Everlost (The Night Watchmen Series Book 3)

by Candace Knoebel

  “You said Watchmen.”

  “No, I didn’t,” she says, shaking her head. “I said Darkyns.” She turns to us.

  “You said Watchmen,” Jezi says, staring at her. Her face has paled a shade.

  Cassie laughs dismissively. “Yeah, okay. Whatever you guys say. I said Darkyns. Why would I say otherwise?”

  “You tell me,” Gavin says, looking at her in concern.

  “You’ve been scrambling your words all morning,” Jezi says, looking at Cassie in concern. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

  Cassie looks up at me, asking me to continue. To take the light off her.

  “If-if the Priesthood is as strong as you say, then why haven’t they destroyed the Darkyns yet?” I retort, trying to pick up where we left off, throwing out her entire argument.

  The room goes silent. Her eyes narrow on me before looking away.

  “They aren’t strong, Cassie. It’s clear in just how easy it was for a handful of us to shake up the entire foundation.”

  “We don’t know that we did,” she says, this time her voice lower, more unsure. “The Night Watchmen News shows them healthy and stronger than ever… digging our graves as we speak.”

  I level my gaze on her. Place my hands on my hips. “That’s what they want us to see, Cassie. A solid, trusting government doesn’t have rebels waiting in the shadows to pounce. All we did was expose that small crack in their foundation, and it’s our duties as Watchmen to finish what we started. Without fear,” I add.

  She swears under her breath as she turns away from me and into Gavin’s arms. Although he’s consoling her, I can see in his eyes that he’s on my side. He’d rather die fighting for what’s right, than hiding from what’s wrong.

  “I can shadow walk into the city and find the general,” Weldon offers. He finishes off his glass, and then sets it down on the counter before walking over to stand near Jezi. “That way, no one gets hurt.”

  I turn to look at him, knowing what I’m about to say will piss off the entire room, but saying it anyway. “You’re not going alone.”

  Jaxen’s hand wraps around my arm. “You’re not going with him.”

  Again with the orders.

  I turn and look up at him, matching his heated glare. Count to three in my head, telling myself to take it easy. He’s just upset because he cares. That he means well. “He’s my partner.”

  “I don’t care.”

  I roll my eyes. Huff out a breath. “Seriously? Again with this?”

  He huffs equally as loudly, pressing the heel of his hand to his eyes. “This is different. On so many levels, Faye. This isn’t a control thing… this is a you’re-the-most-wanted-Watchmen-known-in-history-out-to-kill-yourself kind of thing. You’re the reason we’re all here—” He sees my face tense at the insult and quickly adds, “and I don’t mean that as an insult, or to imply that it’s your fault. I’m just saying, without you, we have nothing. You’re the weapon both sides are after… and you’re the glue holding us together.”

  His deep green eyes swim in agony and fear, drowning in the many outcomes his mind has dreamed up that most likely all involve my capture, or even worse… my death.

  Weldon clears his throat, points to me, and then looks at Jaxen. “The general specifically asked her to come. Therefore, she has to.”

  Jaxen’s fist clenches at his side. He knows this is a fight he’s going to lose. It was always going to be this way, even from the first moment he met me. “How many can you take with you?” he asks through his teeth, keeping his eyes trained on Weldon and his back turned slightly to me.

  “Just her. I don’t want to have to worry about moving anyone else through shadows. Not with Clara out for blood. It’ll be quick. I’ll take her straight to him, and then right back here. We won’t move through the city. We won’t get caught. I guarantee it.”

  “That’s a pretty big guarantee for someone who’s let us down before,” Jezi says from the chair in front of him.

  “What is she talking about?” I ask, searching Weldon’s eyes.

  Weldon sighs like he’s already bored with the conversation. “You know the whole deal that happened with the Witch and your parents right before we met you? The one Clara mentioned and we were all banished over?”

  “The Witch we wrongly executed,” Jaxen adds, shame dripping from his words.

  “Yeah, him,” Weldon continues. “Well, they asked me to decipher the demon spell that was supposed to break the Gramm Curse,” he says, pushing his thumb out in Jaxen and Jezi’s direction. “So I did, and,” he says with heavy emphasis, “I did explain that it wasn’t a sure deal. Demons are sneaky with their words.”

  “Exactly,” Jezi says, propping her chin on her hand with attitude.

  He rolls his eyes and looks back at Jaxen, waiting.

  A moment passes, and then Jaxen says, “You get her in and get her out, do you understand?”

  Weldon nods.

  “If you don’t, I swear to you I’ll kill you myself.”

  “I wouldn’t want to die any other way, my love,” Weldon says, leaning towards Jaxen, batting his lashes like a swooning schoolgirl.

  Jaxen ignores him and turns to me. He brushes his fingers under my chin, tilting it up in his direction. “Please, just speak to him and come back. Don’t try anything else. Or wander. Or meddle.” He huffs out a quick breath and finishes. “Just… just, please don’t try to save who you can’t. Promise me?”

  “I promise,” I say, although I’m not sure how much I actually mean it.

  AFTER GAVIN AND CASSIE CLEAR the library, Weldon grabs the decanter and a glass, plopping down in an oversized chair in front of a window. A light morning rain has started up, pelting against the glass in a melodic rhythm, spreading its soothing dreariness around the room.

  Jezi runs her hand through her glossy, chocolate-brown hair, and then pushes off her legs to stand. “As always, it was a pleasure debating with you all. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to grab a few of the ingredients to get the spell started for locating Faye’s Grimoire.” She looks over at Jaxen. “Point me in your Witch’s cupboard direction?”

  Jaxen looks over at me, and then back at her. “Sure.” He puts his arm over my shoulder, and then guides us out of the library and into the mudroom off to the right of the house. In it is a large Witch’s cupboard that holds more dried herbs, books, candles, and jarred items than I think I’ve ever seen before. Some of the jars are scattered across the tabletop, with the lids next to them rather than on top of them. A mortar is stained green on the inside with the pestle laying beside it, still coated in whatever was being crushed up.

  There isn’t a speck of dust. Not an inch of film to say this house has been sitting here dormant for years.

  Because it hasn’t been.

  Jaxen sifts through one of the open doors on the beat-up, worn-down cupboard. Jezi pillages through the open jars, sniffing and tasting what was left behind. The air has the familiar earthy scent of magic in it and, for a moment, I almost feel like I’m back at the Academy. Back with Cassie and Jezi, training to become a side of myself I haven’t given much attention to.

  I turn. A few of the books on a nearby bookshelf lift off, floating through the air as if ghosts are controlling them. This entire house is enchanted.

  I can’t stop thinking about the fact that Jezi stood up for me. That because of her, we’re in this room, finding the ingredients we need that will help me find what has been taken from me. I want to ask her why. Why all of a sudden? What did I do that finally brought her to my side?

  But it comes out as, “You helped me. Thank you.”

  She stops fiddling with some mechanical-looking thing on the table and looks up at me. “For?”

  “For standing up for me. Agreeing to help me. You didn’t have to.”

  “It was nothing,” she blows off. “I know you like to dissect emotions, but really, don’t think too deeply about it. Okay?”

  She’s pushing me away. I can
see it in her averted gaze. In the way she’s busying herself, making light of what was a big step in our partnership. This makes me wonder why. Why did she stand by me on this particular subject?

  “It was everything,” I correct, moving closer to her. She stops what she’s doing and looks up at me with her eyes scrunched. I know I’m invading her personal space, but I feel like there’s a crack in the door between us, and this is my moment to step through it. “I know we’ve had a rocky past, but the fact that you stood by me on this one, well, I guess what I’m trying to ask, is why? Because there has to be a reason.”

  Tension stiffens her spine. Straightens her shoulders. I’ve hit a nerve.

  Jaxen exchanges a look with her, and then busies himself with digging through the cupboard some more. It’s then that I know I’m right. There is something more to why she helped me. Something they both already know.

  “Do you have to pick everything apart?” she says, pulling a hair tie from around her wrist, and then twisting her hair up into a messy bun. “Can’t you just let some things be because they just are?”

  I hear the disguised hurt in her voice. The pain from a memory she doesn’t want breached. Not by me.

  I shift my stance. Swallow down my doubt that I’m doing the wrong thing by pushing and say, “No, because nothing happens without reason and, although our circumstance isn’t ideal, it’s real and I want to make the best of it. I want to get to know you. Not just the Jezi you want everyone to think you are.”

  She snorts. Throws a flat look in my direction. “If you’re trying to make a best friend out of me, I can tell you now that it isn’t going to happen. Partners, sure, I’ve warmed up to it. But I’m not looking for any best friends, so get the girl power thing out of your head.”

  I look over at Jaxen, who looks caught between a rock and a hard place. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to, uh… go grab something to drink. Want anything?”

  “You’re not seriously leaving me alone with her, are you?” Jezi says with a frown.

  Jaxen’s smirk is so small, it’s almost imperceptible, and then he slips through the doorway and disappears.

  As soon as he’s gone, I turn back to her. “Something happened to you,” I persist. “I know it. I saw it in your eyes when I talked about my mom. You can tell me,” I say, wishing she were as easy to get through to as Weldon was.

  She slams a book she grabbed from a shelf down onto the table and spins on me. “Knowing all of my past isn’t going to do anything for you, Faye. Everyone has a story. Everyone has had some form of hardship in their life. That’s really all you need to know. Okay? Drop it.”

  “Are you always this difficult?” I ask, and it surprises her as much as it does me. But I pull from the propulsion of my words and keep going. “I get why you had an issue with me in the beginning, but I feel like we’re moving past that now, and no… I don’t want to pick everything apart. I don’t have to. But I choose to acknowledge when I see someone else’s pain. I choose to speak up about it, rather than pretending I didn’t notice. Something is bothering you, and this is what friends do. They ask if you’re okay. They lend an ear. Maybe even some advice if the situation calls for it.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Trust me, there’s no advice for my story.”

  “Let me be the judge of that,” I say firmly.

  Seconds parade between us on floats of awkward silence. We’re staring at each other, both pushing against the other until one of us gives. I begin to question myself. Wonder if I’ve overstepped my boundaries.

  But then her shoulders drop and her eyes soften just a little. “Listen,” she says, “I know I come off hard sometimes. Mean even, but my past isn’t very interesting. In fact, it’s quite depressing, which is why I choose not to talk about it. Just know that I understand what you’re going through. I get your need to have that piece of your mother, even if it’s a small one.”

  I stare at her for a moment, seeing her for once as a real person with feelings. As a woman who’s lived a life before I came into it. A girl who has struggled. Sacrificed. Been through things. It makes me ashamed that I know so little about her. That I haven’t even given it any effort.

  Because it’s easier to judge a person, than to give them your time. It’s easier to criticize the obvious, rather than trying to understand what isn’t in plain sight.

  She turns back to the table and runs a finger over it, her mind clearly lost in whatever memory she’s been stuck in.

  “What happened?” I ask softly.

  “You’re not going to give up, are you?” she says with her back to me.

  “No,” I say as nicely as possible.

  With a small sigh, she turns with closed eyes and says, “My mother died a long time ago. When I was at the Academy.”

  I wasn’t expecting that.

  “I’m so sorry, Jezi,” I start to say, but she holds her hand up.

  “Don’t be. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. A log in the road, a swerve the wrong way, and bam! Smacked right into a tree, which resulted in an induced coma from swelling around the brain.” She pauses, dragging in a painful breath, and says, “She never woke up again.” Tears form in her eyes but she sucks in a deep breath, pushing them back down.

  My heart’s breaking for her. Twisting in on itself at the thought of being in her shoes.

  “She was in Provence,” she continues, her voice a bit steadier now. “That’s where I was born and raised through my teen years, but I left to live with my father in America after.” She pauses, looking down at her feet, and says, “Things weren’t perfect between them, and they made me choose. I chose my dad.”

  She looks up, her mouth turned to the floor, and rubs her hand back and forth across her chest, right above her heart as if she’s in pain. The kind that can’t be reversed.

  “Long story short,” she continues, “we never talked again after I left with him. Not even when I started at the Academy. It wasn’t until she died that I returned to Provence for the funeral, and that’s when I was given her Grimoire.” She crosses her arms across her chest and inhales courage. “So yeah, I understand the need to have that piece of your mom.”

  My words have abandoned me. They were never prepared for this kind of a story.

  Jaxen clears his throat from the doorway, and then pulls one of many tattered-looking books off the top shelf. “I think we can all relate to one another. Here,” he says, handing it to me. Jezi peers over my shoulder.

  It’s leather bound like my mother’s Grimoire, only there’s a large claw mark dragged down the front, splitting the flesh of the cover wide open. The magic flowing off it is strong and deep, just like it did on the ward. So strong that there’s a light orange aura around it, like it has its own life force.

  “It’s my mother’s Grimoire.” He doesn’t look me in the eye when he says this. There are shards of glass in his tone that he can’t seem to swallow.

  “She’s a strong Witch,” Jezi says. “All of our mothers were.”

  I never knew a word in past tense could make me feel like I had run an all-day marathon. My chest, my arms, and my hands feel so heavy. My throat so tight.

  I drop my hands to my side and ball them into fists, forcing myself to be strong. “What kind of spell will I be doing?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “A strong linking spell,” she says with a relieved sigh. “Since you can’t manifest, which, manifesting your Grimoire is something natural to a Witch, then that means she must have a strong Witch working around the clock on some kind of hiding spell. In order for us to bypass that magic, we have to mentally link with that Witch and disrupt their magic long enough for you to manifest. The only way we can do that is by brewing up a potent concoction of mugwort tea.”

  “How did I know you were going to say that?” I say, holding my stomach protectively. I had read once before about mugwort—the main ingredient used to make absinthe. The green fairy is something Katie used to talk about wanting to try back when we were in high s
chool. It has many uses, but to a Witch, the most common is to inspire prophetic dreams and enhance divination.

  It’s also known to have an awful, acrid taste.

  “Oh, come on,” Jezi says with a small laugh and a wave of her hand. “The taste isn’t all that bad, especially with a little splash of honey added.”

  “Says the girl who’s only brewing it. Not drinking it,” I add, toes curling in my shoes.

  “Actually, I will be drinking it.” She pauses. Looks to Jaxen. Enough seconds flicker by to tell me that they’re speaking mentally and, the moment I realize this, I open up my mind to them both.

  But they’ve already finished whatever they were discussing.

  He turns just enough to face me. “This isn’t something you can do alone.”

  “What do you mean? I thought I had to?”

  He shakes his head. “There’s too much of a risk that something could go wrong.”

  My lips pinch together, and my face goes hot. “Is it that, or do you both think I can’t handle this?”

  They exchange glances, and I swear my bones have a mind of their own because they’re shaking with anger. Drowning in jealousy.

  “Faye, don’t freak out and take this the wrong way,” Jezi says quickly, trying to diffuse me. “I couldn’t even do this alone. Hell, neither could Cassie. You haven’t really been trained in witchcraft, and that’s okay. We can fix that while we’re staying here. I can help you grow stronger with your Witch side. Of course, only if you want me to.”

  “I do,” I say with an even tone.

  She gives me a small smile. “Good, then let’s start with this. Let’s do this together, and I’ll teach you. Okay?”

  My shoulders fall slack. My angered gaze wavers.

  “Here,” she says, moving me in front of the cupboard. She finds the jar of the grayish-green, cotton-like, dried-up plant, unscrewing the lid. My nose wrinkles as the strong, pungent aroma fills the room, leaving my stomach feeling like it’s been sloshed around all day.

  “The tea isn’t going to take that long to make, but what will is the talisman you’ll need before linking. It will need something of yours in it, and then it will need to sit under the moon until she is full. This is what will keep you protected while in the linked state.” She grabs an empty jar and holds it out to me. “Anything will work really.”