by R. L. King
Chapter Eighteen
We have no idea when Nana will call back, and the last thing I want to do is sit around the apartment and stare at the walls. We’ll both go crazy if we do that.
Instead, I call Nick.
He answers on the second ring. “Hey. Glad to see you weren’t eaten by a cannibal zombie rage monster. Did you get any sleep?”
“Not really. Did you?”
“Not really. Any news about the recent unpleasantness?”
“Yes, actually. What about you?”
“Nothing yet. Grandfather hasn’t gotten back to me. I think he was planning to look into some things, but he said it would take a little time and I couldn’t be involved because of—you know. The waiting’s the hardest part.”
“Tell me about it. You want to go get lunch somewhere and catch each other up?”
“Beats the hell out of watching Maddy get a pedicure by the pool. Name the place.”
He’s already at the restaurant when Twyla and I walk in. I’d picked a burger joint I’ve heard good things about, halfway between his place and mine—maybe not the most nutritionally sound choice, but right now comfort food trumps watching my waistline—not like I ever do that anyway. Twyla, who does pay attention to her looks, doesn’t even complain at my suggestion, which tells me a lot about her state of mind.
It’s the lunch rush so the place is packed, but that’s good—packed means nobody’s listening to us. Twyla and I take seats across from Nick in his booth and quickly scan the menu.
“So,” Nick says. “You said you have news.”
“That’s…kind of an understatement.” I glance at Twyla, and when she makes a ‘go ahead’ gesture, I fill Nick in on everything that’s happened since we parted company last night.
He whistles. “Holy shit. That’s…” He shakes his head. “I don’t even know what to say. That’s horrible. So this Selene messed up your ritual and got Twyla’s mom killed, and all these years nobody knew about it?”
“We’re not positive, but all the signs point at it. Especially if you can trust Twyla’s dream and mine.”
“Can you? Trust them, I mean. You’re sure it’s not just some kind of wishful thinking, trying to make sense of this so you’ll have an answer?”
I shake my head. “No. Twy’s always had a talent with dreams. And me—I don’t think mine has anything to do with talent. I think it’s just my brain dredging this all up and trying to present it to me in a way I can make sense of.”
“I was about to ask why now, but I guess I get it: you’ve been actively avoiding thinking about any of this stuff ever since you came out here. Now, though, you can’t really do that anymore.”
“Yeah, that’s what I think too.”
“Doesn’t explain Twyla’s dream, though.” He looks at her. “Why would you have it now, after all this time?”
She lets out a long breath. “Good question. Maybe because I haven’t worked with Selene for a while. Maybe because this is the first time in ages I was planning to see Bron. That’s one thing about dreams like this: you can’t really explain them. You just have to kind of…roll with them.”
“Fair enough.” Nick takes a big pull from his chocolate shake and waits for the server to take our orders. “It would be pretty ballsy if I started lecturing you two about magic, wouldn’t it?”
“Who knows?” I ask. “You probably know more about it than I do, actually, with all those books you’ve read.”
“Maybe—and that might even be helpful, if I knew which of them are real and which are bullshit.” He pushes the half-finished shake away. “Anyway, I guess now we wait—me to hear from Grandfather, and you to hear from your Nana about Selene.” He narrows his eyes. “There’s still part of this I am not getting my mind around, though.”
“What’s that?” Twyla asks.
“I get the whole thing about Selene being ambitious and arranging for…what happened to your mom. That makes sense, in a sick way. And I get the part about the Skelligs or one of the other syndicates murdering DeVries and trying to pin it on the Happenstances. From what Grandfather says, the syndicates are always testing each other’s boundaries, and maybe this is just an escalation. But I don’t see the connection between the two. How does Selene’s arrangement with DeVries connect to his murder and the issues between the syndicates? What was this deal she was trying to set up with him, and why was she giving him fifty thousand dollars? And for that matter, who turned Twyla into a zombie rage monster along with those other two guys and sent them after us? And why would they do it? She wasn’t even involved in any of this.”
“Those are some damned good questions.” The server drops off a big basket of fries and I pause to nibble a couple, thinking. “Twy, are you absolutely sure Selene couldn’t have found out about your dream? You didn’t tell anybody else who might have told her?”
“No way.” She shakes her head emphatically. “I wasn’t even sure I wanted to tell you. And I have no idea who else in the family, if anybody, is on Selene’s side.” She plucks up a fry and stares at it like she’s trying to read her future in the grains of salt. “The other thing I want to know is why. Nana said my mom and Selene had a rivalry, but what would Selene gain by killing her? She’d be out of the way, I guess, but that seems like a pretty extreme response to…” Her voice shakes. “To…”
I grip her hand. “It’s okay.” Sometimes, when we talk about things like this, we tend to forget that under all the conjecture and guesses, there’s a very real, very horrible murder. This is Twyla’s mom we’re talking about, not some character in a whodunit novel. “Maybe Nana will find out something. It’s just the waiting that’s hard.”
“What do you expect her to do?” Nick asks. “She sounds like a pretty tough old lady—is she going to track Selene down and force her to reveal the truth with overpowering magic?”
“I honestly have no idea, and I’d rather not know.” The server comes by again, dropping off our orders. My burger with everything smells delicious. “Nana’s power is one of those things that’s legendary in the family, but not something you ever want to see for yourself. I’m confident that if she can talk to Selene, she’ll find out the truth. Until then…I guess we wait. You want to go sightseeing or something, Twy?”
“Not really in the mood right now.” She hasn’t touched her food yet.
I can’t blame her for that. I don’t feel much like it either, but I’m trying to be a good host. “We have to do something. We can’t just sit around all day waiting for somebody to call.”
“Why don’t we go back to your store?” Nick says. “Between the three of us, we can probably get your backlog caught up in a few hours.”
“I don’t think Twyla wants to—”
“No, that sounds great,” she says quickly, looking up. “Doing something useful and semi-mindless would be nice.”
I can’t tell if she means it, but I won’t turn down the help. As we pack up our food to go and leave the restaurant, though, my mind refuses to stop chewing over the questions we’ve brought up. There’s a common thread holding these two separate problems together—I’m sure of it.
But I’ll be damned if I have any clue about what it is.
When Twyla’s phone rings later that afternoon, she, Nick, and I are elbows-deep in a pile of dusty boxes, sorting books and arranging them on shelves.
We all exchange startled glances. Twyla jerks her phone out of her pocket and her eyes get big. “Nana,” she whispers.
“Answer it!” I hurry over to stand near her.
She swallows hard and hits the button. “Hi, Nana. You’re on speaker. I’m here with Bron and…another friend who’s involved with this.”
“Hello, dear.” Nana’s tired, discouraged tone comes through loud and clear, followed by a sigh. “I wish I had better news for you.”
We look at each other again, and a hard lump forms in the pit of my stomach.
“What’s happened?” Twyla asks breathlessly.
�
�I tried to contact Selene in Prague. She isn’t responding to any of my calls or other methods of contact. I sent someone through the portal to locate her, but no one has seen her since yesterday.” She sighs again. “I’m sorry, but it’s looking very much like she’s disappeared.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Disappeared?” Twyla demands. “You mean—she might have found out you were looking for her?”
“Possibly. I can’t imagine how she might have been suspicious, but there’s no sign of her. She usually stays at the home of a family friend, but that person says she never saw her. I can’t be certain that she was ever there in the first place.”
“Oh, gods…” Twyla moans. “So we don’t know where she is. For all we know, she could be here in Los Angeles.”
“Please don’t worry,” Nana says. “I’m not out of options yet—this just means I’ll have to pull in some higher-powered resources. We’ll find her.”
“Yeah…I know you will, Nana.” I say. I don’t doubt it—even a powerful mage like Selene would have a hard time hiding from Nana forever—but what concerns me is how long it will take. If Selene knows we’re on to her now, she might escalate her plan, whatever the hell it is.
“In the meantime…I’ve been doing some thinking about what you two have told me—particularly about your dreams. The fact that they were both focused on the ritual troubles me, but also gives me ideas. It suggests that both your subconscious minds are trying to tell you something about what happened during that ritual. Twyla, the dark figure you describe behind Selene, and the creature Bron got in place of the spirit she intended to summon—I wonder if there isn’t a connection between them.”
“Twyla said hers was humanoid, though,” I say. “Mine was…horrible. A monster. All eyes and tentacles and claws.”
“Spirits can take many forms—and sometimes the way they present themselves is related more to the mind of the observer than their actual appearance.”
“Okay…” This is a great magical theory lesson, but I don’t see where it’s going.
“You think they might be the same spirit?” Twyla asks.
“It’s definitely possible.”
“But how can we know that?”
The line crackles as Nana pauses. “I think I might have a way you can find out. But it won’t be easy or pleasant—especially not for you, Bron.”
My stomach goes cold again. “What are you talking about, Nana?”
Another pause. “If you described your dream to me accurately—if it showed you a correct and true vision of how the ritual went—then something interesting might have occurred.”
“What?” I’m gripping the edge of some boxes, leaning over the phone. “What is it?”
“It sounds as if you did use the correct true name to summon the spirit you intended to summon. And it sounds as if you might actually have done it.”
“Done…what? Summoned the spirit? But it wasn’t—”
“Ah, but it was. You described it as a swirl of white and black smoke. That’s the way that particular spirit manifests when it’s first appearing in a circle.”
“Wait—so you’re saying I got two spirits? The one I meant to summon, and the other one?”
“I suspect so, if what you’re telling me is accurate.”
“Okay…” I say again. “That’s…good to know, I guess, but I don’t see how it helps us.” I glance at Nick and Twyla; they’re standing back, silently watching. This is my show now.
Nana’s tone remains patient. “That spirit is well known to our family—it’s participated in countless threshold rituals for our apprentices over many years. It’s not a formidable or dangerous spirit, which is why we use it in our rituals, but like any spirit, it has its own agenda. Also like any spirit, it does only what it’s commanded to do. No more, no less. The threshold ritual involves summoning it, asking it three prepared questions, and dismissing it. The spirit’s obligation is to answer only those three questions, truthfully and to the best of its ability, but it never volunteers any additional information.”
I’m usually pretty sharp, but this time I’m stumped. The more Nana adds to her explanation, the more muddled the whole thing gets. I know this stuff. Even though I gave up practicing magic, that doesn’t mean everything I’ve already learned has dribbled out my ears or anything. But whatever she’s trying to tell me now, it’s not getting through. “Uh…”
“Wait!” Twyla leaps forward, suddenly energized. “I think I know where you’re going with this, Nana. Are you saying…that if the spirit was present during the ritual, it might remember what happened?”
“Exactly.” Nana sounds pleased that at least one of us still has functioning brain cells.
“Holy shit…” I breathe.
“Don’t swear, dear.”
Great, like Alice isn’t bad enough. Ignoring her, I forge ahead. “So…if the spirit was there and it remembers…” Oh, gods, I don’t even want to say it. “…then if we reproduce the ritual, summon it, and ask it to tell us what happened, it might do it?”
“It might. There’s a good chance. That type of spirit is well suited for aiding study, so its memory for what’s occurred in the past is quite good.”
I let my breath out, sagging back. My heart’s drumming speed metal again. “But we have to summon it.”
“Yes.”
“With a ritual.”
“Yes, dear.”
My head joins the concert, beginning a game of pachinko inside my skull. “Can’t…you do it? Or have somebody back there do it?”
“I could…” Her voice is kindly; she gets it. “But I can promise it won’t be as effective. If you summoned the spirit yourself, then that particular experience—that particular ritual—is keyed to you. To your aura.”
“Even if I used the wrong blood?” I’m grasping at straws now, as a growing sense of panic blooms inside me.
I can’t do a ritual.
I can’t do this ritual.
Not after everything that happened.
“It isn’t the blood, dear. It’s the whole process. You must remember this from your training. If you summoned the spirit, you forged a bond with it for the duration of the summoning. If you call it again, it will remember that bond. If anyone else does the ritual, its memories will be focused more on that person’s experience—if they even had one. If not, then it’s even less likely you’ll get anything useful.”
I sag down into a chair. I don’t even know what to say.
“You think about it,” Nana says. “Twyla knows how to do the ritual—she’s been helping some of the apprentices prepare, so she can help you set it up. I’d advise you to do it soon if you’re going to, though. Until we find Selene, I’m concerned about your safety. Having as much information as we can gather will help. I’d rather have you return here, to be honest.”
“No.” I sit up a little straighter. “No, I’m not going back there. It’ll take too long without a portal, even if I wanted to use one, and we’ve still got some loose ends hanging out here.” I look at Nick. “I don’t know if I can do it, Nana. But if I do, it’ll be here.”
“All right, dear. I understand. In the meantime, I’ve got quite a few people looking for Selene, using both magical and mundane means. We’ll find her.” She pauses, and when she speaks again, her voice is kind but firm. “You can do this, Bron. What happened before wasn’t your fault. You didn’t make any mistakes, and you didn’t cause Mara’s death. Just remember that. And remember I love you. Both of you.”
“I love you too, Nana.”
I reach out and tap the button to break the connection, moving like a robot.
“Bron…” Twyla says softly.
I shake my head. “Not now, Twy. Not…yet. I need a few minutes to myself, if that’s okay.”
“Come on, Twyla,” Nick says. “Let’s finish sorting this box.” His glance at me is sympathetic; he, more than Twyla, understands the terror associated with causing someone’s death with magic. Even if in
my head I know Nana’s right and what happened wasn’t my fault, my heart still doesn’t believe it.
What if she’s wrong?
What if these dreams don’t mean anything after all?
What if I do the ritual—if I can even manage to get past my mental blocks enough to make it happen—and it goes wrong again?
I could kill Twyla.
But I could also find out the truth, once and for all. If the spirit was there, then it would know. And it won’t lie to me—it can’t lie to me.
I told them I had to think, but there really isn’t much to think about.
I drift back over from where I’d wandered off. They’re looking over a stack of books from one of the last boxes left to open. “Okay.”
Twyla sets a book down. “Okay what?”
“Okay, I’ve got to do it. I’ve got to know. Twy, will you help me?”
Her expression softens. She knows how hard it’s going to be for me to do this. “Of course I will. But I don’t have any ritual materials with me, or a place to do it.”
“Let me see what I can do about that,” Nick says.
Chapter Twenty
Max meets us in an hour, at a different place than the one we met at last night. This one’s a hole-in-the-wall bar on Fairfax in West Hollywood, with a small private meeting room in the back. It smells like stale beer and old peanuts.
“How many different places do you people control?” Nick asks as Max leads us down the hall. “I feel like you’re giving me the tour, one spot at a time.”
He chuckles. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you, kid. Our turf—Mr. H. likes to call it our “sphere of influence”—covers a pretty big area. I won’t tell you where, specifically—not yet, anyway. One of these days, you really need to sit down and have a good long chat with the old man. He’s not gonna wait forever, and you gotta learn to control that thing of yours sometime.”
