Twilight Magic (Rune Witch Book 6) Read online

  “Jass!”

  Before his mind caught up to his muscles, he was several feet off the ground and climbing. He felt with his hands above his head on every rung, but he kept finding empty air. He couldn’t see the floor beneath him. If he let go, how far would he fall?

  He felt like a space traveler he’d heard about in stories, floating in the void, isolated, alone. The tunnel was cold, too, just like outer space. Water condensed on the rungs, and he had to be careful not to slip.

  Maksim kept climbing.

  Finally, his reaching fingers brushed a contoured surface above his head. It was round and cold—metal, like the ladder. He pushed against it, but it was heavy and stubborn.

  “Avree!” he whispered as he pressed both hands against the metal disc and thought about his light. “Jal avree!”

  He gave a grunt as he wedged his shoulder against the ceiling and shoved. Light sparked from his fingers. Metal grated against concrete as he lifted and pushed the seal away until there was enough room for his body to pass through. He heaved himself from the top of the ladder onto a rough floor and into more darkness. He hoped for a kind voice or a pair of friendly hands, but the sound of nothing but his own breathing told him he was still alone.

  He felt his way around the tight space, patting his hands against coarse wooden planks and being careful to avoid the center of the room. He didn’t want to fall through the hole into the tunnel. His fingers snagged a thick cloth hanging on the wall, and he tugged it down and wrapped it around his shoulders. It was a musty blanket, damp and mildewed. But it was good felted wool, and Maksim had been so cold for so long.

  Finally, his fingers found the outline of a door. He ran his hands over it, looking for a handle or knob. He wanted to call out for help, but he didn’t know who or what might be waiting on the other side. He swallowed his fear when he found a dented metal knob. He glanced toward the hole in the floor to listen for the bad men following him. It was quiet.

  The door made a terrible creaking sound as he pulled it open, and he blinked hard at the light that stung his eyes. He stepped across the threshold and coughed when his lungs filled with the first fresh air he’d tasted in many weeks. His eyes blurred with tears of confusion and fear in the shock of the sunlight glinting off of glass.

  He stepped out into thick weeds. Shielding his eyes, he looked at the houses on either side. Houses bigger than any he’d ever seen, painted bright colors and with clean windows. He was surprised by the thick layer of clouds in the sky. Had he been in the dark so long that a dreary day would seem so bright?

  The door slammed shut behind him, and Maksim cried out in surprise. He huddled in the weeds and looked around in a panic, but he breathed more easily when he realized he was still alone, even if he had no idea where he was. He couldn’t remember the details of his family’s anxious travels in the hands of their abductors, only that it had been a long journey. And this place looked nothing like home.

  He studied the door he’d come through, a featureless rectangle in the face of what looked like an old shed. Dark green and faded yellow paint peeled away from the wood in strips. The tall, brown grass hadn’t seen maintenance in several seasons, and the shed matched the colors of the block-like house that dominated the lot.

  He pulled the mildewed blanket close and marveled at the house. It was as wide as it was tall, with pale flowers on the window curtains. It didn’t look like anyone had been home in a long time.

  This was probably good. If the tunnels led him to the shed, maybe the bad men or their friends were living in that house. The memory of his mother’s voice urged him onward and Maksim crept down an asphalt driveway toward the street. Once he was in the road, he balled his hands into fists and concentrated. He had to find help. Again he felt the pull of magick. It was full of hope and promised warmth. He turned left and ran as fast as his feet would carry him. The blanket fluttered behind him like a cape.

  All the houses looked the same as he tore through block after block of wood and plaster frames in hues of yellow, blue, and pink. Two shiny cars honked their horns at him as he ran, but no one stopped or came after him. The few faces he saw were clean but cold, and they watched him pass without remark. He kept running.

  It started to rain. He tried to read the green street signs as he came to one crossroads after another, but the letters were foreign to him. He searched for something familiar—the orange flowers of the old man’s garden or the huge oak tree that marked the turn to his grandmother’s house. There were many big trees here, some of them even like the towering oaks from home, but he didn’t recognize a single one of them.

  If he ran fast enough and far enough, would he find his way back home? What if he was running in the wrong direction?

  His heart pounded in his chest and his lungs began to burn. His steps slowed on the wet pavement. Sweat ran from his brow to mingle on his cheeks with the rain and his tears—he couldn’t stop crying—and he wiped a corner of the smelly blanket across his face.

  He stopped and turned in a slow circle as he caught his breath. He spotted one house with its front door standing open. All of the others were locked up tight. There. That’s where the magick was. He clutched the blanket, climbed the house’s concrete steps, and paused on the wide, wooden porch. He felt a crackling spark across his skin, but it was a welcoming instead of a warning. Should he knock on the open door? Should he announce himself? He thought about the underground den where the bad men were keeping his people, and he stepped into the house’s entryway.

  Voices came from the back of the house, and Maksim understood most of what they were saying. His spoken English was good; even the bad men said so. The voices sounded happy, and there was a power here that felt familiar and warm. He hiccuped in surprise when the voices broke into laughter. He hurried into the house and down the hallway.

  He turned a corner and entered a kitchen of fancy appliances and cabinets of wood and glass. A massive window overlooked a neat garden and rear yard with three good climbing trees and wooden swings swaying in the breeze.

  Maksim looked at the pretty lady with dark hair and the boy sitting together at a table by the window. The boy appeared to be about Maksim’s age, and he and the lady were staring at him, their laughter cut short as their mouths hung open in friendly curiosity.

  Maksim’s gaze wandered to the boy’s plate of food. Thick slices of bread and piles of meat and cheese, even fruit! He looked around for the rest of the family who must be sharing this generous meal, but there was a similar plate in front of the lady. So much food for one person. He breathed in the aroma of something savory in the oven, and his mouth started to water.

  “Well, where did you come from?” The lady left her chair and knelt in front of him so her face was even with his. “Are you okay? Are you hungry?”

  He nodded and wiped his nose on his sleeve. He felt ashamed of his dirty clothes and musty blanket when the lady’s face was shiny and bright and smelled of soap. If she noticed his ragged shirt and torn denim, she didn’t seem to mind. She ushered him into an empty chair and pushed her own plate in front of him.

  Maksim dug into the food and he was shoving bread and meat into his mouth before he could think about thanking her for her generosity. He crunched down on a grape and sweetness exploded in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed quickly to make room for more. The lady set a glass of milk in front of Maksim and pulled up a chair beside him while the boy watched from across the table.

  The lady touched his shoulder. Maksim flinched, but her touch was kind. She smoothed down his hair as he continued to eat.

  “My name is Bonnie, and this is my son, Magnus.” Her voice was like music. “Are you lost? Do you need help finding your parents?”

  Maksim forced a mouthful of cheese down his throat. “Maksim,” he said. He reached for the glass and choked down half the milk she’d set out for him. It was cold and good. He remembered the question his mother had told him to ask. “Please, keep me safe here?”

  2
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  Sally walked into the commercial antiques warehouse and narrowly avoided colliding face-first with an ornate signage panel as a pair of workers navigated past her.

  Rattled, she rested against the nearest wall and took a moment to catch her breath. Opal’s messages had been insistent, but they always were these days. Ever since Sally had stepped back from the Lodge and its increasingly eclectic membership, there seemed to be a new life-or-death crisis lurking around every corner that she absolutely had to be called in on. Heimdall once even hid Laika in an underground den in the woods and claimed the wolf-dog had run off, just so Sally would make a visit to the Lodge property—conveniently while Maggie was otherwise occupied. They were trying, and it was kind of sweet in a way, but it was getting to be ridiculous.

  And none of it would have been necessary if Sally hadn’t chosen a path of isolation. She was becoming more like Loki every day.

  Now Opal was leaving garbled messages about something “feeling off” while helping Saga shop for furniture. The good news was that Saga was expanding her home decor beyond IKEA. Sally crossed her arms over her chest and watched the workers install a window banner heralding the Balkian Brothers Antiques winter sale. Then the men went to work moving empty display cases into place according to precise marks on the floor and stacking up plastic bins and wooden crates alongside them. The storefront windows were in need of a good cleaning, and the muted sunlight filtering in from outside highlighted the stirred up dust in the air. Sally wrinkled her nose. The whole space smelled of musty wood and antibacterial cleaning agents.

  She spotted Opal on the far side of the showroom, crouched over a wood-framed box on the floor. She was engaged in animated conversation with a young man, probably another Balkian Brothers employee, while others worked around them to fill shelves with decorative vases and rustic-looking candlesticks and adjusted displays of wooden tables, chairs, and benches in various stages of restoration and wear. The store was like a Pier 1 or a Cost Plus World Market, but with actual antiques mixed in.

  Sally felt a pang of guilt when she saw the fierce concentration and the glow of something approaching joy playing across Opal’s face. Sally had been a bad friend. She’d also been a bad Rune Witch, and Opal was still technically her assistant, no matter what Maggie said. Another worker dragged a large potted plant across the floor to add some ambiance to a staged seating area, and Sally chastised herself for abandoning Opal as surely as Frigga had abandoned Sally.

  But Opal seemed to be getting along all right. She had a life of her own, apart from Sally. They’d been roommates until their apartment building was burned down by a bunch of Viking zombies more than a year earlier, but now Opal was living with her girlfriend and Sally was on her own. Opal had been her truest and only friend for years, even when Sally had made friendship particularly difficult. Just like with the Lodge, any distance between them was her own fault.

  A weathered but solid chest of drawers was headed straight toward Sally, and the apologetic looks on the workers’ faces let her know that she was standing precisely where the piece needed to go. She gave a polite shrug and ducked out of the way. When she looked up, Opal was at her side.

  “I’m really glad you came, Sally. Let’s step over here.” Opal kept her voice low and steered Sally toward a maze of free-standing shelves at the back of the antique showroom. Dust tickled Sally’s nose and she tried not to sneeze.

  “I just wish you had responded sooner,” Opal added.

  Opal was trying to keep their conversation from being overheard, but Sally laughed. “Why? Is there an Etruscan rat wreaking paranormal havoc? Or maybe a Victorian cigar box has a squeaky hinge and you think an errant wizard is to blame?”

  Opal sighed and gripped Sally’s elbow. Sally nearly yelped as Opal pulled her into a dark corner.

  “Ha ha,” Opal said without enthusiasm. “You know, not every problem in the world is manufactured solely to inconvenience the great and powerful Rune Witch.”

  Sally waited for further explanation, while Opal was waiting for a sarcastic retort. Neither was forthcoming.

  “Fine, what is it then?” Sally asked. “Because the last time I heard from Thor, he’d made up some cockamamie story about a pack of rince-weasels harassing his neighbor’s backyard chickens and making off with all the cabbages in Bonnie’s garden.”

  “That was real.”

  “Right.”

  Opal rested her fists on her hips. “It was, Sally. I know because I had to go deal with it myself. Maggie was pretty ticked about that, too.”

  Sally imagined she was. Maggie still insisted that Opal was her personal “Lodge Witch,” whatever that was supposed to be. Maggie was a new and accidental goddess who had inherited the grove of sacred apples against her will, and she continued to struggle to assert her authority among much older immortals. She was trying to rewrite the rules and traditions of the pantheon, and her efforts included shoving the hereditary Rune Witch out the door in favor of a magickal helpmate of her own choosing. So Sally was adrift while Opal tried to make peace from the inside.

  “It was a simple matter of reinforcing the runic barrier around their property,” Opal said. “But you still should have been there. Plus, Thor and Bonnie wanted to see you, Sally. We’re still your friends. At least, we’re trying to be.”

  Sally turned away to glance around the showroom. Doors to the back warehouse kept opening and closing as workers brought out more shelving units and massive pieces of furniture that creaked and complained as they were carried toward the front of the store. The workers, all men, grimaced with the effort.

  A new pair of workers emerged from the back carrying a massive desk that was as big as her father’s Prius and looked almost as heavy. One worker stumbled when the toe of one of his heavy boots met a crack in the floor, and a corner of the desk landed on his foot. Sally sucked in a breath in sympathetic pain as the man clenched his teeth and swore—not in English, and not in any language Sally recognized. He and the worker on the other end of the desk muttered sharply to each other as they hoisted their load back up and moved on. The man limped a little. He glanced at Sally and she felt an eerie prickle at the back of her neck.

  Magick recognizes magick.

  “Sally?” Opal touched her shoulder.

  Sally started. “So what’s the problem? Or did you just want to see me, too?”

  Opal was quiet for a few beats, and Sally knew she’d pushed too hard. She turned back to her friend and hoped Opal could read the regret in her eyes.

  “Okay. So.” Opal took a breath and gestured toward the surrounding shelves. “How, um, does this space feel to you?”

  Sally’s shoulders sank. “That’s what you wanted to ask me? Seriously? I can’t believe I came all the way down here for this.”

  She started to turn away, but Opal grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. “Sally, I think this might be serious. I just didn’t ask the question the right way. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay, I’m listening.”

  Opal released Sally’s wrist and leaned closer. “Something just feels off in here. Saga feels it, too. We first came in here yesterday.” Her eyes flickered about the showroom, taking in the antiques and replicas on display and the empty areas waiting to be filled. “But we don’t know if it’s a specific item, or a person, or maybe something about the building. It’s definitely magickal, and it’s dark. Please tell me I’m not crazy.”

  Sally peeked around the shelving units and tried to gauge the room. She was no expert in antiques or retail displays. With Sally’s luck, whatever Opal was feeling would turn out to be tied to phantom ley lines and a local union dispute. But Opal’s concern was earnest. So Sally closed her eyes and listened to her feet.

  She felt the heavy clump of boots striking the old boards of the showroom’s floor, every scrape of display cases and chests being shoved into position and every solid pedestal being adjusted into place. There was an electrical hum as well, running beneath the floor and up into the walls and
ceiling. The security system wasn’t currently armed in this room but once that switch was flipped, Sally knew the steady thrum of circuitry and data would be enough to muddle her magickal senses.

  Nothing felt out of place, exactly, but there was an undercurrent of unease. And there was the weird spark she’d felt from the warehouse worker, but she rationalized that could have been residual energy clinging to the man after a recent Tarot card reading.

  Sally opened her eyes and wove her way between the display cases and the work crews carefully steering heavy carts and larger pieces of furniture toward their showroom destinations. Opal didn’t follow.

  Sally moved slowly, placing each footstep with care. She stepped over the electrical cords snaking across the floor and maneuvered around the sharp corners of wooden crates and unmounted frames. She raised her hands, palms out, her fingers twitching with every unseen sensation. She didn’t care that she looked like she was preparing to surrender to the next person she saw.

  Most of the antiques, even the ones in the crates, were neutral—nothing special about them at all, other than being old. A few items, like an old harvest basket nestled into a display of wooden spoons and spice holders, held a slight magickal buzz. She paused at each instance of power, but nothing registered as dangerous or particularly potent. But there was an undercurrent of something dark and buzzy. It was faint and irritating and it plinked at the periphery of Sally’s senses like a jar of lightning bugs.

  Reaching the far side of the showroom, she turned back to survey the space and remembered why she disliked shopping. Everything was for sale. Everything was an enticement to exchange money and time for more stuff. And all of this stuff was really old. Other people’s cast-off belongings.

  Opal headed her way and Sally shrugged as soon as she caught her friend’s eye.

  “I’m sorry,” Sally said. “I can’t tell you more than you probably already know. I mean, I wouldn’t advise snuggling up under that blanket.” She tilted her head toward a delicate patchwork quilt being unfurled over the tall back of a sturdy rocking chair. “It’ll give you bad dreams for sure.”