The End of Days

by A. E. Watson

The room doesn't look the same without him. It’s not the same.

  “We have to go.” One of the witches calls me from the door as I stare at the mirror in the bathroom and wish my friend would come to me. But she doesn't. Probably because this house isn’t safe anymore. Probably also because the painting with the real mirror is gone.

  Maybe Lucifer did take it.

  “Rayne, we need to move some ass!” she shouts again and I realize it’s Mystica. An annoyed sigh slips from my lips as I make my way back into the bedroom. The look on her face isn’t hatred. It’s worry. I realize then she’s worried for me.

  “Everyone is leaving through the mirror now. Most of us are gone. We need to haul some butt so your asshat of a dad doesn't come and ruin the plan.”

  “Okay.” I take one last glance at the bedroom and shudder as the memories fill my mind. Wyatt and I loved each other in this room. We never should have loved each other, not like that, but we did. I hate that I regret it. I hate that the thing I thought was beautiful is not. It’s muddled and complicated, and in some respects it’s disgusting. I don't think Wyatt put two and two together, that we are in some strange way related as brother and sister. He was so devastated about the fact he was the Antichrist that he didn't bother to look at the fine print.

  I can’t look away from it.

  In fact, I have to force my eyes from the room and make my feet walk down the hall to the mirror where witches are walking through one at a time. The line is short, meaning most of us have gone through.

  Constantine gives me a look from the shadows where he’s hiding next to the stairs. Clearly, he has no intention of coming. “I’ll meet you in Nashville.” He winks, but I can see the distress in his eyes.

  “Okay.” There really isn’t anything else to say. My heart hurts and my words are the key to my tears. If I speak I will cry. I don't know if he senses that but the look of understanding and heartache in his eyes lead me to suspect he might. He knows me better than anyone.

  I give him one last look before I step up onto the chair and grab the frame of the magic mirror. He swallows hard, nodding his head once. I nod too and climb through. The mirror has a strange misty feel to it but the feeling is short and abrupt, cut off as you pass through just as quickly as you entered from the other one.

  Hands reach for me as I blink and crawl out the other side, shuddering from the cold breeze present in the hall where the mirror is.

  “Maybe we should have spoken before you brought the fire to suck up all the air.” Michael gives me a smug look from the corner.

  I answer back with my thoughts, giving him exactly the telling off I know only he and Constantine would appreciate.

  He grins. “Fair enough.” His eyes dart to the mirror behind me as the last witch climbs out, bringing the mirror with her. It actually melts as she stands on the floor and pulls her hands from the glass. It becomes a puddle on the ground, again in the form it was when it was made. It was ice then but here it’s water. The air’s cool but not that cool.

  “And so ends our mirrors. I suppose the idea is to destroy the one in the garden?” Michael’s eyes meet mine.

  “Yeah. We need to find it first. The painting was in my room and now it’s gone. Someone took it.” I don't want him to know that I’m aware he wants it, so I hum again.

  He winces. “Oh good. Maybe Lucifer has it.” He turns and stalks off. “Mi casa es su casa. Please, try not to burn anything. The ozone concentrations are high up here. It’s flammable. Rayne, show them to the guest quarters. You know the way.” He waves behind himself.

  Mystica winks at me and nods her head to the right. “Show us our rooms.” I’m not sure why she’s being weird with the winking and head nodding.

  “Okay.” I scowl and hold my hand out. “Follow me, ladies.” There are a couple hundred of them, far more than I imagined there would be. In the house it always seemed like we were spread out. But the house was magical, so who knows how big it actually was?

  Even with the couple hundred, there are way fewer fire witches than there are air witches. Of course they haven’t been procreating at the pace Michael has.

  I open the first door to the amazing rooms and smile at the group of girls. “I think two to a room is the bare minimum.”

  “Two?” A chubby witch scoffs. “We’ll sleep no less than thirteen to a room.” She saunters into the stark space, casting her fingers and using glamour to create a dark and Gothic look. “This is better.” Beds pop up and I swear the space gets bigger, like the tent in Harry Potter.

  “Okay then.”

  I close the door for them and turn and walk to the next room.

  A coven of thirteen enters each room until we get to the last group. There are twenty ladies, but they don't care. They hustle in, creating the same dark space as the other girls with only minor changes, like dark red instead of deep purple and more black satin instead of lace.

  Mystica pauses in the doorway awkwardly, like we might kiss goodnight or something odd. When the door closes and leaves us alone she hands me a small sack, so small she has it on a necklace. “Guard it with your life.” She turns and enters the room, leaving me completely confused.

  Instead of lingering and opening it in the hallway where anyone could be watching, I turn and leave for my room. I choose to stay in the one I slept in last time I was here. It was relaxing and wonderful—maybe the best sleep of my life.

  With my back pressed against the door and the tiny bag in my hand, I take a breath before opening the little strings. I peer inside, squinting and then shaking my head. I close my eyes and look again.

  It’s like a genie’s bottle. Inside the tiny sack is darkness and one minuscule item, Willow’s painting.

  I don't know how she did it, but I pull the miniature painting out, completely confused. I’m even more confused when the painting grows to life-sized right in front of my eyes.

  The inside of the bag is just dark now. Nothing else is in there. I don't even know how she did it, but I am grateful she did.

  As much as I want to go into the painting and check on my family, I don't. I put the painting back into the tiny little bag which of course fits because it’s magic. The painting becomes tiny and the bag looks like it might house an engagement ring or a tooth for the tooth fairy.

  “Weird.” I put the chain around my neck and sink the sack inside my shirt.

  I’m still staring at the sack in my shirt when a knock at the door startles me. “Rayne?” It’s that smug asshole I cleansed. His voice reminds me of the sweet taste of his kisses. My nose wrinkles but my stomach growls.

  “What?”

  “May I come in?” He sounds so sugary when he speaks.

  “Fine.” I sound the opposite.

  The door cracks and as I am about to scowl at him, I grin. Behind him is Constantine looking none too pleased about being here.

  “Does the air burn?” I laugh.

  Constantine rolls his eyes and pushes past the man, regaining his confidence, even if it’s false bravado. “Please, it takes a lot more than an army of stuffy angels to frighten me. I don't like being this high up though. The flight was a bit intense.”

  The angel, who I want so badly to feed off of again, smiles wide. “He hangs on pretty tight. I thought he was going to buy me dinner by the time we got here.” He winks and steps back out, closing the door but staring at me until the very last second when it actually shuts.

  “That is a strange young man.” Constantine points.

  “Why are you here?”

  He nods at my chest. “The painting. We need to talk to Willow. One of us needs to go in while the other guards the painting. It's the only way now. When I’m done, you meet me in Boston at the witches’ house. I’ll have a plan and the painting will be safe here.”

  “Nothing is safe here. This is the key to getting into the garden, and we brought it right to him.”

  “Which is why you’re guarding it.” He shakes his head, looking exhausted.

 
“Why do you get to go?” I fold my arms indignantly.

  “Because I know what to ask. You don't. You’ll go in and get everyone upset because Wyatt’s the Antichrist and his little brat sister’s in there. She hates you.”

  “She hates you too.” I chuckle coldly.

  “She hates you more.” He holds a hand out. “Let’s get the show on the road. Michael is going to want to head for Nashville at dawn when the vampires are weakest and the angels are strongest. Which means we have the night. The sun is going down now.”

  I turn and look at the window. “How can you even tell up here? It’s still bright.”

  “Rayne!” He steps closer. “The painting.”

  “Fine!” I pull it from my shirt and open the tiny bag, plucking the micro painting from it. The gleam in his eyes tells me he has seen this trick before. “How did you even know I had it?”

  “Who do you think told Mystica what to do? You didn't really think she thought up bloody shrinking it and hiding it after she replaced it with the fraudulent one?” He rolls his eyes.

  “How did you know to do that?”

  “Trust me, I knew what was coming there. Meet me in an hour.” He lifts his finger to touch the painting but I pull back.

  “No, come back here. Do your vampire magical transporting thingy. You’ve been in the room and you’re allowed here. Just poof back here.”

  He parts his lips and then nods. “All right. That works. If I’m not here in two hours you know it didn't work and you need to come to the house in Boston.” He grins and touches the painting, vanishing like he always does.

  I make the painting small again and lie down on the bed to wait for two hours to pass by.

  Chapter Ten

  Pacing the room, trying desperately to find a slight variation in the shades of white, is incredibly boring. My blinking and yawning is getting to the point where I know the dead will just take me any second, causing my body to drop to the marble floor.

  I cringe, imagining how that's going to feel.

  It’s been two hours for certain, but I’m so tired now I don't think I’ll be able to fly. I’ll end up taken by the dead and lost at sea. I can’t see the nixie having a problem with hosting me down there. They love me.

  Ideas float about my foggy head, creating potential solutions for the situation we’re in, but I know there isn’t a viable one. I’m too tired to be creative or useful.

  My feet stagger forward, tripping me as I catch myself on the small table by the window. I glance back at the bed and swallow hard, realizing I might not make it there.

  Pushing off and hurrying for the bed isn’t a problem, but the door bursting open and an angry-looking Constantine is. He looks wet too, soaked.

  He snarls as he lumbers forward, but I blink and then I’m gone.

  Music floats past me, making waves in the air. My skin feels heat, like I’m lying out in the sun. And my eyes are closed peacefully, until I realize they won’t open.

  I try to blink but it’s no use.

  My eyes are stuck shut and I can’t move my body.

  “Rayne!”

  I force my eyes open to see the scowling face of Constantine coming into focus. “Four days, seriously?” He looks angry.

  “What?”

  “You slept for four days. Why didn't you meet me?” He sits back, looking exhausted himself.

  “I don't know.” It takes a minute to recall the day he’d touched the painting to go inside and what happened before I fell asleep. “I was so tired, I knew I couldn't. I wouldn't have made it to you. I was exhausted. I was barely holding on.” I try to offer him a smile. “Did you talk with Willow?”

  “Of course. And she was none too excited to see me.” He nods. “I told her about Wyatt which of course she already knew. She and that Fitz are a real pair. They apparently know everything but share nothing.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said they found an answer.” He pulls a dagger from his side and holds it up. “We can use the mirror from the garden to go back in time to the moment before the girls you were reached their age of power. Before it hits we take them, letting their life force soak into the blade.”

  “Whoa.” I sit up, waving a hand. “Whoa.” I know I’m confused but the look in his eyes tells me he’s not saying it wrong. “Take them?”

  “We kill each version of you, essentially taking their powers and keeping them so that they join the next set of stolen powers until we have them all.” His voice holds no hope in it.

  “What the hell do I do with that?” I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.

  “Stab Lucifer the moment he enters Wyatt. The power of the dagger will claim him, sucking the evil from Wyatt and sparing his life. He should stay alive for you.” His voice cracks a bit, and I realize how hard this is for him. He still loves me in his twisted weird way. And yet, because he loves me he will help me love someone else. He truly isn’t what he seems.

  “Thank you.” I reach forward, taking the blade and his hand in mine. “I’m sorry you have to help me do this.”

  “Ah well, I had hoped I would get to see you as Ellie and Mags again.” He laughs but there is no hiding the heartbreak in his tone. “And who doesn't love a bit of time travel?”

  “Right, so how do we get to the mirror in the garden with a blade?”

  He winces. “When we climb into the mirror in the painting, you lead the way with the faces and memories you recall from each girl. The mirror will take us to those places, but we will essentially still be in the mirror. We won’t leave again until you are done and you think of the painting again.” He doesn't sound certain. “Theoretically.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means no one has ever done this before, so we will do our best. Willow and Fitz searched high and low with the other witches to find this. It’s the best hope you have of keeping the little pup alive.”

  “Great.” I sigh.

  “Yeah.” He tilts his head at the window. “We need someone we can trust to watch over the painting too. So we can go inside and not worry about the bloody thing being stolen.”

  “I have just the witch.” I stretch and climb off the bed.

  “I can’t wait.” His eyes flicker to my body, always watching me. It’s the furthest he goes lately. He doesn't try his usual smarmy tricks on me. I like to think he’s given up on his belief that we should be together, but I don't want to count my chickens before they hatch.

  “I’ll be right back.” I hug myself and slip from the room, cold from the sleep I’ve just had. Or just cold because nothing about killing my former selves is enticing or warming in any way.

  It’s the farthest door from my room so it takes a few minutes to walk there. I knock lightly, not wanting the other witches to know it’s me. I don't even want them to know the plan or that I have the stupid painting.

  A young witch with dark hair and eyes answers, giving me a sneer.

  “Is Mystica here?”

  She doesn't answer. She looks over her shoulder at the room.

  Mystica comes into view, also not smiling. “About time you woke up. We’ve been here for days. You’re lucky the vampire army hasn't left Nashville yet.”

  “Can I talk to you?” I nod my head at the hall. She shrugs and saunters out, lighting a cigarette and blowing smoke into the pure air around us. Her face tells me she is expecting me to just start talking. “Uhhh, so can I ask a favor of you?”

  “What?”

  “Can you come watch something in my room while I take a small jaunt? I need backup.”

  “Yeah, give me a second.” She goes back inside and comes out almost as quickly. I can’t even imagine what she did in there so fast. She nudges me and we start the trek back to my room. When we’re halfway she finally resurfaces as a human. “You need me to watch the painting?”

  “Yeah. I need to see Willow. And it might take a bit, like a day or so. If anyone comes looking for us, just say we went to the surfa
ce to see the nixie. The air witches and the nixie don't see eye to eye. I doubt they’re talking much.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” She smiles and no longer looks like she might stab me any second.

  “It’s not a great plan but it’s what I have.” I offer that and nothing else. I don't know who to trust, not one-hundred percent. I have to assume I can trust Constantine and Willow. But that's about it.

  When we get back to the room I pull the necklace off and hand her the sack.

  “Hurry up!” Constantine gives me a look.

  “Yeah, yeah, zip it.” I scowl back.

  Mystica pulls the painting out, making it large again. She holds it up for us to tap and enter. “Don't be too long. I will eventually run out of excuses. The army might move.”

  “We’ll be fast, I promise. Thanks.” I enter the painting, sensing Constantine behind me immediately. He leans in, whispering, “Don't mention the plan to Fitz. He’s a bit worried that Wyatt is lost forever and really doesn't want to talk about this.”

  “Okay.” I head for the little cottage where I know the mirror is. I’ve seen Willow stand and stare into it so many times I couldn't forget it now if I wanted to.

  Fitz waves as he works in the garden, something he loves.

  I wave back, hoping he’s okay. He doesn't look it.

  When we get into the cottage, I pause, realizing I’d forgotten that Maggie was here. Willow smiles but Maggie sneers. She looks like such a little brat. I have to fight the urge to tell her to kiss my—anyway, it’s bad.

  But none of it matters because when Willow hugs me and pulls me to the mirror, I have the strangest feeling that everything is going to be okay.

  Chapter Eleven

  The air smells different.

  It’s cold and clean and feels like you could shower in it just by standing here, as if the wind might actually cleanse you or maybe it's the dew in the breeze. I’ve never felt such moisture-rich air before.

  “Constantine?” I don't know where he ended up after we entered the mirror, but I don't smell him at all. I don't smell any evil. It’s no mystery as to why that is, my parents were the first people to bring evil here.