by Ashia Monet
Naturally, Katia leads their group. She hasn’t mentioned where she’s taking them, but they seem to be returning to the Tempore. Cordelia struts close behind her, her face skewed into an almost permanent scowl.
Daniel, meanwhile, hides his small body behind Blythe, more shuffling his feet than walking. Something about him reminds Blythe of her sisters, how they waddle awkwardly around unfamiliar places. The memory of them is as endearing as it is painful.
“So…” Blythe looks over her shoulder. Daniel’s shoulders are nearly hunched into his ears. “Are you excited to go to Frost Glade?”
If Daniel looked terrified before, he looks like he’s about to burst into tears now.
Blythe tries to stay cheery. “Is that a no?”
Daniel shakes his head frantically, his curls flying around his face. “I-I-I think someone’s following us.”
The only person of interest is yards behind them: a man in a black suit. He is still and staring at them.
Behind him, a black truck turns onto the street and creeps toward them. It doesn’t fit here in Broughton, with its massive size and boxy, modern cut.
Blythe forces herself to breathe. Men wear suits all the time. Maybe that man just lives here.
But deep, deep down, the truth burns in her stomach. She knows the Erasers when she sees them.
“What’s going on?” Katia asks.
She’s gone still, her cloak like a shadow along her body. Cordelia studies Blythe, watching her trembling hands, the gape of her mouth.
Calm down, Blythe tells herself, steadying her nerves. “Nothing.”
Katia sneers. “No, not ‘nothing’. If something’s going on, you need to tell me.”
Blythe hesitates. Daniel picks at the hem of his sweater. She can see his pleading expression in the corner of her gaze.
“I think…” her voice trails off. “I think we’re being followed.”
The truck is halfway to them now. Katia’s eyes flicker to it. She does not look shocked, confused, or angry. Her face simply goes blank.
“Just keep up,” she says.
Her pace is brisk—not quick enough to be a run, too hasty to be a walk. Blythe grabs Daniel by the arm and drags him to her side as they approach an intersection.
The four of them are dead center in the road when the ground shakes. The sound of approaching tires hits Blythe’s ears.
The black truck drives straight toward her.
Katia flicks her wrist. A blast of wind shoots past her, bursting into the truck’s hood.
The wheels squeal and swerve as the truck sways into a lamppost, metal crunching like paper. Smoke rises from the crushed hood. But no one emerges.
The man at the end of the street still lingers. Except another, identical man has joined him, standing across the road, watching, unblinking.
Blythe spots another face farther behind them, almost unseen, behind a shop window.
They are all around, from the alleys to the shops. Hidden, unseen. The figures in black suits. The Erasers.
They have followed Blythe before, and they have watched her. But they’ve never sent a truck after her.
She’s never seen so many of them before. She gets the cold, creeping feeling that their faces may be the last thing she’ll ever see.
A gust of air soars around Blythe. For a moment, fear shoots through her—has that man returned? The one who broke into the café?
She can hear the screams of her mother, her father, the twins. Her heart races, thumping against her ribs, and she cannot catch her breath—
But there is only Katia, shoulders set square as the wind dances through her cloak. Her expression is impassive.
The winds are under her control. Whatever her magic is, it must allow her to control the air.
Her gaze catches on the faces of the Erasers, shifting easily from one to the next. “Okay kids,” she whispers. “Who remembers how to get back to the Tempore?”
Cordelia speaks up. “I do.” Blythe hopes to God she isn’t lying. If they don’t do something, they’re all getting Erased.
“Good,” Katia says. “I’ll meet you there.”
“W-W-We have to go alone?!” Daniel stammers.
Katia scans the suited figures in the distance. “There’s some business that needs handling here. Just start walking and stay calm.”
Cordelia hurries across the street, her back turned to the flood of Erasers in the distance. Blythe hurries after her, pulling Daniel in her wake.
If they move quickly enough, if they do no provoke them, they just might reach the Tempore in one piece. Maybe.
But something strange happens. A voice enters Blythe’s mind that is not her own; but it is not unfamiliar.
I know you’re frightened, Cordelia speaks in the same fluid manner as Blythe’s own thoughts. But I can hear these people’s thoughts, and I can hear where they are. I can keep us from running into them, but you have to stay quiet and you must follow me.
Cordelia does not stop walking, her fists balled tight at her sides.
Blythe thoughts flow instantly, without filter. You’re in my head? How? Could you always read minds? Have you been reading my mind this entire time?
The frustrated shake of Cordelia’s head is Blythe’s only proof that it actually is Cordelia in her mind.
Why would I care about what you think?! Her voice returns. Focus on what I’ve said!
You’re absolutely insufferable when you’re being bossy but do your thing, I guess, Blythe thinks, and she audibly hears Cordelia scoff.
Daniel, who is usually quite pink, looks white as snow. “W-W-What’s happening?!”
Blythe glances over her shoulder. At the end of the street stand two suited men. Watching.
“Just keep up with us, Dan,” Blythe whispers.
Streets blur as they rush down them, too similar to discern. But the suited figures no longer appear in the distance.
With each step Blythe takes, they seem to edge forward. Each white face appears closer than the last. And their numbers are growing.
Blythe has run from the Erasers like this before, racing on foot with her parents. It wasn’t effective. If they keep up this pace, they will be ambushed.
New plan, Blythe thinks, hoping Cordelia can hear her. Get behind me.
“What?!” Cordelia asks.
Blythe doesn’t wait to explain. She darts to the center of the street, feet set square on either side of the yellow dividing line.
There is no guarantee that her plan will work. But she can’t wait to see what will happen if the Erasers corner them.
Plus, she’s itching for an excuse to use this thing.
“Get behind me, Daniel!” she screams. His curls bounce as he runs behind her.
Cordelia has gone shock still with indignant confusion. A suited figure appears in the storefront behind her.
“Cordelia!” Blythe screams.
Cordelia’s fists ball and her nose wrinkles. Muttering under her breath, she hurries into the street.
Before Blythe is an empty street plagued with ghosts of people that are not people, men that are not men.
She takes in a long, deep breath and draws the hockey stick from her back.
“Alright,” Blythe mutters. “Let’s see what you can do.”
The stick’s weight shifts in her hands as she raises it above her head. It hums with energy; tension builds as it floods with magic, filling until the power leaks into her palms, drips down her arms, into her shoulders.
God, Blythe has always wanted to get back at the Erasers.
Blythe arms the stick through the air and slams it into the asphalt. An explosion ripples through the ground, cracking the street in thousands of crumbling pieces.
Buildings shake. Chunks of brick drop onto the sidewalk. Trees shutter as fissures race up their trunks.
Blythe has brought an earthquake to Broughton.
As quickly as it starts, it is over. The street is still.
Blythe searches for the me
n’s faces; she checks the alleys, the trees, the ends of the streets, the windows. There are no figures. The Erasers are gone.
A booming laugh bursts from her. She has never, not once in her entire life, made the Erasers run from her. And here she stands today.
If only her parents could see her now. Her father would sweep her into his arms, her mother would scream with pride and joy.
If only. If only.
Her eyes sting from just the thought of them, but she quickly blinks them away. She checks over her shoulder to keep herself from crying.
Cordelia and Daniel are unharmed—but they are also splayed out on the ground. Daniel’s eyes are open as wide as his mouth.
Cordelia gives Blythe a withering glare. (She’s kind of cute when she’s angry. Or maybe that’s just the surge of magic talking.)
“Sorry,” Blythe smiles. “Still gotta get the hang of it.”
“You’re mad,” Cordelia growls.
Blythe outstretches a hand to help her up anyway. “And you were leading us back to the Tempore, so let’s hurry up before those guys realize I don’t actually know what I’m doing.”
Cordelia makes a face, standing up on her own. Daniel rises too, neatly brushing pebbles of asphalt from his khakis.
Blythe wants to point out that she saved Cordelia’s life; there was an Eraser right behind her, literally inches away from snatching her out of reality.
But if Cordelia can hear thoughts, then she must already know this. And if she can read thoughts, then she must already know that Blythe does not hate her, and all she wants is to find her family again. Which means that, whatever angry demon lives inside Cordelia, it’s a creature she manifested on her own—one that has absolutely nothing to do with anyone else.
Cordelia leads them back to the hill outside of the Tempore without a hitch. Blythe dramatically collapses onto the grass, staring up at the string of clouds drifting through the baby blue sky.
The hockey stick makes her feel like she’s lying on an iron rail, so it isn’t the most comfortable position, but still. She fought the Erasers. And got away.
She’s been waiting her whole life to do that.
A figure with an echoing cloak floats into her line of sight. “You know, when I saw those people, I expected someone actually threatening,” Katia says.
Blythe immediately flashes back to that night in the Full Cup, the way the air escaped her lungs, how it threw her to the ground.
Katia lands on easy, gentle feet. “They were gone in a matter of minutes,” she says. “Left as soon as I put up a fight. I was afraid someone had sent them—”
“Someone like the Trident Republic?” Blythe interrupts.
She doesn’t know why she said it. Maybe because she is suspicious and high off of momentary power. Maybe because she’s tired of Katia.
Katia grimaces. She’s getting tired of hearing that phrase from Blythe’s mouth.
“Speaking of,” Blythe continues. She pushes to her feet. “You know an awful lot about this situation.”
“What?” Katia asks.
Blythe could leave this alone. Claim it’s nothing and shut up. But something builds in her chest—pride, suspicion, hurt, or a mix of all three—and forces the words out.
“From the Trident Republic, to Walden Oliver and Rue Whiteclaw. And while we’re at it…” Blythe narrows her eyes. “I never knew you could control the wind.”
For a moment, Katia only stares at her. Then she draws herself up. She starts toward Blythe, eyes steeled like a bull charging forward.
Blythe forces herself to stay put, to stare Katia down, even though the woman towers over her in her seven-inch-heels.
“Listen, little girl,” Katia spits. “I had nothing to do with what happened to your family. You think because I use Inherited Magic to control the weather, it means I helped kidnap your family?”
Silence falls. It occurs to Blythe, as she stares into the dark fire that is Katia’s eyes, that she may have made a mistake.
“I haven’t told you anything because you don’t need to know anything. You’re a sixteen-year-old girl who is dumb enough to try and get herself killed running off to Electric City. You don’t deserve information. I’m not here to coddle you and make you feel better. I’m not your mom. I’m not your babysitter. And I don’t give a single shit about your feelings. The only thing I’m here to do is get you to Frost Glade and I am not getting paid enough to patiently deal with your bullshit. The next time you come for me, I will have you blown into that city in a goddamn hurricane. So shut the fuck up and take a fucking seat.”
Cordelia stares unblinkingly at Blythe. Daniel keeps his head down.
Without another word, Katia slips into the trees.
Nine
Winter has slipped into the Tempore. The cold sears straight through Blythe’s clothes. The grass is buried beneath smooth, untouched snow. Sheets of ice coat the logs and newly barren trees. The air smells of frost and snowflakes fall in flurries, grabbing hold of every surface they touch.
“I-I-It’s June,” Daniel stammers. “Why…why is it snowing in June?”
Katia pulls her cloak tighter across her shoulders; it moves over her like a shadow. “Because something’s not right. The Tempore is magic and it may not have consistent weather, but it never changes seasons like this.”
The difference is palpable. It’s like the energy in the air has changed; it has quieted and become something…worrying.
The sky is a blanket of black. There is no sound besides their feet crunching the snow. This place is no longer the serene forest it was when they left.
“I think someone’s messing with the Tempore,” Katia says.
Daniel lets out a tiny, scared shriek.
Katia glowers at him. “Are you dying?” she asks.
Of course, he doesn’t answer.
Katia grumbles as she keeps walking. The Guardians follow, and Blythe tucks her hands under her arms to hold back shivers.
“So, we were right earlier,” Comes Cordelia’s voice behind Blythe. “The Trident Republic is in the Tempore.”
“Most likely,” Katia mumbles. Her mind seems to be elsewhere. “Flexing their strength by taking one of our biggest assets. Trying to piss the Sages off enough to make them declare war.”
“I knew stopping for breakfast was a mistake,” Cordelia’s face is flushed pink, her lips set tight in annoyance. “You all ignore me because you don’t like what I’m saying, but I’m the only one who seems to understand the gravity of this situation—I’m right. We need to stop—”
Katia’s cape echoes as she spins around. “Speak again. I dare you.”
Cordelia stares her down, but does not dare.
They finish their walk in silence. Nobody wants to talk under Katia’s dictatorship. If something doesn’t change before they get to Frost Glade, this is going to be the worst journey of Blythe’s life.
The snow is fluffy and fresh enough for Katia to simply wipe it off the windshield before getting the keys from Blythe and starting up the engine.
Blythe takes the passenger seat, as per usual, leaving Daniel and Cordelia in the backseat. They’ve barely been driving for ten minutes, plowing effortlessly through the snow, before Katia’s phone rings.
Katia sandwiches it between her shoulder and her ear. “What is it, Val?”
A male voice responds. “Hello to you as well, my dear. We’ve received a worrying report on the Tempore. I’d suggest your steer clear for the foreseeable future.”
“Too late, we’re already in it,” Katia mumbles. “I’m looking for the nearest exit as we speak. Are the Sages going to issue a statement?”
“The media beat them to it. People are panicking.”
Katia fumbles with the radio, scanning through stations until she hits a magician frequency. “—This is Alastair French here to report that everything’s going to—excuse my French—shit. The Tempore seems to be under enemy control and is deemed unsafe for civilian travel—”
&n
bsp; Katia curses under her breath.
“But I’ve an ulterior motive for calling,” the voice continues. “And I want to apologize sincerely for what I’m about to ask of you.”
Katia rolls her eyes. “Spit it out, Prince Charming."
The voice, Val, hesitates. “I need you to aid us in the search."
“What do you need to know?”
“Nothing. We need you here.”
Blythe ears perk up. She keeps herself from looking too alert, focusing her attention on the passing branches weighed down by snow.
If Katia takes this Val person up on his offer, she’ll probably have to leave the Guardians unattended, at least momentarily.
That’d give Blythe a clear way out without any hassle.
She has a weapon now and she can probably figure out how to use the Tempore. If she could survive the Erasers, surely she could survive Electric City.
Not to mention, if she could convince them, Cordelia and Daniel may even join her. She won’t even be alone.
She could really do this.
“What?” Katia blurts. “Val, I have to get the Guardians in under a day. As of right now, I’ve only gotten three and—”
Her gaze flickers to Blythe before she whispers something too low for Blythe to catch. Maybe it’s about her family. But it could honestly be about anything. Katia isn’t the most trustworthy person in the world.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Val replies. “But no one knows him as well as you do. My men are running out of options. It’s as if he’s disappeared into thin air.”
“I wouldn’t put that past him.”
Desperation bleeds through Val’s voice. “Katia, please.”
Katia’s grip on the wheel tightens. Whoever Val is searching for seems to have a very emotional impact on Katia, if the heavy look in her eyes is any indication.
“Try his old apartment in Virginia,” she says. “If you don’t find him, you’ll probably find some clues. Worse case scenario, you’ll have to visit the Fae Lands. But I seriously have to go, Val, I can’t…I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”
It is the first time Blythe has heard Katia apologize.
“Don’t worry, we’ll make it work,” Val says. “Go on with your journey. Good luck to you, my dear.”
