Granting Wishes - An Aladdin Retelling (Once Upon a Curse Book 5) Page 2

  I glance over my shoulder at Erick. “What is this place?”

  He steps past me without answering, then gestures forward with his hand. “Come.”

  The golden orbs floating overhead follow his movements, gliding deeper into the field. He stops by a small hut I hadn’t noticed, made of twining vines and bending sticks. Then he sits, sinking into the meadow and disappearing from my sight. The orbs drift higher and higher, until they combine into one blinding light that’s five times as bright. If not for the claws of rock reaching down from the ceiling, I’d think I was outside in the bright sunshine on a warm summer’s day.

  I shake my head.

  This is crazy. Insane. I must’ve hit my head a lot harder than I thought, because the only explanation is that I’m hallucinating.

  Yet, I can’t help it.

  I dash forward, too intrigued to stop now. I run until I spot Erick’s ebony hair, a dark spot amid a canvas of color. He’s sitting on a boulder at the edge of a small pond which is no more than a few feet in diameter. I follow the path of his eyes to the surface of the water and gasp. Instead of translucent liquid, I see pictures, as though I’m staring into a television screen. And it’s chaos. People run. Children cry. Men carry swords. Women point guns. Cars are flipped. Buildings have crumbled. He waves his hand through the air, and the surface of the pond ripples. The images disappear, so it’s just water again.

  I look up.

  Is there a projector somewhere? Is he doing this with his phone? Were those orb things drones? Does he work for the government? Is this some strange military testing facility? Oh my gosh—did I stumble upon the real Area 51?

  Erick turns toward me.

  I open my mouth, but before I get a word out, he asks a question that makes all the ones simmering at the back of my throat disappear.

  “Alanna, what do you know about magic?”

  “Magic?” I cough as I choke on my words. Is he high? He must be high. Are these poppy flowers? Did he smoke them? I’m not really sure how the whole drug thing works—trying to get an athletic scholarship to a D-1 school for gymnastics doesn’t really allow much time for partying—but it’s got to be drugs. Right? I lift my fingers to my nose and sniff, but they smell sweet, like the flower I’d touched, nothing more. My gaze drifts back to Erick. His eyes aren’t red or puffy. They’re not wild or unhinged or vacant. They’re crystal clear and sharp with lucidity. He undeniably believes the words coming out of his mouth. Maybe he’s just crazy.

  For some reason, that scares me more.

  Erick rises to his feet and takes a step forward. I stumble back as fear pricks my heart. Sympathy flashes across his irises, and he stops where he stands, lifting his palms.

  “You don’t need to fear me,” he says calmly. “Or magic. It’s not, at its heart, evil. It’s as natural as you or me. But in the wrong hands, it becomes a weapon. I promise you, my hands are clean.”

  He twists his fingers through the air as though yanking down on an invisible string, then holds his hand out to me. Resting in his open palm is a bright red apple.

  I jump back.

  We all know how well that apple business worked out for Snow White, and eternal sleep isn’t really my thing.

  Erick lifts the fruit to his lips and takes a bite. “It’s perfectly safe.”

  I shake my head.

  “I heard your stomach growl and I can sense your hunger. Eat.”

  He tosses the apple toward me, but I duck and let it sail over my head to disappear into the meadow at my back. Just to prove my point, I dip my hand into my pocket and pull out the second half of my protein bar, which is, in fact, soggy and falling apart, as I suspected it would be. I carefully unwrap the rest of the already-torn plastic and shove the bar into my mouth anyway. It doesn’t taste as good as the few bites I took earlier this morning, pre-earthquake, but, hey—it’s still food. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  His eyebrows shoot up as the corners of his lips twitch.

  Whatever.

  I’d rather be stubborn and amusing than dead. Crossing my arms over my chest, I narrow my eyes. “So, how’d you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “The apple thing.”

  He gestures with his hand, and this time a pear rests on his palm. “Magic.”

  I sigh. This again?

  Well, I’ll give him one thing—he’s got a story, and he’s sticking to it. But I want the truth, and the truth can’t be magic. It just can’t. Because if it were, that would mean… That would be… That would bring everything I’ve ever known into question.

  Fueled by panic and some good old-fashioned denial, I challenge back with, “Okay, you want me to believe in the impossible? Fine. Then do something else—something you can’t pull out of those mightily billowing sleeves of yours, magic man.”

  “Okay.” He shrugs, not at all bothered by my tone.

  For a moment, nothing happens, and then I feel it—a drop on my nose. Then another. I purse my lips. Is this all he’s got? It’s a coincidence, nothing more. It probably fell from a stalactite. But as I think it, a curtain of rain drops, as though the floodgates have opened. I can hardly see Erick through the downpour. Water courses in rivulets down my cheeks and over my lips. When I lick my skin, it tastes fresh.

  “What—”

  I stop short as the rain disappears, and suddenly, the room turns hot, like a sauna. Erick is grinning now, a smug sort of look that I have the urge to slap from his face. In minutes, my clothes are dry and the moisture in the cavern is gone. But he’s not done. Erick lifts his palm to his lips, which speak words I can’t hear, and then he blows over his fingers, as though in a kiss. Wind slams into my chest, pushing me back. My knees buckle as they hit something hard, something that wasn’t there a moment ago. I drop back, off balance, and land on a mossy cushion. My gaze snaps down. Vines catch me, woven to resemble a chair. Before my eyes, more ivy erupts from the ground, twisting and folding, until another seat is formed. Erick walks over and plops down beside me, finding my eyes.

  “How was that?”

  I swallow, trying to wet my suddenly parched throat, and force words out. “You, uh, have my attention.”

  “Good.” He leans back in his seat and lifts one of his feet to rest it on the opposite knee, completely at ease. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m Alice, falling into Wonderland, and any minute now I’m going to hear the words, Off with her head.

  To be honest, I feel like it’s already gone.

  My mind is completely blown.

  “What…” Words fail me. I try again. “How… I mean, it can’t really be—”

  “Magic? I assure you, it is,” Erick cuts smoothly in and holds out his hand, offering me a brand-new shiny apple, green this time.

  I take it. I mean, at this point, I’m positive he could find a more original way to kill me if he wanted to, and I’m starving. Still though, my heart is in my throat as I bite down. The apple tastes normal—sweet and tangy.

  “I come from a world shaped by magic,” Erick explains as I chew. “A long time ago, the magic was like the air, invisible and free and sewn into every fiber of our world. There were creatures who were made of it, shifters, pixies, unicorns, and many more. There were guardians who could harness it, as I just did, and we called them faeries. Then, there were humans, who were kept separate. We lived in a very careful balance. Until one day, everything changed.”

  He pauses to swallow as a tightness I don’t understand overcomes his features. The light in his eyes darkens and he glances to the ground. As though in tune with his mood, the golden glow permeating the cave dims.

  Shifters?

  Faeries?

  Unicorns?

  I must be dreaming. There’s no other explanation. I hit my head on the boulders at the foot of the cliff when I fell, and in that agony, my brain catapulted me into a dream. I’m dying, I must be, and this is all happening in my head.

  In all honesty, I never knew I was this creative.

  My English
teacher would be proud.

  “Humans learned the secret of magic,” Erick continues. His voice has a gravelly edge that wasn’t there before. “And they abused it, as they’re wont to do. They stole all the magic from the world and locked it inside themselves, not understanding how thoroughly they destroyed the stasis our world was built upon. We were thrown off course, off kilter, and I’ve been waiting a long time for a sign that the reign of men is over.” He swallows and lifts his eyes. “You are that sign.”

  “Me?” There’s an embarrassing squeak to my voice. I quickly smother it by clearing my throat. “I, uh, hate to break it to you, Erick, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. And if you want to go somewhere where humans aren’t in control, well, you’ve come to the wrong place. I’m pretty sure, if the news is anything to go by, we’re destroying this world too.”

  “I know,” he answers stoically. “I saw it in your mind. Your world was thrown off balance too, by your inventions and your sorcery, and now our worlds have collided. They must find a new equilibrium, together.”

  Okay, he’s officially off his rocker.

  I glance over my shoulder, back toward the little hole in the ceiling that now seems ridiculously far away. Any minute, someone will come rappelling down here to save me. I’ll go home. Erick, hopefully, will find the help he needs from a qualified psychiatrist. And then maybe he’ll have a successful career as a Vegas showman or something, because his tricks are seriously putting David Blaine to shame.

  “Right, makes sense,” I murmur, playing along. “Why don’t you and I try to find a way out of here, and then we can work on this whole balance-of-the-worlds thing together. Sound good?”

  “You don’t believe me,” he whispers sadly. Then he straightens his spine and stands with a sigh. “I understand. In another life, I would’ve been no different. Come to the water, and I’ll show you.”

  “Show me what?”

  “Anything you want to see.”

  He kneels on the flat rock by the edge of the pond and pats the open space beside him. Damn if I’m not curious. It’s as if I’m living my own fantasy novel, and it’s two a.m. and I know I should turn the light off and go to bed, but I keep telling myself just one more chapter. Just a little more, then I’ll focus on getting out of this mess.

  I take the spot by his side.

  He lifts one palm and presses it to my forehead, then holds the other one out so it hovers over the glassy surface. “Think of a person or a place, and the water will reflect your thought back to you.”

  I’m not sure why, but my mind goes to my brother, maybe because I wish he were here. For all the crap he gives me, Mace has always had my back. When he’s not trying to act cool for his friends, he’s protective to the core. With him around, I’ve always felt safe. And I could use some of that right now—the security my big bro provides.

  The water ripples.

  Colors flash.

  Then I see him painted across the surface, but I don’t understand. He’s not on the couch watching TV. He’s not playing basketball at the gym. He’s not out with his friends. He’s on the ground amid a pile of rubble. Blood drips from a cut down the center of his forehead, and his pale skin is covered in a layer of dust. But that’s not what makes me gasp. A gleaming dagger presses against his throat, one nervous swallow from cutting deep.

  I jump to my feet.

  “Mace!”

  “Sit,” Erick orders as he clasps my hand and tugs me back down to the rock. “He cannot hear you. We can only watch.”

  I grip the edge of the stone and lean forward, trying to see more. The cuts on my palm burn, but I don’t care. My family lives in a pretty safe part of San Diego—I’ve never even seen someone on the street with a knife, let alone one with a gilded hilt that flashes gold in the sunlight. And while I want to write this off as a dream, part of me knows it isn’t. How could Erick fake this? He’s never met my brother—he has no idea what Mace looks like. Sure, we have the same dark brown hair and deep-set hazel eyes, but there’s no way the picture rippling across the water could be a guess.

  That is my brother.

  And someone is threatening his life.

  “What’s going on? What’s happening to him?”

  “I told you, our worlds have merged. There were bound to be casualties.” My heart leaps at the sound of that word, but Erick continues, unflustered. “It’s natural instinct to fight for territorial control—humans, animals, even magic-kind all do it. Right now, our worlds are clashing and there’s no telling yet which side will win the fight for dominance.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re in charge of the water right now. I’m just acting as a magical conduit. Think of what you want to see and it will show you.”

  I stare at the image, searching my brother’s gold-flecked eyes for the understanding I lack. His lips are curled and he’s kneeling on the ground, staring up defiantly. That’s what I want to see—who he’s looking at.

  The image shifts.

  The picture pulls back, as though it’s a camera lens with a wide-angle zoom.

  I study my brother first. He’s wearing a T-shirt and mesh shorts, with his high-tops on. Though the ceiling has caved in, I see the basketball hoop behind him and the banner that’s come loose from the wall. It dangles like a flag on a perfectly still day, so the gold lettering within the blue folds is impossible to read, but I know what it says. Go Warriors. It’s our high school gym. I’ve spent enough time there to know.

  At my command, the image shifts, rotating slowly around. With each subtle turn, my eyes widen and my jaw drops a little farther to the ground until finally, the water settles. I lift my hands to cover my mouth as a gasp whooshes down my throat. Every nerve in my body goes still. It wasn’t an earthquake that sent me flying off that cliff—it was the collision of two worlds, just like Erick said. The thought is so impossible I’d never believe it if I weren’t staring at it with my own two eyes.

  San Diego is gone.

  My high school is gone.

  The wall of the gym has been cut down the middle, as though with a knife. On one side are the bleachers I’ve sat upon, stared at, and made out underneath. On the other, a place I’ve never seen before, like something from the pages of a book. The wood floor of the basketball court gives way to a cobblestone road covered by a layer of sand. Houses of the same flaxen hue line either side of the street, stretching as far as the eye can see. Some have cloth awnings and shutters, but I don’t see any glass. A cart full of fruits has toppled on its side, spilling bright pops of color over the sea of tan, but all I see is the horse still tied to the front, now on its side, whining and kicking to be cut loose. The air is clouded with dust, but through it, I see people dressed in rough-spun cloaks, billowing pants with tops that fall to the knees, and loose-fitting dresses with extra fabric that wraps overhead. The garments remind me of something I might have seen in the ancient Middle East, not in California. The man holding a knife to my brother’s throat has a curved sword dangling from his leather waistband. His black shirt falls almost to his calves and is covered by a tight leather vest. Engraved golden plates hang around his shoulders, chest, and thighs. There are more men with him wearing similar warrior-style clothes. They shout words I don’t understand, then rush forward and wrap chains around Mace’s wrists before tying him to a group of more people from my world. I recognize a few, like Mace’s basketball teammates and his coach, but there are more I don’t. Though with their sundresses and jeans and brightly colored fabrics, it’s clear where they come from.

  Suddenly a man runs out from beneath the bleachers.

  It’s our school security guard. He points his gun at the man who’d held the knife to Mace’s throat, and the man yells something. The security guard waves his gun around.

  “Let them go,” he demands. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Let them go!”

  The man shouts back, spitting words in a language I don’t understand.

  The s
ecurity guard fires.

  The bullet strikes the man in the chest, and blood spurts like a fountain as he falls back. The other guards roar, fear evident in their tone despite the language barrier. They charge the security guard. He fires all his bullets, but they don’t land as true as the first. He’s a little older. I bet he probably thought he’d never need to use his gun. By the time he thinks to run, it’s too late. A sword hacks into his throat and he goes down.

  My fingers tremble against my cheeks as I watch. A cold sense of dread permeates my body. I think back to Mace and the image zooms in on his face—on those hazel eyes, so wide with fear and horror. I’ve never seen my big brother afraid. The sight sends my terror soaring to new heights.

  Someone out of sight pulls on his chains, and Mace stumbles forward. I jump to my feet. “I have to help him.”

  “I know this place,” Erick says at the same time, ignoring my outburst. “It’s Bahagar.”

  He leans closer to the water and the scene ripples, zooming farther and farther out until we have a bird’s-eye view. The line dividing the worlds couldn’t be more obvious, as though a child has cut and pasted two completely different geographical maps together. On one side is the city I’ve known my entire life—the suburban houses, the hilly terrain, the curving shoreline. On the other are unfamiliar sandy streets in haphazard lines, all centered around a palace that looks towering even from this view, topped with golden tiles that blind in the sun. In the distance, a desert stretches as far as the eye can see. That’s when I notice that this new world, this Bahagar, takes up the entire area east of Highway Five. My heart plummets when I realized what that means—my house, and all its memories, is gone.