Girls of Might and Magic: An Anthology By Diverse Books with Magic Read online

  Her vision wavered as fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Why was Summer saying mean things? She wasn’t a freak. She just didn’t get out much. Summer made an ugly sound, tempting Anala to look at her; instead, she closed her eyes. Anala wanted her grandma. She wanted to be back in their little house, locked away from everyone.

  Shhh, little star. Don’t cry.

  “Grandma?” Anala opened her eyes and scanned the small cell. Summer made an ugly face, smacking her hand against the glass before retreating into the shadows.

  Do not be afraid. Emebet Aarshin’s voice filled Anala’s ears. She crept carefully from her corner toward the front of her cell. She peered into the shadows. No one was outside.

  A warmth filled Anala’s chest. Shhh, little star. I am near.

  Anala opened her mouth, but her grandmother spoke again.

  Little star, I am in your heart and mind. A soft caress along the shell of her ear turned Anala’s head toward the grate.

  “How are you doing that?” she whispered.

  “Who are you talking to, freak!” Summer spat as she crawled back to the glass.

  Anala shrank away, sliding back until her body connected with the wall. She faced it, then stared at the glitter from her sapphire-blue nail polish and smiled. The last thing she and her grandmother did before their disagreement was paint their nails. They always started with the toes.

  Little star.

  Anala tilted her ear toward the grate again. Leaning in, lips grazing the wall as she whispered, “Grandma?”

  Shhh, little star. I need you to listen.

  Anala struggled to swallow.

  Do not fear, Anala. We will be together before sunrise.

  “Is someone coming for us?”

  No, little star. You will save us.

  “What?” Anala licked her lips then whispered, “I can’t.”

  You can.

  “How?” Anala lifted her arms, checking for muscles, finding only bones layered in thin, waxy skin. “I’m not strong.”

  Her grandmother’s laughter reverberated through Anala’s insides, bouncing off bones, tickling her throat and tongue.

  Strength is yours. All you need to do is reach for it. Summon it. It will come.

  Anala’s heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings. A surge of gas filled her chest, dousing her grandmother’s joy, replacing it with a bitter acidic burn.

  Don’t worry. Trust yourself. Trust your instincts.

  “I can’t…”

  Heaviness draped Anala’s spirit.

  I am sorry, little star. I thought I was doing what was best by keeping things about us secret.

  Anala pressed her hand lightly on the metal wall. “I’m sorry for not listening to you.”

  Don’t be.

  “It’s my fault.”

  No. It’s mine.

  The warmth within Anala faded just as a bolt slid back. Soon the emptiness was filled with the echo of footsteps. The soft clink of overhead fluorescent bulbs coming to life joined the cadence of the steps. Light crept closer to her cell, creating a starburst.

  Anala shielded her eyes, not liking the bright lights.

  A sharp clap dimmed the lights.

  “Is that better?” an unfamiliar man said.

  Anala withdrew her hand, blinking away the sting. The man in the hallway wasn’t her teacher or the doctor. He was tall, with exaggerated musculature that strained against red scrubs. A utility belt was draped around his waist. It was the same red as his scrubs. The man’s face was as hard as his body. His eyes were pale and clinical.

  “Look, kid. Dr. Grigori requested I bring you to him.” The man stepped forward. His enormous frame was partially hidden behind the wall opposite the glass door. “Are you going to cooperate?”

  Anala’s stomach gurgled. She rubbed it as she nodded.

  “Good.” Beeps filled the silence as the man keyed in a code. A hiss followed. The glass slid into the wall. Anala got to her feet. The man in red scrubs motioned for her to join him in the hall.

  It took some focus, but Anala moved her legs, progressing to the threshold one sluggish step at a time. Her insides trembled, but she numbed her face. She swallowed her nerves and stiffened her back but jumped at the thump of the cell door sliding shut.

  The man in red scrubs smirked but didn’t comment. He headed for the big metal door. She followed, her every step a dirge as they walked without words through the doorway.

  Everything had a smell. It’s what her grandma always said. But the long rectangular room she entered was odorless. Not even the scent of chemicals was present. The stranger from earlier was perched in the middle of the room on a silver stool. He wore black scrubs and a matching lab coat with no identification. Behind him, a row of examination tables.

  The man in red scrubs shoved her into the room. It was like her cell, only bigger. It had a skylight overhead, but no other windows. Mirrors composed the right wall while holding cells lined the left. Suspended lighting hung above the tables. The lighting was minimal.

  The stranger rose, bowing dramatically, laying his hand over his heart as he rose.

  “I am Dr. Dominic Grigori.” He stretched his arms out wide, twisting left then right. He flexed his fingers. “This is my lab.”

  Dr. Grigori was Hollywood-handsome. His hair matched his scrubs. Though he smiled, his dark eyes were cold. He motioned for her to introduce herself.

  Anala said nothing.

  “Ahh,” Dr. Grigori said. “I understand your reluctance.” He clasped his hands behind his back, taking a few lazy steps to the left.

  The table behind him had someone on it. Not just anyone. It was her grandmother! Mouth open, spirit hollow, Anala approached the table cautiously, keeping Dr. Grigori in her sights. She gave him a wide berth as she neared the table.

  Anala frowned at the tubes coiled from her grandma’s arms full of liquids: blue, green, clear, and the most terrifying was red. Machines on stands with wheels beeped and clicked as Anala’s gaze traveled the length of her grandmother’s prone form. Silver manacles pinned Emebet’s wrists to her sides. Further down, a metal bar locked her legs to the table. She rose to the tips of her toes as she set trembling fingers to Emebet’s sunken cheek.

  “She’s alive.”

  Anala snatched her hand away and ducked under her grandmother’s table. She was small enough that Dr. Grigori would have a hard time getting her out without help.

  “What did you do to her?”

  “She’s asleep,” Dr. Grigori shrugged. He put distance between them, choosing to go over to the cell across from her grandmother and lean on it.

  “What did you do?”

  “I ran tests, like I will eventually run on you.”

  “Why?” Her voice trembled.

  Dr. Grigori squatted low, resting his hands on his thighs as he studied her. “I’m a scientist. It’s my job to study things I don’t understand.” He raised his right hand, aimed his index finger at Anala. “And you, I have yet to classify.”

  “I’m a girl.”

  Dr. Grigori flicked his eyes at her grandmother before they settled on Anala. “Her blood says otherwise.”

  “Where’s Mr. Bland?”

  Dr. Grigori smiled. This time it was genuine. “Mr. Bland is having difficulty with the process by which we do our research.” Dr. Grigori’s humor faded. “Tell me what you are.”

  Anala shrugged. “You didn’t answer my question. Where’s Mr. Bland?”

  Dr. Grigori reached into the pocket of his lab coat, pulled out a book, and slid it across the floor. It bounced against a wheel but stopped in front of her. Anala didn’t reach for it. To do so would mean taking her eyes off him.

  He waved his hand at it. “Take a look.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Bland’s journal. Most of his research is in there.” He pointed at Anala. “Your species is in there somewhere.”

  Anala pressed her hands to her chest. “I’m. A. Girl.” She enunciated each word slowly as
she wrapped sweaty hands around the bed’s metal bars. Tiny pockets of gas rolled like marbles, launching into a long, ragged belch ending their stand-off. The man grimaced, throwing his arm over his face.

  He shot to his feet and slapped his palms against the holding cell. Rows of intricate swirls flared white as a roar set the glass door rattling. Something scratched about before racing footsteps drew the cell’s occupant into the light. She’d only seen them on television, but a werewolf smashed into the glass. The strange swirls formed starbursts, muting all sound upon impact.

  Dr. Grigori pointed behind him. “That is not human.” He aimed an accusing digit at her. “Like you.” He turned that judgy finger back on the werewolf raging behind him. “That is in Bland’s journal.” He flipped that finger back at Anala. “That means you’re in there too.”

  “I’m not a werewolf! I’m a girl!” Anala wanted to rip her hair out. Who was he to tell her what she was? He was obviously crazy, but it didn’t help the growing nausea. Her stomach roiled. Stress always threw her off-balance. A headache bloomed. Her temples throbbed as her vision washed red. Her eyes were gritty. She blinked slowly. Cool, soothing moisture chased away the grittiness. She needed to calm down. Control her breathing, like her grandma taught her.

  No, little star. Her grandmother’s voice buzzed in her head like before. Trust your instincts.

  “Your immunity to silver confirms you’re not a werewolf.” He pressed his fingers on the intricate swirls. “The spellwork doesn’t bother you.” He shoved his hands in his hair and pulled. “What are you?”

  Anala’s headache intensified. Blades of pain pooled around the back of her eyes. She sealed them against it. Her gums tingled as the edge of her jaw popped. It itched more than hurt, and the popping wasn’t loud because the doctor didn’t seem to notice it. Anala waited for the sensation to pass before opening her eyes and addressing the crazy man.

  “You can’t do this to us!” Anala squeezed the bars, which dimpled in her grip.

  She snatched up the journal and threw it at him. It hit his left shin. Dr. Grigori withdrew a pale green square from the pocket of his lab coat. He shook it open, then flipped it over so she could see it. It was too far for her to read it but the crackling from earlier shifted to the bones around her eyes, the nerves tingled briefly. The tiny letters became as clear as if she were holding the paper in front of her. Official seals littered the bottom and there was a governmental logo at the top. She scanned the document, stopping instantly when she noticed Dr. Grigori’s attentiveness.

  “You’re reading!” The man waved the paper at her.

  “No, I’m not.”

  Dr. Grigori flipped the document and began to read. “All non-humans shall be detained, logged into the U.S. Census database as Other, thus stripping them of human status. Non-humans will be classified as government property to be used as designated by the authorities.” He flipped the paper so she could see it, pointing at the section he had just read.

  He aimed the end of the sheet at the table, then at her. “You and your grandmother are not human. Which means you are not citizens.” Dr. Grigori stalked forward. “Which also means you have no rights here.” He swung the paper toward the door. “Or out there.”

  He crouched again, entitlement in his gaze. “Your kind has no rights.”

  “But…”

  Dr. Grigori chuckled. “This is America? How cute.” He made a rude noise. “Since COVID19, we’ve locked our borders and expanded our horizons.”

  Anala blinked but said nothing.

  “Science has free reign. Project Sovereignty has the backing of both private donors and government funding. Since COVID-19, medical research is of great interest to those in power. There are quite a few, like Bland, who are interested in myths and legends. They want to prove them real.” He waved the hand with the paper around the room. “Bland’s interest in legends and their potential to advance human medicine brought him to me.” Dr. Grigori crushed the paper in his grip. “We went to college together. I kept in touch. So, when he found you, he came to me.”

  “I’m human,” Anala whispered. Her words slurred as her jawbones crackled and shifted.

  “You look human, but your mask is slipping, my dear.” Dr. Grigori returned the paper into his lab coat. He clapped his hands as a rumble of footsteps filled the room. He aimed that judgy finger at her again.

  She’d had enough! Anala crawled out from under the table. She might be a kid, but she would stand her ground. She might fail, but she could bite, scratch, and pinch as many of them as she could. Dr. Grigori remained by the cell, but four more men, all in red scrubs with military buzz cuts, closed in. They surrounded the table.

  Anala stared at each of the men in red scrubs. There was no mercy in their expressions, only an expectation of submission. Her stomach knotted. A succession of cramps pulled her to her knees as stomach acid burned like magma.

  Am I dying? Anala stared at the glossy silver floor.

  No, little star. You’re becoming your true self.

  It hurts. Anala groaned, clutching her stomach.

  Growth always comes with pain. Emebet’s words chilled Anala’s heart as the bones of her lower jaw cracked audibly. The surrounding men closed in; hands reached for her, but she rolled toward the bed. Instead of going under it, she bumped into the legs, heart beating wildly.

  Do not fear them.

  A wave of pain unlocked her jaws, which hung in a voiceless scream. Acidic vapor seeped into the air, filling the room with the scent of rotten eggs. Several long belches erupted. Something beeped. An alarm?

  The man who collected her earlier separated from the rest. He gentled his voice but not his face as he reached for her. “Why don’t you be nice and work with us?”

  Anala curled into the fetal position, gagged, then vomited. Bile splashed onto the floor. It sizzled. Anala raised her head, noting the magma-orange puddle. Her mouth stretched wide as her jaws lengthened. She rolled onto all fours; head hung low. Her hair obscured what was happening to her face.

  The beeps that started off slow intensified in both speed and volume.

  “What the hell?” The man in red pulled his hand away, looked over his shoulder at the wall. His tan skin lost its color as he stared at something behind him.

  Anala drew in the vapor streaming from her insides through pursed lips. It slid into her lungs, mixing with the acid.

  Set us free!

  She lifted her head as gas touched acid. A snick, like the turn of a spark wheel on a lighter, ignited something inside. She opened her mouth as wide as she could to accommodate the wave of heat filling her chest.

  Her gaze shifted to Dr. Grigori. His arrogance vaporized and terror set him running as alarms screamed. The men in red scrubs were already racing for the door.

  Their fear filled Anala with a need to chase them, but she remained by her grandmother’s side. The skin between her jaws stretched as bitter acid rolled off her tongue. Blue flame filled the room, devouring the oxygen. Masculine screams joined the snap of fire and pop of vials.

  The fire she breathed muted the wails Anala yearned to set free as an excruciating spasm laced her back. It traveled along both her tail bone and spine, ending just under her shoulder blades. A loud rip threw her off balance. Whatever tore from her back was larger than her small body. She lifted the new appendages, spreading them wide.

  Anala closed her mouth, ending the flow of flame. The room continued to burn as she rose to her feet, casting a judicious glance over her shoulder. Wings as gray as an elephant and as jagged as a bat’s protruded from her shoulders. She stared into the melting mirror, glimpsing reptilian eyes and scales along her body. The pain of her transformation numbed what was happening to the rest of her. She looked like a mix of dragon and human. Was she a hybrid?

  Anala examined her wings and talons and blinked reptilian eyes. Her arms were scaly but still very human in size.

  She had to get them away from this place.

  Anala flap
ped her wings, angling taloned feet to take hold of the table her grandmother was strapped to. She focused on the skylight as she began an awkward ascent.

  Where would she go once she reached the sky?

  Home.

  Her grandmother’s longing elicited Anala’s high-pitched roar.

  She tightened her grip on the hospital bed bearing her grandmother. Turning her head away from the skylight, she broke through. Pressing her wings close, she shielded Emebet from the falling glass.

  Where was home? Anala soared into the cloudless sky. The tusks on her snout were tugging her toward something familiar. She banked in the pull’s direction, unafraid, as she wondered what her real home was like.

  About the Author

  E. M. Lacey is an author who writes about diverse characters set in dark urban and dystopian landscapes. She’s a coffee drinkin’, meme postin’, movie watchin’ author who loves to talk about all things books and movies. You might bump into her at local comic cons and other such nerd fests. Whenever she’s not getting her nerd on, she’s writing, reading, binge-watching Netflix, or communing with horror movie fans and other authors online.

  Ms. Lacey hails from Homestead, Florida, but lives in Chicago, Illinois. She is working on her next piece. Visit her online at www.emlacey.com.

  “I don't want to be saved by some knight in shining armor. I'd like to be the one in the armor, and I'd like to be the one doing the saving.”

  ― Kalynn Bayron, Cinderella Is Dead

  2

  Wind and Silk

  Alice Ivinya

  My hands were shaking, rattling the dainty gold chains that traveled between my fingers and wrists. I stared at the ceremonial jewelry, numb with shock, willing them to go away. Willing all of this to go away.

  The head maid tapped me on the back with her fan, making me jump. My heartbeat must have drowned out her footsteps. “Stand quickly. You can’t have them see you like this.”

  I used the arms of my chair to help me stand. My legs were weak today, weak enough for me to fall in front of all the people who would be watching me. And, worse, the man I had never met who was about to be my husband. I couldn’t let his first impression of me be a disaster. Not when today was meant to bring honor to my family.