Spring Rain (7 page)

With a sigh, she double checked her locks
then went to bed.

Sometime later, in the middle of the night,
Morgan jerked awake. The sound of someone banging on the door of
her apartment made her sit up quickly, and she threw off the
blankets to grab the bat she had tucked just under the bed. Without
bothering to get dressed, she crept to the door. The pounding had
stopped, and her heart raced at the fear streaking through her of
being discovered by Dawn.

“Fire!” the muffled cry was accompanied by
the shadow of someone running past her living room window.

Morgan didn’t lower the bat until she peeked
through the peephole to confirm no one was outside. She opened the
door and leaned out to see the crowd gathering in the parking lot
while someone else ran door to door alerting the occupants and
ordering people to wake up. Sirens wailed in the distance.

She closed her door and locked it, sensing
there was no better time to make an exit than now. She released
fire magick to find out where the fire originated and which
direction it was headed.

With a frown, Morgan sensed the fire magick
of another witchling present. She let her magick follow the traces
of power through the building. The fire originated outside but had
spread quickly to the roof. The apartment building was burning from
the roof to the ground.

Dawn had a fire witchling for one of her
lackeys. Troy. Morgan recalled her last interaction with both and
shuddered. Like most fire witchlings, Troy was Dark, and a faint
thread of Darkness was interwoven into the flames tackling her
apartment building.

The fire wasn’t accidental but a sign she’d
been found. Morgan tossed the bat onto the couch and started away
from the door. Movement from the corner of her eye made her whirl,
and fire flared to life in her hands again, illuminating her
surroundings.

The only lackey of Dawn’s capable of
canceling out her fire magick was in her home. Morgan hesitated
then bolted towards her bedroom.

Troy tackled her and slammed her into the
wall between the kitchen and bedroom. Morgan gasped, and fire spun
off both, sparking and igniting the kitchen cupboards. Troy
couldn’t burn her, but he could disable her magic and turn this
into a purely physical battle.

She sucked in a breath and shoved away from
the wall, twisted and socked him as hard as she could. Troy
staggered back with a curse, and Morgan darted into her room. She
slammed the door behind her, aware it wasn’t going to impede a fire
witchling for long, and snatched the soul stone from its hiding
spot beneath her pillow.

The door exploded, and she winced as
splinters of wood scraped her face and arms. Before Troy could get
her again, she had ducked into the tiny bathroom and slammed the
door closed.

Smoke poured in through the vents, and she
locked the door, breathing hard and scared. The soul stone was so
small to be of such interest to the world, and she gazed at it
briefly. In a matter of moments, Troy would knock down the door and
attack her again.

She had a secondary bat under the sink and
opened the cupboard to yank it free. The sound of dripping water
drew her attention to the faucet in the bathtub, and she rose.
Drips turned to a stream then to a torrent. The bathroom sink began
to fill as well.

The best way to deal with a fire witchling:
suffocate her, which Dawn had already tried and failed. Second
best: drown her.

Starting to panic, Morgan gripped the bat
tightly, her fire magick warning her there were at least three
people waiting for her outside the door. Another of Dawn’s henchmen
had been a water witchling, like Noah, but without Noah’s
conscience.

Water soon filled the bathroom to her
calves, her knees, her thighs. She tested the doorknob and wasn’t
surprised to find the door sealed, probably by an air witchling,
and impossible to open.

Morgan dropped the bat, coughing in the
smoke and terrified of the rising water. With another look at the
soul stone, she popped it in her mouth and swallowed it, washing it
down with the water whose level was at her waist.

The stone was cold enough to burn as it
traveled to her stomach, and she turned her flames inward to keep
it from killing her. Climbing on top of the toilet seat, she wildly
sought another avenue of escape.

There was none. Just water. Hot tears burned
her cheeks, and she stepped precariously onto the slippery sink to
press her face to the ceiling.

Why is it always
water?
She’d barely survived the lake
incident in December, and this time, there was no Noah to help her
live through this one.

Morgan clawed at the vent cover high in one
wall and pulled it free, hoping to provide an outlet for the water.
Instead, more water streamed into the bathroom.

“Morgan!” the cry was faint. Uncertain if
she heard someone calling her name or not, she went still and
listened. “Morgan!”

“Noah!” she screamed. “I’m trapped!”

“Morgan, hold on! I –”

She had no time to process the sounds of
scuffling. Within seconds, the air was gone. Morgan held her breath
and floated, silently screaming for help. Her lungs burned, but not
as much as the coldness in the pit of her stomach. Darkness crept
from the edges of her mind, and she felt herself start to slide
into unconsciousness.

Beck slept surprisingly well after all the
tedious tasks that went into running a school and an attempt to
read through some of the archaic writing in the massive book Amber
gave him. He woke up later than usual and took a long shower,
grateful for hot water after his time in the forest. It managed to
warm every part of him but his mourning heart, which remained cold
and heavy.

When he was dressed and ready for his day,
he picked up his phone. It had three messages on it, one from Biji
probably telling him she wanted to go back to the forest, one from
Decker and another from a number he didn’t recognize.

He listened to the message from the
unfamiliar number first.

“This is Doctor Sheila Bridges. We found
your phone number in a cell phone belonging to someone we hope you
can help us identify. Please give me a call.”

Puzzled, Beck listened to it again, guessing
someone had his number by mistake. He debated ignoring the call,
but the side of him that didn’t like others to be hurt got the best
of him, and he called back.

“Doctor Bridges,” came the curt response.
From the voice on the speakers and sounds of quick movement, she
was in the middle of a busy emergency room.

“Hi. You called my number earlier about
identifying someone,” Beck said. “I think –”

“Yeah. One second,” she said in a thick
Boston accent. There was a muffled sound as if she had placed the
speaker against her clothing while belting out a couple of orders.
Seconds later, she returned. “Female, no name, no identification
aside from a cell phone. Wicked strange medical condition.”

“I think you have the wrong number,” Beck
said.

“Your number was listed
as
home
in her
contacts.”

His instinct tingled, the subtle whisper of
the Light tickling him while he tried to identify what it wanted.
Was it simply because it was his obligation to help people and this
was an opportunity to make up for failing others? “All right,” he
said. “You’re at which hospital?”

“St. Mary Mercy.”

“Which is where?”

“Las Vegas,” Doctor Bridges said
impatiently. “Can you be here before my shift is up in two hours?
Or should I leave a note for my replacement?”

Beck almost smiled. It was a trick question
for him. He could be anywhere he wanted in seconds. “I can be there
by then,” he said.

“Great. I just need your name for the
emergency point of contact form.”

He shifted his weight between his feet, not
sure he was ready to take responsibility for some stranger’s life
like this. He wanted to help, not adopt someone. But he gave his
information, scribbled down the address and hung up.

His eyes strayed to the history book once
more. He had some time before needing to be in Las Vegas, so he sat
down and skimmed through a couple more chapters. The material was
mostly pretty dry, reading like a school manual. The chapters were
labeled according to names he didn’t recognize – sources of the
oral histories – and he looked through the printed pages for
mention of Tranin or Bartholomew. At the rate he was going, it
would take a week or two to get through the book. An hour passed,
and he rose finally, stomach growling.

Trotting to the main floor of the cabin, he
made his way towards the origin of the wonderful scents filling the
house. The doors to his father’s office and the family room were
closed. He hadn’t yet seen his parents but knew they were going to
be occupied with the equinox crowd.

“Grandpa Louis!” he exclaimed as he entered
the kitchen and wrapped the small, dark-skinned man with curly
white hair in a tight hug. He had spent the entire previous day at
school with Amber and had yet to eat a home cooked meal or talk to
his family.

“My lumberjack,” his grandfather said
affectionately.

Beck smiled as he released him. “It’s gone.”
He motioned to his cheeks. Grandpa Louis had been the only one in
the house to see his full beard.

“Breakfast?”

Beck considered, eyes on the heated pans in
the buffet line for visitors. “I’ll have whatever’s ready.”

“And cookies.” Grandpa Louis went to the far
counter to retrieve a plate of five, each one a different
flavor.

“I love you!” Beck said and took them.
“Thanks for sending me food in the forest.”

“Someone has to keep you all fed.” Grandpa
Louis went back to monitoring the pots on the stove and contents of
the oven, while Beck took a seat at the breakfast table.

He looked around, loving everything from his
mother’s rustic chic décor to the plates of food. He hadn’t known
how much he missed everything until he was back in the middle
again.

“Are you back from the wilderness for good?”
Grandpa Louis asked.

Beck focused on the cookie he was breaking
in half. “I don’t know.” He was still raw and being in the
schoolhouse where Morgan’s memories were more intense yesterday
didn’t help take his mind off anything. He hadn’t wanted to return
until he had a chance to heal.

But it was looking like he would never heal
from losing her, and it disturbed him to think he’d spend his life
in pain.

“Did you notice I
quoted
Nacho Libre
? The wilderness?”

Beck looked up, startled. His normal stoic
grandfather rarely cracked jokes. “No, but I do now,” he said with
a laugh. “Run out of serious British shows or World War Two movies
to watch?”

“I can enjoy a comedy from time to time.”
His grandfather smiled warmly. “Decker had a fight with Summer,
short circuited like he and your mother do when they’re upset, and
melted my favorite movies. I had to watch what you boys watch for a
week until he’d replaced everything.”

Beck grinned, not surprised to hear about
Decker’s meltdown. The dynamics of his family were often strained,
given he and Decker sat on opposite sides of the good-evil fence,
but they were always united when it came to their calm, wise
grandfather.

Despite his noncommittal response about
breakfast, he soon had a full plate of food in front of him. Beck
wolfed it down, surprised by how hungry he was and how wonderful
real food tasted after three months.

“Where’s Decker today?” he asked when he’d
finished.

“Went to fetch Summer and take a day trip
somewhere.” Grandpa Louis shrugged. “Said he’d be back for
dinner.”

“Big dinner for the equinox?”

“Huge. Dinners for the next week are being
hosted at the club.”

The club overlooking the lake where Morgan
died was the last place Beck wanted to go. Ever. His temporary
cheerfulness faded, and he stood. “I’m going on a day trip, too.
Probably won’t be at dinner, though,” he admitted.

“I’ll leave you a plate in your room.”

“Thanks, Grandpa. Can I get cookies to
go?”

“I assumed you’d be leaving early.” Grandpa
Louis held out a plate with a baggie of cookies on it.

Beck smiled. He snagged the remaining
cookies from his plate and walked down the hallway. Long before he
reached the front door, he had summoned his magick. White fog
billowed out around him, and he directed it to take him where the
call had originated from.

Within a moment, the clouds had swept him
away.

They cleared at the side of a large, blocky
hospital in the grassy area under a tree. The spring in Nevada was
much warmer than that of northern Idaho, and he immediately
regretted wearing a sweater. With a quick glance around, Beck
pocketed his cookies and strode into the emergency room to the
nearest nurse’s station.

The staff paged Doctor Bridges over the
overhead speakers, and Beck waited.

Five minutes later, a petite, slender woman
with dark hair appeared. “Beck Turner?” she asked and held out her
hand.

“Yep. Nice to meet you, Doctor Bridges.”
Beck shook.

“You look familiar.”

He shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve ever been
here before.”

“Never mind. Come with me.” The doctor began
walking towards the interior of the hospital and an elevator. “The
girl’s condition is … well … we don’t even know.”

Beck’s gaze slid to her. As much as he
didn’t want to get involved, he was also curious what could baffle
a sharp, no-nonsense woman like Doctor Bridges. “Want to start from
the beginning?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I work night shift. Should be
home sleeping.” Doctor Bridges offered a tired smile. “A nearby
apartment building burned down. They found her there. At first, it
looked like she’d drowned but –”