by R. M. Webb
We pull up in front of a large hotel, opulence tastefully incorporated in every detail from the fountain in the lobby, to the shining tile, to the marble counters and monotonously attractive attendants behind them. Noah leads me through it all, down a short flight of stairs, and into one of the hotel ballrooms. On the far side of the room is a raised area with a single chair set in the middle of the small platform. The rest of the room is taken up by chairs, three distinct sections created by long aisles that lead from the doors toward the stage.
Three people wait for us, each of them exuding power and importance: an older woman draped in clothing that swaddles her wide frame in an explosion of color, a tall man, all beard and biceps, and a woman so painfully beautiful I don’t want to look anywhere else. Noah leads me towards them.
When we arrive, Noah kind of deposits me with a curt nod of his head and rushes out of the room. I’m left to stand and stare, unsure of what to say or do, another moment where nothing makes sense. The older woman clears her throat. “Do you understand what’s happening here today?” Her voice rasps as if she’s suffering from a cold.
“Vaguely.”
The beautiful woman speaks in a voice that’s cream and honey and arsenic. “Your mentor was supposed to fill you in.” Her skin is so pale it nearly glows in the dim lights.
“He did. He tried. None of it made much sense, so I stopped trying to make sense of it.”
The burly man with the beard chuckles and claps a warm hand to my shoulder. “Can’t say that was the best decision you’ve made, but I can’t say I blame you either.” Of the three, I instantly like this guy the most. He extends his hand to me. “I’m Albert — the shifter representative. This is Daya — wicked witch of the west” he jerks a thumb at the old woman, “and this is Lucy the bitchiest vampire you’ll ever meet,” he indicates the beauty, “and we have the unfortunate task of determining your fate.” Neither woman looks pleased with his introduction.
Albert explains that I’ll be the one sitting up on the chair on the stage and all the chairs in the audience are going to be filled with as many vampires, shifters, witches, and warlocks as can fit into the room. More than likely, once the chairs are filled, people will choose to stand along the outskirts of the room and still others will be waiting outside the door for the verdict. News of what I’d done has already spread pretty far and people are waiting to hear what the repercussions of my actions will be. I’ve broken, like, all the rules of the magical world.
Daya leads me to my chair, her grip on my arm firm, the tips of her fingernails digging into my skin. When I sit down, she leans forward and her eyes glimmer with power. “I know what you are, little girl. I can see it in you. Regardless of what happens today, you and I will cross paths many times after this.” Her ancient eyes are somewhat yellowed, and her breath smells like cinnamon and mold. “Unless we decide you should die, that is.”
I swallow hard. If she can see what I am, I sure wish she’d just go ahead and tell me. This whole not knowing thing is getting really old. Daya takes her place with Albert and Lucy somewhere behind me.
The room fills and if my life has been a series of awkward silences, this is the most awkward silence to date. Not one person says a thing. Not even a whisper between friends. They all stare at me, barely looking away long enough to notice who sits down beside them. The nerves that I’ve been keeping at bay all day hit me hard and I’m sweating and wishing someone had thought to put a bucket near my chair ‘cause I just might throw up.
When the room is filled, Daya speaks. “We have gathered you here to witness the prosecution of the witch, Zoe Tate. Will you witness?”
The crowd utters one word. “Yes.”
Lucy speaks next. “We have gathered you here today to witness the defense of the witch, Zoe Tate. Will you witness?”
Again, one word, in unison. “Yes.”
Albert’s heavy voice rumbles out across the ballroom. “We have gathered you here today to witness the condemnation of the witch, Zoe Tate. Will you witness?”
The crowd gives them one more yes and my hands begin to shake. I’m asked a series of questions about my childhood and I answer them in my too quiet voice. I explain my silence, my frustration, my safety with Becca. I even go so far as to call her my seeing-eye dog.
Daya calls out to the crowd. “Is the witch Rebecca Dane in attendance?”
Becca stands. Except it’s more like looking at Becca’s evil twin. Her long hair’s been slicked back into a severe ponytail and her warm eyes are rimmed in black liner. Her tiny frame is swathed in black: leather jacket, tank top, skin-tight pants, and combat boots. All black and completely out of the ordinary. “I am.” Even her voice is darker than I’m used to.
“You are to answer with truth or your life is forfeit. Understood?”
Becca nods solemnly. “Yes. I understand.”
“Why did you place a magic dampening spell on Zoe Tate?”
Becca swallows hard and sets her jaw. For a second, I see my friend underneath all that black. “I was ordered to do so by someone pretty high up the food chain.” There’s so much rebellion in her voice, like she’s telling Daya to kiss her ass. There’s a murmur of surprise throughout the crowd.
“And who gave that order?” The frost in Daya’s voice silences the whispers that’d continued in the wake of Becca’s statement.
All eyes turn to watch as Becca struggles with how to answer that question. “Well let’s see,” she says, “I have the option of risking death for telling you the name of who gave me that order or I have the option of risking death by not telling you the name. Forgive me if I’m not sure which risk is greater.” She really doesn’t sound apologetic.
Daya, Albert, and Lucy confer behind me, their voices more muffled than they should be. Even as close as I am, I can’t make out words, just the sounds of conversation. I can only guess that given all the creatures with better than average hearing in the room, Daya put up some kind of spell to make it harder to hear.
Minutes pass and the crowd remains silent, studying me. I kind of decide that I might as well study them, too. The vampires are super easy to pick out. They’re all so beautiful. Even the ones who’d been turned when they were very old, or the ones who probably weren’t attractive in life are simply stunning. And they move with such grace, such an economy of movement … I feel like I could just watch them for hours.
The witches and the shifters are much harder to distinguish. In fact, I really don’t think I can find any distinguishing anythings except maybe there’s a wildness to the shifters. Like, something feral in the eyes, some kind of barely contained nervous energy. But that could just be me reaching for some way to tell them apart because otherwise, they all look just like normal everyday people.
And that’s terrifying.
Daya’s voice scrapes out across the room and I jump. “We agree that you do not have to tell us who gave you the order, but you do need to tell us why you were given the order.”
Becca pulls at the zipper on her jacket. “I don’t know why.” I know that look. She’s telling the truth. But I’ll be damned if I stick my neck out for her and say as much.
“Then tell us why you followed the order.” That voice belongs to Lucy and sends my skin crawling.
This whole time she’s been speaking, Becca’s avoided looking at me. She looks at me now. “Because they threatened to kill my family if I didn’t do as I was told.”
Becca’s statement is met with silence and after a moment, she sits down, breaking eye contact with me and never looking my way again.
“Noah Sykes, please stand and explain how you came to know the witch, Zoe Tate.”
Noah stands and meets my eyes with a tight smile. He explains exactly what he’s told me time and time again. He saw me for what I was the very first time he laid eyes on me. He could see my magic boiling underneath my surface, recognized it for what it is, recognized me for what I am. As he speaks, I can’t help but remember that night. The way he look
ed at me. The way his voice settled me down. The way his smile ignited something deep and personal and wonderful inside me. The way his lips felt against mine as he slid his hands up into my hair.
For a moment, I almost forget I’m sitting in a chair in front of God knows how many people, all of them staring at me. For a moment, I forget my sweaty hands and worried tummy. I forget that I killed Carter and followed it up by killing eight innocent people while casting a spell I didn’t understand. It’s just me staring at Noah and seeing that kindred spirit. He and I are the same. Somehow I sensed it at Flannigan’s but right now, I know it to be true. The thing that makes me who I am is the same thing that makes him who he is.
Noah finishes telling his story and suddenly I’m pinned by the weight of hundreds of gazes. The entire room has turned their focus from him to me. They’re sizing me up, making decisions about me, and all I can do is stare at my hands. Daya asks him many questions. How did he help awaken my magic? Was he working with Becca? How did Carter die? What have I been like at Windsor Manor? Do I regret my actions?
Noah answers each one truthfully, yet manages to paint the best possible picture of me. According to him, I am nothing more than a victim of unusual circumstance. He even makes it sound like the people who’ve died are dead because of the person who ordered Becca to dampen my magic, not because of me, not even because of Becca.
He speaks so clearly, with so much calm authority, I’m so thankful to have him on my side. Daya asks Noah one last question. “When Zoe saw the remnant, when she drew the life essence from the humans gathered that day, could you see what kind of magic she used?”
Noah looks me dead in the eye and sets his jaw. “Yes.” He’s looking at me so intently and it feels like the question is more important than it seems. Like I should be paying extra attention to what he’s about to say because maybe my fate is wrapped up in his answer.
“Well …” Daya draws out the word, an impatient parent waiting for an answer from a guilty child. “Was it white magic or black magic?”
He swallows and turns his gaze to Daya. “White. She used white magic.” Well now, that’s a strange answer because I’m pretty sure I used both. White and black. I’m just as sure that Noah saw the whole thing and knows just as well as I do what I did that night.
“Nothing else? You’re sure? You do remember that you’re obligated to tell the truth and lying will cost you your life.”
“Oh,” says Noah as he runs his hands through his hair, “I remember. And I’m sure. The only magic she used was white magic.” He describes the entire scene, pointing out how upset I was, how emotionally unstable I was, again, making me seem like a victim of circumstance, of a plot gone horribly wrong. He talks about the remnant appearing and saying such horrible things to me, how it started shrieking at me just as the movie let out and flooded the street with people. He tells it all exactly as it happened, except when he gets to the part about the balls of energy I pulled from those poor people and sent towards the remnant, he leaves out the part about there being two colors. He only tells them about the golden flares of light.
Well, fancy that. Noah’s risking his life to save me. Something inside me softens, remembering Noah trying to free me from Becca, trying to undo the spell she’d cast on me from the very first night he met me. And then there’s Noah contacting me at the park, warning me, driving to the apartment and risking his life after Becca had trapped me in my room. And now he’s lying, risking his life yet again. My heart warms just a little. Maybe I can forgive him for keeping this a secret from me, maybe I can understand his choice. Maybe Noah’s looking out for me after all.
Daya dismisses him and Noah sits, the only sound in the utterly silent room the rustle of his jeans against the seat. With my heart swelling in gratitude and my mouth dry from nerves, I try to catch his eye but I’ve lost him in the sea of faces staring back at me. After a pause that stretches just a tad longer than I’d like, Daya speaks again.
“Luke Abernathy, please stand.” And he does. And my eyes lock on his, and his face is set in hard lines that make me oh so sad and despite it all, I want to race from my place on the stage and wrap myself up in his arms.
Chapter 21
I have no idea what Daya asks Luke or what Luke says in response. My heart’s breaking into a thousand pieces watching him dissect his time with me. The clinical detachment he gives his answers, the haughty way he stands, never quite looking at me when all I want is for him to look at me … it’s killing me. No, I don’t think I loved him, but I think I was … am … damn close.
I want to stand up and demand he be honest with me. I want to ask him if he cared about me even a little bit. I want to throw my chair off the stage and I want to beg him to tell me what the hell this is all about. And while I’m at it, I want to kick Becca in the shin and tell her exactly where I think she can go.
Damn them.
How dare they pretend that I matter, get me to feel comfortable and important only to throw it back in my face that I meant absolutely nothing to them? How dare they make a mockery of my life? Am I that flawed that I can’t be loved? Am I that lacking that even pretending to care about me, they still managed not to? Am I that unimportant, unneeded, unwanted?
God, am I that foolish that I didn’t see through it all? Some broken little lap dog so eager for affection that I’ll lap up any little bit thrown my way? I’m suddenly so done with this whole summit. This whole ‘hey Zoe, you’re a witch’ deal just sucks. Careful what you wish for, isn’t that what they say? Careful what you wish for because you might actually get it.
My fingers are tingling a little, almost like sparks are flickering at my edges. Great, now I’m upset and my magic is flaring to the surface and the last thing I want to do is lose control in front of an entire ballroom of magical creatures. Whatever Daya was asking Luke, she’s run out of questions and he’s lowering himself back down into his seat.
Lucy’s arsenic and cream voice stops his descent. “I have just one question.” Lucy steps forward, trailing one cold finger across the back of my neck. I shiver and wrap my arms around my middle. “What did you stand to gain by pretending to love this girl?”
Luke’s voice is rough when he answers. “I never said I was pretending.”
My heart leaps in my chest. “So you didn’t stand to gain anything but the girl?” Lucy pressed the tip of her blood-red fingernail into my chin, tilting my face to hers.
“You know what I stood to gain.”
“Oh, I think I know, but I’m not sure everyone else recognizes what we’re looking at here.” She lowers her face until her eyes are level with mine. They’re such a light blue they’re almost silver and I fight a shiver as I stare into them. “Please,” says Lucy, turning her face to the audience, “what is it you stand to gain by winning the girl?”
“Power. I stand to gain power.”
A wicked smile twists Lucy’s lips and she returns her gaze to me. “Oh, yes. Power just rolls off her, doesn’t it?” She stands and returns to her post behind me. “Thank you, Mr. Abernathy.”
Used. That’s all I am. Nothing about me, my wants and desires, my thoughts and ideas, nothing about what actually makes me me is worth anything to anyone. It’s all about what I can bring to them. This power. My magic. The rest of the summit passes in a blur of me doing my damndest to keep from losing myself to my anger. ‘Cause I kinda feel like I could get all kinds of bitter and hateful. And when that happens, I tend to lose control of my power and I’m not in the mood to have my magic flare up and kill anyone else, thank you very much.
Apparently the woman and the old man left standing that night at the theater were a vampire and a shifter. Go figure. They’re both called on to speak and totally corroborate Noah’s story. Turns out, only witches can see remnants, and therefore, somehow, the shifter and the vampire couldn’t see whether my magic was dark or light. They describe the whirling winds and the exploding lights, but it looks like I’m still in the clear. The only person who
could have outed me was Noah and he’s already put his neck on the line by lying about what he saw. There’s no doubt in my mind that’s what happened. When he looked at me and told Daya that he only saw me use white magic, there was too much … something … in his eyes. Intensity? Who knows, but whatever it was, he was sending me a message.
So, I guess, at this point, the question is what now? There isn’t anyone else they can question about that night. No one who could step forward and out me as being able to use both white and black magic. So, now what? We all go home and call it a night? Except I’m a loose cannon, capable of killing a huge group of people if I get too upset and I have no home to go to because I’ll be fine if I never see Becca again.
Hell, you know what? I’ll be happy to go back to being invisible. Zoe Tate, the girl who can’t speak.
And of course, now, my senses go ahead and light themselves on fire and I see what looks like thousands of eyes gleaming in front of me. Staring at me. Of course there’s the buzzing lights, someone having a conversation outside in the hallway. I catch the corner of the room with my peripheral vision and it smells like the hotel is battling mold.
It’s all too much. I can’t handle this. I’ve killed people. I’m a killer. Nothing I know about anything is true. I can’t trust anyone, myself included. My stomach lurches, I think I’m going to vomit. I’m scared. Oh, so scared. And I’m alone. I’m going to have to do this all by myself and I don’t think I can trust myself to do it right. My hands and my lips are tingling and I can’t catch my breath.
Just as the world starts to spin and collapse in on itself, just as my vision fades, and shrinks, just before I pass out and make a big scene up here on this stage in front of all these people, the air beside me shimmers and my tiger appears. She rests her great head in my lap and wraps her tail around her and rests it on her front paws. Her blue eyes hit mine and yank me back from the brink of unconsciousness.
