Tracking Magic: A Rylee Adamson Short Story (2 page)

CHAPTER 2

“
M
idnight came too
swiftly, especially knowing my mentor would have me up at the ass crack of dawn. My bed, the one Giselle had said was mine as long as I wanted it, was small but comfortable. The room was the same, small, the slope of the roof stealing headroom, the window leaning out over the east side of the house. But I didn’t mind. I was grateful I had somewhere to sleep where I didn’t have to fight the local bums for bed space.

My room here wasn’t anything like my room back home with my parents. And the real reason I couldn’t sleep. I shook my head, sliding my hands around the back of my neck. No, I had to stop thinking about them like that. They were my parents when they adopted me, but the minute they thought I’d killed their daughter, their miracle baby, I was as dead to them as she was. The muscles in my chest tightened and it had nothing to do with the routine Giselle had put me through that day.

Even now, almost a year later, I couldn’t understand how they could believe I killed her . . . then again, running away hadn’t helped my image any. I got out of bed. Sleep evaded me; no reason to keep laying there staring at the ceiling.

Stepping out into the hallway, I padded to the stairs and peered down into the living area. The house was old, well lived in, and, for the most part, kept the constant North Dakota wind out. So very different from my old home where there had been nothing but warmth, sunshine and beaches. That being said, at least here no one thought I’d killed my sister.

No one except that jerk of an FBI agent who had actually gotten a transfer to North Dakota shortly after I moved. Coincidence? I snorted to myself. Not likely. He thought he was pretty hot stuff, young and confident; he thought he could break the case. But I could see through him. He was an ass trying to prove himself at my expense, plain and simple.

Making my way down to the kitchen, using the light from the full summer moon through the window to guide me, I headed straight for the fridge. I pulled out a glass container of milk and poured myself a cup, taking a gulp of the ice cold liquid. Before I could put it back, a voice startled me, making me drop the glass container, shattering it on the tiled floor.

“Giselle, that you?”

I put the cup down and slowly turned to face where the voice floated from. Somewhere in the shadow darkened living room. Shoot, what was I supposed to do now? Best I could tell, the intruder was a man, or at least male. And Giselle didn’t have any boyfriends I knew about.

“Giselle?”

I backed farther into the kitchen, my mind freezing, paralyzing my ability to even begin to plan—

A figure shot out of the darkness, slamming into me. There was a brief image, more of an impression I got of light coloured hair and faded blue eyes, a flash in between movement and moonlight. We hit the far cupboards, the pull handles digging into my back. A glimpse of fang was all I saw before the vampire drove his face towards mine. I reacted instinctively, snapping my fist up between us, catching his jaw in an uppercut I felt all the way to my elbow.

His teeth snapped down on his tongue, the sharp fangs severing the tip. The chunk of flesh fell between us.

“Wha da fuck?” He screamed, hands over his mouth, blood squirting out through his laced fingers.

I scrabbled for the closest drawer, and yanked out a heavy kitchen knife, balancing it in my hand. Fear rattled around in my brain at light speed, as I struggled to recall the things Giselle had been teaching me. Strike first, ask questions later.

Three quick slashes and I’d backed the vampire up. He easily dodged what even I knew were wild swings. There was nothing controlled about my attack, my movements jerky and out of balance. I stepped into what would have been my fourth slash when he slid sideways and swept my legs out from under me.

My back slammed into the floor, but I didn’t let go of the knife, the only thing I had between me and this bastard’s teeth.

He stood above me, blood dripping down his chin, one foot on my chest.

“Where ih ick?

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” I asked, my voice remarkably steady considering the fact I was staring down death in the form of a creature I’d only just learned existed.

He spit a gob of blood to one side, then grinned down at me, his mouth a hideous twist of fang, blood and bright white teeth. “I am going to ennoy killing you. Firck. Where ga fuck ih ick?”

The light flicked on and he blinked in the sudden brightness. Giselle stood there in her long white nightgown, dirty blonde hair cascading around her and one of her swords I was not yet allowed to touch gripped in her hand.

“Martin, you know better than to show up un-announced,” she said, her voice deceptively soft.

He smiled at her, then gave a mock bow. “Buineth. Ick ih all abou buineth.”

“Good grief, did you bite your tongue off?” she asked, her eyes widening. Martin pointed at me.

Giselle’s brown eyes flicked over me and she gave me a slight nod of her head. A flush of pride skipped through me.

“Good. Perhaps this will teach you not to attack people.” I noticed she didn’t lower her sword tip, just adjusted her grip slightly. “How long before it grows back?”

Martin shrugged thin shoulders. “Few minutes. Ah, there we go.” He smacked his lips and flicked his tongue, fully intact, out around his lips. He really didn’t look like much, certainly not the scary, big, bad, ugly thing Giselle had told me vampires were. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it hadn’t been a fang I’d seen.

“I’m here on business. I want the stone the kid has.” Again he pointed at me and I sat up, scooting back from them both. I didn’t know what was going on, but Giselle would sort it out. Of that much I was sure.

“I don’t have any stone, rock, gravel or boulders.” I said, pushing to my feet.

Giselle glanced over me. “Are you sure? Go check your room.”

I knew a dismissal when I heard one; but at seventeen I struggled with myself to do what she wanted. Frowning, I backed out of the room and then ran up the stairs to my tiny bedroom. A quick search gave me nothing, as I knew it would. Giselle had wanted me out of ear shot for a reason. Well, screw that.

Creeping back down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky one third up from the bottom I made my way back to the living room with my back pressed against the wall.

Martin’s voice reached me first. “The boss said a runaway had the stone. A runaway with a talent no one has seen for years. That fits your girl there.”

“What would your pack want with the stone? You have no witches who can use it,” Giselle said.

I slowed my breathing and tried to ease the beat of my heart as if that would help me hear better.

“You don’t know everything about our pack,” Martin said. Something shifted, like a chair being scraped across the floor.

“Fine. But still, a stone like this, it shouldn’t be floating around out there. The connection to the deeper sides of the Veil is too dangerous.”

“Why do you think we’re trying to track it?” Martin snapped. “Can you imagine what would happen if . . .” There was a sniffing sound then, “Your girl is listening.”

Heat rushed through my face and I had no doubt I was bright red; it would be stupidly obvious what I’d been up to. Like a brand on my forehead. But I stayed where I was. I hadn’t been invited to the conversation.

“Good night, Martin,” Giselle said and heard the irritation in her voice. I was about to get lambasted for sure.

Footsteps and then the soft click of the door shutting. “Rylee. Come back in.”

Pushing off the wall, I rounded the corner. “I’m not a child. I need to understand everything this world has to offer. Not just what you think I can handle.”

Her eyes flashed, then dimmed, and she slumped where she sat, as if the stuffing had been knocked out of her. Like she’d been the one to have been fighting a . . .

“What was he?”

“A werewolf, from the local pack. You did well, fending him off. But don’t let it go to your head.”

I bit back the grin attempting to stretch my lips. “Of course not. “

“He would have killed you without any qualms if I hadn’t stepped in. When you are fighting a supernatural, you kill them. No questions asked.”

The would-be grin faded and the pride slipped off of me. “Got it.” Lesson received. Kill before they, whoever they are, kill you.

“What did he want?”

Giselle took a deep breath, her fingers drumming on the side table. “A young girl, a runaway, has a stone of great value. One too powerful for her to even know about, let alone carry.”

“Do you know who she is?”

My mentor nodded. “Her name is Milly Waters. She’s a couple of years younger than you. Martin was even so kind as to have a picture of her on him.”

She handed me a crumpled sheet of 8 by 11 paper. A lost person sheet like the kind you would see stapled to a telephone pole. Milly had long dark brown hair and huge green eyes. She was pretty, way too pretty for her age and she didn’t look fifteen. More like twenty five.

“Where are you, Milly?” I asked softly. A vibration of energy rippled through my mind and I gasped, clenching the paper in my suddenly trembling fingers.

“Rylee? What’s wrong?” Giselle’s voice reached me but her words sounded like she was far away. The vibration through my head intensified, and though I wouldn’t call it pain, it scared the bejeesus out of me. Inside my head, I could feel something new as the vibration faded. What I could only describe as a loop of energy tying me to someone else. Like a thread I could hang onto and point out exactly where she was. Where Milly was.

“I think I can find her,” I said, my voice shaky.

I met Giselle’s eye and she gasped, pulling back slightly. “Well I’ll be damned.”

“What?”

“Your eyes have changed. I’d say whatever form of supernatural you are, your powers are just coming on line,” she said, then gave me a soft smile. “Now, why do you think you can find her?”

I tried to explain. I did, but the words weren’t sufficient. In the end, she shushed me and sent me to bed. As if I really were still a child, and I let her. Because I was scared. The mirror in the bathroom had shown my once normal brown eyes had shifted into a swirl of gold, deep brown, and emerald green. No matter how many times I’d blinked, the three distinct colours remained.

What was I becoming? I stared into the mirror and traced my eyes. No, it didn’t matter what I became because what I’d left behind, the Rylee Adamson who’d had parents and a little sister, was gone.

Now there was only me. Just Rylee. I smiled at myself, and then laughed softly. Yes, time to start new. And what better way than to have a kick ass ability? Even if I didn’t know what the hell it was.

CHAPTER 3

T
he next morning,
I got up before dawn, whipped through the routine Giselle had laid out for me and started cooking breakfast before my mentor had even gotten out of bed. All night, I’d been unable to sleep. Every time I thought of the girl named Milly, I’d felt the thread between us, could have pointed exactly what direction I’d need to go to find her. Now, I just had to convince Giselle. Of course, the fact this Milly chick had some stone Giselle thought the kid shouldn’t have,
should
mean Giselle would want to go after her.

“You’re up early,” Giselle said as she came down the stairs.

“Yeah. Listen. I can find Milly. I’m sure of it,” I said as I flipped two eggs onto a plate and slid it in front of her. Next came a steaming cup of coffee with two sugars and two creams.

“Bribery?” She looked at me over the rim of her coffee mug. I shrugged.

“I thought you might need some convincing.”

She took a long sip of her morning brew, then took a bite of egg before she answered. “You’ve done your routine?”

“Yes.”

“Then get your gear together. I’d like to see what you think you can do.”

I bolted out of the kitchen, and scrambled up the stairs before she changed her mind. At that moment, I realized I was still a child, truly wanting to please my mentor, and be useful, a part of things. I didn’t care, though. All I knew was, I could find Milly. I could find her and then . . . well, then I would be doing something good. Something important.

And then maybe you could find Berget.

Yes, that was what I was hoping. I wanted to believe this tie I had to Milly wasn’t a one-time deal. That I’d be able to find my little sister after we found Milly. Then maybe I could go home, perhaps my parents would forgive me for losing her . . . the fantasy spun out in my head, as I dressed in blue jeans a white tank top, and hiking boots. The ‘gear’ I had consisted of a bowie knife I strapped to my lower back under my tank top. Probably not the most comfortable way to wear the knife, but it put the blade within easy reach. Even with only one knife, I wasn’t too worried. Giselle would have her sword with her and maybe a few other weapons. She was a hell of a lot tougher than she looked. At forty years old, she was old enough to be my mom, but shit, she could still kick ass with the best of them. It would be hard to leave her and go back to my parents when I found Berget, but I was sure she’d understand.

Back into the kitchen, I went as Giselle finished her breakfast. “Ready?”

“Yes, aren’t you going to bring anything?” I glanced over her in her yoga pants and loose t-shirt.

“This is your run, your salvage. Not mine. I’m just there as . . . oh, let’s call it a consultant.”

My mouth went dry. “What if there are problems?”

“There are
always
problems when it comes to supernaturals, Rylee. We are centers of chaos wherever we go. It’s in our very blood to be problems.” She smiled. “Now, I’ll drive; you direct.”

I followed her out to the battered old mustang that had surely seen better days. The bright blue paint had faded and rust holes peeked out along the lower edge of the muscle car. But I saw none of it as I pieced together what was happening. This was a test, Giselle wanted to see what I had. If I had it in me to survive this world. I took a deep breath. I’d be damned if I failed this. One way or another I’d find this kid and the magic stone she carried.

The mustang’s engine came alive easily; that was one thing about Giselle. The exterior might be falling apart, but what was under the hood was babied to within an inch of its life, not unlike her house.

“Where to?” Giselle asked as she buckled herself in. I stood in the open door on the passenger’s side a moment before sliding into my seat.

“She’s south.”

“How far?”

I thought about how the connection felt. Like a bad phone call from overseas. “Not that close.” I couldn’t pinpoint it any better than that.

Giselle didn’t ask anything else, just backed out of the driveway heading for the I94. “You’re sure she’s south?”

I fingered the edge of my seat belt. “Yes.” God I hoped I was right about this.

We drove for almost two hours before I felt a shift in the connection between me and Milly. Subtle, like the change in direction of the wind, but it was like . . .

“She’s scared,” I said softly.

Giselle glanced over at me. “Why do you say that?”

I closed my eyes, pressed my fingers into my temples. “I can feel her, inside my head, and she’s scared and tired.”

The connection shifted again and I shouted without thinking, “Left, go left.”

Giselle spun the wheel and the mustang fishtailed as we slid down the off ramp at highway speeds, the mustang’s tires squealing on the hot pavement.

“A little more notice would be better.” Giselle said, her voice dry.

“Sorry,” I whispered, feeling Milly’s fear heighten and then a sharp burst of pain. I sucked in a breath and held it, the other girl’s emotions and feelings strengthening the closer we got to her. “Hurry, Giselle. I don’t know what it is, but she’s hurt.”

Giselle didn’t question me, only eased the car up over the speed limit. A faint tickle on the back of my neck made me turn in my seat and peer out the back window. A dark sedan followed us, and while I hadn’t been watching it for more than a few seconds, I knew who was in it.

“The FBI dude is on our tail,” I said.

“We’ll lose him in a moment,” Giselle said. She pulled over to the side of the road, the dark sedan following us.

Shit, this was not good! The drive in me to get to Milly, to stop the pain she felt, overwhelmed me. I couldn’t deal with Agent O’Shea. Not today.

But, there he was, stepping out of his sedan, then straightening his black suit and adjusting the designer sunglasses on his face. He wasn’t old, not like the other agents I’d met, and I’d met a few. O’Shea was in his mid twenties, but acted way older. Like he was trying to impress someone.

He strode to the passenger side of the mustang, his suit filling up the window. One knuckled tapped on the glass. “Roll it down, Adamson.”

I started to shake, the sound of his voice taking me right back to being thrown in jail, the scent of urine and the soft crying from the other inmates, the fear I would end up rotting away the rest of my life.

I eased the window down half an inch. “What do you want?”

“Roll the window down.”

“I did.”

A barely visible tremor ran through his body. Was I pissing him off? Giselle said nothing, again letting me figure this out on my own. I wasn’t sure if I was happy about that or not.

“Roll it all the way down,” he snapped.

Cranking the handle, I did as he asked. Agent O’Shea put his hands on the car door and leaned way in, invading my space. “Where are you going?”

“For a drive,” I said, keeping my eyes lowered. What would he say if he saw the changes in my eyeballs?

“Look at me.”

Damn, there was no getting away now. I lifted my eyes to his. He didn’t react, didn’t flinch, nothing. I stared into my own reflection in his sunglasses, took in the flexing of his jaw and the fresh smell of aftershave. His hands tightened on the edge of the door and I fought not to cringe.

“If you’re done. We’d like to go,” I said. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I know you killed our sister. And I will prove it if it takes me another ten years,” he growled, pushing off of the car.

I swallowed hard, felt the pain of losing her all over again. But for the first time, it pissed me the fuck off. Leaning out the window I yelled at him. “Yeah? Well aren’t you going to look fucking stupid when after ten years you still have an unsolved case. That ain’t going to look too fucking good on the permanent record, is it?”

His back went ramrod straight as his steps faltered for half a beat. He jerked his car door open, and got in to the sedan, and slammed the door behind him with enough force that I imagined the hinges might have been busted. The sedan spun out on the gravel behind us, the tires squealing as they gripped the pavement before the dark car disappeared around the next corner. Well, at least that got rid of one problem.

I eased back down into my seat and cranked the window back up. “Ok. let’s go.”

Giselle said nothing at first, just pulled back onto the road. We’d driven for a good five minutes in silence before she let out a whooping laugh.

In moments, tears streamed down her cheeks, she smacked the steering wheel with her hand and finally, she wheezed out. “I wondered when you were going to find your spine. Thank the gods for that agent. He really pushes your buttons, doesn’t he? Mind you, looked like the feeling was mutual.”

I crunched low in my seat. “I have a spine.”

She snorted, wiped her eyes and then looked over at me. “No, you don’t. But you seem to be growing one.”

I wanted to cry, could feel the emotions welling up in me. But then I thought about the look on Agent O’Shea’s face, the anger and frustration, and how his step faltered when I yelled at him. I thought about the fact that I’d caused it all to happen, just with my mouth, and I started to laugh, slowly at first, then louder and with great glee.

“Oh my God! Can you believe I swore at him?” I covered my mouth, snickering around my fingers.

“I noticed. Try to keep the f-bombs to a minimum if you will.” Giselle said, but the corners of her mouth twitched.

“I’ll do my fucking best,” I whispered.