Witch's Brew - Spellspinners 1 (Spellspinners of Melas County) (28 page)

Logan

“You seem to be in a far better mood,” Chance hissed as they walked back to their rooms after dropping Kujo off at his kennel.

“Do I?”

“Uh, yes...Logan…are you sure you’re in control here? I know she was here, and I know you were hiding her. She’s not one of us. You have no reason to protect her. You aren’t
allowed
to protect her.”

“I don’t care,” Logan said, surprised by the conviction in his voice.

When he saw her, it was better than surfing. Better than Breathing. Her being in his room tonight, then practicing magic together…

“Uh-oh, dude,” Chance said, sagging visibly, “he’s back.”

Logan broke out of his Lily daze and saw a black BMW in the spotlight shadows of the driveway—its license plate reading 1Hemlox1. A familiar rotten feeling spread through his gut.

“This is some welcoming party,” Father sneered, leaning against his luxury vehicle. The moon streaked through the clouds, highlighting his pallid skin. “What are you boys still doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Excited about the Gleaning. How was your trip, Master?” Chance asked.

“Excellent, Chance, thank you. I’m cautiously…optimistic about the future. Business is tight right now with the economy in such a mess, but when you have a good product like we do, there is always a market.”

Jacob’s red-rimmed eyes twinkled mischievously as he looked the boys over. Logan thought he might tell them more; he looked like he wanted to let them in on his dangerous secret.

Logan had always wondered about his company. The factories they kept overseas. The true use of the pharmaceuticals they manufactured. For the most part, Jacob was pretty tight-lipped about the operation. But he was also a braggart, and when he’d sucked a few too many back, on the rare occasion he let himself indulge in something other than magic, a few secrets tended to leak out.

“If anyone could do it, Hemlox can.” Logan hoped Jacob didn’t detect the air of mockery in his voice. The irony that the warlocks’ multibillion-dollar-a-year company was named after a medieval potion used by witches wasn’t lost on Logan.

“Let me help you with your bags, Master,” Chance said, walking toward the trunk of the car. The way Chance’s voice changed around Jacob, the way he jumped at the drop of his liquid red eyes to do his bidding made Logan physically sick.

It hadn’t bothered him before.

He felt the amulet pulse.

As if it was now egging Logan on.

What?

Then, Father held out his hand, physically stopping Chance in his tracks. “That won’t be necessary, Chance. Save your energy, son.”

Chance bumped into an invisible wall of energy, a force field that Father had created.

Sardonic humor etched into Jacob’s sneer. “Remember the Gleaning coming right up. The Congression wants a
guaranteed
triumph. I want wins in every category. Nothing sloppy. You boys need to rise to the next level. The witches
must
be defeated this time around. No exceptions.”

Chance nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Logan clenched his fist in the shadows, and dared to ask, “Do you have the list yet, Father?”

Jacob’s head slowly turned toward Logan. Parting his lips, his forked tongue flickered out of his cracked white mouth. “You are asking for the witch’s name?”

“Inquiring if you have the list, yes.”

“Why is it of interest to you, Logan, which one you fight?” His fingers, like a demon’s claw, scratched through the night air. “They are all the same.”

Logan pictured Lily’s face, and then quickly erased it before Father could catch it.

No, they certainly weren’t all the same.

Catching Chance’s look of warning, he kicked a rock, planned for a safe retreat. For Chance’s sake if not for Logan’s. Angering Jacob,
questioning
Jacob, never ended well for the boys. “Just curious is all.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

Father replying with mundane clichés? Just one of the best things about his winning personality.

Jacob’s eyes were focused on Logan’s. He took a step toward him, snake-like in his movements, red eyes practically dripping in scornful warning. “At first you may be disarmed by the witches. Outwardly they are lovely, and their charms rival even Cleopatra’s. But remember, boys”—Jacob’s crimson eyes darted from Logan to Chance and back to Logan—“their beauty, their kindness, it is all a facade. They are weak and wicked. They only want to blend in with humans. They refuse to want more. To be more. It’s a disgrace that we mighty warlocks have to rely on their tainted magic at all. If I may let you boys in on a little secret?” He paused for dramatic effect. “We may not have to rely on it for much longer.”

With the rage of emotion, the cadence of Jacob’s breath sped up, then sputtered and jerked as if his voice was a skipping CD. Whiffs of black gas trailed from his nose. Logan took a step back in a vain attempt to duck out of the way before the putrid smell could hit him.

Jacob’s bony shoulders slumped as he rested a weary claw-like hand on his own forehead, mopping up thick, yellow sweat.

Logan caught Chance’s sidelong concerned glance.

Father’s health was getting worse. That was clear. It was impossible to hide his condition from the public eye, so he stayed hidden here at the Academy, only traveling via his private jet, and then, only was in the presence of his family or the Congression.

Only in the presence of others like him.

At night his coughing was even louder, scratchier. Sometimes he coughed so much he heaved, which turned Logan’s stomach. Jacob was getting pickier with his eating too—refusing most meat and vegetables, relying solely on hard-boiled eggs he’d swallow whole.

It was as if he was losing his humanity entirely.

Logan worried about Father more than he let on. As confusing and volatile as their relationship was, he cared about him. He would be interested to see at the Stones if the other members of the Congression were suffering from a similar fate. This rapid aging and disease that seemed to hit warlocks at middle age.

Jacob had looked young and spry only five years ago. Biologically, Logan knew he couldn’t be any older than 45. But now, with his watery eyes, fragile frame and never-ending cough, he looked like he was verging on ninety.

“Master? Are you all right?” Chance asked when the coughing fit subsided. Jacob didn’t like to be touched as it was happening. The boys were instructed by Mother to treat him the same as they always had. To Jacob, weakness was worse than death.

To be pitied was the ultimate form of weakness.

Jacob turned his palms down toward the earth, and laughed. A wicked, pointed laugh, as he pulled evil from the underworld, into his broken limbs and out his twisted mouth. Onto his sons.

Hunkering down, Logan sucked in a breath of clean air and held it in his lungs. He watched Chance stumble back and fall, immersed in a cloud of gas. Now Chance was the one coughing, gagging, as Crimson-level poison seeped into his lungs.

Starting to feel lightheaded from holding his breath, Logan dove toward Chance. He yanked off his own t-shirt, and held it to his friend’s face. “Breathe into this.”

Too late. Chance’s eyes were red, rolling back.

“Chance! Father, stop this! You’re hurting him!”

Speaking was foolish. The gas seeped into Logan, and now, he too was gasping from the spellbinding poison.

One of the older boys, Blain, had warned him once long ago.
If Jacob ever unleashes the red ash, you must focus on something beautiful. Something good. So it can’t take complete hold over you.

Lily.

Gasping, Logan concentrated until he saw Lily’s creamy face, her half-moon eyes, her hair flowing over his open palms.

Lily.

Chance’s body hunched over into the dirt. Logan wanted to scream, but couldn’t lose the last of the pure oxygen in his lungs. Then Lily’s image in the air, in his mind—he couldn’t tell the difference anymore in all this red fog—morphed into a red-eyed, snake-haired mythical creature that snarled at him.

A witch from a childhood fairytale. A wicked witch from a little boy’s nightmare.

Father grinned at the gasping boys, the sick-spell from moments ago passed. Pleased, their Master’s forked tongue flicked from his mouth as he sputtered red-gassed spit down on the asphalt. It hit the ground like black soot. “Don’t ever ask me about witches. It’s never a good idea. Oh well,” he said cheerfully, “nothing ventured, nothing gained. At least now you’ll be prepared for battle, boys.”

Logan smelled smoke and had a vision of a child’s tree house—tall and alone in the middle of a thick, dark forest. He heard screaming. Realizing it was his own voice, Logan jerked himself awake with a start.

Father’s spell. It must still be in his system. Logan felt worse than he ever had, even after the days where he spent too much time with the euca leaves. He was a mess. His head pounded, his gut ached, and his muscles were sore.

Logan moaned, rubbed his head hard, deep into his temples with his bony knuckles, trying to dig the horrid nightmares away.

A pounding at the door reverberated in his throbbing head.

“Go away!” He lay back down on his bed. The pounding grew louder. “What?”

The door opened. Logan rolled over, pulling a black t-shirt over his head and yanking up some sweats over his boxers.

Chance.

“Shut the door.” Logan listened for anyone who might be eavesdropping, before he lowered his voice into a scratchy whisper and said, “We need to look for a counterspell. Father is banking on winning this fight. After yesterday, I don’t think he’d stop at anything to complete whatever he’s up to with the Congression.”

Chance nodded. “I thought of that too.”

“And…” Logan fell back. “Chance. What if I hurt Lily?”

“Cheese, listen. You have to get that witch out of your head. You look like shit. Get in the shower.”

Logan rubbed his head. “Can I trust you, Chance? Really trust you?”

“Of course.”

Logan dug into his pocket, pulled out the amulet.

“You still have her amulet?”

“I think it protects me. It’s like…it’s alive or something. I can’t explain it, but it pulses and gets hot, and it feels like its part of me, like it’s communicating with me.”

“It
is
an amulet,” Chance said.

“Yes, but mine never did anything. It just sat there, you know, like a stone.”

“Don’t you pay attention in classes, Cheese? Amulets protect people from danger, charms to ward off evil spirits and such—

Logan nodded. “Good luck charms.”

“Only much stronger. May I?” Chance leaned forward and picked up the indigo stone, examining it closely. “It’s such a strange shape, but the color is incredible. See these coarse edges? The little scratches? Something is written here.”

Logan leaned in closer. Sure enough there were little lines like runes.

“And when she was here last night…”

“Here, like in your bedroom? You sly dog. And there I was knocking like an a-rod, interrupting.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh, I’m sure. A gorgeous witch you’re totally into and it’s nothing like that.”

“We…spun a spell together.”

“This is getting crazier by the second.”

“I didn’t even tell you the best part. She stole my amulet too. Tricked me just like I tricked her. So we agreed to switch them back, down on the beach, later.”

“Ahhh, how romantic for the two of you. I gotta tell you, Cheese, I’m not too fond of your loyalties these days.”

“What should I have done? Turned her over to your roving pack last night? Can you imagine what Jude would’ve done with her? No way.”

“Tread lightly here. If Jacob would’ve showed up fifteen minutes earlier and knocked on your door? You think he would’ve waited outside patiently while you ‘showered’? No. You’d have spent the night in the dungeon. And your witch girlfriend? I dunno, bro, but it wouldn’t be pretty.”

Lily

Daisy and I were walking toward the beach when we heard a friendly little beep-beep.

“Who’s that?” she asked.

I shielded my face from the sun as a beat-up pink VW bus circa 1970 pulled into the gutter behind us. “I think…it’s the Witch’s Brew barista.”

Sure enough, it was Jonah. “You have a pink car,” I deadpanned into his window.

“Correction.” He grinned. “The band has a pink BUS. We call it the Pink Twinkie.”

“The Pink Twinkie! I wholeheartedly approve.”

“So, you girls need a ride?”

“We’re okay to walk,” I said.

“Hey, does this thing have a pop-up sleeper?” Daisy asked, already opening the side door and jumping in. “I love these! Remember we used to have one when we were little? Oh, a kitchen too. And fruit snacks!”

Jonah shrugged.

“I guess we’ll accept that ride then.” I hopped into the passenger seat and buckled up.

“Cool. We
are
going to the same place.” Dressed in one of those navy blue gas station shirts (with the name Lincoln stitched on the pocket) and black and white checkered pants that he must have stolen from a 1950’s diner waiter, he looked like he’d just popped out of the set of an indie movie.

“Do you live in here?” I asked, looking around.

He laughed. “Technically, I live in my parents’ basement, but yeah, sort of.”

I peeked in the back. Where the second row of seats should be, there was instead a drum set, two electric guitars, a bass and a box of pink and black stickers that read PINK TWINKIE on them. A guitar with a cartoon-pink Twinkie was their emblem. Motto? Trademark? At any rate it was pretty cool.

“When are you guys playing next?”

“Next weekend. You should come!”

“I’d love to,” I said, and I meant it.

“We aren’t that good though.” He twisted his nose ring around and around. “Be warned.” But Jonah said it with a smile. A guy that could sport pink hair AND drive a pink car around town must be hugely firm in his masculinity. I told him so.

“What is pink if not a softer shade of red, right?”

“I guess?”

“And what does red represent?” he asked, his green eyes locked on mine.