Lost Magic (The Swift Codex Book 3) (10 page)

“The ghosts,” Barnes said, and I nodded in agreement. Barnes continued, “They aren't yet shades, but if they'd been angered, they could have crossed into that.”

“Shades?”

Barnes started to pass water around. Our stash of water bottles behind the counter hadn't been damaged, but it was whittling down now that it had so many people taking from it. “Some people call them evil, but that isn't right. They're ghosts, and they've been pestered into feeling like they need to protect themselves.”

“Like the last one? He watched us pretty closely.”

“Good thing you explained matters to him, then.”

A thought occurred to me, something which had been bothering me for a while. “I haven't seen the grotesque anywhere.”

“Yes. The grotesque.” Barnes did a poor job of hiding a smile. “It seems that a certain sheriff is having a royal headache dealing with a mess much like our own in an upper-end show home. The police got there in time to see something prowling around on the roof.”

I shuddered to think about how good of a tracker it must have been in order to have followed us through that many jumps.

Leif continued, “But they caught it once the spell stopped working. I think they are trying to explain it away as an experimental drone gone wrong for a university's technology class.”

That was as good of an explanation as any, and I felt reassured that the grotesque wouldn't come ripping through the commons lounge—though I did worry about escaping a stronger one. How long had that grotesque been chasing Josephina? How many portals could it navigate before it was worn out? If I had to run away from another one again, how would I do it?

It was then that another letter burned to me, and this time I didn't bother to check who sent it, I just ripped it open, read it, and said to everyone, “They're calling my eligibility as a guardian into question.”

“They?”

“The letterhead says 'Welfare and Family Department, Merlyn's Market Council.'”

The news crushed my chest and I sighed, too tired to want to over think what this could mean. Mordon did not seem at all surprised by the notice. Neither did Barnes. Leif frowned and brought out a piece of paper, which he started to write upon.

Lilly said, “Oh, how terrible. No one cares about foster children, but whenever someone wants to keep another child out of the system, they always get into all kinds of red tape. No good deed goes unpunished. Leif, you're missing Form 35-C. Wait, no, you're going with a combination of Blue-50 and W-12, I see. That is better, you're right.”

“Do I want to know what you're talking about?” I asked.

“If you start asking questions you'll just slow us down,” Leif said.

“Is it a lost cause or not?”

“Not.”

With that one word, I knew that they would want to have space to think and act, so I drained two water bottles and then took my turn at changing and feeding Anna. Really, it seemed that was all she did: sip at milk, burp, throw up, poop, sleep, and cry. She also made a range of noises, but the only thing she repeated was her cry. Despite what other people kept saying, she wasn't an adorable baby. Much too thin for that. I fancied her stomach was bulged and she was a little less gaunt, but I couldn't tell. I wanted to swoon when she held my finger, but Mordon said it was a grasp reflex, not affection. Pretty much everything cute that she did was reflex, everything not-cute was biological need.

In short, she was the world's most demanding, least appreciative boss ever.

Yet I still smiled when I looked at her and I never, ever wanted to let her go.

Go figure.

There came a rap-tap-tap on the door, which Barnes turned to scowl at even before a woman's voice called through the heavy main door, “Yoooou-whooo! Can I talk to Miss Swift?”

No one answered.

Rap-tap-tap.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“Trouble,” Barnes said.

“Tell me it isn't who I think it is.” Mordon stared at the door as though he could make it disappear just from disbelief.

“If I said that, I'd be lying, even though I'd love to give you a little white lie about now.”

The door was fairly jumping under the rap-tap-tap of the woman's knuckles, seeming to leap on its hinges to get away from her. The woman also seemed to know who lived here. “Constable Barnes, you can't refuse to see me, I am a citizen who you must hear out to protect and serve.”

“Regrettably,” Barnes said. “However, I don't have to see her while clearing a contaminated zone. There should be someone outside... Ah, there they are.”

We heard another person join her, talking in a low tone, then taking her away from the door.

“Who is she?” I asked.

Even Lilly was interested. Barnes checked the peephole in the door before answering. “That was Shelly Johnson, primary spokesman for Safe Streets.”

“Why did she want to talk to me?”

Barnes crossed his arms and gave the door a sad sort of grunt, as though he wished very much that she would put a toe out of line and be caught doing it.“I have a feeling that you'll find out some time or another.”

Much as I regretted to think it, I was going to have to find out more about this Safe Streets group, and preferably the sooner the better. The only chance I had of surviving an encounter with them would be to know more about them than they knew about me. Normally I would have started with Mordon's library, but that was in pieces across the floor and would take a very long time to put back together. This meant I'd need to start with the Merlyn's Market Public Records, which also meant that I would have to be very good at sneaking or else risk being trapped by Shelly Johnson or her helpers before I was ready.

. . .Rapping at my window stirred me from sleep, the urgent rap-tap-tap-thunk that Railey created as her signature sound. She came often enough in the night, her house was over two picket fences and between the scraggly hedges. Her parents never understood that her terrors were as real as the packrat in their attic.

Railey tugged at the window angrily. “Open up, Fera! It ain't no kiddin matter. It's bad this time.”

She was dead. Not yet, but she would be before the sun rose in a few hours. I knew that even while in the dream. This was how it started. This was the night I'd failed her. I hated reliving this moment. Seeing her pigtails shine in the moonlight, the way her all-black eyes stared at me from the other side of the window dusty with last week's rainstorm. As a dark elemental, Railey needed support when the spirits found her. Sometimes they were rough, powerful, and cruel.

On this night, I felt weak and dizzy. The day had been hot, so my parents had assumed the obvious: too much time in the sun, too little water. They'd poured me extra water and sent me to bed. It wasn't heat stress, though. I wanted to tell the younger-me that. It was a curse. It was the start of what happened when the body was barricaded from accessing magic.

It would be this block which sacrificed Railey while simultaneously saving me.

Helpless, I watched myself as I flung the purple fairy bedspread off and crossed to the wooden window frame. Sometimes I slept with it open, but on that night the mosquitoes had been out in full biting force. When I opened the window, Railey didn't climb inside. She pointed down. At the base of the tree she'd climbed to reach my window, there were two shovels.

“Railey?”

I'd been so sleepy. So tired. I felt that way again, pain in my muscles, cramps in my calves, chilled skin on a sultry summer night buzzing with moths flying to their deaths at the electric bug zapper above the back door. I hadn't wanted to go.

“He won't leave me alone.”

“Who?”

Railey scrubbed a grubby sleeve under her eyes. “Jacob Heimer-Snitzgoodle. Remember?”

She'd told me about him two nights ago, when we'd gone through the same drill—only she hadn't brought the shovels the first night. The second night, she'd agreed with my suggestion and come inside. Jacob had harassed Father's warding spells all night long both nights. Though he hadn't made it inside, Railey was still aware of his presence.

I knew from that gleam in her eyes that tonight would be different.

“I'm goinnna do it, Fera. I'm goinna dig up his bones. It's what he needs. You comin or not?”

It was so like her to do this. Once she set her mind to something, that was it.

I couldn't be sure what I'd thought. That I didn't want her to be alone. That my parents wouldn't believe me. But I hadn't thought that there would be bones.

I tried to yell, to break through time and the dream, to change things. No sound came out. I yelled louder.

“Don't. No.” I felt my vocal chords vibrate in real life, a faint utterance bringing me truly awake. It was night, too early to think about getting up yet, light from the stars filtered through gauzy curtains onto a bedspread with shiny silk woven into a floral swirl. Mordon had me pinned to his side. One leg wrapped around both of mine, a heavy arm kept my shoulders flat to the mattress. Goosebumps spread across my exposed arm.

I wriggled. Mordon held tighter. I thought he was asleep and knew if I stayed in bed, I'd awaken him.

“Let me up.”

He nuzzled my neck and kissed it. A soft, sleepy “no” was my answer.

“I have to go pee.”

The grapple-hold released.

I wondered if that meant he really was awake, but no sooner was I out of bed than he let out a snore.

Still groggy and a little unsure of myself, I checked on Anna's bassinet. She was asleep. The irony that I was missing out on good rest was not lost on me. But there was no way I could fall back to sleep now.

Feeling physically ill, I wandered into my kitchen with its mint-green fridge. I grabbed a pitcher with mint and cucumbers, drinking straight from it instead of dirtying a glass. The water brought a bit of stability to my shaking hands.

As soon as I replaced the pitcher, I felt the nauseous twist of an empty stomach sloshing with water. Was it from the dream or did the dream inspire the illness? I fumbled with a peach in its basket on the counter, washed it, and sank down at the table. One of the books I kept scattered throughout the house was in the middle of the table.

I struck a match, lit the three pillar candles in their nest of gravel lining a dish, and opened the book.

But the potion I was planning to look up did not appear. The ink faded into a white page, and fresh words appeared.

An Introduction to the Unwritten Spells

“Not now,”I groaned to myself. My spellbook did not read as books normally do. Occasionally it demanded payment for its use by requesting I write articles.

“What got you up?” Mordon asked from the hallway to the bedrooms.

I closed the book and examined him. His chest was bare but he wore soft trousers. His hair hadn't been combed since its last encounter with a pillow. He looked perfect.

A rush of heat tinged my cheeks and raw desire uncurled through me. I would have thought that I was way too worn out to feel like that.

“Another bad dream?” he asked, drawing towards me, his gait surprisingly relaxed.

“Yeah. It gave me the shakes.” I lifted the peach I had yet to bite into. “Thought I would let you sleep.”

He paused at the counter, pulled open a drawer, and produced a knife. Standing behind me, he took the peach and proceeded to cut it into six slices. He licked the juice off his fingers.

“You are exhausted. Too stressed.”

I chewed a peach slice, sighing as Mordon kneaded my shoulders. His big rings caught on my hair. He moved the hair over my shoulder, and dug thumbs into my neck. I groaned at the controlled strength in his hands.

“What was the dream?”

“Railey at the window.”

“Again?”