Page 32 of Extraordinary Quests for Amateur Witches

In a stroke of luck—or perhaps his child-self’s mercy—Kieran had wound up barely thirty feet from the meadow where he’d first entered the forest. It took him only a few minutes of walking to spot the outline of the aeroship through the trees.

Feeling as if he’d been wrung out like a wet towel, he trudged back, holding the Stave with a delicacy one might reserve for a baby bird instead of a weapon.

Seaweed sat on his shoulders, whiskers twitching as she seemed to sense something in the air.

Kieran came to a dead halt when he saw what was waiting for him in the meadow.

Three small airships, barely larger than cars, sat parked in the grass around his own.

The gangway to his aeroship had been lowered, and two men dressed in black stood on it, chatting.

Kieran spotted two more on the upper deck, while a few more were standing around the other aeroships.

A bit of smoke rose from the top deck. Kieran heard voices coming from the open door to the ship as well—none of which he recognized.

“Try picking the lock on that door up top again,” one of the men on the gangway called. “If you can’t, we’ll have to take an axe to it.”

“And the hostages?” called another voice.

“We’ve got four subdued,” the one who Kieran guessed was in charge said. “They’re tied up on the lower deck. Still no sign of Sebastian, though.”

“Elias has a real chip on his shoulder about that kid,” another mercenary said. “He’s gonna be thrilled to get him back. Finish what he started.”

Kieran’s pulse quickened. He ducked into the trees, doing his best to hide himself and Seaweed as the two mercenaries on the gangway headed for one of the small aeroships.

It sounds like Briar, Delilah, Santiago, and Ariel are tied up on the observation deck, Kieran thought, peering around the tree again. His fingers tightened around the Stave. And if they can’t get into the crew cabins, that means Sebastian’s probably still locked in his room.

Kieran counted the men again. There were six total out here in the meadow, and at least two more on the upper deck.

There was no way that Kieran and Seaweed could take eight men in a fight, even with the magic he’d been practicing the last few days.

But if he could free the others and try taking the men out one by one, they might have a chance.

That does require me to sneak inside, though, Kieran realized.

He glanced down at himself. He was wearing a loose white tunic tucked into shimmery high-waisted sapphire-blue pants—not the subtlest of outfits.

He surveyed the mercenaries again. All of them wore the same black long-sleeved shirts and pants, along with black cowls drawn over their heads to hide their faces.

An idea dawned on him.

Kieran surveyed the glade. All the mercenaries appeared to be men, or at least taller people with their chests bound.

Most were bulkier than Kieran, but as he peered closer, there was one leaning against a small aeroship whose build seemed similar to his.

He was a bit separate from the group too, inspecting what appeared to be a bit of damage to the side of the ship.

A smile crept up Kieran’s face. Perfect.

As silently as he could, Kieran crept through the trees, skirting the edge of the meadow.

He overheard a few more shouts from the top deck, telling the others that lock picking wasn’t going well and to bring the axe.

At that, a few more of the men went inside, but the slimmer one remained where he was.

Kieran came to a crouching halt about ten feet from him. He had his cowl down, his back facing Kieran as he tinkered with the ship. Seaweed curled her little toes tighter around Kieran’s shoulder. In a strange way, that helped him focus.

Kieran reached into his pocket, withdrew his journal, and began to write:

Darkness without so much as a shape to take turned to inky blackness across the senses. A void that consumes all within, sight and sound, paralyzing each limb in tandem.

Kieran was nearly done with his spell when a different mercenary called, “Quinn, you coming? They want you to try the lock up top before they break the door. They’re worried those witches might have trapped it so if we break it down, it could trigger a spell.”

“Just a minute,” Kieran’s target—Quinn—called back. Kieran made a note of how his voice sounded. It was bit higher-pitched than Kieran’s, with a nasal quality. “We won’t have a getaway ship if I don’t fix this.”

“Well, better get it done quick, because the boss is pissed.”

Quinn scoffed. “I’ll see you up there in five.”

Much to Kieran’s relief, the other mercenary raised his hand and whistled for the others to follow him. The men around the ships all stood at attention, then jogged to follow him inside.

Leaving Quinn alone.

Kieran waited ten seconds, then thirty, then a minute for the other mercenaries to disappear. The tip of his pen still glowed with silvery light as he tucked it back into his pocket. Quickly, he tore the page from his journal, then folded it into a tiny plane.

He flicked it at Quinn, who looked down as the paper landed at his feet.

“The hell?” he muttered. He glanced around and, not seeing Kieran, called out, “You’re needed on the ship! Quit messing around with—whatever this is.” His eyes scanned the page. “ A void that consumes what—?”

Just then, a shadow passed over his face, and his eyes went entirely black. He sucked in a gasp as his body convulsed, eyes rolling back into his head. He hit the grass with muscles rigid.

Kieran patted Seaweed’s head. “Well done, us.”

The spirit squeaked excitedly in response.

Kieran rushed out and grabbed Quinn’s shoulders, Seaweed jumping off him to help.

Using their combined strength, Kieran and Seaweed hauled Quinn’s body into the woods.

Kieran’s arms strained at the weight, but he managed to pull him back five, ten, then fifteen feet so they were obscured by trees.

Kieran bent down and pulled the cowl from his face to reveal a pale-skinned man in his early twenties with a peach-fuzz mustache and goatee that made Kieran wince. And I thought my facial hair was bad.

Kieran quickly checked Quinn’s pulse—he was out cold but not dead. Thank goodness.

“My apologies,” Kieran said as he began unbuttoning the man’s shirt. “Necessary evil and all that.”

Not long after, Kieran had stripped off his clothes in exchange for Quinn’s. He pulled the cowl over his face, along with a strip of fabric that covered his nose and mouth. It smelled a bit of old cheese, but he elected not to dwell on that too much.

“Seaweed, keep an eye on things out here,” Kieran whispered. When the spirit squeaked with annoyance, he added, “You’re a bit…conspicuous, bud. They’ll know I’m not Quinn if I show up with a teal otter.”

Seaweed seemed to consider this, ears drooping.

“I’ll give you a sardine after.”

Seaweed straightened with a squeak, eyes bright.

“Thought so.” Kieran tried to fight the terror—or, more likely, bile—climbing up from his stomach into his throat. He tucked the Stave into his waistband. “I’ll be back.”

Doing his best to keep his head down, he crossed the meadow and headed to the gangway. There were two men just inside who barely glanced at him as he passed, holding his breath.

A few steps in, one of them said, “Boss is looking for you upstairs, Quinn.”

Kieran made a vague sound of acknowledgment. He paused for a second, waiting to see if either of them noticed.

They both turned back to each other and continued their conversation.

Okay, step one is done, Kieran thought. He glanced around the inside of the ship.

The gangway opened into the foyer, and through there was the dining area, the study, the control room, and the kitchen.

Along the far wall were the stairs to the lower deck, where the observation deck and Ariel and Santiago’s room was.

Three men were stationed atop that staircase, all armed with swords.

If these men think I’m Quinn, they’re not going to understand if I try to get down that way, Kieran thought. So Briar and the others will have to wait a bit. I just have to think of something to divert all the mercenaries away from the cabins. Then I can get Sebastian to help me.

Kieran headed up the stairs to the top deck.

All the while, he kept a count of the men inside the ship.

There had been five downstairs, and as he emerged onto the top deck, he found four more gathered around the door to the crew cabins.

As he approached, the one he’d seen giving orders earlier turned around and glared at him.

“Quinn—there you are. Took you long enough—we need this lock picked.”

Kieran froze. On the one hand, it was great that they hadn’t immediately realized he wasn’t Quinn. On the other hand, Kieran had absolutely no idea how to pick a lock, nor did he have the tools to do so.

But he did have his own key to the door.

Doing his best to make his voice as nasal as possible, Kieran reached into his pocket and held it up. “One of the hostages had this. Said it goes to this door.”

Immediately, the boss’s eyebrows shot up.

Even behind the fabric covering his nose and mouth, Kieran could see his suntanned skin turning red.

Kieran’s stomach flipped, and the blood drained from his face.

Shit, what did I say? Did I go too heavy on the nasally bit?

This is why I don’t do community theater.

“Who said they could take the gags out of the hostages’ mouths?

” he demanded. He turned to the others. “Sanchez, Remi—with me. If those witches can so much as utter a magic rhyme, we’re fucked.

Quinn, you, Bernoff, and James get that door open and start searching.

” His eyes narrowed. “And keep an eye out for Sebastian. Elias wants that traitor in chains.”