by David Estes
My thoughts are scattered like raindrops. I think about Trish, about all we’ve been through together, about how much she’s changed, about whether I’ll ever see her again. And I think about Rhett and how lucky I feel to have met him. He could’ve picked a hundred other buildings to hide in that day, but he picked mine. I only hope his time in my life wasn’t as fleeting as it felt, and that I’ll see him again someday, when he’s done with his quest for revenge.
To my surprise, however, the majority of my thoughts are focused on the Necros. I keep rewinding my conversations with Xave, trying to find the lies that must be there, the holes in his story. The thought that, regardless of the methods the Necros use, their motives might be pure, is something that would’ve seemed impossible a week ago. But now, it’s like I want to believe Xave. I want to believe that at least one of the witch gangs is trying to restore peace. Maybe it’s for Trish’s sake, or maybe it’s because I’m so tired of hating the magic-born that I’ll take anything that proves they’re not all bad.
Somewhere along the way I realize that it’s dark behind my eyelids. I have the urge to open my eyes, but I know it’ll be too dark to see anyway. Plus, what’s the point? My legs have things under control. I have a funny thought: What if this turns into a Forrest Gump thing where I can’t stop moving forward? I could walk from coast to coast and then back without getting tired. Or maybe the light inside me will decide to go for a dip. We could swim across the Atlantic Ocean, all the way to Europe. Maybe the witches left Europe alone. Maybe they’re still eating pizza in Italy and tapas in Spain, while we suffer in America. Maybe they’re laughing at us for our own stupidity. We burned witches and now they’re burning us. An eye for an eye.
I chuckle under my breath. I think all the thinking time is making me a little loopy.
Finally, I open my eyes, surprised to find I can see reasonably well under the light of a full moon hanging directly overhead. Overhead where there’s a hole in the forest.
I realize my feet have stopped and I’m standing in place, staring at the sky.
When I tilt my gaze down, taking in the area around me, I see three dark rocks protruding from the ground in front of me. The light inside me begins to glow, seeming to push against my skin.
Then the weirdest thing happens:
One of the rocks begins to glow, too.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rhett
A bright light wakes me. I squint against it, trying to discern its source, feeling Hex brush up against my side. He barks once and takes off toward the edge of the woods.
“Hex!” I shout.
“Urgh,” Bil groans. “Can you and your dog turn it down a notch? Trying to slee—” He must open his eyes and see the light because his words cut off sharply. “What the…? Rhett, are you…glowing?”
Hex lets out another gleeful bark and I hear another voice say, “Good, boy.”
I’m on my feet in an instant, cupping a hand over my brow to try to shield my vision from the light, but still it invades my eyes, seeming to press in from every angle. Then I see the truth:
The light is coming from me.
No time to think about that. Not when the voice I heard is so familiar, even though it seemed to speak from what feels like years ago, but which is really only a couple days.
I rush forward, ignoring the flashes of light at my sides as I pump my arms.
Halfway across the clearing, I stop.
Because there she is, crouched down, scratching Hex—who’s wagging his tail furiously—behind the ear. Like mine, her entire body is glowing.
“Laney?” I say, and she looks up. My breath catches in my lungs at the expression on her face, which is a mixture of happy and scared and something else. It’s as naked and unguarded as I’ve ever seen her look.
“Rhett, you’re glowing,” she says, raising an eyebrow, her face sheened with light that seems to shoot from her pores.
“So are you,” I point out.
She stands and takes a step forward, toward me. I let out a breath and do the same, repeating the motion until we’re right in front of each other, not more than a foot away.
Her hand reaches out and I feel an involuntary shudder roll through me. It’s not from the cold, not on this warm night.
She hesitates, just for a moment, and then touches my arm, squeezing my bicep. “I know we haven’t been apart for long, but have you been working out?”
It’s classic Laney and I can’t wait a single moment longer. I stride forward and wrap her up in a hug, our glowing skin melting together, the warmth of her body joining with mine.
“Sorry I left without saying goodbye,” she says, looking up at me.
“Sorry I made you feel like you had to leave,” I say.
“Is this…okay?” she asks.
I think she means the fact that we’re still wrapped up in a tight hug, her lips mere inches from mine. “It’s better than you hitting me,” I say.
She laughs and the sound of it makes me shiver with happiness. She found me. Somehow, someway, she found me.
And as I tuck a hand behind her head and push her face to my chest, the light slowly slips down her face, her neck, her body, until it trickles from her feet into the ground, like a gutter draining after a spring rain. But it’s not just her light—mine, too. The light that had been coursing through our bodies is in a puddle on the clearing floor, shining at us like our own personal sun.
It begins to swirl, throwing off lasers of white light, until it rises up, still swirling and then explodes in a blinding flash.
I shut my eyes, feeling the heat of the light on my skin, waiting to open them until there’s only darkness behind my eyelids. When I do open my eyes, there are three letters hanging in front of me, glowing a dull red, as if made from hot coals.
SEE
“Trish,” Laney murmurs.
A sudden realization hits me. “Where’s your sister?” I say.
“Gone,” she says, and that one word seems to chase away the red letters, which fade into the darkness of night.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Trish
Tonight the light returns to her in the form of glowing children.
The boys have long bangs that hang over their eyes and the girls have pigtails that bounce along behind them. They hold hands and skip through the forest, seemingly filled with glee. When they reach Trish, they smile and bow and then step into her, rejoining the rest of the light inside her.
She feels whole again. She’s made something wrong right.
Her sister is safe again.
She tries to smile—wants to smile—but her lips are still too stiff, as if held straight by wire.
A presence approaches from the side, but she doesn’t turn to look. Leave me, she says in the red Changeling’s head. She’s not in the mood to speak to the witch just now.
“We have much to decide,” the red-haired witch says to her back.
She wants to tell the witch to talk to the willowy blue-eyed Claire about it, but then she remembers. She’s their Mother. They’re all looking to her now.
I have much to decide, Trish says. Even as she ponders why she says it, she knows it’s true.
“If this alliance is to succeed, we have to trust each other. I am the Changeling leader, and you the Mother of the Claires. We must decide this together or all will be for nothing.”
Kill the president? she says.
“She is an evil woman. With her in power, there will never be peace.”
Peace? The word sounds strange to her, faded and dusty and tattered around the edges, like an old book borne through generations, read by thousands. And yet never true. There has never been peace. And although she has seen so few years in this lifetime, less than a decade, the souls of billions seem to cry from the trees, from the soil, from the plants around her, confirming her words.
“Maybe not,” the Changeling says. “But we’re further from it than we’ve ever been. There are two who stand in our way. The pres
ident and the Reaper. End them and we’ll end Salem’s Revenge forever.”
Forever is a very long time, Trish says, memories assaulting her once more. The tumultuous pain of childbirth. The love that one can only feel for a child. The pain of watching lives cut far too short. The memories of her own deaths, numbering in the dozens—or perhaps more. Lifetimes of memories.
She senses the witch’s mouth opening to speak, but she cuts her off. Go, for I am weary and I must rest. All will not be decided in a night.
“Nothing has been decided,” the witch says, through teeth that surely must be clamped tightly together.
We move on New Washington, Trish says. She doesn’t know what she will do when they arrive, but that’s where her sister will be and so that’s where she must be.
“Good,” the Changeling leader says. Her soft footfalls fade away and Trish finally, at the knowledge that she’s in control of her own destiny…
Smiles.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Laney
“Let me guess, he just showed up and asked to tag along?” I say when I see my arch nemesis sitting cross-legged on a bedroll.
“Nice to see you, too,” Bil Nez says.
“He saved my life,” Rhett says.
“Oh?” I say. “Bil Nez, always showing up at just the right time. How does he do it?”
“I’m just that good,” Bil says.
“And he put a tracking device in my shoe,” Rhett says.
“He did what?” I say, taking a step forward. My right fist knots at my side, but Rhett puts an arm out to stop me. “Laney…please. There’s something you need to know.”
I’m curious, but I have just as much to tell. Maybe more. “Me first,” I say.
~~~
Gravity gets ahold of Rhett’s jaw about halfway through my story, when I come face to face with the red Siren. He tries to speak but I hold up a hand and continue, determined to finish.
His jaw drops even further when I tell him that Xave and the Reaper are alive. He keeps shaking his head until I complete the story.
“Bastards,” he says.
“They’re not that bad,” I say, shocking even myself.
Rhett looks at me incredulously. “Not that bad?” he says. “You were there. You saw what they did to Beth.”
“Xave has a lot of regrets, but I think his heart was in the right place,” I say.
“He raised her from the dead. He sewed her eyes shut.”
“Because they weren’t perfect yet.”
“She died again. As if once weren’t enough.”
“He watched her die the first time. He held her. He buried her, once,” I say. I can’t believe I’m defending a warlock—and a Necro at that. And yet I feel like someone has to.
“That’s where he should’ve left her,” Rhett says. “But it’s good to see you’re besties with Xave and his father.”
“I’m not,” I say. “I just understand them better than before.” Do I really? They’ve lied before, they could be lying now. Then I tell him about the Necro’s second army of the dead.
Rhett looks away, the line of his jaw firm and tight. He’s angry. So much for our happy reunion. But then he looks back and his face relaxes. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Touchy subject. I didn’t listen to you before, but I am now. If you say there’s more to the Necros than just a bunch of sadistic corpse-raisers, then I believe you.” Although it sounds like there should be sarcasm in his tone, I don’t hear any. He’s being genuine. Then I see the twinkle in his eye.
“But if I’m going to be open-minded, then you have to be, too.”
He glances at Bil Nez, who grins at me with a wide, white smile.
I groan.
~~~
“Nez is lying,” I say, when Rhett finishes the story. “Nez didn’t try to help us back in Pittsburgh. He abandoned us.” I draw my gun.
Bil starts to scramble to his feet, but I’m quicker, my Glock already aimed at his head. He puts his hands up, while Hex runs between the two of us, barking.
“Wait,” Bil yelps. “I was just going to show you something.”
“Right,” I say. “Like the business end of your crossbow.”
“Laney,” Rhett warns. “You promised to be open-minded. You don’t see me running off to find Xave and his dad so I can stab my sword through their hearts, do you?”
“Yeah, but I bet you want to,” I retort.
He bites his bottom lip, but doesn’t respond. I was joking, but maybe I hit the dead center of the target. “And they’re not going to be sleeping next to you tonight,” I add.
“If I wanted to kill the great Rhett Carter, I already would have,” Bil says, which almost makes me pull the trigger.
“That’s not comforting,” I say. “What did you want to show me? Do it slowly.”
In exaggerated slow-mo, Bil reaches down and pulls up the bottom of his jeans, rolling them up to his knee. Rhett shines a flashlight on his leg, which is covered by a large black tattoo.
“Just because we’ve both got tattoos doesn’t mean we have some kind of brother-sister bond thing going on,” I say.
“Oh, I will always think of you as more than just a sister,” Bil says, waggling his eyebrows.
“Vomit,” I say.
“The tattoo is something I got on the reservation—when I turned sixteen.”
I lean in slightly, really studying the design. It’s like a scene from National Geographic. A small dog-like animal (a wolf maybe?) lies prostrate on the ground, a spot of red on his leg. He looks injured. A lion closes in, as if sensing an easy kill. A massive bird—a hawk or eagle—swoops toward the lion, talons forward, as if preparing to claw its eyes out.
“Lovely,” I say. In my head I’m thinking it’s a pretty wicked tattoo. In a really good way.
“What’s it mean?” Rhett asks.
“My people are taught to be the hawks. The defenders of the weak. The protectors of those who can’t protect themselves.”
“We don’t need your protecting,” Laney says.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Bil says. He blows out a breath, like a deep sigh. “All I’m saying is that I’m not a killer. I mean, yes, I’ve killed before, but I don’t take it lightly. Not like Graves and The End. If I kill it’s because I think I’m protecting someone who needs it.”
Sometimes I wish I could bite my tongue, but it’s just so damn quick. “Like the human Siren slaves you killed?” I say. “If anyone was weak and needed protecting, it was them.”
He closes his eyes, his head twisting slightly away. His lips fold in, pursed.
His whole body seeming to sag, he bends down and grabs his bedroll, dragging it ten or so feet away. He flops down and curls up on his side.
“Nice,” Rhett says.
Even Hex moves away from me, pushing in close to Rhett’s side.
And, despite my mistrust of Bil Nez, I feel awful.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rhett
Neither of us can sleep. I can tell because Laney’s breathing isn’t even or deep. She keeps tossing and turning, just like I’m doing. Although we’re only a few feet away from each other, it feels as if the Grand Canyon separates us.
“Laney?” I say, when I can’t stand it any longer.
She sighs. “Yeah?”
“You cold?” It’s not really cold at all.
There’s silence for a moment, and I wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing. Implied the wrong thing. “Yeah,” she says, not trying to hide the lie.
I scoot over, pressing myself in close behind her, the way we slept together after getting drenched escaping the missiles that destroyed Heinz Field. And just like that, the Grand Canyon between us gets filled in with dirt.
“For warmth?” she says. I can sense the smile on her face.
“Of course,” I say. “What else?” I feel sweat trickle down my back. It really is a warm night.
I wrap an arm around her and she grabs hold of it, interlocking her fingers with
mine, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I can feel my body starting to stiffen, like it did when she lay down next to me the night before she left. Like it did when I pushed her away. She’s not Beth, I remind myself. Beth is gone. And Laney and I…we’ve come so far together. I’m not dishonoring Beth. I’m not. Even as I think it, I wonder whom I’m trying to convince.
After a few moments of natural silence, I say, “I’m sorry about Trish.”
“I have to find her.”
“Sounds like she wanted to go.” Realizing how mean that sounds, I quickly add, “To protect you. To do whatever it is she thinks she needs to do.”
“It’s my job to protect her,” Laney says, a hint of irritation in her voice.
“I know,” I say, “but she might be stronger than both of us.”
“She’s just a kid.”
A kid who happens to be a powerful witch. I don’t say that, just hold her tighter. “What was that light?” I say. “Inside us. You said ‘Trish’ after it left us.”
“I think it was from her. I think she brought us back together.”
“Smart girl,” I say.
“I don’t know,” she says. “Seems like we’re fire and ice lately.”
“More like fire and fire,” I say.
She kisses my hand and I really feel like I’m on fire. “Will you help me find Trish?” she asks.
I try to focus on her question, and not the way her lips felt on my skin—like electricity. “Yes,” I say. I probably would’ve said yes no matter what question she had asked.
Can we murder Bil Nez in his sleep?
Sure, Laney, let me get my sword.
Attraction is a dangerous thing.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Yes,” I say again, probably sounding like a complete idiot now. Not probably—definitely.
“I’m sorry about what I said to Bil, but I can’t just start trusting him, not after what he’s done before.” Bil’s deep breaths, although invisible in the warm air, seem to take form and rise above the forest, drifting across the sky in lazy, smoke-like wisps.
