With a Golden Sword (DFZ Changeling Book 2), page 6
She couldn’t get through to this Simon because he hadn’t met her yet. This had all happened before her time, which meant she had no place in this dream. If she was going to break through the horror, she needed to be someone he’d listen to, but the only faces Lola had that this Simon would recognize were Victor’s and his mother’s.
Their master was right out. Not only was he already here, Lola didn’t think there was anything she could speak with his mouth that wouldn’t make the situation worse. Victor was a liar, anyway. That made him useless for what she needed, but Lola didn’t think turning into Simon’s mom was a good idea either. Firstly, she’d only seen her as an old lady, not the young mother this Simon would know. Second, while she was certain that Simon loved his mom, their relationship had always been strained.
Lola had always assumed that was Victor’s doing. Now, though, she wondered if it wasn’t because of what had happened. Simon’s mother was a kind and loving person, but how did you forgive one son for killing the other?
Thinking back to how she’d seen them act together, Lola wasn’t sure she had. Also, this Simon was straight from the coma. Even if his mother would eventually forgive him, it hadn’t happened yet, which meant a mom-costume was a terrible idea. What else was there, though? Who could Lola turn into that this version of Simon would listen to?
She looked down at his terrified face again. That seemed to be the core of the prison. By keeping him stranded in the horror of his worst decision, he never got the chance to think about anything else, like escape. It was a horrible, cruel trap, but at least the freeze-frame bought Lola time to think.
Not that thinking was easy with Victor looming behind her like an executioner, but this was no time for her own baggage. She was here for Simon, damn it. She just wished she knew what to do. Dreams she could handle, but this was a blood-magic prison. It needed a mage, or at least a real human.
The actual Simon would have been perfect. He’d have known exactly how to break himself out, which was undoubtedly why Victor had chosen this moment for his cage. It was the same reason Lola had been a child when he’d spoken to her in the Fenrir dream. Victor was only comfortable with the versions of them that he could control.
Ironically, that was the thought that made her realize what she had to do. Flipping her hands around to grab Simon’s instead of just stopping him from touching the boy, Lola changed her shape again. It was a hard, slow change because she’d never taken this form before, and she had no mirror to check herself. She did have a lot of memories, though, providing her with a treasure trove of images to dig through until every detail felt perfect.
The next time Lola lifted her head, she was Simon. Not the little boy on the floor or the gawky teenager she’d grown up with or even the nervous young man who’d left Victor’s mansion to start his own business. This was the Simon she’d seen at the diner: the fully developed mage who was confident in his power. She’d even kept his dark turtleneck and tired eyes, focusing on looking as real as possible as she stared down at his younger self.
“Hello, Simon.”
If Lola hadn’t been concentrating so hard, she would have given herself a high five. That was the best male voice she’d ever achieved. It really did sound exactly like Simon’s, and the boy on the floor looked up at once.
“Who are you?”
“I’m you,” Lola lied, positioning her Simon so that his tall body hid the specter of Victor looming over them. “I need you to listen to me. You can’t change what happens tonight, but you do get past it. I’m proof of that.”
For some reason, this motivational message made the boy look more distressed than ever.
“But you’re a blood mage.”
Lola blinked. She hadn’t realized her Simon costume included his stained soul. This was the most perfect copy of a person she’d ever made, though, and they were inside Simon’s mind. He could be picking up on the reality behind the image, or maybe he was just seeing what he expected to see. Lola wasn’t certain, but either way, it didn’t matter.
“You do become a blood mage,” she said in Simon’s calm voice. “But you’re not like Victor. You use your magic to heal and help people. That’s the sort of mage you become, and your sister’s very proud of you.”
The boy scowled. “I don’t have a sister.”
“You will,” Lola-Simon promised. “And she will love you no matter what happens. All of your family does. We don’t hold the past against you, Simon. Victor’s going to steal a huge part of your life, but that doesn’t mean he gets everything. There’s still a future where we get free, but I need you to let go of this so we can make it there.”
“But I haven’t proven myself yet,” the boy whispered, his voice cracking with fear as he grabbed the previous apprentice. “If I don’t do this, he’ll put me back in the coma!”
“He will,” she said solemnly, “but it won’t matter. You’re good enough to get out of any prison he can make. You’ve already proven yourself to everyone who counts, so let’s go back to them.”
She smiled as she finished, a bigger, warmer smile than she’d ever seen on the adult Simon’s face. “Your sister’s worried to death about you.”
That worked. Lola knew it would, because it had worked on her. That was the same smile the boy Simon had given her the first night she’d come to the mansion as a terrified, barely human seven-year-old, and it had the same effect on his younger self as it had on her. The moment she smiled, the boy smiled back, letting go of the poor, dead memory to grab her offered hands. And as he did, the horrible heaviness of the prison vanished.
Simon’s old room vanished with it. Victor, little Simon, and the unknown boy all blew away like dust. Lola let her Simon costume go with them, putting her real face back on as she sank through the fading memory into what appeared to be the exact same room.
She landed with a stumble, looking around in alarm. It would be just like Victor to build a second prison around the first. But while this was definitely Simon’s old room at the mansion, it was no longer a barren cell. There were travel posters on the walls and a tiny desk stacked with books in the corner. It looked like the version of Simon’s room she remembered from just before he’d moved out, right down to the picture of the two of them at the Grand Canyon on the windowsill. The only thing that wasn’t right was the color.
The entire room was tinted red. Not the awful bright crimson of Victor’s death, but it was definitely a bloody color, especially around the life-sized portrait of Victor hanging on the wall where the door should have been.
That definitely hadn’t been there the last time Lola was in Simon’s room. It reminded her of the red-tone pictures that decorated the walls of Victor’s death. It even had the same red thread dangling off the bottom of its ornate gilt frame, except this string didn’t end in a bow. It ran across the stone floor and up to a stool placed in the room’s far corner, where it tied around the neck of a lanky, dark-skinned man who was sitting with his head in his hands. A man who looked very much like—
“Simon!”
Chapter 5
Lola didn’t know how she hadn’t seen him sooner. The only reason she could think of was that he’d been sitting so still. He still hadn’t moved even now that she’d called his name, but when Lola rushed toward him, he shrank back against the red-stained wall.
“Stay away!”
Lola skidded to a stop. It was Simon’s voice, but she’d never heard him sound like that before.
“Simon?” she said tentatively. “It’s me. It’s Lola.”
She’d thought that would snap him out of it. But while the man huddled in the corner did lift his face from his hands, his eyes were full of hate.
“I should have known you’d use her eventually,” he said in a bitter voice. “But it won’t work. I know it’s not her. Lola would never help you break me.”
“You’re right about that,” Lola said, taking a step forward. “Victor didn’t send me, Simon. He doesn’t even know I’m here. I found you and entered your dream on my own. This is a jailbreak. I’m busting you out of here!”
For a second, the fury on Simon’s face faded. Then it came back twice as strong as he turned around on his stool, putting his back to her.
“You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“I’m not one of his tricks,” she insisted. “It’s really me!”
But Simon’s back stayed turned, and honestly, Lola couldn’t blame him. Blood magic was all about getting into people’s heads. Of course Simon would trust nothing he saw here.
She looked around the red-tinted room in frustration. At least she was pretty sure where she was now. This must be Simon’s death, the place where his soul and the world’s magic connected. It wasn’t a quarter as large as Victor’s awful red lounge, but Lola spotted the hole in the ceiling that led to the Sea of Magic when she looked up.
It was the only exit she could see, but Lola didn’t think they’d be getting out that way. She wasn’t sure she could survive the black chaos without Fenrir’s huge magic protecting her, much less escort Simon. Could humans even leave their death without dying?
Lola had no idea, but Simon wouldn’t be sitting around in here if going out the top was an option. Something had to be holding him down, and looking at the blood-red thread tied around his neck, she had a pretty good idea what it was.
“How did Victor put that on you?”
“He didn’t,” Simon said quietly, reaching up to touch the thread only to stop an inch before his fingers reached it. “I tied this here.”
Lola couldn’t believe it. “Why?”
“Because he told me to,” Simon replied, hunching his shoulders. “I was young, okay? And he was horrible.” His shoulders hunched higher. “The real Lola would understand.”
“I do understand,” she said, moving closer. “But you’re not that little boy anymore. You’re a blood mage too. A good one, and this is your death. Your soul, not his. You can kick him out!”
He sighed at that, a long, bitter sound. “I don’t know what your game is, but I’m not playing. Go tell your master that’ll I’ll sit down here until I die before I go back to him.”
Lola threw her head back with a frustrated groan. “For the last time, Simon, Victor didn’t send me! I can prove it, too. The last time we were together, I was dressed as your mother at Peach’s Diner. You told me that night that humans make mistakes, and that sooner or later, Victor would too. Well, you were right. He did make a mistake. He underestimated me, and I wrecked his plans.”
She walked right up to where Simon was hunched on the stool and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I got free of him,” she said fiercely. “Now, I’m here to help you do the same. We’re busting out of here—the two of us together, just like you wanted—and we’re never looking back.”
Those were his words. Words Victor couldn’t know because he’d been in Alberich’s barrow writing his bloody spellwork around her sister at the time, but Simon still shook his head.
“That proves nothing,” he said, leaning away from her. “Jamie was there. She could have overheard.”
Lola blinked. “Jamie was at the diner?”
He nodded, and Lola scowled. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe Victor’s assistant would stoop to stalking, but she was surprised that she hadn’t noticed. Jamie was normally impossible to miss. She was thinking back to try to figure out where the obnoxious blond had been hiding when she decided it didn’t matter.
“Screw Jamie,” she said, thrusting her left wrist between Simon’s face and the red-tinged wall he was determinedly staring at. “I am Lola. I know you’ve never been able to see my sister’s thread, but it’s right there, and guess what? I found her, Simon! She’s waiting back at Tristan’s right now, safe and sound. You can be safe, too. We can all be! I just need you to—”
“Enough!” he snarled, covering his ears with his hands. “I’m not listening to another word!”
Lola stepped back with a huff. Under any other circumstances, she would have been proud of him for making such a valiant stand, but she didn’t have infinite time. Her body was still back in the hospital room. She’d camouflaged herself pretty well, but if a nurse came in and freaked out over the tiny blue figure clutching Simon’s head, Lola had no idea what would happen. They needed to get out of here, but she didn’t know how to make Simon believe her.
“What can I say?” she asked, slumping against the red-tainted wall. “You were always the one with the plan, so you tell me. How I can convince you I’m not one of his tricks?”
Simon stiffened on his stool. He clearly didn’t want anything to do with this, but her request must have kindled a little hope, because he eventually turned around to give her one of his classic Simon scowls.
“I never told Lola the truth about my brother,” he said in a quiet, serious voice. “Or what I did to the apprentice before me. If you’re really her, why aren’t you horrified?”
“Because I know you,” Lola said, looking him in the eyes. “Victor made all of us do terrible things, but that doesn’t mean—”
“He didn’t make me do this,” Simon said, lifting up his hands.
Lola jerked back. Like everything else in the little room, Simon’s hands were red, but it wasn’t from the stain that permeated the air. They were actually bloody, his long fingers coated in a layer of deep scarlet as thick and glossy as fresh paint.
“Victor didn’t make me a blood mage,” he said quietly, looking down at his reflection in the glossy wetness. “I came into my magic at a young age. My parents were so proud, but my older brother couldn’t stand it. He’d always been the best at everything. Then I tested positive as a mage, and suddenly I was getting all the attention. He was jealous, and he took it out on me. We fought all the time, but he was bigger, so he always won. Then, one night while we were driving home from my grandmother’s, he started picking on me in the car. I was so sick of it. I wanted him to leave me alone, to just go away, so I…”
“You used your magic on him,” Lola finished, reaching out to take his bloody hands. “I’m so sorry, Simon, but that still doesn’t make you like Victor. You were just a kid. You didn’t know—”
“I did know,” Simon snarled, yanking his hands back. “The very first thing they tell you when you find out you’re a mage is ‘Don’t do blood magic.’ I knew what I was doing was wrong. I knew that it would kill him, but that’s what I wanted. I wanted him to die.” He dropped his head back into his hands. “I’m just as bad as Victor.”
“No, you’re not,” Lola said. “You regret what you did, right?”
“Every day of my life.”
“Then that proves it,” she said confidently. “Victor’s never regretted anything. He holds his sins up like trophies, but he punishes you by making you relive yours. If you were really like him, he couldn’t have turned the night he made you kill that kid into a prison. Victor would have crushed that poor boy and moved on without a moment’s hesitation, but you’ve been trapped in that cycle for three weeks precisely because you’re not like him!”
By the time she finished, Simon was staring at her with new eyes. “It really is you,” he whispered. Then his face grew horrified as he turned his back on her again. “I wish it wasn’t. Wish you hadn’t seen—”
“It’s okay,” Lola said, wrapping her arms around him. “It’s okay, Simon. You’re my brother, and I love you. There’s no secret that’s ever going to change that.”
He shook his head furiously. “I’m not who you think I am. Do you know why I worked so hard at learning how to remove bad memories? It wasn’t so I could help other people. I wanted to cut out my own crimes, to make myself forget what I’d done. I thought if I could erase my past, I’d remove the stain, but…”
He looked down at his bloody hands. “No matter how good I got or how many people I helped, I could never fix myself. The blood’s always there, and the worst part is, it was so easy. That’s why Victor picked me. It wasn’t just because I’d already done blood magic. His other apprentice, the boy I killed to earn my spot, he was also stained when Victor found him. I was just better. ‘A natural-born talent,’ Victor said, and he was right. All I had to do was wish for my brother to die, and it happened.”
He hunched over even farther. “It was the same for the other apprentice. I knew it was wrong, but I was so afraid of going back into the coma that I did whatever Victor said. I didn’t even have to try that hard. All I had to do was touch him, and his soul ripped to shreds.”
Lola sighed. “Simon…”
He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest to hide his bloody hands as he curled over on himself. “You were right,” he whispered into his chest. “We’re all his monsters.”
“No, we’re not,” she said firmly, grabbing his shoulders and wrenching him around to look at her. “I only thought that at the time because I was stuck in his bloody shadow. The moment I got free, though, I saw the truth. We were never the monsters. He was. You, me, and the Rider: we’re the victims he forced to do his monstrous things. Even Jamie—”
“Jamie is a monster.”
“Yeah, okay, she’s awful,” Lola agreed. “But the rest of us aren’t. Why do you think Victor grabbed us as kids? It wasn’t because he wanted to be a father. He needed us young and vulnerable because that’s when he could screw us up. If we were actually horrible like him, he wouldn’t have had to go through all that effort.”
“Maybe not for you,” Simon said coldly. “You were innocent. I was already a killer when he found me.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re doomed to be one forever.” She put a hand on his cheek with a smile. “You did things that you regret, but they’re not who you are. I know that for a fact because the Simon I grew up with, my Simon, was the very best person I knew.”
