by Claudia Gray
She could’ve put this part off longer. But Verlaine figured she couldn’t feel much more scared and awful than she did at the moment; she might as well get it over with.
In the back of Mrs. Walsh’s Book of Shadows, on a page that had never been fully filled in, Verlaine wrote the name. Her handwriting was shaky, but she figured it still counted.
Asael.
Once she’d torn that out, she went to her bookshelf and got something a couple of young men in neckties had given her as part of their missionary work, during the summer; Verlaine had taken it just so they’d feel like they’d accomplished something. Since her dads weren’t very religious, this Book of Mormon was the only holy book in the house. One more page, and atop the verses she wrote again, Asael.
By now her hands were trembling, but Verlaine kept going. The last time they’d gotten papers back in Novels class, Asa hadn’t paid much attention to his; Verlaine had been able to swipe it. A paper he wrote counted as something he possessed, didn’t it?
Tears filled her eyes as she wrote Asael the third and final time.
She’d thought she couldn’t feel any worse, but she’d been wrong.
Nadia didn’t even go to school that day. She knew she ought to touch base with Verlaine. Maybe she should have wanted to see Mateo, too—even after he’d blown her off last night. He’d gotten in touch this morning, but only because he was freaking out about waking up on Kendall’s porch. The mature thing to do, Nadia figured, was to talk it out with him. What she actually wanted to do was bury her head under her covers for the next twenty years or so.
Her screwed-up feelings about Mateo weren’t why she stayed away from Rodman, though. The truth was a whole lot worse than that. Even now, Nadia could feel the pull dragging her back toward Elizabeth’s, like it was in her very bones. Was it a kind of magnetism? It was that powerful, that primal.
Almost like being in love, Nadia thought, and shuddered.
When she walked in, Elizabeth wasn’t sitting in the front room as usual. After a moment, Nadia heard footsteps on the back steps, and then Elizabeth walked in, her chestnut curls damp. Mud was spattered on her hands and bare feet. She smiled. “How fortunate that you’re here. We need to cast another spell of falling apart. A stronger one, this time.”
“What do you mean, fortunate?” Nadia said.
Elizabeth didn’t even seem to notice that she’d spoken. The smile on her face was genuine—almost gleeful.
That was when it hit Nadia: She hadn’t been summoned here. Elizabeth and the One Beneath hadn’t called her. The inexorable, undeniable pull she’d felt drawing her toward Elizabeth’s house—the attraction and the desire—it had all come from inside her.
Panic locked Nadia in its grip, stealing her focus and almost her breath. It can’t be, it’s impossible, I know my own mind and I would never, ever choose to come here.
Except she had.
It felt good to stand in Elizabeth’s house, amid her magic. The warmth from the stove was strangely intoxicating, as though it gave off a kind of perfume Nadia had never been able to smell before. “The stove,” she said. It was the only thing she could think of to say. “What’s in the stove?”
“Everything I ever stole,” Elizabeth said offhandedly as she took her place on the floor. “Join me. You know the ingredients.”
As though sleepwalking, Nadia walked to Elizabeth and sat down. Even as her spirit protested, her fingers seemed to move to the agate charm on her bracelet of their own accord. When the time came to summon the ingredients, Nadia dove into it, unable to resist the pull of the spell.
A woman weeping for something lost forever—Sobbing on the bus after leaving her mother’s new apartment in Chicago, knowing Mom would never love her again. The memory twisted, introducing anger Nadia hadn’t felt, stealing her hard-won forgiveness.
A time when you were cruelly betrayed—Her horrified realization that Mateo had made out with Elizabeth, that he’d kissed her, held her, as tenderly as he’d ever kissed Nadia. But she didn’t let herself think of the fact that Elizabeth had deceived him, that Mateo had thought he was with Nadia the entire time.
And a time when you cruelly betrayed another—Now. This moment. When she cast a spell of darkness with all her might and betrayed everyone she had ever loved.
The power surged through her like electricity: jolting her bones, her nerves. Nadia gasped as she felt it, and imagined she could hear cracking and crumbling all around her. In the first instant she wondered whether Elizabeth’s derelict house was finally about to collapse, but then she realized the sounds weren’t the kind you heard with your ears.
It wasn’t Elizabeth’s house that was falling apart. It was Captive’s Sound itself—no. Her entire world.
You’re sure you haven’t seen Nadia? Mateo texted. It wasn’t like her to skip. Once again he thought of how she’d taken off last night, and how she’d blown off the text he’d sent her then. This morning, when he’d been freaking out, Nadia had acted normal, and he thought maybe it would all blow over. Maybe last night she’d been so tired she fell asleep right away. Or Cole could’ve been having his bad dreams again, so maybe Nadia didn’t want to leave her little brother. Mateo had told himself it was no big deal.
But she hadn’t gone to school. She hadn’t texted him to explain—and it was her turn to reach out to him, definitely, so he hadn’t texted her either. By now, Nadia was definitely AWOL.
Verlaine sent back: Positive, and also, you still haven’t explained how Kendall Bender of all people figured out witchcraft was real.
She didn’t figure it out on her own. Everyone knows, by now. She flat-out asked me, so what was I supposed to do? Lie about it?
Yes. Lying is the game plan. The only plan we have!
Which was depressing. And true.
Mateo had a choice to make. One, spend the night at home. Make some nachos, play Assassin’s Creed, and basically chill out for the first time in what felt like a zillion years. After a while he might even do the homework that was still due because his teachers didn’t know about the impending apocalypse.
Or two, find Nadia and learn what the hell was going on—even if he didn’t like the answer.
He rode his motorcycle straight to Nadia’s house.
Mateo knew she might not be there—and that if she wasn’t, then he’d probably find her at Elizabeth’s. Although he never wanted to set foot in that creepy house, he’d search it top to bottom if he had to. He needed to be with her, to find out what was going on, because otherwise he couldn’t take it.
By the time he reached the Caldani house, Mateo had braced himself to head to Elizabeth’s, but Nadia opened the door. She smiled when she saw him, but the happiness didn’t touch her eyes. “I was wondering where you were.”
“Same thing.” Mateo found it hard to speak. All he could do was stare at Nadia.
She didn’t look like herself. Nadia had never been one of those girls who wore heels to school or did complicated stuff with her hair every day, but she always looked—pulled together. Sleek. Now her hair was loose and unkempt, and her shirt was rumpled, hanging on her crookedly. She looked like . . . like she did after they’d been making out. Even something about her energy reminded Mateo of the way she felt when they’d been kissing, touching, getting to the brink.
Only then did he realize something struck him as odd about the house, something besides the twisted electricity between them. It was the silence. No video games, no cartoons—“Um, where’s Cole?”
“Spending the night at a friend’s house. Dad’s out of town for a mediation meeting, and without the car I can’t pick Cole up in this weather, so a friend’s mom said he could stay over, even on a school night. Cole thinks he’s getting away with something awesome.” Her voice—low and sultry—suggested that she and Mateo could get away with a whole lot more if they seized the moment.
On one level, Mateo knew that was a bad idea.
On most levels, he didn’t care if it was a bad idea or not. He just had to
touch her.
He slung one arm around her neck, pulling her close. Nadia gasped, but when he leaned in for the kiss, she opened her mouth.
They’d never kissed like this before. Like they were starving for each other. He clutched her against him and backed her against the wall. Nadia hooked one leg around his as his hands slid inside her shirt.
Mateo realized this was screwed up. They needed to talk. Like, seriously talk. Instead they were pawing at each other like they wanted to get each other naked this minute. If they didn’t stop soon, they’d wind up in bed.
He didn’t stop.
She pushed his jacket off his shoulders. Mateo pressed his whole body against hers, making her whimper, a sound that took away almost all the self-control he had left. Then her hands went to his belt buckle, and Mateo felt—
—it wasn’t only desire, or need. It was that strange pulse of energy that had coursed through him last night, when Nadia had performed black magic.
That’s what I want so much. The darkness.
Mateo felt like a bucket of ice water had just been dumped over him. He pulled himself out of Nadia’s embrace; she stared at him, panting, her shirt undone so that he could see the white lace of her bra. “Mateo?” she said. Her voice shook. “What’s wrong?”
“You know what we’re doing right now—you sense that it’s not us, right?” He didn’t know how else to put it. “Something else is affecting us.”
After a moment, Nadia nodded. She turned slightly away as she rebuttoned her shirt; Mateo redid his belt and tried to think about baseball statistics for a minute. Nadia walked a few steps from him, then hugged herself as she leaned against the arched doorway into their living room.
“What’s going on?” he said. “Tell me.”
“Is it so strange, that I’d want you? That I’d want to make the most of some time alone in this house with my boyfriend?” Her smile was crooked. Warped. “Or can’t you believe that you want me? Am I so awful to you now that I work with Elizabeth?”
“Yeah, I’m so not attracted to you that I nearly tore your clothes off.” Mateo ran his hands through his hair. “Think, okay? Just think. We’ve hardly been talking to each other. But now—we come together—and it’s like something else is taking us over. It’s not right. You know it.”
After a long moment, she nodded. “Yes. I know.”
It felt as though he had to beg the truth from her, tear it out word by word. “Then what is it? Tell me. You can tell me anything.”
“Elizabeth’s magic is changing me.”
“Are you okay? What did she do to you?” Had Elizabeth cursed Nadia, too? Wasn’t bringing her under the control of the One Beneath enough? Mateo clenched his jaw.
Nadia shook her head. “Not Elizabeth. At least, not directly. The magic itself is changing me into someone else. Someone I hardly recognize.”
The dark magic he’d felt during the flood—that was what had her scared. “I know you’ve had to do some terrible things, but that’s only because Elizabeth made you. It won’t always be this bad.”
“It’s going to get worse before it gets better. If it ever gets better.”
“Don’t say that. We’re going to win this. You’re learning about how she’s breaking the One Beneath into this world, so we can stop it.”
“I’m not learning enough, and even if I do stop her in time to save everybody else, I don’t think—it’s not going to be in time to save me.” Nadia’s voice broke. Mateo tried to reach out to her again, but she pulled away. As she paced back and forth, she tugged at her messy hair; her eyes were red with unshed tears.
He kept his voice gentle. “You’re not going to die.”
“Death isn’t what I’m afraid of.” She went very still as she turned to him. He sensed that a decision had been made—the wrong decision. Her gaze was distant, as though she’d never been farther away. “I’m afraid of changing forever. I’m afraid of turning into someone I’d never want to be. Already I’ve turned into someone besides the person you fell in love with. You don’t even know who I am. Who I’ve become.”
She was still herself. But now she was someone else, too—the Sorceress she might become. It was Nadia he loved, but it was the Sorceress who had made him want to forget everything else in the world and slam her against the nearest wall.
He wanted her, and he feared her, and he knew nothing except that he shouldn’t let her go.
So he stood to face her and chose his words carefully. “I’m your Steadfast. That means I keep you strong, right? And you do the same for me. Not with the magic, anything like that—but you keep me going, every day. Even if you’re . . . changing, the most important things remain the same. They have to.” Was he getting through? The expression in her dark eyes was like nothing else he’d ever seen in her or in anyone else. “Nadia—I know you. Better than I know myself. I know you.”
Mateo stepped closer, trying to break down the wall she was building between them, but Nadia shook her head. “Not anymore.”
This can’t be happening. She wouldn’t do this to us. Not when we love each other this much.
Nadia said the words anyway. “We can’t be together anymore. I love you, Mateo. I always will. But it’s over. We’re over.”
7
ELIZABETH STOOD ON THE SEASHORE, BAREFOOT DESPITE the cold, exposed to the rain.
Her body was mortal now, vulnerable to injury and sickness. While her strength was greater than that of most humans, it was possible for her to bleed or fall sick. Yet she stood in the weather anyway. If she became ill, she would still be able to cast her magic; no disease would strike her down in the limited time this world had left.
For this spell, she needed to feel the damage she was wreaking upon Captive’s Sound. She needed the chill to creep all the way through to her bones.
Elizabeth’s long chestnut hair caught in the wind. She had stripped down to her white camisole and skirt; her sweater lay crumpled on the damp sand, darkening as the raindrops fell. For the moment the rainfall was lighter. Probably the people in town felt relieved, sure the storms were finally ending. They did not know, as Elizabeth did, that the lull was temporary. Even now, weather patterns across the country were changing as vast banks of clouds were drawn toward Captive’s Sound. Soon the weather would be altered throughout the world.
“They will know us at last, my beloved lord,” Elizabeth whispered. She knew the One Beneath was near, just beneath the surface of the dark, storm-chopped waves. Listening. Waiting. “They will have time to prepare. The wise will kneel to greet you.”
She sensed His pleasure at the thought, and turned her face upward, smiling into the rain. The shivers sweeping through her felt more like shudders of pleasure.
Within her she sensed the One Beneath’s response to her thoughts—the comforting, total possessiveness He felt at knowing her to be His most perfect servant, and yet something else, too . . .
The One Beneath’s attention wandered, fixated on the thought that Nadia’s heart was not yet fully His own. Oh, yes, she owed Him her loyalty now; the darkness had its claws in her, and Elizabeth was enjoying watching the girl’s slow deterioration. But that fall was not complete until Nadia was at a point of no turning back.
“Do you want her so very much?” Elizabeth whispered.
Yes. He did. He wanted Nadia more hungrily, more passionately, than He had ever wanted anything else.
More, Elizabeth realized, than He had ever wanted her.
She’d been jealous of Nadia before. Jealous of her inherent fitness for dark magic, which gave her abilities at seventeen that Elizabeth had not acquired until she was nearly a century old. Yet that was nothing compared to the consuming envy Elizabeth felt at knowing how deeply Nadia was desired by the One Beneath.
This girl who disdains Him. This girl who serves Him only because she must. Whereas I have given Him everything, fought for Him, suffered for Him, lived centuries with no thought other than His escape and His glory—
The
One Beneath recognized Elizabeth’s jealousy, of course. As she had known He would, He delighted in it. Her jealousy was the proof of her love.
He demands proof still. He will demand proof until the end.
Elizabeth held her hands out. “I will give her to you, my lord. I have given you Nadia Caldani’s service, but I will also give you her soul.”
Then, at last, Elizabeth would be the most loved.
Kneeling upon the sand, she raked one of her hands through the sand to find a seashell, its broken edge sharp as any knife. A thin trickle of blood flowed into the sand in a snaky path, enough for her to travel by. She called upon the bonds that now tethered Nadia’s soul to darkness, and so to Elizabeth herself. The blood bore her out of her own body so that her mind could slip into Nadia’s as thin, swift, and silent as a switchblade.
What she found was pain—fresh and sharp as the cut on Elizabeth’s arm.
The wedge she’d driven between Nadia and Mateo had worked. Last night they had parted. Without her Steadfast, Nadia would be weaker; without the certainty of her human love, Nadia would be off-balance. More easily confused, and so more easily turned.
Other factors still tied Nadia to the human world, however.
Those would have to go, too.
Elizabeth could not use this spell often—her spell for reaching into the thoughts of another. It was some of the most dangerous magic anyone could perform. As much as she enjoyed contaminating minds, there was always the risk of being contaminated in return.
So she used her spell carefully, slipping into Nadia’s mind and cloaking her suggestion as one of Nadia’s own thoughts. I need to be with someone right now. I need a friend.
Swiftly Elizabeth withdrew. There was no need to watch Nadia further. She knew Nadia would go to the only friend she had left . . . and because Elizabeth knew the demon Asa, and what he was probably doing, she knew the rest would take care of itself.
No matter how many times Verlaine explained to her dads that being cold and wet didn’t actually make people catch colds (“Those are viruses.”), they would never believe her. So this afternoon, she sat in her room amid the nest of stuff they’d given her just in case: cough medicine, sinus-headache painkiller, a thermometer, an actual honest-to-God hot-water bottle, and the Slanket. As she scrolled through her Tumblr dash, she saw the usual array of pictures—One Direction, artsy hipster sunset, GIFs of Leonardo DiCaprio chasing an elusive Oscar, One Direction again—and then a quote from a poem. The words struck her as so beautiful that she got a lump in her throat; she knew who this reminded her of, though she didn’t even want to admit it to herself.
