by Brea Viragh
Astix stared down at the paraphernalia for spell casting. The wands and gems and athame glimmering in the afternoon light. They were elements she’d thought were lost to her. Given up with her banishment. Yet here they were.
The scent of thyme was strong in the kitchen. “It weighs the heaviest on you,” Nasira said to her. “The timing of it—”
“This is heavy for us. We knew what we were doing when we first started this. Stumbled a bit, sure. But we knew.”
“None of us are risking more than the other,” Karsia interrupted.
“These spells we’re doing,” Nasira said, “these are just to give us time for the Harbinger to do whatever it is she…or he…needs to do. Correct?” She wanted to make sure she understood the sequence of events. If they needed to speak of it seventy more times, she wanted to be sure. She’d go over the details of it until it was engrained in her memory.
“We cast the circle to protect ourselves first, and use the crystals and wards to keep whatever comes at us at bay. The circle must stand with no breaks,” Astix said.
“All right.” Nasira nodded. “At least we’ll be together.” Part of her wondered if their meeting was made better by the harsh reality of their circumstances. After all, the sisters might not have been keen to get to know her ordinarily. They might have taken offense to her presence and closed ranks. As it was, they accepted her, needed her next to them, and in a way it made getting to know each other much easier.
“And we’re not going anywhere,” Karsia said with a smile.
Nasira hoped it wouldn’t be brutal or bloody. But there was always blood, wasn’t there? In one form or another. While the rest of the world continued on in blissful ignorance, she would do whatever needed to be done next.
They would take this day to finish the preparations. If everyone played their part, and the gods above and below willing, the day would end in success.
It was well after dark when they finished, and she felt like hands were closing around her throat. Less than twenty-four hours now. Twenty-four hours before she either lived or died. She changed into a white t-shirt that fell down below her waist and was out of the room before realizing she’d put on one of Brock’s by accident. It smelled like him, soft against her skin and aching muscles. A comfort she hadn’t realized she needed.
That night, they celebrated with wine and ambrosia from Morgan’s secret stash. He allowed each of them a sip, saying any more would kill them, but the fiery hot liquid helped. It was sweet and tangy and cold, slipping through her bloodstream and rejuvenating her. It was a fitting end to the day, with drink and music and laughter.
“You know,” Nasira stated, sitting back on the couch. Uncaring when Brock placed his hand on her knee. “I used to play in the band in high school.”
“Tell me it was a string instrument,” Karsia said with a giggle. “You look like you would play the cello.”
“Sadly, no. Trumpet. But this song,” Nasira indicated the one playing on the radio, “was one of my favorites. A golden oldie. I used to play it nonstop. I sounded like someone trying to strangle a duck but my mother loved it. She was supportive in whatever I tried to do, whether I did it well or not.”
The girls began to sing along with the tune, drawing themselves into the melody. It was nice to laugh. To pretend to be normal for a single moment before tomorrow loomed ahead. There was heart in the music. In being together with a lively tune between them. Brock by her side.
The human heart was persistent. When the music changed, Brock tugged her to her feet and brought her against him in a dance.
“Wipe the gloom off your face,” he demanded. “You won’t let anyone get the better of you tomorrow.”
“I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll try.” She wrapped her arm around his neck, resting her cheek against the hardness of his chest.
“Sure you can. I know you. And on an unrelated topic, are you wearing my shirt?”
It was good there were no neighbors, Brock mused, because they would likely call the police with the raucous. The girls joined them in dance flowing into the night. They would take whatever joy they could find and milk it for every last drop.
There were the three auburn-haired witches giggling and moving their hips in time with two dark-haired men. And in front of him was Nasira, loyal and steadfast and glowing with the pleasure of the music. It was more than he could ask for.
They might die tomorrow but tonight they would be merry. Cecilia may attempt to make them doubt their own minds, or worry about possession of their body, but she would never break their spirits and the magic of them. The light of them.
Who knew. These four women might save the day.
Though he hadn’t doubted them, he was hesitant to make a blanket statement about their victory. Tonight, seeing all four of them with their faces upturned in pleasure, he felt assured of their triumph. Whether he survived or not. Which he hoped he did.
**
In another part of Chicago, in a penthouse apartment shrouded in mist, Orestes stared out the window at the moon. He was a motionless silhouette facing the bay window, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit and necktie.
This was it. The beginning of a new era. Not the end, as he’d been force-fed for so long, but the opportunity for growth. He’d accepted the struggle and knew he’d moved beyond it all.
“You were right.” He let his hand fall against the glass, leaving a print. “You were right about everything. Giving up and accepting my fate.”
Yes. You understand.
The female voice sounded in his head. He’d long since stopped worrying or feeling startled at the feeling of having someone inside his mind. Sharing his body and mind.
At this point, he’d almost miss her if she weren’t around.
He felt her smile even though she was insubstantial. A shadow at his side. As she’d been in one form or another for the last thirteen years. She’d started to solidify the closer they came to the spring equinox and the lunar eclipse. When the time came at last he knew, finally, he’d have the chance to see her face in person rather than imagine it in his dreams.
You’ve done well, Orestes. You alone have stayed true while the others fail. My Harbinger.
“I knew it was me,” he whispered. “I had no choice but to succeed, your plan perfect from the beginning. I would pay any price to help you.”
To help us.
It had started out small. A tremor on the wind. An idea bursting to life in his mind where he didn’t remember the inception. He saw things then. All those years ago. He saw messages in the stars. He saw codes in lines of books and meaning in the smallest items. It didn’t take long for the face in his nightmares to solidify into something more than a subconscious vision. He knew what she was, and what she represented. Power in its rawest form.
Initially he’d worked together with others who heard her call. Ambitious men and women with magic of their own. When her voice first penetrated his thoughts, he woke up at night in a cold sweat. Images of her behind his lids. Fair haired. Gorgeous. Sad.
Soon she was all he could think about.
His contempt for them was not misplaced. One by one they fell. Until there was only him.
She chose him.
It brought them closer and closer over the years. Him, helping her obtain her freedom while she gave him the means, the strength, to accomplish his goals. She was behind the scenes and waiting in the wings while he rose through the Claddium ranks. While he accumulated more and more prestige and recognition. Orestes knew he accomplished much with her help.
His Cecilia, as she wanted to be called.
His position in the Claddium gave him clout, but it was his political and magical savvy—as well as Cecilia’s dark influence—that had established him as the go-to man for earth elementals in the Great Lakes region. People came to him for a vast array of personal and professional matters.
He curated their secrets. Brought them into his confidence. And soon his reputation for being a
steadfast pillar of the magical community, along with an uncanny ability to help himself in the process, had made him untouchable. Even when the others in the Claddium felt they faced an uncertain future as the veil tore and the Harbinger witch was nowhere to be found.
What a joke.
Our time together is nearly at an end. Soon you will have everything you desire. As will I. Get to work.
He hastened to obey, walking to his desk and pushing aside papers where the headlines glared out at him.
Bizarre weather patterns have meteorologists baffled
entire town committed to psych ward for evaluation. local officials have yet to locate the cause
what next? Prophets calling this the end of days
gun violence risen by fifty percent in last month alone
It was the veil, he knew. The magic leaking into their world and impacting the weak of heart and mind. His son saw these headlines and was moved to action.
Orestes saw them and felt his anticipation build.
“Yes, get to work,” he muttered. “It’s been nothing but work. Nothing but struggle and rising to the occasion. Soon I will have my reward.”
A knock on the door shook him from his thoughts. “Honey? Who are you talking to in there?”
He forced himself to settle down. “Dear, it’s nothing. Talking to myself.”
“Oh.” His wife’s disappointment was clear. “I thought maybe it was one of your people at the Claddium. I thought…maybe they’d heard some news from Leo.”
The thought of his son used to bring a swell of pleasure and pride. Now it filled him with disgust. Imprisoning his own child had been a matter of necessity, he thought. Cecilia was correct again in her precision. The plan must be executed precisely. Leo complicated the matter by bedding down with the Cavaldi’s.
He had to be dealt with.
“No, Minerva,” Orestes commented. Striving to keep his tone even. “I’m afraid not.”
She’d keep asking, he knew, until they found something. Any piece of information about their only child and his appearance.
Orestes shook his head. Leonidas was closer than Minerva suspected. Too bad he’d restricted access to the Vault. No one would think to look there for the boy. And if they did, they’d find their attention swayed somewhere else and immediately leave. It was too late, he’d thought to set the precautions. After Zelda—
No. He refused to think of Zelda. She’d been too weak to keep up with him. Too weak to do anything more than play a small part in their plan. Pity.
His mouth tightened. It was better to rely on no one. Count on no one except yourself. With a sigh, he sat and rested his head on his hands. He’d learned long ago that true power stemmed not from strength or physical prowess, but from leverage. From seizing command.
Soon. Soon he would have his moment. A realization of his plans after these many, many years. Cecilia would help him, as she had until now, and when the eclipse came, he would have his moment to make this his perfect world.
He thought at first it wouldn’t be easy for a successful man to keep his own agenda outside of work. To get away from the tedious and complicated business that came with being part of an organization like the Claddium.
Then it became second nature. To schedule meetings and set up opportunities to further his agenda. Everything began to click into place. Soon his normal duties became tedious and he found he came to rely on his assistant for more than her usual services and duties.
It was after careful thought and planning he brought Kelsi in on his plans, knowing she was too weak to fight him. To question him or his motives. No one else, beyond the ill-fated Zelda Vuur, knew what he did, or where he planned to go with his ideas. Not his colleagues, not the other witches and wizards under his jurisdiction, and not his wife.
Tomorrow, he thought, he would finally have his opportunity to accomplish what he set out to do. If there was blood then so be it. He would use it to drown whatever enemies came forward against him. He would create a world of perfection, where magic like Astix’s was unheard of.
It is almost time.
Cecelia joined him. He felt intangible arms sliding along his shoulders, down to his waist.
“You expect me to do this alone?” he asked.
By this time tomorrow, the veil will be no more and I will be free. Others will come forward to your aid. You will have your reward. My Harbinger.
Oh yes. He liked the sound of that. And his reward would not stop with restoring the balance. The certainty of his mission lightening his soul.
CHAPTER 21
It was late when Brock lay beside Nasira. There were a few hours separating them from the eclipse, and he knew without a doubt Morgan and Karsia would be in this same position, with their arms wrapped around each other. As Aisanna and Elon would be. His heart went out to Astix and her missing other half. Brock hoped they would be together soon.
“I’ve been fighting against it,” Nasira murmured when he snuggled close, “but I know it was meant to be this way. The four of us completing the circle, stronger because of each other. There’s a lot of love here. I’m glad I could finally see it. It makes me better, it makes my magic better, and I know whatever comes, we have the love. Brock, I’m sorry for everything I put you through. It took me too long to realize what I really wanted.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” he told her. Turning, he nuzzled the top of her head. This was a far cry from the screaming banshee who’d thrown books at him. In a few days, she’d grown and moved past her insecurities. This was the Nasira he remembered, only more. Better. Fulfilled in ways he couldn’t imagine.
Brock was just happy she’d still chosen him. In a way, he was grateful for the upheaval. Otherwise she may have continued to dig in her heels, and he would be forced to circle around her, be beat down, then get up and try again.
She’d saved them a lot of time and effort.
“I want to tell you the truth,” she murmured. “You were whole enough to know yourself and know what you want. You still wanted me. I’m glad you didn’t give up on us, because then we wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t change a thing. I love you.”
“I know. It goes without saying.”
She laid her hand over his heart and listened to the steady beats. “Do you have any regrets?”
“Not a one,” he answered with certainty.
“Good. I have a secret to tell you. I, ah, I keep this with me.” She swung around, reaching over the side of the bed and taking hold of her purse. From the depths she drew a piece of paper. Worn and creased around the edges. Without a word she handed it to Brock and watched him unfold.
“What is…oh, God. Naz! You seriously keep a list of your accomplishments?” He squinted to read her scribbled handwriting. “You checked off “want to sleep with Zack Long? Are you kidding me?”
She fought the urge to snatch it back. “We’re not here to talk about what I put on the list or what I have and have not checked off it. It’s a symbol.”
“A symbol that there is something seriously wrong in your head. Woman, you know this is insane, right? Although I have to admit, you’ve done a lot of things. I’m not sure whether to feel exasperated or proud of you,” he responded.
“Let’s go with the last one. I want you to rip it up.” She smiled wide.
“You want me to what?”
“Rip up the list, Brock. I’m done living in such strict and rigid boundaries. Tear up the paper and make me a promise.”
He paused with fingers poised on the edges of the paper. “Anything.”
“Swear to me, whatever stupid shit I try to pull, whatever I try to throw or if I punch you, kick you, get so mad I turn red, you will love me.”
“I don’t need to promise you, Nasira,” he said. “You already know.”
They loved each other one last time before the night ended. In her mind, it was a better use of her time than sleep. She savored the long kisses and silky caresses. She memorized his moans and sighs and let he
r inhibitions fall.
Through it, she told herself her heart was powerful enough for the two of them. She would protect him with everything she had. No regrets.
The next day moved quickly, with seven people rising and preparing for the last march.
Nasira said goodbye. To the house that had served as her home for the last few days. To the surety of her days until this point.
When she walked into the living room, Aisanna was delivering a final pep talk to the rest of them. They turned as a unit to stare at her, and Nasira was about to open her mouth when Brock placed a hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t heard him.
“We’re ready,” he said.
Tonight, the veil would be lifted for good.
A feeling of dread lodged in her heart.
“I’ve never carried this many people across the subconscious before,” Morgan prefaced, rubbing his hands together. “Which means we might have to take turns. And no one be nervous at my true form.”
“Wait, this isn’t what you look like?”
Morgan smiled. “It’s close.”
They went in different groups, hands clutched together as Morgan transported them across planes of existence. If it wasn’t happening, Nasira wouldn’t have thought it possible. She arrived with the second group after feeling her body ripped from the house and turned inside out. It felt like someone had hold of her top and bottom and was slowly wringing her out like a wet rag.
Her feet touched down on the grass and she fell to her knees. Her insides were squirming, piecing themselves back together in the right places.
“I’m sorry! Not many mortals can handle crossing. I thought, since you’re witches, it wouldn’t be bad for you.” Morgan floated to the ground with his wings unfurled and snapping in the wind like feathered sails. They shimmered for a moment before disappearing, the horns shrinking back into his head until there was only Morgan the professor.
Nasira fought against nausea, tasting her dinner and coughing. “Brock?” she asked.
