting me out.”

  I looked to Mom for her thoughts.

  She had sagged sideways on the couch, head rested on the arm, eyes closed. She snored softly.

  I sighed. “I guess we’re staying.”

  “Help me get her into my bed.”

  Together we roused Mom enough to get her down the hall and into Fiona’s bed. Fiona pulled a quilt over Mom and tucked it gently around her shoulders. As Fiona bent over her, she stroked Mom’s forehead. Fiona had always taken good care of my mom as an orderly at the nursing home when Mom had been trapped in her three-year fugue. That’s how Fiona and I had met. I had admired her commitment to keeping mom comfortable and showing genuine affection. She had treated Mom far beyond the requirements of her job.

  A beautiful, strong, and caring woman all rolled up into one.

  It was no wonder I had fallen for her.

  Fiona straightened and caught me staring at her.

  “What?”

  I smiled. “Nothing.”

  We turned off the bedside lamp and snuck out of the bedroom. Fiona left the door cracked a couple of inches, then we went back out to the living room.

  As I eased onto the couch, my lower back twinged for a second. I relaxed, relieving the tightness not only in my back, but my arms, legs, neck. All the aches I’d been ignoring eased a little. I knew sitting still for too long would tighten everything up again when I tried to move. I didn’t care. In that moment, I never wanted to leave the couch.

  Fiona sat beside me and put her cool hand on the back of my neck.

  I winced and sucked a quick breath through my teeth. Her touch stung as if I had a sunburn.

  If I allowed myself to draw some of my magic, I could have healed the burns and aches. But for all I knew, another cadre of well-dressed, gun-toting vamps would burst through the door at any moment. No point wasting energy for short term comfort at the risk of long term death. Besides, I felt like I deserved a little pain.

  “You want me to mix up some of my mom’s world famous poultice?”

  “Unless you can fill your bathtub with the stuff, there isn’t much point. I hurt all over.”

  She moved her hand to my chest and pressed gently. She didn’t seem to mind the soot getting on her.

  I could feel the thump of my heartbeat under the pressure of her touch. I slid both of my hands over the top of hers.

  “It’s still beating,” she said.

  “Good to know something’s working.” I closed my eyes for a moment. The room seemed to tilt. “Thank you for taking us in.”

  She leaned close and sniffed. “You smell funny.”

  I laughed. “You make me feel so sexy. What’s the matter? Don’t like my smoky musk?”

  “It’s not the smoke.” She grimaced. “What is that?”

  Sometimes I forget Fiona’s a shifter. She’s a weretiger, not a bloodhound, but she still has a keener sense of smell than regular humans. I realized what scent she must have caught. “Does it smell like week-old stew?”

  “I was thinking dog barf, but I like yours better.”

  “Imp guts,” I said. “I’d just come home from a messy job when the vampire party started.”

  She snuggled in against me. My touchy skin and achy muscles fired up, but I bore it for the sake of having Fiona closer to me.

  “Then I hope you appreciate that I’m staying on the couch with you despite your stinkiness.”

  “Now that’s love,” I said without thinking. It was just an expression. She knew that. She wouldn’t take it any other way.

  She gently pressed two fingers against my chin to turn my head toward her. “Maybe it is.” She kissed my chapped lips.

  A soft kiss, but I felt it right down to my bones.

  When we parted, Fiona snuggled back in against me.

  “Have you figured out your next move?”

  I had relegated that problem to my subconscious, hoping it would do a better job of chewing on it than letting my conscious mind worry it into oblivion. Chilling on the couch with Fiona had gone a long way to keeping my mind off things. I let the question rise to my conscious attention again.

  What next?

  And there it was. An idea. Not one I particularly liked. One that could cause more trouble than it was worth, except protecting Mom was worth everything to me.

  “It takes a vamp to know a vamp,” I said. “I guess I need to go see Toft.”

  Chapter Five

  At some point, Fiona and I fell asleep in each other’s arms on the couch. When the scream tore me awake, I nearly bucked Fiona to the floor.

  Fiona scrambled to her feet. I stood as well. Too fast. My joints had stiffened like I knew they would. My legs almost gave out on me. I got light-headed on top of it and had to lean on the couch for support.

  Another scream cut through the wall between the bedroom and living room as if the wall were hardly there.

  Fiona and I met gazes.

  “Mom,” I said.

  Fiona hurried toward the hallway.

  I bit the bullet and willed my magic through my body. The hasty move probably wasted more energy than necessary, but I needed to heal now, damn it. Within fifteen seconds, I was fixed enough to run after Fiona into the hall.

  Before I made it I felt the distinct buzz of magical energy gathering in the air. I came around the corner in time to see Fiona rush out of the bedroom and juke to her right. A second later, a green bolt of light streaked out the door and blasted a hole in the wall.

  I jerked back.

  What the hell?

  “I can’t,” Mom shouted, her voice twisted with agony. “I just can’t.”

  I looked to Fiona standing on the opposite side of the doorway from me. “What’s going on?”

  “She was standing in the middle of the room when I went in,” she said. “I think she’s sleepwalking.”

  Sleepwalking? Mom had never done that before. Even weirder—I had never heard of anyone casting spells in their sleep. Talk about a recipe for disaster.

  I stepped into the doorway and looked into the bedroom.

  Mom’s silhouette stood out against the lightening sky visible through the window behind her. I could make out her wide-eyed stare, directed at something in the room that only she could see. She held her arms out at her sides as if in surrender to an unseen crowd surrounding her. Her hands trembled. The ozone smell of spent magic hung in the air.

  “I won’t do it,” she said.

  “Mom.”

  She didn’t turn toward my voice, showed n
o sign she’d heard me at all. She reached one hand out to what- or whoever she thought she saw before her. The tremors in her hands made their way up her arms and spread through her body until she shivered as if standing, dressed like she was in only a nightgown, in the midst of a February snow storm. Her hair dropped like a gray curtain over one side of her face.

  “Gods forgive me,” she said and raised her hands over her head, palms facing inward. She closed her eyes. A pale green, luminous cloud gathered between her hands. The cloud swirled as if stirred by a steady breeze. More and more wisps of the glowing cloud gathered, gaining density and brightness. She screwed up her face like a little girl wishing hard on a star. But she wasn’t wishing. She was conjuring from the deepest well of her soul.

  The gaslike cloud of green light now formed a smooth sphere. It took on a glassy sheen, like a charlatan fortuneteller’s crystal ball.

  A hum filled the room and caused a vibration I could feel in my teeth.

  If she let all that power loose, she might take down the entire apartment complex. Whoever she thought she faced, she meant to kill them, and must have believed she needed the full weight of her magic to do so.

  “Mom,” I shouted. I took position in the place where her dream enemy seemed to stand. If I wanted to stop her from committing mass murder in her sleep, I would have to take on the role of her target. “Mom, you’ve got to wake up.”

  I wanted to try shaking her, but I didn’t dare. Startling her might cause her to launch the spell even if I did manage to wake her.

  Fiona came up beside me.

  “Get out of here,” I said. “If you’re near the blast, you’ll be killed.”

  “And you won’t?” She stepped forward without waiting for a reply. “Judith,” she said calmly. I recognized her tone. She had used it countless times with Mom at the nursing home whenever Mom refused to eat. Fiona always managed to get through to her in the end. I hoped like hell she could now.

  Mom’s eyes snapped open. Her gaze homed in on me. Or it seemed to. I had no inkling who she thought she was looking at. I shuddered to guess.

  “Judith,” Fiona repeated with impossible patience. “Time to come back.”

  Each swell of the light grew brighter than the last. The shadows across the ceiling danced away and rushed back. Away and back. Away. Back.

  “Judith.” Fiona took another step closer. It took all of my will to keep from reaching out and pulling her away. “Judith!”

  I hadn’t expected the sudden shout. Mom and I flinched at the same time. I tensed against what might happen in the next second. I wondered how it would feel to be obliterated by my own mother’s magic.

  The beating orb of light winked out with a hiss, leaving behind a single, sparkling tendril that quickly faded as easily as a cold breath. Mom slowly lowered her arms, her face lined with confusion.

  “What happened?”

  I released a shaky breath.

  Fiona took Mom by the arm. “You were dreaming.”

  Mom looked down at her feet. “I’m standing.”

  “You were sleepwalking,” I said.

  Mom’s gaze roved around the room as if she expected to find something hidden in the corners. When her gaze reached the doorway, she spotted the hole in the wall beyond. Her lips parted, brow furrowed.

  “And sleep casting,” I said.

  “Well, I never…” She sounded both awed and disturbed at once. She frowned at me. “Did I hurt anyone?”

  “No,” I said and left it at that. She didn’t need to know the frightening details.

  “So strange.” She wandered toward the bed. Fiona, still holding Mom by the arm, followed her, and they both sat down on the edge of the mattress.

  “Do you remember what you were dreaming about?” I asked. I couldn’t wait to hear who she had so desperately wanted to destroy.

  Mom blinked a few times, shook her head. “Impressions, maybe. I think…I think Walter was there.”

  Dad?

  “Anything else?”

  Her mouth fell open. She stared at the floor, but her eyes had a glazed over look like someone caught in a daydream. “I think it was the day…” Her eyes refocused, and she looked up at me. “That day.”

  An eel rolled lazily in my belly. A cold prickle ran up my spine. I didn’t need to ask which day she meant. Was the person she was about to cast her mega spell at the one who had killed Dad? Were we on the cusp of finally getting an answer to that day?

  That day.

  “Who else was there?” I asked in a rush, half my voice made of breath.

  Fiona shot me a warning look. She wanted me to give Mom a minute, not pressure her. I wanted the same, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t hold back. “Mom, tell me.”

  “I don’t know.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t remember.”

  No. Not good enough. She had just been dreaming about it a minute before. How could she not remember? I rushed to her and knelt in front of her. Took her hands in mine. “Look at me.”

  Mom opened her eyes.

  “You nearly blew up the apartment,” I said, forgetting that I didn’t want to lay that on her. “You saw someone, in your dream. Someone you meant to blow off the face of the Earth. Who was it?”

  Her nostrils flared. Her lips peeled back from her clenched teeth. “I. Don’t. Remember.”

  Her anger manifested in a kinetic aura around her, forcing me to shrink back.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I just hoped—”

  “I’m not angry with you, Sebastian.” She made a fist and pressed it against her forehead. “It’s my damned head. It’s me I can’t stand.”

  “Mom, don’t.”

  She shot to her feet, stalked across the bedroom to Fiona’s dresser. The dresser had an oval mirror attached. Mom stared at her reflection.

  “Somebody took my husband from me.” She pointed a finger at the mirror. “And this fool was there, but can’t even remember how her husband died.”

  “You were attacked, too. You can’t blame yourself.”

  “Don’t try to comfort me. I don’t want comfort. I want to remember.”

  “We’re trying,” I said. “Your treatments with Sly—”

  “Have done nothing!” She clenched her hands into fists and shook herself. “There has to be something else.”

  I didn’t know what. That wasn’t my area of expertise. A long time family friend, Sly Petrie, was an alchemist. He mixed some of the best potions in the Motor City. In fact, he had cooked up the elixir that had finally pulled Mom out of her fugue. I had hoped he could come up with something else that would heal Mom’s memory as well. He’d been trying on a nearly daily basis for the last three months without any success. I knew for a fact that he spent a good amount of his waking hours researching and mixing new brews. Neither one of us wanted to give up on trying to make Mom whole again—or as whole as she could be after losing Dad.

  “You need to take me to Sylvester. First thing.”

  I hesitated before agreeing. Going out into the open with all those vamps out to get us unnerved me. And local law enforcement, I was sure, would want to talk to us about the whole house burning down thing. But going out during daylight hours mitigated the vampire worries to some extent. And I doubted the police had put out an APB on us. I couldn’t go to see Toft until after sundown anyway. We had nothing else to do.

  “Okay,” I said. “We can see if he’s got anything new to try.”

  Mom turned away from the mirror. “He’d better.”

  Chapter Six

  In the back room of Sly’s Smoke Shop, Mom sat in a faux leather recliner Sly had brought in just for her. She looked strange with her feet propped up as if she were watching ESPN on a big screen TV, instead of sitting among stacks of cardboard boxes that lined the walls like bricks. Each box had a label written in black marker with Sly’s unique scrawl that made plain old English letters look like brushed characters from an ancient language. How he got to the boxes at the bottoms of the stacks was a trick h
e had never shared, but he (almost) always seemed to have the ingredients he needed to mix his various potions at the workbench in the center of the room.

  The workbench carried vials and bottles filled with liquids of various color and viscosity, along with a centrifuge and a Bunsen burner. Much of the materials of his trade looked like a scattered mess across the table’s surface, but I had seen Sly work with the speed and confidence of a contestant on Top Chef.

  That morning, before we headed out, I’d made a run to the department store to buy us fresh clothes. I found Mom a casual yellow blouse and tan slacks, along with a pair of matching flats. Nothing too conservative, but still an odd image, considering she held a water bong from which she steadily took hits as prescribed by her alchemist.

  The bong’s gurgle sounded like a giggling river troll. She let most of the smoke roll out her nostrils. Her glassy eyes stared between her propped feet without any obvious focus. Despite the appearance, the bong didn’t have a single leaf of marijuana in it. I don’t know what combination of herbs Sly had loaded in there, but it smelled like a rotten cedar log with a hint of rosemary. What the smoke really reminded me of was last night’s house fire. Every plume of smoke I encountered, no matter how it smelled, would probably carry that memory from now on.

  Good thing I was axing demons more than roasting them these days.

  On my shopping trip, I had picked up a pair of jeans and a cotton button-up for myself. I’d also grabbed a new leather half coat, when I should have settled for a hoodie. But I was still pissed about the imp guts, and more pissed that the coat was likely no more than ash now. So I’d splurged.

  While Mom toked her medicine, I filled Sly in on what had happened. His jaw fell open wider and wider as I described the attack, then nearly came loose when I got to the part about Mom almost blowing up Fiona’s apartment complex.

  He tucked his hands in his stone washed jeans, which he kept pegged above his Nike high tops. Someone had cruelly forgotten to tell him the ‘80s were over. “I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

  “Me neither. But it has to have happened before, right? If someone can sleepwalk, what’s to keep them from tossing off a few spells?”