by Ashia Monet
Her words hang in the air. Since when does Cordelia know how to say those words?
“Apology accepted,” Antonio says. “At least you’re helping.”
“Yes,” Cordelia says, flat. “At least I’m helping.” Well, there’s some of her usual vitriol. “And before you try to paint the situation to look like I never help, I hope you realize it’s been a while since anyone’s gotten into our heads, Trident Republic or otherwise.”
She’s right. Besides what happened in California, and besides Blythe’s own personal demons, no one has been in their heads. At all.
“You…” Blythe can barely get her words out. “You actually did what you said you wouldn’t do?”
Cordelia tucks her hair behind her ear. “I’ve been practicing my magic these past few nights. I figured out how to shield our minds based on how Katia’s mind felt when I tried to read it. It’s not foolproof, but it should keep us generally safe. And if Daniel is willing to help me, I could potentially figure out a way to make it stronger. I don’t have much knowledge about Learned Magic but…he does.”
Daniel mouth has formed a perfectly dazed o. Blythe can’t blame him; this is a whole new Cordelia Deleon.
Suddenly his face scrunches. “I’m not helping you, you’re mean to me.”
Cordelia grits her teeth. “I’m trying to be better.”
“Try harder,” Daniel spits.
“Look,” Storm begins. “As much as I love watching you rip English Regina George a new one, this sounds like the kind of thing that’ll end up helping you out in the long run. You should give it a shot.”
Daniel regards Cordelia for a moment. “…fine.”
Cordelia lets out a short huff. “Right then. Glad that we got that settled,” she says. “Now, someone find me a computer.”
Storm takes them to a public library, where Cordelia gets behind a computer screen and works her magic.
Blythe wanders the stacks with Daniel, letting him point out some of his favorite classics and non-fiction, until Cordelia tells them to come back by snapping her fingers very loudly.
“If she’s always this rude, she’s gonna make me kick her ass,” Storm grumbles.
“Ay, no ass kicking allowed in the library!” Antonio declares as Blythe sighs.
“Can we leave the ass kicking to the monsters, please?” she asks.
Storm recoils. “Y’all got monsters coming after y’all?”
“I-I’ve learned that it’s best to be ready for anything,” Daniel whispers.
Cordelia spins around in her chair like a movie villain, legs crossed and fingers steepled. “Here’s the situation,” she begins.
Apparently, their destination—Lavender Heights, Quebec—is too small to have proper bus stops, so Cordelia has booked them tickets to the nearest major city and figures they’ll take an Uber the rest of the way.
Their Greyhound to Canada isn’t the most luxurious place in the world, but Blythe doesn’t care, as long as she doesn’t have to drive.
She nearly melts into her seat, letting every muscle in her body go lax. As she closes her eyes, Blythe realizes that this may be the last time she travels with the other Guardians.
When she thinks about her family, she feels like she’s spent a lifetime missing them. But when she thinks about the Guardians…there’s still so much to learn about them.
What is Cordelia’s life like in London? She mentioned everyone in her family being an artist—how did they raise someone as STEM-oriented as her?
Or even Daniel. What was it like to grow up knowing some force beyond your control wanted you dead? How did he construct his grimoire?
What foods were Antonio’s favorites to cook, how did he know he wanted to learn to surf? And Storm—there’s a whole myriad of things Blythe wants to know about Storm.
Antonio remains quiet for most of the drive. Blythe checks on him, but he waves her off.
“I’m fine,” he says, playing on his phone, curled up in his seat.
If Antonio’s not leading a conversation, one won’t start, so Blythe is left alone with her thoughts—and her thoughts can’t stay away from things that make her want to anxiety-hurl.
Things like the Erasers. Chills raise up Blythe’s spine from the memory of the blue-eyed man. She’s never been that close to one of them before.
Last chance, the man had said. Her last chance for what? What did the Erasers want from her?
When the bus makes a rest stop, Blythe pops into a convince store to buy snacks. While looking through the chips aisle, she hears the sound of wedges against the floorboards and is not surprised to find Cordelia coming up to her.
“So,” Cordelia begins. “I…didn’t know that happened with the Erasers.”
“I didn’t tell you to read my mind,” Blythe retorts. She’s not actually annoyed. Cordelia just needs to know she can’t invade people’s privacy like that.
Cordelia purses her lips. “I know. I’m sorry. I just got bored on the bus and starting…poking about. But honestly, I’ve never even heard of these Erasers before. I didn’t realize they were such a threat. And I’m sorry they’ve been…terrorizing you.”
“Stop apologizing, it’s not like you.”
Cordelia tosses her hair back. “I do what I want,” she says, but it almost sounds…playful this time. “Honestly, though, you’ve never spoken about them before.”
“I almost did, back when we saw them in Broughton,” Blythe says. “They’ve just…always been around. And I’ve always avoided them. My whole life. Even after everything they did to me and my family, we always just…ran.”
Blythe scoffs at an ironic thought. “Y’know,” she begins. “It’s funny how I’m ready to cut my way through Electric City and face the Trident Republic. But the Erasers have been terrorizing my family for years and I refuse to acknowledge their existence. Because even though I scared them off in Broughton…I’m still scared of them.”
Cordelia actually looks sympathetic. Not as if she can relate to the feeling, no, but like Blythe’s sadness has a real effect on her.
“I should have paid more attention,” Cordelia says. “I should have…done a lot of things differently.”
A comfortable silence falls between them, as if Cordelia is content to stand here at Blythe’s side, spending time in her presence.
Cordelia frowns up at Blythe. “Do you know what I find odd?”
“What?” Blythe humors her.
“I…haven’t been entirely truthful myself. My family used to live very comfortably. You know, in terms of finances. But business has been dwindling since my grandfather died, and we were fine for a while but now…my parents keep a tight leash on things. After I brought our tickets, I was waiting for a call from my mum. She’s diligent with checking the family transactions and would never miss something like that. But I haven’t heard a word.”
The Deleons, a family with only a sliver of their former wealth and glory, not noticing their youngest daughter purchasing upwards of three hundred dollars’ worth of bus tickets? Something’s definitely not right there.
“Yo,” Comes Storm’s voice. She bites into a Snickers’ bar as she joins them. “Bus is boardin’. Antonio’s already on but Daniel needs to look for a plant or something and he doesn’t want to go by himself, so I’mma wait outside for him.”
Daniel peeks out from behind her. He must be looking for silver-root—he said something about it being the last thing he needed.
Blythe can’t help but notice that, if Storm were to take her rollerblades off, she’d probably be Daniel’s exact height.
“Oh, okay. Thanks,” Blythe says.
“I can’t believe she can stand Daniel,” Cordelia mutters as they leave.
“There’s nothing wrong with Daniel,” Blythe rolls her eyes.
But Cordelia has a point. Storm talks to the rest of them, but not in the casual way she chats with Daniel. Blythe never would’ve guessed the two of them would get along so well.
Blythe learns quite a bit about St
orm as they travel. Not from what she says, but from what she does.
She is a silent protector, making sure the group stays together and keeping watch at night while the rest of them sleep (excluding Daniel, who never sleeps. And it’s starting to show under his eyes).
One night, when Antonio and Cordelia are sleeping and Daniel has made one of his numerous bathroom runs, Blythe and Storm are the only ones awake.
Sleep hasn’t come easily to Blythe, so she sits beside Storm, a pair of earbuds shared between them.
Their music tastes overlap slightly; they agree on SZA and Kendrick Lamar, but Blythe sits through Meek Mill in the same way that Storm tolerates Ariana Grande.
Blythe is watching the stars when Storm pauses a song. “I’m gonna call my brother,” she says.
But her brother doesn’t pick up, so she leaves him a snarky voicemail that makes Blythe smile.
“Are you guys close?” Blythe asks.
“Yeah,” Storm says. “We’ve been through a lot.”
This is the most Storm has ever talked about herself. “Does he have anything to do with this whole…Madame De-whatever thing?” Blythe asks.
There’s a fondness on Storm’s face as she laughs. “Girl, we ain’t all like you,” she says. “Not all of our families are mixed up in our shit.” She pauses. “But what you’re doing, heading out to Electric City to save them…it’s dope. I like that.”
They are only a few words, but they carry a large meaning. Storm isn’t just congratulating what Blythe is doing—she’s congratulating who Blythe is. The qualities that have brought her here in the first place.
Blythe smiles. “I like you, for what it’s worth.”
“I’m straight.”
“I meant as a friend. You’re not even my type.”
“Now I’m insulted.”
“Straight girls always are,” Blythe teases.
Storm lets loose a full-belly cackle that is full and unapologetic and iconic. Blythe has a feeling that’s just her normal laugh.
Storm falls asleep soon after, lashes against her cheeks and leaning on the rain-streaked window, leaving Blythe alone with Dreams and Nightmares playing in her ear.
Sixteen
It is the last time the Guardians will travel in search of another member of their ranks, and their entrance into Lavender Heights is appropriately ceremonious.
Or, at least, Blythe likes to think so. Because Quebec City appears as any other modern city—except more beige and French—but the world turns grey the closer their Uber comes to their destination.
They are piled in the back of a large truck, watching the outside world grow increasingly deserted as the summer air turns colder.
From what Blythe understands, Lavender Heights is not a magician town, which means that it is populated by Commons who have little awareness of the supernatural world just beyond their reach. Unexplainable phenomena will not go unnoticed—the Guardians will have to be very, very careful.
Their driver brings them to a cobblestone street, quirking his eyebrow as if he cannot believe anyone would willingly travel here. Blythe still tells him to have a good day as they step out.
Lavender Heights itself could be the setting of a classic Tim Burton film: cracked pavements, barely populated thin streets, an overabundance of grey.
The way the fog erases the tops of the stone buildings is iconic, but it’s the fields that take Blythe’s breath away.
Right in the entrance of the town is a vast expanse of purple flowers, stretching as far as Blythe can see. It’s a whole ocean of them. There is only one problem.
“They’re all dead,” Daniel breathes. “W-Why are they are all dead?”
He—their scholar of magic and Guardian of Nature—kneels at the edge of the field, pale and frowning. “I…I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“To be fair,” Cordelia mutters. “You haven’t seen much.”
Daniel is oblivious. He dips his hand into the dirt, lifts it in his palm. “This soil…it’s completely lost its nutrients. Like someone has sucked all life from it. But these flowers have still bloomed, so it must’ve happened quickly, o-or recently, but I…I-I don’t know what could do that…”
When Daniel turns around, his eyes are wide on Blythe. “W-We should go.”
It is a bit ominous, being welcomed to the town by an army of dead flowers. But Blythe isn’t one to worry about omens.
“Right,” she agrees. “We need to keep walking.”
“I-I meant leave this town and never return but o-okay.”
The flowers are a reoccurring motif; lining the streets are shops with purple-themed items, displaying freshly bloomed bouquets. It seems the flowers are—or, considering their current state, were—their main tourist attraction.
Needless to say, all of the stores seem to be struggling.
Blythe fishes out Katia’s paper of addresses. She doesn’t want to spend too much time in Lavender Height’s gloom and fog.
But beside the Guardian’s name, where her home address should be, Katia has written “????”.
Blythe freezes. “God hates me.”
Cordelia barely has time to ask what the problem is before Blythe shoves the paper in their faces. “I do not feel like going through another day of Find the Guardian,” she grumbles.
Storm is chewing on a Twizzler. She shrugs.
Cordelia narrows her eyes as if to read some unwritten line beside the other addresses. “This is so odd,” she mutters. “If Katia got this list from the Sages, does that mean even they don’t know where this Guardian is? And what did Katia plan to do here, just happen upon her somewhere in town? Is it really that small?”
Storm hums, looking around. “Let’s find out.”
A perfectly average manis walking down the sidewalk, staring at his phone as if he doesn’t expect anyone to be in his path.
Storm skates up to him. “Excuse me,” she begins, high-pitched and fancy. Blythe almost laughs at her code switch as she asks if the stranger recognizes the Guardian’s name.
The stranger looks bored. “No, but the last name is familiar,” he says. “Are you looking for a Caspian Compton? He’s the only one left. Didn’t have any siblings, either.”
“Uh, sorry sir, I don’t think—” Storm is cut off by Blythe and Cordelia’s frantic voices.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Blythe interrupts.
“Is Caspian about our age? Maybe, perhaps, gets on with some strange, unexplainable happenings?” Cordelia asks.
The man seems slightly taken aback. “…surprisingly, yes. Are you looking for him?”
Cordelia freezes the polite smile on her face. “Yes, do you happen to know where he lives? Or where we might find him?”
“The graveyard,” The man stares at her as if she’s asked what color the sky is. “Where he always is.”
The graveyard? Blythe’s not the only one caught off guard. Everyone seems to freeze in place. Everyone, except of course, the stranger himself.
“But I wouldn’t advise it,” he continues. “Things haven’t been the way they used to be.”
“What do you mean?” Antonio asks.
“He’s…different now,” says the stranger. “But feel free to give it a shot if you want. He might actually show up. Good luck.”
And with that, the man returns to his phone and circles around them to continue his walk.
The Guardians face with confused silence.
“Anyone understand what the hell just happened here?” Storm finally asks. “'Cause I sure as hell don’t.”
That man had no reason to lie to a bunch of random kids, which means the Guardian they’re looking for may very well be Caspian Compton. And Caspian probably is in a graveyard, as morbid and depressing as the thought is.
But the man didn’t talk about Caspian like he had passed. He talked about him as if he were just some kid with weird tendencies. And there are only two Elements left—which could mean that Caspian’s not dead.
“He’s th
e Guardian of the Dead,” Blythe realizes aloud.
She expects the words to be a relief, and they are—to Antonio and Cordelia.
Daniel goes pale.
“Oh, hell no,” Storm blurts.
“What do you have against the Guardian of the Dead?” Blythe asks.
“I’ll give you one goddamn guess.”
Blythe is no position to judge; the Sage of Ether is the only Sage who attempted world domination, and she’s the Guardian of Ether. And she turned out fine!
But Storm’s not entirely wrong. The Guardian of Death is either one of two people—a complete psychopath or a plot-twistingly kind sweetheart.
Only one of those options bodes well.
They make a short stop when Blythe spots a small restaurant offering poutine. It’s a dish she’s always been curious about but never had an opportunity to try.
She grins over her shoulder at Antonio. “Hey, Ant! Poutine?”
Antonio looks over the display. “I guess. I’m not really hungry.”
“Who are you?” Blythe teases.
Antonio gives her a half smile. Oh god. Not even a full one.
“No, really,” Blythe says. “I’m scared.”
“Are we eating or not?” At least Cordelia is the same.
Every seat in the cramped restaurant is empty, which means the Guardians are free to slide extra chairs up to the largest table and sit shoulder to shoulder in a cramped circle. None of them care.
Their conversation drifts between topics until Daniel speaks up about the suspicious death of Lavender Heights’ purple flowers.
“Maybe Caspian got to them,” Blythe teases, smiling when Cordelia snickers.
“Are we really gon sit here and crack jokes about someone whose magic is literally killing people?” Storm asks.
“I’m too determined for a little thing like death to stop me,” Blythe laughs.
She places her phone on the table as their waiter—who is also, seemingly, the only person working here—approaches their table.
They are halfway through their order when a foreign feeling settles in Blythe’s chest. :ike some outside force pulling at her soul.
