Afterworld (The Orion Rezner Chronicles Book 1) (14 page)

She led me down a long hall with three doors on either side. At the end of the hall was another door. She bent and whispered a word into the keyhole, and the door clicked open. I followed her inside. For a room that belonged to the High Priestess of a coven of witches, it looked…normal. A four-poster bed sat against the far wall, flanked by a pair of whitewashed dressers. To the right, a large bay window with a reading nook took up most of the wall. To the right of it sat a vanity with an oval mirror. To the left was a large bookcase built into the wall. She went over to it and began scanning the titles.

“Here.” She took out what I assumed to be a potion book and sat down at the end of the bed, flipping through pages. I sat next to her and looked on.

“Here it is,” she said, running her finger down the ingredients list. “Water-based potion: three coffee beans, three tea leaves, one dried bat wing, one white owl feather, bull bile, werewolf scat…yeah, I think we have most of this on hand.” She closed the book and headed for the door.

I followed.

“Werewolf scat?” I asked, with a laugh. “Is that what I think it is?”

She smiled back at me. “Yup, werewolf shit.”

“Yummy.”

I followed her through the living room to the kitchen, where she went to a shelf, high in the pantry. It was full of jars with tags like vampire fang, toad spit, dried seahorse, butterfly wings, fish eyes, and a variety of other unsavory items.

“Quite a collection you got here,” I said.

She handed me a basket and began loading jars. “This is nothing, barely the basics. You should see the collection at Harvard Witchcraft—they even have unicorn horn.”

“Unicorn? Those are real?”

“Oh, yes. They’re very shy—even harder to find than Sasquatch.”

After adding the last of the jars, she referred back to her book and concluded that we were ready.

I followed her out the back door and across a small deck. The witches had started a raging fire beneath a big cauldron. As we approached, a blond bombshell smiled at me with an
I could eat you in one bite
stare.

“Who’s your friend?” she asked Melody, almost purring.

“Orion, this is Ezmerelda Black.”

Melody took the basket from me, and Ezmerelda cast a small scowl at her as she walked past. I moved to follow, but Ezmerelda blocked my path with a pair of plump twins that bounced as she spoke. Her tight, black-leather pants and leather vest were busting at the seams. Her cleavage was so deep you’d need a miner’s helmet to navigate down there.

She threw back her pink-and-blue-streaked blond hair with a sultry toss of her head and looked me up and down. “I’ve seen you around school. Weren’t you in my demonology class last year?”

“I think so. Nice to meet you,” I said, brushing by her to join the others at the cauldron.

I had met women like her before, and they had always gotten on my nerves. She reminded me of one of those too-full-of-themselves cheerleaders from the old high school movies. All tits and ass and attitude. She was about six feet tall and gorgeous—the problem was, she knew it.

“Hi, I’m Ginger,” said the freckle-faced, orange-haired girl.

“Orion. Nice to meet you.”

A woman around twenty, with a red and brown, medium-sized afro, offered me a perfect smile. She shook my hand and introduced herself as Whitney. The last witch was a wisp of a woman, no taller than five feet. She had green hair and eyes and regarded me with a shy half-smile as she stirred the cauldron with a small boat paddle.

“This is Clover Green,” Melody informed me.

“Hello, Clover,” I said.

She nodded at me and turned wide eyes back to her work.

“Would you do the honors, Clover?” Melody handed her the potions book, already open to the page.

Clover’s voice was quiet. “Thank you, High Priestess.”

She took up the book and read over the page. The other witches, Melody included, began dancing around the fire, and I turned to move out of their way.

“I need one of your hairs,” Clover said, in her mousy voice.

Handing over a piece of your DNA to a witch is generally a bad idea. With but a drop of blood or a single piece of hair, they can target you with their magic over great distances. As givers of life, witches have a strong bond to the living world. For this reason they are usually more proficient at magic directed toward living things. They are also empaths and highly sensitive to emotional fields. I suspected that Clover was a very sensitive empath. They tend to be quiet and seemingly withdrawn, favoring solitude or small groups.

I reached up and plucked a piece of hair from my mop.

Aside from the cauldron, the back yard featured another fire pit and a circle of seven Adirondack chairs. A small herb garden took up the entire right side, so I sat on the grass under the big willow tree on the left.

Clover began a low, almost inaudible chant, which the others repeated more fervently. She tossed in my hair as she stirred the caldron. The coffee beans went next, followed by the tea leaves, bat wing, owl feather, and werewolf “scat.” The potion bubbled and hissed as the witches’ voices rose up and echoed off the adjacent houses. They began to thrash and gyrate as multicolored sparks fizzled out of the bubbling concoction. Clover tossed in the bull bile and dipped in a long ladle. Carefully, she poured it into a silver bowl.

The witches ended their ritual and moved to inspect the potion—all except Ezmerelda, who sauntered her way over to me. The night was warm, and a thin sheen of sweat added to her luster. I couldn’t help but notice that she seemed to be smuggling M&Ms in her bra.

She fanned herself. “Practicing the Craft always gets me so…mmm…”

As I got up, I did my best to seem super interested in the potion and said, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

When it had cooled down enough, Melody poured some into a long, metal vial and handed it to me.

“Give it a try.”

The others crowded around and watched with interest.

“Just a bit,” she warned. “About two tablespoons, no more often than every four hours or so.”

“Bottoms up!” I said, and tipped back the vial.

What hit my tongue tasted like a crappuccino. I choked it down, trying not to think of the werewolf scat that had gone into its making. My heart fluttered, and my fatigue washed away like I’d been hit by an ice-cold waterfall. I took in a shuddering breath.

Ezmerelda bit her lip and shuddered with me.

Ginger rolled her eyes and offered her a withering glance. “Try to control yourself, Sex Kitten.”

“So?” Melody asked me.

“Wow,” was all I could say. I felt ready to run a marathon.

She turned and headed toward the kitchen’s sliding glass doors. “Thank you, sisters.”

“Thanks, ladies,” I said, in tow.

“Nice to meet you,” said Whitney.

“My pleasure,” Ezmerelda purred.

“Oh, shut up…” Ginger huffed.

An argument broke out as I followed Melody to the front door.

“Lively group,” I said.

“Yeah, sorry about Ezmerelda…she’s not always that bad.”

I shrugged and pursed my lips. “Who can blame her?”

Melody laughed and playfully pushed me out the door. “Goodnight, Rezner.”

I walked to my scooter. “Thanks a lot, Melody.”

“Oh, and Rezner,” she added. “You owe me one.”

I
returned to my apartment around three o’clock in the morning. Judging by the contents of the vial, I had about a dozen doses. I figured it would last me a few days. As I parked the scooter, a bird squawked in the distance, and I turned to find a big falcon flying toward me. It swooped down and landed on the railing of my apartment stairs. Attached to its right leg was a small tube with what looked like a twist top. The falcon squawked again and eyed me sideways. When I didn’t move, the bird pecked at the tube—apparently, the contents were for me.

Fully expecting to get pecked, I carefully reached for it, not taking my eyes off the falcon’s beak. When I had untied it and twisted off the top, the bird leapt into the air and flew away.

“Thanks…” I said absently.

Glancing around, I retrieved the rolled-up piece of paper inside. Maximillian’s writing was scribbled on it.

Speak your name
, the note read.

I did so and new words wrote themselves across the paper.

Orion,

If you want to help the children, meet me at Trinity Church and bring Mushiro. Also, check your apartment for the chimp. He escaped from Harvard.

-M. S.

PS: Drop this letter
!

I let go of the note immediately as it burst into flame and turned to ash. Movement in the window caught my attention. Dude stared back at me, standing in the sill, with his hands on his hips like Superman.

I laughed. “You da chimp!”

He jumped up and down, pounding on the glass. How Dude had gotten in was beyond me. He never divulges his secrets. I ran up the stoop and unlocked the front door, and he leapt into my arms immediately.

“Somebody
told
me you escaped—you know you’re just going to piss ’em off, right?”

He responded with a fart noise.

“My thoughts exactly. Come on, we gotta pick up Mushi and meet Maximillian at Trinity.”

He signed, “Father.”

“Yeah, Killroy is probably there.”

He was out the door and on the scooter in no time.

Mushi’s ride was chained to the metal railing of his stoop—he was home. I pounded on the door and waited. When he didn’t answer, I knocked again.

“It’s me, Mushi. Get up, man…it’s important!”

A window opened on the second floor. Mushi poked his sleepy head out of it and scowled.

“Rez, man, it’s like middle of night,” he said, yawning.

“It’s important, man. Open up!”

Dude leapt from my back, expertly climbed up to the window, and disappeared inside. A commotion ensued, followed by Mushi’s curses, and the window slammed shut. Shortly after, the door opened.

“Thanks, Mushi.”

He grunted and turned toward the kitchen, scratching his ass and moving like a zombie. I sat at the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining room. He mumbled a spell, and a candle in each corner of the kitchen lit up.

Showoff.

“What you need, Rez?” He opened the fridge and stared at its stark contents. No light came on inside, but the fridge still worked…kind of. Mushiro, like many wizards, used a spell stone to keep his fridge cold. I had one too, though I had yet to master the enchantment. Mine only worked for a day or so at a time, while Mushi’s lasted nearly a week.

“I need you to get dressed and come to Trinity church. I think Maximillian is recruiting us to a secret task force.”

He perked up slightly. “Task force for what?”

“I don’t know, man. It has to do with helping the children of the Cain.”

He grabbed a bottle of water and came to lean on the counter. “Like an underground railroad or something?”

“I guess. C’mon, let’s find out.”

“Gimme a minute.” He guzzled his water and shuffled to the bedroom.

We arrived at Trinity at four o’clock, Mushiro having taken his sweet time getting his crap together. The fight at the museum had shaken him up, and he took enough magical gear with him for a small battle. We went in through the front door and down the aisle. I figured Killroy would be in his private study with Maximillian, but the father waited just beyond the altar.

“This way,” he said.

He took us back into the sacristy and through a hidden door I’d never known about before. We followed him down a flight of stairs and through a long hall. Finally, he turned right, into a brightly lit room. Maximillian sat at a wide, round, ornately carved table, along with Elder Wizard Crowly, who offered me the usual scowl.

A witch sat at the table as well. My eyes were instantly drawn to her flowing scarlet robes, which were embroidered with golden runes along the edges. She wore an old-school witch’s hat that drooped to the right. It too was scarlet with golden runes. Silver hair flowed out from beneath it and over her shoulders. Her intense, gray-blue eyes held mine before gliding to meet Mushi’s and then Dude’s. She looked in her fifties, but like wizards, a witch’s age could not be determined by appearance. A handsome woman with a steely demeanor and a warm smile, I liked her immediately—and wondered if she had influenced my feelings. You never can really trust yourself around a witch. Someone like the flirty Ezmerelda could have a man eating out of a dog bowl if he weren’t careful, which is partially why I avoided her.

“Orion, Johnny, this is Elder Witch Valentine Solomon,” said Father Killroy.

We both extended a hand across the table and shook hers.

Killroy offered us a seat and shut the door. Dude decided to forego my lap and sat to my left, with all seriousness. I had a million questions but held my tongue. Luckily, Maximillian got right down to it.

“We have been watching you both for some time now—”

Dude gave a screech, and Maximillian corrected himself.

“All three of you.”

Dude smiled.

“The mission to Crystal Lake was a test,” he said. “You passed.”

I stared, dumbfounded. “What do you mean, a
test
?” I turned to Father Killroy. “What about the children we left behind?”

“Kronos cast a concealment spell on the church before the group fled. Boston Militia chased them away, and he doubled back to secure the location,” he told us.

Kronos
? I was in shock.

“That was all for show?” asked Mushi.

“We had to know how far you would go,” said Maximillian.

Johnny considered this and then asked, “How the hell did he get back here so fast?”

“He has his ways,” Maximillian replied.

“
Kronos
,” I said, still in shock. “
Kronos
is part of this group…which
helps
the children of the Cain?”

“Indeed. He is one of the founders—he and Father Killroy.”

“Why did he knock me out with a spell if he intended to help the children anyway?”

“He doesn’t like you.” Maximillian was slightly amused. “And he needed to save face in front of the others.”

I tried to take in what I was hearing.

Mushi continued. “What about Anderson? Macklebee? Lopez?”

Father Killroy made the sign of the cross. “They weren’t part of our group, though they were fine soldiers, one and all. Just a bit too good at following orders.”

The father looked to the ground and Mushi turned to Maximillian. “So what’s the name of your group?”

“We have no name.”

“Cool,” said Johnny. “The No Name Group.”

High Priestess Valentine leaned forward. “You must never speak of the group or its operations, nor will you write down anything about us or our activities.”

I had finally collected myself and joined the conversation. “Fine, count me in,” I said. “How many others are there?”

“There are many,” said Crowly. He had the rough voice of a lifetime alcoholic. “For now you need only know those you see here.”

A thought occurred to me. “Eldermaster, what of my sister…any news?”

“I am sorry, son. No, we have not located her. But we still may—we are finding more and more of the children every week,” he said.

I turned to Killroy. “I’m sorry for my words earlier, Father…I didn’t know.”

He nodded. “It is understandable, Orion. All is forgotten.”

I offered him a nod of respect, still feeling bad for the things I’d said.

“I couldn’t tell you anything unless the group decided to bring you in,” he explained.

I was still a little confused. “Kronos couldn’t have agreed with the decision.”

“Oh, on the contrary,” said Maximillian, “what you did at Crystal Lake convinced him of your…integrity.”

I felt like I was in a waking dream. Kronos had voted to include me in the group. Maximillian and Killroy knew about Azazel being after me, and I had to assume that the rest of them did as well. If Azazel was trying to round up the children of the Cain, why would Maximillian and the others include me in a group which was secretly hiding the children? Wouldn’t I be leading Azazel and his Cain army right to them?

Ah hah
!

I turned a suspicious eye on Maximillian.

“You’re using me as
bait
.”

The elder wizard glanced at Killroy. “We were getting to that.”

Sure you were
.

I was annoyed. “You had no intentions of recruiting me or Mushiro before Azazel’s attempt to possess me. And Kronos would need a damn good reason to allow me into the group—the old prick hates my guts. Those assassins weren’t after you last night, were they Maximillian? They were after me.”

The elder wizard said nothing.

“You’re hiding the children of the Cain, and Azazel is after them for some reason. You must assume that he has already taken many of them. You want me to…what? Lead you to his hideout so the Boston Militia can destroy it?”

“I smell a rat,” said Mushi.

“Amen, brother.”

Maximillian regarded me with calm patience. If my accusations had been on the mark, he gave no indication—none of them did. The tension in the room was palpable.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” I asked them all finally. “Including me in such a group would seriously jeopardize the mission.”

Father Killroy regarded Maximillian with a wry look. “I told you he would figure it out before we got the plan off the ground.”

I stood abruptly and turned for the door. “Mushi, Dude, let’s go.”

They stood to leave.

“Wait!” Father Killroy urged.

“Why! So you four can blow more smoke up our asses? I don’t have time for this shit!” I said, and walked out the door.

“Do you want to help save the children?” Maxmillian asked.

I froze.

“Our deception was not intended for you,” he continued, “but for the demon. This is too important an issue for your feelings to get in the way. Please, have a seat.”

The elder master’s words carried with them the influence of his power. I felt an overwhelming need to comply. Dude couldn’t resist and sat back down immediately. Mushi fought the urge, as I did, and we shared a questioning glance.

“What do you think?” I asked him.

He didn’t hesitate. “They want disposable heroes.”

He was right, but I couldn’t turn my back on an opportunity to possibly find my sister. I was willing to be bait. However, I didn’t expect Mushi to risk himself following me on a suicide mission.

“You should go, Mushi. You don’t need to risk—”

“You stay, I stay,” he said with a finality that would not be argued.

I walked back in the room and we sat down.

“Where do we go from here?” I asked.

They drilled me on what had happened since Azazel’s attempted possession. Valentine wanted detailed descriptions of my dreams, and Crowly was interested in how the demon’s influence had affected my state of mind and, if at all, my will.

“What about Azazel’s intention to lower the spell shield?” I asked.

“Highly unlikely,” said Crowly, but he did not elaborate.

“And my suggestion to Father Killroy to create a spell which might detect demonic influence?”

The father nodded. “Such a spell already exists.” He glanced at Valentine Solomon.

I was suddenly filled with trepidation. “Am I under Azazel’s influence right now?”

“No, but his connection to you will only grow stronger,” she said.

“Through my dreams?”

She nodded affirmatively.

“I have a potion which will keep me from sleeping,” I told her, “that should give us some time.”

Witch Solomon arched an eyebrow. “That won’t be necessary.”

I was confused. “What do you mean?”