by R. L. King
Her eyes get even bigger. “But…she said you got the name wrong in the ritual. That’s why you got the wrong spirit.”
“But I didn’t.” I replay the dream again—it’s still as clear as ever, almost like something wants me to remember it. “I said it right. I got the circle right. Everything was right.”
“Could she have given you the wrong name, somehow? You didn’t know what it was ahead of time, right? How would you know?”
“But…she didn’t give me the name. Mara did. We went over the incantation before the ritual started. I saw what was written there, and so did she. She’d have noticed if it was wrong. She’s done this ritual before, with other apprentices. It’s the same spirit, Twy—she told me that. They always use the same spirit for the threshold ritual because there’s hardly any chance of anything going wrong.”
Hardly any chance.
“What was the name?” she murmurs. “Do you remember, from the dream? From…the day? I did the same ritual—can you tell me what it was?”
I didn’t think I remember, but the dream brought it back to full clarity. I’m one hundred percent certain the name from the dream is the same one I spoke on that day five years ago. I lean in and whisper it in her ear, taking care even though I know the name itself has no power unless combined with a ritual or a banishing.
She tenses. “That’s it…that’s the name. That’s the same one I summoned during mine. If that’s the name you used, you didn’t get it wrong.”
“Then…how could the ritual have gone wrong? If I got the circle right, the incantation, the name, then what else—”
I stop. The bucket of ice water from before is nothing next to what hits me now. I feel like somebody’s just dropped a block of granite on my head. “Oh, no…No…”
“What?”
It has to be.
It’s the only variable I didn’t have control over. The only one Mara didn’t check before the ritual—because she’d checked it before.
And she never, in a thousand years, would have suspected that one of her dearest friends might have messed with it.
“It was the blood.” My words come out on a weak whoosh of air, like somebody punched me in the stomach.
“The blood?”
“My blood. I had the little vial I was supposed to pour into the circle when I recited the name. We’d collected it earlier that day, and Mara and I did an incantation over it, to prepare it.” I gulp air, feeling suddenly like I’m drowning. “But…it was in the chamber with the rest of the ritual materials. It was out of my sight, and Mara’s, for a couple of hours while we prepared. If somebody—if Selene—had gotten in there and switched it with something else…”
I don’t even know if it could have been possible for some other ingredient to foul the ritual so much, if I’d gotten the true name right—but it’s the only explanation. If Selene had swapped in something else, whatever it was might not only have caused the wrong spirit to appear, but also helped her to control it after it had finished its work.
After it finished killing Mara.
I slump back on the bed, and Rory immediately leaps on my chest and peers into my face, concerned. “Oh, gods…”
Twyla’s gone pale. “I…don’t want to believe it. But I do. My dream was too vivid. I don’t know if yours is like mine—maybe it’s just helping you remember what happened—but either way…what do we do, Bron?”
It’s only then that I remember the last unusual part of my dream—the one that had up until now been completely obscured by the other, more pressing bits. Another face swirls across my mind’s eye: concerned, sad, so profoundly disturbed.
I sit back up fast, dumping Rory off again. “I’ll tell you what we do.
“We need to talk to Nana.”
Chapter Seventeen
We try to get some sleep—even after everything that’s happened, I’m not disrespectful enough (or maybe brave enough) to try calling Nana in the middle of the night—but we don’t have much success.
Twyla curls up next to me in bed and Rory nestles between us, purring her fool head off because she’s snuggled up next to her old best friend (me) and her new one (Twy), but she’s the only one who manages anything more than an uneasy doze. Despite Alice’s best attempts to help by playing various soothing musical selections through my clock radio, we toss and turn until the sunrise finally pokes through the window.
I wonder if Twyla’s worried about the same things I am: that we’ll have more terrifying nightmares, that something will try to break into the house and attack us, that Selene will somehow figure out we’re on to her and come after us herself. Whatever it is, it’s easy to tell she’s not getting any more sleep than I am. We finally give up and shove the covers off at six a.m.
I feel a little better—not much—after a hot shower and some breakfast. Twyla sits across from me at the table, gently fending off Rory, who’s trying to get into her bowl of cereal. “You really want to call Nana?” she asks, sounding unsure.
I know why. If my dream is wrong and Nana’s in the middle of this whole thing, we’re opening ourselves up to some dangerous stuff. Nana is the most powerful witch in our whole extended family. Even though she’s old, she can do things none of the rest of us could even dream of—and it’s no secret that she’s been grooming Selene to take over many of her functions someday. If the two of them are in league on this, we’re taking a big chance.
But I don’t think they are. I’ve never gotten any hint of a duplicitous or harmful vibe from Nana, from the time I was a small child. She’s never been anything to me but a kindly, somewhat remote presence who could always be counted on for advice, help, and sometimes even candy when our mothers weren’t looking.
“I do,” I say. I finish my cereal and pick up the bowl before Rory can get at it. “Sorry, kiddo, but milk gives you the runs, and I do not want to deal with that on top of everything else today.”
Twyla chuckles and strokes the offended cat, but then sobers again. “What are we going to say to her?”
“I don’t even know, to be honest. What do you say about something like this?” Once again, I half-wish that I had access to magic, so I could contact Nana some other way than the telephone. I can’t go visit her in person in any case—the lack of portals in Los Angeles was one of the reasons I picked this area, but right now it’s making things inconvenient. An astral conversation would require a ritual, and that’s not happening. I doubt even Twyla is keen to do one right now.
So, telephone it is. I only hope Selene’s still in Europe.
“Are you going to say anything to Nick or Mr. Happenstance first?”
“No. This might not even have anything to do with them. Let’s see if we can get more information first. Besides, I doubt either of them gets up this early in the morning.”
“Well,” she says, resigned, “if we’re going to do it, I say we get it over with. It’s three hours later in New York, so she should be awake. And I’m thinking I should do it, at least to start. After all, I’m out here helping with her project, so it won’t look weird for me to call. She’s probably wondering why I haven’t yet.”
I can see she’s not in favor of this idea, but I appreciate the support. I’m sure she realizes we’re not swimming in options right now. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”
She pulls out her phone and puts it on speaker. With a final, apprehensive look at me, she hits the button.
It rings several times before someone answers. “Hello?” The voice is definitely not Nana.
Oh, right: Nana never answers her own phone, preferring instead to employ various younger family members to be her personal assistants and handle her mundane business. It means she doesn’t have to do it, and it’s a good way to give the teenagers some spending money while teaching them responsibility.
“Hi, Belinda. It’s me, Twy. How are you?”
It’s a good thing that whoever Belinda is, she can’t see Twyla, because her cheerful voice and her terrified expression don�
��t match up at all.
“Twyla! Hi! How’s California?” Belinda sounds chirpy and definitely young. If she’s older than sixteen I’ll let Rory have my whole bowl of milk, consequences be damned.
“It’s great. Lots of sun and sand and palm trees.”
“Have you been to Disneyland yet? Met any cute guys?”
I sigh, but keep it quiet enough so Belinda doesn’t hear.
Twyla rolls her eyes. “Uh…no Disneyland yet. A couple of cute guys, but not really my type. Hey, is Nana around? I wanted to update her on my meeting about the video spot.”
“Yeah, she’s here. Hold on, let me tell her you’re calling.” There’s a sound like a phone hitting the table—no fancy hold music for Nana.
The silence stretches out for one minute. Two. Three.
“Do you think she knows?” Twyla mouths, looking more nervous than ever. “What if she does, and she’s off contacting Selene?”
“Don’t worry,” I say, trying to sound confident even though I’m concerned about exactly the same thing. “She’s—”
“Hello?”
I haven’t spoken to Nana in five years, but suddenly it doesn’t matter. Her kindly voice washes over me like warm water, taking me back to days when I used to visit her in her big, comfortable house full of knick-knacks, music, and sunlight. I swallow hard and make a ‘go ahead’ gesture at Twyla.
“Uh…hi, Nana. It’s me, Twyla. How are you?”
“Oh, Twyla, hello!” She sounds happy. “It’s so good to hear from you. I’d heard you arrived safely in California. Are you and Bron getting along?”
It’s another thing I’ve always loved about Nana: she calls me by the name I prefer, without ever slipping. Not even once. Unlike my mother.
“We are,” Twyla says. “We’ve…had a lot to talk about.”
“I’m so glad. I could never stand the idea of such good friends avoiding each other for so long.”
“Uh…yeah, Nana, it’s good. Things are good with us. I’m glad you had the idea for me to stay with her.”
“So am I, then. How was your meeting with—what was his name again? Selene handled all that, and my memory’s not what it used to be.”
Twyla tenses at Selene’s name. “Mr. DeVries. I met with him yesterday. It went…fine.”
“Oh, good. Is he going to produce our video? Selene spoke so highly of him.”
Twyla pauses.
“Twyla? Is everything all right? He is going to produce it, isn’t he?”
She swallows. “Uh…Nana…I don’t know how to say this. I…need to talk to you. Bron and I both do. We’ve got you on speaker.”
Now it’s Nana’s turn to pause. “Talk to me? About what, dear? You know you can talk to me about anything. Is something wrong out there? Bron, are you there?”
I have to make two attempts and clear my throat before I get the words out. “I’m here, Nana.”
“Oh, my, it’s so good to hear your voice after all this time.”
“Same here. I’ve…missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too, sweetheart, and so has your mother. What’s this you two want to talk to me about?”
We exchange glances. Twyla points at me. I shake my head. She points again, more emphatically.
“Okay,” I finally say, conceding. “It’s pretty important, Nana. Can we ask you something first?”
“Of course.”
“Are you alone? Is anyone else there with you?”
I can almost see her wrinkled brow furrowing. “Alone? Well, of course I am. I’m in my little solarium, having a cup of tea and watching the squirrels running in the trees out back. What’s going on, dear? What’s wrong?” Her voice changes, becoming a little less “kindly grandma” and a little more “head of the family.”
Another swallow. “Nana, have you…talked to Selene recently?”
“No, not recently. She’s somewhere in Europe, last I knew. Prague, I think. Why? Are you trying to contact her about the meeting?”
I listen hard, but I don’t hear anything in her voice other than concern. “No. No, nothing like that.”
“All right, you two.” Her voice grows firmer, but still no less kind. “You’ve got something on your mind that you’re afraid to tell me. Come on—out with it. You’ll feel better if you do.”
I hope so, I think, but I don’t say it. Much as it feels like there’s a wall in front of my mouth that doesn’t want to let any of this through, I know there’s no way around it. We have to tell her, and deal with the fallout if we’re wrong. Maybe we can throw ourselves on Quentin Happenstance’s mercy if things go south. If he has any, anyway.
“Okay,” I say. “This is going to sound pretty weird, Nana, and it’s not easy to tell, so—if you could just let us get it out before you say anything, I’d appreciate it.”
“Tell me what’s going on, dear.” She’s now one hundred percent Head of the Family and zero percent Kindly Grandma.
Oddly, that firms my resolve. I glance at Twyla, who nods encouragement, and then I start talking. I begin with Twyla’s dream and end with my own, and in the middle I include everything about Twyla’s fake text, the zombie rage monsters, DeVries’s murder, and our involvement with Quentin Happenstance (though I don’t tell her his name—I just call him “the head of a magical crime family.”) I don’t name Nick either, since it’s not my business to get him tangled up in the middle of this any more than he already is.
Nana listens in utter silence. When I finish, panting hard and certain she can hear every pounding beat of my heart, the line stays quiet.
“Nana?” I venture.
“I’m still here, dear.” Her voice is soft. “I’m…pondering what you’ve told me.”
That’s fair—Twyla and I have had a lot more pondering time than she has—but despite my dream, I’m terrified that we’ve just made a big mistake. “Do you…believe us?”
Twyla and I both lean forward over the table, holding our breath and staring hard at the phone sitting in the middle of it. Nana’s next words could possibly change the course of both our lives.
“I do believe you,” she says at last.
I let my breath out.
“You do?” Twyla squeaks. “But Selene—”
“I’ve suspected Selene might be up to something for a while now,” she says. “But I’ve had no proof, and I certainly have no idea what it might be. That’s part of the reason why I’ve been working so closely with her—so I can keep an eye on her. But so far, she hasn’t done anything to arouse more than vague suspicions. Not enough to take any concrete action about.”
“But…” Twyla’s gone pale. “If she…arranged the accident with Bron’s summoning…that means she murdered my mother. Did you…” She can’t even finish. I reach across the table and put my hand on her arm, certain of what she hasn’t said: Did you know?
“No, dear.” Nana’s voice is kindly and soft again. “Oh, my stars, no. Do you honestly think if I had any inkling of anything untoward during that summoning, I’d have allowed Bron to run away from us?”
I look at Twyla again, then narrow my eyes. “What do you mean, allow?”
“Don’t get your hackles up, my dear. All I meant was that, if things had gone as we thought they had, it seemed the best choice for you to distance yourself from the family for as long as it took you to heal. I didn’t like it, but it wasn’t my place to stop it. But if I’d suspected Selene might be involved…” She sighs. “I had no idea it went back that far.”
“But why?” Twyla demands, her voice shaking with emotion. Tears glitter in the corners of her eyes. “Why would she do it? She and my mom were friends. What could she possibly gain from…that?”
“I wish I had an answer for you,” Nana says. “Maybe I’d understand this whole situation better if I did. All I can say is that yes, your mother and Selene were friends—but they were also rivals. They never let you see it, but they were. Always trying to best each other, competing for my favor. Selene has always been ambiti
ous—much more so than your mother ever was. It’s possible that most of the rivalry was one-sided. I don’t know. But you’re right—it hardly seems to be enough motivation to commit such a grievous act.”
“Nana…” I sit back in my chair, still looking at the phone like I can see her face on it. “What should we do? What will you do? If Selene is behind this whole thing, we can’t let her get away with it. She’s dangerous.”
“Don’t you worry about Selene,” she says. “I’ll take care of her.”
Those words—with all their implications—sound strange when delivered in Nana’s proto-grandmotherly tones. “We’re sorry to dump this on you, Nana, but we didn’t know what else to do.”
“You did the right thing, Bron. Please—don’t worry. Selene doesn’t know we’ve talked. From the sound of it, she may not even know yet that you’re still alive, Twyla. I’ll contact her and ask her to come home, and…we’ll have a conversation we should have had a long time ago.”
“Thank you, Nana,” Twyla says. “But please be careful.”
She chuckles, but there’s an edge of something darker in it. “Don’t worry, dear,” she says again. “I’ve dealt with far worse than Selene in my life, and I probably will again. I’ll call you when I know something. Everything will be all right, I promise.”
I hope she’s right.
“And maybe, after this has all been dealt with, you might think about coming home to us, Bron. We love you. We all miss you, and we’d like to have you back.”
“We’ll…see, Nana. That’s not something I want to decide right now.”
“Fair enough. Stay safe, and I’ll talk to you both again soon.”
We say our goodbyes and Twyla hits the button to break the connection. We exchange glances again, and I can see my own expression mirrored in hers: a combination of fear, apprehension, and, for the first time since yesterday evening, a little bit of hope.
Rory, who’s been sitting on the table watching the conversation with interest, pads over and sits on the phone, which I suppose is as good an indicator as any that we’re done here.
