by David Estes
As I circle behind them, the woman cradles the panther’s head, which is still dripping blood, in her arms, gently stroking her fur.
“Hush, child, and go to sleep,” the woman says. There’s a flash of silver as the knife she’s been hiding in her hand catches a moonbeam.
Although Flora can’t see what I see, some primal animal instinct brings her to the same conclusion I’ve already reached. “No!” she growls, kicking at the woman with her powerful hind legs, shoving her “mother” backwards, where she lands lithely on her feet. The transformation is instantaneous, the woman’s flesh brightening to pale white and her dark hair blooming red. Her fraud discovered, Angelique hisses at the panther, her eyes wild with anger.
Flora pounces, moving like lightning, knocking the dagger from Angelique’s hand. The panther lands atop the Changeling’s chest, pressing her back hard into the earth. “Now yow die,” she hisses, raising a clawed paw.
But I haven’t been idle. I’ve continued moving closer, until I’m right behind my enemy. I reach around Flora and draw my sword across her flesh.
The panther gags, her head lolling back to look at me with unfocused eyes. A curving line of blood appears across her slit throat, like a macabre smile. Her body slumps onto Angelique, who shrieks with disgust. “Blech! I smell like feral cat now,” she says, her voice her own again.
Before I can react, Bil and Rain are each grabbing one of my arms, shouting to hurry, pulling me out of the growing shadow I didn’t even notice. Dozens of other cries surround us as humans and magic-born alike scamper out of the path of the final clay warrior, which topples like a building under the force of a wrecking ball, shaking the ground and chattering our teeth.
Angelique glides up to me wearing a self-satisfied smile. “Guess you owe me one, witch hunter.”
“I saved your life, so I’d say we’re even,” I reply. “But thank you. You knew she had lingering mommy issues and you took advantage. Smart.”
“More like genius,” Bil says, wiping flecks of blood and ash from his face. “Hey, want to hang out sometime? I think we could learn a lot from each other.”
“I don’t date witch hunters,” Angelique says. “Although I might make an exception if Mr. Carter here ever decides to dump that psychotic bitc—
“Carterrr!” Laney shouts, as if on cue.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Laney
I’m not sure what happened beyond my little world, but it appears the battle is over. But none of that seems to matter one little bit right now, not when she’s losing too much blood, the crimson life spouting between my fingers, an unstoppable river.
“Stay with me,” I whisper to Chloe, whose breathing is shallow and getting shallower. “Carterrr!” I shout again.
He’s by my side in an instant, his face awash with concern. “She’s dying,” I tell him. “Get help.”
He races off while other faces hover around me. I might know them, I might not; I don’t care. All I care about is the broken doll bleeding out in my lap. Bil Nez pushes in beside me, cradling something in his hands.
“It’s okay,” he says calmly. “I’ve got her arm.” And he does, the fingers turning bluish gray, mangled flesh hanging in ragged ribbons on the severed end above the elbow.
Although I don’t understand, I know I have to focus on putting pressure on the wound. The blood seems to be slowing, either because it’s clotting or because she’s running out.
Bil says, “The Claires might be able to reattach it.” I almost laugh hysterically now that I understand why he’s brought it to me. Instead, I only offer a tight nod and continue to squeeze her stump tightly.
Rhett arrives with three Claires, who look like shining angels against the backdrop of the dark sky. They don’t speak, recognizing the urgency of the situation. Two of them immediately lay their hands on Chloe’s head and speak to her without moving their lips. Although I can’t hear what they say, I can feel it in my bones, in my heart, like a warm summer breeze or a hug from an old friend.
When her blood begins to glow, turning the color of golden honey, the third Claire takes my hand and eases it away, replacing her arm, gingerly positioning it correctly. She runs a single finger along the wound, completing a full circle, the skin glowing and sparking and resealing itself. I’m held rapt with attention, my eyes glued to the miracle being performed mere feet from my gaze.
When the Claires release Chloe, she is whole, but motionless, her chest no longer rising and falling. She has lost a lot of blood, one of them speaks in my mind.
“Is she…” I refuse to say it. Refuse to say the word that will mean the end of this strong, resilient, brave little girl who fought to save my life.
She coughs, golden spittle flowing from her mouth, her bright green eyes flashing open. And she takes a deep breath, her eyelids fluttering and then closing. I raise a hand to my mouth and feel the tears slide down my cheeks to meet my fingers. She is weak, but she will be strong again soon, the Claire says, and they drift away.
“Thank you,” I say. “Thank you.” To Bil, I add, “And you.”
“I’ll take an ‘and you’ from you any day,” he says, and I allow myself a selfish smile of relief. Bil stands and leaves, fading into the background. The aftermath of war, which is hazy and surreal and filled with the tangy bite of copper and death, surrounds everything.
Rhett settles in beside me. “Hey, you,” he says.
“Thanks for helping with her,” I say, gesturing to Chloe, who’s sleeping in my arms. “She saved my life twice.”
Rhett nods. “I’ll always help you, or at least try.”
“This world is a crappy place,” I say.
“The crappiest,” Rhett agrees.
I take a deep breath, the words falling into place like dominos, the way they always have for me. But that doesn’t mean they’re easy to say. That’s doesn’t mean I have the strength. “This world may be a huge pile of dog poo, but as long as you love me, the world can rage and burn and destroy itself a million times over, and I’ll still be complete. I’ll still be happy.”
And when he looks at me with his deep brown fathomless eyes, I’m glad I was brave enough to open my heart, even if only for one frozen moment.
~~~
Rhett
As I soak up the light in her brilliantly blue eyes, the right words fall like rain in my mind, landing haphazardly, impossible to catch, slipping through cracks and creases. It’s as if each drop I reach for trickles between my fingers, cascading down my skin and away, gone forever. I remember when I missed my opportunity to tell Beth how I felt about her, how much she meant to me. I thought I’d lost everything when Beth died—and I had, for a while—but even the most shattered vase can be glued back together with time and patience. In the world we live in, there won’t always be another chance to tell those you love how you feel, so you have to take advantage of every opportunity. Although my voice cracks with emotion from the first word, I don’t stop until I’m done. “I love you, even if you could probably beat me up.” I’m sure I could write something more poetic, but right now, these feel like the perfect words for Laney.
She seems to agree because she laughs and punches me on the arm, pulling me into the only kind of hug she knows how to give, one that makes you feel as if she might squeeze you until you pop.
I don’t want to let go, but someone clears their voice behind me. “What now?” I say in frustration, wondering why we can’t have one damn moment to be happy.
The Reaper’s ghostly face turns my anger on its head. His face is drawn, all sharp angles and sunken cheeks. Shadows grow beneath his eyes as he seems to fight to get the words out. “Xave is injured,” he says.
My heart stutters, remembering the Caster’s spell hitting him in the chest. How Mr. Jackson had to pull him to his feet. How he stumbled a few times. “I saw him get up. I saw him run away with you.”
“It was a slow-acting curse,” he says.
I feel a pain in my chest. “The Cl
aires,” I say.
“They’re doing everything they can, but he doesn’t have long.”
Laney says, “We just watched the Claires reattach this little girl’s arm and save her life. Surely they can save Xave.”
He shakes his head and I can see the sadness there. “They can’t identify the curse. The Caster that created it was very powerful. It’s killing him and all they can do is ease his pain.”
“No,” I say, in denial. Then again: “No.” Not Xave. Not the kid I grew up with, my stalwart defender. Not when I was finally beginning to understand him again. “Take me,” I say.
Laney carries Chloe, handing her to Bil Nez as we pass him without a word. Words are too painful right now.
Five Claires are working on Xave when we arrive, which is a lot considering how few there are left. “Xavier,” I say, stooping down by his side. “You are not dying.” The tremble in my voice belies the truth, but his eyes ebb open.
He manages a tight smile. “It hurts like hell,” he says, a tear bullying its way from one of his eyes, drawing a jagged line down his cheek.
The Claires stand and shake their heads, drifting into the night to find another soul still capable of being saved.
“You always were the tough one,” I say, fighting back tears of my own.
“Not anymore,” he says. “You are one bad dude.” His voice weakens on the last two words and he grimaces, wracked by the effects of whatever fast-acting curse wormed its way inside him.
I laugh, although it’s interrupted by a sob. “Don’t speak, man. You’re going to be okay.”
“Liar,” he croaks, but there’s no anger in his voice. Only acceptance.
“Rhett,” someone says. Yet another interruption at the wrong time.
“Get in line,” I say, refusing to look away from Xave.
“It’s our father. He doesn’t have long.” The voice is Rain’s, the sister I’ve known for about two seconds. Our father. Like he belongs to both of us in equal measure, although he really doesn’t belong to either of us at all.
I say nothing. There’s nothing to say.
“Please,” she says, her voice breaking. “It wasn’t me before, but I’ve said some bad things to him. I need time to make things right. It’s my fault he’s dying. I have to save him.”
“You can’t,” I say bitterly, still refusing to meet her eyes. “No one can.”
“There must be another way,” Rain says.
“There is,” Laney says, jumping in. “Martin was going to tell me, but then we didn’t have time. He said there was another way to remove the curse.”
I laugh without humor. “Yeah, there is. Tara told me all about it. It’s genius really, a pure act of evil on the part of our old friend, President Washington. But I won’t tell you.”
“Rhett,” Laney says, but not even her sharpest rebuke can sway my decision.
“You don’t have to tell us,” Xave says. “I already know.”
I stare at him, frowning. He couldn’t possibly know what I’m about to say, could he?
“I’m sorry,” Xave says. “I followed you. Eavesdropped.” He levels a stare at Laney. “The curse can be transferred to someone who loves Rhett or Rain as much as Martin Carter does.”
No. I shake my head. “So Rain and I gain a dad and lose someone else. Awesome. Where do I sign?” The words rushing from my mouth feel like venom, or molten lava, angry and cynical and slick with at least three coats of resentment after a primer of contempt. “Forget about the curse. It’s over.”
~~~
Laney
Sometimes one second is like a thousand years, filled to the point of bursting with emotion, with sadness, with love, with truths—whether cold or harsh or surreal or beautiful—with knowledge. Sometimes that one second is enough to watch your life flash before your eyes and to see every crucial moment in your shattered and jagged existence dotting a dusty old roadmap of experiences leading you to one single point in time, like a ray of golden sunlight bursting through a foreboding thundercloud, where you know exactly what you have to do without even thinking about it.
That’s power. That’s the wisdom of philosophers. That’s truth. That’s life.
And that’s love.
~~~
Rhett
“I’ll do it,” Laney says immediately. “I’ll take the curse.”
“No,” I say, finally twisting around to face the two strong women at my shoulders. While Rain’s expression is one of surprise and hope, Laney’s is strength and determination personified. She’s changed in a lot of ways since the hands of fate chose to slam us together, but she’s never lost her strength. I can see it in the pools of the crystal clear mountain lakes of her eyes. She’ll do this for me. Whether I ask for her sacrifice or not—she’ll do it. “Laney, I can’t lose you. I love you.”
Laney’s expression is firm but compassionate as she takes my face in her hands. “I never wanted to love you, Rhett. Or anyone for that matter. To love you was to be hurt again. Irreparably hurt. But I’ve never been one to be told what to do, and that includes my heart. I love you, too. And that’s what will allow me to save your father.”
“I won’t let you,” I say, pushing her hands away. “I refuse. I’m sorry, Rain, but I can’t do this.”
Laney opens her mouth to object, but she’s cut off by a wheezing croak of a voice. “Me,” Xave says. “It’s me who will do it.”
“Xave,” I say, a warning, but his weak voice seems to gain strength, crashing right through my rebuttal.
“I’m dying—already cursed. And Rhett, I love you, too. We’re freaking blood brothers. Why should your father and I die when only one of us has to? Let me do this.” He was already planning this when he sent his father over to get me—I can see it in the peacefulness in his eyes. He already knew about the way to reverse the curse and that he’d be able to do it. I’m crying and shaking my head and Xave is gripping my hand tightly but not crying anymore, his eyes dry and determined. I don’t want it to be Xave, but he’s right. There’s no hope for him, not if the Claires can’t save him. “There’s not much time. Take me to him.”
His father and I carry him to my father, who can barely look at Rain or me without unleashing a howl of pain. We’re literally killing him with our love.
Hex, my father’s stalwart protector, bounds up and licks my hand. “I’ve missed you,” I say, and his smile is enough to tell me he missed me too. Huckle scratches him behind the ears while I turn to face my father.
I won’t say why we’re here, and if Xave doesn’t have the strength to say it himself, then this doesn’t have to happen.
Xave says, “Give it to me. Give me the curse.” He coughs, and Martin answers him with a hack of his own. They sound horrible together. I don’t want to be here, don’t want to watch this, but I can’t leave either. Not when I’ll never hear their voices again.
When we lay Xave down next to Martin, Laney kisses his cheek and says thank you, and then Rain does the same. The final kiss is delicately placed on his forehead by his father, the Reaper of Souls. For once he looks just like any other dad.
When it’s my turn, I smother him with a hug and soak his cloak with my tears.” What you did today—what you’re able to do—is beautiful,” I tell him. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”
“That’s okay,” he manages. “You were always stubborn.”
For the first time ever, I hear Martin speak from his very own mouth, his wriggling stump of a tongue struggling over each garbled word. “It’s…now…or…never,” he says, his voice shaking and slurring. He clasps Xave’s hand and his eyes say thank you and my best friend’s body starts shaking as if wracked with seizures. And then he goes still, suddenly and completely still.
My heart is in my throat, my eyelids a dam against the deluge of tears still threatening like a river swollen by heavy rain. I am a lost soul. I am a broken teenage boy with too many years left to think about those I’ve loved and lost. I am a sinner. I am a saint.
I am human, weak and strong, and made stronger by the lifeless kid before me. No more.
No more.
Rain throws herself into my side, wrenching me from my own darkly introspective thoughts. “We’re too late,” she cries. And I know she’s right, because Martin is still dying, his face still contorted with the agony of being near his children, and Xave isn’t breathing. He died a moment too soon, the very act of transferring the curse more than his body could take.
“No, there’s still a chance,” Laney says. “I know CPR. If I can revive him for even a second, you can transfer the curse.” She’s already in motion, positioning her hands just below his sternum, locking her elbows, performing chest compressions. I’m numb, as if watching from a distance as the love of my life tries to save my best friend long enough to kill him again.
She breathes into Xave’s mouth once, twice. Nothing. He’s dead. More compressions. More rescue breathing. To my left, my father is concentrating on pushing the curse away, into Xave, if he happens to wake up. Slowly the light is disappearing from his eyes.
Eventually, Laney stops the CPR. The magic that killed Xave was not to be thwarted, not even for a second. Not even to save my father. When she looks back at me, her face is laced with pain.
I think it’s because she failed, and she hates to fail. But wait. No. Her fingers are balled into fists, her body shaking. I mistook her hard expression for emotional pain.
It’s not. She’s in physical pain. Not aches and bruises from the battle, but something else. Something much worse.
“Oh, god,” I say.
Bil Nez says, “Look.”
My lip trembling, I wrench my gaze away from Laney to look at my father, Martin Carter, who’s changing before our very eyes. His wrinkles are smoothing, his hair growing back in thick gray tufts that seem to knit together, his pockmarked skin returning to a consistent rich shade of brown, his muscles once more becoming ropy and strong, filling out his too-skinny body. It’s as if he’s an old man who took a dip in the fountain of youth, shedding forty to fifty years of life in a few miraculous seconds.
