Alix (The Coven's Grove Chronicles #1) (12 page)

Her body convulsed, as she lapsed into a full-on-seizure.

Troy was losing her. Desperately he tore at her tattered clothing in search of unmarred flesh. Her shirt came apart to reveal more blackened skin. But down near her hip, on the left side, he found the silky white of her normal color, untouched by the flames.

He pressed his hands against the undamaged skin.
There you are
. The familiar prickling warmth traveled up his arms.

Alix gasped, snapping out of her spasms. Her body went rigid for a moment then eased back to ground. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Thank God!” Troy cried. He didn’t move his hands, but leaned over her to get her attention.

Her head turned slightly in Troy’s direction, and the corners of her mouth curved up in a half-hearted grin. “Hello, pretty man.”

“Listen to me, Alix,” Troy said, ignoring the babble. “You have to do something for me, okay?”

She squinted, trying to focus on him. “Anything you want.”

“I need you to think about when you were most happy—when you felt really good. I want you to picture it in your mind.”

Alix smiled, and then promptly winched, as the crisp skin around her mouth cracked open. She groaned in pain. “Well that’s not it.”

Troy smiled, hoping to urge her on. He needed her to use her power, and quick. “I had my happy moment last night. How about you?”

She closed her eyes. “Oh, yes. That was a happy moment wasn’t it.”

“Can you picture it.”—Troy leaned closer—“Can you make it become real?”

Alix laid motionless for a few moments. Her breaths were shallow and weak. “Yeah,” she said finally. “I can do that.”

“Good girl,” Troy said softly, still pressing his hands on her side. The tingling warmth from their touch continued to surge through him like an early-summer breeze. “Just make it happen.”

She struggled for a time. The strain on her face was evident, as her forehead creased with lines of concentration. After several agonizing minutes her emerald eyes popped open, sharp and aware. She focused on Troy and asked, “Where are we?”

Relief flooded over Troy with renewed vigor. With all the burn damage, it was impossible to see what Alix had done. But she was lucid now, and Troy couldn’t waste a second of the time she had bought them. “We’re safe for the moment, but you’re badly injured. You need to heal the burns.”

“Oh, God.” Alix gasped. She had looked down at her body to see the charred mess it had become. “I remember, I hurt...I don’t know if I can fix this—”

“You can, and you will,” Troy said through clenched teeth. He wasn’t about to let her give up now. “Do whatever you have to do.”

Alix gazed up at him. Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes, as she reached up and took hold of Troy’s wrist. “I’m so sorry for this.”

Dread filled Troy’s heart. She was giving up. She was going to leave him, and he knew he couldn’t handle it. “You can’t leave—”

Heat spiked from where Alix’s hand gripped Troy’s wrist. An inferno blazed up his arm, searing him to the bone. He screamed, jerking his hand away. “What the hell?!” His wrist was bright red, as if it had been scalded. He looked down at Alix, confused.

“I can...I can transfer the pain,” Alix mumbled weakly. “Transfer the damage.”

Troy stared in disbelief.
There’s no time to doubt, fool,
Troy chided himself. He offered his arm to her. “Do it.”

Her lip trembled, as she placed her peeling hand on his wrist, and closed her fingers.

Troy braced himself for the coming onslaught, but nothing could have prepared him for what followed. The burning heat renewed, and quickly grew in intensity, like the smoking embers of a raging fire. He screamed, but refused to pull his hand away, as he saw Alix’s cracked and blistered skin soften, and begin to close. The sickening yellowish-brown and black that covered her face, torso, and arms, faded with every torturous second.

The rank odor of burning flesh wafted through the cool air. Troy’s breath came in ragged gasps between his bellows. The symbol on his chest glowed brilliant orange through his shirt, as the pain pulsed out from under Alix’s hand.

Troy locked eyes with her. She wept. As her features once again became smooth and radiant, his began to crack and burn. “Don’t stop!” Troy roared. He could take the pain. For her, he
would
take the pain.

Troy became lost in the agony. The fire that swept through his veins dominated his thoughts. How long he wandered through that maze of flame he couldn’t say—Time no longer held meaning for him—All he knew, deep down, was that he was there for a purpose dear to him, and that was enough.

“Troy!” a familiar voice cut through the pain. “Troy, wake up!”

The walls of flames within his mind extinguished, as the words echoed around in his head.
Alix,
he thought, clinging to the sound of her voice. He felt the delicate touch of her hand on his cheek, and blinked his eyes open.

“There you are,” Alix said in a whisper. She hovered over Troy, relief evident in her pale, emerald eyes. Her soft features had completely healed, not a scar or scratch remained. The purple fringe in her hair had gotten smaller because of the burns, but other than that, she was perfect. “You scared me there for a minute.”

He smiled lamely. “Seems to be an ongoing theme. You okay?”

“I should be asking you that?”

“I’ll be okay, I think.” Troy looked down at his chest and arms. The glow of amber from his tattoo still radiated from under his shirt, but his arms were no longer covered with darkened veins. Every muscle in his body felt as if they had been subjected to the worst beating of his life. He groaned, as Alix helped him off the ground.

“I’ll drive,” Alix said. She put Troy’s arm over her shoulders to support him, and shuffled him to the passenger seat.

“You sure?”

“Well, you sure as hell aren’t driving,” she said, easing him into the car.

Troy clenched his teeth in pain, as he plopped into the passenger seat. He was in no shape to drive, for certain, but he wasn’t entirely convinced Alix was either. “Just want to make sure you’re okay... the thing with Sam—”

“I’ll be fine,” Alix interrupted. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Troy let it go. He didn’t really want to talk about their friend’s death anyway. It was too soon. Alix appeared to be holding it together, so no point in rocking the boat.

They took off, headed south. Troy had gotten onto Lee Highway during their escape, and hoped to hook back up with Interstate 81 further down the way. Turned out that’s exactly what it did. Within the hour, they were on the interstate headed toward Oklahoma.

Troy leaned his head back. “We’re going to need another car.”

Alix frowned in thought. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Did you give that car-lot guy your name?”

“I gave him a name, but it wasn’t mine or yours. Cash does wonders for avoiding credit checks and the truth.” Troy had been extra careful not to drop any names that could be followed. He was sure the authorities in New York would be looking for Alix and Sam by now. Once Sam’s body turned up here in Virginia, the police would have a direction. If they checked on bank withdrawals, they’d figure out Alix and Sam had been together. The car would be a red flag pretty soon, if it wasn’t already. “Next decent sized town we swap this thing.”

“Got it,” Alix replied. “Thanks by the way. For saving my life back there.”

“Of course,” Troy said. He’d do it again without hesitation, which unfortunately, he had the feeling that he might be forced to do so, soon. “That thing you did—transferring your injuries—is that something you’ve known about for a while, or is it something new?”

“It’s new.”

“We’ve got to get you to a specialist or something,” Troy said, rubbing his head.

Alix laughed. “Yeah right. A freak specialist.”

“Don’t say that, you’re not a freak,” Troy said, a bit agitated. “You’re a walking phenomenon. A miracle on earth.”

“Oh Lord, the last thing I need is to be some freakin’ messiah—”

“Look, I don’t mean to put you on the spot, or make you uncomfortable. But I can’t wrap my head around why you can do the things you do,” Troy interrupted. “A miracle is the only thing I can come up with to explain what’s happening, which seems kinda nuts anyway.”

Alix sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been trying to figure this thing out since I was sixteen. No luck so far.”

“What about family? Anybody you can ask?”

Alix shook her head. “Nobody I could find, or would want to for that matter.”

“You might not have a choice,” Troy said, speaking his thoughts. Bad family-life was a pretty common thing, and if it were under any other circumstances, Troy would be all for Alix avoiding a reunion with crappy relatives. But this “gift” she had, warranted searching for answers in places that she would otherwise steer clear of. “If we can shake the guys hunting you, we need to take some time to find out what’s going on. Your family is a good place to start.”

Alix went quiet for a while. Troy was afraid he’d pushed too hard, and was about to apologize, but then she said, “All right, we can look for my dad. He’s the only one that might still be alive.”

“Sounds good to me,” Troy said. “We’ll work this thing out. But right now, I need some sleep. You still okay to drive?”

Alix nodded. “Yeah, get some rest.”

T
he stone hearth glowed with warmth, adding to the dim light of the vaulted room. Books filled the polished wooden shelves that lined every wall, except for one. The floor to ceiling windows on the southern wall allowed streams of starlight to filter into the cozy study. Plush chairs and luxurious settees from an age gone by, accented the massive Persian rug that covered the hardwood flooring. The most impressive piece of furniture, a cherry wood desk engraved with ancient symbols of witchcraft, sat opposite the windowed wall. Two Tiffany lamps cast soft light across the desktop.

Miranda slowly turned the yellowed pages of a photo album she hadn’t opened in over fifty years. Hannah and Rhea were at the reservation for the weekend, helping distribute the crops that had been harvested from Coven’s Grove earlier this fall. So she thought it a good time to take a trip into the past.

Even though Miranda didn’t look much over thirty, she was well beyond it. The photos she currently brooded over were taken before the turn of the century. It had been a time of hardship to be sure, but also a time of discovery and wonderment. The Industrial Revolution had been a thing to behold, and changed the world forever. Though unfortunately, it had killed some of the mysteries of life in the process.

The curse of time,
she thought, as she turned another page.

Tears blurred Miranda’s vision, as she looked at the weathered photo. This image was the reason she had opened the album in the first place. It represented the reason why she had become the woman she was. It was the reason she feared being alone.

The yellowed photograph depicted thirteen women. Standing in a group outside of a large plantation home. They varied in posture, size and color. A true representation of progressive action, especially for back then.

Miranda rubbed the edges of the page, careful not to touch the photo itself. This had been her family, if not by blood, then surely in spirit. Thirteen witches comprised of different creeds, social classes, and race. She had cared for them all, and would have done anything to protect them. But that had not been enough to save any of the women she held most dear.

She focused on a woman that appeared to be in her early to mid-twenties. A mischievous grin was painted across her face, while she bear-hugged another spry looking girl. Miranda couldn’t help but smile, as she gazed at herself.
Oh, the fun we all had together
.

Miranda took her time to study each of the women’s faces, recalling her ties to them. They were all loved as sisters, but a few would always be remembered more fondly than the others. There was Isadora, directly to her left. Her long dark hair up in a tight bun. Isadora always considered herself a plain woman, and dressed as such, with her long-sleeved, gray dresses, and black shoes. She had smiled more and more the longer she was with the coven. Her history was well known throughout the house, as she had come to them from the east after strange things started happening in the textile plant where she was employed. Rumors had circulated for some time after she had left her employer, about a spinning jenny that ran on its own, and nobody ever wanting to use it. Just to the other side of Miranda was Rosamund. She was a tiny little blonde thing, and her hair was always done up in two braids. She had come from the coal mines in the north, and would tell them stories of crawling in little tunnels with a basket full of the black rock she pulled behind her for hours on end. Rosamund spent much of her time outdoors. So much so in fact, that if they didn’t make her come inside at night, she probably would have slept outside as well. Then there was the girl in Miranda’s arms. Arabella. In the photo her hair appeared dark, but Miranda remembered well the auburn color. It was almost an exact match to her own. She always wore it loose, declaring there was no way to tame all the curls. Not much was known of her past, nor did she talk about it, claiming her life started the day she joined the coven. Regardless of that fact, the two of them had become fast friends and did everything together after that first day they had met. Her death had been the hardest to watch. Finally, Miranda settled on Octavia Beone, the coven’s matriarch. A stern looking woman who appeared to be somewhere in her late fifties, Octavia had been an endearing and understanding mentor to all the members of her coven. The wonderment of that age, at least for Miranda, had been the knowledge and companionship Octavia’s sisterhood had shown her. Together they could perform and create spells far beyond what any single witch could hope to achieve or imagine. Miranda had never been in a coven before Octavia’s, and hadn’t understood the real power of such a bond—The emotional, as well as, the magical. She longed to have those feelings again, and could never repay Octavia for what she had bestowed upon her, even if the matriarch had survived. The best Miranda could do now was to carry on, and rebuild what had been lost.