by David Estes
An eye for an eye, Trish says, and at first I begin to object, but then I see the expression on the president’s face. Trish is speaking in all of our heads at once.
“You will always die,” the president says in response. She raises a hand…
And Trish opens her mouth and begins to scream.
~~~
I wake up trembling and panting although I’m not cold or short of breath.
Rhett startles from his own sleep and his arms surround me, hugging me from behind. “You’re okay,” he says. “I’m here.”
“A dream,” I breathe.
“Seems like it was more of a nightmare.” One of his hands strokes my hair, so gentle for such a big guy who used to play football and now hunts witches. It feels wonderful and I almost feel guilty. Beth had to die so he could stroke my hair. The thought makes me shiver even more.
“It was,” I say. “Trish was there. And the president. They were going to kill each other.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Rhett says.
“It might.”
Both of Rhett’s arms drop to my waist and he spins me around onto his lap, drawing me exquisitely close, his lips pressing against mine and drinking the breath from me. I take it right back, my hands hungry on his shoulders and chest, and finally settling on his neck, where I force him closer still.
The seconds turn to minutes and the minutes to longer, as we share a memory not even the witch-president can steal away from us. The moment might last forever if not for the hair-raising voice that screeches suddenly through the silence.
“Soo sweeeet. Soo lovelyyy!”
Our lips rip apart and we untangle ourselves, scrambling to our feet and backing away from the bars, from where the voice came. The voice is horridly familiar, and the dark shape that races across the open space is an evil I hoped I’d never lay eyes on again.
“Show yourself, Flora!” Rhett demands.
The laugh that follows sounds like two cats fighting, filled with violence and annoyance. “Yow have never had the right to tell me what to do,” the leader of the Shifters says, slinking into view.
The panther-like black cat stalks past the bars, her tail switching from side to side like a whip. There’s nothing of the human-featured witch from which she shapeshifted. Other than the ability to speak, she’s all animal, which might actually be an improvement on her previous self.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she says. “Yow were having such fun.”
The thought of the Shifter hungrily watching us kiss makes me slightly nauseous. “So you’re working for President Washington now?” Rhett says. “Which side are you on, Flora? Seems to change by the day.”
“No side,” Flora says. “My side. Whoever pays the bestest. Whoever provides the most human fleshhh.”
Now I wish Rhett wouldn’t have asked. I have to swallow heavily to fight back the bile. How many of the citizens of New America have gone missing, supposedly “killed” by magic-born while on duty at the border or out scavenging? How many were bound and taken to Flora to be her playthings? My hatred for President Washington grows with each passing second.
“Lovely,” I say, trying to steer the conversation into something that might be useful. “So the president is a Shifter, too?” I know the answer is no, but I’m willing to act like an idiot to get some answers.
More maniacal laughter from Flora. Her claws come out and she sharpens them on the glowing red bars, which spit sparks into the cell. “Stupid girl,” she says, coughing. Dropping to all fours again, she coughs and chokes, coughs and chokes, until a thick, slimy ball of fur vomits from her mouth. “Hate that part,” she mutters. “Guess there’s no harm in yow knowing what yow’re up against, considering yow’ll be dead soooon. The president is a General.”
I look at Rhett, who knows most everything there is to know about the various witch gangs. His face is blank. Apparently Mr. Jackson’s school of witch hunting skipped the chapter on Generals.
“What’s a General?” Rhett asks.
“Yow don’t know?” Flora’s voice is incredulous. “I thought yow would, considering yowr father is one.”
“My father?” Rhett says, unable to hide his astonishment. We’ve wondered what his magical specialization was, but resigned ourselves to the fact that we may never know.
“Yesss. Generals are able to practice every kind of magic. Proficient in everything—expert in nothing. They are very rare.”
Interesting. Rhett seems to be thinking the same thing, his hand raised to rub his scruffy chin. “So my father and the president are in the same gang?” Rhett asks.
Another high-pitched screeching laugh. “The same gang? They hate each other. Generals are loners by definition.”
Surprisingly, the panther is a wealth of information, and Rhett seems determined to take advantage. “Why didn’t President Washington kill me earlier?” he asks. “Before I knew what I was. Before Salem’s Return began.”
“Stupid boy and stupid girl are meant for each other,” Flora screeches drily. She reaches a clawed paw through the bars, trying to squirm inside our cell. My body tenses as it appears she might be able to get through, but then the width of her panther-hips stops her. “Just want a quick taste and then I’ll leave,” she says, determination on her face as she continues to wriggle.
“Answer my questions and you can have one of my fingers,” Rhett says.
I stare at Rhett wondering whether the Shifter is right about him lacking sufficient mental competence. He can’t be serious, can he?
“Two fingers,” Flora says, her yellow eyes shining even with the red glow of the bars behind her. “And a toe. My choice which ones.”
“Deal,” Rhett says.
“No deal,” I say. “No fingers, no toes, and you answer our questions anyway.”
“Deal,” Flora says, but she’s looking at Rhett, not me. She backs up through the bars while I glare at Rhett, who winks at me.
Flora sits with all four legs tucked beneath her, like a sphinx. “Washington tried to kill yow earlier, dummyyy.”
My heart stops and I can tell Rhett’s does, too, because his body stiffens beside me. He inhales sharply through his nose before I can take my next breath. “When?” Rhett asks, the question echoing through the cell.
“During Salem’s Revenge. Three others she killed before she tried to kill yow. The Reaper saved yow. That’s why I decided to side with him, thinking he was more powerful than herrr. But he doesn’t play fair, doesn’t pay for my servicesss. Want to kill him.”
Three others she killed.
Three others.
I don’t need to take off my shoes to count the members of Rhett’s previous foster family, who he’s told me little about. Three: His foster father, mother, and sister.
Rhett slides to the floor before I realize he’s falling. His hand is on his forehead, his eyes closed. “I should’ve known,” he says. “So obvious. So freakin’ obvious.”
“The Reaper—Mr. Jackson—saved you for a reason,” I say, trying to haul him out of the quicksand of despair that seems to be pulling him under. He shakes his head, his eyes still closed.
“President Washington was just the VP back then,” Flora says, unprompted. “And before that, she was a Senator. But everyone knew she’d never have a chance at the presidency. Salem’s Revenge was her idea.”
I forget Rhett for a moment as my head jerks toward to the panther. “She planned it?”
“She was the Head of the Witch Council,” Flora says. “Don’t yow know anything? She convinced enough of the members to vote with her—or find a way to kill them if they wouldn’t.”
“You were there?” Rhett asks, his eyes flashing open.
“Yesss. I voted for Salem’s Revenge. I’m not stupid, like yowr father.”
I sense the anger bubbling up just before it overflows, and I manage to get in front of Rhett as he leaps to his feet. I push back on his chest, knowing full well that he could throw me out of the way if he had a mind t
o. But he doesn’t. He tries to look past me, but I grab his chin and force him to look me in the eyes. “She can’t hurt you now,” I whisper.
“Good,” Flora says behind me. “Yowr blood will be hot when I bite off yowr fingers.”
I whirl around. “You haven’t earned your prize yet,” I say. “Why is President Washington using witch hunters to kill her own kind, the other magic-born?”
Flora hisses, as if she’s not completely on board with the president’s use of witch hunters. “Anyone who won’t ally themselves with her must die.”
“But why won’t the other witches follow her?” I ask, sensing something important is just out of reach. Some motive. Something unexpected.
“Some want peace,” Flora says. The Reaper, Xave, and my sister spring to mind, and I hope that’s who she means.
“And the others?” I ask.
“They want all humans dead.” No, Trish. Not you. Why have you chosen the Changelings over me?
I flinch, not because of the terrible nature of her statement, but because that means… “The president doesn’t want all humans dead?”
“No, dum-dum. She wants to rule them and the magic-born. Make the humans their slaves.”
I look at Rhett to find his eyes open once more, no longer full of despair but of intelligence. He’s thinking through things, analyzing whether she’s telling us the truth. He nods. She has no reason to lie.
“And it’s the Changelings that want to exterminate the humans?” Rhett asks, fully back in the game. I hold my breath.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Flora says.
“That’s what the rumors say,” I point out.
“The rumors were started by the president,” Flora says.
Rhett and I share another look. God, she’s even more evil than we could ever imagine. “She started the rumors so the witch hunters would do everything in their power to kill off the Changelings,” Rhett says. “Making it easier for her to take over.”
“No one knows what the Changelings want,” Flora says. “They’re very secretive. Now give me my prize!” She springs back through the bars, jolting to a stop when they once more squeeze against her hind legs. Clawing at the air, she tries to grab Rhett, who merely shrugs.
“I like my fingers,” he says. “I think I’ll keep them for now.”
“Yow promised!” Flora screams, her knife-like claws slashing the air between us to ribbons. “We had a deal.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rhett says.
Flora makes a noise like a tiger fighting a wildcat, hisses something that sounds like, “I’ll have yow,” and then bounds away, the tip of her black tail the last part of her to vanish from view.
I shudder involuntarily and Rhett draws me to him. “She freaks me out,” I say.
“And it’s not your toes she wants to eat,” Rhett says, his tone light.
“A cat-witch with a foot fetish,” I say. “Add that to the list of Things-People-Never-Knew-Existed.”
“Yeah, right next to mud-trolls,” Rhett says, his thumb absently tracing circles on my shoulder.
“What do you suppose the Changelings want?” I ask.
Rhett sees right through my question to what I’m really asking. “I’m sure Trish wouldn’t help anyone who’s trying to hurt humans,” he says.
It doesn’t comfort me, not with my jaw still aching from when the Changeling-who-looked-like-Trish punched me. “I just…” I start. “I just need to find her, to talk to her, to make sure she’s okay.”
“She’s okay,” Rhett says. “She always was. You don’t need to protect her anymore.”
His words ring true, but I hate them anyway. She’s my little sister. I’ve always protected her—not the other way around. How can I just stop? “She’s running with some bad characters. That red Siren, Changeling, whatever she is. She could be lying to Trish, tricking her into helping them do something they shouldn’t.”
Rhett sighs. “I don’t know what to think about the red Changeling, but all I know is that she’s the one who told us the truth back in Pittsburgh.”
“She taunted you by transforming into Beth,” I point out.
Another big sigh, the muscles in Rhett’s chest rising and falling against my side. “I’m not saying she’s all that good, just that she didn’t lie to us. She told us that Bil Nez was on a mission to kill us, and he was. She was trying to warn us.”
“And now she’s kidnapped my sister and is making her do God knows what,” I say. “I don’t trust her.”
“I’m not asking you to,” Rhett says. “I’m asking you to trust Trish.”
Trust a little girl who’s only just realizing the power she has inside of her? “I’ll try,” I promise.
Chapter Forty-Four
Rhett
Although for Laney’s sake, I try not to show it, I’m shaken by all that we’ve learned today. That the President of New America is a witch. That she wants to kill enough of the magic-born and humans so that she can rule us all. That she killed my foster family. That even if she deserves to die, I can’t let that happen because she’s the only one who can remove my father’s curse.
Too much. It’s all too much.
But I put on a brave face, stick out my jaw, and say, “We’ll win this fight,” because that’s what I’m supposed to say.
Laney, being Laney, sees right through it. “Don’t lie to me,” she says.
“I—I wasn’t.”
“You were. You don’t have to pretend to be some tough-as-nails witch hunter anymore. You can just be you. Rhett Carter.”
I stare into the blue skies in her eyes. “I don’t know who that is anymore,” I admit.
“And you think I know who Laney Grant is?” she says. “At school I was some outspoken freak who everyone avoided making eye contact with. I was the girl who bullied the bullies and punched anyone who so much as glanced at my sister the wrong way. I played guitar with greasy-haired outcasts and showed up at football games just to heckle the cheerleaders. And now my friend is a witch hunter and my sister a witch? If you know who the hell I am, please let me know.”
I start smiling halfway through her monologue and am full out laughing by the end. “I think I’d have liked you back then, too,” I say.
“But I wouldn’t have liked you,” she says. “I’d have thought you were some meathead football player. Not a big ol’ teddy bear who wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She squeezes me around the waist but I pull away to look at her.
“I could swat a fly,” I say defensively.
“You could, but you wouldn’t,” she says. “You only fight when you think it’s the right thing.”
I know she’s right. Even now, after all the killing, all the fighting, all the bloodshed and death and pain, I’m still that guy who would rather take a punch than throw one. Would rather open a window to let a fly out then swat it dead. And yet… “I’ve done terrible things.”
“Terrible, maybe,” Laney says, “but necessary. Right. I didn’t at first, but now I trust your judgment above all others.”
My head is swimming with emotion, my vision fogging. Laney’s stamp of trust is something I know she doesn’t offer easily. “Thank you,” I say.
“Whatever comes next,” she says, yawning, “I’m glad I’ll be doing it with you.”
Her trust seems to awaken my mind, sending it whirling with ideas. One of which seems so obvious I can’t believe I didn’t think of it until now. “I can Resist magic,” I say, thinking aloud.
“Hmm…” Laney is fading fast. “Glad you finally figured that out.”
“The bars are magic. So maybe...”
I pry myself loose from Laney and she groans. “Come back pillow,” she murmurs as I crawl over to the glowing red bars. I glance back to find Laney curled up on her floor, her head resting on her arm. Her eyes are closed. Turning my attention back to the bars, I consider my approach. I could pretend I’m Superman and just wrench them apart, creating a human-sized gap for us to step throug
h. Or I could charge at them, lowering my shoulder and hoping to smash right through. I think back to all the times I managed to Resist the power of magic. It was never physical, not really. It was my mind that had to do most of the work.
Cautiously, I raise a hand toward one of the bars, my body tensing, expecting to be shocked into oblivion. Or worse.
I grab the bar and hang on for dear life.
Nothing happens. No shock, no burn, no prick. The red glows through my fingers, showing my bones like an x-ray image. The magged-up bar is warm, but not hot. I squeeze it and nothing happens. I pull at it but it doesn’t budge. Concentrating hard, I picture the red glow dying out and the bars melting away.
“Ahhh!” I scream, daggers shooting through my skull, slicing my brain to ribbons, sending images of blank-eyed fish heads and severed human limbs flashing before me. Falling backwards, I let go, landing right in Laney’s arms. Evidently my cry snapped her away from sleep and she was quick enough to lunge forward and save me from a nasty bump on the head.
And the last image I see is Charles Gordon’s face, his mouth open and laughing.
Whatever spell was cast on the bars, it was the wizard who cast it. And apparently his powers trump my ability to Resist.
~~~
Trish
As easily as a human could feel the rumble of an approaching train beneath their feet, Trish can sense the coming dawn. It’s as if the earth and the planets and the sun are a part of her, entwined with her soul. She can feel the sun’s warmth within her, radiating outward, even though it’s still minutes away from rising over the horizon.
She can also feel the energy pulsing through those around her. Not only the Changelings, but her Children, too, who seem anxious (and maybe excited?) to play their part in the battle to come.
Trish forces herself to concentrate, not on the magic-born around her, but on the trees and the birds and the wind. She speaks to the natural world with the voice of a trusted friend.
Of course, the Changeling leader interrupts her. “Ready?” she says, pushing her red hair off of her pale white face.
