Spell Bound (5 page)

He pointed at Aislinn. The surface of the mirror bowed out around his finger, like a stretchy bubble. “And I told you that you would lose Grace to one of the beasts. No one wanted to believe that one,” he said to me. “And yet, here you are. Proof that my prophecies are always correct. And what I told you is true, Aislinn,” he added, turning to her. “This girl will stop the Casnoff witches.”

A heavy silence fell over the room as we all stared at the guy in the glass, and I tried to wrap my mind around the fact that the Brannicks, witch killers extraordinaire, were listening to a prophecy-spouting warlock, and that said warlock had apparently tapped me to end this big freaking magical war that was brewing. Still, I didn’t like my dad being referred to as a “beast,” so I tried my best to look disdainful as I stood up.

“You guys have a magic mirror? You should’ve mentioned that earlier,” I said to Izzy. “I mean, that’s way cooler than barbed wire and bunkers.”

“It isn’t a magic mirror,” Izzy replied, and I couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes never moved from Torin. “He’s our prisoner.”

“Guest,” Torin snapped, but everyone ignored him.

“How did you manage to trap a warlock when you don’t use magic?” I asked.

“The Brannicks didn’t trap him,” Mom answered. “He did that all by himself.”

Torin suddenly became very interested in straightening his cuffs, turning his back to us.

“He was attempting a spell that was just a little too big for him,” Finley added. “Ended up stuck in there, back in 1589.”

“1587,” Torin corrected. “And the spell was in no way ‘too big’ for me. It was just…trickier than I’d expected.”

Finley snorted. “Sure. Anyway, Avis Brannick found him…it, whatever, a few years later, and brought the mirror back to the rest of the family.”

“When Avis discovered that Torin had the power of prophecy, she realized he could be a useful tool. We’ve been his guardians ever since,” Aislinn finished up. I wondered if they always told stories in a round like that. It reminded me of the three-way glances that Elodie, Anna, and Chaston used to do, and I felt another one of those weird pangs in my chest. It wasn’t as if I’d liked those three, but now one of them was dead and two of them were missing. God only knows what had happened to them.

“They have been corrupted,” Torin said, and I startled.

“What?”

“You were just thinking of two witches you knew back at your school, wondering what happened to them,” he said. For the first time, I realized his eyes were so dark brown, they were nearly black. “You suspect the Casnoff women turned them into demons. They did.”

“Wait, so you don’t just tell the future? You know other stuff, too?”

He nodded, pleased with himself. “I know many things, Sophia Mercer. And you have so many questions, don’t you? Where were you for those seventeen days? Whatever became of your little bloodsucker friend and your father…?”

Without thinking, I crossed the room to stand right in front of the glass. “Is my dad alive? Is Jenna—”

I broke off as Torin started chuckling and backing away. “I can’t give away all my secrets,” he said, spreading his hands wide.

Every ounce of magic inside of me wanted to leap through the glass and blast him into tiny pieces. I settled for just grabbing the frame and shaking it. “Tell me!” I shouted as he fell to the ground, the mirror-table finally turning over, papers spilling onto the floor.

Strong hands gripped my shoulders and pulled me back. I spun around, expecting to see Aislinn holding me, but it was Mom. “Cover that damn thing back up,” Mom said to her sister. As Aislinn draped the canvas back over the mirror, Mom smoothed my hair away from my face. “We’re going to find your dad, sweetheart. And Jenna.” She shot a glare at the now-covered mirror. “And we’re not going to use Torin to do it.” Her eyes swung to Aislinn. “We never should have started listening to him in the first place.”

“We don’t have many choices left, Grace,” Aislinn said. She sounded tired.

Whatever had been in that green drink was starting to wear off, and I could feel weariness seeping back into my bones. I was just about to ask if I could go back up to my room when Aislinn sighed and said, “We can talk about all of this later. It’s nearly sunset.” She motioned to Finley and Izzy. “Come on girls, time for patrol.”

Without a word, the two younger Brannicks headed for the door. I watched them go, and was plotting when I could sneak back in here to have a word (or a thousand) with Torin when Aislinn clamped a hand on my shoulder. “You too, Sophia.”

“What?”

“All Brannicks under eighteen are required to patrol the grounds during evening shift.”

She handed me something, and it took me a few seconds to realize what it was: a silver stake. I blinked at Aislinn, not understanding. She grinned, and it was terrifying.

“Welcome to the family.”

“S
o neither massive head injuries,
nor
finding out you’re a member of this family thirty freaking minutes ago—and therefore have
very little experience
handling weapons—gets you out of patrol?” I asked as I met Finley and Izzy by the backdoor.

After Aislinn had made her announcement, Mom had tried to argue on my behalf, saying that A) I was still processing the whole “being a Brannick” thing, and B) I had gone through a lot, so maybe I could use a nap. Or a snack.

Aislinn’s answer was to give me ten minutes to take a shower, some of Finley’s clothes, and a flask full of that Pine-Sol–tasting liquid. The shower had helped, even if it had been lukewarm; and while the clothes were both a little too long and a little too tight, I was happy to be out of my grimy, smoky stuff from Thorne Abbey. I slipped the silver stake into one of my belt loops and hoped it wouldn’t sever an artery. Then I’d taken a few sips of the green stuff before heading downstairs, and while it still tasted awful, I was feeling better.

I took another hesitant swallow now as Izzy snorted and said, “I’m pretty sure decapitation wouldn’t get us out of patrol.”

I smiled, which earned me a glare from Finley. “I know it must be an adjustment after having faeries, or whatever, do your dirty work for you, but this is how we do things here,” she said, shoving a black backpack at me.

“Please. You must never have met a faerie if you think they do
anything
dirty,” I replied.

“We’ve met plenty of faeries,” Finley snapped, but her shoulders were up around her ears, and Izzy shot her a curious look. Whatever. I had enough family drama of my own to deal with. But then I reminded myself that technically, Izzy and Finley
were
my family. Demons on one side, Prodigium hunters on the other. Was it any wonder I was so screwed up?

Finley turned to face the door, which was bolted with several different locks. I watched her spin the dial on two, open another with a key she wore around her neck, and unhook a latch at the top.

“Man, I bet it takes you forever to get into your locker,” I joked, but Izzy shook her head.

“We don’t go to school,” she said, and there was something so serious and mournful in her voice that I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d only been kidding.

Finley pressed her shoulder against the door, and it opened with an ominous creak. We stepped outside and into what appeared to be a playground designed by ninjas. There were two balance beams, both at least six feet above the ground. There was also a pull-up bar and a heavy iron cage at the very edge of the clearing. Near that, several targets were set up. I spotted arrows stuck in one, some gnarly knives in another, and throwing stars in the third.

Trees circled the clearing, and just beyond them, I could make out a few other structures. Following my gaze, Izzy nodded toward them and said, “Tents. They built this place back in the thirties, when there were still lots of Brannicks. They used to have gatherings here. That’s what we called the big Brannick meet—”

“Shut up, Iz,” Finley said, walking away from us. “She’s not a freaking Brannick, so don’t tell her all of our stuff, okay?”

For the record, she didn’t really say “stuff.” Or “freaking” for that matter. A few months ago I probably would’ve had a snotty comeback for her, but I decided to let this one go. I turned back to ask Izzy more about the Brannicks, and as I did, the setting sun glared off the small emerald pendant around her neck. Suddenly, the image of Jenna’s shattered bloodstone flashed in my mind, and I made myself shove it away. Still, something must’ve shown on my face, because Izzy said, “She’s normally not like that. Well, I mean, she
is
, but the bad words are a new thing.”

I kind of wanted to ruffle her hair, but something told me she wouldn’t take that very well. So instead, I just shrugged and said, “It wasn’t that. I was just thinking about…Forget it. Anyway, I get why Finley isn’t in the best of moods.”

The setting sun burned brightly off Finley’s copper hair as she stalked across the clearing and disappeared into the trees. Izzy and I followed, and I slung my backpack over my shoulder. It clanked, and I glanced at Izzy. “So what exactly does ‘patrolling’ entail?”

She shrugged. “Making sure the woods are clean of supes.”

“Why would there be soup in—oh, ‘supes’? Like for ‘supernaturals’? Is that what you guys call us?”

Izzy didn’t turn around, and it could have just been a trick of the light, but I thought the tips of her ears pinkened. “It’s just something I made up,” she mumbled, and I was very glad she had her back to me as a smile broke out over my face.

“I like that.”

She spun around then, and I made sure my expression was deadly serious. “I mean it,” I told her. “You know what we call ourselves, right? Prodigium.” I made a derisive snort. “The only thing lamer and more pretentious than Latin is made-up Latin.”

Izzy watched me for a moment and apparently decided I wasn’t making fun of her, because she gave a little nod. For the first time, I saw that she had a cluster of freckles across the bridge of her nose, just like I did.

I’d lost sight of Finley by now, but Izzy seemed to know where we were going. For a long time, we made our way through the trees and underbrush in silence. Even though the sun was nearly down, I was sweating, and I tugged at the neckline of my borrowed black T-shirt. “Do you guys actually get a lot of, um, supes around here? Because in my experience, they don’t really like to lurk around forests that surround the home of a bunch of people who want to kill them.”

I came to a stop as a memory resurfaced. I’d been so busy freaking out over finding the Brannicks that I’d totally forgotten about the werewolf Izzy and Finley had been chasing. “What happened to that Were last night?” I asked Izzy now.

Izzy turned to me with a grin that reminded me way too much of her mother. “What do you think we’re hunting tonight?”

I twisted and pulled at my backpack until it was in front of me, then opened it. More silver stakes. Little glass bottles of holy water. And, oh my God, was that a
gun
?

My knees were wobbling as I zipped up the Bag O’Death and gingerly dropped it in the grass.

“What’s wrong?” Izzy asked.

“Um, a lot? There is seriously so much wrongness going on right now. Namely, the fact that you people
are
teenagers with bags of
guns
.”

Izzy stiffened a little at that. “We’re not kids,” she spit out. “We’re Brannicks.”

Sighing, I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I get that, but look, Izzy, I can’t kill a werewolf. I know werewolves. I lived with some, and they’re…well, they’re gross and slobbery and super scary, but I can’t kill one.”

I waited for her to whip out a crossbow, or handheld cannon, or whatever other crazy killing implement she was no doubt packing. Instead, she tilted her head and asked, “You lived with werewolves?”

It was almost fully dark now, and I wished I could see her face better. “Yeah,” I answered. “At Hex Hall. There were a few of them there. This one girl, Beth, was actually pretty nice. And then there was this kid, Justin, who wasn’t much older than you are.”

I knelt down to scoop up the bag again, only to have her shock the heck out of me again by asking, “What other kind of supes did you live with?”

Looking up at her, I said, “All kinds. Like I said earlier, faeries—and there were witches and warlocks. My roommate was—” I broke off and gave myself a second to swallow the lump that had risen in my throat. “My roommate was a vampire. Jenna.”

“Holy crap,” Izzy said, and once again, she sounded like a kid. Especially when she added, “Mom and Finley faced off against a couple of vampires last year. I didn’t get to go because they said it was too dangerous. Weren’t you scared she was gonna like, drink your blood when you slept?”

My impulse was to immediately defend Jenna, but I remembered how I’d felt that first night in our dorm room, when I’d come in to find her chowing down on a bag of blood. “A little bit. Before I got to know her. But once I did, I was never afraid that she’d hurt me. She was—
is
—my best friend.” And then, before I could start crying again and risk death by dehydration, I stood up, holding the backpack out from my body. “Also, it’s kind of hard to be scared of a vampire who’s barely five feet tall and has pink hair, you know?”