Sorceress, Interrupted - By A. J. Menden Page 0,21
shape always looked the same. I had a completely random—and unwanted—flashback to my childhood, of a man with similar eyes holding me the same way after I was almost trampled by a runaway chariot. I was injured and crying, in terrible pain and waiting for the gods to escort me to the underworld, but my father scooped me up in his arms. I took comfort in his deep and confident voice speaking words of magical healing. At that time I knew I would always be safe as long as my father was nearby.
Then I found out my father would one day be gone and replaced by a stranger.
In pain and anger, I jerked away from him. “I’m fine,” I growled, letting my long, dark hair fall into my face so he couldn’t see the uncharacteristic tears in my eyes. “Just take care of Joseph.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Cyrus’s voice was different; it held a gentleness he’d never reserved for me. I hoped to God he hadn’t seen the tears or I would never live it down. Worse yet, he’d pity me.
“I’m fine,” I snapped, moving away before he could do something awful like hug or put an arm around me. I wasn’t sure how I would react. I wrapped my arms around myself in a protective gesture.
Cyrus turned back to Wesley. “What are you doing, boss?”
“The equivalent of magical smelling salts,” Wesley said. He showed the hint of a smile. “And here we go.”
A chant, a sprinkling of contents from a nearby vial, and Joseph’s eyes flew open. He sprang up, flailing around. Wesley soothed him. “Easy, easy,” he said. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
“W-where am I?” Joseph asked, glancing around. “Where’s Donald?”
Donald? What had happened to the guy since I kicked him out of my bedroom?
“You’re at the Elite Hands of Justice headquarters,” Wesley said. “We don’t know where your brother is. Do you remember getting here?”
“I used the last of my power to get me to wherever the hell Fantazia was,” Joseph said, forgetting in his pain to use his fake Irish accent. “What are you doing hanging out with the EHJ, darling?” He goggled at me.
“Slumming, I guess,” I said.
“You thinking of changing sides?” he asked. Giving Cyrus a look, he said, “Like the Virus?”
“I’m on the same side I’ve always been on, Joseph,” I said. “I’m always on my own side. I don’t get involved in politics. You know that.”
“Things change,” he replied.
“You’d better hope so,” Cyrus growled, glancing at me. “Because you’re in need of some help and she’s not known for doing so out of the goodness of her little black heart.”
I shot him a dark look. He was right, but did he have to be so nasty?
“What happened to you?” Wesley asked. “Can you remember?”
Joseph stared at him. “I forget it’s you sometimes, Old One. Your face changes and it’s hard to remember that you’re the same man who fought alongside my grandfather against Hitler’s dark mages.” He sobered. Gone was all the affected Irish character, the merry skirt-chasing Joseph, and in his place was a once powerful but now fearful man. “Donald and I were home, hosting a bit of a soiree. Invited some of the more disreputable element you let into your place, Fantazia.” He grinned at me. “We were looking to try some dirty magic.”
“Making drunk groupies’ underwear disappear, you mean?” I retorted.
“Go on,” Wesley said, clearly disapproving.
“In the middle of the party, the speakers started squealing, lights start popping and the stereo starts changing stations. It was like everything mechanical in the room was suddenly alive.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain it. Donald starts convulsing, shuddering like he’s about to fall apart. I could see the magic pouring out of him and swirling around the room. I swear it, Old One, I could see it. The stuff was like a mist.”
“Could you see where it went?” Wesley asked.
Joseph nodded. “That’s just it. It was going into the machines. Like they were sucking it out of him or something. Everyone else in the room could see it, and they started screaming and running out of there. They’d all heard the whispers of something targeting us, taking from us. I tried to stay and help my brother, but then he fell to the ground and was still, and I could feel whatever it was start to work on me.”
“Jesus Christ,” Cyrus breathed. We all turned to look at him. “It’s an Afieral spell.”