Текст книги "Reckless Magic"
Автор книги: Rachel Higginson
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I took a quick glance at Evangeline’s passport before handing it over to the desk clerk, a twenty something girl with too much make-up on. Luckily for me, Evangeline’s passport picture was taken when she was ten and so there was a little leeway for growth.
Although she was still a brunette six years after the picture was taken, my shade of brown was not so nutmeg, but rather just straight black. And her eyes were definitely blue, and mine were definitely not.
The clerk looked at the passport picture and then at me, and then back at the picture and then again back at me. I gave her a nervous smile and tugged on my newly purchased red Nebraska football sweatshirt. I released my magic full force through my veins, knocking over a display a few feet away. I jumped, startled and realized if I didn’t get my magic under control, they were going to call the police. Who knew magic could get nervous?
“I hate that picture,” I cleared my throat and tried to sound confident. I attempted to send some magic her way again, but was afraid I would knock her over too if I didn’t relax.
“Hmmm….” she frowned suspiciously. “Do you have another form of ID on you? A driver’s license or something?” she put the passport and ticket on the counter and tapped her fingers impatiently.
“Y-y-yes I think I do,” I stammered out, pretending to dig through my bag looking for it. My bag was not that deep, it was just a backpack and mostly empty since I had left all of my books in the car, but I needed to milk it for all it was worth.
“Isn’t that your wallet?” she asked, as the item in question nearly fell from my hands. I gave her an irritated half-smile and handed it over. Once she saw not only the picture, but the name on it, this half-assed plan was over.
A creepy crawly feeling of irritation swept over me; I just wanted to get on that plane. I glanced over at the clerk and felt the same sense of irritation flood her, and that was when I realized I didn’t have to be smooth. I didn’t have to do what Avalon did. It was great that he could make other people feel safe and secure and smiley, but that was just not me right then. I was pissed, I was irritated and I was in a big freaking hurry. If nothing else, I could at least make her emote with me.
I released my magic a little too strongly and I saw the young clerk take a visible step backwards. I began to feel guilty for hurting the poor girl, but then she gave me a dirty look that reminded me a little too much of Seraphina. Suddenly she was looking at the clock and processing my airline ticket. She let out a huge huff of impatience, handing me my respective papers quickly.
“I assume you won’t be checking any bags?” she looked disdainfully at my worn out book bag.
“Nope,” I said, returning her irritation with a smile and breathing a sigh of relief.
She turned to the next passenger in line and I ran up the escalator. It could not have been that easy! Finally something was going my way. I didn’t slow down until I made it through security, to my terminal and onto the walkway.
A pretty flight attendant with perfect posture greeted me at the doorway to the plane. I handed over my ticket grateful for assistance and she pointed just inside the doorway to a luxurious first class seat next to a window.
I sat down heavily and breathed another sigh of relief. I took a hair tie off of my wrist and knotted my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head. Per instructions of the flight attendant I stored my nearly empty backpack underneath my seat and buckled up for safety.
I looked out of my window at Omaha for one last time; I had never flown before, let alone overseas. I had no idea what to expect and less of an idea what to do when I got there. After my connecting flight in Atlanta I would be non-stop until Romania. The bright afternoon sunlight flooded my window and I relished in the warmth and security of self-righteousness. Lilly needed me and I refused to let her down.
–
I breathed in the smoke and smog that met me outside the dingy glass doors of the airport in Timisoara, Romania. The wide-lane street in front of me was full of small cabs in every color. Most of them were driven by middle-aged, olive-skinned Romanian men with mustaches and cigarettes. And all of the cars looked at least fifty years old.
I walked over to one of the parked Dacias, waiting to take me on the next leg of this exhausting adventure. I tugged at the oversized cruise wear I acquired at a gift shop in the Atlanta airport and realized that it was not nearly warm enough for the cold and dreary autumn of Romania.
“English?” I asked hopeful, to a gruff looking Romanian man wearing a worn out black leather jacket. He shook his head and grunted what I took to be an amused laugh.
I pulled out the English to Romanian dictionary I also purchased at the Atlanta airport and searched for the T section.
“Statie?” I stumbled through the word, using what I knew from my Spanish pronunciations to ask for the train station.
“Da, da. Timisoara?” he clarified our destination, since the airport was outside of the city a little ways.
“Da.” I repeated the Russian “yes”, most Romanians used.
He nodded his head towards the back seat and I climbed in. The springs underneath the well-worn upholstery dug into my sore legs. I yawned, but refused to close my eyes. Not that I necessarily trusted this stranger, nor did I know how long the ride would be exactly, but there was much too much to see as we made our way towards the western metropolis of Timisoara.
Communist block apartments rose on every side of me; the tall, simple, concrete buildings emoted a melancholy dismalness that was enforced by the incessant rainfall. Small corner shops and gypsy children begging for money lined the now narrowed streets as I held on for dear life. The driver swerved in and out of traffic more precariously than Avalon and not nearly as gracefully.
The olive skinned Romanians walked, or biked or took the tram, all with their heads down, minding their own business. In my Guide to Romania book I picked up along with my dictionary, I read that the Romanians fought their way out of Communism by a revolution started in this very city. What was once called the Paris of the East was only a shell of its former glory.
Timisoara was destroyed by Communism after World War II; the Communist dictatorship that enslaved the Romanian people raped them of any technological or artistic advancement. And although they were well on their way to recovery after a Revolution that had happened over twenty years ago, there was still an oppressiveness that settled on the country’s inhabitants.
I had yet to read anything in either of my books pertaining to an Immortal Citadel. In fact, the only folk lore of any kind related to vampires. I had no idea where I would end up or what to expect but for some reason entering Romania was like coming home. The desolate streets and war torn buildings held an eerie beauty I found captivating.
The cab slammed to a stop in front of an old building on the edge of a piazza or square. The driver tapped his finger on the meter, indicating the fare I owed him. I clumsily tried to count out the Lei, but in the end I threw a stack of bills at him, hoping he appreciated the tip.
I exchanged plenty of money in the airport, and was told that most places accepted my American credit card anyway. Hopefully, Aunt Syl wouldn’t be too upset with the credit card bill this month. Who was I kidding? If it wasn’t the bill that made her go ballistic, it would surely be my spur of the moment trip across an ocean to a third world country after I was specifically forbidden not to by more than one authority.
I shouldered my backpack once again; its weight had definitely increased throughout the trip, from old clothes to my new books, it was getting kind of heavy. I pulled the straps tight though, hoping to discourage any type of pickpocket and worked my way through the busy train station doors.
My travel guide had informed me that the Blue Arrow train was the only way to travel in style and I decided to take its word for it. I found the ticket counter without any problem, and pulled out my dictionary for the necessary terms. A stout, elderly woman who had seen better days sat behind a thick glass partition.
“Buna dimineata, doamna” I stuttered through, reading directly from a page marked Popular Phrases in my English to Romanian Dictionary. Good morning madam.
She grunted her reply, and I forged through another phrase.
“Un bilet la Sibiu va rog,” One ticket for Sibiu, please. I gave her my award winning smile and she simply grunted back what I assumed to be a number, but I had no idea really. She could have said anything; she probably called me a stupid American.
I held up a small handful of cash, unsure of what any of it meant. Unfortunately, Kingsley didn’t offer a monetary conversion class. Or maybe I just hadn’t been forced to take it yet.
She took my handful of Lei and counted out what she needed; even if she took a little more for herself it didn’t bother me. She passed me back the change along with a ticket and pointed in the direction of the platform, holding up her hand to signal five minutes.
“Multumesc,” I tried again, saying thank you before walking away quickly to the platform.
I found the train I was assigned to and it was thankfully the Blue Arrow. The only modern and smooth looking ride among a line of trains that looked like they could be the first model of a train…. ever. Breathing my one hundredth sigh of relief I walked through the automatic doors, passed seats filled with all different social classes of Romanian.
The train was slightly deceiving in that I expected luxury once inside the automatic doors, but instead was met with a pungent smell that nearly made me hurl. I politely covered my mouth pretending to cough and collapsed into my seat, just in time to hear the whistle and feel the earth begin to move slowly beneath my feet.
On the long plane ride over I had time to plan and plot. I had gone over my speech a thousand times, and I was determined to give it once inside the court room doors. The only problem was that I needed to be able to find the courtroom.
The town of Sibiu was located in the central part of Romania and in the mountains; this was as far as I knew to go. I only remembered the name of the town Kiran had given me after I recognized it in the guidebook.
The biggest problem was that the festival was for sure not in the city, and apparently somewhere in the middle of nowhere. The train would take me directly into the city, but once I was there, I would have no other direction to follow. I was still determined; although regretful I hadn’t pressured Avalon for more information.
The train left the city and wound through the breathtaking Romanian countryside. I refused to sleep during that part of my journey too and watched as the train flew by fields being farmed by old fashioned horses and wagons and primitive gypsy villages with naked children running about.
Eventually someone came by to take my ticket. The train employee laughed out loud at my white, sleeveless sweater tank top and ocean blue capris. If only he knew the clothing options I was given in the middle of an Atlanta airport while trying to catch my international flight, I thought he might have been proud of me.
After he continued on his way, I realized how ridiculous I looked. I hadn’t slept in two days; my long hair was greasy and knotted into an impossible mess on the top of my head. The cruise wear I purchased was obviously out of season, and then to top it off I was still wearing my school clogs. A cold shiver ran over my body and giving up completely I pulled out my bright red Nebraska Corn Huskers sweatshirt and threw it on over my tank top.
I remembered Avalon’s expensive black suit and tie and cringed to think how out of place I would look upon arrival at the Citadel…. if I could find it. By my calculations the trial would be late this evening, and I had only precious hours until my time was up and all of this would have been for nothing.
I hugged my worn out back pack as if it were my last hope for success. I couldn’t have come this far for nothing; I wouldn’t have come this far and do nothing.
“You’re one of them,” An elderly woman took a seat next to me and spoke perfect English. I sat up shocked to hear my own tongue and even more shocked by her words.
“Excuse me?” A wave of nervousness washed over me, and I searched out a current of magic in the old woman but sensed nothing.
“One of the Old Ones,” the woman smiled genially and revealed toothless gums. I did not know what to make of the woman who was clearly human and by the looks of things, a gypsy. She was dressed in layer upon layer of rags, her hair tied behind a dirty bandana. A large gold ring protruded from her nose, and larger golden rings dangled from her ears. Her hands were small and gnarled; the dirt under her nails prominent. Her eyes, a brilliant violet, were her only beautiful quality. They reminded me of Angelica.
“The Old Ones?” I asked, confident she meant Immortals, but unsure how she would know about us, or that I was one of them.
She reached out suddenly to grab my hands. Hers were warm and moist as they gripped mine firmly. I tentatively tried to pull them back, but her grasp was so tight and her gaze so intense I was honestly scared of her. I thought to offer her money, but she began to inspect my palms as if looking for something in particular.
“It can’t be,” she sighed softly taking my hands and holding them high above me towards the light.
“I’m sorry?” I pulled my hands away from her and tucked them under my arms, afraid of what she found. A chill worked its way up my spine.
“You are the next Oracle,” she spoke with such awe and her gaze searched my eyes so intently that I looked down, once again afraid of this tiny old woman.
“Do you know where they are? The Old Ones?” I found my nerves and asked bravely; although I was unsure why I would trust this stranger.
“Do you not?” she pinched my chin tightly between her thumb and forefinger, and then moved my head in a circle, inspecting it for who knew what.
“No, I am…. I am trying to find them,” I confided, still unsure if I could trust her.
“You are going to the mountain village?” she asked turning my head sharply in one direction and then letting out a loud giggle.
“Yes,” I said, hoping she meant Sibiu.
“Then follow the magic,” she suddenly stood up, then bent down and kissed my forehead with wet, sticky lips. I refrained from wiping off the slobber immediately. “They have waited for you for a long time.”
The train suddenly lurched to a stop, sending me sliding forward in my seat. I looked up, expecting the feeble, older woman to be sprawled on the floor since she was standing precariously during the sudden stop, but she was already at the doors and gone before I could even get out of my seat. After she was safely on the ground the train began again as if it was scheduled to make that very stop.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The gypsy woman still a mystery, the train came to a stop in the humble, but beautiful town of Sibiu. I exited the train, backpack in tow, to an outdoor platform. I breathed in the less polluted air of the countryside and lifted my face to the late afternoon sun, whose warmth I barely felt. I pulled the hood up on my sweatshirt and took in another big breath.
It was during that breath, that I finally felt it; the small hum of magic coming from some distance away. It was almost like a calling; the buzzing electricity beckoned me to find it.
I took another big breath and let the distant call of magic fill me. I may not have known exactly where to go, but at least I had a general direction to follow.
I looked around for cab drivers, but the smaller town wasn’t as convenient as the booming Western city of Timisoara. In fact, the town looked nearly deserted. The tourist shops were all closed and the streets empty. I didn’t know how far the Citadel was from this small town, but it was too far to walk, the magic could at least assure me of that.
I had no choice for now however, and began to jog in the direction of where I felt like the magic was located. The city was very hilly and I found myself walking up a very steep incline when I finally stumbled upon a cab driver taking a smoke and sitting on the hood of his run down Dacia.
“English?” I asked, not expecting much.
“Da. English,” he smiled, and I could see rows of gold teeth behind dirty lips.
“Can you drive me?” I pointed in the direction I wanted to go in.
“Not that way,” he shook his head rapidly and then spat on the ground.
“I will pay you,” I said clearly and pulled out my stack of Lei again.
“Not enough to go that way,” he looked back in the direction with an expression of fear.
“Please,” I said plainly and when he shook his head no again, I resorted to begging. “Please, please,” I cried out.
“Why do you want to go that way?” he asked with a thick accent.
“I have to save my friend,” I begged, helplessly. “Please.”
“I will not take you all the way, but I will get you close enough, da?” his expression was full of pity and I was so thankful that I rushed over and hugged the poor man. He spat his cigarette out and choked on the smoke, completely surprised by the affection.
Before he could recover I hopped into the back seat, a near replica of the first taxi I was in. I exhaled, but was unable to relax. Once the driver successfully started the stubborn car, my nerves only grew. I rehearsed again and again the case I intended to make for Lilly, my stomach turning into knots.
The cab drove out of the city and into the winding roads of the mountains. The countryside only became more beautiful; millions of trees in all different fall shades blanketed the horizon. Their loveliness stretched out across the rising hills and as the sun set lower in the sky, their reds and oranges melted into one extraordinary canvas of color.
The center of magic grew stronger and stronger the deeper we found our way into the lush forest; its call became more clarified. At this point I could have given directions to the driver, but he seemed perfectly able to find the way on his own. And as the magic intensified, the poor driver’s speed decreased. The pitiable man was clearly terrified of a force I would not have expected him to be aware of.
I watched him become more and more agitated, lighting thin cigarette after thin cigarette, never allowing his mouth to sit idle. I wondered what sparked his anxiety, unsure if he was even conscious of exactly what he was afraid of.
Whether it was his nervousness that rubbed off on me or my own sense of foreboding I couldn’t tell; but I did wonder if I shouldn’t be proceeding with a little more caution. I thought of my purpose again though and my determination was renewed.
Lilly, who had done nothing wrong, who fought to save the very Prince who condemned her. Lilly, sweet Lilly, who had never said a hurtful word about anyone and befriended me when no one else would. She wasn’t afraid of the consequences of her actions when she defended Kiran, why should I be?
As the sun took its lowest place on the horizon before it dipped below the never ending peaks and valleys, the driver finally slowed to a complete stop. He looked up towards the wilderness with mouth open, eyes wide, his cigarette hanging precariously from his lips.
“Multumesc,” I mumbled quickly and threw my remaining stack of Lei in the front seat. He didn’t respond to me, but as soon as the door was closed he performed a quick u-turn and sped off down the hill.
At this point the magic was so strong I knew I was only steps from the Citadel. Completely unsure what to expect next, I began my trek off the road and into the wooded wilderness. There was a steep hill I had to climb, I was hoping at the top I would be able to take in my surroundings a bit better.
Time was of the essence, so I did my best to hurry. Thankful for my devotion to yoga and the sudden necessity of magic, I scaled the vertical incline. Despite the electricity rushing through my veins, and the flexibility yoga had blessed me with, I fell several times and began to sweat despite the coolness of the evening.
By the time I reached the top of the hill I was covered in dirt and my hair was soaked with sweat. I did, however, get a better perspective once I could see more of what was ahead of me. I saw the low glow of lights in the distance, they encompassed a valley a few hills away from mine. The lights stretched out in a square of sorts and I took this to be the Citadel. I also felt the magic swirling about, indicating a large gathering of Immortals.
For a moment I was seized with anxiety and doubt. I forced myself to breathe, reminding myself for the millionth time my purpose. I picked up my pace; running down the next hill and doing my best to hike quickly up the following one. I became more and more dirty and I smelled a distinct odor not at all pleasing.
Eventually, I stood above the Citadel on a surrounding hill. I paused for a moment to take in the sight. The Citadel was huge, nestled into a valley surrounded by camouflaging hills. It was bordered by walls as if it was once a fort, or still was a fort of some type. Buildings lined three of the inside walls, with more buildings built into the center. The fourth wall was left as a type of entrance, only with large doors that could be closed if needed.
The Citadel reminded me of some type of medieval village, with a castle positioned towards the back and clearly the most protected structure inside the walls. The spires of the castle wound towards the sky, each window lighted by a soft yellow glow. The streets of the city were littered with Immortals of every color and race. Several men stood at the entrance gates stopping people as they came or went.
I hiked down the hill and then around the Eastern wall to the gates. I took my time so that I could observe others enter through the wide doors, hoping to emulate their example. The Guards at the gate reminded me of Talbott and had a strict, military way about them. I noticed that they also carried both a gun and a sword attached at their belts. The people entering the gates were all stopped and asked to give their first and last name. They were then asked to hold out their palms so that the guards could grasp their hands firmly. The people were all clearly Immortal, I had no trouble reading that off of them, and it made me wonder if the guards were searching for something else.
I noticed one other fact about the people entering the gate, making my nerves skyrocket once again. All of the people, without exception were very well dressed. The women wore expensive ball gowns and the men were dressed in full tuxedos. Hair done, makeup done, expensive shoes, couture jewelry, it didn’t matter, these people went all out.
I looked down at my pathetic shambles of clothing and took a sniff under my armpit; not pretty. I paused for a final moment to stop and reassemble my hair which was nearly impossible to unhinge from the hair tie. Eventually I succeeded, but not having a mirror around, I suspected I might have done more damage than good. I smoothed out my Nebraska hoodie and took a confident step forward. I’d made it this far….
“Name,” a gruff Guard demanded when it was my turn. I could feel more than hear the Guards’ confusion with my appearance.
“Eden Matthews,” I said clearly.
The Guard looked over his list, and then over it again, clearly not finding my name. I hadn’t realized there would be a guest list. The Guard looked me over skeptically at first, but then his expression turned to disgust and for a moment I thought I might be in trouble.
“Give me your hand,” he grunted menacingly.
I obeyed, sticking out my palm and allowing him to grip it firmly between his.
“Your name’s not on the list. Who are your parents? And why do you look like that?” two other Guards walked over to listen to my explanation.
“I go to school at Kingsley,” I started to explain, realizing I knew nothing about this people group I belonged to. “I came with Seraphina Van Curen, we go to school together. My parents couldn’t come, they’re on business in India,” lies tumbled out of my mouth built from random pieces of overheard information, and I forced my magic into submission, refusing to let it give me away. “I just went for a hike, but I am going to shower and change before I attend the feast tonight,” I offered a wide smile, but then closed my lips quickly afraid of what my breath smelt like after not brushing my teeth since the airline bathroom.
“With Ms. Van Curen?” The guard asked skeptically. I nodded my head affirmatively and pushed a little magic his way, hoping he didn’t notice. I knew it worked on humans, but I had no idea what the outcome would be on another Immortal.
“Please I would really like to be ready on time,” I stared past the Guards as if I knew exactly where I was going once inside the gates.
“They just started the trial; you’ll have plenty of time before the feast,” the Guards made a path for me to fit through and the first Guard nodded his head for me to pass.
I rushed past them and into the narrow streets of the Citadel. If they had already started the trial, I didn’t have much time. From the top of the hill I was able to see exactly where I had needed to go; but from the streets below I could not have been more lost. I moved in the direction of where I thought the castle was and let my magic lead the way.
I put all of my hope in the castle ahead of me. I didn’t know for sure where the trial would be held, but logic encouraged me to examine the castle first. I sprinted full force through the mobs of people lingering about in the streets. My sole purpose was to get to that trial before a verdict was given.
Out of breath and out of willpower, I stumbled into a square by chance. Tall edifices surrounded a cobblestone piazza with an enormous fountain in the middle. The square was lit up with a thousand lanterns strung together and hanging from the buildings surrounding the fountain. Musicians played Beethoven and I glanced over expecting to see an orchestra, but was surprised by the eight or so Immortals that made up an intricate string ensemble.
With renewed vigor I took the remaining distance in strides and ran through the open castle doors. The floors of the castle were marble and I was suddenly sliding across the lobby trying to stop. Another Guard looked up at me from his post just inside the doors.
“Trial?” I asked, breathless and unable to slow down for a minute to listen.
“Through those doors,” he pointed to a set of brass double doors that were almost an exact match for the ones at Kingsley. “But you can’t go in there like that,” he glared disdainfully at my red sweatshirt and I realized that he was probably right.
“Bathroom?” I patted my backpack like it had the answer to my disturbing appearance.
He pointed to a door positioned behind him and I rushed past. The bathroom was surprisingly modern, despite the old world appearance of the place. I didn’t have time to take a good look however and I got straight to business.
I headed directly to the sink and mirror and was almost horrified to see the image staring back at me. My face was caked in mud and dirt and my hair was a big pile of tangles. My mascara and eyeliner had dripped down my face. I looked like a dirty raccoon. My clothing was completely ruined, not to mention the fact that it didn’t match to begin with. I could only do so much and decided to focus on my face.
I turned the cold water on and splashed my face, scrubbing it roughly. Once it was clean, or at least clear of mud and makeup, I focused on my hair. I ripped the pony tail holder out and did my best to comb through the tangled mess with my fingers. Thankfully it was greasy enough that my frizz was actually more tamed than usual. I decided to leave it down, hoping the length and color would disguise the bright redness of my ridiculous sweatshirt that under normal circumstances I would have been proud to wear.
I finished quickly and turned to face the door. I decided the quickest route into the courtroom and then took one final breath before throwing the bathroom door open, sprinting through the lobby and bursting through the double brass doors.
“Lilly Mason is innocent!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, adrenaline and nerves getting the best of me.
