I kick out, catching Lyon in his abdomen between swings of the scythe. He crashes to the dais with enough force to crack the hardwood platform. The staff skitters across the floor. I dive for it, my arms a blur of speed as I grasp the handle. Rolling onto my back, I flip the scythe, raising the pointed foot like a spear. I brace myself as Lyon rushes toward me, too fast to stop what’s destined to happen.
Gaia screams as Lyon plunges into it.
His mouth parts, his jaw slack with shock as a red stain blooms out from the handle. My arms shake under his weight as he sags.
Lyon stares down at me, his eyes glassy and distant. Empty.
Blood trickles between his lips. “There is still time,” he says, his mouth forming words I can barely hear through Gaia’s screams and the shouts of the Guards, “to make the right choices.”
His chin droops. For a moment, all I can do is stare. What the hell does that even mean? I already made my choice—my only choice—didn’t I?
Chaos erupts. I jolt as a pulse of electricity surges through the staff. My hands fuse around the metal, my elbows locked and trembling as Lyon’s magic flows into me, too late to let go. The charred taste of smoke fills my mouth. My right eye burns like it’s on fire. My head falls back and I choke on a scream.
Tears stream down my cheek with every blink. The room blurs, my perspective suddenly all wrong. The room smells like war, like blood and fear and confusion as the Guards in the hall burst through the doors. They jerk to a stop, shielding their eyes from the bright final flare of light that courses through the staff. The pulsing static dies and the room falls quiet, my hands still frozen around the frosted handle of the scythe. The last four members of the old Guard rush in, chains clanking as they grind to a halt.
I drop the smoking handle. Lyon tumbles to the floor, ash already flaking from his shoulders.
Gaia falls to her knees as he crumbles and turns to dust.
Pain throbs behind my right eye. I cup it, hand shaking as I trace the warped flesh with my fingers. Snatching up the staff, I angle the blade toward my face. A sunken black hole stares back at me from the metal.
I cover the burned socket, the words Kai said to me in the pool rattling in my head. . . .
Stolen magic is cursed magic . . . you inherit their weaknesses and faults . . .
No. That’s a lie. Lyon never lost his eye. That’s just a story stupid librarians preach to keep Seasons in line.
A charge pulses through the room, the air taking on the dense electric tang of an approaching storm. The Guards surrounding Gaia fall back, scrambling away on hands and knees. Her hair lifts with static, like a nest of writhing silver snakes.
“What have you done!” The ground rolls out from her like a wave and sends me reeling. I rush to my feet, backing away from the raw power coming off her. I’ve never seen Gaia like this. Completely unhinged. It was the same way Fleur had looked at Michael in the vision Lyon showed me—like she would tear open the earth and unleash hell with her bare hands.
“Stay back!” I point the scythe at Gaia as she advances. When she doesn’t stop, I swing. The blade hisses through the air, leaving a shallow cut in the waist of her dress. She pauses just beyond its reach, her cheeks flushed and her diamond eyes furious.
A wooden beam in the ceiling groans. The Guards, old and new, throw out their arms for balance, watching the walls and the ceiling as the ground rumbles. They turn to Gaia, as if they’re waiting for some command from her.
“I have the staff!” I shout at them. “You answer to me now! Including you.” I point the blade at Gaia. “And you’ll stay the fuck back, if you know what’s good for you!”
Gaia shakes her head, her voice pitching low enough for only me to hear as she stalks closer. “This will not end in any way you can possibly imagine, Douglas. It takes two eyes to see clearly—two hearts,” she says, her breath hitching. “And I will never serve you.” Her voice hardens as she steps over Lyon’s ashes. “You are now, and will always be, alone.”
Gaia leaps straight for the scythe’s blade. She gasps, her body lurching to a stop as it sinks into her chest.
Our eyes catch. I didn’t see this coming. Hadn’t looked beyond Lyon’s last breath in the lamp’s surface. I never planned for this. But Gaia had. She knew. . . . So why hadn’t they tried harder to stop me? I search her eyes for an answer as their lids grow heavy. A hazy vision flickers through the slits. No . . . a memory. No voices, no sound. Only an image.
Lyon sits, wrapping the sash around the eye of the staff. Gaia rests a hand on his shoulder as a smaze rolls in an orb on Lyon’s desk. His lips move around the words: I can still save him.
The memory winks out as Gaia’s eyes flutter closed. A strange peace seems to settle over her.
I swallow hard, still puzzling over the memory when I’m thrown violently off my feet. With a deafening boom, Gaia ruptures into an explosion of ash and light. The ground shakes and a shower of plaster rains from the ceiling.
The Guards retreat to the outer edges of the room, their eyes turned up as the chandelier clinks overhead. A storm of magic gathers near the apex, forming a loose funnel. The Control Room monitors flicker with static. The screens die, one by one.
“You!” I shout to one of Lyon’s Guards, pointing the scythe at him. “Unlock their restraints.” I jerk my chin toward the four Guards of the old regime who still have their magic. “Now!” Lyon’s Guards all snap to attention, each of them rushing to free someone in a jumpsuit. When the last set of shackles hits the floor, I order Lyon’s Guards to get down on their knees. “Cuff the traitors,” I tell the others.
Michael’s Guards—my Guards—don’t hesitate. Lixue is first to snatch up the restraints and fire mitts. She barks out orders, and the others respond, chaining Lyon’s Guards to one another as the quake shakes the floor.
“What now?” Lixue hollers.
“Kill them.”
Her eyes snap to mine. The slender column of her throat bobs, her mouth falling open in protest. “But Doug. They’re—”
“Now!”
Her gaze lingers on the blade of my scythe. She issues the command, and the members of the old Guard close in on Lyon’s team, summoning their magic. Light flares, dispersing through the room, until the last of Lyon’s Guards is reduced to ash.
Gaia’s magic roars. A howling wind whips debris around the room. Stucco crumbles from the walls and bits of fallen plaster bubble off the floor. The air grows thick with dust.
My eye rakes the room, searching for Kai. She knew about the magic’s curse. Maybe she knows how to stop this. I spot her huddled beside the pews as plaster falls around her. Above her, a chunk of the ceiling creaks and breaks loose. She screams, throwing her arms over her head as the giant slab falls.
“No!” I lunge for Kai as it speeds toward her. “Stop!”
Everything goes still. Silence falls like a scythe.
My ears ring, the world outside them completely devoid of sound. Breathing hard, I look around me. It’s as if the room is submerged under water. Particles of dust and plaster hover motionless in the air. The surviving members of the old Guard stand utterly still, like living mannequins posed around the room. Kai’s mouth is frozen in a soundless scream, the fallen section of ceiling suspended in the air above her head.
With cautious steps, I walk out amid the debris, afraid any sudden movement might break the spell. My shoes are silent on the broken glass. Reaching out with a finger, I prod a piece of plaster where it hangs in the air, but it doesn’t budge. I weave through the room, around people standing still as statues.
The second hand on the clock doesn’t move.
I stare at my trembling hands. At the smoke-tarnished staff. A breathless laugh wheezes out of me.
I am Time. And Inevitability. Two of the greatest powers in the universe.
And the world is collapsing around me.
My laughter becomes panicked, almost hysterical. I turn in a circle, taking in the destruction. Gaia’s soul is
a motionless whorl of light above my head. It doesn’t so much as blink, but I’m certain it will tear this place apart if I can’t find a way to control it.
I drag my hand through the plaster dust in my hair. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know what the staff is capable of or the limitations of my new magic. How the hell am I supposed to stop this earthquake she’s started? I don’t know how it all works or what to do next. Or . . .
What to do next . . .
The eye.
I lower the scythe, tearing at the sash around its head, my fingernails catching on the velvet as I struggle to loosen the knot. A choked sound escapes me as the fabric pulls away, revealing a gaping hole where the crystal should be.
It’s gone.
But it was here. Lyon had it.
It was right here, in the head of the staff, when he showed me the vision in his office last week. He looked inside it, and he saw something. . . .
I had hoped it would not come to this.
My shout echoes off the walls. I hurl the staff and it clatters over the stone.
Lyon knew! He knew this moment would happen, and he hid the crystal to punish me.
My breath billows out in angry white clouds. Ice slides into my veins, my Winter magic stirring awake as if it’s responding to an unconscious thought. I pant, looking down at the frost on my hands.
Time . . . it stopped when I needed it to. When I commanded it to. It answered to my desires just like my Winter magic. Time is just another form of magic. If I can control the elements, I can control this, too.
I take a deep breath, assessing the room. Coming up with a plan.
Restart time. Save Kai. Together, we’ll figure out what to do with Gaia’s magic.
The staff sticks to my palm as I bend to retrieve it, the cold skin pulling painfully as I rise to my feet and position myself close to Kai. I raise my eye to the clock. Focusing on the long brass second hand, I envision it ticking. Imagine pushing it to the right. My blackened eye burns as the magic stirs inside me.
“Forward,” I whisper.
A sudden burst of wind rips the scythe from my hand. I barrel into Kai, tackling her out of the way as the debris crashes down. Gaia’s magic howls, bouncing off the ceiling and twisting against the walls. The lights flicker and die, until the only light left is the raging glow of Gaia’s magic. The Guards run for cover. Kai coughs, shielding her eyes from the dust. I pull her to her feet as the storm builds around us.
“You killed them!” Her hair blows like daggers across her eyes. She jerks her hand from mine and backs away from me, her gaze locking on the scythe on the floor. “You said you would take the staff. You never said you would kill them!” Wind whips through the Control Room, hurling glass and throwing papers off the desk. “Gaia’s magic is loose now. We’re all going to die!”
She turns to run. I grab her and turn her chin toward me. “We’re not going to die! I promised you’d be safe. That you would have your magic. We’re going to fix this. You and me. Do you understand?” I’ll make her more powerful than she ever imagined. I’ll put her on a fucking throne at my side if it means we both walk out of here alive. “You’ll take Gaia’s power. I’m going to give you her magic.”
Her eyes snap to mine. The memory I see inside them stops me cold.
Her jumpsuit is clean. New. She’s sitting in the armchair in Lyon’s office, pale and shaking with stasis tremors. His desk calendar reveals the date—one week ago. I see his lips form the words: When the time comes, promise me you’ll protect him. That you’ll make the right choice this time. It’s possible to start over, Kai. We all can.
In the memory, she nods. But it’s not me I see her picturing in her mind. Not me that’s driving her guilt or her need for redemption.
I drop her chin as the world falls out from under me.
I don’t need magic to know what she’ll do next. Kai’s going to betray me.
And when she runs, it will be to Jack.
I push her away from me. The floor heaves. I duck, shielding my head as rubble crashes against my shoulder. The wind screams through the room, shattered terrariums and cages spraying glass over the floor. A crow shrieks past me. A swarm of bees rushes toward the only exit. When I look up, the heavy wooden doors are thrown wide, swinging on their hinges.
Kai’s gone.
I grip the edge of Gaia’s desk as another quake takes hold. I reach for the staff, using it for leverage to push myself upright. With a sharp inhale, I draw Gaia’s magic toward me. It thrashes against the ceiling, fighting my control. Sparks fly as, breath after breath, I force the funnel down. It condenses into a tight ball of light as it descends toward my mouth.
Her magic burns as I breathe it in. All stingers and teeth and claws, it refuses to go down. It shreds my throat, and I fight the urge to choke it out. Groping wildly over the desk, I search for a cage. For a host. For something else to contain it before it rips me apart. The crows, bees, and flies have all escaped. But the Guards are still here. I could make one of them—
No.
I can’t risk giving any of them this much power. Any one of them could turn on me, just like Kai.
My fingers close around an orb. I shake open the lid and heave into it, spitting light from my mouth. Gasping and shaking, I secure the lid in place as Gaia’s magic hisses at me through the glass. Blood drips down my chin. I wipe it on my sleeve, sucking down painful gulps of air as the wind begins to die.
Dust and loose papers drift to the floor. When the last of the tremors has stilled, the four remaining members of the old Guard—my Guard—rise slowly to their feet. With wide eyes, they stare at the blackened hollow in my face. I avoid their gazes, afraid of what I might see inside them. Arms braced on Gaia’s desk, I hang my head over the orb, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do next.
9
Promises to Keep
JACK
I’m light-headed and drenched to the bone when I finally lumber off the treadmill and head to my office for my meeting with Lyon. I ease into my rolling chair and slide to my keyboard, checking messages as I await his call. An email arrives from Poppy, complete with a selfie of Chill wearing a snow-crusted parka beside an elevation sign at the foot of an Alaskan mountain pass. My throat tightens and I close the attachment, switching to check the weather feeds instead.
Nothing but blue skies and perfect spring weather for a hundred miles in every direction, with the exception of the same small cluster of persistent heavy clouds that have hovered over our villa all week.
The front door shuts. I turn on the security feeds in time to see Fleur reach the end of the cobblestone driveway. Her GPS light flashes red on another screen as she rounds the bend, heading to her school. She wore her transmitter this morning without a reminder or an argument. And when I went to the kitchen for coffee, all the tourism clippings she’d stuck to the fridge had been quietly taken down. Our new visas and passports came by courier a few days ago, along with the travel vouchers from Lyon. I tucked them in a drawer as soon as the delivery driver was gone.
I check the network connection as I wipe sweat from my brow. Already three songs into my playlist, I’m more than ready for a cold shower. Where the hell is Lyon? It’s not like him to be late. I try the number for his office and listen through fifteen rings before finally giving up. Slouching back in my chair, I stare at the ceiling, thinking about all the things I yearn to talk to him about and don’t know how. About the travel vouchers in the drawer. About all the reasons Fleur doesn’t want us to go back, and all the reasons I feel like I need to.
A video call notification pops up on my screen. Something inside me unwinds as I sit up and click the mouse to connect.
“Hey, Professor.” I pause my music, waiting for the camera to catch up and his face to appear.
“Not last time I checked.” I glance up, not entirely disappointed to see Amber on the screen.
“Hey. I can’t talk long. Waiting on a call from Lyon. What’s up?”
&nbs
p; “Have you been watching the headlines from London today?”
“No, why?” I’m already flipping open tabs, bringing up the world news and feeding the images to the second screen over my desk. I don’t usually keep track of weather beyond a few hundred miles of Cuernavaca. But the irregular smear of green storms streaking across the radar are enough to grab my attention.
“A quake was reported there a few hours ago.”
“How bad?”
“Not as bad as 2008. Barely a four on the Richter. But check out the storms.”
I zoom in on the bursts of color radiating from London’s center. As I watch, smaller fronts begin to appear farther out, as if one weather event is triggering the next. “Looks like someone’s having a meltdown.”
“Or a lot of someones.” Amber’s eyes dart back and forth over her screen.
“Nothing Gaia and Lyon can’t handle.” This must be the reason Lyon’s running late. “Maybe they’re finally getting this rogue situation handled. The sooner, the better.” I sink back into my chair, glad for the distraction while I wait.
“Hey, speaking of Lyon,” she says, turning her attention back to me, “did you and Fleur get a weird package from him? There was a strange note and three travel vouchers inside. Something about meeting up with you and going back for a visit?”
Lyon must really want me to come home if he’s dragging Amber and Julio into it. “Are you going?”
“I’ve got two words for you, Iceman.” Julio’s face is a photobomb, framed by Amber’s red hair and the timber walls of their bedroom behind her. “No. Fucking. Way.”
“That’s three words,” she points out.
“What can I say? I have strong feelings on the subject. We nearly lost our lives trying to get out of that place.”
“Oh, come on,” she says dismissively. “It’s not like we’re being dragged back there by the ley lines. It’d only be for a few days.”
“You know what else only lasts a few days? Food poisoning, snowstorms, and a bad tequila hangover. I see no compelling reason to subject myself to any of them.”
Seasons of Chaos Page 8
