Magic Kingdom by Ella Summers

Author:Ella Summers [Summers, Ella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-04-22T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Witches’ Cauldron

FROM A DISTANCE, the Witches’ Cauldron looked like any other quaint stone building with flowering vines climbing up the walls and framing the roof in a sea of delicate pink and white blossoms.

And then Alex saw the smoke. She noticed that odious mix of semi-transparent soot and magic rising from the house as soon as Logan parked the car on the street. The house had been split open like an onion, its walls melted from the front door all the way to its core.

Alex drank in the magic, swirling it around her senses to get a taste for it. A hint of that same magic from the cemetery lingered in the air. She passed under a tangled arch of snapped vines saturated with pale powder, then entered the house. With every step, the magic grew stronger. Decay. Rot. Something burning. She smelled black, oily darkness dripped over a scoop of charred concrete. Her nose felt like it had been scorched clean.

She moved deeper into the split onion, squeezing through the melted openings in the walls. Miraculously, the roof was still on, but for how much longer? The building sure didn’t look stable. It didn’t sound stable either. Every few seconds, it groaned in protest.

Alex looked up at the walls. You and me both.

She was walking into an impending avalanche, but still she kept going. The burning swamp stench was getting stronger.

“I hear fighting,” Logan said, closing in beside her.

Alex nodded and moved faster. They entered what must have been some kind of receiving room, an open hall where the clientele met their bedroom companions. It was an odd combination of lovely pastels, shiny metallic tones, and split walls. A pretty, delicate wallpaper of cherry blossoms, golden unicorns, and dragons was peeling up from the walls. It had dissolved in a few patches, the beautiful shapes warping into bleeding trees and grotesque monsters.

The broken shards and ashes of wooden furniture were strewn across the floor like a field of toothpicks. A pile of tiny red confetti, each piece as smooth as glossy satin, sat in the middle of the room. It must have once been a very lovely sofa—back in the days before it had been blown to smithereens.

The air was stale and heavy. Alex’s lungs burned like dry ash. But there was something else, something beyond the stench of burning stone. The subtle, sweet perfume of Fairy Lily frolicked like butterfly potpourri on the breeze. It could have been the incense the brothel was burning. Fairy Lily lowered inhibitions and made people lose control, much like alcohol. Except the magical plant also spiked people’s magic through the roof. They became drunk on magic, as crazy as a kitty high on catnip.

The green fire had scorched the magic from the air—all except the Fairy Lily. It had all but burned that away too. But Fairy Lily was a stubborn plant. It was not as easily vanquished as other magic. It still clung to the air, its zesty sweetness crusted over with black ash.

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