What could they do to me, after all, these puny humans? How will they fight me when all their power is gone?
Judges? Hah. Order of Keepers? Hah!
What keeper will have the nerve to judge a full-grown Chaosbringer when I can smite them with the merest flick of my will? What threat is their silly little court to one such as me?
These pathetic humans with their petty rituals, their ridiculous colors, their little clans, their laughable threats. How weak they are, how pitiful. How deluded to think that one such as I would ever fear them.
I laugh out loud, delighting in my own magnificence.
*
The sound of my laughter—a soft, girlish giggle—shocks me back into reality.
There’s a wrenching shift.
A thick white silence.
And then I’m myself again.
*
When we stood on the rusted balcony outside my window that night, Gunn told me that raw power is always ugly and corrupting. He said the judges would try to trap me, that they’d try to make me lose myself in the power inside me.
I now know what he meant; I understand it perfectly.
The magic I accidentally took from Daniel’s mother that night when I touched her hand is obviously too much for me to handle. Yes, it feels great to have so much power, but it’s also quite obviously driving me insane.
Forget the strange fantasy of lifetimes spent in the Arctic wastelands. What’s even crazier is this overwhelming impulse I feel to steal the White Lady’s power, when I know she’s dangling it in front of me for exactly that reason.
Magic calls to magic, they said, and now I know just how true that is. The magic inside me wants more of whatever’s out there, no matter how freaking stupid it would be to grab someone else’s magic while I’m on trial for exactly that crime.
The power inside me is illogical and dangerous, but there’s more than just that inside of me. Much more.
I am not a slave to that power. I am myself—a growing, living being on this world, connected to everything else in the same way that a blade of grass is connected to the others around it.
I am Jess.
And so, for the rest of the night, I draw my identity around me like a shield while I watch the wall of ice between me and the White Lady’s power slowly melting.
I think about my mom, about how good it always felt to sit next to her and watch the sun set over the desert. I remember how cold it used to get the moment the sun went down, and how warm her arms felt then, how loving and how safe.
I think about Gunn, about the first time he put on the thick, protective suit he always used to wear for our self-defense classes. I told him he looked like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, and we laughed until my tummy ached. It was the first time I’d laughed since my mother’s death, and I remember how strange that moment felt, and how healing, and how good.
I think about Daniel, about that time we got drunk together for the first time, sitting in the back of his truck in the parking lot behind the town pool. He’d filled up half a bottle of Coke with all the liquor his dad kept in the house, and we finished it together, feeling wild and brave and free until we started puking.
I think about Ingrid, about the gentle way she used to brush my hair in that dark time after my mother’s death, when my grief was so paralyzing I could do almost nothing for myself. She would feed me with a spoon at mealtimes, patiently, not saying anything, our shared grief like a physical weight in the silence between us.
I think about Maggie, about the way she’d giggle with me whenever a boy looked her way, and the way she’d then forget all about them as soon as she opened a textbook.
I think about watching reality shows with Eve, laughing and joking and eating popcorn while Henry played computer games in his Albert Einstein pajamas.
I think about Chloe, about the steel hidden beneath those glossy looks, and the hurt hidden beneath her bitchy comments.
I think about Ty, about the time he superglued my stationary to my desk and I found it so funny that I almost forgot myself and joined in the general laughter.
I think about all the people in my life, and I try my best to concentrate on any sense of connection I’ve ever felt toward them.
It’s not easy.
Every now and then the power inside raises its ugly head again, telling me that I don’t need to sit here, that I don’t need to make myself so small and so vulnerable, that I’m worth more than this, that I could be mighty and invincible if I would just stop being so damn weak. If I would just reach out to claim what is mine.
I shut out that voice.
I shut it out with every ounce of my strength.
As the sheet of ice begins to melt and the walls of my cell become visible again, I concentrate on the people in my life, trying my best to remember that I am more than the strange magic inside of me. I am a person, connected to other people through ties of loyalty and love and friendship.
I am Jess, and I will not forget it.
Time passes slowly. Whenever my concentration slips, I do something physical to connect me to my actual body, my actual life. I claw my nails into the raw cement floor. I bite my lip until it hurts. I dig in my heels and I tense my muscles until the sweat drips into my eyes.
The ice sheet melts.
My nails bleed.
The walls of my cell come closer and closer.
Chapter 23
Likewise, it would be foolish to compare the Skymagic skill of Truth to such wines or potions as would lead the unwary to betray their secrets, for the deep skill of Truth compels one to express not the thoughts of the mind but the wisdoms of the heart.
For is it not true, my friends, that some of the deepest truths are the ones we hide from ourselves? It is those very truths that this rare and powerful Skymagic skill compels, which is why it is both useful and dangerous to the stability of our Order.
From Orations of Aelius (1st Century CE); translated from the original Latin by Sofia Rodriguez (1999)
By the time the door of my cell opens, I am trembling and red-eyed and feverish and too weak to stand.
But I am myself.
I am not filled with anyone else’s magic, despite how much I wanted to be. I am not invincible or powerful. I am completely drained of whatever magic I ever had inside me.
But I am me.
Ingrid rushes toward me, sinks to the floor and pulls me onto her lap in a gesture so maternal it would’ve moved me to tears if I had any tears left. With some mumbled instructions she orders Gunn outside, her face pale with worry, and for the first time since I entered this cell, I allow myself to relax.
I slump into Ingrid’s wiry arms, not thinking, not feeling, not fighting.
At some stage I’m vaguely aware of Gunn returning, of my face and neck being wiped with a cool washcloth. Someone helps me to drink some water, and it’s only when I feel the cool liquid sliding down my parched throat that I become lucid enough to hear what they’re saying.
“… was never going to be easy, Gunnar. We need to let the process run its course. We’ll know where we stand after the judgement.”
“They’re not here to judge her; they’re here to destroy her! How can you expect me to stand by and let it happen?”
“I know how you feel about her, my boy, but we cannot take on the Order alone.”
“The Pendragons will stand with us.”
“If we go to them now, we’ll start a war.”
“I’ll start a war if I must, Ingrid. I’m serious. Look at her!”
“Hey,” I say, glad to hear that my voice still works, even if it is weak and croaky. “Let’s not start a war right now, okay?” I try to smile at Gunn. “I don’t think I’d make much of a soldier at the moment.”
Gunn is crouched on the floor next to Ingrid. There’s hardly enough space in here for the three of us.
He doesn’t smile back. “Say the word, and I’ll get you out of here. I promise you. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
&nbs
p; “Don’t listen to him, little one,” Ingrid says. “Gunnar means well but I’m afraid his protective instincts have gone into overdrive and it’s affecting his judgement.”
I lick my dry lips. “I don’t know if I’ll survive another night in here.”
“You don’t have to. You’ve passed the real test: you’ve made it through the night and you’re still yourself.” She strokes my hair from my face. “I’m so proud of you, little one. The worst is over; their questioning shouldn’t take more than a few hours. Once they’ve announced their verdict, we’ll know what this is all about and what our next step must be.”
Gunn opens his mouth as if to argue, but then he just sighs. “Can you even stand?”
I struggle into a sitting position, my head spinning and my body trembling with the effort.
“I’m not sure, but the water helped. Is there any left?” They pass the bottle to me. “Some food would be good too. If I don’t eat soon, I’m going to pass out.”
“It was difficult enough to smuggle in the water,” Ingrid says. “There’s no way we could slip any food past them. I’m sorry.”
I finish the bottle, feeling myself getting stronger with every swallow. “Thanks. Won’t you get in trouble for this?”
“They’re having some ‘problems’ with their surveillance systems right now,” Gunn says grimly, glancing at the black eye in the corner. “But we don’t have a lot of time; it’ll be back up soon. We thought the water worth the risk.” He moves closer, places his one arm around my shoulders and takes my head into his hands. “I think this is worth the risk too.”
And then he kisses me.
It takes my exhausted mind a split second to realize what is happening—Gunn is kissing me!—but before I even register the feel of his firm, surprisingly smooth lips against mine, I’m hit by an electric current so strong that my entire body jolts with the force of it.
This is not a metaphor, you understand. I’m not comparing the power of his kiss to that of an electric shock the way a romance novelist would do. I’m talking about an actual electric shock, an exchange of energy so powerful that I can taste a cold metallic burn at the back of my throat as the blood in my veins starts buzzing.
The kiss lasts for no longer than two or three seconds, and although I hate to admit it, this is probably a good thing. Any longer and I might be electrocuted.
“Gunnar!” I hear Ingrid cry. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Relax. I’m totally in control.”
“That was a crazy risk to take!”
“But it worked. Look at her.”
It takes a few seconds before I can get my eyes to focus, but when I do, I don’t need their astonished faces to tell me that I’m looking a lot better. I’m feeling a lot better. The black spots in front of my eyes have vanished and I’ve stopped trembling. I won’t go as far as to say I’m feeling almost normal, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to walk, at least.
“Wow,” I say. “What was that?”
Gunn’s blue eyes smile into mine. “Maybe I’m just that good of a kisser.”
I grin. “I’d believe that any day.”
“Are you two flirting?” Ingrid spits. “Have you both gone mad?” She glares at Gunn. “We’ve talked about this. You are not to come near her—you’re not in control of yourself!”
“I’m feeling a lot better, actually,” I say sheepishly. “Perhaps if we—”
But I don’t get to finish my sentence because the next moment the door is thrown open and I’m staring into a whole lot of angry faces and loaded guns again.
I’m hauled off in a confusion of shouts and punches and threats and guns being waved around far too recklessly.
I lose Ingrid and Gunn along the way. It’s obvious to me that they’re in serious trouble, but it’s just as obvious that I can’t do anything to help them right now. I’m having enough trouble just keeping upright; everything else will have to wait.
I’m not given a chance to shower or change or even brush my hair. Instead I’m immediately dragged off to what the two guards gripping my upper arms call the “interrogation room,” my body reeking of old sweat, my hair hanging in limp strands, my eyes red-rimmed, my nails bleeding and broken.
I expect them to lead me back to the enormous, spooky, candle-lit hall where I last met the judges, but they turn down an unfamiliar corridor, taking me to a room that looks exactly like all FBI headquarters in every movie ever: slick and modern and filled with computers and people busily typing or staring at screens or talking into microphones. Nobody takes any notice of me whatsoever. We walk straight through that space into a smaller room, where the five judges from last night are sitting around a table, studying stacks of documents. They all look up as I enter.
“Jess. What a pleasure.” The Red Lord gives me a cool smile. “Please, take a seat.” He waves toward the last open space at the table.
When the guards let go of my arms, I almost sink to the floor. It takes all my strength to stagger to the chair and I collapse into my seat, shaking. Nobody asks me why I’m so weak, or why I look the way I do, or makes any remark whatsoever about the state I’m in.
It doesn’t escape me that this is probably a bad sign.
They start asking me questions right away, skipping all the formalities and getting straight to the heart of the matter. What happened last Sunday night? Did I steal the skymagic belonging to Sofia Rodriguez? For how long have I been close to this Skykeeper family? Is it true that the Pendragons came to my aid that night?
I answer as best I can: sticking to the truth as far as possible, and when I can’t, sticking to the story Gunn cooked up for me. I’ve been friends with Daniel for two years. Before last Sunday, I had never met his mother. I had no idea she was a Skykeeper. I don’t know what happened on Sunday—she just suddenly seemed a lot better, clearer, and more coherent. I started feeling ill and went home. There were people at my house later that evening, but I felt too sick to come down. I only know Jonathan Pendragon from school, and he’s only spoken to me once or twice in all the time I’ve known him.
I go through my story on autopilot, too tired and too weak to care what happens and expecting them to see through my lies straight away. But the judges seem to swallow my story whole. In fact, I soon get the idea that they’re on autopilot too, as if they’ve already made up their minds and are now merely going through the motions, ticking things off.
Then everything changes.
“How did you survive the White Witch’s attack?” the White Lady asks out of the blue.
“Who?” I ask, confused.
“That day at the swimming pool. How did you escape?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t waste my time. Just tell me.”
I shrug. “I can’t tell you something I don’t know.”
She makes an irritated sound before flashing her right hand at me, palm open toward me, fingers splayed. “SATYA!” she demands, her raspy voice suddenly deep and resonant.
Before I even know I’m doing it, I find myself talking. Whatever she’s done—a spell? a curse?—is somehow compelling me to speak, and I have no more control of the words coming out of my mouth than I have over the sweat suddenly dripping down the back of my neck.
“Lately, in my dreams, I see an old woman with white eyes and white hair and white clothes,” I say, my voice sounding detached and kind of robotic. “She shoots lightning from her fingertips. She’s afraid of me, more afraid than I am of her. She’s so afraid of me that she did something terrible to herself. She did it so she could stop me. They call her a witch, but that’s not how she sees herself. She sees herself as a martyr. She believes she’s sacrificing herself to stop the apocalypse. In my dreams, I know that I’ve met her before, and that I’ve been made to forget it. Sometimes, in the split second before I wake up, I wonder if there’s anybody I can really trust.”
The words spill out of my mouth, one after the other, the rhythm of my sentenc
es unfamiliar: clipped and mechanical. When I finish speaking, I touch my mouth in pure astonishment.
How did she do that?
And then the pain hits: a sharp burst of agony right behind my eyes, so excruciating that I grab my head and fall forward onto the table, moaning.
“She’s been through enough, Skykeeper!” I hear the Blue Lord cry, his voice furious. “Forcing Truth on her now could break her completely.”
“Trueborn daughters are far more resilient than they look,” the White Lady says. “Most of her kind had been through the Second Protocols by this age.”
“And how many did not make it? She’s the last one left, and you’ve kept her locked up in a cell all night. An heir to Lilith! It’s a miracle she hasn’t gone insane.”
“Deron. Be reasonable. Sonia is within her rights to demand Truth from the accused.”
“I swear to God, Phillip, don’t even start with your legalities again. I’m ready to walk out of here right now.”
“Leave now, and you’ll endanger the future of our entire Order.”
“Destroy this bloodline, and the Blue Clan will burn your precious fucking Order to the ground.”
And then I don’t hear anything else because I pass out cold, too worn down by pain and fear and exhaustion to care what happens next.
*
What happens next is that I finally get some food. I’m not sure how, because by the time I’m fully awake and aware again, I’m already eating, stuffing my face right there at the table with all five judges staring at me.
I eat the food (a couple of cheese sandwiches and an apple) as fast as I can, totally unembarrassed. I have no idea when I’ll be able to eat again. The effect of the food on my body is instantaneous and miraculous: with every bite I feel my head clearing, my energy returning, my aches and pains disappearing, my strength growing.
When I’ve finished, my plate is cleared away and a tall glass of water is placed before me. I gulp it down before looking up to face the judges again. They’re staring at me with pity (the Red Lady), disgust (the White Lady), disapproval (the Green Lord) and worry (the Blue Lord). Only the Red Lord’s face remains unreadable.
Ordinary Girl (The Dark Dragon Chronicles Book 1) Page 24
