Magic Incarnate the Box Set 1-3, page 23
I shift away from him and stare out the window. We pass several trees, but gradually they appear closer together.
A minute later, Gavin kills the engine. “We have to go by foot now.”
I throw my door open and jump out. A ball of fire for light hovers above my left hand.
Gavin walks around the back of the car to my side, a flashlight in his hand. “Let’s use this instead.”
I send the fire away and fall into step beside him. “Don’t tell me magic scares you.”
We pick our way through the closely grown trees, and I step over a huge tree root. Large shadows loom all around us. An animal howls. A wolf? Or a shaman transformed into a wolf?
Being scared won’t help Vince.
Gavin clicks off the light. “Hold my hand,” he whispers. “We’re almost there.”
We fumble in the almost complete darkness until we find each other’s hand. Holding his is different from holding Vince’s. I always feel safe and happy with Vince. Now I’m petrified.
“You ready?” he asks.
I shake my head. What if I’m too late? If I fail? If Vince is dead?
After a good ten minutes that feel more like an hour, we eventually make our way to the clearing. This location is the one I saw during the vision of Gavin’s memory. Farther ahead, thousands of small candles illuminate the area. The sudden brightness blinds me a few moments. A single monster of an oak tree looms before us, a large cauldron beside it.
“Stormtide,” I breathe, not bothering to raise my voice.
The seven-foot man walks out from behind the tree. “I knew you would come.”
Anger and rage fill me. I try to ignore the swirling emotions. Concentration will be crucial. The pull of alien magic, also rancorous in nature, tugs at my willpower. The witches improperly killed beg to have their vengeance. The magic they unwillingly left behind equally beseeches to be used.
“Where is he?” I demand. Gavin no longer stands beside me, for better or for worse.
“That doesn’t matter right now.”
“Where is he!”
The flames leap into the air, hovering above their candles.
“Ah, yes.” Stormtide tilts his head back, his eyes closed. “I can feel your power. It’s invigorating, isn’t it? Once one has tasted the true power of magic, nothing else matters.”
He’s been consumed with the desire to get his magic back for a long time. A desperate foe makes for one willing to risk everything.
“There’s no need for you to hate me,” Stormtide adds garrulously.
My hatred continues to grow, which makes my control that much weaker. “Then why take Vince?”
“I’ve been watching you for weeks now. I had to find a way to lure you here.”
“And Dr. Jenkins?”
Stormtide waves his hand nonchalantly, but his gaze flickers to the flames floating in the air.
I make him nervous. If only I didn’t make me nervous too…
“I needed a backup plan,” he says, “in case you can’t help me.”
“Why would the witches help you?”
He grins, looking the part of evil incarnate, his eyes blazing, half of his face covered in shadows. “It’s all about leverage.”
Bait. First Vince, and now me, if I can’t figure out a way out of this mess. Where are the witches? Where’s Mom?
Stormtide glances around the clearing.
I can’t help smirking. “If you’re waiting for Thunderstruck, I don’t think he’ll be joining us.”
“Thunderstruck?” Stormtide laughs. “I doubt he would. He’s been dead for twenty years.”
I swallow. Had the man been Thunderstruck’s ghost? Or had he stolen his name? And I had been feeling so powerful and righteous over how I handled the whole Thunderstruck situation too.
“The magic in this place… I know you can feel it too.” Stormtide bends down and picks up some dirt. “The earth here is drenched in it. The fire’s ready. Metal…” He pulls out a serrated dagger from his belt and points it to the cauldron. “Water. Air, you can handle. As for blood…”
My timid hold of control is slipping. If the alien magic combines with mine, there’s no way I’ll be able to control the result.
“Use mine,” I say, my voice hollow and indifferent.
Stormtide laughs, the sound surprisingly friendly. “Don’t worry. I don’t need your precious boy’s.” He cuts his left hand with the dagger. Drops land in the cauldron. The dagger joins the mixture next.
The ex-shaman’s obviously crazy. Magic in the hands of a crazy person is hardly a good idea. Unfortunately, I have no idea what to do, how to save Vince, or how to get us all home safely.
“If…” I have to stop to clear my throat. “If you want my help, I first have to see that Vince is all right.”
“No, dearie. Leverage, remember?”
“Then I won’t help you.” I close my eyes for a second. When I open them, all of the flames extinguish.
Stormtide fumbles around. A match strikes and burns, and he drops it into the cauldron. Curse him. My frustration is soaring to new heights.
The liquid bubbles and froths.
He pats his hands above it, and dirt falls into the mixture. “Next is air.”
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” I warn.
“You’ve never controlled the wind?”
I scowl, not liking his tone, not liking any of this. “You know what I mean. Magic this powerful, magic with all of the elements…”
“Don’t be scared, young Crystal. You can do this. If not, Vince will die, I can assure you of that, and then I’ll kill you.”
“You’ll have no leverage with the witches then.”
He sighs as if I am very stupid. Maybe I am. “Wind. Now.”
I can’t think. My thoughts are all jumbled up, and I can’t figure out a plan. Where’s Gavin?
“What if I mess up? By accident?” I ask, stalling.
“By accident.” He snorts. “Don’t even think about double crossing me.”
“What if I can’t give you back your magic?”
“You won’t know unless you try.”
I slowly call for a mild breeze. Dirt swirls around my ankles, and I float a pebble to rest in my hand. The alien magic pulsates within the stone, its allure intoxicating. All that remains of the dead witch, Emerald Lion, is his want of destruction not only toward Mr. Venator but toward all those on Earth.
A flick of my wrist and I toss the pebble back onto the ground. If I give Stormtide magic, it won’t be his but theirs. I can see the twisted blackness of revenge already living in his heart. To have the power and the added vengeance of the countless witches… He’d become even more consumed by revenge, and the world would become the focal point of his wrath. No matter what, I can’t allow that to happen.
Trying to call back the mild breeze only makes it stronger. The dead witches are funneling their power into it. They seem aware of how close they are to having a vessel for their blind vengeance.
I’m powerless to stop it as the wind increases its strength. My clothes and short hair billow around me. I have to firmly plant my feet on the ground to not be knocked over.
“Yes, yes,” Stormtide cheers. “Add it to the cauldron!”
Breathe. Limitless magic, remember? I can do anything.
With every fiber of my being, I battle the wind, twisting it together, forcing it to bend to my will. A wind funnel forms, and I direct it toward Stormtide.
“No!” he shrieks. He starts to run, but the force of the winds captures him. His wailing sounds horrifying, louder and quieter depending on whether or not he’s facing me.
What have I done? I only meant to stop him, not hurt him!
My attempt to lift the funnel and send it away fails. The wind turns against me. The dead witches will not be denied. Their voices shout at me mentally. They speak of how they died, who killed them, and what they would do once free. They wish to destroy everything those still living love.
“No!” My cry echoes Stormtide’s. Nothing I do to temper the airstream back or to halt the funnel works. The gale refuses to die.
What looks like a windy arm pulls free of the funnel. I focus all of my energy and power on the arm, and it slowly reaches toward the tree. If I can slow the gust down…
But the arm refuses to listen. It picks up a large rock and throws it.
The first several rocks I jump or duck out of the way of until a large one plows into my left shoulder. A loud popping sound echoes in my ears, and I collapse. Another rock connects with my head, and I see flashing bright lights. “No…” I say weakly.
“Crystal!”
Gavin!
“Where are you?” I ask, but the roar of the funnel makes it hard for even me to hear myself.
My vision dims and loses focus. At times, I can see clearly. Other times, my vision darkens to the point where I’m not sure my eyes are open. Somehow, I spy Gavin. He’s crawling toward the cauldron, but the wind fights against him, so strong it looks like it’s tearing his skin.
I have to do something.
With shaking legs, I climb to my feet. “Take me. Use me!” I shriek.
The collective mind of the dead witches stops for a second then focuses on me.
That second is all I needed. I force the arm to grab the tree. It wraps its fingers around the bark. The funnel slows ever so slightly. Good. Very good.
But the force of the wind is too strong and starts to uproot the tree. A groan cuts through the howling gust.
Gavin’s screaming, but I can’t hear his words. He tips the cauldron over. Purple smoke fans out everywhere and covers the clearing like a heavy fog.
Something falls from the top of the tree. Acting on impulse, I run to catch it. Time seems to stand still as the tree collapses with a roar that eclipses Stormtide’s screaming. The funnel slows more but remains intact. The bundle continues to fall.
I almost want to force the funnel to slow the blanket-covered item’s descent. Crud. I’m not willing to risk using magic here. Somehow, I catch the heavy large bundle and land on my butt. The blanket covers…
Vince!
He’s still as a stone, his body cold. Frightened and disillusioned, I kiss his forehead and then his lips. He doesn’t stir. Through my magic, I know that although he isn’t dead, he isn’t completely alive either.
Chapter 33
My vision blurs again, this time from tears. Desperate, fearful, and worried, I look to the heavens. Dear Lord, you aren’t supposed to take him. His family has lost so much already. Vince has lost so much already. Don’t take him yet. Don’t. Please don’t.
If anything happens to Vince…
How could God allow so much evil in the world? Has my faith for all these years been in an entity who doesn’t care about our plight? Or does God not exist in the first place?
Through my tears, I watch Gavin reach around on the ground for something. The dagger. He picks it up and slowly advances toward the funnel. It spins, but most of its power is gone. Blood runs down Stormtide’s face, his clothes torn and tattered, the ex-shaman still trapped in the gust. In the back reaches of my mind, I hear the mutterings of the dead witches, but they’re dimmed. It’s as if I’m hearing them through earplugs.
A subtle shift in the air above me startles me. Three figures appear above my head and float to the ground. I make no move to stand and rearrange myself so Vince’s head is in my lap. They might be more shamans, but I can’t make myself care. All of me is consumed by Vince, my every thought, my every action.
The figures land a short distance from the funnel. In one voice, they chant, “Air, leave the wind. Air, leave the wind. Air, leave the wind.”
The funnel slows even more and dies. Stormtide collapses to the ground. He doesn’t have time to brace himself for impact, and his face greets the dirt.
“Stormtide,” one of the figures says in an unfamiliar, powerful voice. “You were stripped of your magic years ago for a reason. You are selfish and seek what you want, regardless of how it affects others. I had hoped… The time for hoping has passed. You have crossed us too many times, Stormtide.”
Gavin glances at the witches then back at Stormtide. With a yell, the dagger high in the air, he races toward Stormtide’s fallen form. Silver Tiger lifts her arm, and the dagger flies out of his hands.
Gavin whirls around. His chest rises and falls swiftly as he gulps down long, deep breaths, his eyes dark and cloudy. “Let me do it.”
Amethyst Wolf—somehow I know it’s her—shakes her head. “Blood should not stain your hands. Not yet anyway.”
Stormtide lifts one foot into a kneeling position. He leans heavily on it to push himself up to stand. “You,” he croaks, his voice breaking. “Give me back my magic.”
“Stormtide, you are nothing but evil. Your time here on Earth has expired.”
A growing numbness fills my body. The witches are acting like they’re God. Is it fair that they are about to execute this broken man before them?
I can’t bring myself to care about Stormtide or his fate. I caress Vince’s face. Once the witches are done with Stormtide, they can help me bring Vince back from wherever he is.
“One last chance,” he begs, falling to his knees. “I’ve done nothing wrong since you stole my magic.”
“Is that so?” Silver Tiger says dryly. “What of the people of Stonecoast?”
His face contorts and twists, turning purple with violent fury, and he jumps to his feet. “I was their shaman. It was my duty to protect them.”
“You left them to suffer through a famine without aid,” Amethyst Wolf says.
“I had no way to help them after you stripped me of my magic!”
“You could have helped them move to more fertile ground. Or you could have found new crops to grow,” Sapphire Belladonna says.
“Instead you abandoned them. Tell me, Stormtide, do you wish to know their fate?” Amethyst Wolf asks.
He shakes his head, but his tongue betrays him. “Yes,” he whispers.
“I helped them move more inland. We found a flowing river. The embankment had much fertile land, and after the harsh drought of the winter, they were able to start farming. Only three lives were lost due to the famine.”
“You… you helped them?” The disbelief in his tone is genuine. “Why?”
“They should not be punished for having an evil shaman.”
“Please, help me now. I’ve seen the errors of my ways.” He clasps his hands together.
“All you’ve seen is your impending doom,” Amethyst Wolf says dispassionately. “Your death will come now.”
Stormtide whirls around in a frantic circle until he spies me. “You have to help me. Save me!”
I can’t feel pity for him. Stormtide is beyond saving.
The ex-shaman releases a piercing wail, but I keep my gaze on Vince’s face. The witches murmur a chant, and after a moment, Stormtide stops yelling. Only then do I look up.
All that remains are his clothes.
Silver Tiger makes a “come here motion,” and the dagger floats toward her. “It has to be destroyed.”
“Why?” Gavin asks. His eyes remain on Stormtide’s clothes, and he looks traumatized, much like he had ten years ago.
“It’s too powerful,” Sapphire Belladonna says. “There are so many elements within it. It’s possible that if you had tried to kill him with it, he may have, instead, been given his magic back.”
“Not his magic,” I cut in. My voice is raspy as if I haven’t spoken in days.
“What’s that, child?”
“Not his magic. There’s old magic here. Can’t you feel it? Dormant and powerful…” The voices of the dead witches have dimmed even more. They sound like gnats buzzing, annoying but harmless.
The three witches glance at each other.
Sapphire Belladonna glides over to me. “Crystal, we should leave this place.”
“No. Not until we save Vince.” I hug him, pulling more of him onto my lap.
The other witches approach, Gavin trailing behind them. Amethyst Wolf tucks the dagger within her long, flowing skirt. Maybe the old magic makes it a bad idea to try to destroy it here. Silver Tiger roots through Stormtide’s clothing and retrieves Doctor Jenkins’ cane.
How can they be concerned about artifacts when Vince needs our help? I’m so worried about Vince that I’m indifferent to everything else. I need their help. I hope they can help. He’s hurt too badly for me to aid him.
“He’s here, but he’s not all here,” I try to explain, placing my hand on his heart. His heartbeat’s slow but steady. Even though his chest doesn’t rise and fall, air and blood circulate throughout his body.
The other witches take turns touching him before stepping back and talking amongst themselves in hushed tones.
Ignoring them, I cup the sides of his face and look into his mind.
That’s where the problem lies. My Vince is trapped within his mind.
I look up, relieved to have figured out that much, but the witches wear identical somber expressions. “What’s wrong? Can’t you fix him?”
“No, Crystal.” Sapphire Belladonna clasps her hands behind her back. “That spell is an ancient one, one that was never to be used again. To be trapped in one’s own mind, to never be able to move again, to never feel anything but fright…”
“Fright?” My heart pounds in my chest.
“Yes. You are doomed to a life trapped in your worst nightmare.”
“No.” I gasp. “There has to be a way.”
Once more, I place my hands on his cheeks. Closing my eyes, I’m able to see inside his mind, to see his nightmare.
The car crash happens again, only this time, I’m not wearing my seatbelt. I fly through the window shield. Mrs. Fuller also dies. Only Vince survives.
The scene shifts to the school cafeteria. I watch as I smile at Vince but positively glow when Gavin walks into the room. On my tiptoes, I kiss him.
Again, the scene changes. Vince is at home when the doorbell rings. Officer Wallace is at the door. He gives his heartfelt apologies, but there was an accident, and his father didn’t make it.
On and on, each scene brings with it pain and anguish.
