by J. C. Nelson
My feet moved of their own accord, and my every effort couldn’t stop their movement. I limped to the witch, kicking her with my foot to roll her onto her back. “Stop.” I couldn’t command. I could barely beg, and my body continued without me.
My hands drew the thorn sword, which blossomed to its purple and black glory like the kudzu vine from hell.
And I slammed the blade into the Isyle Witch’s chest.
Over and over.
Only when her body lay a ruined mess did the compulsion leave, my hands dropping the sword. I fell to my knees in a pool of the witch’s blood, shaking from pain, fear, and shock.
“First you kill the guilty.” Isolde knelt to whisper in my ear. “It is how we begin.”
I’m not sure who I spoke to, her or myself. “I don’t murder people.”
“Who is the liar now? Your hands took her life. Her blood covers you. Handmaiden, would you like me to heal you?” Her voice held no trace of Fairy Godmother now, only her honey-sweet song.
And I did want it. To be free of the stabbing pain that took each breath from me, the burning in my fingertips. I hated her for knowing I wanted it, hated her for offering. “No.”
“Another lie. Cariah was wrong. You are most suited to me. Tell my father, when you see him, that this ends when he decides it does.” Isolde held out her hand, and in it she held my thorn sword, now just the ebony hilt. She dropped it in front of me.
“That’s the message you dragged me through Low Kingdom to deliver? You complain about him not being able to use a scroll.” Each word took a separate breath, but I wouldn’t let that deter me.
She knelt over, so close I could smell the scent of roses and cinnamon on her. “No, Marissa. That’s not my message. You are.”
Thirteen
SHE WAS GONE in that instant, reclaimed by a blossom of white light, leaving me to drag myself out of the storeroom. On the way out, I took the rest of the witch’s spells, slinging them in a burlap sack. Though each weighed no more than a sparrow, my shoulder screamed if I tried to lift it off the ground.
The thorns which had barricaded me in the storeroom crumbled at my approach, leaving the floor broken and buckled. As I stepped past the tattered curtain dividing the storeroom from the front of the witch’s shop, a prince waited. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the countertop. Given the lack of magic shine on him, obviously one of the lesser families, probably just as much of a jerk. He looked at me, covered in bone dust and blood, and raised his lip in a sneer. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting?”
And the next thing I knew, I’d drawn my sword. Without the compulsion, it felt like wielding a bowling pin, but the effect was exactly what I’d wanted. Part of me screamed to swing it forward, cutting into his neck. The other part of me quivered in terror, wondering when killing arrogant princes became part of my accepted repertoire. “Leave. Leave now. Pray I don’t make house calls.”
The prince’s eyes widened and he stumbled backwards, tripping over a cage full of Himalayan fruit bats. With a cloud of chiropterans behind him, he fled from the shop, stumbling at the doorway, and leaving a single glass loafer. When the door slammed shut, I limped over and locked it, staring through the glass. Though Isolde had blown out the door to the witch’s shop in Low Kingdom, the door existed in two places at once. Since the prince came from High Kingdom, the portion of it from that realm remained locked there, and outside dancing flowers and singing animals waited. At the same time, if I focused on the door frame, the crushed bricks and twisted metal of Low Kingdom flickered at the edge of sight.
I washed bone dust off my face using water from the aquarium in the corner, then found a mirror shard and called for backup. “Grimm.” I’d have said more, but even that word hurt.
He flickered into the mirror, then into every single surface in the shop that could hold as much as a sparkle. “Hold on, Marissa. Help is on the way.”
• • •
IF LIAM HAD waited even a moment, I would have unlocked the door. Instead, he ripped it out of the frame and rushed me. “Are you bleeding?”
His grasp sent shivers of joy and shooting pain through me.
Behind him, Ari came, dressed in navy blue, not bothering to hide her witch eyes from the curious crowds gathering. “Put her down, I need to work.”
Liam reluctantly released me, calling to a group of men in blue uniforms who flooded the shop carrying automatic weapons. The head mercenary pulled out a pocket compact, oblivious to the fact that Grimm’s face shone everywhere in the shop, and reported in. “Site is secure. We’ll hold until the entrances are repaired.”
“Grimm’s worried about the spells in here getting stolen.” Ari ran her fingers back and forth in the air above me, then gritted her teeth. “This won’t feel like when Grimm does it, but it should fix your fractures.”
Liam let go of me for a moment to look around. “You need me to call an ambulance?”
“No, I’ll take care of her.” Her fingertips sparked and fizzled, and while her red hair stood out from her head, I didn’t feel even an ounce better. Ari shook her head. “She’s covered in bone dust. Until we get it off, magic is off the table.”
Liam lumbered over to the aquarium and heaved it off the pedestal, dumping the entire thing on me, drenching Ari in the process and sending two frogs down my blouse.
“I was going to ask you to go get the wipes from my car.” Ari glared at him with witch eyes, but her anger seemed lost on him. Then she began the magic, pulling power from the air, channeling it through herself and using it to heal me.
First I could breathe. Then I could sit up. Then I could feel my fingertips. I still shook, from shock and fear, and clung to Liam like a frightened child. I pointed to the burlap bag. “That is for you.”
Ari took it from the floor and peeked inside, then gasped. “Grimm, are these—”
“Not a word, princess.” Grimm risked calling Ari by her title, but the edge in his voice made it clear what I’d dug up worried him. “Marissa, where did you find these?”
“From the witch’s private stash. I tried to use a few of them against her.”
“Marissa—” Grimm and Ari spoke as one, then stopped. Ari studied one of the spells, turning it over in her hands. “These aren’t just spells. They’re almost lessons in magic. The way they’re put together, the craft—I’d never have thought to do something like this.”
“Nor would you have the skill,” said Grimm.
Ari nodded. “Not yet. But now I know it can be done. Sometimes that’s the most important part.”
Grimm wiped his forehead. “That is what worries me most, princess. Some forms of knowledge should not be held by humans. At least give me your word you will store them in our vault until you better appreciate what you hold in your hands.”
Ari glanced to me. “Are they really that dangerous?”
“Yes, princess,” said Grimm, using Ari’s title just to keep her attention. “I would buy them from you if I thought you would sell, just to keep you safe.”
I didn’t care about the money. Magic and I had never gotten along, so I focused on something that did work well with me. Liam. I pushed myself up next to him so the hellfire inside him warmed me, and shut my eyes. When he carried me to the car, I curled up in the backseat, and tried to forget.
• • •
BY THE TIME we got to the Agency, I insisted on walking myself, but conceded to using the elevator just this once. The doors opened and we crowded in, pushing a man to the back. It wasn’t until after the doors shut that the man spoke. “Marissa, have you found my souls?”
Liam swung around, his skin growing scaly, and fire lighting in his eyes, while Ari’s hair crackled and stood on end.
I shoved myself between them, holding out my hands. “Don’t.” Then I slammed the Stop button, holding the elevator and ignoring the ringing. “I�
�ve been somewhat busy, but the other day I crossed the city looking for them. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the Mihails. Are you certain they’d be looking for me?”
Neither my fiancé nor my best friend stood a chance against the Adversary in a throwdown. Even the harbingers of the apocalypse preferred to avoid confronting him, at least according to Death.
“Dead certain. And while I’m touched by the soul you liberated earlier, that wasn’t one of the ones I asked you about.” Nickolas slicked back his gray hair, making the bald spot on his head look that much larger.
“It wasn’t exactly my plan.”
He pushed toward me, his breath minty and hot. “I can’t give you much longer. Find them, or I’ll make you wish you had.”
And that was exactly where things went to Inferno in a handbasket. I think that what Nickolas meant to do was pat me on the shoulder. I know both of the people in my corner took that as a threat.
Liam grabbed the Adversary by the throat and threw him back, slamming him into the elevator wall so hard the panel cracked. Ari didn’t wait, hitting him with a blizzard-in-a-box that left him encased in solid ice. I hit the elevator button like a monkey on crack, slamming it repeatedly.
The ice began to hiss and crack, an ominous red glow lighting the entire elevator. The elevator jerked to a stop at the next floor. As the door creaked open, I shoved Ari out, dragging Liam behind me. I felt mildly bad for the telephone salesman who got on. As the doors slid shut, a cloud of pure blackness blossomed inside.
“You can’t do that.” I turned on Liam and Ari, neither of whom had the slightest idea what sort of offense they’d just committed.
Liam shook his head. “The hell I can’t. If you think I’m going to stand around when people threaten you, you can think again. If I’d have been there when she tried to take you—” Liam’s voice broke. “I won’t let her take you.”
We climbed the stairs the rest of the way to the Agency.
Grimm waited for me in his office.
“The Adversary was in our elevator—” I halted as his power rushed over me, pouring out from my bracelet like a lead blanket.
Then his eyes narrowed, and his mouth opened. “I’ve arranged an unfortunate elevator accident, and a sacrifice of six hundred goats. Don’t say another word, my dear. Not a single word.”
Liam and Ari looked to him, fear in open parade on their faces.
Grimm looked away from me, to them. “My daughter has implanted a thorn near her heart. Typically triggered by lies.”
I spoke before they could ask. “Not mine, this time. Yours.”
He faded out of the mirror, a look of shock and pain on his face. When he returned, he showed no emotion whatsoever. “Of course.”
“She had me kill the Isyle Witch.” Though I wanted to lie, no lie would change the facts.
Grimm nodded. “The last of her supporters. Her death was ordained the day she deserted my daughter.”
Liam knew how I felt about murder. I’d killed people in self-defense, yes, but never when I had a choice. Ever. He took my arm, but I resisted his pull. “Isolde made me kill her.”
“Marissa, you need not justify your actions. I understand.”
I threw off Liam’s hand and pounded the desk. “No, you don’t. Isolde called me darling.”
Grimm continued his blank look, waiting.
“Fairy Godmother called me darling. Isolde ordered me to kill her, and I couldn’t stop myself.” The memories welled up like tears of the mind.
Grimm’s sigh went on forever. “Sit, my dear. I will finish healing you as gently as I can. And while I have always respected your right to privacy, for your own sake, I must insist on something. It is time you finally told me everything Fairy Godmother said to you.”
• • •
LIAM DROVE US home that night, after hours and hours of questioning. Every detail. Every secret I’d ever kept about how I nearly died the day I fought with a fairy came out. How I’d tried and failed to kill her with reaper bullets. How I almost managed to kill an immortal being with a blade. And how in the end, only the knowledge that my adoptive mother never loved me let me trick Fairy Godmother into a fatal lie, which let the Root of Lies tear into her.
I’d never told anyone, not even Liam, how close I came to losing myself. Or that I feared the loss of my identity more than death itself.
At home, Liam tucked me into bed after a hot shower. I thought for sure he would slide in beside me, but instead he left the bedroom. I blinked twice, and the clock said nearly two in the morning. Stretching sore muscles, I rose from the bed and looked out into the kitchen. Liam sat out in the recliner, a mirror in his hand, speaking in hushed tones of worry.
I’d never seen him so serious, so I went to the bathroom and opened my medicine cabinet, where Grimm waited for me. I put one hand on his mirror. “Tell Liam whatever he needs can wait. He should come to bed.”
Grimm bit his lip for a moment, considering his words. “Mr. Stone and I are discussing your predicament, and the nature of the handmaiden enchantments.”
“Since when did my artist boyfriend become a Kingdom-lore geek?”
“Marissa, you underestimate him. His lack of familiarity brings fresh insight, and his knowledge of old Gaelic drinking songs gives him a keen edge in magical research. That said, I forget at times that humans require recharging.”
“Good night, Grimm.” I flipped the light off. It popped back on.
Grimm still stared at me. “My dear, I will not let you come to further harm if I can control it.”
I panicked, thinking of the thorn waiting by my heart. My hand raced to my chest, then my cheeks turned red. Grimm knew I doubted him. This time, when I turned the light off, he left me alone.
• • •
WHEN I WOKE the next morning, Liam was gone. The smell of bacon drew me from my bed, though living with Svetlana gave me at least enough smarts to make sure I put on a robe. When I walked out into the kitchen and saw Ari, I could have stepped back in time.
She looked up at me and gave me that gigawatt smile. “Morning, M. Pancakes and bacon, ready.”
I took a plate and sat down at the table. “Did you see my man?”
Ari brought her own plate over and joined me. “He and Wyatt went into Kingdom.”
At Wyatt’s name, I gasped. “My purse. I’m not going to the department of licensing again.” I looked everywhere for it. It had my wallet, my gun— “And Wyatt’s hair was in my bra.”
Ari frowned, raising her eyebrows.
“The lock of hair his mother gave the witch. She asked—” I caught myself, choking. “She asked what I wanted to spare her life. I said the hair.” My tears added to the salt content of the bacon. “Then I killed her anyway.”
Ari pulled the dish towel off the makeup mirror on my table. “Grimm, Marissa says Wyatt’s lock of hair was in the clothing she left at the Agency.”
Grimm cocked his head in surprise, and slowly nodded in agreement. “I’ll need your boyfriend present to unravel the spell. He and Liam will return around noon, which is when Marissa and Liam will be leaving.”
“Leaving?” we asked together.
“Yes. Meet at the Agency. I’ll have the armored truck arriving at the same time.” Grimm faded out without waiting for further questions.
When he was gone, I turned my attention back to Ari. “So why are you here?”
“I thought maybe you could use some company.” Ari blushed, making her hair look even redder. “This is all my fault. I would never have challenged the Black Queen, but I thought I understood the Fae Mother. I was certain she said I would be the one to defeat her. And I wanted you to be able to stop living in fear.”
“You challenged her. Maybe just by doing that, you’ve made sure she’ll be defeated. And if we’re going over blame, let’s start with the fact that you being a
witch is my fault.” I never said that. Not out loud, though it was true by any and every measure. I’d helped Ari learn magic before she bonded with her Realm Seal, and in doing so, injured her soul in a way that could never be repaired.
Ari closed her eyes. “No. You didn’t know what helping me learn magic on my own would do. You didn’t tell Queen Mihail to try to kill us, and you would never have let me try to contain a magic apple. I thought I could defeat the Black Queen. I really did.”
I took her hand in a grip like a vise, determined that no one, not fairies or evil queens or postmen, were ever going to take away the people I loved.
Fourteen
WYATT AND LIAM were waiting at the Agency, along with Mrs. Pendlebrook. To my annoyance, I still didn’t know her first name. When she saw me, she nodded.
I should’ve said something, but Liam was just past her, and I had priorities. “What’s this I hear about us leaving?”
Grimm interrupted, appearing in the lobby mirror. “Please proceed to ritual room number four.” His voice had that hollow sound like automatic elevators, history teachers, or other lifeless things.
Wyatt took the opportunity to show what two years of fear therapy could do, taking Ari’s hand and only shuddering slightly when he looked at her.
In the ritual room, the leather bag with Wyatt’s hair lay on a propane barbecue grill, along with a lighter.
Grimm appeared in the mirror at the head of the table. He looked at Wyatt. “Take the draw and light the fire.”
Wyatt’s quizzical look said he didn’t understand the term “draw”—in essence, a physical shell for a magical binding. The hair served as the key element to a binding meant to make Wyatt serve whoever held the spell. Every night at midnight, the binding still activated, but as long as Wyatt spent the night within the wards and celestial crystal, he remained free another day.
With the witch dead, he’d be drawn to whoever possessed the draw, which wasn’t going to be me, if I had any say in it. I’d spent six years in service to Grimm, and so understood Wyatt’s predicament more than he knew. No, today he’d be free.
