Witch's Brew - Spellspinners 1 (Spellspinners of Melas County) (24 page)

Was he a warlock on a mission to get something from me? Were they trying to make peace with us as well?

Before I could elaborate further on this thought, I forced myself into safer ground: self-deception.

Maybe he wasn’t a warlock, after all.

Maybe all these feelings were the result of my recalling Iris’ story. I scanned his forearms, gulping at the veins extruding from his well-defined muscles, and then quickly looked away when I detected no ink.

Disappointment flooded through my core. Perhaps he was just a surfer boy, who happened to be extraordinarily hot. It wasn’t impossible. I was a half-human teenager, whose interest in boys had to wake up eventually, right?

Or maybe my shaky magic was having crazy-making side effects. That was it.

This reaction was just hormones gone wild. Hormones and haywire magic craziness.

I saw you on Black Mountain.
A voice in my head, his. Speaking to me telepathically.

He was a warlock.

I went internal too and answered back in a shaky voice:
You. You saw me?

I knew it was him. I swallowed. My body made a gasping noise, which I tried to conceal with a hyper cough.

I couldn’t believe he could Hear my inner voice. No one could Hear except elders, or high levels Indigo and Crimson. Then I remembered what Iris had said about matched warlocks and witches.

Maybe this had something to do with it.

I didn’t mean to scare you.

His lips stretched into a shy smile, and when he looked down to hide it, I was absolutely charmed. This didn’t add up. He was incredibly good looking. Eerily so, but I didn’t see any ink on his arms. Besides, I’d been taught warlocks, even the young ones, were ugly and brittle-looking.

This guy was the opposite. He was young and strong like a surfer, but with more muscle. More agility. His face was angled, more perfect than any teenage boy I knew. Not a trace of adolescent awkwardness. Not a pimple in sight. And his eyes. They literally ripped my breath away.

You were sleeping on a rock. I…I swear nothing inappropriate happened, I was just curious as to why you were there.

Nothing inappropriate?

Oh my goodness.

He glanced at me quickly as he said it. Then, just as quickly, he looked back down at the counter. My stomach flip-flopped.

Are you…did you…enchant me?

No. You were already sleeping when I saw you.

Because someone or something did. I was hiking, then accosted by a hawk. Your totem animals are hawks, no?

They are.

But you didn’t put a spell on me?

No.

Then who did?

I don’t know.

Another warlock?

If so, I didn’t hear anything about it. But I’ll look into it.

You. How can you Hear me?

How can you Hear me?

I don’t know.

Avoiding his eyes, I slowly stirred my latte with a silver spoon. Under my trembling palm, I felt the ceramic mug heat up, then cool, then heat up again. Finally, I yanked my hand away.

Did you know I was in here? I mean, if you saw me before?

Yes.

How?

I felt you. Pulling me in here.

Iris’ warning echoed in my head: “You won’t know it, you will feel it.”

Felt me…how?

I was out surfing and was drawn to this place. I try to avoid it.
He wrinkled his nose
. Too many humans. Besides, I can’t stand the barista. He looks at me weird.

He doesn’t like you, either.

Ha. Really? Well, at least
something
about today makes sense.

My skin tingled as my body angled toward his, like his skin—like his entire body was inviting me to come closer. I braced myself, urging my muscles to stay still.

What was happening to me?

Jonah laughed nervously, breaking our bizarre Spellspinner vibe with his humanity. “So…can I get you guys anything else?”

“Triple espresso, thanks.”

I thought you weren’t allowed to have caffeine.

I thought you weren’t allowed to speak to us in public.

His otherworldly eyes held mine, teasing.

This doesn’t count as speaking. No one else can hear us.
He was just too adorable.
Oh, goddesses, did you hear that?

Sorry.

I wanted to bury my face in my elbows, I was so embarrassed.

Please don’t do that.

“Order up,” Jonah said, a little too loudly. With a forced grin, he shot the steaming tiny cup and saucer across the counter.

“Actually I need that to go,” the warlock told Jonah. “Apologies.”

“Not at all.” Jonah shrugged.

“It was nice to meet you,” the warlock said, turning to me. “Um…?”

“Her name is Lily,” Jonah said.

“Lily,” the boy repeated, not taking his eyes off mine. “That makes sense. You smell like your name.” He leaned in closer, his shoulder nearly grazing my bare arm.
And your eyes. You think you disguise them in public? I can see right through the glamour.

My swordfinger flickered, and he jerked back.

Hey, what was that for? I was just warning you—other warlocks might not be as cordial as I am, and you’re going to want to fix that before coming out again.

Embarrassed by my reaction, I looked down at my finger, cooling it with a mind spell.

Can I ask you a question?

Yes.

Where did you get your amulet?

My hand flew to my neck.
It’s an heirloom, from my grandmother.

What does it do?

Nothing. It’s just a necklace.

Huh.

I watched him turn away from me, and hand Jonah a hundred-dollar bill.

My eyes ran down his profile, toward the low-hanging black pants barely clinging to his hips. My whole body rippled thinking about the parts he kept hidden.

Under a broken rose moon

Lies a broken magic man

With the art of a broken rose moon

When my eyes ran back up his body, a flash of colors swept through the air like stained glass in motion. My eyes focused on the prism, an amulet dangling from a silver chain on the warlock’s neck.

His amulet was identical to mine in both color and stone. Not missing a beat, he noticed me noticing, lifted the neck of his sweatshirt and tucked the amulet inside.

What is the shape of your amulet? Is that a moon?

He didn’t answer, but looked at me, sizing me up. Deciding if he could tell me the truth.

I wouldn’t normally pry like this, or geez—I mean, I would normally run for cover if I ran into one…one of you. But this is hugely important. Can you just tell me if it’s shaped like a moon, a broken moon specifically?

I’ve always thought it looked like a crescent moon, yeah.

Do you have…

My heart was racing.

Do you have another… mark on you? Anywhere else? That matches that rock?

No.

Are you sure?

Unless it’s somewhere I can’t see—then I’m pretty sure.

I flushed. I had to try.

He looked at me steadily, wanting to know more.

It’s just that your amulet could be the key to something huge.

My sanity wobbled under his gaze.

What did you mean by ‘the key to something huge’?

Do you know about the curse?

As soon as I said it, a dense and sudden breeze whipped through the café. The front door slammed shut from the force, and I jumped. Hair whipping my face, I noticed the ceiling fan twirling faster and faster at such an unnatural angle, it looked like it would come unhinged. A young mom with a stroller was struggling to open the front door; the knob seemed to be covered in butter for all the good it did her to turn it. I snapped my fingers quickly, opening it for her, and she slipped out. Few were smart enough to follow her, however; my fingers were aimed and ready to spin more magic if the fan came loose, and I had to intervene in a more obvious manner. Across the room, Jonah was frantically flipping a switch up and down, but the fan didn’t stop spinning. Sparks shot off the metal center. The groupie girls in back screamed; the guitar boy jumped to his feet, securing his precious instrument behind him.

“What in the world?” Jonah said to no one in particular. He caught my eye briefly, and then looked back at the fan, now swinging from a single wire.

I didn’t have a moment longer to hesitate.

Closing my eyes, I began the inner chanting of a spell to stop the fan. Fire crawled down my arms and into my fingertips. I’d manipulate the wind, and reverse it and…

Was yanked off my feet before I had a chance to complete the spell.

Skidding across the wood floor, I felt like I’d been trashed around by a tidal wave. I wasn’t sure which end was up, and felt only heat and the rub of fabric, the scent of salt and leaves. When I opened my eyes, I realized I was sprawled out on top of the warlock, wrapped in his arms like a baby, my nose buried in his chest. Our faces were only inches apart, his live-wire eyes burning into mine.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

My chest was pressed so hard into his, I could hear his heartbeat offsetting mine, in a strange, beautiful rhythm. Instead of jumping up right away, I defied common sense and leaned in deeper. He cradled the back of my head with his large hand and we breathed deeply in unison for what felt like centuries.

“You’re shivering,” he whispered, warm breath in my ear.

My pounding heart reminded me of those old Warner Brothers cartoons—when a character is so enamored, his heart literally bursts from his furry chest.

“Just breathe,” the warlock said, somehow intuiting my predicament.

“I’m trying,” I whispered.

What was causing this? The excitement of the rogue fan, or falling into him? I felt like I was having a panic attack. As I pushed against his chest to stand, something burned into my palm. Jumping back, I examined my stinging flesh. Quickly, he stood, too, and took my wrist in his hand, pressing my palm to his lips.

What the?

A cool, soothing rush coursed through my body, like I’d swallowed a tranquilizer. I sighed into him.
What are you doing?

Trust me.

When his lips left my palm, the pain was completely gone. All that remained was a light pink outline of a crescent moon.

His eyes flew to the amulet around my neck. He reached out and gently flipped it over, examining it. As quickly as he’d reached for it, he tucked it back under my shirt.

A warlock with the gift to heal?

I know it’s weird.

No one else can? No other warlocks?

No one else I know of.

The warlock glanced up at his friend, who was standing against the wall, watching us suspiciously.

Did he see?

Probably. But don’t worry, Chance is cool.

Did you…You didn’t…burn me on purpose?

Of course not.
He looked genuinely surprised at the question.
Why would I hurt you?

Because you’ve been trained since you were thirteen to beat me in the Gleaning?

To glean your magic, not hurt you.

That’s not what I heard.

Well, I haven’t heard the best things about witches either.

Not knowing what to think, I decided to just behave like a human who’d been rescued from an absurd fan accident by a heroic surfer boy. I pushed the burning behind me. I’d ask Iris about it later.

I had to know more about his amulet.

Find out if it was the “art of a broken rose moon.”

When his friend approached, I used the untapped magic I was going to use to save myself from the fan, and cooked up a quick, but extremely powerful spell.

Tracing the outline of the fading pink moon on my palm, I conjured the creator of the mark, the warlock’s amulet, into my open palm.

I blinked, shocked it actually worked, the weight of it pressing into my hand. Before anyone could notice, I quickly wrapped my fingers around it, tucking it into my pocket.

The warlock flinched for a second as it was happening, as if a fly had landed on his neck, but flown off before he could slap it. He glanced over at me, but I focused on my now empty palm.

“Well, thank you very much for saving me,” I blurted, too loudly.

“You’re very welcome,” he said, matching my overtly polite tone with a wry look of humor in his eyes.

For a moment I stood still, soaking him in.

He was tall. But not overly tall. If I moved just slightly forward, my forehead would come to his chest, just under his chin. Where his amulet used to hang. Like our matching stones, ours could be a perfect fit.

A match, like Iris said.

It was almost too crazy to think. But I couldn’t wait to get this amulet home and see if it was the same thing the Seven Sisters had prophesized about.

But just as I turned for the door, a laugh reverberated through the café.

Spinning around, I saw Orchid rocking back and forth in the funky green rocking chair next to the stage, her beaded dreadlocks dangling off her bare shoulders. She was sitting cross-legged in her trademark black leather pants, pretending to read the café’s old-school copy of—what was that?
Camus?

When she saw me looking, she tossed the book aside and walked over to us.

“I’ll take it from here,” she snapped at the warlock.

“It’s okay, O. He saved me from that fan.”

“Saved you?” Her pink tongue flickered, displaying her silver stud piercing. She played with the ball like a cat torturing a mouse before she killed it, glaring at the warlock as she did.

“We’re going now,” she said.

It was physically hard for me to leave his side. Everything was pulling me toward him, and Orchid had to practically tug me out the door.

When we got outside, the sun’s magic seeped into my back, replenishing what I had lost. Orchid’s rings dug into the sides of my fingers, as she pulled me onto a bench across the busy street.