Rebel Witch Page 9

  “Brace yourself,” Calder murmurs as we pass a sign warning that the road ends in one hundred feet.

  “Why? Do we head out on foot from—” The rest of my question dies in my throat when a sensation unlike anything I’ve ever experienced sweeps over me. My heart pounds like I’m running for my life. My fingers and toes turn icy, and I’d give anything to curl up under a warm blanket beside a toasty fire. Bile rises in my throat as my stomach sloshes. Pressure builds in my skull like my head is about to burst. And all the while, a yellow diamond-shaped sign on the road in front of us draws nearer and nearer, the block letters of the words “DEAD END” making it seem more like a threat than a warning.

  But then, as fast as it came on, all the sensations cease, leaving behind only the apprehension from before. The road sign disappears like a puff of smoke, and a bustling town opens up ahead of the car.

  Well, perhaps “town” is a generous description. I can’t imagine more than a couple hundred people could fit in the immediate area. There are dozens of buildings, each looking as utilitarian as the next. Everything is uniform in size and color—a weathered gray—and the dirt roads connecting each structure are no wider than footpaths.

  “Sorry about the dramatic entrance, love,” Taj says as Calder pulls to the right and into a packed-earth lot lined with dozens of mud-splattered cars and trucks.

  “What just happened?” I glance around as Calder parks the car, half expecting to see a bubble of shimmering magic surrounding us like a wall. But nothing looks out of the ordinary amid the fir and cedar trees, or the fog-shrouded mountains in the distance.

  “Wards,” Calder says, cutting the engine. “When you cross powerful supernaturals for a living, you tend to need powerful protections to keep you safe from intruders.”

  “Or noms who get lost,” Taj adds as we all get out of the car. “That charm kept you from experiencing the brunt of it. If we’d arrived a couple weeks ago like we were supposed to, you probably wouldn’t have felt anything at all. But, as you can imagine, it’s not wise to create tokens that would let someone through our defenses no matter when they encountered them.”

  I can see how experiencing the sensations that assailed me as we passed through would deter someone who wandered too close, but I’m not sure that they would be enough to stop someone like Mona—at the height of her power, of course—if she really wanted to exact revenge against the Front. “Is that the only defense? The wards?”

  “It’s one layer,” Taj says. “But you’d be surprised how effective that layer can be.”

  A woman with dark blonde hair pulled back into a high ponytail stands at the edge of the lot. Her slim black cargo pants and form-fitting black jacket make her look like a soldier, and part of me is tempted to salute her. But her eyes flicker to me for only a moment before the full force of her attention rests on Calder and Taj. “Ryder’s waiting for you in war room.”

  “Well, that didn’t take long.” Although Taj’s voice is light, I detect the straightening of his back. He and Calder haven’t talked much about their boss or what his reaction to the last couple of weeks has been. After we were cursed, we didn’t have time to run back to the Front to discuss next steps.

  For the first time I wonder just how much Calder and Taj walked away from when they set off with Silas, Poe, and me to find Elowen and the Staff of Rahn. Did they have to be replaced on missions? Did another supernatural living in captivity have to go on that way because they weren’t here to save them?

  As we follow the blonde through the camp, it’s hard not to notice the eyes that follow our progress. Taj and Calder walk on either side of me like silent sentinels. All activity stills for a moment or two as we pass. People stop walking or cease conversations near doorways.

  Do Calder and Taj know all these people? Are they all friends? Maybe because I spent so much time alone at Mona’s compound, I never considered that Calder and Taj might have people back at the Front anticipating their return. I know the two of them are friends, but I have no idea who else belongs to their inner circle. It’s as if my whole world has begun in the last couple of weeks; it’s hard to wrap my mind around the fact that these two have lives already in progress.

  Our guide leads us to a gray-walled building, distinguishable from the others that surround it only by a silver asterisk the size of my hand in the middle of the door. She knocks above it before twisting the knob, but she doesn’t enter. Instead, as Taj leads the way inside, she stands off to the side like a guard.

  I cross the threshold after Taj, and the first thing that strikes me is the room’s warm glow. Perhaps because of the no-frills look of the cabins in the settlement, I expected stark fluorescent lights, but the space is lined with around a dozen amber spheres set aglow with a dancing light within. My mind is puzzling through how the fires can stay lit in a closed system when the obvious answer occurs to me: the orbs are lit by magic.

  The furniture is spare and utilitarian, but the walls are covered with pictures and handwritten notes. I squint at the ones closes to me and almost stop in my tracks. They’re letters from people saved by the Front. Every smiling face beaming from an image lovingly pinned to the wall represents a life changed by the work of the people here. My throat tightens and it takes several seconds before I can swallow.

  A man in his late thirties stands in the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back. His shoulder-length brown hair is tied into a low ponytail and he wears a black jacket and pants similar to the ones the girl was wearing. His cool gray eyes regard us as we walk toward him, but his expression gives away nothing.

  He doesn’t speak until we sit in the three metal folding chairs in front of him. “Welcome back, Ross. Patel.”

  Calder nods his response, while Taj says, “Good to see you again, Ryder.”

  But Ryder doesn’t look at Taj as he speaks; instead, his eyes settle on me. I straighten under the weight of his gaze, suddenly acutely aware of my poor posture. “And this must be the infamous Bryn Wilder.”

  “Hi.” I feel stupid as soon as the syllable passes my lips, but I’m not sure how else to respond. I sincerely doubt he’s making an assumption about my identity. If there’s anything I learned from watching the Front in action back in Wisdom, it’s that they’re efficient and organized. I’m sure Ryder has a file full of information about me—maybe even pictures snapped by Taj while he worked undercover as a guard in Mona’s organization.

  The corners of Ryder’s mouth downturn, but only for a moment. “I’m glad you were all able to break the death mark.” Although he makes it sound like he’s talking to the three of us, his eyes don’t leave my face. “It’s unsettling to learn that Lillian Castle has found a way to siphon magical abilities, and more than a little worrying that she learned about the raid on Mona’s compound fast enough to send someone to intercept you.” He shakes his head, his gaze switching to Taj and Calder for the first time. “When you told me you’d have to work with the daemon in question if you had any hope of breaking the curse, I doubted I’d ever see you again. It’s difficult to trust an agent of your enemy.”

  A shiver dances down my back at his reference to Silas. “The daemon in question was bound to do her bidding.”

  Calder twists lightly in his chair, and Taj covers my knee with his hand.

  Ryder tips his head, squinting as he studies me. “I’m not clear what distinction you’re trying to draw.”

  Heat creeps up my neck and along the backs of my ears. I didn’t attend school with the nom kids in the village I used to live in, but I used to spend time at the library when Mom was spaced out on euphorium. It was a safe place for me—except when the one male librarian would give me grief about being in there without adult supervision. In this moment, I may as well be seven years old again, my stomach twisting with an odd mix of embarrassment and shame for daring to draw attention to myself.

  Except I’m not a child anymore, and the dismissive way he referred to Silas isn’t okay with me.

 
; “Silas, the daemon in question, cursed us because he didn’t have any other choice. He didn’t join up with Lillian because he believes in her cause. She cast a spell and bound him to her service. He was just as much a victim in what happened as we were.” Taj’s hand on my knee twitches, but he doesn’t urge me to hold my tongue. “For an organization whose main purpose is saving supernaturals trapped in servitude, you don’t seem to have much compassion for what daemons deal with.”

  Taj brings his free hand to his mouth to smooth his stubble, but a glance in his direction reveals the gesture is less out of discomfort over my words and more to cover the smirking curl of his lips. On my other side, Calder lifts his chin as if taking pride in my words.

  Ryder spares each of them a brief glance. “After your experience with the daemon…” He purses his lips. “Silas. After your experience with him, I understand where you’re coming from. Do I like the fact that daemons are bound to masters? No. But I can’t change it. That’s simply part of what they are.”

  Something inside me bursts, like a bubble popped by a pin. Only when it’s gone do I realize I was hoping Ryder might suddenly grasp how badly daemons need help. If we could somehow stop them from being bound to masters looking for minions to do their dirty work, then Silas wouldn’t have to continue living a half-life, just waiting for the next time he’s tethered against his will. He could make his own choices. He could live where he wants to live, do what he wants to do.

  And be with who he wants to be with.

  It’s the last thought that hits me the hardest. I want Silas to be happy. I want him to love and be loved. But the idea of him with some faceless woman hollows me out. For the first time, it occurs to me that I don’t just want him to be free to live his own life, I want him to be free to live his life with me.

  I’ve been sad about Silas leaving since he left us outside the spell store in Twin Rivers, but until this moment, I assumed I was missing Silas, my friend. But the ache in my heart speaks to a deeper cause. What if Silas and I were meant for more than the friendly camaraderie we enjoyed? My pain stems from not knowing.

  But it’s a pain I’ll have to endure. Chances are I’ll never see Silas again. The thought casts a shadow over something inside me.

  It’s only when Ryder begins speaking again that I realize he was probably waiting for me to accept the facts as he presented them. “Calder tells me you want to help contain this euphorium issue.”

  Although I’m not comfortable with the way he makes the events in Wisdom sound like nothing more than a nuisance, part of me is glad he switched topics from the plight of daemons. “Yes. I know firsthand how devastating the drug can be, and I can’t sit by when I know Lillian’s out there, getting entire towns hooked.”

  “So I’ve gathered,” he says shortly. “And I understand your emotional investment in the issue, but have you considered the dangers of working out in the field?”

  The question knocks me off center. Does he anticipate me being thrown into situations crazier than the ones I’ve experienced since leaving Mona’s compound? I can’t imagine Taj and Calder haven’t filled him in on the attack in Elowen’s woods when Mona’s guards came for me, or the battle for Rahn’s staff when the Order of Theurgy realized we’d taken it. Both times, I was able to hold my own—calling on more magic than I knew I was capable of wielding. “I think I can handle myself.”

  He tips his head again in a way that strikes me as almost mocking. “You’ve got too big a target on your back. Somehow Lillian Castle figured out who you were when you were still in Mona’s custody. She wants to steal your magic. Don’t think she’ll give up because you managed to break her death mark. And Lillian’s not the only threat out there. She and Mona Ward may be the big names in the supernatural crime world, but there are dozens more waiting in the wings, looking for the one thing that will give them the edge over the competition. And you, Miss Wilder, are a very sharp edge.”

  It doesn’t sound like a compliment.

  “Truth be told,” he continues, “the safest—and smartest—move would be for you to lie low. As I’m sure Calder and Taj have told you, the Front has created a new identity for you—complete with medical and educational records, employment history, a bank account. Money. We’ve selected a location for you, but it’s not too much trouble to set you up in another community. You should get a few years of life experience under your belt. Live without the constant threat of danger for a while. Then, if after a bit of time passes you still want to join the Front, we’d be happy to have you. But for now, everything is new to you, and you might be allowing your passions to lead you. And I’m sure you can appreciate that we rarely make smart choices when they’re fueled by emotion.”

  I don’t miss that his eyes stray from me to linger on Calder, and then Taj.

  “Do you really think now’s the time for this conversation?” Calder asks through gritted teeth. “Given everything that’s going on?”

  “This is exactly the time for this conversation.” Ryder’s tone is firm. “Miss Wilder isn’t safe among supernaturals—not at the moment. And I understand why euphorium is especially concerning to her, but the fact of the matter is she’s untrained. I’d no sooner send her into the field than I would a fresh recruit. And speaking of the field…” He takes in a deep breath before releasing it with the weight of a person preparing to deliver difficult news. “I’ve received requests from both of you to be granted indefinite leaves of absence. I’m inclined to deny them for much the same reason I’d like Miss Wilder to actually try the life we’ve established for her: You’re all making emotional decisions right now. If in, say, three months you still feel the overwhelming desire to follow her, then I may grant the requests at that time.”

  Taj and Calder begin talking at the same moment, their words jumbling together in a mix I can’t decipher. But it’s clear from their tone that neither of them agrees with their boss’ decision.

  But instead of anger pushing me to shout at the man standing before me, instead it’s as if my body is nothing but an empty husk. It’s one thing if Ryder won’t let me help stop the euphorium from pouring into towns like Wisdom; it’s another entirely if he sends me off to who-knows-where without Calder and Taj. Would he really keep the three of us apart?

  Ryder lifts his hands in a maddeningly calm gesture, and after a few seconds, both Taj and Calder fall silent. “Like I said. You’re both too emotional to make rational decisions right now.”

  The hollowness from moments ago gives way to a churning irritation. I get that Ryder is their boss, and that he’s a little older than they are. But he’s standing there like some all-knowing guru with the answers to life. And it strikes me that he doesn’t have all the answers. I’m not entirely sure what Taj and Calder told him about why they want to go with me, but since he keeps couching their desires into the realm of emotion, I’m guessing there’s a key detail Ryder hasn’t been made aware of.

  “Are you familiar with magical focuses?” The words tumble out before I can overthink them. The truth is, I don’t know a lot about focuses—only that I am one to Calder and Taj—and Poe, although he never tested out whether our time together affected his ability to shift into his panther form and keep his mind.

  Ryder’s eyebrows cinch together, clearly thrown by my change in topics. “Of course. All magic can be strengthened through certain objects. It’s why crystals and herbs are used in spells. Those elements can focus a witch’s magic to bring about a desired result. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “What do you know about a person being a focus?” I can feel Calder and Taj watching me, but I don’t turn to see the looks on either of their faces. Maybe there’s a reason they haven’t told their boss this bit of information, but it might be the only thing that will make Ryder see just how logical we’re being.

  The look on Ryder’s face is difficult to decipher. A seemingly interminable moment passes before he responds. “A human focus is incredibly rare. I was actually on a case onc
e—years back—when we rescued a witch—an earth affinity like you—who was being held against her will by three men who claimed she was their focus. That…” A shadow passes over his face. “That was not the case.”

  I can’t help shivering, imagining what that girl may have endured at the hands of men who didn’t have her best interests at heart. But I can’t focus on her story; I need to tell mine. I press on. “We didn’t realize what was happening at the start. It wasn’t until we were at the Temple of Theurgy that I realized the truth about our connection. And I’m sure you understand what that means for the three of us. I focus their abilities so they’re stronger and more proficient, but unless I’m near them, I can’t replenish the energy they take from me.”

  Ryder sighs. “I’m sure you want to believe you have this connection. I’m aware of your history with Ross, and Patel shared in his mission reports that the two of you became friends during his time with Mona Ward’s organization. But if either of them has seen a change in their abilities, there’s a much easier explanation. Sometimes it takes extreme situations to unlock latent abilities. It’s likely that’s all that’s happened here.”

  I can’t believe he’s writing it off so quickly. Does he not trust me because he doesn’t know me, or is there something else at work here? Maybe he thinks I’m trying to steal his agents from him. “They’re not in danger now. Why don’t they demonstrate what they can do? Taj can summon a fireball like that,” I say, snapping for effect. “And Calder was able to unlock a mechanism he couldn’t even see. Could either of them have done that a month ago?”

  “Well, if the abilities were unleashed inside them, it makes sense they’d still be able to access them even without the fear stimulus present, so that’s not really a good way to prove your point,” Ryder says, sounding maddeningly like a know-it-all.

  I cross my arms over my chest, but I fight the urge to stomp my foot like a child deprived of dessert. “There has to be some way to know for sure we’re telling the truth. Isn’t there some kind of test you can do to prove I’m their focus?”