The End of Magic, page 18
“Leave me alone, you son of a bitch,” the doppelgänger yelled at David.
“That’s not a nice thing to say about Eleanora,” he replied, looking amused.
Lyse watched as the scene played out in front of her.
“I can’t . . .” she whispered to Dev, and slipped back into the empty room.
She found one of the windows open a crack, and so she stood in front of it, gulping down the fresh air, trying not to think about what David was telling her doppelgänger out there in the hallway. After a moment, Dev came to stand beside her.
“That can’t be true,” she said, putting her hand on Lyse’s arm. “About your parents . . .”
But there was no conviction in Dev’s words.
“It’s true,” Lyse said, her voice flat. “As true as those idiots taking Freddy. We don’t want to believe what’s happening, but our world has gone to hell . . . and I’m not sure we can stop it.”
Dev didn’t try to argue. Instead, she went back to the doorway to watch. A moment later she called back to Lyse: “They’re . . . you’re gone now.”
“Good,” she said. “Let’s go find Arrabelle and the others.”
As much as she didn’t want to, she might have to tell them that traveling to the dreamlands wasn’t her only magical ability . . . She could travel through time, too.
Evan
Evan wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be feeling anymore. There was a gnawing emptiness in the pit of his stomach that wouldn’t go away, and he knew it was directly tied to the woman standing next to him. But until that moment he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge he had a problem . . . a problem that came directly from him still being alive.
He’d been pretty sure he was going to die, so he’d thought a lot about death. And while standing on the precipice of the great beyond, he’d looked back at the life he’d led and found it to be a decent one. Nothing super exciting, more of an emotionally walled-off existence than he’d have wished for himself, but that was all.
He felt like he’d made his peace with death—and then, abruptly, and against all reason, he’d been released from the Grim Reaper’s clutches. To his surprise, he’d found himself almost—but not quite—disappointed by the reprieve. Not that he’d wanted to die. The opposite, in fact. It was just that when you’d given up the lease, sold all the stock, and closed up shop, it was kind of hard to start all over again.
Which made him think, once again, of Arrabelle.
They’d reconnected at a time when he thought everything was lost. He felt guilty about the messed-up state of their friendship, and so he’d let her believe that if things were different—aka, he wasn’t dying—he’d be willing to start a relationship with her. Of course, now that death wasn’t on the table anymore, he was realizing just how selfish that choice had been.
Well, it was partly selfishness. He really did want to make her happy. But he should never have given her hope. Not when he knew he could never love her the way she needed to be loved.
He knew trying to explain was useless. His inability to act on feelings he may or may not have was not personal to her. He didn’t think he was capable of being with anybody. If he could’ve chosen for himself, Arrabelle would be the first and only person on the list. But there was just too much . . . past. Too many things had happened to him as a kid and he’d been so damaged that the part of him that was supposed to want to be in a relationship . . . well . . . it had died.
It wasn’t that he was asexual. He just couldn’t be in a relationship. Vulnerability was not something available to him—and so he’d chosen to remain utterly alone to save someone else the heartbreak of falling in love with a man who couldn’t love them back. He was broken, and keeping his distance was the kindest thing he could do in the situation.
But then he’d let Arrabelle get too close. They’d been best friends in college, and he’d thought maybe he could learn to be different with her. But when she’d tried to kiss him, just as always, the wall had gone up. He’d shut down, locked her out, and totally hurt her feelings. Their friendship had recovered, but it had never really been the same after that. They’d drifted apart and he hadn’t encouraged her to visit once he’d gone up to the Pacific Northwest.
He’d missed her a lot over the years, but he knew the separation was for her sake. He’d already hurt her more than he’d hurt any other person, and he didn’t want to reopen the old wounds.
Dying had changed all that. The walls had crumbled as soon as he’d realized the wound in his side was going to slowly kill him. He’d thought about her more and more—and then he’d gotten Niamh to mail her the letter and the journal documenting their coven’s destruction. He didn’t know what he’d expected to happen. He just knew that he wanted her holding his hand when he died. Wanted her beautiful face to be the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes for the final time. In hindsight, it was ridiculous. They hadn’t been close in years, she had no impetus to come find him . . . for all he knew, she would read the letter and ignore it.
No, that was a lie. He knew Arrabelle, knew the force of her personality, and knew she would find him—or his dead body—if it was the last thing she did. He knew how she operated, and he’d known she’d be a part of his limited future come hell or high water. He hadn’t been wrong. She’d done exactly as he’d (unconsciously) expected and now here she was . . . a woman who deserved much better than his sorry ass could provide.
He was going to have to be honest with her sooner rather than later. No lies, no subterfuge, no half-truths. Arrabelle deserved the truth from him.
Now as they stood next to each other listening to Lyse, he sensed Arrabelle’s eyes on him, as if he could feel her love radiating out at him like a heater. He looked over at her, and she caught his eye, smiling so hard that the skin around the corners of her eyes crinkled in happiness. It only made him feel worse.
“Are we ready?” Lyse asked—and Evan turned his attention away from Arrabelle and back to their de facto leader.
His own coven master, Yesinia, was dead. Burned at the stake in front of the Red Chapel—the very place he was letting Lyse and the others lead him back to against his will. As difficult as it had been, he’d let his loyalty to Yesinia be put on hold in favor of the Echo Park coven’s master. Even though Lyse was inexperienced, he’d taken her as his new coven master because he could sense the power and strength at her core. She would be a formidable ally, so long as she stopped doubting herself and just let her instincts guide her way.
“Niamh, you said you know the Red Chapel,” Lyse continued—and Niamh nodded, her face pale. Evan could see that she was clenching her jaw so hard the muscles were twitching. “If you keep your mind’s eye on it, we won’t get lost out there when I call up the orb.”
Evan thought Lyse had gotten pretty good at navigating herself in and out of the dreamlands, but now she seemed uncertain again. And the look she shot Dev, the Echo Park coven’s diviner, upped the suspicion Evan was feeling. She’d gone off to get Dev—without telling any of the others and at a super random time when everyone was so concerned about Daniela—and now she was acting funny. Only Dev knew what had happened to make Lyse so squirrely . . . and she was keeping her mouth shut about it.
They stood in a circle in Daniela’s hospital room, a coven of witches that included two diviners (Dev and Niamh), two herbalists (Evan and Arrabelle), one empath, and Lyse, who, by some trick of genetics, possessed the power of all five of the disciplines of magic. They were a ragtag bunch—and as Evan looked at each weary face, he could see how bone tired they all were.
“Do you think it will work, Lyse?” Daniela asked, arms folded over her chest protectively. “Do you think that you can get all of us to the Red Chapel?”
It was amazing to see her standing there, alive and rosy cheeked. Because by all rights, she should be dead.
“I think so,” Lyse said.
“I think Daniela should stand in the middle of the circle,” Arrabelle said. She turned to Daniela. “You can’t touch any of us—gloves or no gloves, it isn’t safe. Niamh brought you back from the brink once and I’m not risking you again.”
Daniela nodded.
“I’m not a delicate baby, Arrabelle. But I think you’re right in this situation.”
Lyse turned to Niamh and Evan. Her blue eyes looked troubled. “I know the Red Chapel is not where either of you would choose to go, but it’s where Dev’s girls are and we have to go get them.”
“I understand,” Evan said. He patted Niamh’s arm. “You’re okay with it?”
“No,” Niamh said, “not really, but I know we have to.”
“The dreamland version will be different,” Arrabelle said, trying to be helpful.
“I appreciate you worrying about me,” Niamh said. “But you don’t have to. I can handle it.”
Evan knew from experience how strong Niamh was, but his coven mate had been dealt a serious blow. The loss of her twin, Laragh, had changed her irrevocably. He knew she was putting on a brave face, but he trusted that she would say something if she didn’t think she could handle it. He wished they didn’t have to go back to the place where he’d been mortally wounded and Niamh had watched The Flood burn Yesinia and Honey to death. But there was nothing for it—they couldn’t leave Dev’s little girls to fend for themselves in an alternate universe.
“Let’s do it, then,” Lyse said, and nodded to let them know they should clasp hands. Everyone—except Daniela, who stood in the middle of the circle—did as she asked.
Evan found himself holding Lyse’s right hand and Arrabelle’s left hand. With a sigh, Lyse closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. Then she murmured: “Red Chapel.”
As Lyse uttered those two small words, Evan felt his body begin to thrum with energy. He looked over at Arrabelle, whose eyes were wide as saucers, and he knew she was feeling the exact same thing.
“You’re glowing,” Arrabelle whispered, her eyes flicking to Evan’s left hand. He followed her gaze and was surprised to discover that where his fingers entwined with Lyse’s, they were glowing neon blue.
“Yours, too,” he said, indicating that Arrabelle should look at her own hand.
“Wow,” she said, and grinned.
They both watched as the light snaked down the line of witches, turning everyone’s hands blue.
“It’s working,” Dev said, her face full of wonder. “Even though there are so many of us.”
“Quiet,” Lyse murmured, her attention fixed on some internal point. “Red Chapel, Niamh. Only there. Only now.”
Evan was confused by this last statement. Only now? What did that mean? But he didn’t have time to ponder the thought further because the blue orb grew out of their interconnected hands, slowly enveloping the six of them inside its magic.
“Do you feel anything, Daniela?” Arrabelle asked.
“Oh, hell, yeah,” Daniela said, in awe of what was happening around her. “I’m going with you guys, no problem.”
“Red Chapel,” Lyse cried. “Take us to the Red Chapel!”
There was a loud screech and then the hospital bed flew up into the air, slamming against the ceiling. Dev screamed as the bed bounced off the acoustic tile and hit the side of the orb. Luckily, the orb was impenetrable and the bed did nothing to damage the swirling blue magic.
“Red Chapel!” Lyse screamed. “Red Chapel!”
There was another screech, as more furniture in the room began to take off, lifting into the air and eddying around them like the orb was the eye of a hurricane.
“Stand down, witch!” a loud voice called from the doorway.
Evan turned his head to see who was using this aggressive command. A tall, masculine woman with short, curly blond hair stood in the doorway, the sneer on her face pulling her bland features into a hideous gargoyle-like grimace. She was holding up her arms, the sleeves of her boxy khaki pantsuit pulled back to reveal raw, red, misshapen wrists. The stink of camphor bit into Evan’s nostrils and he wanted to drop Arrabelle’s hand so he could pinch his nose closed against the smell.
There was something wrong about the woman—something seriously deranged—and he wasn’t thinking this just because she’d commanded all the furniture in the room to attack them.
“Stand down, witch, before I end you!” the woman shrieked, her gray eyes wide enough that you could see the rounded whites of her eyeballs.
“The Red Chapel . . . the Red Chapel . . .” Lyse continued to chant, her voice getting louder in pitch as the ECG monitor, a heavy beige behemoth, rose in the air and pitched itself at them. A crackle of electricity shot through the sphere as it connected with the monitor.
The orb began to pulse with more energy—too much energy—because the ECG monitor was still plugged into the wall. The surge of electricity was short-circuiting Lyse’s magic. The woman in the doorway began to smile as she realized what was happening, and her hands began to move with the frenzy of a conductor guiding an orchestra through Grieg’s In the Hall of the Mountain King.
“She’s going to break the circle!” Dev shouted. “Lyse, do something!”
Lyse nodded, still chanting. Evan didn’t know what Dev thought Lyse was going to do other than what she was doing now. The woman in the doorway was doing something to stop them from leaving, using her powers to block their way—but maybe if all of them threw their energy behind Lyse, it would be enough to break free of the other woman’s magical hold.
“The Red Chapel!” Evan began to yell, looking around at the others, using his eyes to encourage them to do the same.
Arrabelle was the first to understand what he was doing. She gave him a curt nod and began chanting. Dev and Daniela joined in next. Niamh was the last to add her voice to Lyse’s spell—but the effect was instantaneous. The blue orb popped and they were free.
• • •
“Who was that?” Arrabelle asked as soon as they arrived.
They were in a part of the dreamlands that Evan and the others hadn’t seen on their last trip, a flat expanse of land covered by a foot of water as far as the eye could see.
“I don’t know. But whoever she was, I wanted to punch her,” Daniela said, eyes blazing with anger.
Niamh raised her hand, the shy kid at the back of the classroom, waiting patiently to be called on.
“I think she knows,” Evan said, pointing over at Niamh.
The others turned, silent now as they waited for Niamh to elaborate. Lyse stood with her hands on her hips, a modern-day Boadicea. Arrabelle, with her shorn head and athletic body, was Lyse’s second-in-command. Daniela, small and scrappy, looked better than she had when they’d first gotten to the hospital, but her cheekbones still protruded from her elfin face and, in contrast to her brightly dyed hair, there were brown roots at the base of her scalp. With her physical softness, Dev looked maternal and easygoing, but Evan sensed a steely strength resonating inside her, undercutting that softness.
And then there was Niamh.
Evan had known Niamh and her twin, Laragh, since they were teenagers. He’d treated them both like they were his kid sisters. He knew how tough and strong Niamh was, knew she’d been battered down by this experience but that she was a survivor.
They were a ragtag bunch—but Evan was proud to be going into battle with each and every one of them.
“They came to Yesinia’s house. Just knocked on the door,” Niamh said.
“She was our coven master,” Evan elaborated, for those, like Dev, who might not have known.
Niamh continued: “I’d gone there, to Yesinia’s house, to talk to her about this tarot spread I drew that just kept repeating and repeating.” She turned to Dev, who was also a diviner. “Did the cards do the same for you?”
“Yes, I got the spread, too,” Dev replied. “The tarot was adamant. The spread wouldn’t stop, just kept repeating. It’s something blood sisters in my family had experienced for centuries . . . they tried to let me know, but I . . . didn’t understand.”
Evan noticed that Daniela was being particularly silent, her head down, eyes on her gloved hands. Hands that she was squeezing into double fists. Lyse had noticed Daniela’s silence, too, but she wasn’t being subtle about it like Evan.
“What’s wrong?” Lyse asked. Daniela looked up, eyes darting back and forth as though she’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Nothing,” Daniela hedged.
“I don’t believe you,” Lyse said. “You have this strange look on your face . . .”
Daniela sighed, and Evan was pretty sure she was trying not to get emotional. There was a telling tic in the cheek muscle just below her right eye.
“I . . .” she began, then stopped, frowning so deeply that the worry lines in her forehead came together like a triangle made of wrinkles.
“No one here blames you for anything,” Arrabelle said, but Daniela just shook her head.
“After I’m done talking, that might not be true anymore,” Daniela said, and swallowed hard. Once again Evan could see the emotions warring inside her.
“All you can do is tell us,” Evan said. “It can’t be that bad.”
Daniela took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
“I’m The Fool. The Judas. The one who sold us out.”
Lyse stepped toward her but remembered the “no touching” rule before she’d gotten too close. She quickly pulled her hand back.
“What’re you talking about?”
“Don’t you know already?” she asked Lyse, her frustration building so that she began to pace, trying to expel some of her nervous energy. “Desmond. My father, your grandfather . . . I didn’t know and I told him everything. I told him Lizbeth was the last Dream Keeper. I thought he was on our side, but he was the mole. He had my mother and Eleanora killed. He destroyed our coven and split us apart. He goaded us into doing all of this. Getting Lizbeth to bring magic back into our world . . . it’s all part of The Flood’s plan!”
