Witch's Brew - Spellspinners 1 (Spellspinners of Melas County) (2 page)

“Daisy doesn’t know anything about the Stones? The real danger of the Gleaning, does she?” Orchid said, straight-faced, when my sister was out of earshot.

“She knows as much as we did at her age,” I said. Which was that the Stones were an ancient, mysterious ring of boulders, like Stonehenge, where witches fought to glean magic off the warlocks and vice-versa. “But obviously, she doesn’t know everything. I mean, Iris and Camellia didn’t even fill us in completely until this year.”

“So she has no idea of the risks? That you might not return after your first fight?” Her bluntness made me shudder in the dim light. “No. And I’d rather not think about it either. At least not tonight.”

“Popcorn and reality TV, then?”

“Sounds perfect.”

For the moment, spells were forgotten as we ran downstairs and sprawled out on the fuzzy rug of our living room floor, attempting to be normal teenagers. Well, as normal as teenage witches could ever be.

Later that night, long after Daisy and Orchid were asleep, I lay awake in my bed. The Gleaning was coming up so quickly, and with my magic all goofy, how could I possibly enter the ring as confident as I should be?

I needed the strength of my spells, as well as my martial arts skills, to defeat the warlock I was paired with. I knew the Seven Sisters would do all they could to fortify my body, and my sword, but if my internal magic was failing? Was flawed? I could endanger everything for our coven. And according to Camellia’s prayer, this was a “Transition” year. I had never heard of that before. What did it mean?

Then there were the warlocks.

I’d been thinking about them a lot lately. What they looked like, how they moved, what their energy would feel like mixed with mine.

The elders didn’t tell us much, other than that they looked like human boys, but with ink markings, and magic eyes. But since we’d never seen one in person (that we knew of), the young witches spread rumors: warlocks, even the young ones, were disgusting, vulture-like creatures, with sharp teeth and serpent tongues. Either that or they were brutally irresistible, like male sirens, drawing witches into their traps with smooth moves and come-hither voices. I wasn’t sure whom to believe.

We weren’t allowed to attend the Stones battles until we were at least Cerulean rank, which Orchid and I were now. We only knew that half of the girls that went to battle never came back. And there were rumors about that too.

If you lose your match, you are taken away, to a distant island prison where you are made to suffer for your weakness.

The defeated witches are brought to sick bay at a hospital for Spellspinners, where they are rehabilitated.

And the worst rumor of all, one that I worried about when I was alone at night, when all was quiet: that neither of the above was true. That the destroyed witch died in the Stones, overcome by the dark magic. That the elders kept their brutal demise a secret.

Why would they tell the truth?

If we knew, who would fight?

“Just tell me what happens, please,” I’d begged Iris on a particularly insecure evening, after training.

She’d said, “I don’t want you to think about what happens after, only to concentrate on what you can do before, to train, so that you will come home safely. Focus on strength, courage, and the greater good, which will come from doing your personal best. The rest will follow.”

“I don’t want to die,” I’d said, swallowing back tears.

“Then don’t,” was her reply.

Lily

After so much coven togetherness, it was a treat to be alone, and I was making the most of the almost-summer day. Nobody else was out hiking. I knew why, of course. Rumors had circulated in Melas about Black Mountain for years. About pet dogs that chased squirrels into the grove never to be seen again. Of dead crows found lying on rocks like sacrifices. Of hunched, black-robed men that walked alone, then disappeared into the fog.

No rational human, or witch, would dare hike up here unaccompanied, especially this close to twilight. But I was on a mission and not easily deterred. Besides, I was no average rational creature. I was a witch facing my first Gleaning with jacked up magic. And I didn’t want to die.

Tuning into the local indie station, I caught my favorite songs with my mind and hummed along quietly. (Not having to use an iPod? Cool perk of being a modern witch.)

It was dusk by the time I got to the top of the hill, where I slipped into the forest in hopes of camouflaging myself. Cutting the music from my head, I Listened for any unusual magic activity. Some static, nothing more. I convinced myself that if warlocks were around, I would sense their dark energy and be able to retreat in time.

Just in case, I spun a glamour spell to make my eyes look violet instead of bright cerulean, and disguised my floral scent.

The forbidden grove was so close, I could smell what I was after: the sweet, dusty odor of the famed euca leaves. After the long hike, the magic eucalyptus smacked my system like a jolt of espresso. Instantly wired, my fingers twitched and my heart sped up.

A little farther.

After rehydrating with elixir water, I noticed a red-tailed hawk circling above with a long snake dangling from its beak. The snake appeared dead, but the hawk’s eyes glowed like blood-rubies. This was no ordinary bird. My bottle fell to the ground as my swordfinger sprang to life. The last thing I wanted to do was zap a majestic bird out of the sky, but if it attacked, I’d have no choice. The hawk swooped, and I ducked. Instead of barreling into my chest, it stopped inches away from me, hovering in the wind—and then winked. I realized suddenly that the quivering reptile hanging from his beak was a
live
rattler. On a defensive impulse, I sent a rogue bolt of energy out of my finger, which missed the bird and ignited a dry branch above me.

Cursing, I scrambled up the peeling trunk to blow out the fire. Nothing. I concentrated on the cooling spell as the blaze grew around me. My skin fought the heat until finally, a wet breath escaped my lips and reduced flames into simmers of smoke. Weak from exertion, I scraped down white bark and tumbled onto the dirt.

My aim. My spells. My
magic
was so screwed up.

Through a sudden curtain of fog, I spotted the bird. I watched it orbit over the grove and then drop the rattler into dark trees.
What the…?
Suddenly I was choking back a yawn—my eyelids weighted like fists pushed into my sockets. Gooseshivers popped all over my arms when I flashed on an old bedtime story Iris told me—Dorothy being lulled to sleep in a poppy field in Oz—a cautionary tale. Weak with fear, I scanned the forest canopy. I didn’t see anything, and I didn’t feel anything either. No dark or dangerous energy seeping from the woods. Then what was happening?

Stumbling forward, I convinced myself that if I could just get to the grove in time, if I could snatch some of those euca leaves, I’d have the strength to get off the mountain, and maybe even the boost I needed to succeed in the Gleaning.

I didn’t make it as far as the next boulder. The fog was thick with a sickening syrupy smell. It had to be them. They knew I was here.

Burying my face in my sweatshirt, I tried not to breathe in the dizzying trap, knowing full well a swath of cotton could never protect me from a warlock’s curse.

Iris!
The cry fumbled out, but it was no use. Mom had no idea where I was. My coven thought I was at the library. My mother thought I was with my coven. And besides, I was out of her Hearing range. My final disjointed thought as I crumbled to the ground was bleak:
Should’ve let the rattler bite me. Snake poison is nothing compared to a warlock’s.

Lily

When my eyes finally fluttered open, I was stunned to see a boy with wild black hair and piercing blue eyes staring down at me. I jerked up, awkwardly, slipping off the boulder. The only weapon I had, my swordfinger, trembled.
Steady
.

I ran my eyes down his sculpted forearm, looking for the ink that was rumored to be the intrinsic mark of a warlock. He had none, though his eyes were a brilliant cerulean.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice softer than his harsh eyes might suggest. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Oh yeah, sure. More like coming to finish the job?

His lips parted slightly, as if he was going to say something else. But then they closed.

I tried to play it cool. “I must’ve passed out. I was on a ridiculously long hike, and I guess I didn’t drink enough water.”

“You sure you’re okay? You look really pale.”

“I always look pale.”

“Oh, okay. Are you out here looking for something in particular?” he asked, head cocked.

Why was he being so nice? Where were his fangs? His dark energy?

“I was scouting for…wildlife,” I lied. “For my biology class.”

“Oh? Spot anything interesting?” he asked.

“Not really.” I shrugged, playing dumb.

“I guess I should be offended then.”

“How so?”

“You don’t think I’m interesting?”

He was toying with me.

I tried reading his face like Camellia had taught me. Tried gauging his energy. I still couldn’t get a dark read at all. He felt entirely neutral. Either that or there was something wrong with my usually spot-on instincts.

How long had he been watching me? How long had I been asleep?

I tried to stand and wobbled.

He took a small step forward, as if to steady me. Before his hand could touch my arm, I balanced myself and he jerked back like I’d stung him.

I reacted too. A strange buzz in the air. Weird.

“What are
you
doing out here?” I asked, to keep him from asking more questions. “No water bottle or even a backpack?” I needed to distract him, until I’d regained enough energy to hightail it off the mountain.

“I’m on a nature walk, too.”

Was I imagining the smile in his eyes?

“What are you looking for?”

“Anything…unusual.”

He knew. He totally knew what I was.

He had to be the one who cast the spell to put me to sleep. But what was he planning on doing with me? The various options made me sick to my stomach. I had to get out of here. And fast.

“Well, I better get going. My family will get worried and come looking for me. They’re probably already looking for me now.”

I glanced down the trail, pretending to listen for footsteps.

“Hmm. Okay. Let me walk you out then. Nasty rumors about Black Mountain after sundown. I’m sure you’ve heard?”

“Nah, I don’t pay attention to rumors. See ya…”

“Logan,” he said.

I swallowed, and stopped.

Why did I stop?

Run.

“See ya, then,
Logan
,” I said. Why would a warlock tell me his name?

I stumbled into the mist, scrambling over rocks like an injured wild cat, instinctively knowing the shortest route to safety. Then to my horror, the same red-tailed hawk swooped along next to me, screaming. My finger lit up again, but the last thing I wanted to do was light something else on fire. Dry grass and flames do not mix well, and I was in enough trouble.

“Wait,” a low voice called behind me. “You forgot something.”

I spun around, half-expecting this Logan to come at me with his
shinai
. But he just stood there innocently, holding out my water bottle.

“Set it on the rock and I’ll get it.”

“As you wish, madam,” he said teasingly. “Though wouldn’t a simple handoff be easier?”

“I’m a germaphobe.”

As soon as the words escaped my mouth I realized how dorky they sounded.

Germaphobe?

He stepped forward, set the bottle on the rock, and then backed up a few paces. The bottle rolled off the stone onto the dirt. Without breaking eye contact with him, I walked a few steps forward and grabbed it. If it weren’t filled with damning Elixir water, I would’ve just ditched it.

The closer I got to him, the more electric the air became. Tiny white hairs stood on my arms like dandelion fluff.

“You’re sort of odd,” he said.

“Um, thanks.” I snatched the bottle and bolted back down the trail.

His footsteps quickened behind me.

Playtime over. “Why are you following me?” I demanded.

He stood there in the middle of the trail looking at me.

Sucking him in, I took a mental picture of his pale face, the almond shape of his eyes, the sharp outline of his jaw. He was beyond hot. Smoking hot. Tree-caught-on-fire hot. In an expensive-looking short-sleeved black T-shirt, broad shoulders—but not too wide—just perfect, he looked about seventeen years old. I could see the boy in him as much as I could see the man.

As my gaze drifted to his biceps, I saw it. The telltale mark of a warlock: black ink running down his arms in links of Celtic chains.

I swallowed. “I said, why are you following me?”

Instead of answering my question, Logan’s eyes ran over my skin, the way I had his. His eyes on my body felt like lickings of flames. He licked his bottom lip, glanced out at the sunset. The rays painted stripes across his gorgeous face, his sinewy arms.

My swordfinger took aim.

He turned slowly, reptilian, eyes like stars.

I wouldn’t try anything above your skill level. I’d just counter it into something much worse.