NIGHTCRAFT MOTHER
CHAPTER 1
I should have been there before it happened. I had left my apartment in San Francisco nearly ten minutes earlier. But it was a long commute under the bay, and the ley lines get crowded in the mornings, especially the good dry ones. And, well, sometimes I had a hard time tearing myself out of bed. Especially on the all too rare mornings when green-eyed Jeremy was in that bed with me.
By the time I arrived in Berkeley, the underground lines were jammed with witches and warlocks on their way to campus, so I had to take the more dangerous mid-air route. Which meant that I had to materialize down at the bottom edge of campus, in the back room of the junk store the Elders had set up for just that purpose.
“Morning,” I said to the old warlock who sat behind a battered wooden desk.
“Mmph,” he replied, not lifting his eyes from his newspaper. A bubbling glass of demonbrew was by his side. I tried not to sniff disapprovingly, though I know I must have given him a look. I like a glass of elderflower wine as much as anyone, sure, but not before noon.
I picked my way out of the store, stepping over mismatched china settings and tarnished family silver and trading cards and little steel model cars along the way. Then I darted across the street and onto campus, hurrying up the hill to our magical research laboratory. CORP, the Central Optimal Research Panmagiatorium, was tucked away in the rafters of the biological sciences building. I’d worked there for about five years, since I had gotten so bored with coven life that I just had to something. Well, getting my own apartment had helped too. But having a job was fun. And a lot of our work was fascinating. Some was more routine, like, what would these three herbs do without the customary incantation? What if we said the incantation backwards, or in Scottish, or had three cats in the room instead of one? But my particular project, working on improving the strength and power in future generations of witchkind, was really engaging, and if it worked, it would be fantastic.
I hurried up the four flights of stairs to CORP. I hated being late; it was always embarrassing to try to sneak in, only to find some massive staff meeting going on, or special visitors from the Old Country. After pausing a moment to catch my breath, and peering up and down the long hallway to make sure no humans were watching, I spelled the door: “Open essūlå.” It slowly swung open. Whew, the outer office was empty: no meeting.
I dropped my purse at my desk, patted my hair and asked it to fix itself, and headed into the lab.
My assistant Dreanor stood at our bench, swirling a flask. Spell-bottles and potion phials were spread out to either side of her, and the air around her was tinged greenish. She turned as she saw me, started to smile, and then the flask blew up in her face.
“Dreanor!” Three steps took me across the cluttered room. She fell backwards into my arms, still holding the jagged neck of the flask. Her head dropped back, and her eyes rolled to white. Blood started to flow from a gash in her cheek.
The other researchers were by my side in an instant. “Lay her down,” Iris ordered, shoving aside empty cardboard boxes, bubble wrap, and a case of preserved lizard skins, clearing room on the floor. “Right here, put her here.” I did, cradling Dreanor’s head with my hand as I eased her to the floor.
“Blessed Mother!” I yanked my hand away. “Hot!”
“Hist—flame, hist!” Iris shot the spell at Dreanor, and the sparking flames sputtered out, leaving only the ugly smell of burnt hair. I felt sick to my stomach as Dreanor’s witch-hair continued its fight against the smoldering fire, curling up at the edges, twisting itself into knots. Good thing she was out cold.
I took a deep breath and leaned over her face, picking out a piece of glass wedged into the bleeding cut, then tried to see just how hurt she was. “Give her some air,” Iris said, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“Sorry.” I sat back on my heels, holding Dreanor’s limp hand. “What happened? Did you see?”
“Nothing until it blew up.” She looked around at the other researchers, but everyone just looked back at me, as startled and confused as I was. It was a small room, but it wasn’t like we paid much attention to each other. In fact, the only way to get anything done was to concentrate on your own precious two feet of bench space and pretend you were alone.
“We’ve got to get her some help.” I could feel her life energy in her hand as I held it. It seemed strong enough, but I didn’t like it that she was still unconscious. She should have sprung back awake within a minute or two. I reached down to pick her up, but again, Iris stopped me.
“Wait, I’ll get Gregorio.” She dashed out of the lab and across the small common office to our boss’s door. It opened before she got there, and in a moment the ancient warlock strode into the room and loomed over me.
“Stand aside, Calendula.”
I scrambled to my feet.
Gregorio Andromedus bent down over my assistant, his elegant robes swirling behind him. He got right into her face, but Iris didn’t dare tell him to let her breathe. Then he straightened up and lifted Dreanor into his arms. “This is serious. I’ll take her to the hospital.”
“I’m coming too,” I said.
“Calendula,” he started, scowling.
“No, sir, please. She’ll want me there, when she wakes up in a strange place.”
He looked at me another long moment, his thoughts unreadable as ever. Then he turned to go. I followed him.
The ley lines were now clear, and we flowed down Berkeley’s major east-west one to the bay. There, Gregorio switched to the over-water route, which always made me uncomfortable. No matter. We were off it again in a few seconds as we regained land. Gregorio chose a minor line leading South of Market. For a crazy moment I thought he was taking Dreanor to the Elders headquarters—but of course, that was impossible. Witches don’t go to the Elders, any more than warlocks come to coven houses. But our hospital was down here too. No San Francisco real estate could ever be called cheap, but large, unobtrusive buildings were more affordable in this funky neighborhood. And once they were filled with magical types, unobtrusiveness was key.
Gregorio rushed up the small line, still holding Dreanor. I stifled the urge to grab onto his robes. There was no way I’d lose his trail, and I knew where he was going anyway. I’d been here plenty of times over the last few months myself.
He exited the ley line on a quiet street, half a block from the hospital door, after glancing around to be sure we weren’t seen. I popped out behind him, and together we walked to the hospital. Of course we could have just materialized inside the building, but that’s frowned upon.
The hospital was disguised as an abandoned warehouse, like so many witchkind buildings, especially in this part of town. It was a hulking dark brown building, with what looked like broken windows on the higher floors. The walls were covered with spray-painted graffiti tags. These were not made by any human hand, they were in fact powerful protection and healing spells. I felt pretty much welcomed by the building as we entered, yet at the same time, I felt those spells brush over me inquiringly. As with the bay-water, it was hard to get used to, but necessary.
The pixie receptionist nodded at me as we approached, then turned her attention to Gregorio and his burden. “What do you have here, sir?”
“She’s been injured in a laboratory explosion, we need to see a chirurgeon at once.”
The pixie nodded and vanished. A moment later, a white-robed warlock appeared, flanked by two witches dressed as old-fashioned nurses. Gregorio relaxed at the sight of the warlock, while I rolled my eyes behind his back. I knew the witches were by far the more potent healers, but if it made Gregorio happy to pretend…well, he was the boss.
He handed Dreanor’s limp body to the warlock. “She was injured in our laboratory.”
The warlock took Dreanor, then handed her to one of the witches, who vanished with her. The second witch followed a moment later. The warlock stayed behind. “What happened?”
Gregorio looked at me to answer. “I didn’t see what led up to it,” I said, frustrated. “I think she must have been mixing tonight’s experiments. All I saw when I walked in was the flask blowing up in her face.”
The warlock-chirurgeon frowned. “Tell me about these experiments.”
“May we?” Gregorio indicated the small seating area near the front of the building.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Dr. Andromedus, please be seated.” A few beads of sweat broke out on the young warlock’s brow as he led us to the chairs.
I told him everything I knew, which wasn’t much. Our experiments were biological, and quite inert. We hadn’t had any successes in months, since we’d had to switch pneumatives. Evil nasty stuff, our old pneumative. It had been real powerful, so it was unfortunate, to say the least, to learn that it was made with the essence of dead witches. And not just dead—murdered witches. Anyway, Gregorio had found us a new supply, but this stuff was pretty weak.
In any event, nothing Dreanor was working with should have blown up. It was not even remotely explosive. We could barely get it to do what it was supposed to do.
The young warlock pulled at his chin, as if he had a beard there. So he’d met Gregorio before, if he was unconsciously adopting his mannerisms. I stifled a smile; there was nothing funny here. “All right, then, I’d better join the nurses,” he said, getting to his feet. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Can we see her?” I asked, reaching for his arm before he could flee.
He recoiled at the contact, the little creep. “We’ll be in touch,” he repeated. “You cannot see her now, we have to treat her first.”
“Fine,” I said, and sat back down. “I’ll wait.”
He started to protest, then shook his head and scurried off down the hall.
“Are you sure, Calendula?” Gregorio asked. “They could be a long time. Why don’t you come back to the lab?”
I shivered. “I will, but later. I can’t do anything until I know if she’s going to be all right.”
“I’m sure she will. I know Dr. Fallon personally, he’s very competent.” Now he did see my eye-rolling, and smiled. “I understand,” he went on. “But she’s in good hands nonetheless.”
“Yeah, Nora and Hesta’s,” I muttered. “Really, I’ll stay, if that’s cool with you.”
He looked down at me, and his eyes went all kindly and twinkling for a moment. “All right, that’s fine. Let me know as soon as you hear anything.”
“Of course. I’ll be there when I can.”
After he left, I settled in for what was sure to be a long wait, wishing I had a novel or something. Should I dash home and get one? But then Hesta came and found me after only a few minutes. She’d lost the foolish nurse uniform and was back in her customary scrubs.
I leapt to my feet. “Well?”
Hesta smiled. “She’ll be fine. She’s resting now, still unconscious.”
“Can I see her?”
She started to shake her head, then reconsidered. “If you like, but she won’t know you’re there.”
“I just want to see her.”
“All right.”
As we walked together down a long, dimly lit hallway, Hesta nodded at me, her eyes glancing downward. “And how are you doing?”
My hand went to my belly, caressing the growing bump. “I’m great—she’s great, too. The coven is going to name her, after tomorrow night’s Circle, actually.”
“Ah, so you’re close, you think.”
“I think so, yes. Two months, maybe? Of course it’s up to her. Well, you know.”
“I do.” We shared a smile. Witchlets made their own schedules, coming into the world anywhere from four and a half to over twelve months after conception, as it suited them. “You’re coming in for your appointment next week?”
“I wouldn’t miss it!”
We turned a corner and Hesta opened an unmarked door.
I stood in the doorway a moment, trying to still my anxious heart. Dreanor lay on a cozy-looking bed, her face as white as the sheets. A bandage covered her forehead and her right ear, and another one was taped to her cheek. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, probably to keep it from interfering. She had been dressed in a hospital smock, also white. A smooth black stone lay on her chest, and I could barely see it moving with her breath.
I walked over to her and touched her hand. It was cool, almost clammy. I looked back at Hesta, and then noticed the other witch, Nora, in the corner.
Nora nodded at me. “She’s fine. We’ve increased the sedation so she can rest, and let the lodestone do its work.” She looked at my belly as Hesta had done. “And you should rest too, Callie.”
“I will, don’t worry about me.” I looked again down at Dreanor. “Do you know what got her? Was there a bad spell or charm in the flask? Or in the pneumative, maybe? I hate that new stuff.”
Hesta came and stood beside me, putting her hand on the bandage on Dreanor’s forehead. “It’s too early to tell, but that’s one possibility.”
“And what else? What other possibilities are there?”
I could feel her sending me waves of relaxation as she gazed at me, and I tried not to resist. She was my primary care witchdoctor, and I trusted her, but I hated to be soothed like an irrational child. Even when I was behaving like one. Which of course I wasn’t, at this point. I just cared about my assistant and wanted to understand what had happened to her. I didn’t want it to happen again, to anyone. I wanted her to wake up.
“Callie,” Hesta said softly. “Go on home. We’ll call you.”
“We promise,” Nora added.