by David Estes
A brain-jarring pain erupts in my skull, and then everything goes black.
Chapter Fifty-One
I wake up in the dark.
Or are my eyes closed? It’s so black they might as well be. But no…I think they’re open. I poke at my eye just to be sure. Ow! Yeah, definitely open, and yet, I can’t see a thing, not even the finger that I just jabbed into my eye.
I try to sit up and my head cracks open. “Uhh,” I groan. My skull splits again and again, throbbing with hammer beats. No…sledgehammer beats.
Like a nightmare, everything rushes back. How could my best friend do that to me? How could he lie to my face like that? Mr. Jackson is not Xavier’s father, and yet, Xave seemed so convinced. I know the only answer: He’s been brainwashed. Can I blame him? I was caught up in Mr. Jackson’s lies myself, once upon a time. Unbeknownst to me, he’s controlled my every move for the last six months, so can I really condemn Xave for falling for the act, too? But so many things don’t make sense.
A scuffle and a groan slide across the darkness, echoing slightly. “Hello?” I say.
“Carter?” Laney says.
“I’m here,” I say. “You okay?”
“I—I think so. My head’s pounding like a bongo drum, but other than that I’m alright.”
A wave of nausea and guilt build in my stomach. “I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s my fault you’re in this mess.” My words sound weak in the utter blackness, but I’m not sure they’d sound much better in the bright light of the sun either.
“Don’t. Don’t ever apologize,” Laney says. “Trish is safe with Hex, and I made my choice. I’m here because I want to be.”
“You want to be in a Necro dungeon?” I joke.
“You know what I mean. Is that what this is? A Necro dungeon?”
“Just guessing,” I say. “I don’t know. If it is, I’m guessing it was an improvement the Necros made when they moved in. Otherwise maybe the Pittsburgh Steelers used it as punishment when their players screwed up. Instead of running laps they sent them to the dungeon.” I try to push to a sitting position again, but a fresh jolt of dizziness hits me and I slump back to the hard ground.
Laney doesn’t laugh at my attempt at humor, and I don’t blame her. Nothing’s that funny at the moment. “So that was Xavier, huh?” she says evenly.
Innocent words so full of accusation. “Yup. Only he’s different now.”
“You think? He’s a damn Necro.”
“He’s not,” I say. “He just thinks he is.”
“Wait. You’re saying he’s been tricked into believing he’s a warlock?” Laney’s words are loaded with disbelief and a side of Yeah right. Rightfully so.
“That’s the theory I’m working under at the moment,” I say.
“But what if he is? A warlock, I mean. He was a foster kid, right? Like you?”
I see where she’s going with this, and I don’t like it. “Just because he didn’t have any parents to guide him doesn’t mean he didn’t realize he was some powerful warlock. Mr. Jackson’s using him, can’t you see that?”
“But why?”
“To get to me.”
“But why?” she parrots.
“I—I don’t know.” Because he thinks I’m a warlock, too. Is that why? Please, God, please not this. Anything but this. As usual, every answer to every question raises a dozen new questions.
“But you’re not a…”—she doesn’t say the W-word—“right?” Laney says, reading between the lines. I can sense the uncertainty in her tone.
“You think I’m a—I’m a—”
“A warlock?” Laney finally says, her voice rising. “How the hell should I know? All I know is that my parents were magic-born, my sister, too, and now my best friend—my only friend—has just been told by someone he trusts that his father was a warlock. What am I freaking supposed to think?”
I close my eyes, although it makes no difference in the dark. All my theorizing and questioning and fighting fall away. I feel as empty as a hollow drum and as limp as an old sock. “They didn’t say I was a warlock though,” I say, surprised at my own calmness. Or is it numbness? “Just because they want to protect me doesn’t mean they think I’m a warlock.”
“But if your father was a warlock then…”
“Your mother and father and sister are witches,” I point out.
“And you fight like you’re more than human,” Laney rebuts, ignoring my point, which I thought was a good one.
“Like you don’t?” I say. “We were both pretty freaking awesome, and if I remember correctly, it was you who saved me more than once.”
Laney goes silent for a moment. And then: “I’m not a witch. My parents tried to kill me.”
“I’m not a warlock,” I say.
“Do you think Beth is alive?” Laney asks, changing the subject faster than she changes moods.
“I…” I say. My mind spins and I try to force my muddled thoughts into a coherent order. “If Xave really is a part of this—or even just thinks he’s a part of it—then he would have demanded that she be protected. I know him.”
“But that was the old him,” Laney says.
I want to respond, to contradict her, but I can’t. The Xave I just saw was a far cry from the sixteen-year-old teenage boy who used to be my best friend.
There’s more silence, each dead second ticking by with the teeth-chattering throb in my skull. At least the pain in my head has taken my mind off the pain in my injured shoulder, I think, trying to be optimistic.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about some of Trish’s air-drawing,” Laney finally says, surprising me.
“Why?” I say.
“Look, Carter, I’m not in denial about my sister. I know I acted like I was, but I wasn’t. I just…didn’t want to think about it. But I accept her for what she is now, you know? I don’t care that she’s a witch, because she’s not a bad person. She’s just a kid.”
“I don’t think she’s evil,” I say.
“But she’s a witch,” Laney says. “How can some witches be good after all they’ve done to us?”
“Because they weren’t necessarily all involved in what happened. It’s like saying a war is caused by all humans. It’s just not true. Trish is good. That homeless guy might be, too. That Siren that saved us…maybe her, I don’t know.”
“And that’s it? A good witch, a ‘might-be’ good warlock, and a ‘maybe her?’”
My frustration boils over. “I don’t know, okay? Is that what you want me to say?” Gritting my teeth through the pain and nausea, I finally push to a sitting position, scooting back until my spine cracks against a wall.
“Sorry,” Laney says, her voice closer now. “I know this is all…confusing.” Now that’s an understatement.
I sigh. “What were you going to say about Trish’s messages?” I ask, trying to think.
“Right. That,” Laney says. “The first one is easy, if we’d just thought about it for two seconds. Tall dead no, right?”
I nod, but then remembering that she can’t see me, I say, “Yes. I think it’s clear that she meant ‘Not all dead.’ We just cut off the letters at the wrong place.”
“Okay, Einstein, what does it mean then? What was she trying to tell us?”
“Could be a number of things. That there are still humans alive. Maybe she was referring to New America.”
“That’s what I figured, too,” Laney says. “And what about Ads hall rise’?”
I scratch my head. Nothing jumps out. “I dunno.”
“We were missing two letters. D and E. ‘Dead shall rise.’”
“Meaning what?” I say.
“That’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? We’re in Necro-land. Clearly they’re raising an army.”
“We already guessed that,” I say.
“Yes,” Laney admits. “But Trish confirmed it, and she’s never wrong. But the bigger question is: Why haven’t they unleashed their army on what’s left of the world yet?”
As it is with most of the questions we raise, I don’t have an answer. As I rest my head against the wall to think about Laney’s questions, a light blazes somewhere in the dark and footsteps echo down a corridor.
Xavier whistles a tune I’ve heard a thousand times, one he used to play on the saxophone.
Chapter Fifty-Two
The light approaches, but at first I have to close my eyes as they adjust to something other than abject darkness, like when Beth and I used to exit a matinee movie into sunlight.
“Rhett,” my best friend says. If I keep my eyes closed, we could be hanging out on the football field bleachers, just talking, joking. If I never open my eyes again, can I erase everything that’s happened?
Squint-blink-blink-squint. Ease my eyes open. Scan my surroundings. As I thought, I’m in a cell. Stone walls on three sides and red, magged-up bars on the fourth. Xavier is looking at me through the bars, his face tinted with the reflection of red lines from the lantern light off the bars. I can’t see Laney.
“Are we prisoners?” I ask. I don’t attempt to stand.
“No,” Xave says. “This is for your own protection. Now that the Reaper has realized he has enemies within the Necros, he’s being very careful with you. These bars will protect you.”
Whatever. Not worth arguing about. Not yet, anyway. “Where’s Beth?” I ask.
“God, Rhett, I still can’t believe you’re alive,” Xave says, ignoring—or avoiding—my question.
“Where’s Beth?” I say again.
“My father lied to me for so long. At first I was so angry, but now I understand why he did it. He was only trying to protect both of us. He told me everything. How he lied and said you were dead so I’d join the Necros and be safe from the other witch gangs. How he trained you in case you were ever on your own. How he kept making excuses to not let you leave his house.
“I asked him why he didn’t keep us together. I mean, wouldn’t you have been safer here with the Necros? But I understand now. He knew you wouldn’t understand—that you’d be your own worst enemy. And we’ve got a target on us. There are powerful humans, and even more powerful witches, trying to destroy us.”
“He shouldn’t have lied to us,” I say.
“Maybe not,” Xave says. “I think he realizes that now. But he’s not lying anymore. He even told me about how when you escaped he freaked out and desperately tried to find you, eventually sending a Siren after you.”
“What?” I twitch slightly and my head cracks off the wall, sending a fresh wave of agony through my skull.
“The Siren. She was supposed to draw you to her and bring you in.”
Another piece clicks into place, and I scratch the Siren’s name off the list of possible “good” witches. “Stop calling him your father,” I say, feeling ill. “He’s not. And you’re not a warlock.”
“I know this is hard to understand. It was for me, too. But I am what I am.” His voice isn’t his. It’s his voice, but his tone and the words he’s choosing aren’t the Xave I once knew. “It’s a relief in a way. Knowing. Knowing who I am, where I come from.”
“You sound like a robot,” I say.
“I—Rhett, I—” The words seem to stick in his throat and he swallows twice before continuing. When he speaks again, he sounds like my best friend. “Since I was little, I was always alone,” he starts. “But then I met you.”
“So was I. But then I met you and Beth.”
He visibly jerks at Beth’s name, and then grips the bars with two hands. “I know,” he says. “But still. I always wanted a father.”
“The. Reaper. Isn’t. Your. Father,” I say, flinging the words at him one at a time.
Xavier shakes his head. “You don’t understand. He is, Rhett. Eventually you’ll come to realize it.”
“Prove it,” I say.
Xavier laughs, and I hate that it feels so good hearing his laugh. “You’re different and the same,” he says, and I swear it’s just him again, not the brainwashed robot I was talking to just a moment earlier.
“You, too,” I say, my breath hitching slightly. What have you done to my best friend, Mr. Jackson? Give him back.
“I can do things, Rhett. Things that would’ve seemed impossible six months ago. Things that only the characters in those fantasy books that you love so much should be able to do.”
No. “Like what?” I say, keeping my voice steady. Please no.
“I’ve raised the dead, Rhett,” he says, and all the oxygen exits my lungs, leaving me gasping and hanging my head. God, no, this is wrong, so wrong. My friend, my best friend is…gone.
Gone.
“That’s disgusting,” I say, even as I’m hoping this is another one of Mr. Jackson’s tricks, that somehow he’s convinced Xave that not only is he his son, but that he’s a warlock.
“No, Rhett,” Xavier says. “It’s beautiful. They’re our creations.”
His voice sounds so Stepford Wife again that I want to plug my ears, say Lalalalala.
Instead, Laney, who I’d almost forgotten was nearby, says, “We saw one of your so-called beautiful creations, and it looked like a demon-zombie-monster. You’re all sick in the head.”
In the lantern light, I can see Xave’s face fall. “Is that what you think, too?” he asks.
What I want to say is, Damn right, but I realize I need a change in tact. If we’re ever going to get out of here, playing along might not be the worst idea, as much as it will make me want to throw up. Hopefully Laney will catch on quickly. “I don’t know,” I say.
“Carter!” Laney says. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“This is between me and Xave!” I shout. “Butt. Out.”
I hear her mumble something obscene, but then she goes quiet. I can picture her in her cell, back to the wall, silently fuming.
Xavier’s smiling. “Thank you,” he says.
I push to my feet, swaying slightly as the room spins around me, and then walk to the bars. I clasp my friend’s hand through the barrier. “Look, Xave, I want to believe everything you’re saying, but it’s hard. The witches have killed so many, destroyed so much. They killed my foster family, the closest thing to a real family I’d had in a long time.”
He squeezes my hand. “I know,” he says. “There are a lot of bad witches out there.”
Out there? Meaning what? That in here all the witches are good? I raise my eyebrows in confusion.
Xavier sighs. “I forget there’s so much you don’t know. While you’ve been fighting every inch, I’ve been participating in a cause so great it can only be good.”
I’m still trying to play-act, but I can’t stop from shaking my head at the sheer wrongness of his words. “But all the killing,” I say, trying to appeal to the old Xave, who abhorred violence in any form.
“Exactly,” Xave says. “We’re trying to stop it. Trying to bring peace.”
“What?” I say, my voice rising in surprise. It’s the last thing I expected him to say.
“It’s true. That’s why you have to listen, to hear us out. Join us.”
Laney’s scoff-laugh carries across the space, but I block it out and focus on my friend’s face, which suddenly seems full of life and full of him, not the brainwashed kid I’d seen earlier. Is this really what he believes? That the Necros are doing good in the world? And if he wants me to join them, does that mean he thinks I’m a warlock?
“Tell me,” I say earnestly. I need to know what Xavier thinks the Reaper is doing.
Xavier shakes his head, gives my hand a final squeeze, and says, “My father will tell you everything. But first, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
I want to demand answers, to pound the bars, to shout and shout until he tells me everything I want to know, but I’m too tired and too hungry and too thirsty. So I just wait.
Xave waves to the shadows, smiling so broadly that he almost looks giddy with excitement. What is this all about?
The shadows move, shift, coalesce to form a warlock
, who steps from the shadows. It’s like he stepped right off the cover of GQ. Wearing a smart, athletic-fit gray suit with pearly cufflinks, the warlock has the face of a model, or maybe a god. High cheekbones, a thin well-trimmed beard, startling blue eyes, perfectly tousled hair: He’s handsome in exactly the way that Xavier always dreamed his first boyfriend would be.
And I know, even before Xavier steps toward him and takes his hand, that this warlock means a great deal to him.
“Rhett—meet Felix,” he says, almost proudly. “We’ve just celebrated our four month anniversary.”
“Four months…” I mumble numbly. Xave’s been dating a warlock for a third of a year?
“Best time of my life,” Felix says, and Xave beams. “Nice to finally meet you, Rhett. Xave has told me so much about you, and I never thought I’d get the chance.” Because Mr. Jackson was telling them I was dead, I think. He extends a hand through the bars.
What is happening? I’m in a cell, having just fought and killed dozens of skeleton warriors, after finally hunting down my best friend only to find he’s a wannabe Necro with a warlock boyfriend…who he’s now introducing me to?
“W. T. F,” Laney says loudly, which pretty much sums up my thoughts on the subject.
“Uh, hi,” I say, taking the warlock’s hand, which is soft, with well-manicured nails. He’s clean, well-dressed—is that a hint of aftershave I smell?—everything Xave ever wanted in a boyfriend. He’s even polite.
I have the sudden urge to squeeze hard enough to break his hand, but instead I just withdraw my handshake.
“I can’t wait for the two of you to get to know each other,” Xave says, doing that thing where he talks with his hands that I always used to love about him. Now it just fuels my anger. Get to know each other? “I’m sure you’ll become great friends.” Great friends?
He reaches out and grabs Felix’s hand, leans way up to give him a quick peck on the lips. “We’ll see you later, okay Rhett? As soon as we identify the traitors in our midst and you realize what you have the chance to be a part of, you won’t have to stay in this horrid place anymore.”
