by S. M. Reine
“No, Mrs. Patrick.”
“What about your water?”
“It’s still running, as far as I know. If you’re having problems, I can bring a few gallons to your house.”
Her thin lips drew into a frown. “That won’t be necessary. My water is still running, too—for now. But just you watch.” She cast a final glance at the sky. “I think I should go stay with my son in Susanville.”
“That might be a good idea.”
Mrs. Patrick shuffled inside, and James went into his house as well.
There was no sign that anyone had been there since he and Elise had left. He sank to his couch, which still had the impression of Yatam’s sleeping body on the cushions and smelled faintly of myrrh.
The Union expected him to wait. Do nothing. Contact nobody.
James pulled the grocery list out of his pocket. It was short; they only needed eggs and milk. It felt strange to realize that they now needed to replace everything else in their freezer, since it would have begun to thaw. Of course, that was with the expectation that he and Stephanie could escape a Union evacuation in the first place.
His phone barely had any reception, but he got a dial tone. Taking a deep breath, James tapped out the phone number from the bottom of the list.
It rang twice. Two very long rings.
“Hello?”
It had been eleven years since James had spoken to Hannah, but he still recognized the musical undertones in that single word. Her voice was high, a little breathy, and it always sounded like she was on the verge of singing.
He realized that he had been silent for too long, and he said, “It’s me. It’s… it’s James.”
“You got my email,” she said, sounding resigned.
He closed his eyes to savor the sound of her voice. “Yes. I got your email.”
“How did you find out?”
“Do you really think that’s the issue here?” he asked with a small laugh. “You’re wondering how I found out about something as monumental as having a son?”
“I have a son.” Hannah’s voice was hard.
“Well, is he mine?”
“He’s mine . But… yes. You’re the father.”
James’s head dropped into his hand. Discovering that his ex-fiancée had cheated on him after a decade would have been so much easier than discovering he had a son.
The receiver rustled. She lowered her voice. “Hang on. I’m switching to the line in my bedroom.” She covered the mouthpiece, but James could still make out her muffled shout through her hand. “Do you know what time it is? Get back to bed. Right now.”
It fell silent for so many long moments. He took deep, measured breaths as he waited, trying not to let the thumping of his heart consume him.
Eventually, she picked up again.
“Are you still in Reno? It looks bad.”
“Yes, I’m in Reno. What does the news say?”
“Channel two says there’s no information yet, but some of the news sites are claiming volcanic eruption. It’s not a volcano, is it?”
He sighed. Volcanic eruption. Of all the harebrained claims the Union could think up…
“No. It’s not a volcano.”
“Demons?”
“What do you think?” he asked. “It doesn’t matter. It’s under control. I didn’t call to discuss the news.”
She huffed. “Okay. Fine. Tell me what you already know.”
“Only that I have offspring. And that’s a vast increase in the knowledge I possessed prior to yesterday.” James swallowed hard. Hannah remained silent. “What’s his name?” His voice came out much weaker than he intended.
A long pause.
“Nathaniel.”
Nathaniel. That wasn’t one of the names they had discussed for future children when they were engaged. Or was it? It had been too long. “Is he like me?”
“He’s a witch. Showing signs of being powerful. Probably the strongest in the coven.” It didn’t sound like that made her happy.
“Who’s teaching him?” James asked.
“Landon is working with him directly.” That was the high priest, who had been in charge for as long as James could remember. He was an old man with skin like beef jerky and a passionate love of herbal magic.
“He’ll need a better teacher than that.”
“No,” Hannah said.
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“Don’t forget, James, I know all of your secrets.” She didn’t sound angry. She sounded tired. “Every single one of them. I know who you are, and what kind of man you are, and the oaths you’ve made. And I know you are not the person I want to be in my son’s life.”
He felt numb. His skin was flushed and hot. “It’s been ten years. You don’t know me anymore.”
“Some things don’t change. They can’t .” She sighed. “You’re famous now. I’ve heard of the things you’ve accomplished with Ariane’s daughter, and—well, you should be proud of yourself, in that respect.”
“Has Nathaniel heard these stories?”
“Not many.”
“Does he know I’m his father?”
“He knows he’s not the immaculate conception,” she said, a hard edge to her voice. “Tell me, James. Ariane’s daughter. Elise. Does she know the truth about you?”
James’s hand clenched on the receiver. “I’m her aspis. We’ve fought hundreds of battles together. The things we have seen, the things we’ve done—whatever you’ve heard of us is barely the beginning. She is…” He let out a breath. “Elise is more than a friend. More than family.”
“But does she know ?” Hannah pressed.
He bowed his head. “No.”
“Like I said. Some things really don’t change.”
It took all of James’s self-control not to throw the phone. Instead, he focused on the reason he called. “I’m coming to Boulder. Nathaniel is in danger.”
Her voice sharpened. “How so?”
“I learned of him through a prophecy which speaks of the end of the world. He’s somehow connected.”
“Of course,” Hannah said with a bitter laugh. “Of course.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that trouble follows you, James. I don’t want you in Boulder.”
“Even to protect Nathaniel?” She didn’t reply. He went on, struggling to keep the anger out of his voice. “I know somewhere safe to take him—to take both of you.”
“And leave his school? Landon? Our family?”
“Be rational, Hannah. He can’t go to school if he’s dead.”
“You’re an asshole.”
James closed his eyes. He couldn’t think of an argument. He didn’t really disagree. “I’ll depart as soon as I can. I think I can be there by Monday, and you should be prepared to leave when I get there.”
“We can talk about it,” she said in a tone that made it clear she had already decided not to go anywhere with him.
But she would let him talk. He could see his son. It was a start. “I can protect you,” he said. “Both of you.”
Someone knocked on James’s front door. He glanced up at the clock. It was after two in the morning.
Hannah was speaking. “We don’t need your protection, and we’re not going to run.”
“We’ll discuss it when I get there. I’ll email you when I know what day I’ll be arriving.”
“I can’t wait.”
She hung up.
Another knock on the door, louder than before. He dropped his cell phone on the desk and grabbed a notebook. It wasn’t his normal Book of Shadows—that was with Elise in Reno—but the dozen or so spells were better than none.
He slipped through the dark house to the front door, using only the moonlight and his memory to navigate. James peered through the window beside the door without ruffling the curtains. There was a man slouched on his doorstep with brown skin and a tribal tattoo on his bare shoulder.
Anthony swayed out of view long enough to pu
nch the doorbell, which didn’t make a sound without electricity. He knocked again.
James opened the door. Anthony focused bleary eyes on him. “I didn’t know where else to go.” The sentence slurred together so that it sounded like a single semi-coherent word.
“Have you been drinking?” James asked, leaning forward to sniff the air around Anthony. “Have you been driving ?”
He gave a hiccupping laugh. “Of course not. I sold my fucking Jeep for her. What would I be driving? Sunshine? A unicorn? Happy thoughts?”
James glanced around the dark houses around him. It was hard to tell if anyone was watching when none of the lights worked. “All right, Anthony, relax. Come inside.” The younger man stumbled in, and James shut the door behind him. “How did you get through the barricade?”
The younger man blinked. “Barricade?”
“The highways have been demolished,” James said, lighting one of his remaining tapers. “Nothing is getting in or out.”
“I didn’t take the highways.” That line of conversation didn’t seem to interest him. He shuffled through the gloomy house toward the kitchen, leaving James no choice but to follow with his candle.
“Care for some tea?”
“Tea?” Anthony scoffed. “Tea ?”
“You’re very drunk, so you should drink water. You can have it plain or you can have it in the form of tea. It’s your choice.”
“You kidding? This is hardly the time for tea.”
“Having one’s heart broken is the perfect time for tea,” James said, patting him on the shoulder. Anthony’s skin was slick with sweat, even though he had been walking outside in the cold wearing nothing but a tank top.
The younger man’s mouth fell open with shock. “How did you know?”
“I’m a very good guesser.” It was better than admitting that Elise had told him about it. There was no need to add the fuel of embarrassment to Anthony’s meltdown.
James sat him on one of the stools at the kitchen island, then ducked into the garage to find the camping stove. He set it up on the counter.
“She never loved me,” Anthony said.
He filled a pot with cold water. At least that was still working. “I’m not sure if that’s true. Where emotions are concerned, Elise can be somewhat of an enigma.”
“Screw that. She’s not an enigma. She’s a heartless fucking harpy.”
James tried not to smile as he lit the propane flame. It wasn’t funny. It really wasn’t. But he had thought of Elise in similar terms once or twice, and it was cathartic to hear someone else share the complaint.
While the water heated, he lit a few more candles. The room brightened with dancing flames reflected off the stainless steel surfaces and the hallway mirror.
The teapot boiled. James poured two cups, and Anthony curled his lip at the infuser. His face was gray, his eyes were shadowed, and it looked like it had been days since he had last shaved. “Would you like to tell me what you’re doing at my house?” James asked.
Anthony fished the metal ball out of his cup and set it on the counter before trying to drink the steaming tea. He winced and set the mug down again.
“I couldn’t go to my mom. She’s in Vermont with the rest of my family this week, and there are no flights in or out of Reno, so I can’t join them. And I couldn’t go to Betty, because she’s…” He trailed off, but anger clouded his eyes. “Elise didn’t even cry for her. Her best friend.”
James stirred milk into his tea, watching the swirling white clouds billow. Elise had cried. Once. She had also spent every day that followed trying not to think about Betty.
He chose his words carefully. “Grief is very personal.”
Anthony got off the bar stool, pacing the kitchen.
“Why the hell am I trying to talk to you about this? Of course you’re going to be on Elise’s side. Everyone’s on Elise’s side. My family—my own family —even had her spread Betty’s ashes. Can you believe it?”
He didn’t give James a chance to answer.
“People are so patient with her, but why? She’s a bitch. She doesn’t care about anyone.” He stopped and braced his hands on the counter, staring hard at James with bruised eyes. “That’s not rhetorical. Why do you put up with her?”
James sipped his tea before responding. “Anthony,” he said quietly, “I’m not in the mood for this. Any of it. Not this conversation, not your presence in my house, and certainly not your mood. So sit down and drink your tea before I do something you’ll regret.”
Shadow flashed through Anthony’s eyes. A shudder ran through him.
The older man frowned.
“Are you all right?”
Before Anthony could respond, the candles in the hall guttered and snuffed out.
James put a hand to his Book of Shadows. There was no breeze in the house, and the tapers had only been half-burned. But the hallway was suddenly dark—very dark—and he knew that all the candles had gone out in the living room as well.
He went to the mouth of the hall, slipping the notebook of spells from his back pocket. There was a strange texture to the air, as though it was filled with water and he had to swim to reach the darkened area.
Even though it was nighttime outside, it shouldn’t have been completely dark. There should have been moonlight. A glow reflecting off of the clouds.
But his house was utterly lightless.
He reached out to feel for his warding spells around the house.
They were gone.
“Yatai’s here.” His voice fell flat in the air.
The candles in the kitchen flickered.
Anthony stood beside him. “What are we going to do?” he asked, lifting his fists as though he could punch a shadow.
The house trembled as though stirred by an earthquake.
Wood squealed. Cracked.
The window in the dining room shattered, exploding inward with showering glass. A thick serpent of shadow punched through the hole and landed on the floor in an inky puddle.
Anthony jumped back. “Holy shit!”
“To my office. Run!”
He took a deep breath and plunged into the darkness, dragging the younger man toward the only room he knew to be protected enough to withstand Yatai. It could withstand anything.
“She’s coming!” Anthony yelled, and even though he was right behind the witch, his voice sounded distant and muffled.
James pounded a fist into the doorframe. The charms disengaged.
He threw Anthony through the door and jumped through, slamming it in time for the serpent to strike into the other side. The charms engaged with a shower of silver sparks.
“Jesus,” Anthony said, searching the room with his eyes. “What is this place?”
The door jumped and rattled in the frame.
“It’s my workspace,” James said.
Anthony stepped carefully over the edges of the incomplete circle, gaping at the bookshelves and hanging poultices. “It’s strong enough to keep her out?”
“Yes, of course.” Silently, he added, Probably. “At least for a couple of hours. But we can’t stay long—I don’t have supplies or weapons.”
James pulled out his cell phone. He only had one bar of reception, and nobody to call.
The door stopped shaking.
“Did she give up?” Anthony asked.
James hurried over to the window between his office and his greenhouse, double-checking the locks. “Yatai is ancient and as powerful as a god. She won’t let us go easily if she wants us.” He raised his voice. “I don’t have anything you want!”
The younger man stopped in the center of the circle. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”
“What do you mean?”
But Anthony wasn’t talking to him. He was watching a fixed point in the corner of the room. It was darker than the others—too dark, considering the moonlight that streamed through the window.
James’s heart sank.
“Why do you want his spells?”
Anthony asked the empty corner.
Even though James couldn’t see anything, he was shocked to hear a voice respond.
I have to deconstruct them. His paper magic is preventing me from accessing the gates.
It was her—Yatai. She had possessed Anthony.
Which meant she had followed him through the wards into the office.
“Damn,” James said.
Anthony turned. His eyes were completely black.
James didn’t wait for him to attack.
He swung, putting his full strength behind the blow. His knuckles connected with Anthony’s face.
His head snapped to the side. But he didn’t fall.
The younger man grabbed the back of James’s head and slammed his face into the bookshelf. Bright stars of pain flashed in his eyes, through his skull, and books scattered across the floor.
He grabbed for shelves and missed. Fell to the futon.
Anthony dived, but James lifted his feet in time and caught him in the chest, kicking him back.
The witch stumbled to his feet, holding out his hands to try to calm him. “Don’t do this,” James said. “You’ve been possessed. I can help you.”
Anthony swiped at his head, like flies were buzzing around him. His hands raked down his face and hair. “She didn’t mourn for you,” he growled. A shoulder twitched. “She doesn’t have a soul.”
He lowered his head and threw himself into James like a linebacker, lifting him off his feet. He was airborne.
White-hot flames bloomed down James’s back as he hit the window into the greenhouse. Glass cracked.
Digging his fists into James’s sides, Anthony pulled him back and smashed again.
The glass shattered. Shards sliced the back of James’s head, his arms. He lost his balance and tumbled through onto aromatic soil with Anthony’s weight crushing him.
James was dizzy with pain, and every motion made tiny glass fragments dig into his skin, but he was not as weak as he had once been. He recovered quickly. Flipped his weight over to get on top of Anthony. “Control yourself!” he snapped, trying to pin down the younger man’s arms.
There was no recognition in his face—no sign that he had heard James. His eyes swam with ichor.
