Twisted Elements: Twisted Magic Book Two Page 9

  What strange people we had become.

  I opened the wardrobe door and took a quick inventory of the contents. Folded pants, a row of shoes, and a shelf with some jewelry and trinkets. I started to turn away, when something caught my attention.

  My hand snapped it up before I even realized what I was doing.

  I stepped back and held it up to the light: a metal heart engraved with swirls, hanging from a chain.

  It pulsed in my hand, as if the heart was a living, beating thing.

  With a small gasp, I dropped the necklace to the floor. My brain was too drained, too jumbled to make sense of it at first.

  Then it hit me. Magic.

  The necklace was enchanted.

  I had never seen—or felt, as it were—such a thing, but I recognized it for what it was, somehow. Clenching my teeth, I reached down and scooped up the necklace, before turning to Randall.

  “Whoever lived here, they have magic,” I said softly.

  He gripped the door frame, leaning back to stare down the hallway, and then straightened up. “I don’t think this place has been abandoned. We’re definitely in someone’s house.”

  I grimaced, shoving the necklace into my pocket.

  “How is that even possible?” I let out a groan. “Let’s just get out of here. We’re not any closer to finding Fiona, and at this point—”

  I chomped down on the sentence before I let it finish either in my head or out of my mouth.

  Randall knew, though. We still had no idea why anyone would abduct her, but chances were good they weren’t just taking her for a surprise trip to Disneyland. Whatever they wanted with her, they were getting plenty of time to do it while we continued to wander around getting our asses kicked.

  I joined Randall in the hallway, and he put his arm around my shoulders as we made our way toward the main living area. The lower half of the walls had damask wallpaper, and above the dividing chair rail hung evenly spaced paintings in baroque gold frames. Each picture featured a boat on a lake with plaques indicating years spanning from 1910 to 1940, and by the third, I realized they were all of the same old red and white steamboat with a paddle wheel, just from different angles and different times in history.

  I stopped to take in the paintings. The boat was set in the middle of the lake, with no visible passengers. On the far shore, strange crooked trees jutted out at a sharp angle above the water. There were no indicators of the name of the boat, or the painter.

  Randall nudged me onward. I followed him into the main seating area with white couches trimmed in gold and decorated with small pale blue flowers. The matching coffee table boasted a glass top, and a waist-high cherub statue stood in the corner at the base of a set of stairs that wrapped up to the second floor.

  Thudding issued from upstairs.

  I jerked around to look at Randall, wide-eyed. Color drained from his face. Without a word, we tensed and hurried toward the foyer.

  A tentacle of magic shot overhead from the landing and slammed into the front door, flinging wood shrapnel. I yelped and ducked behind a chair. Randall skidded behind a couch. Hunched down, he peered around to make eye contact with me. I swallowed hard as footsteps thundered into the room.

  Wind strolled in through where the door had been.

  Slinking back behind the chair, I held my breath and waited. A moment later, three men stormed through the room and into the foyer. One of the men kept a magical tentacle coiled at his side, ready to unleash it like a whip.

  I knew that magic well. They had killed Arlo, and then tried to take out me and Randall on our way to finding Joseph Stone.

  I was certain they were involved in the disappearance of Fiona.

  Neck taut, I stared in Randall’s direction until he looked my way again. Once I caught his attention, I nodded toward the opposite direction the men had gone, back into the house, and then crept forward. Hunched over, I hurried out of the seating room and toward the kitchen. Randall’s footsteps scraped after me.

  Just as we turned into the kitchen, a tentacle shot through the wall above us. Plaster exploded into the air. I shoved my hand over my mouth to stifle my scream as I dropped to the ground. Another tentacle barreled through the wall, a few feet ahead and lower this time. They knew we were here.

  Spinning on one foot, I looked at Randall and then the back door across the room. His jaw set tight. With my hand still firmly over my mouth, I duck waddled toward the exit.

  The next tentacle punctured a new hole and zoomed over my head. I went flat down on the floor, the cold tile pressed against my face and arms.

  For a moment, I had to wonder what in the world had gone so terribly wrong in my life.

  Another tentacle burst through the wall, which was becoming more hole than drywall. The tentacle undulated in the air before disappearing.

  Silence reigned.

  I started to push myself upright. Glass shattered around us, filling the air with a deafening boom. Tentacles of magic jutted from outside through the windows, tangling together in the air, quivering and swimming. It was as if a giant magical octopus had sat on the house to explore inside.

  On hands and knees, I pattered toward the door. If I stood, I would cross right into their path. Their similarities to the streamers from the demonic Mardi Gras parade was becoming more unsettling with time. They were like extensions of their owner, and none of them seemed intended for good.

  At the door, I raised up on my knees to turn the knob. I staggered out, pushing the door open, and then stopped on the patio. The men weren’t in sight, but their magical appendages crisscrossed through the air across the yard too. We had to stay low to the ground.

  I continued across the patio, alternating between crawling or waddling on my knees. My joints ached, and I would have given anything for a nap. At the stairs, I worked my legs under me and then scooted down each step on my butt. The tentacles hung only a few feet above me. If I stood, they would brush along the top of my head.

  Slowly, carefully, I made my way, hunched over, around the side of the house. The glowing tentacles wrapped around from the roof and stuck through every window, like they intended to consume the building.

  Maybe they did.

  I pressed my palm against the siding, and magic strummed through it and up my arm. It reminded me, in a way, of the necklace. If I paused, I could still feel it throbbing, like I carried a small heart in my pocket.

  Not weird at all.

  Tuning it out, I focused on getting to the front of the house undetected. There must be a road nearby. At the corner, I surveyed the grounds up ahead.

  All clear.

  Straightening, I stepped out from hiding, Randall next to me.

  Men appeared in the near distance, a swarm of them, glowing tentacles lashing and coiling from their bodies.

  I spun around to head back the way we had come.

  More men approached from the back of the house.

  I turned and bolted. I didn’t have a plan, but there was no time for such things.

  A tentacle shot in my direction. I ducked it as another came at me. I skirted around it, tripping over the porch. I broke my fall and scrambled up the steps. Without thinking, I stood, hefting up a rocking chair, and swung at the next tentacle. The chair fell into pieces, clattering to the patio.

  Another tentacle came at me from the front, winding past a pillar. I dropped to the ground as it swung overhead and smashed into the wall.

  I turned on my back, palms flat against the patio, as I watched, horror-struck, as tentacles raced from a distance toward me. It was like an oncoming assault of arrows—but worse.

  I scrambled backwards as one jutted ahead of the others. My back slammed into a pillar. As the tentacle sped in, I darted out of the way. It coiled around the pillar, as if on reflex, and yanked.

  I looked up as the entablature jostled and then leaned in.

  My heart locked into place as I scurried off the patio. The column collapsed, bringing down the cover and the rest of the pi
llars with it. Dust and debris flung through the air.

  I stepped back, hunching just clear of the swaying tentacles. I swept the area for Randall, but I couldn’t find him.

  The front of the house began to bow.

  The tentacles cleared, as if surprised by their own destruction.

  Without waiting for what happened next, I spun on my heel and darted out of there. It wasn’t until I was out of the property, back into the streets littered with the ruins of earthquakes and scavenged by the Mardi Gras demons that I slowed down enough to find my bearings. Not that I had any idea where I was going.

  I turned and scanned the distance for Randall. My heart skipped as I realized he might have not made it out of the chaos.

  Up ahead, he rushed toward me. He waved his arm at me, and I lifted mine in acknowledgment.

  When he reached me, we wrapped our arms around each other’s side and hobbled, together, to the remains of a small building. A crumpled sign next to it indicated a diner. Wordlessly, we nestled down behind it, tucked close together, and let sleep overtake us.

  It didn’t come without guilt though. Fiona was out there somewhere, and she needed us to find her.

  Soon.

  12

  I bolted upright. Pain pinched in my shoulder, deep in the muscle.

  The sound of a vehicle door slamming came from beyond the stack of debris where Randall and I had been resting.

  Randall was wide awake but seemed to be contemplating if we should investigate what was going on, or hustle right out of here before something else tried to maim us.

  I reached over to pat his arm and signal we should go. A voice caught my attention.

  “Show yourself! Only cowards hide.”

  I knew that man.

  “Joseph,” I whispered, more to myself than to Randall.

  Joseph continued to bellow from somewhere down the road. “You’re sucking this city dry of its energy, and yet you still are afraid of me?”

  “He’s taunting the mage,” Randall muttered.

  I bit one side of my lower lip. We still hadn’t found the freed mage, though we hadn’t exactly been looking for him either. Part of me had hoped to make a clean escape with Fiona, but that had long passed. At least now that Joseph was here, maybe we wouldn’t have any face-to-face encounters with the immortal being.

  Something thudded, followed by a cracking sound. I couldn’t even begin to identify what was going on.

  As much as I wanted to hurry away before anyone noticed us, I also kind of had to see what Joseph was up to.

  I turned and, bracing against Randall, pushed myself up to see over the stack. It was too high, so I climbed up the broken sheetrock and cracked wooden beams to get a clearer view.

  Joseph Stone strolled away from a white van, heading down the street, as at ease here as if he were at Central Park. As he walked, he used nearly invisible gusts of magic to blast pieces of the fallen city out of his way. He was making a show of his power, of his readiness to fight.

  A few demons in green and gold masks and large feathers skittered out of hiding behind him. He spun around with a swish of his hand. Before they could react, an overturned pickup slid from across the road with a deafening screech and barricaded them into a corner.

  He continued to saunter down the road, in our direction. I didn’t bother to hide. It wasn’t as if I benefited from Joseph not knowing we were around.

  Since he was here, he must be looking for the mage. That meant he must have found the portrait already and brought it with him. Either way, the mage wasn’t my problem. In fact, if Joseph sorted this sooner rather than later, it would free up many of the obstacles standing between me and finding Fiona.

  I tried not to get my hopes up. Joseph’s encounter with the first witch hadn’t gone so well, though perhaps that had been partly my fault. Mostly, maybe.

  That just gave me more incentive to stay away from his task this time. All I needed to do was rescue my friend and then we would be out of here.

  He halted in his step and his gaze locked onto me. His expression remained unreadable.

  “Oh, uh, hi,” I said with a wave. I ducked back down off the stack and, with Randall, rounded to the front.

  Joseph’s lips tightened. “You’re alive, so I assume you haven’t found the mage yet.”

  “Good to see ya too, ol’ pal,” I said, but it didn’t sound nearly as funny as I had intended

  He wouldn’t have laughed, anyway.

  “You should not be here,” he said, voice sharp. “Those tremors and earthquakes are the mage pulling magic out of the ground with great magnitude. He was causing problems since the Antioch earthquake in five twenty-six. This…” He gestured around. “This is nothing yet. He’s just getting started.”

  I blinked. “Um, you’re saying this mage was alive in five-hundred and twenty-six?”

  Joseph nodded, not at all phased with anything, apparently. “He was sentenced after causing the Aleppo earthquake in eleven thirty-eight, but it took quite a few years to catch him, I’m told.”

  I had always felt like my magic came from deep in the ground, but I had never made even a loose floorboard shake when I tapped in. The amount of power this mage wielded was a little more than unsettling.

  “If you’re thinking you should stay out of the way,” Joseph said, “then you are absolutely correct.”

  I opened my mouth to argue that I had helped catch the witch in Green River, but then snapped my jaw shut. No version of me in any reality wanted to go up against the mage. Joseph preferred me gone, and that was good enough for me.

  “We’re just trying to find Fiona,” I said.

  Joseph stared at me, expressionless, before he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “If you haven’t found her yet, she’s probably one of these mutants, or dead. I cannot emphasize enough, once the mage comes out of hiding, he’s not going to be happy.”

  “I can’t just—” I started, but my attention flicked past him.

  Down the road, a familiar gargantuan alligator waddled toward the distance.

  “That bastard has my talisman.” I growled and charged after him, darting around Joseph.

  Randall hesitated and then barreled after me.

  I was already to the alligator.

  Without thinking, I twisted a broken wooden beam free from a pile of collapsed building, sending dust into the air, and raised it above my head. The alligator picked up its pace, as if it could waddle away before I struck. I leaned forward as I swung down. The beam slammed into its lower half, right before its tail.

  The alligator spun toward me. I stumbled back a few steps. It lunged at me, mouth gaped. I struck its snout with the beam. It slithered back a foot and then darted forward. I fell back against a stack of cracked bricks and bent metal pipes. The alligator snapped its jaws, and I realized then if it caught me, it would death roll until I looked like a bucket of chicken pieces.

  I flipped the beam around so the jagged end pointed down, and pulled back, ready to skewer me some shifter-gator.

  Something whacked me in the side of my skull. The beam fell from my hand and clattered to the ground. Another heavy smack, and my vision tunneled and went black. A few little white spots danced around in the front of my head.

  I fell face forward and tasted dirt.

  Then all my senses gave out. I struggled to hear through the silence, to discern if the alligator was about to make its final move.

  Maybe I didn’t want to know. Without any further coherent thoughts, I melted into the ground and awaited being mauled to death.

  My senses realigned themselves, and I found I was propped upright with my eyes closed.

  “You could have killed that girl, Olivier,” a woman said. She sounded as unamused with the prospect as I felt. “There’s no excuse.”

  A man grunted.

  I fluttered my eyes open and winced as throbbing pain filled one side of my head.

  The woman stood angled away from me. She had long black box b
raids and dark eyes that caught my attention with their depths. She knew things, somehow. I felt silly and exposed, yet flattered all in the same confusing moment. Next to her was the alligator-shifter in his human male form.

  Olivier, I suppose.

  Randall stood near me, posted like my own guardian, though he studied them, as if trying to make sense of what was going on.

  Wincing, I raised my hand to my head and prodded where I had been hit. Nausea rolled through me, but I didn’t feel any blood.

  The woman turned toward me. “Oh, good, you’re awake now. Let’s see if you can walk back to my house, and I’ll get you fixed up.”

  My brain still felt knocked stupid. As many times as I’d been beat in the head since arriving here, it was surprising I didn’t have a concussion.

  I nodded, but pain deepened in half of my skull. Gritting my teeth, I pushed to my feet. The world spun, and Randall braced me before I fell over.

  The woman grabbed a folded umbrella propped against the brick pile and used it like a walking stick as she strolled forward. I made the connection that it had made a connection—with my head.

  “You hit me,” I said suddenly.

  She continued forward, all grace and dignity for someone who had clobbered me unconscious.

  “Sorry, but I couldn’t let you stab my husband,” she said. “Even if he might’ve had it coming.”

  “I want my talisman,” I snapped.

  The woman tsked. “We’ll talk all about that when we get home.”

  I started to argue farther, but Randall shot me a look. Scowling, I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth and followed after the umbrella-wielding woman and Olivier, the shapeshifting alligator man.

  I just wasn’t sure yet if we were going to be friends or enemies.

  13

  The house was set back from the road, situated on a plot so green it seemed to defy reality. Tranquility hung in the air, nearly as tangible as the Spanish moss, and it lulled the deep, unsettled parts of me. My wild thoughts of how this—all of it, from the witch to the mage, to Fiona’s disappearance—could have happened softened until they slept.