Witch Eyes (6 page)

Ten

There was a horn. Shouting. The sound of brakes screeching.

I didn’t even think about it. I tore the glasses off my face, already twisting the magic inside me into something, anything, that would help.

An implosion of light, a thunderclap of the space between broken sound, and a force that slammed into me like a football player.

The bus wouldn’t have stopped in time, the momentum was too great. I’d done basic lessons in physics, and I had a very basic idea of how things worked. But apparently using magic to rip away the momentum of a moving object wasn’t a smart idea. Instead of collapsing and being totally fine, I’d caught some of that momentum and gone tumbling down the street.

People were still shouting. The hydraulics attached to the bus door released, and the driver came out yelling. Somehow I had managed to keep hold of my sunglasses, and I slid them on.

The little girl—hell, the whole family—was gone from the sidewalk where I’d seen them just a few seconds before. My palms burned from where they’d ground against the concrete in the stre
et.

“Where’d they go?” I asked, trying and failing to stand up on my own. A woman knelt down next to me, cautioning me to wait for an ambulance.

“Jane! Jane, come on!” A man’s furious call distracted me. I looked to my left. He was shouting at the woman next to me. “
You don’t know who caused this
.”

Only then did the woman look up, shocked into motion. There was just a moment where she looked at me, a moment where she almost started to speak, before she stood up
and started to hurry off with the man’s arm tightened around hers.

What the hell?
All around me, people were rushing to put some distance between themselves and the scene. Only the bus driver and a few others were waiting around, focused on the aftermath of the “accident.”

The second time I tried to stand was a little better. My whole right side was throbbing, and I felt like I had gravel in my hair, but the pain wasn’t significant. I’d dealt with worse.

That little girl tried to kill me.

I crossed in between the traffic and started running.

¤ ¤ ¤

I didn’t stop until I’d reached the 600 block of Washington Street. I expected to see a few tiny office buildings each splitting up the block, but there was only one building here, and in looking around, it was one of the tallest in the city.

The building opened up into a sort of mud room—floor mats covered the floors, and more doors led into the actual lobby. I took a few minutes to finish brushing myself off, checking the status of my clothes, and catching my breath.

Aside from a few scrapes along my arms and legs, I wasn’t seriously bleeding or anything. My jeans weren’t quite so lucky, with one of the back pockets losing part of its stitching.

Someone tried to kill me.
If the bus had been moving any faster, or I hadn’t reacted so quickly … And then I froze.

I’d used my powers in public. Worse, I’d used the witch eyes. There was just a hint of throbbing in the back of my head, but whether it was from the power or the accident, I wasn’t sure.

What if someone had seen me? What if people find out?
My stomach was rumbling something fierce by the time I walked into the lobby of the building. I saw a woman exiting the elevator and asked her about Fallon—she pointed toward a sign on the wall. Fallon Law held the entire top floor of the building. Every floor below it was split between dozens of different offices and agencies, but Fallon had one all to himself.

The elevator was completely mirrored, creating reflections of myself that tunneled out into the distance. It was unsettling to see myself alone in the elevator, and yet crowded by so many mirror images. It was something surreal—like seeing one of my visions. But it was just an optical illusion.

Just for a moment, I thought I saw something move that shouldn’t have. Before I could help myself, I glanced to the far right. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something dark swirling behind one of my reflections. I turned, but as I moved my eyes, the darkness moved to. It wasn’t something solid, like oil or shadows; it was granular, like black sand.

I shifted around, pivoting to my right and even going so far as to pull the glasses away. Whatever I had seen was gone. Bright light smacked me in the face, drawing out colors and images that weren’t there a moment ago.
Rings of purple bruising from the tears I never should have trusted him angry red stains copper on the carpet must get that fixed fire bowing down in his wake all angry oranges and gas blues money green in my purse the best job I’ve ever had. Why doesn’t he respect me as much as the others?

Through the haze of senses, I saw my reflections. The panic in a hundred pairs of eyes, growing more fearful and unhinged the farther back they went. It was almost like each reflection was slightly different, and the ones farther back were becoming something I couldn’t quite recognize.

I shoved the glasses back on my head, instantly disoriented with double and triple reflections that had nothing to do with mirrors.

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened.

This is such a bad idea.

¤ ¤ ¤

“Mr. Fallon will see you now,” the supermodel behind the secretary’s desk cooed. Fake hair, fake lips. Fake everything. I didn’t believe that any parent would willingly name their daughter Candy. She was a Playboy Playmate dressed up as a secretary. This had to be some kind of joke.

Despite the note saying Lucien wanted me here at 5:00, it was almost a quarter after before he was “ready for me.” In that time, I sat and tried to pull myself together, watching his office doors. No one entered or left. How busy could he be?

I walked up to the double doors with their gold plating.
Lucien Fallon, Attorney at Law
. I closed my eyes, and tried to take a deep breath. Counted back from ten. Anything to stop the throbbing behind my eyes. It was getting worse.

The office walls were wood paneled and stained dark, drawing the eye toward the full-length window that overlooked the rest of downtown. The school was easily visible, one of the few landmarks I recognized already.

There
were no law books—or anything to suggest the man’s office was in any way linked to the legal profession. Instead, the walls were lined with tasteful art. At lea
st, at first glance, I thought it was tasteful. In one a woman lounged on a chair while something swarmed over her.

“Hello, Braden,” Lucien said from the desk. He was wearing a charcoal suit that was identical to the one he’d worn in the diner, and a pair of tiny reading glasses. The desk itself was longer than I was tall. It made Lucien look tiny and unthreaten
ing. “You’re late.” He made a show of looking at the gold watch on his wrist.

I was
late
? “Your secretary kept me out there waiting.”

“Did you really come here to argue over the time?” he said, pulling the reading glasses off and putting them into some sort of black case.

I stayed near the door. “Someone tried to kill me,” I blurted out. “Right down there, on the street.” I pointed toward the windows, as if Lucien would be able to spot who did it.

An eyebrow raised. “Well, aren’t you a precocious lad,” he said. “Your life nearly snuffed out on your first real day of independence. Bravo.”

I couldn’t be hearing this. “Sorry?”

“You didn’t think you were the only witch in Belle Dam, did you?” Lucien laughed. “My dear boy, you’re in between two of the most powerful magical dynasties to cross over into the New World.”

“You mean … ”

He waved a hand dismissively. “The vassals don’t even understand
why
they fear the Lansings and the Thorpes as much as they do. I suppose it’s become something of an inherited instinct.” He grew oddly wistful. “Wouldn’t that be something, if people were simply
born
to fear you.”

“Well, one of them tried to kill me about twenty minutes ago.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt,” he said, with utter calm. “I suppose you’re wondering who?”

I waited, somehow knowing that Lucien wanted to drag this out. It was like some sort of production to him. But this was what I’d come to Belle Dam to find out. Whoever tried to kill me was probably the same one from my vision.

“A balance has existed for far too long. After certain regrettable events that took place years ago, Jason and Catherine called a cease-fire. Catherine has been looking for a secret weapon ever since.”

“A secret weapon?” And then I understood. “Me?”

Lucien nodded. “She’ll make sure everything between you and her is decimated; razed to the ground. While your life is still burning, she’ll stroll in, offer you her heartfelt comfort, and then make all your little dreams come true.”

Trey had told me at the library that Lucien worked for Jason Thorpe. “And since you’re working for the other side, it’s in your best interests to stop that from happening, right? And probably recruit me for yourself?”

He looked amused. “My role in these little games is a bit more complicated than that.”

“And what do they—”

“—want with a boy like you?” He shook his head. “Don’t be coy, Braden. Who is to say how powerful your gifts will make you? It could be that one day they’ll proclaim legends about
you.
”

“I’m not somebody’s weapon, Lucien. That’s crazy.”

Something on his desk beeped, and then Candy-the-Strippertary echoed from the telephone, “He’s coming off the elevator.”

Lucien pressed another button, cutting her off. His eyes grew vacant and he glanced behind him, toward the view over the city. “He does so enjoy unraveling my schedule.” A sigh, and then he spun back around, his arms extended like he was about to ask for a hug. “I’ve tried to tell him, countless times, that things must happen on a timetable.”

“What are you talking about? Who’s coming?” I glanced back at the door I’d come through and stepped further into the room. Backing away from the door.

“Feel free to tell him you’re no one’s weapon, Braden.” Lucien glided past me, reaching for the door handle. “Although I imagine you’ll have other things on your mind.” I watched him pause and mouth some sort of countdown to himself. Only after he reached “one” did he move.

He pulled the door open, and a man in a solid black suit stepped through without the slightest hitch in his step. My heart caught in my throat, choking off any thought of breathing. I recognized the nearly black hair, the height, the purposeful stride.

Pieces of the puzzle were slamming into place so fast I should have gotten whiplash. That was my uncle’s hair, his height, his stride. But where Uncle John was round in the face and prone to laugh, this man’s face was narrow, and he was all business. There were streaks of gray in his hair, and that suit … Uncle John would never have sacrificed comfort for couture.

But otherwise the resemblance was unmistakable.

“That will be all, Lucien,” he said, his voice reverberating through the room. Lucien dipped his head in a nod and closed the door from the outside.

Alone, I stared at the man who could only have been Jason Thorpe. Lucien’s boss.

My father.

Eleven

“Hello, Braden,” Jason Thorpe said.

I took another step backwards, my legs smacking against Lucien’s desk.
Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.
Lunch was hours ago, but between the growing pulse in my head, and now the rebellion in my stomach, it was only a matter of time.

Thi
s is some sort of joke. A test.
My father was in the room with me. “What are you doing here?” I whispered, as if someone was listening
.

Jason kept his distance, crossing to the far side of the room and looking out the window. There was a clear shot to the door—if nothing else, I knew I could be out the door and out into the offices before he could catch up. His stuffy leather shoes couldn’t keep up with tennis shoes.

The headache was growing in intensity, threatening to split my brain right down the middle. “Lucien’s been treating you well? He hasn’t given you any trouble?”

He was so casual, like this was any ordinary conversation. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dust. “No, Jason. No trouble.”

“I was surprised when he told me you’d be returning to Belle Dam, but I learned long ago never to doubt his counsel.” He turned and strode behind the desk, taking the seat Lucien had so recently abandoned. “Have a seat, Braden.”

“I’ll stand.” It was stupid, because my head was starting
to throb so much that sitting would have been so much better. Actually, curling into a ball on the floor would have been the best, but I’d have to wait until I could get b
ack to the hotel for that.

Jason’s mouth moved upwards, proving he
was
capable of smiling, but the expression didn’t look quite right. “Yes, you are headstrong, aren’t you?” he murmured. Apparently it pleased him. And just as quickly his voice got sharp … and concerned? “What’s wrong?”

My legs had started shaking, the mere idea of sitting enough to throw them into rebellion. And so I sank into one of the chairs, as much as I didn’t want to. Jason, the room, all of it vanished as I focused inward. It took everything in me to hold my stomach down and not sink into unconsciousness.

I couldn’t even reach for the pills in my book bag. Why hadn’t I taken them
earlier, at the first sign of the headac
he? What was wrong with me?

My hands were cupped around my eyes, blocking out as much of the light as they could. I focused
on my breathing, the way my uncle had taught me. When Jason laid his hands on me, like he was some sort of priest, I flinched in surprise.

His palms were on either side of my face, his fingers pressing against my temples. My face was flush, but his hands were a balming ice against my skin. At the edges of my awareness I could feel him gathering the magic around him. Slowly the ice began to seep into my skin, crackling and spreading its way inside and soothing away the pain.

It was several minutes of breathing before I realized just what was happening. It was like I zoned out for a time, and when I came back to myself, the pain was gone. Completely.

I started to lift my head, only to realize that Jason was still holding my head. He let go and rose to his feet, and I looked down at my hands. There wasn’t any trace of the scrapes or scratches I’d suffered on the street.

Jason healed me? How is that even possible?
Uncle John had never even mentioned magic that could heal or take away pain.

“I wouldn’t get used to it,” Jason announced, clearing his throat. He seemed shaken.

“How … did you do that?”

He walked back across the room and stared down at the city. “The powers at your disposal, they have more costs than you know. You can heal the symptoms once or twice, but then immunity sets in.” He looked over his shoulder—not quite at me, but at least in my direction. “Why do you think he only treated you with
pills?”

I didn’t like the caustic tone he had. “At least someone was there when I needed him,” I said, matching it tone for tone.

Another one of those faux smiles. “Why are you here, Braden?”

“I thought you wanted me here,” I said, confused at his ambivalence. “Lucien said—”

“Lucien says a great many things. I’m asking why
you
are here.”

Why had I come? “Because someone was going to come for me. Catherine Lansing, Lucien says. And she was going to kill Uncle John to get to me.”

I didn’t miss the flare in his expression when I mentioned his brother’s name. No love lost there. “Ahh.” I couldn’t quite decipher the emotion that flashed across Jason’s face before he turned back to the window. “And she already tried to kill you once today, I heard. That was sloppy.”

“Sloppy?” My body started to warm as the anger took hold. “She tried to have me killed and all you can say is that it’s ‘sloppy’?”

“No,” he said, his tone cold. “I meant your reaction was sloppy. I’d almost be embarrassed, if I didn’t remember who’d been left to train you.”

He held up his left
hand and passed it over the windows. The view of downtown clouded over, and sidewalks and traffic appeared.
An illusion.
One that I couldn’t have come close to matching. I could veil myself from
most senses; that wasn’t too difficult. But to actually bend light to create something that wasn’t there, like a hologram—that was infinitely more difficult than what I did.

It was the sidewalk a few blocks away, where I’d been pushed into the path of the bus. And as I watched Jason’s re-creation of the event on glass windows that were now some sort of mystical television, I saw how everything must have looked to outsiders. The little girl, the push, the way I’d stumbled in front of the bus, and then the way I’d gone flying back without the bus even touching me.

He held up his hand, and the image froze. “Don’t you think the spell would have been much more effective if you’d channeled
all
that energy away from you? Instead of letting it throw you around?”

I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. “You’re critiquing my
near-death experience
?” Asshole, thy name is Father.

“Don’t be so sensitive.” He dropped his hand and the illusion faded. “If I’d known you were so poorly trained, I’d have—”

“What? What would you have done?” I snapped. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know
everything
about you,” he replied, his tone going colder, if that was even possible. Another wave of the hand, and our log cabin in Montana appeared in the window. The view circled the building, stopping once there was a glimpse of movement at the rear of the house. Uncle John was on the back porch, rocking in that chair he loved.

“You’ve been spying on us?” This was all too insane to process. The infamous Jason Thorpe was my father. He knew exactly where I’d been all along. And he was also some sort of stalker freak slash magical badass.

“I don’t know what he was thinking,” Jason said. “If you can’t even control your powers, how in the world are you going to eliminate her?”

“Eliminate her? I just want her to leave us alone.”

“Don’t be naïve,” he snapped. “You can’t possibly think it’s that ea
sy.”

“This is crazy,” I announced. “I don’t know what you think I’m here for … but he’s wrong. I’m not going to be some pawn in your vendetta or whatever.”

“Braden!” he snapped.

“Jason!” I retorted. “God, someone tried to
kill me
and the only thing you can say is ‘well, sorry kid, but your magic sucks.’ You’re like some kind of psycho Little League parent.”

“I don’t know who you think you are,” he said tightly, “but that tone is unacceptable.”

“Well, accept it,” I said. “Or don’t. But I’m so over this.”

He could have stopped me as I stormed out of the office. Lucien was with the secretary behind her desk, in the midst of some private conversation as I hurried past. “Lucien!” Jason’s voice was a thunderclap from the office. I saw him pick himself u
p and slide back to his office. The door closed behind him just a few moments before the elevator doors opened and I could finally escape.

I kept my eyes closed on the way down, only now remembering the images I’d seen in the reflections just a little while ago. Now what was I supposed to do?

¤ ¤ ¤

There was something about the city now, the way people scurried from shop to shop, to their minivans, and the way they carried their grocery bags. Everyone had a motive. Everyone had picked their side, but I couldn’t tell one from the other.

The town’s ruled by this feud. Everything Drew had said on the bus was right. Only now one of those warlocks was my father. Was this why Lucien wanted me to come back here?

Uncle John was safe, but I still wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be doing. I’d come here to keep him safe, but this Catherine Lansing was still after me.

Everything was getting more complicated.