“You know what I’m doing,” she said. “I’m hiding and wallowing. Leave me alone.”
She pulled out the cell phone Brigid had given her, and which she’d adjusted with some simple equations so it drew on the latent power all around her—thermal, kinetic, electrical, and even dark energy—and so never ran out of juice. She put her earbuds in and started the same playlist she’d been listening to over and over. The songs were perfect for fighting off dark and lonely thoughts. “Asleep” by The Smiths started playing.
She turned the music up, trying to drown out everything else. She knew the Order was still out there, rebuilding their power base, and probably still snatching kids. She closed her eyes tight and turned the music up again, trying to block out the image of Ovation dying. It didn’t work, and she started to cry, again. She was sick of it all. She just wanted it all to go away.
Then a new song started. It was one she didn’t know: a simple guitar and cello. The singer’s voice was soft, almost sad. She glanced at the screen. “Wonder (Wonder Woman Song)” by The Doubleclicks. There was something about the lyrics, even though she knew the song was about Wonder Woman—and she’d only recently learned anything about her from Geek—it felt like the singer was speaking to her.
Never seen so many lies.
People hurting out, from the inside.
You have the strength to save us.
You have the power to know right from wrong.
She sat up and rubbed her eyes, then looked at the shelf. The singer’s voice was nothing like Shadow’s, but Wraith could hear her friend saying those words to her.
“But what I can do?” she asked the room. “What difference can I make?”
Ask those kids you saved what difference you made, a part of her, a voice way down deep and tinged with a southwestern accent, said.
When we’re drowning in darkness, you’ll save us all from going under, and we’ll watch you in wonder, the singer added.
Wraith stood up and looked down at herself. Her shirt was rumpled and probably reeked something fierce; she’d been wearing it for the entire week she’d been here, and she hadn’t even showered. Her eyes moved to her arms, to the mathematical formulas that marked her skin. Once, she’d thought they were tattoos, but now she knew they were the remnants of what the Order had done to her. Some of the markings had faded away, particularly those on her face and neck, but most still remained.
“No more,” she said, and meant it. Maybe she couldn’t completely wipe out the Order. Maybe she couldn’t save every kid, but she could save one, then one more, and one more after that. She walked to the shelf and ran her fingers over the eagle feather.
“Just because you can’t win, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t fight,” she heard Shadow say.
The darkness and sadness didn’t melt away, leaving her standing in sunlight, but a few rays did peek through the black clouds. Her depression was probably clinical, but at this point what was another neurosis?
She collected her parents’ spellbooks and tucked them reverently into her messenger bag. She would’ve much preferred to have her parents teaching her themselves, but she reminded herself that she was lucky to have this much.
She pulled off her shirt and tossed it into one of two hampers against the wall. They were both magically entangled on a quantum level with matching hampers at Brigid’s house in Kansas City. One was for dirty clothes, the other for clean. Brigid had insisted that if Wraith wasn’t going to stay at the house, the least Brigid could do was keep her in clean clothes. Wraith had tried not to look too eager when she said yes. There’s not much to compare to clean clothes, especially underwear.
Her stomach rumbled again, more insistent this time.
“Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick,” she said, looking down. “I get it, you want food.”
She grabbed a can of Mountain Dew from an open case against the wall and, almost on instinct, wrapped an equation around it to draw away the heat. In a few seconds the soda was ice cold. She opened it and downed it in a few gulps. The rush of sugar and caffeine settled her stomach, a little.
“That’ll have to hold you for now, buddy,” she told her stomach as she walked to the clean hamper and pulled out a pair of underwear, socks, and jeans, ones that were almost the right size. That was a special treat after living so long in shoplifted thrift store specials. As she slipped off her dirty clothes and into the clean ones, she thought of Con, Sprout, and Geek. How long had it been she’d last visited? Two weeks? Three? She added a return visit to her, rather sizeable, to-do list and pulled out a long-sleeved shirt. It was black with small white letters on the front that read, “Don’t mess with me, I’m good at math.”
Wraith smiled. “Brigid, you are my personal faerie godmother. I’ll take these shirts over a ball gown any day!” She pulled it on and adjusted it over her slender body and read the message again. “I think I have a new favorite shirt.” Then she looked back to her phone, still sitting on the couch. She put the earbuds back in, put “Wonder” on a loop, and finished getting ready.
After loading up her messenger bag with everything of value: spellbooks—hers and her parents’, her friends’ trinkets, and the brass-and-leather glove, she walked over to the dirty hamper. She traced over the lid with her finger; as she did, the symbols and numbers drifting around her—the quantum information—floated down and settled into the equation to send her stuff to Brigid. With her laundry taken care off, she slid into her long hooded coat and set her goggles—also leather and brass—up on her forehead for later.
Dressed in all her finery, Wraith drew together the entropic formula around her, a new and improved equation she’d learned from her parents’ books. This one was exponentially more efficient, and accurate, than her striding had been. Reality turned around her, but it wasn’t the wild maelstrom she usually experienced; this was controlled.
When the turning stopped, she stepped from the universal junction point and into an alleyway. The sky was gray and a light misting rain was falling. She closed her eyes, smiling, and drew in a deep breath of the fresh Seattle air. She’d missed this place, though it probably didn’t miss her. Not that she could blame it; she’d sort of broken it last time she’d been here. Not the whole city, but close. But she had a promise to keep, so she drew up her hood and started toward the market.
There actually wasn’t a market, it not being Sunday, but somehow she knew it didn’t matter. As she walked down the street, she tried not to think about the last time she’d been here. There was no sign of the murders that had happened, or of the pandemonium that had resulted when she’d lost control of her powers and manifested the shadow snatchers. Her eyes went down to the wet sidewalk and she thought of what a beautiful thing the rain was, and wondered if it might be able to wash away anything given enough time.
“I’m not telling you again,” said a young, gruff voice. “This is our territory and there’s a toll to cross it.”
Wraith looked up and saw a group of street kids, a mix of slingers and fifties, hassling a smaller fifty kid.
“I told you, I don’t have anything,” said the smaller kid, a boy of maybe thirteen with pointed ears and soft, almost androgynously beautiful features. “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to get back to my squat.”
“I feel for you, man,” the leader of the group said in a tone that suggested he didn’t. He was a slinger, an electromancer from the crackling blue lines of lightning that danced over him. “The problem is, if we let you through, we’ll have to let everyone through. And we can’t have that.”
The group shared some snickers.
“I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” the smaller boy said.
“Oh, you’re right about that.” The slinger opened his hand and drew it back. Arcs of electricity danced between his fingers.
Wraith was on the group before anyone even knew she was approaching. She gr
abbed the bigger kid’s wrist and twisted it, forcing him to his knees with a cry of surprise and pain. At the same time, she grabbed the metal tube of a bike rack. There was a loud pop as she used the metal rack to ground the slinger’s magic.
“How’d you do that?” the slinger asked.
Wraith bent his wrist a little more, only a breath from breaking it, then she pushed him back on his butt.
He looked up at her with murder in his eyes, but when he saw her face, he went pale. “Holy shit, it’s you,” he said in a low whisper, rubbing his wrist.
His friends exchanged worried looks, but Wraith ignored him. She turned to the elfin fifty. “You okay?” she asked.
He stared at her with wide, luminescent blue eyes.
“Did they hurt you?”
The kid shook his head.
“Good, go on,” Wraith said.
The boy went to go, but Wraith grabbed his shoulder. “Wait.” She reached into her pocket where she kept the money Brigid had forced on her, pulled out a twenty, and handed it to the kid. “Get something to eat, okay?”
He smiled and nodded. “Thank you.” Then he turned and hurried off.
Wraith turned to face the slinger and his friends.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “We didn’t know he was a friend of yours—”
Wraith knelt down and stared at the kid. “Every slinger and fifty out here is a friend of mine,” she said, then shook her head. “Life’s tough enough, why add to someone else’s misery?”
The group exchanged confused looks.
She pulled two more twenties out and handed them to the slinger. “You guys get something to eat too.”
“What’s the catch?” an Asian girl, a kitsune fifty from the fox-like look of her, asked.
“No catch,” Wraith said.
The kids exchanged more glances, but the girl took the bills.
“No more shakedowns.”
The kids nodded and muttered agreement. Wraith thought they might even be sincere. She offered her hand to the slinger, and when he took it, she pulled him up to his feet. Then she walked past them and didn’t look back. She thought briefly about making them the offer to join the Forgotten Circle, but the time wasn’t right. They were still just bullies. Hopefully, she’d planted a seed. Maybe in time there would be something there worth feeding and growing.
When she reached an alleyway that went down into a small parking lot, she turned and followed it, though she wasn’t sure what compelled her. Near the end of the alley, off to the side of some stairs leading up to Freemont Ave, a small man sat under an awning. His head was bowed, and the hood to his oversized jacket hid his face, but there was no mistaking the long gray beard hanging down his chest.
“I was starting to wonder about you, girl,” the wizard said.
“I’m sorry,” Wraith said and stepped over to him. “I, uh, sort of fell into a bad place.”
The old man looked up at her, still as wild looking as ever, eyes full of gentle madness and wisdom. “You come to pay your debt?”
Wraith nodded. “I did.”
The wizard smiled.
Wraith looked up to the symbols and numbers floating around her. She reached out and touched one, then another. With each the sound of piano keys sang in the empty air. Then she lifted her other hand and played “Moonlight Sonata,” her mother’s favorite song, for the wizard.
As she wove the song, literally out of thin air, Wraith thought of her mother, of listening to her play the song countless times. She could see her mother’s slender, graceful fingers dance over the piano keys. It amazed Wraith how something so simple could make such a beautiful sound; each note on its own was nothing, but together the sum of the parts was more than the whole. A type of magic the world took for granted. That thought brought visions of her father, smiling at her mother with love and adoration in his eyes. Wraith lost herself for a little while, in the music and the memories.
When the last note went silent, she opened her eyes and looked down at the wizard.
“You overpaid me,” he said with a smile and wiped a tear from his wrinkled cheek.
“No, I didn’t,” Wraith said, wiping her own tears away. “I’m just keeping a promise.”
“Kid, you’re bringing a smile to a lonely old man.” He let out a sigh. “Sorry to say, not many show kindness these days, especially when they think we’re dangerous.”
She thought of the dream again. It was from when her striding had been out of control, those early days after escaping the Order. Between the cities, artic wastelands, deserts, and barren flats, she’d appeared in a forest, dark and twisted, like something out of a nightmare. A chill passed over her as she remembered the big man hanging there, bound by silver cords to the twisted tree. She remembered the pain in his bright blue eyes, the fear and desperation when he’d asked for her promise. He’d told her his name, hadn’t he? She thought back, recalling the lilt of his Irish accent.
“Brendan,” she whispered.
“You look like someone with a mind to do something important,” the wizard said.
Wraith blinked and looked at the old man. He looked at her with sincere gratitude, so grateful for the smallest act of kindness. Then she thought of Brendan, and that look in his eye that was so familiar. How many times had she been trapped with no one to help her? Scared of herself and what she was? She knew right away what she had to do.
“Yeah,” she said. “Very important.”
An hour later she returned to the wizard and handed him a white paper bag. He took it and looked up at her.
“Chicken soup and a turkey sandwich,” she said. “I hope you like mayo. Personally, I hate mustard.”
The old man smiled and nodded. “Me too. More than just about anything.”
Wraith couldn’t help but beam as she adjusted the backpack straps on her shoulders. The pack was new, so its straps were stiff, and it was chockablock full.
“I’ll see you later. Stay warm,” she said.
The old man nodded, then pulled out his sandwich and began eating.
Wraith turned and went up the stairs to Fremont Ave. But before she reached the street, she drew up the entropic formula around her and stepped into the universal junction point.
The stride ended smoothly, though Wraith noticed it seemed to take longer than she was used to. She unraveled the swirling equations around her and stepped into the dark and twisted forest. Bare trees loomed all around her. A large full moon hung in a purple sky, marred only by the occasional cloud. She couldn’t say why, but she was certain the moon was waning and that, somehow, that was significant. The silence around her was so complete, it sent shivers down her spine. Nothing moved, or even seemed alive, except for the shadows. Without thinking Wraith wrapped herself in the version of the cloak in her father’s book, far more efficient and effective than her own invisibility spell.
She looked around, examining every shadow and branch that stirred in the faint breeze. The memories of this place came back to her, disjointed and full of holes. Even so, she could tell something was wrong. Her left hand slipped inside her bag and into the leather-and-brass glove. As soon as she drew it out, the improved focus made her feel a little more at ease.
Walking cautiously down the path of old, broken tiles that were sunk into the earth—partially overgrown by dead grass—she drew together calculations of fire and force around her right hand. She didn’t complete them, but held them ready should anyone, or anything, come at her. Only more silence greeted her as she stepped under the standing stones that formed a circle around the courtyard, like a Stonehenge recreation.
She froze at the scene before her. She vaguely remembered this courtyard, but it hadn’t looked like this before. The marble tiles still gleamed under the light of the waning full moon, but they were all that remained intact. The rest looked like a bomb had gone off; a f
ew of them actually.
Carefully, she avoided stepping on the countless shards of purple crystal that lay scattered over the ground. Faint and wispy threads of magic drifted off of each one, like tendrils of smoke from a smoldering fire. Her eyes moved up to what had been an intricate marble throne. Once beautiful and imposing, now it was a little more than a broken pile of rocks. Even the megaliths that made up the circle around the courtyard weren’t spared. In dozens of places, four lines of deep scratches dug into the stone.
“What happened here?” she asked in a soft whisper.
It was obvious though; a massacre. The question was, had anyone survived? And who had been responsible? While she wasn’t sure of the former, she was almost certain of the latter. Had Brendan been tied up because someone was afraid this would happen, or had this happened because he’d been tied up? She shook her head. It just didn’t seem to fit with the man she’d talked to. There was no way she could believe this place, wherever it was, was home to warm and friendly souls. All the signs around her were of anger, a blind rage born from pain. That was something she understood all too well. Somehow she had the distinct feeling that whatever had happened here, was something well deserved.
She stepped past the remnants of the throne, through the far side of the circle of stones, and back into the twisted, nightmarish forest. Soon the courtyard was lost to shadow and haze, but she still didn’t see or hear another living soul.
Knowing her destination was close, she steeled her will and tightened an equation around herself, diffusing any sound and making her effectively silent and invisible.
She reached the clearing and stared, unsurprised.
The tree was still there, but now the cords that had bound the big man hung limp, broken, and empty. The branches themselves didn’t fare much better. Though they were bigger around than her thigh, they were nearly ripped clean from the tree.
Turning in a slow circle, she scanned the shadows and trees, but didn’t see anything. Even so, she could feel him nearby. Despite the fear that nibbled at her stomach, she let the formula around her slip away. She thought about lowering her goggles, which would let her spot him easily if he was just hiding in shadow, but it didn’t seem right. She knew the comfort of hiding in the dark, and it wasn’t her place to take that away from him. Only he could, and should, do that. All the same, she did keep the entropic formula at the ready around her gloved left hand, and held the equation for force around her right.
Three Promises Page 8
