Page 33 of The Redd Key (Bone Coven #1)
B itterly cold wind whipped my face as Bridget, Sarah, and I clambered through the brush and stumbled into Bailey’s Cove. We didn’t waste any time in forming our plan, as bare bones as it was. The threat of being attacked again wasn’t going to wait, so why should we?
The giant stone pillars vibrated with an energy that swirled unseen in the clearing. The grey clouds hung low in the sky, replicating the same movement. Aecor surged among the three of us, filling the cove with a static charge. Bridget laid out a blanket and spilled the contents of her bag onto it. From my pocket , I pulled out a printed map of the island and the parts of the ocean surrounding it. Sarah sat on the blanket and set everything up properly, placing a chunk of raw crystals at each corner of the unraveled map—an amethyst, clear quartz, labradorite, and selenite. Bridget positioned the pillar candle on the map exactly where we sat. A small flame danced wildly upon the wick and eventually stilled as I willed Fire to appear.
“I will never get used to that,” Sarah breathed.
“Next time, let one of us try calling upon Fire,” Bridget said as she adjusted her position. She rubbed her hands together and gestured for us to do the same. Tingling with power from the friction, I lifted my hands to meet theirs, palms facing the map, as if we were warming them with the tiny candle flame. Energy between our palms pulsated—like ripples in the air and space between us—mirroring and multiplying back and forth.
Sarah and I looked to Bridget to lead the Location Spell she contrived. Slowly, she closed her eyes and her breathing became rhythmic. We did the same. Moments ticked by and the frequencies of our trifecta danced to find uniformity until the quivering Aecor, our breathing, and our thoughts synchronized. The glow of the candle grew in my mind’s eye, hearing only the cadence of our breathing, perfectly in rhythm with the sloshing of the receding tide. A gull squawked as it flew overhead. My heart thrummed in my chest, a slow, steady, but determined pace.
“ Wick alight, a dance in flames,
as the moon waxes and wanes.
East the chant lost on the breeze. After the sixth repetition, our eyes snapped open and concentrated on the candle. The teardrop flame danced in the breeze, fighting from being extinguished. It shuddered wildly in every direction, but seemed to be pulled Southeast more and more until the tip of the flame froze in that placement, leaning parallel to the map beneath it.
“That’s the middle of the ocean,” Sarah pointed out. We looked out over the grey tide. The tiny peaks of the lapping waves glowed like rubies under the setting sun. “How the hell are we supposed to search the middle of the freaking ocean?”
It was a valid question, especially on the southeast side of the island. The bluffs were so high and deadly, and it would be impossible to reach the water in that direction. From the horizon, a wintery gust blew through the cove, carrying the scent of the changing tides and threatening to snuff out the candle. The salt air clung to us as we calmed our minds to continue our spellwork.
Hung on a silver chain was a cut quartz stone, a crystal so clear that I could make out the typeface of the map beneath it without any obscurity. Bridget lifted the chain until the full weight of the stone was merely supported by tension and gravity. Seconds ticked by as we waited for the pendulum to stop swaying. Bridget controlled her breath as she remained focused only on the tool in hand. While clasping the metal thread, she eased her hand around the map. The quartz hovered just an inch or two above the surface. The pendulum gently swung as she carefully moved, searching. This map in particular showed the southern coastline of the island, and approximately two miles of the adjacent sea.
The crystal pendulum swayed and started to favor the easternmost part of the island. As Bridget moved in that direction, the swinging then directed itself to the southern edge of the map. About 3 inches from both the south edge and east edge of the document, the pendulum’s movement switched to circling in a beautiful transitional dance. Bridget shifted her hand just the slightest until the pendulum’s orbiting circumference shrunk to just a quarter mile radius, according to the map’s key. She held still, and the pendulum swung in quick, tight circles. The chain nearly ripped itself from Bridget’s hand as it pulled taut. The sharp tip of the quartz now stood on end, precisely balanced on its edge pinpointing a spot on the map.
“That is the middle of the ocean.” Sarah groaned.
“Not during low tide,” Bridget offered. “That’s only a hundred yards or so off the cliffs. During low tide, we’d have about an hour to wade through a couple feet of water.” Dead low wouldn’t be until just after midnight.
An observation area of the coastal road was where our search would begin. The edge of the bluffs had a small fence made from wood panels locked together. Beyond the fence was the edge of the cliffs, and the drop was a vertical wall of stone. Aecor almost beckoned for us to come search the sea, and our footing held strong as we scaled to stone face down into an exposed alcove of rock. Due to the ebbed tide, a small cove was exposed, only visible during this particular part of the ocean’s cycle.
The moon hadn’t yet reached its peak in the inky black sky, void of all clouds with stars and planets flickering, and their reflections glittered on the placated water. Like the softness of a blanket, the calmness of the night laid over the island, tucking in the underlying chaos. The crisp air was refreshing rather than biting despite the approaching winter solstice.
Out on the horizon, sets of waves could be seen reaching their apex over a hidden sandbar. Puddles of tide pools speckled the coastline before us. Rocks and pebbles were mixed with the sand, making my feet slip with each step. “We have to be quick,” I yelled over the wind. Pulling out a thermos, we drank the warming potion, prepared this time as a tea. The three of us agreed that any sort of alcohol wouldn’t be the smartest decision for a situation like this. Once we took some sips, the effects of the potion were immediate, and heat swelled in my body.
Each of us held out a pouch of the Sight dust that Bridget combined. “Keep your palm flat,” directed Bridget. Her face was hard, serious as ever, but her green eyes were alight like emerald sparks. She softly blew the fine powder from her hand, and against the laws of physics, it billowed stubbornly against the wind. The dust did the same for Sarah and me, completely disregarding the fact that it should have blown back into our faces. Glittering like the stars in the night sky, the dust fizzled out when it didn’t reveal any traces of magic.
We quickly fanned out. Bridget headed straight for the horizon, while Sarah walked down the coastline to the west back towards the distant houses, and I eased around the bend to the eastern most corner of the island. The rocks at the base of the bluffs were jagged and threatening, their stone faces were stormy grey, but as I continued to walk, the rocks turned black, as dark as the void. I could see my reflection in the smooth faces of the black stones. Obsidian. I remembered what Nathan said, There are dormant volcanoes near this part of Maine. Those volcanos must have produced an unbelievable amount of heat to form all of that volcanic glass.
“Hey, Bridget,” I called out to her, but my voice died in the wind as I turned toward her. I was surprised. She and Sarah weren’t within sight, and I felt utterly alone standing in the wet muck of the receded tide.
Scanning the gravel in my vicinity, I searched a few hundred yards out. There was nothing but tidal desolation. I had a sudden, reverent feeling that I was standing amidst a graveyard. My breath turned ragged and the frigid night chilled my spine. With a shaky breath I blew the Sight Dust over the stretch of earth between me and the restless sea. The essence of the dust continued to shimmer. And even with the warming potion, I felt the ice in my bones.
Along the trail of sparkling, magical dust, inches of the remnant water carried away stones and sand, unveiling a path guarded by obsidian, which led toward the eastern horizon. I quickly followed as fast as the next step was uncovered. Panting and flushed, I broke out into a jog. Minutes ticked by and the sound of the incoming tide in my ears warned me that my time was limited. I quickly shot a look over my shoulder and my stomach plummeted. I could barely see the bluffs. Standing at the edge of the sand bar, I was entirely vulnerable for when the sea decided its inevitable return at the changing of the tide. An overly zealous wave crashed just beyond the sandbar, and I lost my balance, tumbling between two shards of the smooth black stone. A length of driftwood saved me from being completely submerged.
The wood splintered beneath my hand, bleached white from years of exposure to the sun and salt. Not years, centuries. I found it – the wreck. Half buried beneath the dark, wet sand and rocky, tumbled earth, was a wooden dinghy. An oar cracked and stuck out of the hull mimicking a broken bone, angled in the most unnatural position. Scurrying to my feet, I scrambled over the side and pushed my power out to urge the ancient vessel to reveal its secret to me. No response.
A small wave sloshed up behind me, then another. Panic rose in my throat, as I was well aware that danger was imminent. “ Please,” I begged, my voice trailing into the night, pleading for assistance. “Please, help me.” It was a breathless whisper and sweat dripped down my neck while I clawed at the grime and seaweed covering most of the boat’s surface. This may have held half a dozen men when it was last launched, but right now it held nothing but 300 years of sediment and nautical vegetation, obscuring me from my goal. Sea spray made my eyes sting as waves came closer. My teeth started to chatter.
Raina, I heard my name in the wind. Squinting my eyes, I still couldn’t see Sarah or Bridget. Raina, there it went again. Water rose to my ankles, ice cold, making my legs go numb. I groaned and dug faster into the frame of the boat. “Yes” I nearly screamed. There, etched onto the rigger, was the same geometric symbol found on the cellar steps. Digging away at the sand behind the rigger, I felt the floor of the wrecked boat, blindly searching for anything that felt like the ruby from the dream.
Water leaked back into this part of the sandbar as the tide slowly started to come in. I hurried, clawing until my fingers cramped and then stopped. The ruby wasn’t glowing, but it was there nonetheless, and with shaking hands, I pulled the rusted key from my pocket. Without any urgency, despite the sea creeping forward, I inserted the key and turned until I heard a click. The ruby fell away with the wooden plank, revealing it as a panel to a compartment. I stuffed the ruby and key back into my pocket and reached out into the compartment.
Suddenly, I lurched forward, going over the side of the boat and off the edge of the sand bar. My scream was met with rushing salt water as I thrashed under the encroaching waves. My cheek scraped against the stony seabed, stinging from the salt. The tide was rising rapidly now, over my head and where the boat laid. I tried to push myself up to the surface, but a force on the back of my head kept me pinned, holding me under. My lungs seared from the lack of oxygen. I reached behind my head, and someone was grabbing me by my hair, anchoring me in place. I clawed at anything that could help me break free. I blindly grasped a heavy jagged rock that was wedged between the dinghy’s boards, my fingertips tearing from the splintered wood. I tried to hit the person with all my strength. But I couldn’t move, I couldn’t reach, my muscles screamed, and everything felt as if on fire.
Rage swelled inside of me, and I unleashed a scream into the underwater current. A beacon of red burst in front of me before my vision went black.