Текст книги "Bewitched"

Автор книги: Laura Thalassa

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

CHAPTER 9

By the time the search and rescue team finds me the next day, I traveled roughly twenty miles from the crash site, which was in some remote northern region of Peru. It takes another two days to get out of South America and back to the States. The whole thing is a logistical nightmare, and that’s not even touching on the personal aspect of it. I still have to talk my parents out of returning to the United States from their prolonged vacation in Europe to help me.

Now I unlock the door to my apartment and flip on the lights. Nero slinks in past my feet, his face tipped up and his nostrils flaring as he takes in the scents of my apartment.

I drop my bags in the entryway, cross the small space, and flop onto my bed.

And then I just lie there, my body unwilling to move.

A moment later the bed dips as Nero hops on next to me. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for him. Panthers aren’t meant to be taken out of jungles and forced to travel on planes (which is a whole other story, one that involved heavy magic usage) and live in homes. He’s been shoved into the world of humans, and I feel rotten for my role in that.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper softly, reaching out to pet the top of his snout.

Nero closes his eyes and lets out a contented low sound. It’s not a purr—I learned yesterday that panthers can’t purr—but it’s a happy enough noise.

It doesn’t make me feel any better.

I continue absently petting him. “Think I can just lie here forever?” I ask.

He gives me a blank look.

“I want to assume that’s a yes, but you seem less the nice-friend type and more the honest-friend type, so I’m going to guess that’s a no.” I sigh.

Nero responds by stretching on my bed, his body pushing mine to the edge of the mattress.

“Oh, come on. You’re going to have to share,” I say.

He just stares back at me.

I give the beast’s body a big push. In response, Nero growls.

“Get over it. Until you can pay the rent, I’ll be calling the shots. Now scoot.”

He doesn’t.

“Do you want me to turn you into a parakeet?”

Now, begrudgingly, my familiar moves over.

I resettle on my bed. “Just so you know, this arrangement isn’t going to work when I have boys over.”

Nero makes a noise, and I can’t be sure, but it sounded like a scoff. Like a fucking scoff. As though this random jungle cat—who has probably never been around humans—cannot imagine a situation where a guy would wind up in my bed.

“I can get boys,” I say. I sound defensive even to my own ears.

A quieter noise comes from my panther. It still sounds disbelieving.

I think my familiar may be an asshole.

“I’m going to ignore your lack of faith in me,” I say.

Then I drag myself off the bed. “All right, I can sleep when I’m dead.” I pad toward the kitchen. “What we need is some food, some coffee, and some music.” I crack my knuckles. “We have a coven to get into.”

Armed with a mug of coffee, a snack bag of cookies for me, and some thawed chicken breasts for Nero, I sit in front of my laptop and type out my experience in South America.

I mention my original plans for the magic quest, then how my plane crashed. I describe the disembodied voice that called to me and how, while following it, I discovered my familiar. The paper pours out of me. The only thing I don’t mention is the mainevent: I discovered and freed some ancient supernatural. Not only do I doubt they’d believe me, but then I’d also have to explain why I unleashed a menace and where he is now. And I cannot truthfully answer either of those questions.

I’m just making my final edits to my paper when my phone rings. I glance at the caller ID. Sybil.

I bring the phone to my ear. “We’re calling each other now?” I answer. “Haven’t I told you that my introverted ass only does texts?”

“Ah, my kindhearted best friend,” Sybil says. “I knew you missed my voice.”

“I always miss you,” I tell her honestly.

“Aww, Selene, I love you, babe. I was actually calling to convince you to come to Henbane’s harvest party,” she says.

Of course, this is why she’s calling. It’s so much harder to tell her no over the phone than via text.

“That’s for coven members only,” I say, just in case she forgot.

“You and I both know you’ll get in after all you went through,” she says.

Wait, Sybil and I already talked?

I spend a frantic moment shuffling through my memories before I vaguely remember the conversation I had with her back at the airport in Quito, back when I was contacting friends and family to let them know I was all right. The plane crash was big news, even internationally.

“So,” Sybil says, interrupting my thoughts, “you’ll come to the party?”

Of course I want to go to the party. I just…I don’t want to feel like an outsider. This is my third attempt at getting into the coven, and considering Henbane’s fall semester starts at the end of next week, it’s not looking so good for me. I feel like I’m starting to garner people’s pity.

I chew on my lower lip, opening the calendar on my laptop. “When is it?”

“This Friday.”

That’s two days from now; it’s doubtful that I’ll know if I’ve gotten in by then.

“I’m tired. I just got back,” I say.

“Pleeeeaaase,” she begs. “The Marin Pack will be there. So will the mages from Bladderwrack Grove.”

Now she’s throwing the promise of hot shifters and magical dudes at me.

“I don’t know,” I say, still wavering.

“Come on. We hardly ever get the chance to see each other these days.”

Sneaky friend, she knows just how to pile on the friend guilt.

“There’ll be witch’s brew to drown your regrets in,” she continues, “and I heard that Kane Halloway might be there.”

I place a hand over my face. “Goddess above, girl, when are you going to let me live that crush down?”

I was in love with the lycanthrope since the moment I laid eyes on him at Peel Academy three years ago. After he graduated, he returned to the Marin Pack, where he’d been born and raised. I don’t know whether I have supremely good luck or bad luck that his pack’s territory lies right next to Henbane Coven. If I were in the coven, I’d probably see him a lot; the witches tend to freely mix with the werewolves since they’re neighbors.

“Live him down? Oh, I’m not going to stop bringing him up until you have your wicked way with him.”

“Sybil.”

She cackles like the witch she is. “Come on, you know you want to go to the party.”

Do I? Because right now, all I want to do for the next month is curl up in my bed with a book and a cup of tea.

I glance at the calendar again.

There will always be time to read.

I sigh. “All right. All right.”

My best friend squeals. “Yes! And remember to wear a skanky dress.”

“Sybil—”

“And bring a broom, you freak. It’s going to be fun!”

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CHAPTER 10

The wind moans through the trees, rustling the evergreens that loom all around us. The air has a chill to it, and I can smell woodsmoke somewhere nearby. South America feels like a world away.

I don’t have a broom, though my dress is probably short enough to make Sybil proud. I’m one misstep away from everyone getting an eyeful of my coochie.

Nero walks at my side, and I’m so proud to have him there. I feel like he’s always belonged next to me, and getting to show him off in all his hulking, ferocious glory puts my magical insecurities to bed.

People won’t pity a witch who’s snagged a panther as a familiar. That’s the sort of bond that inspires respect—and maybe even a little fear. I wouldn’t entirely mind that, if I’m being completely honest.

The two of us cut past the lecture halls and the enormous three-story greenhouse, then head into the Everwoods, the forest surrounding the coven. I follow the distant sound of laughter and music, and for a moment, I pretend I belong here, that I know this campus the way I so desperately want to.

My phone vibrates against my cleavage, which is being used in lieu of a purse.

I pull my phone out, checking the text from Sybil.

Are you here yet? Do you need me to come meet you? We’re just past the greenhouse.

I hurriedly respond.

I’m all good. On campus now. I should be there soon.

A gust of wind kicks up, sending a violent shiver through me.

I rub my bare arms and glance over at Nero. “Are you cold, buddy?”

Nero’s eyes flick to me just long enough to make me feel like I asked an inane question.

“Fine, fine, forget I asked.”

My heels crunch fallen pine needles, and the smell of woodsmoke grows stronger. For a witch, that smell stirs something deep in the bones. This is the magic we’re made of—midnight fires and fog-shrouded forests.

The woods open to a clearing filled with dozens and dozens of supernaturals chatting, dancing, drinking, and laughing around bundles of dried cornstalks. Most of the women, I recognize from the coven, but there are some unfamiliar witches, as well as several lycanthropes as well. I take in the mages—the male equivalent of a witch—and the other lycans. Magic shimmers in the air above them, glittering off the light from the bonfire and the enchanted lanterns that float in the sky.

I’ve missed this.

I’ve spent the past year maneuvering the regular world filled with nonmagical humans and their nonmagical lives. I forgot how a gathering of supernaturals can make my blood thrum.

I hear a squeal, and then Sybil is running over to me, her drink sloshing in her hand, while her owl, Merlin, lifts off her shoulder where he’s been perched.

“There you are!” she calls, her long dark hair swaying behind her. “I was worried you wouldn’t show—” Sybil stops short, her eyes landing on Nero. “What in the Tiger King hell is that thing?” she says, staring at him. Her own familiar glares at the panther; Merlin looks as put out as an owl can look.

Did I not tell her?

“This is my familiar, Nero.” I place a hand on Nero’s head, ruffling my panther’s fur perhaps a tad more aggressively than I need to.

In response, my familiar growls, probably because he’s aware I’m being an ass.

He and I have a love-hate relationship.

“That is your familiar?” she says, edging back a little. “I thought you said he was a cat.”

Nero gives me a long look, like I’ve disappointed him. But you know what? He’s the one who licks his own butt, so he has no grounds to be judgmental.

“He is a cat,” I say defensively. “He’s just a really, really big one.”

“You think?” Sybil says. Her owl flaps his wings in agitation, clearly uncomfortable being this close to a panther. My friend looks equally uncomfortable, like she’s fighting her own instincts to flee from such a large predator. Not that she needs to worry about that. Familiars are fairly safe to be around. As an animal extension of myself, Nero will only attack another human if I command it or if it’s in defense of my life. Short of that, he’ll act in line with my values, and those don’t include maiming best friends.

After a moment, Sybil’s expression brightens. “Well, hey, there’s no way Henbane Coven can deny you now, not when you have a familiar like that.”

Among witches, it’s commonly thought that the stronger the witch, the bigger and more powerful the familiar. And I am flattered and proud, and I feel redeemed for all the struggles I’ve faced. But as I glance down at Nero, I bite the corner of my lip. Talking about this has unlocked a whole new worry—that I may have more familiar than I can handle.

Nero certainly seems to think so.

After a moment, Sybil collects herself and links her arm through mine. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.”

I let her drag me across the clearing, past the sparking bonfire and a fiddler playing some upbeat tune. Next to him is a harpist, though she’s currently leaning back on the fallen log she sits on, a drink in her hand, talking to a mage wearing the crest of Bladderwrack Grove, which is the local magical association for mages.

When the fiddler catches sight of Nero, he halts his song, watching my panther with wide eyes. And a nearby group of what must be shifters sniff the air as we pass them. The moment they trace the scent back to Nero, they go preternaturally still, their eyes turning luminous as their wolves peek out.

In fact, little by little, the party goes quiet. I’ve never had so much attention fixed on me at once. Though, technically, it’s not me everyone is looking at. Their eyes are trained on my panther.

Finally, someone shouts, “What in the seven hells is that?” The voice carries across the field.

My stomach roils as though I did something wrong. I don’t know why I feel this way. I’ve wanted people to recognize my worth as a witch for so long; apparently, I have no idea what to do now that they’re forced to.

I pause and place my hand on Nero’s head as I search the crowd for the voice. “This is my familiar.”

Somehow, the silence deepens; the only sounds are the crackling fire and the hiss from another witch’s familiar.

Then someone else says, “Man, that’s fucking dope as shit.”

A nearby witch laughs, and just like that, the tension eases out like air from a balloon.

Sybil grabs my hand once more and continues to pull me along as the rest of the party goes back to chatting.

“So, have you heard from the admissions committee yet?” Sybil asks as we make our way to a massive cauldron. Wildflowers grow thickly around its base, and steam drifts up from it.

I shake my head. “No,” I say softly, trying not to think about spending another year yearning to be part of the coven.

The two of us reach the cauldron, which is filled with a deep, plum-colored liquid. Herbs and dried flowers float on its surface, and white smoke drifts up from it.

Ah, witch’s brew. Exactly what I need to soothe my frayed nerves.

“Another drink already?” a nearby witch says to Sybil, pretending to be shocked. “You lush!”

Sybil and the witch cackle together as Sybil helps herself to a drink and grabs me one as well.

The other witch’s eyes move to me, and I see recognition spark in them. “Hey,” she says, “you’re the girl from the plane crash, right?”

I take the cup Sybil hands me. “Um…yeah.”

In my mind’s eye, I see that indigo magic.

We were never meant to part…

“That’s so wild. I heard that the way the plane landed could’ve only been achieved by magic,” she says.

That’s news to me.

“Did you help land it?” she asks. The witch has a look in her eye, one that makes me a little nervous. I’ve hated being overlooked, but between Nero and now this, I’m pretty sure I hate the spotlight even more.

“I can’t remember,” I say because it’s the truth. My memory of the event was wiped.

Still, her words linger with me.

The way the plane landed could’ve only been achieved by magic.

The witch’s gaze moves to Nero, and I can practically see her next question. Did you find your familiar while you were there?

Before she can voice it, Sybil grabs me by the wrist and begins dragging me away. “We’ll be back for more brew soon!” my friend calls.

I give a helpless wave and follow her. “Are you going to stop manhandling me any time tonight?” I ask.

“Don’t pretend like you wanted to stick around to answer Tara’s questions,” Sybil says.

True.

I bring my drink to my lips rather than answer. This batch of witch’s brew is smoky, and it tastes a bit like licorice. It doesn’t always taste this way; sometimes it’s floral, sometimes it’s citrusy, and sometimes it’s honeyed. The only consistent part of the alcohol’s flavor is the mildly bitter undertone that is espiritus, an ingredient that interacts with our magic.

Sybil pulls me in close. “I’m sorry to say that Kane is not here.”

I nearly choke on my drink.

“Oh my goddess, Sybil,” I say. “Please stop talking about him. I liked him a long time ago.”

She scoffs. “If a month ago is a long time.”

I narrow my eyes at her, unsure whether she’s remembering something I don’t or if she’s just playing me.

My empress…

The hairs on my arms stand on end.

Holy Mother.

My eyes dart to the trees encircling the clearing, looking for the man behind the voice.

Miss me, little witch?

My breath hitches.

This cannot be real. I left him in South America. He’d been naked and speaking in tongues, confused about where and when he was.

There’s no way he managed to make it back here.

“Selene?” Sybil says.

I’m coming for you.

I glance frantically around. Last time I heard his voice, his magic had been everywhere, the dark hue of it filling the crypt. Now, however, the air is saturated with all sorts of magic. If Memnon’s is among them all, it’s blending in with the others.

And when I find you, beloved, I intend to make you pay.

“Babe, are you okay?” Sybil says, cutting into my thoughts. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I wet my lips, then focus on her. My whole body is trembling. Nero leans against me, lending his support. I place my hand on his head, slipping my fingers through his fur.

I take a long drink of my brew. Then, lowering my voice, I admit, “When I was in South America, after my plane crashed, I think…” I look around to make sure no one else is listening in. I swallow. “I think I woke something,” I whisper.

“What?” Sybil gives me a skeptical look. “What do you mean you woke something?”

I remember Memnon’s eyes: dark and smoky on the outside, light like honey on the inside. I remember the way those eyes looked at me, as though I were everything Memnon loved and then everything he hated.

“I… After the plane crashed, there was a voice—and magic—that called to me.”

“Called to you?” she echoes, her eyebrows rising in disbelief.

I nod. “My memory of it is a little fuzzy. But that magic…it led back to a tomb.”

“A tomb?” She’s looking at me like I’ve lost it.

“Goddess be damned,” I whisper. “I’m not making this up. I found an undisturbed tomb while on my magic quest, and I fucking disturbed it.” I pause to take a deep breath. “Listen, I know it sounds hard to believe. I’m not Indiana Jones. Still, I followed a trail of magic that led to a crypt, and I entered it.”

“Why would you do that?” she whispers furiously. Now, finally, she seems to believe me.

“I don’t know.” How can I explain the effect his magic had on me? Even now I remember how it whispered in my ear, and tugged on my skin, and drew me ever closer to the tomb. I…couldn’t ignore it. I didn’t want to.

“Okay,” Sybil says, waving my explanation away. “So you went inside a crypt…” She waits for me to continue.

I take a deep breath. “The place was covered in spells, really arcane ones. I don’t know how long they’d been there, but they were still intact.”

Sybil nods. “That sometimes happens with old spells,” she says. “Age can strengthen well-placed magic.” This girl loves magical history.

I continue. “Beyond all the spells, there was a sarcophagus—and I, uh, opened it.”

Sybil pinches the bridge of her nose, then takes a large swallow of her drink. She shakes her head. “You’re never supposed to open shit like that. Tombs—especially old ones—are full of curses.”

About that…

“There was a man inside the sarcophagus, Sybil. He looked just as alive as you or me, except he was sleeping.” I lower my voice even further. “Somehow, he was the one who had been calling to me. I don’t know how he managed to use his magic when he couldn’t wake, but he did. And it looked like he’d been in that coffin for centuries.”

Sybil frowns. “Selene, I say this with all the love in my heart, but are you sure you weren’t just imagining this? Maybe you got a concussion during the crash…”

I give my friend a look. “My memory may not be perfect, but I know what I saw.”

If anything, Sybil looks more horrified, not less. “Then what do you think happened to this man?” she asks.

“He was cursed”—My queen, what have you done?—“by someone close to him, I think.”

“And they buried him alive in that tomb? For centuries?”

It’s a terrifying prospect. “I don’t know, Sybil. There’s obviously more to the story than that. He seemed…like he might have done something to deserve it.”

She stares at me for a long second, her expression strange. “You said earlier that you woke something,” she begins slowly. “Please don’t tell me that he was that thing.”

I swallow. “I mean, I couldn’t just leave him there.”

“Selene,” she admonishes, like I forgot a coffee date and not, you know, let loose an evil ancient dude.

I open my mouth to defend myself, but what is there to say? It was a supremely bad idea. One I blithely embraced until Memnon the Cursed decided I was the asshole who ruined his life.

I run a thumb over the rim of the cup in my hand and chew my lower lip. “There’s one more thing.”

Sybil’s eyes widen. “How is there more to this story?”

I huff out a laugh, even though my stomach is tying itself into knots. “I think Memnon—”

“Memnon? He has a name?”

I nod. I take a deep breath and meet her eyes. “I think he followed me back.”

Sybil looks aghast. “Followed you back? Why would he do that?”

My empress.

My queen.

I can all but hear his words and see the look in his eyes when he said them.

“Memnon seems to think I was the one who trapped him in the tomb, and now he’s after me.”

I’m coming for you.

Fuck. I really must not forget this.

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