by R. M. Webb
Daya’s done with the lock and we push through the door, magic at the ready. There’s the deafening bang of a gunshot and the wood of the doorframe shatters near my head. Ears ringing, I turn towards the sound, ducking, searching for where to send my magic and cry out when I see who’s wielding the gun.
It’s my mother.
Chapter Eighteen
Luke’s gathering his magic and I scream, a primitive sound. Doesn’t matter though, Luke’s paying me no attention at all. He’s working on instinct, his reaction times slowed by his night of heavy drinking and whatever the hell else he did last night. He’s loosed a rolling ball of energy, dark and poisonous, towards my mother. It’s not til after the ball of death is heading towards her that he turns to me, acknowledging my cries.
My eyes are on my mom. Her face is all scrunched up, tight and angry. Her delicate features don’t wear hate well. She lifts the pistol up once again, aiming it right at me, pulls the trigger four times. Bullets bounce off Daya’s shield, but strike with such force that I know I’ll be bruised tomorrow. All four hit, two in my chest, one in my shoulder, the last on my cheekbone.
Without stopping to think about myself, I scream the incantation to my time stop spell, the words physically hurting my throat. Everything freezes and my head throbs. My hand flies to my nose, checking for blood, but there’s nothing more than the blinding headache. I rush to my mom, praying that Luke’s magic hasn’t found its target yet.
She’s fine. Barely. Luke’s magic is so close to hitting her in the face. There’s no way I’ll be able to unfreeze things and have time to save her. At least not that I can figure out right now. Good thing is, I’ve got all the time in the world to think it through.
I can’t stand seeing Mom look like that. The look of anger and hatred so out of place on her normally docile face. Anger and hatred aimed at me. I can’t stay here, next to her, while I try to puzzle out what to do next. It’s almost painful. Besides, my dad’s somewhere in this house and who knows what kind of surprise he’s got in store for me. I should probably take this time to look around the house, discover what else Lucy has up her sleeve.
I rub my cheek, the spot where my mom shot me. It hurts. A lot. And there’s an emotional pain behind the physical pain. I keep reminding myself that it’s not my mom who wants to hurt me. It’s Lucy. Funny thing is, I keep wondering how she learned how to handle a gun like that. And somehow, that thought makes me saddest of all. Unfortunately, there’s no time for emotions right now. I’ll deal with that later. Once this is all done. I check my nose for blood one more time, and take off into Lucy’s mansion, staggering a little under the weight of the pain in my head.
I find my dad in the next room, cowering behind the couch, his hands over his ears and the most heartbreaking expression straining his face. Whatever has my mom acting like a homicidal maniac doesn’t seem to be working so well on him. I want to touch him. To whisper in his ear and tell him it’ll all be OK.
I know it’s silly, but I lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, try not to be grossed out when his skin feels like wax. “I love you, Dad,” I say, even though I know he can’t hear me.
I wander, my instinct leading me downstairs towards the basement. What better place to hide from the sun than underground? The place is one hundred percent silent. You don’t realize how much sound you typically filter out until there’s literally no sound to filter out. No ticking clocks, no rattling furnace. No sounds of traffic or hum of electricity. Utter silence is truly deafening. Un-ignorable. It seeps into my psyche and I can’t help but feel rattled. My feet strike the ground without a sound. Like I don’t exist. Like I’m a ghost. Is this what Celine felt like all those years?
I wander the basement and find yet another set of stairs. This has to be it. Who needs a basement in a basement? I follow them down and pass through a long corridor, silence pressing against my ever more insistent headache.
The corridor ends and dumps me into a large room and I blink a couple times, trying to be sure that I’m actually seeing what I think I see. There are several beds with bodies lying on them, and one empty one, but the bed closest to me is the one that has my attention. Becca’s stretched out on it, her face pale and bloodless but more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her. Her eyes are closed, as is the gruesome wound on her throat. The wound that killed her. I mean like, closed without even the hint of a scar. She’s not hooked up to any machines, no tubes in her arms or her nose. No heart monitor. Nothing.
I stare for a while, trying to process her presence here. Becca’s dead. Right? I mean, she’s been dead. Shouldn’t she be in the ground? I finally acknowledge the other people in the beds next to her. One is Lucy, her eyes closed and her lips red and her dark hair ever so striking against her pale face. And beside Lucy is Milo, the so bland he’s scary vampire from Pulse.
What in God’s name is this?
I look up and see a man sitting in a chair at a desk in the back of the room. He’s leaning forward, studying several TV screens with what looks like feeds from security cameras. All I can see is the back of his head, but his blonde hair is unmistakable.
What the hell is Barnabe Withers doing in Lucy’s mansion?
I creep forward, afraid to get near him for some reason. The images on the screens come into focus as I stop beside Barnabe. It’s strange, being this close to him while he’s frozen in time, knowing he’s under the effects of my spell. That little old me is capable of overcoming the witch king with just a few muttered words. It’s stranger still to see that he’s staring at an image of the foyer on one of the screens. An image that I’m still in. Mouth stretched wide in a scream, eyes bulging in fear. My mother’s there, too. Face twisted by ugly emotions, unrecognizable under the weight of her hate. Luke’s looking back at me, shock and regret and … something else, something softer … written all over his face.
It’s a strange little tableau. Especially considering I’m not really there anymore.
There’s a sigh. The first sound I’ve heard since I stopped time. I jump and spin and find myself alone. When I turn back, Barnabe’s not looking at the screen. He’s looking right at me. Or right through me. He’s still frozen and unmoving. No breath moving in his lungs. Maybe he was always looking this way…? I’m pretty damn sure he was staring at the monitors when I came in. I watch him for any other signs of movement, counting my breaths instead of seconds in this timeless place.
So, what in God’s name is happening here? Why is Becca laid out on a bed next to Lucy? And for that matter, I mean, she’s supposed to be dead! Why is she here? And why is Barnabe here? Why is he the one watching the monitors? Maybe he’s here to save us? Maybe he got here first, meant to kill Lucy once she woke?
There are papers on a clipboard near Barnabe’s hand. I look, try to make them out. They look like medical notes. There’s Becca’s name. And Milo’s name. And a list of what looks like notes on experiments. I read through them and it all becomes clear. Horrifically clear.
Holy shit.
It’s not Albert and Lucy trying to combine their species, it’s Barnabe and Lucy.
According to what I’m reading, Becca’s a vampire now. And from the looks of the notes, she’s also still kind of a witch. I can’t even begin to think through the implications of that. A vampire with the powers of a witch? One who already had questionable morals?
As if that’s not all bad enough, my name is on that chart. There’s lists of my strengths and weaknesses. My comings and goings. And the extra bed? That’s for me. Holy hell. They want to make me a vampire. A witch/vampire hybrid. A weapon. I mean, I’m already a weapon. But they want to make me an even more dangerous weapon.
There’s another sound, so out of place in the stillness. Barnabe’s looking at me again. And this time, I think he can actually see me. There’s a slow smile creeping into his expression. Another breath. Definitely from him.
Double holy shit.
Is he, like, breaking out of my time stop spell?
I take off running, careening back through the house towards my friends. My top lip is wet and I know without a doubt that my nose is bleeding again. What am I going to do when I get up there? How do I save my mother? My father? How do I let everyone know that Barnabe’s downstairs?
Because I’m pretty damn sure that he knows I was in that room with him and that he’ll be up in the foyer with us as soon as he can cast a teleportation spell. Hell, as strong as he is, he could be up there right now, just waiting for me to unfreeze time. I stumble past my dad, spots dancing in my vision, hands reaching to steady myself on whatever solid surface they can find.
This is an impossible situation. The minute I release my grip on time, Luke’s magic will kill my mother. Barnabe will be on us. And then there’s me, darkness pushing against my peripheral vision, strength draining out of me by the second.
I think back to seeing my name on that chart. That empty bed. I don’t want to be a vampire. I don’t want to be yet another pawn in yet another game. Yet another toy for yet another asshole to play with. I’m tired of my life being manipulated by those around me, used for my powers, caught up in some huge conspiracy. I’m not gonna let that happen.
There’s only one way I can see to get around all that right now and it’s a little more extreme than I’d like. OK, a lot more extreme. Like, I’m gonna end up dead extreme. But as blood drips from my nose and gathers on the floor, I’m running out of time to think of something that won’t cost me my life. With a sigh, I step between my mother and the ball of Luke’s magic. Without giving myself time to think, I release my time stop spell.
There’s the bang, like yet another gunshot as air collapses into the spot I used to occupy, and someone screams but that doesn’t matter because I take the full force of Luke’s magic in the chest.
Chapter Nineteen
It’s like inhaling a huge cloud of pepper and poisonous spiders. My throat constricts and I want to cough, but I can’t. There’s a flurry of movement as I drop to the floor, choking, eyes bulging, hands on my throat. Someone knocks the gun out of my mom’s hands. I try to tell them that’s my mom, try to tell them not to kill her, that my dad’s in the other room and Barnabe’s downstairs and Becca’s a vampire and we’ve got it all wrong. But I can’t. I’m choking. I’m dying.
And then, there are hands on my face. Someone kneeling beside me, calling my name. Brushing my hair out of my eyes. I look up, hoping to see Noah, needing to look him in the eyes one last time and hope he sees how much I love him before I die.
Except it’s not Noah.
It’s Luke.
And he’s crying and apologizing and trying to cradle me to his chest but my body’s gone oddly stiff and he can’t get a good grip on me.
“I’m sorry.” He keeps saying it over and over and this is going to be the last thing I see before I die. This beast of a man, crying and apologizing. And then, he stops. And the world goes black. I want to say goodbye but I’ve missed my chance. There’s a murmur of words, Luke’s voice, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.
There’s a rush. Like wind pulling out of my body. And a roaring in my ears. And I can see again. And breathe.
I take a ragged breath. And another. Sucking in air, almost dizzy with it. And then I see Luke, choking, eyes wide. What the hell? He collapses as I sit up.
“What’s happening?” I ask in between coughs.
Daya’s face goes slack. “He stole your death.”
And then I’m on my hands and knees, leaning over him, brushing his cheek with my finger tips and watching the life fade from his eyes. And as the light fades from him, as that spark that means he’s in there disappears, the room seems to darken as well. I don’t know how to process this. Luke dying for me. I scream at Daya to save him, but she’s dealing with my mother and when I look back down, he’s already gone.
Luke is dead.
And the darkening room? That’s not my imagination. It’s truly growing darker by the minute. I stand. Look around. The bright afternoon light that’d been filtering through the windows is gone, replaced by shadow and darkness. The sun itself covered by some kind of false night.
“Oh, Zoe?” The voice comes from the other room, calling out for me, teasing and taunting.
Daya’s brows draw together. “That’s Barnabe.”
“Get my parents out of here. Send them somewhere. Anywhere!” I want to explain what I found, but there’s just not time. Daya still looks confused. “Please, Daya! Just send them far away!”
Thankfully, she listens. My parents disappear to who knows where just as Milo comes around the corner, moving more swiftly than I ever could have expected. I reach for my magic, call on the tiger, and there’s another wrenching in my head. Something terrible is happening to me. He lunges toward me just as one of Daya’s fireballs hits him in the chest. Igniting him like dried out leaves.
The rest happens so fast, so many things happening at the same time, I can’t begin to explain it. Becca and Lucy rush into the room, followed by Barnabe and thankfully, Daya and Noah recognize them as enemies. Thankfully they don’t pause to ask questions or consider.
There’s roaring and screaming and blood. Magic flinging and power swirling. I’m dodging and leaping and have the strange thought that I’m thankful I’ve been going to the gym.
I’ve seen so many life and death battles on TV, but the reality is nothing like that at all. It’s just all of us, crammed into this little room, the foyer of a mansion, grunting and swearing and trying not to trip over Luke’s dead body. There’s nothing awe-inspiring in our battle for survival.
It occurs to me that the only reason the vampires are awake is because Barnabe must have cast a spell that brought us into an early night. Therefore, if I destroy Barnabe, I win the game. His spell will come to an end and the vampires will either burn up in the sun or fall asleep in the shadows and we can figure out what to do with them once they’re no longer a threat.
But how? How do I kill Barnabe Withers? The most powerful warlock of our time? That’s a hard enough job without my magic faltering inside me. But now? With every spell I cast twisting a knife into my head?
And then, I see my opportunity. Barnabe lunges toward Daya just as Noah hits him with a blast of golden magic. Barnabe falls, crying out as his foot gets caught in Luke’s legs, twisting his knee out of place as he goes down. I gather all my remaining power, reach out to Daya and Noah, and even Barnabe himself, channel their magic into mine. There’s a rush and a roar and pop and a wrench and my hair is lifted from my shoulders and whips around my face, sticking to the blood running from my nose.
“Morietur veneficus!” I scream the incantation —death to the warlock — and channel all my magic at Barnabe. My tiger leaps on him, teeth tearing into flesh. I can literally see the magic pouring from Daya, Noah, and Barnabe, and rushing through me. It spins up all tight and slams into him, skitters across his body like electricity over metal, like water over rocks, like ants over carrion.
He shrieks.
He chokes.
And he dies.
I stagger until I’m leaning hard against the window. Watch as light gathers outside, reach with a trembling hand to open the curtain and let the sun into the room. Lucy goes up like dry grass, no time to make a sound and Becca falls still. Reaches her hand into the light and shudders as it falls across her alabaster skin.
My legs give out and I slide down the wall. End up sitting with my knees tucked to my chest. Put my head on my knees and focus on breathing. I’m aware of Daya chanting, working on a spell. A few bits of murmured conversation. And then, just as I give up on consciousness, there’s the wrenching sensation that means I’m going to wake up somewhere else.
That is, if I wake up at all.
********
I do wake up. In an actual hospital bed with wires and IVs trailing from my body to machines beeping away beside me. My mom and my dad are dozing in chairs that don’t look the least bit comfortable. Noah’s got a chair tucked up be
side the bed, holding my hand, also asleep. I shift, just ever so slightly, trying to see if I could get a sense as to what’s wrong with me and he wakes. Blinks slowly as he looks at me, smiles as he registers that I’m conscious.
“A hospital, huh?” My throat hurts and I cough a little.
“You lost a lot of blood.”
“Why not a healing spell?”
Noah looks to my parents and puts his finger to my lips. “You’ve been in quite a nasty accident,” he says, making a strange face that I don’t understand.
“An accident?” Now I’m trying to sit up. What’s he talking about? An accident? You mean where I killed Barnabe and Lucy died and Becca’s a vampire and Luke … oh God. Luke. The little machine beside me starts beeping erratically. What is that? My heart beat?
Noah’s shushing me and putting his hands on me. Leaning in close so he can whisper in my ear. “Quiet, you’ll wake them. This is a cover story. For them. We didn’t want to mess with their heads any more than Lucy and Barnabe already did.”
I stop fighting and let that sink in. A cover story. They’re building a cover story.
“What happened?” I ask, just in case Mom or Dad can hear. Give Noah the chance to explain.
“You were walking home from work with Becca, remember?” He pauses and I nod. Mom shifts in her chair. “A car jumped the curb…”
“Zoe?” Mom’s awake now, eyes open, bloodshot. She pulls herself out of the chair and grabs my other hand. “Oh thank God.” Tears pour down her cheeks. “I thought we’d lost you.”
And now Dad’s awake and he’s at my side and Noah stands up, gives them space. I’m still so confused and am actually quite tired. They hug me and they love me and I let them, just as happy that they’re safe as they are to find me awake.
They ask me how I’m feeling, if I’m hungry, where I hurt. All manner of things before they rush out to go find a doctor. Then there’s doctors and questions and lights in my eyes and tests on my mobility and memory.
