“But you said that was a test,” she protested.
“Of course it was. That doesn’t mean I expected it to fail. You turned out to be more powerful than I expected, which is why I could delay our meeting no longer. I still want to know how you did it, but that can wait until later.”
“There might not be a later,” she said desperately, still struggling as he tightened the straps holding her down. “You said yourself, this might drive me mad.”
“That is highly unlikely, but I’m willing to take the risk.”
“Why? Don’t you l—love me?” She stumbled over the word, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice, but unable to hide her pleading.
He stopped and stared at her, face a blank mask once more. “How I feel is irrelevant. Nothing must stand in the way of the greater good. That is a fact your mother could never accept. That is why she ran away with you, to sabotage my research.”
Lily had thought she couldn’t feel any worse, but her father’s words sent a shock of hurt and betrayal through her that jarred her to the core. The shock did something to her head, and she felt the blackness of her childhood crack. It leaked memories long hidden, or perhaps simply suppressed. She remembered needles, and pain. Crying for her mother. Her father’s stern voice.
“What did you do to me?” she whispered in disbelief.
John Faust didn’t reply, simply continued his preparations. Once he’d tightened her straps, he began removing the iron bands, to “prevent them from interfering with the spell” as he explained tonelessly, once more speaking at her, not to her.
She felt immense relief, a freeing and lightening sensation as each one was removed. Yet, she was still very weak. Would she be strong enough to cast in her state? Even now, the stress and shock of just the last five minutes had drained her. She closed her eyes, resting for a moment as he removed the band from her right wrist.
“Hmm, we shall have to remove this,” he said.
Lily’s eyes flew open in panic as she felt him tugging at her ward bracelet. Of course, how could she have forgotten it? It would prevent active spells from influencing her in any way she didn’t allow. The compulsion magic John Faust had used was passive and only worked if the subject allowed it a first grip, which she foolishly had. But the ward bracelet would surely protect her from his experiment.
The bracelet didn’t budge, much to John Faust’s annoyance. He left momentarily and returned with a pair of scissors. They could not cut the cords, surprising both of them. “Where the devil did you get this?” he asked, throwing the scissors aside in frustration.
When Lily did not reply, he sighed and placed his hands on the bracelet, speaking words of power obviously meant to break or neutralize the ward. In a flash of white light, John Faust cried out in pain and jumped back. He stared at his hands in disbelief, and Lily saw red welts on them in the shape of her bracelet’s beads. She couldn’t help the smile that crept across her face.
“Defeated by a little ward, Father? I’m disappointed in you,” she taunted weakly, feeling reckless despite her helplessness.
He stared at her coldly, smoothing his face to hide any trace of emotion. “We shall see.” Turning back to his worktable, he stopped short as Oculus suddenly spread its wings and croaked loudly. The construct beat the air, his croaking turning into caws of alarm.
“What in the world—” John Faust cursed and hurried to descend the landing stairs, headed for the workroom’s entrance.
Lily could just barely see the door from where she sat. As John Faust approached it, the whole thing began to vibrate. There was a loud cry outside the room and the door exploded inward, knocking John Faust off his feet.
Lily could have cried in relief and actually felt a tear or two in the corners of her eyes at the sight that greeted her. There in the doorway stood Madam Barrington, Sebastian, and—
“Mother!” Lily cried. Tears now streamed freely down her cheeks as she began to half sob, half laugh, overwhelmed by relief.
Freda Singer didn’t look up at her daughter, keeping her eyes fixed on her ex-husband as he scrambled to his feet. But her voice was full of all the love and concern Lily had desperately wanted from her father. “It’s alright honey. Don’t cry. You’re going to be just fine.”
There was a sudden bang and a yowl, and Lily struggled to see through her tears. It looked as if Sir Kipling had tried to sneak around John Faust and had been hit with some sort of spell that flung him into the air. Her familiar landed safely on his feet, unhurt thanks to his ward collar, even if the tip of his tail was a bit singed. Now he crouched by Madam Barrington’s feet, hissing and spitting at her father. To Lily, who could understand him, it sounded like a string of curses so colorful she was momentarily shocked, wondering where in the world her cat had learned such foul language.
“How dare you touch my student, LeFay. You are a disgrace to our kind.” Madam Barrington was too conservative to curse but looked as if she wanted to. Hairs that had come loose from her strict bun now stood up in all directions as her whole body crackled with power. Her eyes were alight with rage, frightening in its intensity. Lily had never seen her teacher so angry.
“She is my daughter,” he replied coolly, eyes flicking between his opponents, gauging them. “I believe that gives me more right to her than you.”
“No one has any right to her, you pig-headed bastard,” Freda shot out, looking just as angry as Madam Barrington. Lily almost felt sorry for her father. Very few things could make her mother lose her temper. But when she did, all bets were off. “She belongs to herself, and if you lay one more slimy finger on her, I’ll curse you myself.”
“Is that any kind of welcome, darling?” John Faust taunted, polite mask cracking under the strain. “It’s been more than twenty years, after all. But I knew you would return to me someday.”
“Drop dead,” her mother spat.
His face twisted into an angry snarl. “So sorry to disappoint, but by the time I’m done, I will be immortal.”
“Heaven help us,” Freda retorted.
“Enough,” Madam Barrington said, her sharp voice cracking like a whip. Freda’s mouth formed into a thin line, lips turning white with the pressure of being pressed together. Madam Barrington eyed her opponent’s ready stance and outstretched arms. She began speaking, but her voice faded in Lily’s ears as she focused on Sebastian. He stood behind both women, looking up at her helplessly. She could tell he wanted to rush to the rescue but wisely held back, understanding what he was up against. If only she could create a distraction, get John Faust’s attention to waver for a moment. That would give her friends the opening they needed.
The straps holding her to the chair were as tight as ever, keeping her immobile. But of the iron bands, only the one on her left wrist remained. She felt stronger than she had since this ordeal began, but was it enough to cast a spell? She closed her eyes and reached inside, fighting past the now much thinner veil between her and the Source. Her lips formed words of power, whispering them in a desperate plea. All she needed was a little bit of magic, just enough to...
A large, glass beaker at the edge of one of the worktables by the stairs wobbled, then fell. It plunged two stories to smash on the workroom’s bottom floor in an explosion of glass and liquid.
John Faust reacted instinctively, head whipping toward the source of disturbance. Even as he realized his mistake and turned back, Madam Barrington and Freda sprang forward on the attack, and all hell broke loose.
The women’s voices combined, calling out powerful words that shot bolts of energy at a retreating John Faust. They rebounded off his defenses, shooting wildly around the room in a wave of destruction as he responded in kind. Lily could only stare, shocked at the sight of her mother casting spells as well as at the whirlwind of magic that was three wizards locked in battle. Her attention was soon pulled away, however, as she spotted Sir Kipling making a beeline for the landing stairs, followed closely by Sebastian.
Unfortunately, she wasn�
�t the only one who had spotted them. Oculus launched itself from its perch atop the circular frame, cawing the alarm as he dive-bombed Sir Kipling, sharp beak seeking out tender flesh. The feline jumped aside and swiped at it, sharp claws scoring across the construct’s metal body.
Alerted by the raven’s cries, John Faust was somehow able to peel away enough attention from his battle to shoot bolts in Sebastian’s direction. Before the cry of warning even left Lily’s lips, Sebastian had whirled, black staff crowned with shining green light appearing in his hands in time to catch the blast of energy aimed at his chest.
He started forward as if to enter the fray but was stopped by Sir Kipling’s frantic meow. Somehow Oculus had dug its claws into her cat’s back, its strong wings beating furiously to pin him there as it pecked at his eyes. Sebastian turned and swung his staff like a batter hitting a low ball. It connected solidly with the construct’s metal body, and the raven went tumbling off into a corner, shrieking raucously. It scrambled to its feet, then crouched to take wing once again when something tiny and squeaking dive-bombed it, whirling around the bird’s head and distracting it from its plans.
Now free, Sir Kipling raced up the stairs to the landing. Sebastian followed more slowly as he backed up the steps, staff between him and John Faust. For the moment, however, Madam Barrington and Freda were keeping her father distracted, their spells sending books, chairs, even shelves flying. Windows shattered and light globes fell from the ceiling, crashing to the floor and adding shards of glass to the destruction around the combatants.
Jumping up into her lap, Sir Kipling meowed worriedly and nosed her bound wrists. He tried to bite the leather straps but was gently pushed aside by Sebastian. His staff had disappeared to wherever it stayed—she had to remember to ask him when things quieted down—and he deftly undid the straps holding her captive. As soon as her hands were free, she threw her arms around his neck, trying not to start crying again. The movement took all her strength to do, so she couldn’t even jerk back when Sebastian swore in pain. He grabbed her arms and pried them off, staring in shock at the iron band on her left wrist. She could just see an angry red burn on his neck where it had touched him.
“Wrought iron. That bastard,” he muttered to himself. “Calm down, Lily, it’s alright. I’ve got you,” he said to her, shifting her to the side and ignoring her protests. One arm behind her back, the other under her legs, he lifted her in his strong arms. Huddled against his warmth, she finally let go, head falling weakly to rest on his shoulder, her strength completely spent.
She was barely aware as he carried her down the stairs, taking a circuitous route behind fallen bookshelves and columns to stay away from the battling wizards as he fled the room. Exiting the door, he called over his shoulder, “Fall back! I’ve got her!”
He took off down the hall, Lily bouncing in his arms. There was a bellow of rage and a massive explosion behind them, making Sebastian falter momentarily as he stumbled and regained his footing, trying not to drop her.
As they passed through the grand entryway and she struggled to keep her eyes open, she caught sight of Ursula through the drawing room door, bound to a chair and gagged. Beside the door stood Henry, hands in his pockets, watching them go with a sad expression. Her strength fading fast, Lily wondered if what she saw was real or if she were dreaming again.
She was jarred back into partial wakefulness as Sebastian barreled her into the back of a beat-up car. He dived in after her, yelling, “Drive! Drive!”
“Okay, okay. I’m going!” a familiar voice yelled back. Was that Tina? Lily couldn’t think any more, exhaustion from her ordeal overtaking her as the rumble and sway of the car pushed her over the precipice into sweet oblivion.
Epilogue
“Do you think she’ll even want to talk to me?”
“Of course she will, dear. Do not be silly.”
“I’m not sure, maybe it would be better if I go. If she wants to see me, I’ll come back later.”
“I will hear no more of this nonsense, Freda. You remain exactly where you are until she wakes. You are a guest in my house for as long as you need. It is high time she apologized to you, and you have quite a bit of explaining to do yourself, as I recall.”
“But in her current state—”
“Not another word. I shall go make tea and bring it up.”
A sigh. “As usual, Ethel, you know best.”
“Indeed.”
A door opened and closed, and the sound of footsteps faded. Lily struggled to open her eyes, feeling as if she were swimming up from a great depth to reach the source of the voices. Her eyes slowly opened and she recognized her surroundings as a guest bedroom in Madam Barrington’s house. What caught her attention, however, was the figure sitting on her bed. Though the person’s face was turned toward the door and partially covered by bandages, it was familiar nonetheless.
“Mother?” she croaked, throat dry as sandpaper.
Freda Singer turned toward her, face full of relief as well as apprehension. “Oh, Lily, you’re alright.” She raised a hand to caress her daughter’s cheek, a smile on her lips even as tears glistened in the corners of her eyes.
Lily stared at her mother, drinking in the sight. That curly brown hair, soft grey eyes, and stubborn mouth that nonetheless was quick to smile and laugh. Quarrels forgotten, she weakly held up her arms for an embrace, wanting only the warmth and love she’d missed for so long. Freda bent, wrapping Lily in a gentle embrace, kissing away the tears on her cheek even as her own fell and intermingled with them.
They stayed that way for a long time. As far as Lily was concerned, she never wanted the moment to pass. But eventually Freda pulled back, handing her daughter a glass of water from the bedside table and searching her daughter’s eyes as she drank.
“Can you ever forgive me, Lily?” Freda asked, words barely above a whisper. Her request brought back memories and images, and Lily’s brow creased as she recalled what had happened.
“Why, mother? Why didn’t you tell me?” She didn’t need to specify. Freda seemed to understand the all-encompassing nature of the question.
“I thought I was protecting you, dearest. You know I never meant it to come to this. I thought if I kept you away...if I hid everything that connected us to him, even magic, he could never touch you. Never hurt you again.”
Lily looked away, trying not to remember the cold touch of iron and the emptiness of a broken heart. She searched for something to say, to break the tension. “Are you alright?” she asked, glancing at her mother’s bandages.
“Oh, it’s just a scratch.” Freda waved her hand in dismissal. “A bit of flying glass.”
“And...John Faust?” Lily asked quietly.
“We didn’t manage to kill him, if that’s what you’re asking. Though he will need to build a new workshop,” she said with grim satisfaction.
Lily’s eyes darkened, remembering a cold, hard chair and the blankness in her father’s eyes as he dispassionately discussed using her as research material.
Freda saw the look, and her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she said, voice full of guilt and pleading. “I never thought this would happen. I only wanted to protect you.”
Lily averted her gaze, wanting to bite back. She wanted her mother to feel some of the hurt she’d suffered, the frustration of years spent wondering about her past, not knowing the truth. But then she remembered something her father had said. I loved her fire, and the challenge of controlling it. I always brought her around, in the end. What had her mother endured, all those years ago? Did she deserve to be punished for protecting her daughter as best she knew how? Did their family really need any more animosity than it already had?
It was then that she noticed the purring vibrations at her feet. Craning her neck, she saw Sir Kipling curled up on the covers, warm yellow eyes fixed on her. He made no noise, simply blinked contentedly. This subtle display of feline forgiveness—his complete lack of resentment or withdrawal despite he
r actions—warmed her heart and she felt it soften.
Pushing back the hurt and anger, Lily looked at her mother and attempted a smile. She echoed Annabelle Witherspoon’s words as she said, “I know...and I forgive you. Also, I’m sorry for yelling at you and staying away all this time. It wasn’t right.”
Her mother’s face broke into a smile so big it brought her face to life. Her eyes danced with joy as she hugged her daughter tightly. “I forgive you, sweetheart. Always.”
“Please, Mother, gently,” Lily gasped, feeling the tender skin on her neck protest the violence of the embrace.
“Oops! Sorry, sweetie,” Freda apologized. “I’m just so happy to have you back.” Tears still glistened in her eyes, but they were tears of joy. “You’ll come home to visit, won’t you? Everyone is dying to see you, especially your brother Jamie. He...well, I think I should let him tell you himself, when you see him.”
“Of course I’ll come,” Lily promised, smiling. “After all, I have a thousand questions, and I’m far too tired to listen to all your answers right now.”
“I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”
“You’d better,” Lily said, giving her mother a look of mock severity.
There was a soft knock on the door, and Madam Barrington bustled in with a tray of tea. Sir Kipling, nose no doubt alerting him to the presence of milk, raised his head and eyed the tray with considerable interest.
“Ah, you are awake, Miss Singer. I am glad to see it,” said Madam Barrington.
Lily exchanged a knowing glance with her mother, and Freda nodded. She rose and headed for the door.
“Wherever are you going, Freda?” Madam Barrington asked in surprise.
“Lily and I have come to an...understanding. I’ll be back. Right now I think it’s time for you to do some explaining.” She winked and slipped out of the room.
Lips pursed, Madam Barrington set her tray down and poured Lily a steaming cup of tea, adding just the right amount of milk and sugar. She helped Lily prop herself up with pillows against the headboard and handed her the teacup. Lily winced as she shifted, noting the bandages wrapped around her wrists and more on her ankles, by the feel of it.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Revelations Page 22
