Chapter 10 #2
Once they finally reached a plateau, Archer led them to a break in the forest. Past the mossy tree line, noise ceased.
All Bridget could hear was her own breathing and the crunchy sound of snow beneath her feet.
She gazed up at the sky, but it had disappeared.
Only the dark, looming tops of trees shone down on her.
In a way, it reminded her of the Elder Woods.
At least there, she hadn’t felt alone. No matter how much she trusted Archer, she couldn’t get rid of the shiver that seemed lodged in her spine.
When the gate came into sight, Bridget’s heart almost stopped.
It looked unassuming. Any other hiker would probably pass it by without a second glance.
But she knew better. Slowly, she approached the large, standing stone.
It was taller than she remembered. And just like Archer had described, a jagged crack now went right down the middle.
Even though it wasn’t buzzing, she braced herself like it suddenly would start.
Maybe it would. Bridget gazed around them for a sign of the Shaman, but the woods were empty.
When Nylah tried to move closer to the stone, Bridget pushed her backward.
Out of breath, Alexia leaned against another tree. “What now? We’ve been circling the woods for hours. The Shaman’s obviously not here.”
“Give me a minute,” Bridget snapped. Give him a minute, really.
She twitched her gloved fingers. Maybe she needed to yell or shout to get his attention.
Last time, she’d talked to the stone to make him appear.
Bridget studied her present company. That was something she didn’t want to do in front of them.
Instead, she moved to stand a few feet from the stone.
With her foot, Bridget kicked a layer of snow and leaves away.
The hard dirt beneath was bare and lifeless.
Archer appeared beside her. “What exactly are you looking for?”
“I’m not sure,” Bridget muttered, feeling sheepish. She’d been hoping, or dreading, to find some kind of sign she’d been there. Proof of the last time she’d come through the gate. Whatever blood or grime she’d left behind had already been cleaned or washed away with the seasons.
Bridget stared at the stone. And then at the space behind it.
“I know you’re watching,” she whispered.
The static in the air told her as much. It’d been a while since she’d felt the swirling tension of magic in the air.
Turning to Archer, Bridget said, “Try a spell. Maybe that will get his attention.”
“Like what? I’m better with potions.”
“I don’t know. A summoning spell.”
“For what? A cute little forest creature? I think most are hibernating.”
“I don’t care if you summon a leaf,” Bridget growled through gritted teeth. “Just try something.”
Archer rolled his shoulders and then flicked his wrists in the air.
Eyes closed, he muttered a spell under his breath.
After a gust of wind almost blew Bridget’s beanie off, a mud-covered leaf slapped her hard in the forehead.
Beside her, Nylah laughed. Glaring, Bridget flicked it off and threw it at her sister.
Gazing around the still empty, Archer shrugged. “I don’t think it’s me that is going to get his attention. Try touching the gate. That’s what you were doing last time.”
But she’d also been crying and trying to talk to Cade.
Neither of which she wanted to do in front of Alexia.
Despite her misgivings, Bridget took a step toward the gate.
Then another. Her chest twisted when she stood inches from the carved stone.
She wished she knew what the symbols meant.
Behind her, Nylah coughed. It sounded rough and full of phlegm.
“You hear that? We haven’t got all day,” Alexia berated. “This trip was a waste of time. Just get the Warlock to perform the blood spell so we can finally cross. I’m sure there’s someone nearby in the woods we can find.”
“You catch more bees with honey than vinegar, you know,” Archer clucked, crossing his arms.
Not looking back at either of them, Bridget clenched her jaw and slammed her hand against the stone, directly over the crack.
Nothing happened. No buzz or vibration or explosion of magic burst from the rock.
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, a movement caught Bridget’s attention.
She swirled her head to the right, gaze darting erratically until it finally settled on a figure standing between two bare, dead trees.
Bridget’s entire body went numb.
The girl was back. And no one else seemed to notice the other person clearly watching them. If she were real, they would. Her long, medieval looking pale pink dress looked out of place in the forest, and her striking features and black hair would make anyone stare.
The longer Bridget looked at her, the more the girl’s smirk widened.
Without thinking, Bridget pulled a dagger from her boot and threw as hard as she could. The second it was out of her hand, the girl laughed and disappeared. Bridget’s stomach dropped as she watched the weapon slice through thin air before it lodged itself in a tree trunk.
Beside her, Archer ducked and exclaimed, “What the hell? I thought we wanted to talk to the Shaman, not stab him.”
Bridget shook her head and ran over to grab her dagger. “I didn’t see the Shaman. Someone else is here,” she said, frantically waving her hand between the two dead trees. Nothing but air sliced between her fingertips.
Nylah grabbed her flailing hand. Gently squeezing her fingers, her sister worriedly stared up at her. “Are you okay? There’s no one there. It’s just us.”
Unable to stand the concern in Nylah’s eyes, Bridget stepped away from her. Hands shaking, she took a deep breath. It had to be a trick of the Shaman. He had to be inside her head, making her see things. Into nothingness, she screamed, “I know you’re here.”
“Yelling is pointless,” Alexia interjected. “Between your hallucinations and the Warlock’s faulty potion, we’ll never get back to Andarre. We should have gone back to the Salem coven for help.”
“My potion was brewed to perfection, thank you very much.”
“Have you forgotten I lived with a coven for over a year? I know what an effective potion looks like.”
Just before Bridget strangled them both, Nylah fell to her knees and gasped for breath. Seconds later, hoarse coughs exploded from her tiny chest. Bridget dropped to the ground beside her and rubbed her back.
“Both of you, shut up,” Bridget growled. Anxiety twisted her stomach. Once Nylah’s breathing evened out, she glared venomously at Alexia. “You said whatever you gave her would affect her slowly. It’s only been a few days.”
For once, Alexia looked at a loss for words. Her dark eyes widened, and her mouth opened and closed as she stared at Nylah. “It shouldn’t be making her this sick. I saw Cora use it on another human once. It was months before he noticed he was sick. I swear.”
“Magic works differently here. Surely your precious Cora must have told you that,” Bridget snarled. “You must have messed up whatever ingredients you found.”
“I…”
“You didn’t listen to my warning,” a deep voice grumbled.
Bridget whirled around and pushed Nylah behind her. Still crouched on the ground, she registered torn jeans, a plaid covered chest, and then a gasp from Alexia. Swallowing hard, Bridget slowly gazed up to meet the bright blue eyes of the Shaman.
Below her arm, Nylah quietly exclaimed, “Woah. He just appeared out of nowhere.”
Holding the Shaman’s stare, Bridget raised her chin.
He looked different than before. Without the fake park ranger uniform, he looked younger.
His long blond hair was slicked back, and a silver earring hung from his left ear.
After a long moment, Bridget dared to say, “Well, you didn’t specifically mention this gate. ”
Face hardening, the Shaman turned to leave. Panic flooding her, Bridget rushed after him. “We need your help. My sister was poisoned. You have to send us through the gate so we can get the cure.”
Before she could complete her sentence, the Shaman tossed a small vial at her. “It’s not a cure, but it will keep her well. For now.”
Bridget gaped at him, and then the vial in her hand. The swirling indigo liquid glistened and glowed with every movement. “Every potion I’ve had from a Fae has almost killed me. How do I know this won’t do the same to her?”
The Shaman rolled his eyes. “Relax. I made it from ingredients I bought at the Walmart in New London. Like I said, it won’t heal her, just contain her symptoms. For now, at least. Your Andarrian friend is right.
The cure is only found on that tiny little island she calls home. Besides, I’m not Fae.”
Bridget grasped the vial tighter in her hand, refusing to break eye contact with the Tuathan in front of her.
Had he seen them coming? And why help them at all?
She looked for any sign on his face for an ulterior motive, but his gaze was unreadable.
Every Shaman she’d met or seen had seemed wild, cutthroat, and embedded with a resentment for humans.
But the one in front of her reminded her of Cade, more than anything.
She couldn’t pinpoint whether it was his attitude or the shape of his face.
Heart thundering in her chest, Bridget asked, “What’s the price? ”
His lips turned upward as he nodded at Nylah. “Just give it to her.”
Wordlessly, Bridget uncorked the vial and handed it to her sister.
Without hesitation, Nylah downed the potion in one gulp.
Seconds later, color returned to her dark cheeks and her hazy eyes cleared.
Bridget’s entire body relaxed in relief.
So much so, she involuntarily let out a small laugh.
She turned back to the Shaman to thank him, only to find him walking away again.
“Wait!” she called. When he didn’t, she hopped up and ran after him. “Stop!”
“Bridget…” Archer warned.
But she was done waiting for answers. If he wouldn’t stop, then she would make him. Bridget pulled another dagger out of her boot and threw it at him.
The Shaman whirled around and flicked it away before it hit him. “Would you stop doing that?”
“Not until you send us across the gate,” she said. “I have to get the cure for Nylah. I won’t depend on some concoction you made. Screw whatever vision tells you to keep me here.”
The Shaman whirled around. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you’ve seen the things I have. Besides, I made a promise to myself to not get involved anymore. Trust me, it’s better that way.”
“You’ve already made yourself involved. You were there the night we came through from Cavamyne. Don’t deny it. And again, in Boston last month. You didn’t have to talk to me at the library. Or at the gate. I was just trying to say goodbye.”
She hated that her voice broke. Swallowing hard, Bridget straightened her spine.
It would be easier to negotiate if he didn’t know how desperate she was.
Even if she had a feeling he already knew.
“Plus, you had that vial ready for my sister,” Bridget continued.
“So just stop with the vague warnings and help us.”
The Shaman stiffened. He stared at her, then Nylah.
He even spared a glance at Archer and Alexia, who still waited by the gate.
Only then did Bridget realize they were frozen in place behind her.
That the air around her was thick and heavy with the presence of magic. That she was the only thing moving.
Frantically, she asked, “What did you do to them?”
“Nothing. We’re inside your head,” the Shaman said. “For all they know, you’re still throwing the dagger at me.”
Faintly, somewhere far away, Bridget felt wetness underneath pooling underneath her nose. “Why are you talking to me in here?”
“Because if you expect me to help, I need to know you trust them. What I know shouldn’t fall on the wrong ears.”
“Shouldn’t you be able to see whether or not they’ll be trustworthy?”
“I’m not omniscient. My visions are only bits and pieces of important events, and usually about people I’m already focused on watching.”
Bridget tensed. “Then why see me?”
“Do you trust them?” he countered, each word said like its own sentence.
Bridget glanced back at the frozen Nylah, Archer, and Alexia. Only one of them made her hesitate. Would she ever trust Alexia with her life? No. But would she trust her to do whatever it takes to get back to Andarre? Absolutely. And that was all she needed to save her sister.
However, Bridget couldn’t ignore the tiny seed of doubt, or hope, that Alexia was lying about everything…
that the curse wasn’t broken and that she wasn’t from Andarre.
That somehow, they could heal her sister here so that her heart wouldn’t be fed the hope it was starving for…
the hope to see Cade. Bridget pushed the thought away.
He wasn’t something she could afford to think about until Nylah was safe and healed.
When she turned back to the Shaman, she wondered if he could hear her thoughts, because a sad, stony expression had overtaken his face. Throat tightening, Bridget asked the one question she knew would reveal if Alexia was lying or not. “Am I from Andarre?”
“Yes.”
Bridget closed her eyes and let the truth wash over her.
Part of her wanted to sleep and not wake up for a very long time.
The other part wanted to scream and thrash at everyone that had kept the truth from her.
It was impossible, but at the same time, made complete sense in her head.
Hadn’t she always felt out of place? Hadn’t she been secretly longing for the world she vowed to hate for the last few months?
When she was certain no tears would escape, Bridget opened her eyes. “Then I trust them,” she said. “If I’m from Andarre, does that mean Alexia is right? That the curse—”
The Shaman held up a hand and cut her off. “Some things are better seen than heard. At least for you.”
Bridget opened her mouth to argue, but a roaring whoosh slammed her to the ground.
Noise and movement crashed into her senses.
Bridget groaned and dug her fingers into the wet snow.
The conversation in her head had cost her.
Her temples throbbed and blood stained the white beneath her. A small hand grabbed her shoulder.
“Are you okay? Why are you bleeding?” Nylah asked.
“Magic, obviously,” Alexia mumbled.
When Archer pulled her up, Bridget found the Shaman already glaring at Alexia. “That’s enough. It’s time we all had a little talk.”