Boundary Crossed Read online

  “What’s a black witch?” I asked quickly, before he could make an excuse and leave. I wanted all the allies I could muster. Which means, I realized, that I already consider Simon an ally. Huh.

  Lily put her flashlight back in the little medical kit, then crossed her arms under her breasts as if she were chilled. “The polite term is boundary witch,” she informed me. “The majority of people with active witchblood are trades witches, meaning they can manipulate magic to do a little bit of everything. Some trades witches, like most of Clan Pellar, also have a religious aspect to their magic. They’re usually referred to as hedge witches. You’ve heard of Wicca?”

  “Sure.”

  Lily raised one hand in a “there you go” gesture. For a second I thought I saw her tattoos writhing on her forearm, and I wondered if I didn’t have a concussion after all. “My mother is our leader. We celebrate Wiccan holidays, we have certain traditions and rituals, and we believe,” she said, cutting her eyes briefly toward her mother’s vacant seat at the counter, “that every creature has a right to free will, and that anything we put out into the world will eventually return to us threefold.”

  “Which is why we use very little aggressive magic,” Simon put in. He came over and sat in the lavender armchair adjacent to the couch, so I had a Pellar on either side of me. Now that the two of them were close to each other, I could see the resemblances—the angles of their cheekbones, the shapes of their noses, even their eyebrows. It was just their skin color that varied. “I’ve never seen Mom freak out on someone like that.”

  Lily shook her head. “Me either . . . but we’re getting off track. The point is that we can manipulate magic in a variety of ways, as long as we stick to our code and our traditions. But there are also witches who are born with . . . specialties. Passed down through their bloodline.”

  “What kind of specialties?” I asked warily.

  Simon jumped in. “It can be anything: a knack for finding the lost, a certain gift with one of the four elements, maybe the ability to nudge the weather in a certain direction.”

  “Like a talent,” I said tiredly. I just wanted to go home and climb into bed, where I could hopefully forget the last week had ever happened. Instead, I was playing student. “Being good at languages or music or something.”

  “Kind of,” Lily agreed. “But there’s one very rare specialty that’s considered a curse rather than a gift.” Stretching out one black high-heeled boot, she traced a line in the nap of the carpet with her toe and tapped a foot on one side of the line. “There’s the land of the living,” she began, and then tapped her foot on the other side. “And the land of the dead.”

  “Boundary witches access magic that crosses the line,” Simon finished.

  There was a collision in my thoughts. “Oh,” I said softly. I met Simon’s eyes. “It’s true, then . . . I can’t die?”

  “You died?” Lily said incredulously. “When was this?”

  “I was stabbed by a vampire a few nights ago,” I told her. “My heart stopped. Um . . . a few times.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Your soul tried to cross the line, and your magic wouldn’t let it pass. Was that the only time?”

  “No. Three years ago, in Iraq. And,” I said, remembering suddenly, “when I was thirteen. I drowned while I was whitewater rafting. But that happens to lots of people. My friend gave me CPR, I thought . . . everyone thought that’s what brought me back . . .” I realized I was babbling and snapped my mouth shut. John. John had given me CPR. I hadn’t thought about that moment in ages.

  Lily and Simon exchanged a meaningful look. “What?” I said, looking between them.

  “That solves one mystery, anyway,” Lily offered.

  I looked at Simon. “It was the magic,” he explained. “Your friend didn’t bring you back. When you died that first time, it woke your magic.”

  I felt my eyes go big as his meaning sunk in. At the hospital Simon had said you had to use magic within a window of time, around puberty, in order for it to become active. A sour taste filled my mouth as I remembered all that river water.

  As if he could read my mind, Simon got up and poured me a mug of something warm and greenish. Tea. Gratefully, I picked it up and took a sip. It was flavored with berries, or maybe pomegranate, and only a little bit warmer than room temperature. I drank anyway, ignoring the bitterness, trying to gather my thoughts.

  “Your mom said I have death in my blood,” I said finally. “Like I was the goddamned Grim Reaper or something.”

  The siblings exchanged another look, a shorthand communication, and I felt a sudden pang of grief for Sam. I would never have that again. “We really are sorry about that,” Simon told me. “Mom just panicked a little. There aren’t many boundary witch bloodlines anymore, and most of the remaining ones have let their blood go dormant on purpose.”

  “That’s seen as . . . you know, the responsible thing to do,” Lily said apologetically. “The powers are too dangerous, too visible.”

  Seeing my confusion, Simon added, “She means they’re hard to hide.”

  “What powers?” I asked, getting frustrated again. “I mean, I get that not being able to die is a big deal, but how am I dangerous to anyone else?”

  Lily glanced at her brother. “This is more your area of expertise, Si.” To me, she added, “Our mom doesn’t know, but he’s been studying the evolution of magic. As a”—she lifted her fingers to make air quotes—“side project.”

  Simon made a face at his sister. “You make it sound like I took up scrapbooking or something.” He shrugged and lowered his voice. “Look, the truth is . . . I don’t know much about boundary witches. I’ve never met an active one. But my broad understanding is that you specialize in anything that deals with the line between life and death.”

  Seeing that that had cleared up absolutely nothing for me, Lily mused, “Well, you’ll probably be able to sense magic. Most of us can, of course, because it’s the force of creation, of life. But it’s also a force of death, I guess.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “And if you really are as powerful as Mom suspects, you might be able to communicate with remnants,” Simon said thoughtfully. “Spirits that, for whatever reason, don’t cross the line when they die.”

  “That’s . . . you’re talking about ghosts,” I said stupidly. “Like . . . ghosts.”

  He nodded, apparently oblivious to how absurd he sounded. “You’ll also age much more slowly than foundings or other witches,” he continued, “because your cells will be reluctant to die. That’s probably the real reason why your face looks so young.”

  “So there’s a plus,” Lily said, giving me a small smile.

  “Oh, also, boundary witches have a special affinity for vampires,” Simon added. Beside me, Lily made an “oh, yeah” face.

  “What does that mean, affinity?” I said, feeling lost.

  “Remember the rule that magic doesn’t work against itself? Well, vampire bodies are dead, reanimated by magic. They were supposed to cross the line, but they didn’t.”

  My eyes immediately darted to Lily, who seemed accustomed to translating for her brother. “You can press ’em, Lex,” Lily said cheerfully. “Turnabout is fair play, and all that.”

  “Oh.” At least that explained what I’d done to Darcy the night before. “And that’s why she wanted me,” I said to myself. To the Pellars, I added, “Maven, I mean. That must be why she wanted Itachi to hire me.” And maybe why I’d felt such a head rush in her presence.

  Simon and Lily exchanged another look, though I couldn’t interpret this one. “Okay,” I said slowly, my thoughts dragging through corn syrup. “A few days ago, I was a register monkey at an all-night convenience store. Today it turns out I can’t die, I age slowly, I might be able to talk to fucking ghosts, pardon my language, and I can press vampires.” I shook my head. It was just too surreal.
r />   Then an image flashed in my mind: Hazel Pellar standing between me and her kid, a look of determined hatred on her face. You don’t look at someone like that just because they can press vampires. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” I said, looking up so I could gauge their reactions. “Why does your mom hate boundary witches so much?”

  Lily looked away, fiddling with a couple of silver rings on her fingers. Simon said softly, “It’s a . . . historical thing, Lex. During the Middle Ages, boundary witches . . . did some things.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “So did the Christians,” I countered. “But nobody gets tossed at a car for going to Sunday school.”

  Lily gave a little snort, but she still avoided meeting my eyes. Simon heaved a sigh. “Don’t freak out,” he said reluctantly. “But, theoretically . . . you can raise the dead.”

  Chapter 19

  I freaked out. Well, actually I burst out laughing, but it had an edge of hysteria that I couldn’t control.

  “In theory, any really, really powerful witch could raise the dead,” Lily said over the sound of my laughter, as though that might help me understand. “But trades witches would need a full coven and a shit-ton of mandragora in order to do death magics. Even then, it’d be dangerous for us.”

  I stopped laughing. “Manda-whata?” I asked, feeling helplessly lost.

  “It’s an herb for death magics,” Simon explained. “Not important right now.”

  “Death magics,” I echoed, suddenly dazed. “Magic for death.”

  “Uh-oh,” Lily said, raising her eyebrows at her brother. “I think you broke her, Si.”

  He ignored her. “Look, Lex, the short version? Boundary witches have been hated and feared since the Inquisition. They did some stuff back then, and they ended up being seen by many people as an . . . accident of nature and magic, like an . . .” He winced, looking apologetic. “An abomination.”

  I looked between the two of them. Simon was clearly uncomfortable, and Lily was still having trouble making eye contact with me. But neither of them seemed afraid of me. “You two seem to be handling it okay.”

  “Well, Simon’s a scientist,” Lily answered, giving a little shrug. “And I have a particularly liberal outlook when it comes to marginalized minority groups.” She wrinkled her nose wryly, and I realized she was referring to her skin tone. “But most witches, especially the ones from our mother’s generation, see it differently.”

  “Mom doesn’t think you’re going to murder us right now or anything,” Simon offered. “She’s just afraid that if we teach you how to use your power, you’ll . . . well, use it. And grow more powerful.”

  “Like breast-feeding,” I said absently. I shook my head, trying to ground myself. In the army, I’d been to briefings where we had to process a lot of information very quickly. Either I was out of the habit, or the bump on my head was a lot worse than Lily had thought.

  “Okay, fine. I can get more of the history later. For now, though, what do we do? Maven wants me trained, and your mom wants me banished from the state.”

  Part of me was hoping they’d say they couldn’t train me, that I’d have to go home and find another way to keep Charlie safe. I didn’t want to be a witch, and certainly not one with death in her blood. I just wanted to go home, maybe go for a bike ride, and then watch something with Gregory Peck saving the world from corruption and tyranny.

  But both of the Pellars suddenly looked very sober. “We have to train her,” Lily said to her brother. “We can’t let Mom renege on the deal. It could start a war, Si.”

  Simon gave her a long, speculative look, then nodded. “I don’t remember her actually forbidding us from training her,” he said to the ceiling. “We’ll really just be carrying out her wishes, by keeping her deal with Itachi.” His gaze flicked back to Lily. “If I cancel my class,” he began, “can we divide and conquer?”

  She made a sour face. “I hope you don’t mean—”

  “I’ll start working with Lex; you start working on Mom.” Lily was obviously about to protest, so Simon added, “Come on, Lil, you’re the baby—and her favorite. You know she’ll listen to you.”

  “How come I’m only her favorite when my older siblings want something?” Lily complained, but I could tell by the look on her face that she was going to acquiesce. She let out a frustrated grunt. “Ugh, fine. Just go out to the barn or something so you’re not right in her face.”

  Lily went out the back door to run interference with their mother, who had progressed to the geraniums behind the house. Simon led me out the sliding glass door, across the wooden porch, and along the driveway toward the old barn I’d seen when I drove up. I felt his eyes on me most of the way. “You okay?” he asked when we were nearing the barn.

  I shook my head. “Not even close.”

  He shot me a sympathetic look and slid open the enormous wooden door, motioning for me to step past. Inside, I paused for a second so my eyes could adjust to the dimness. There was a fenced-off concrete walkway cutting straight through the barn, which was otherwise divided into a quartet of large stalls, each big enough to comfortably house six to eight cows. The barn was deserted now, but I could tell that at one point there had been actual cows here—the air still smelled faintly of stale manure, and there were pockets of griminess where years of caked-on dirt and cow feed had left permanent stains on the furnishings. Despite the barn’s obvious age, everything was well cared for, with swept concrete floors and signs that the fences were hosed off regularly.

  “There used to be a few dairy cows here, but when my mom took over the farm she switched to agriculture only,” Simon explained. He led me to the center of the building, where a decidedly rickety-looking wooden ladder led up to a plain square hole cut into the wooden ceiling. “This way,” he urged, and without waiting to see if I’d follow, Simon hopped onto the ladder and began climbing, disappearing through the hole. I didn’t like the idea of following him into a room I couldn’t see, but I swallowed my discomfort and began climbing after him.

  I had to squint as I rose into the hayloft, because sun poured into the space from several open-air windows, bathing it in warm light that sparkled from particles of hay dust in the air. The loft was filled with neat stacks of hay bales that formed a sort of loose amphitheater—the stacks were highest near the walls tapering down to the middle of the loft, which had a wide area with no hay at all. When I stood up, Simon flipped a trapdoor closed, concealing the ladder we’d climbed beneath a plain square of wood with a ring in it. Then he climbed onto one of the midsize stacks of hay, four bales high, on the opposite side of the room. “Pick a stack and climb on,” he said, gesturing to the room.

  “Is this like a psychological test?” I said suspiciously. “The size of the stack of hay I pick indicates the size of my affinity with magic or something?”

  Simon laughed, a surprised, carefree sound. “Not that I know of. They’re just more comfortable than the wooden floor.”

  Still a little skeptical, I chose a stack that was as tall as his, but against the opposite wall, so we were about ten feet apart, four feet off the floor. The hay sticking out of the top bale felt sharp and prickly, even through my jeans, but I could ignore it. “What are we doing up here?”

  Simon shrugged. “It’s a good place for early lessons. It’s quiet, nobody ever comes up here, and with the trapdoor closed it’s fairly hard to get hurt, as long as nobody accidentally starts a fire.” He nodded toward the wall behind me, and I turned my head to see two massive fire extinguishers bolted into the wooden support. “We’ve got that set up just in case.”

  “Nice,” I said, turning to face him again. “What do you want me to do?”

  He folded his legs. “Sit crisscross applesauce, as my sister says, and let your hands relax where you want them. Then close your eyes.” He left his hands resting against his legs and shut his own eyes, providing an example. “Before anythi
ng else, I’m going to teach you how to sense magic.”

  I mimicked his relaxed posture, letting my eyelids fall. I was still tired, so it wasn’t hard.

  We stayed that way for about ten heartbeats, and then I became aware of a conscious desire to fidget. I wanted to move my legs, my arms, to climb the bales of hay and stack them in a pile that I couldn’t reach the top of. I wanted to stick my head out the open window and look around the farm, maybe do some pull-ups on the wooden ladder. My limbs wanted to move.

  “Lex . . .” Simon began, and I popped open my eyes.

  “Yeah?” I followed his eyes downward, and saw that my leg was jiggling. “Oh, sorry.”

  “You don’t hold still much, do you?” he asked with a wry smile.

  “Of course I do,” I said defensively. “In the car, in the shower, when I watch movies. All the time.”

  “Uh-huh. Is that what you do for fun, watch movies?”

  I shrugged. “Once in a while. When the weather’s bad, or when I get sick.”

  “And the rest of the time?”

  I blew out a breath. “I like being outdoors. I run and bike. Box a little. Mmm . . . hiking, rock climbing. I’m on an intramural softball team in the summer.” Intramural softball: my big nod to socialization.

  “Hmm,” he said, as if I’d just revealed some great secret. “Let’s try again.”

  I closed my eyes again, this time making sure I wasn’t jiggling my knee.

  “Okay. Now I want you to focus on your breathing,” he said calmly. “Picture the air going into your lungs, traveling all the way down your limbs to your toes and back out again. Feel the breath as it passes through each part of you.”

  It was a lot harder than it sounds. Concentrating on my breath for a moment was easy, but keeping my focus on it and not letting in any other thoughts was nearly impossible. I kept trying, although it felt like trying to dam a stream with just my hands. Finally my breathing settled into a regular, slow pace as I visualized each breath.