Red Witch: Book Two of the Wizard Born Series (30 page)

When she finished, Rita handed her a plastic gallon jug of water. “Dump some of this in the pan now.”

Fred took the jug and twisted off the cap. “Is this distilled?”

“I dunno. Does it matter?”

“It might. Minerals in regular water might affect the mixture.” Fred checked the label. “It is distilled.”

“Lucky.” Cassandra said. “I just bought what was on the shelf at the store.”

“We never thought of that before,” Rita said as she lit the can of Sterno at the bottom of the little stove. “Maybe that’s why I never could get this spell to work by myself.”

“Maybe it’s ’cause your magic’s not strong enough,” Cassandra said.

Rita paused with her lighter still aflame and gave Cassandra a wicked look.

Cassandra shrunk back from her. “Don’t you burn me again!”

“Watch your mouth, then. Besides, I just barely touched it to you that time.”

Cassandra eyebrows drew down. “It still hurt.”

Fred stared at the two witches, mouth open.
She burned her? That is one mean woman.

“What are you starin’ at?” Rita said, looking at Fred. “Water’s boiling. You need to hold the medallion in it.”

“Oh.” Fred picked up the peace symbol by its thong and eased it into the brown liquid.

“Push your mind into it. Really focus, Fred.”

Fred tried to remember what Jamie said about how magic comes from him. She steadied her breathing as she held the thin strip of leather.
Clear your mind and find your center. That’s where the magic comes from. The center.
She honed her awareness to a single point before her, the medallion. She urged the tendrils of her magic-self outward to it; phosphorescent fibers seemed to grow like leafless vines and encircled the circular bit of brass.
Go inside it
, she commanded. She gasped and closed her eyes as it did — she felt the metal then, hot in the boiling water, soaking up the power.
More,
she insisted
. Take all of the power
.

There was a deep, powerful thrum that she heard and felt, down to her bones, a beautiful resonant tone. It swelled and diminished. She opened her eyes.

The medallion was glowing in the water. She stared in amazement as the light faded until it looked like an ordinary tarnished piece of metal.

“I think it worked, Rita,” Cassandra said softly.

“Let’s test it.” Rita snatched the thong from Fred’s hand. “Give me your bracelet, Cass.”

“Why?”

“So Fred can wear it. I want her to see this.”

“Give her your own.”

“Give me your damn bracelet!”

Cassandra scowled but complied, sliding it off her wrist and handing it to Fred.

“Put in on, Fred.” Rita began twirling the medallion as Fred slipped the bracelet on. Cassandra’s eyes grew blank and her lips parted.

“Excellent!” Rita kept the medallion spinning and pulled the doll out with her free hand, set it on the table, and yanked the pin from its sash. Then she leaned over and jabbed the pin into Cassandra’s arm. Cassandra didn’t react.

Fred watched, amazed
. She didn’t even wince.

Rita stopped twirling the medallion and nodded exuberantly. “It worked!”

Life returned to Cassandra’s eyes. “Ow.” She rubbed her arm.

“It worked, Cass.” Rita held the peace symbol up triumphantly. “It worked great.”

Cassandra stared at the little spot of blood on her arm. “You stuck me!”

“You’re fine. Slap some of that healing jelly on it and it’ll quit hurting.”

Cassandra continued rubbing her injury, eyebrows low and her lower lip out. “You said it worked?” Her face brightened. “Cool. We can sell that for big bucks.”

“Who would buy something like that?” Fred asked.

“Oh, someone who wants to do something sneaky.”

“Like stealing.”

“Didn’t say that.” But her Cheshire Cat smile said that’s what she meant. “Fred, before we quit for today, you need to make us some more DUI powder and a few love potions so I’ll have something to sell tonight.”

“Okay, sure.” But suddenly those tasks seemed very ordinary to her.

The two women chatted excitedly as they set out the ingredients for the other spells. Fred had her eye on the medallion the whole time.
If I could somehow get hold of that when they’re not wearing their bracelets, I could use it on them and get out of here.

I wonder if there are any other spells I might be able to use.
A germ of a plan began to form in her mind.

* * *

Rita leaned closer to the bathroom mirror and inspected the graying roots of her hair.
Damn. That last rinse didn’t take
. She exhaled through tightened lips and stood back, still regarding her reflection.

If Fred will hurry up and do the blood bond, this won’t be such a problem.
She fingered her scalp idly.
But she’s a strong one. Might be strong enough to make the Rejuvenation Potion.
She smiled at the thought.
That would be something!

She pulled out her eye liner and leaned back to the mirror, painfully aware of the deepening crow’s feet spreading from the corners of her eyes.
A good Rejuvenation Potion would take care of those. We need to get Fred to try it, soon as she’s had a little more practice.

And if she can pull it off…we can make a lot of money off that. Thousands
.

She smiled to herself and finished putting on her makeup.

* * *

Rita sat back in her barstool and took a sip from her drink, but stopped when she saw Alphonse look toward the front door. “John Paul is here,” he said.

Rita turned and watched the uniformed officer stride toward the bar, a piece of paper in his hand. “’Evenin’, Alphonse,” he said, pushing in between two empty stools and resting one hand on the bar.

“’Evenin’, John Paul.” Alphonse set a full mug of beer in front of a patron and wiped his hands on a dingy towel. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re looking for a missing girl.” He handed the paper to Alphonse. “Seen her?”

Rita’s pulse quickened.
What if it’s Fred? What will we do?
She took a deep breath and forced a mask of unconcern on her face.

Alphonse scanned the paper, shook his head and handed it back. “She’s not been around here.”

Rita jacked up her nerve and held out her hand. “Let me see it, Sergeant.”

John Paul gave her the paper and Rita looked at the picture on it, holding her breath as she did. To her relief, it was of an overweight Goth-looking girl, much younger than Fred, with jet black hair and a pierced eyebrow and a nose ring.
Whew!
She calmly handed the paper back. “No. Never seen her.”

“It was worth a try,” John Paul said. He looked at Alphonse. “Mind if I show it around the bar”

“Sure.” Alphonse gestured at the room. “Help yourself.”

That was scary
, Rita thought as John Paul walked to the nearest table with the photo. She gave her head a tight shake and turned back to the bar, downing the last of her drink in one gulp. “Alphonse? Another one please.” She shook her empty glass at him, the ice rattling noisily. “Make it a double.”

* * *

Fred sent her mind out, just as she did every night, soaring through the ethereal world of dreams, searching for Jamie. On her way, she passed Rita’s and Cassandra’s sleeping forms, but moved on, hunting for her love, the boy she missed so terribly.

She sampled many minds as she flew, but after what seemed like hours of fruitless questing, she returned. When she neared her own sleeping body, she brushed by Cassandra’s slumbering consciousness and swooped in closer to observe, and finally to touch it, not enough to interact, but only to see and feel.

She’s having a nightmare
, Fred knew at once. It was from a child’s point of view — Fred could tell because she was looking up at an adult, a blonde-haired woman.
Her mother,
Fred thought. The woman was dressed in a fine skirt, low-cut blouse and high heels, with a purse in one hand and the other on a doorknob. The child had her arms around the woman’s leg, shrieking, the woman shaking her leg, trying to force the child off. And when she was finally free, the woman bolted through the open door, slamming it behind her, leaving the child screaming, terrified.

The child beat on the door with her tiny fists, wailing, tears streaming down her cheeks. The girl turned and faced the empty room behind her. She was alone.

Fred woke and lay in the dark, her heart pounding.
How awful.
Fred chewed a fingernail and thought about the dream.
But that says something about Cassandra. She wants me to do the blood bond so badly because the triad is like a family to her. Probably the closest thing to a real family she’s ever known.

Fred rolled onto her left side and stared at the dark wall
. It also explains why she puts up with Rita. She’s like a sister to her. An abusive one, but a sister just the same.

Chapter 29

Fred opened her eyes in her sunlit room to see that she wore another clean dress and her hair was wet again. She looked over at Cassandra, who was putting the magic bracelet away in her pocket. “Did I shave my legs, too?”

“No.” Cassandra chuckled. “You still have to do that at the washstand.”

“Could you at least give me a little of the healing jelly?”
After all, I made it,
she thought bitterly. “For when I nick myself with the razor?”

“We’ll see.”

Fred picked up the hairbrush from the bedside table. “Are we making any potions or anything today?”

“No. It’s Christmas Eve, so we thought we’d take the day off. Me and Rita have some errands to run…shoppin’ and stuff.”

I’d love to go shopping
. “Well, I don’t have anything to do. Do you have any books?”

“You mean to read?”

“No, to eat.”

“Hah! Uh, no, but I got a couple of fashion magazines.”

“No thanks.” As Cassandra started to walk away, Fred screwed up her courage and asked for what she really wanted. “How about a spell book or two? I gotta learn that stuff anyway.”

Cassandra’s eyes said
no
, but Fred stumbled on quickly. “I’ll be able to make the powders and stuff faster.” She cleared her throat. “I can make more at one sitting. Make more, sell more?” She grinned. “It is Christmas Eve, after all. Cut your slave girl a little slack.”

“Well….” Cassandra pushed her tongue against the side of her cheek. “Maybe just this once.”

She left the room, and Fred clapped her hands softly and smiled to herself.
Yes!
Cassandra returned with four large leather-bound books and dropped them on the bed beside Fred. “Here. Read away.”

Cassandra started to leave, but Fred stopped her. “One more thing. Could I use one of the folding chairs?” She glanced at the corner where they leaned against the wall with the table. “I get a backache from this bed.”

“You sure do ask a lot.”

Give me a break!
Fred wanted to scream, but instead looked at Cassandra silently, with the best puppy-dog eyes she could muster. After several tense seconds, Cassandra relented and picked up one of the chairs, setting it next to the bed as she spoke, “But that’s it. You’re on your own from here.” She walked away and made it to the doorway before stopping again. She turned back to Fred. “You know, this would be a good day to do the blood bond. That way we could celebrate our first Christmas together as a triad.”

Fred stared at her but didn’t answer. Cassandra looked at her for a few more awkward moments, then she turned and left without another word.

When Cassandra closed the door behind her, Fred sat down in the folding chair and picked up one of the heavy books, opening the thick cover eagerly.
Finally! There’s got to be something useful in here. If Jamie can’t find me, I’m going to have to make my own way out of here, and magic might just be my ticket home.

* * *

The lowest note a contra bassoon can play is a low B flat. It’s so low that it almost sounds like the rumblings of a large beast that’s been disturbed in its lair, barely discernible as a musical tone. Jamie’s mood was at least an octave below that. He needed to do something about it.

“Mom, I’m going for a run,” Jamie said from the front hall.

“Make sure you dress warmly,” she called from the kitchen.

He closed the door and walked down the steps. A blast of winter wind cut through his clothing: a hooded sweat shirt and sweat pants, white cotton gloves.
I won’t feel the cold once I’m warmed up.
He wasn’t even sure where he was heading.
I’ll go north for awhile…maybe go out Fruitland Road to Terry’s Gap.

Jamie needed to think. Though it was Christmas Eve, he was not in the Christmas spirit; he was depressed, and brooding around the house was only pushing him deeper into the dumps. Nothing cleared his brain like running.
Eight or ten miles ought to do it.

He jogged loose and easy at first.
I better not push it. Haven’t run in awhile. Don’t want to get sore.
The sky was the color of dirty dishwater, left in the sink all night to grow cold. The leafless trees that he passed looked somber and dead, showing no promise of spring.

There were no cars in sight when he turned out of their subdivision and crossed the main road. As he warmed up, the simmering anxiety gradually subsided, pushed into a corner of his mind. Focused on his form, he was able to forget about Fred for a while.

Run. That’s all. No thinking. No worrying. Just me and the highway.

By the time he’d covered the two miles to Terry’s Gap, he was warmed up and running well. Before he knew it, he was nearly four miles into it and near the corner of Kyle’s Creek Road and Green Mountain Road. Development was sparse there, the houses far apart.
It’s nice up here.
Jamie usually wouldn’t stop when he ran. Freshmen did, their first few days on the cross country team, but not Jamie
. What the heck. Maybe for a minute.

He found a spot where the shoulder of the road was wide and the view was promising. On his right, there was a broad, grassy valley that rolled up into a long series of hills. A creek cut through it, past a tin-roofed weathered gray barn with an ancient tractor slumbering inside. Jamie stopped, pulled the hood of his sweatshirt back, and paced for a moment, then settled beside an old wooden fence, one foot resting on the bottom rail and his forearms on the top, and took in the scenery.