The End of Magic, page 24
Marji remained stubbornly silent in her humiliation.
“He smells old, Marji,” Ginny said, and Niamh had to bite her tongue. She appreciated Ginny’s bluntness, but she doubted Marji liked it very much right now.
The girls’ dynamic really reminded Niamh of the relationship she’d shared with Laragh. Spending time with Dev’s daughters made her miss her sister so much. She fought back the lump in her throat, not wanting to cry in front of the kids—Goddess, she’d already cried so much recently, she just couldn’t take another round of tears.
Marji noticed her distress, her dark eyes suddenly round with compassion.
“You miss your sister,” the girl said.
Niamh wasn’t sure how Marji knew about Laragh, but in that moment she didn’t care.
“Yeah, I miss her a lot.”
Ginny climbed to her knees, then scooted over closer to the bed. She put her smaller hand on Niamh’s larger one.
“Marji talks to ghosts.”
Niamh couldn’t help herself. The little girl was so earnest that she had to laugh.
“I’m not joking,” Ginny continued, but she didn’t seem to be offended by Niamh’s laughter.
“I don’t think you are,” Niamh said. She’d realized all the emotion she was feeling had to get out somehow—and it was either laugh or cry. She’d chosen laughter.
“She misses you, too. She says you always stole the green man from her and she forgives you.”
Niamh hadn’t doubted Marji before, but now she knew for a fact that Marji was somehow communicating with Laragh. The little green plastic man with the blond hair and loopy smile had been both of their favorites. They used to fight over him all the time when they were small—and the only way Marji could’ve known this was to get the information straight from Laragh’s mouth.
“Where is she?” Niamh asked.
But Marji shook her head.
“I don’t know. I just hear her voice. I don’t see her.”
“But Marji sees ghosts, too, sometimes,” Ginny chimed in, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.
“Tell her I love her,” Niamh said.
Marji nodded, listening.
“She knows you do.”
The door opened and Dev came in, her shoulders hunched with worry.
“All right, little bits,” Dev said, stepping into the middle of the room and gesturing for the girls to get up. “Time to go.”
The girls hopped to, clinging to their mother now. Niamh climbed to her feet, leaving behind the pink canopy bed and the white wicker furniture of the child’s bedroom and following Dev and the girls to the door.
“Where are we going, Mama?” Marji asked.
“A place where there are lots more of us,” Dev said, taking Marji’s hand.
“Me, too!” Ginny said, taking Dev’s other hand.
Niamh followed Dev and the girls back into the main room. Thomas, Tem, and Lizbeth were by the couch. Lyse and Daniela stood close to one another, shoulders touching. Only Eleanora waited alone, her hawkish gaze fixed on Lyse.
“We’re going to find Jessika and the other Shrieking Eagles,” Lyse told Niamh. “You were right when you said the girls would be safer there.”
“Okay,” Niamh said, pleased they’d listened to her.
“Lizbeth and Tem will stay here—they’re going to see if they can find Evan.”
“Lyse will leave us with the Eagles,” Dev said. “And then she’s going to go on . . .”
“Go where?” Niamh asked, not following.
“She’s The Hierophant from your spread,” Thomas said, though there was no joy in his words. “Lyse is going to find out where this all started and fix it for us if she can.”
So Lyse was the mysterious Hierophant. The last card in the spread—and the only one Niamh hadn’t really understood until now. But it made sense that Lyse would be the linchpin upon which they all turned.
“The keeper of the sacred mystery,” Niamh said, softly, catching Lyse’s eye. “Hello, Hierophant.”
“If anyone had told me a few weeks ago that we’d all be here together in a totally alien world having this conversation, I’d have thought they were insane,” Lyse said, by way of an answer.
“I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else,” Niamh said, looking at each face as she spoke. They were all good people—alive and dead alike.
“Let’s do this,” Daniela said.
Niamh took a deep breath, readying herself for what was to come.
• • •
“My hand, please,” Thomas said to Niamh, holding up his right one for her to take.
Lyse could’ve brought Niamh, too, but she was already transporting Daniela, Dev, and the girls, so Thomas stepped up and offered his services. They’d watched the others go and now it was their turn.
Niamh would be sorry to see the end of the loft. She was certain this marked the last time things would be calm—it was only going to get crazier from here on out.
“I wish I knew how to do what you and Lyse do,” Niamh said. Thomas was very good-looking, very charming . . . he made her nervous and she had trouble looking him in the eye as she spoke.
“You make things come alive in the dreamlands,” Thomas replied. “Anything I create here is impermanent . . . but you, you make things real. I wish I could do what you do.”
Niamh felt herself blushing, her palms getting sweaty under his gaze. She saw why Marji had developed such a crush on the man. Thomas was very crushworthy.
“I would teach you if I knew how,” Niamh said, finally looking up at Thomas.
He had nice eyes. Welcoming eyes. They made her want to tell him secrets . . . not that she had any interesting secrets to impart, but there was just something about him that made her want to talk.
“Maybe one day we will all be lucky enough for you to try,” he said, squeezing her (very sweaty now) hand. Then his face went serious. “I’m taking you now, Niamh, because I wanted a word alone.”
“Sure,” she said, without thinking. “I mean . . . of course. Um, yes . . .”
As she fumbled with her words, his serious expression lifted for a moment—but then it became serious once more.
“You must go with Lyse on her journey,” he said. “She will need another with her. Someone who will not let her stay her hand when the time comes . . . I would go, but I don’t believe any of you blood sisters truly trusts me. Not out of malice. There is just, shall we say, a lot of water under the bridge.”
“You think she’ll let me come with her?” Niamh asked, uncertain.
“No, I don’t think she’ll want to risk your safety. So you’re just going to have to insert yourself into her plans.”
“If you think that’s the right thing,” she said. “I mean, if you think she needs me?”
“I do. She’s not going to want to do what will be asked of her. You are removed from it. You will help her.”
It was amazing how easy it was for her to just accept what Thomas said at face value. She didn’t question his motives or ask him why he felt so certain that she needed to go with Lyse.
“I should warn you,” he added, “that you will feel slightly compelled to do as I ask. At least while you’re looking into my eyes. It’s a quirk of my power and it’s not something I can control. But I find when I make a person aware of this, it lessens the pull.”
He was right. Once he’d told her about his little trick, she didn’t feel the need to blindly do as he asked anymore.
“That’s crazy,” she said, shaking her head. “You could do terrible things with that.”
He grinned back at her.
“Luckily, the effects go away completely once you’re away from me . . . I think it’s an olfactory power. Something about my pheromones. Once you can’t smell me, you stop wanting to please me.”
She hoped it was true—because there was a part of her that still felt under his sway.
“I will look after Lyse, if I can.”
“Good, I knew you would understand,” he said, leaning forward and giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek. His lips were soft and there was a touch of stubble on his chin. “You’re very compelling yourself. A truly lovely scent.”
She blushed as he pulled away.
“Shall we?”
She nodded, her heart beating very quickly. She wished that knowing his charm was of the magical variety would make her like him less, but it didn’t. She was super nervous around him, and the kiss he’d placed on her cheek only made it worse.
She waited for him to do what Lyse did and call up a magical blue orb that would take them to another dimension.
“I do things a little differently,” Thomas said, quirking an eyebrow at her. “You won’t even know—”
She blinked and they were standing on the prow of a boat, the pull of the sea rocking them very, very gently.
“—it’s happened,” Thomas finished.
He released her and she took a step back, impressed.
“Wow, that was amazing,” she said, in awe of the man.
He had the good grace to look abashed.
“Please, it’s nothing.”
It wasn’t nothing, but he was embarrassed by her compliment, so she let it go.
“I wonder where the others have gotten to?” Thomas asked, changing the subject.
They were alone on the deck of what appeared to be a decommissioned destroyer. There were only clear blue skies and sea wherever Niamh looked, and she suspected that Jessika had chosen to be far away from land because it was safer for the women they’d rescued.
Niamh had never been on such a large ship before—and never one that had a giant gun stationed on top of it, the long steel-gray barrel pointed out ahead of them in warning. Thomas had brought them to a spot toward the front of the ship, at the edge of a long runway where they were a safe distance from the edge. But Niamh still felt vulnerable. The sides of the ship were very low and it looked easy for someone to fall overboard.
“Look,” Thomas said, pointing at the ground underneath them where someone had painted a white circle with a line through it. The circle stood at the end of a long runway whose asphalt-gray surface and yellow demarcation lines made it resemble a road more than a ship.
“Helicopter landing spot,” Thomas added, indicating the circle. “I think.”
The sun broke through the line of clouds above them, and Niamh lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight.
“Oh no,” she murmured as she caught sight of something terrifying out on the horizon.
“What?” Thomas asked, instantly on guard.
“They’re coming,” Niamh said, eyes pinned to the fleet of small ships heading toward them. “The Flood is here.”
“Time to find out where everyone is,” Thomas said.
And then he took Niamh’s hand and they ran.
Desmond
Desmond knew a terrible fate had befallen his son. He should’ve been upset by this odd and unsettling turn of events, but, instead, he found himself merely resigned to the fact.
I never really liked him, Desmond realized. He was rotten and I knew it. But, still, I used him to further The Flood’s needs.
Guilt was not an emotion Desmond wasted time on, but now it blossomed inside him like a parasitic flower, cutting into his heart and forcing him to acknowledge something he’d buried deep down inside himself.
He’d made a mistake. A serious one. A reprehensible one.
And it had happened because of her.
• • •
God help him, he’d loved Eleanora Eames from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. She’d opened the front door to her grandmother’s house, pushing strands of damp brown hair out of her glorious face, her wide pink mouth smiling at him. She’d been working in the kitchen, her cheeks flushed from the heat.
She’d looked up at him, those gorgeous eyes locking onto his own, and his heart had swelled with such need that he’d almost been unable to speak. He remembered asking for her grandmother—the woman who’d contacted his superiors—and she’d led him inside the house. He’d had a job to do, and he’d done it. He was there to help save her soul . . . but what he hadn’t realized was it was actually his soul that was going to need saving when it was all said and done.
He’d tried everything he could to keep away from Eleanora. But she was too incredible and he’d failed miserably, spending entirely too much time in her company. She’d been so intelligent and kind . . . and they’d really connected. He was supposed to be watching her, making sure she wasn’t communing with the Devil—which was what witches like her did—but instead he’d fallen more in love with her.
He would’ve thought making love to her would be the most important experience they shared, but after all these years, there was another evening that stayed closer to his heart.
• • •
She was sitting on the cot, her back pressed into the corner, arms wrapped around her knees. She was wearing Desmond’s white undershirt and a pair of his striped pajama pants that he had given her from his own stash of clothing.
She’d twisted her long brown hair into a knot at the back of her neck, and she wore no makeup. Her eyes were thoughtful as she played with the striped fabric, running her fingers along the curve of her knee.
“I like that you think about things,” she said. “There are just so few people in this world who truly think.”
He was on the floor, a cigarette in his hand, his back against the wall. He’d unbuttoned the top two buttons of his plaid shirt and she’d watched him, eyes fixed on the bit of curly brown chest hair poking up from beneath his undershirt.
“I don’t know what any of the answers are,” he said, putting the cigarette to his lips and inhaling deeply. He so badly wanted to look “cool” for her. “But I think there’s more in this world than we can see or hear or touch or taste with our senses.”
“Like we have a sixth sense?” she asked.
He nodded and then leaned his head back against the wall.
“A sixth or a seventh—”
“—maybe an eighth sense,” she said, laughing.
“Yeah,” he agreed, and smiled at her.
Their eyes caught for a moment, held, and then, finally, she looked away. In his heart, he knew that part of her goodwill toward him was selfish. She wanted to escape and she hoped he’d help her.
This was not going to happen. She didn’t understand that she was here for a reason. She needed their help. Only with The Flood’s backing could she be cured of her condition. Witchcraft was evil and it corrupted women; corrupted absolutely. He and the others were going to save Eleanora and then the two of them could be together. Forever.
Because that was what he knew was going to happen. They would fix Eleanora Eames and then she would marry him. They would have children and be in love and everything would be perfect.
It was a naïve point of view to embrace, but he was young, barely a man, and his optimism knew no bounds.
“My grandmother used to burn me when I was younger,” Eleanora said suddenly. He was unprepared for this revelation and out came the first thing his mind latched onto, without thinking:
“That’s not right. She shouldn’t do that.”
Eleanora shrugged, the white undershirt showing off the curve of her breast. He tore his eyes away from the sight, but the image was burned into his brain, and he knew he’d think about what lay beneath that undershirt the next time he touched himself.
“She wanted to burn the magic out of me.”
Desmond had never heard anyone be so blunt about magic before.
“Because it’s evil,” he said.
She shook her head.
“It’s not evil. It just makes her remember my mom. She blames magic for her death.”
“What happened to your mother?” he asked, pulling on the cigarette again.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked.
And all he wanted, more than anything in the whole world, was to hear that secret.
“Of course,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. “You can tell me anything.”
She sat forward, eyes gleaming with excitement. He was pretty sure whatever she was about to tell him, she’d never told anyone else, ever.
“I can visit other places in time.”
He wanted to clear his ears out, make sure he’d heard her correctly.
“You can do what?” he asked.
She grinned, pleased that she’d unsettled him.
“I can’t change anything, or even really talk to anyone, but I can go back in time and see things how they happened.”
He shook his head.
“That’s not real.”
She frowned, her shoulders slumping.
“It is, too.”
He tried another tack: “I believe that you believe that you can do that, but I bet you’re just having some kind of lucid dream.”
She didn’t disagree with him, but from the expression on her face, it was clear she thought he was wrong.
“Suit yourself,” he said, stubbing out the butt of his cigarette.
“It happens,” she said, a note of defiance in her voice. “Whether you believe me or not.”
He hadn’t believed her then . . . it was only later—much later—that he’d understood just how right she was.
“Have you ever been in love?” she asked, changing the subject.
He shook his head.
“Nope,” he said. “You?”
“Never.”
He caught her eye again and he felt an almost electric jolt shoot through him. He’d never made love to a woman before, but more than anything he wanted to do that with Eleanora.
“I could fall in love with you,” she said, still holding his gaze. “If things were different. I think I could.”
