Magic Cries

by Miriam Greystone

  “Wait! Please . . .” Evie cried, rushing to Roman’s side, but the King brushed her protests aside.

  “You deserve far worse than that,” the King said, his voice low and dangerous. “And you may yet receive it. What is this folly? You have endangered us all.”

  Roman looked up. His meek demeanor had vanished. His eyes burned with anger.

  His hands flew up, and he began signing, the air snapping between his fingers, his whole body leaning toward the King as his words poured out silently into the air.

  Evie watched as the King’s face flushed. He jerked his head back a little. Clearly, Roman’s words were taking him by surprise, but he did not try to stop him and watched until Roman’s words ran out and he stood, panting slightly, with his hands limp by his side.

  The King turned his head away, his gaze rising up almost to the ceiling. When he turned back to face Roman, his face was once again an impartial mask.

  “You must realize that what you just said is tantamount to treason,” he said. Roman shrugged, as though he had gone so far into risky waters that he no longer cared or could be frightened by the consequences that might come on the heels of his action.

  The King sighed heavily. He folded his hands in front of him, and his shoulders fell. “That doesn’t necessarily mean you are wrong.”

  Roman’s eyes widened in surprise, and he glanced over at Evie, who stared back at him, equally stunned.

  “I will reflect on what you have said,” the King continued, “and I will carefully consider what to do with you. Go to your chambers, and remain there until I have made a decision. You have disappointed me, Roman. There will be a reckoning. Go.”

  Roman glanced helplessly at Evie. “It’s okay, Roman,” she told him, though her mouth was dry. He had already risked so much, and the thought of how the King might respond if Roman disobeyed him now made her stomach clench painfully. “I’ll be alright.”

  Pain and regret flashed across Roman’s face, but he nodded to her and, silently, backed away. A moment later, the throne room doors closed behind him, and Evie stood alone in front of the King.

  Molly

  The metro was mostly deserted when Molly and Jake entered. They walked until they found an empty car, sitting down heavily, side by side.

  Molly could feel Jake watching her, waiting for her to speak, to break the painful silence that throbbed between them. But it was several minutes before she could find her voice.

  “You still want the drugs,” she said finally. Her eyes flashed to Jake’s face, a small part of her still hoping it wasn’t true.

  “Yes.” There was so much resignation in his voice. His shoulders slumped. He looked away from her, staring at his own reflection in the darkened metro window.

  “Then help me understand. I thought you were better.” Molly turned to face him, wishing he would look at her. How could she have missed this? How could she possibly have not realized the struggle going on inside him, every moment of every day? Her voice broke. “You told me the pain went away!”

  Jake grimaced. “What I told you was true. You just didn’t understand.” He turned to face her finally, but the defeated expression on his face hurt her heart. “I didn’t want you to understand. The pain went away . . . the withdrawal, the aching in my bones . . . even the tremors.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “But I never stopped wanting it. Never stopped dreaming about getting high. I need it. It's still a part of me.”

  “No!” Molly's eyes flashed. “That isn't true. You might use drugs, Jake, but they aren't part of who you are.”

  “How could you know that?” A glimmer of anger lit Jake's eyes, and his voice was tinged with scorn. “I started drinking when I was fourteen. Started shooting up my first year of college. I don't know how I ever lived without it. I miss it . . . the way an amputee misses a limb. The way you miss someone you love after they die.” He looked down at his hands. “I let you believe that I was better. I'm sorry for that; sorry if it made this harder.”

  “But why?” Molly's anger had dissolved as quickly as Jake's, and now she shook her head in confusion. “Why didn't you tell me?”

  “I liked the lie.” Jake shrugged. “I wished it could be true. I wish you could save me, Molly.” He smiled ruefully. “I liked pretending I wasn't too fucked up for that. That there was still hope. I wanted to be close to you . . . to draw it out. I always knew it couldn't last.” He reached out and lightly touched her hair. “It might be hard for you to believe, but these last few weeks have been the best weeks of my life. I got to have someone worry about me. To remember what it felt like to be cared for. I let you believe that I was better, Molly, because that hope made me so happy . . . I didn't want to watch it die. But it was a lie. I'm sorry.”

  Molly had turned her head away. She felt like such a fool. Such a failure. She cared so much about Jake, but she had been so blind. She should have known, probably could have known, if she’d been willing to look closer, to be more honest with herself. But the truth was so harsh. She hadn’t wanted to let herself see.

  “I liked the lie too, Jake,” she said, her voice rough with unshed tears. “I should have realized that you were still in pain. But I let you suffer by yourself, rather than face something I didn’t know how to handle.”

  “This isn't your fault, Molly!” Jake cried, his face paling with shock. But his words couldn’t stop the tears that rose in her eyes. “Please don’t cry. The blame is all mine. I'm sorry . . . so sorry. I've hurt you again, and I never meant to hurt you at all. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make it better.”

  Molly grabbed both his hands, holding onto him as tightly as she could.

  “Love me more,” she said fiercely. “Love me more than the drugs.”

  “I already do,” Jake answered, his expression anguished.

  “Then stop using. Love me enough to be better.”

  There was a long silence.

  “I don't know how,” Jake whispered at last. “I don’t think I can.”

  Molly's head fell onto his shoulder, and Jake lay a warm hand against her cheek. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. She clutched his shirt, pulling him closer, lifting her mouth, wet from tears, and pressing it to his. She kissed him, lightly at first, but soon with a warmth that built to fire. Then her mouth was hard against his, her tongue pushing between his teeth, invading him, as though she could enter him and conquer him, and force all the wrong things inside him to be right. She swung her leg around so that she was kneeling on the seat, facing him with one knee on either side. His arm tightened around her waist, his hands clutching the thin fabric of her tank top, his hands sliding, warm, up her back. The train rounded a bend, and the momentum of it slammed her body tight against his. Jake moaned softly, and his fingers knotted in her hair. For a moment, Molly wondered wildly if, by pressing against him hard enough, she could push deep inside of him and fill up all the places where he was aching and empty. If there was any way that she could love him fiercely enough to make him whole.

  The train pulled to a stop, and the lights flashed. They pulled apart, breathless, and they stared at each other. Molly’s brown and red hair spilled into her face. Jake’s chest rose and fell rapidly.

  For a second, Molly felt like it was the first time that they had looked at each other with no illusions between them. No lies to soften the hard edges where they were both broken inside.

  “Come?” she said, sliding off the seat and holding out her hand. It was a question, but she knew without a doubt how Jake would respond. He reached out and folded his hand into hers, standing up slowly, his shoulders bent like someone carrying a great weight.

  They stepped off the train and walked together into the deepest shadows of the station. Jake’s feet dragged, but with each step, Molly’s pace quickened. Her mind, no longer reeling with shock, was filling quickly with questions. Questions that she needed answers to now. Confusion seethed, painful, in her mind.

  Even more painful, was the small flick
er of hope, that burned deep inside her, burning small but with so much intensity that it seared her insides.

  Jake was still sick, still burdened. But she had fallen into a strange world that pulsed with magic. She was descended from the freaking Sirens, for fuck’s sake!

  Maybe she could still fix this.

  She was just starting to understand her own powers. There had to be something more she could do. There was only one person who could help her. She knew where to go, and she yanked the key that she wore around her neck out impatiently, jamming it into the hidden elevator’s lock and tapping her foot until the elevator doors opened with a low whine.

  She practically jumped on, with Jake at her heels, and she slammed the door shut. There was no light inside the elevator, and she and Jake stood side by side in the utter darkness, their fingers barely touching, as the elevator descended deeper and deeper, deep under the ground.

  Molly felt strangely alone in the darkness. Her whole body buzzed with adrenaline, with the desire to fix this, to make this better. With the dark all around her, she let her mind flit back to those times she hardly ever let herself remember. Back when she had been so frightened. When her every moment had been undercut with fear. How often had she wished that someone would come help her? How often had she wished that someone, anyone, would see her pain and promise that they’d help?

  No one had come. Not ever. She’d had to become her own savior.

  The feel of Jake’s fingers against hers tingled, as though electric current was running out of her body and into his. Determination filled her. She would be that person for Jake that no one had ever been for her.

  She was going to save him.

  When the elevator finally jerked to a stop, Molly could hardly stand to hold still as the door slid open.

  “Why don’t you go back to our room, and wait for me there,” she said to Jake. Her voice sounded strained, and she knew it, but the combination of desperation and hope swirling inside her was making the adrenaline rush like a drug through her veins. She ran a hand down Jake’s shoulder, trying to reassure him. “I’ll meet you there soon.”

  “Where are you going?” Jake's eyes were suddenly wary.

  Molly took a deep breath. She knew that Jake didn’t like Andrew much, even though he had never said the words out loud. She didn’t blame him. Andrew was in a position of power and authority, and distrusting people like that was pretty much second nature to her, too. But Andrew had come through for her before.

  And she sure as hell needed his help now.

  “I have to see Andrew,” she told him, and wasn’t surprised to see the way his eyebrows climbed with concern.

  “Why?”

  Molly hesitated. She didn’t want to lie to Jake. And she couldn’t answer that question—at least not yet. Not until she really understood what was possible. She didn’t want to give him false hope or to promise something that she couldn’t really deliver.

  Jake saw the uncertainty in her eyes. “Don't go see him, Molly. At least, not right now,” he urged her. “We’ve both had a rough night. Come back to the room with me. You need some rest.” He grimaced and lowered his voice, “And, besides. There’s something . . . off about that guy.”

  “I know you don’t like him Jake, but he knows a lot. And I need to talk to him right now.”

  Jake pressed his lips together stubbornly but said nothing.

  “Please Jake,” Molly said. “I’ll be there before too long. Just go on ahead.”

  She was careful not to make her words an order, but still, they both know that she could have ordered him to do as she said. Suddenly, Jake seemed to deflate. The protest in his eyes flickered and died.

  “Sure,” he muttered. “Whatever you say. I’ll see you there.” He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and spun around, walking away from her quickly, his head bent low. He didn’t look back.

  Molly watched him go, the emotions in her chest swirling so frantically that she couldn’t even tell what she was feeling. After he rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, she straightened up and ran her fingers through her hair. Her cheeks were dry, but she ran her hands roughly over her face anyway, rubbing her eyes hard, like someone waking from deep slumber. Then she spun on her heel, and with long strides hurried down the hall to Andrew’s room.

  She didn’t stop to wonder what time it was until after she had rapped loudly on his door. The sound echoed, and Molly cringed, suddenly realizing that it was probably close to three in the morning. There was a moment of pregnant silence, and then Molly could hear the sounds of scuffling behind the door. It might not have been the best strategy to wake Andrew in the dead of night to ask for his help, but she threw her shoulders back, determined not to quell under his gaze.

  Jake was in trouble. This couldn’t wait.

  Still, when the door finally opened, Molly couldn’t help but start in surprise. She had been expecting Andrew, but it was a woman who pulled the door open and gazed dispassionately through the crack. It took Molly a moment to remember the name of the beautiful, pale woman with long, black hair, who seemed perfectly groomed and was wearing a short, sleeveless black dress, despite the late hour.

  “Can I help you?” the woman asked, her tone businesslike.

  Molly fished in the back of her mind for the woman’s name. “Hi Denise,” she said, trying to smile. “I’m sorry to bother you so late. But I need to speak to Andrew. It's urgent.”

  “Hold on,” Denise replied. Then she closed the door in Molly’s face.

  Molly was still blinking in surprise, staring at the shut door in front of her, when Denise pulled the door open a little wider and stood to the side.

  “Come on in,” Denise said, her voice still cold and emotionless.

  Molly stepped inside. Andrew’s office looked different now, lit only by the fire in the fireplace. The shadows moved erratically, dancing on the drawings of goblets and daggers that Andrew had plastered on every inch of his walls.

  Molly moved to the center of the room, watching Denise out of the corner of her eye. Her sleeveless black dress plummeted at the neckline and stopped above the knee. As striking as the woman was, with thick black hair that fell to the small of her back, and a pale, perfect face, complete with smooth skin, high cheekbones, and a seemingly permanent expression of disdain, it was her bracelet that Molly’s eyes were drawn to. Blood-red stones encircled her wrist, their color a shocking contrast to her fair skin.

  Her bracelet was a twin of the one that Jake wore. The one that had been given to him by the other Echoes, after Molly had formed the bond between them; a bond that she was still struggling to really understand.

  Denise was a Bloodbound, like Jake. Somehow, Molly had forgotten.

  “Molly! What's the matter?” Andrew hurried out of one of the back rooms, still pulling on a tee shirt over his worn jeans. His red hair was tousled and slightly flattened on one side. His eyes were still a little foggy with sleep.

  “I'm sorry to bother you so late.” Molly felt suddenly awkward. It had felt so natural to come to Andrew for help, for guidance. But now she found herself wondering if she had overstepped herself somehow. “I really need to talk to you.”

  “Of course.” Andrew turned to the woman. “Denise, sweetheart, why don't you give us some privacy?”

  The woman nodded, the movement a little jerky. Almost unnatural. Denise didn’t say anything, just stalked silently into one of the back rooms. Molly heard a door click shut behind her.

  Andrew’s face was full of concern as he reached out and pulled Molly all the way into the room, sitting down on one of the couches. Molly sank into the cushions, and let her head fall into her hands.

  “What happened?” he asked gently. “Tell me everything.”

  And Molly did. The events of the night poured from her lips, and the more she talked, the more sure she felt that Andrew could help her. He nodded when she told him the way that her voice had failed to work on Janice, as though things that mysti
fied her made complete sense to him. He listened intently as she explained everything that she had learned from Jake. Andrew listened without comment, his eyes never straying from her face, giving an encouraging nod now and then, if her words seemed to slow.

  “I need you to train me,” she told him, finally, when her story was done. “I have to learn how to use my abilities more fully. That’s got to be the problem, right? I’m still new to all of this. That’s why I couldn’t tell Janice not to feel afraid, and I haven’t been able to make Jake stop wanting the drugs. You can help me fix that.” She said it with such confidence. But then she looked at the expression on Andrew’s face, and her heart sank. “Right?”

  Andrew leaned back and sighed heavily.

  “I'm sorry,” he said after a short silence.

  “What does that mean?” Molly demanded. She could feel all the desperation inside her, poised and ready to turn into anger. With tremendous effort, she swallowed the emotion down. Yelling at Andrew wouldn’t help Jake. “You said that I’m one of the most powerful Echoes you’ve ever seen. I just need to fix Jake’s addiction. That’s all. If I’m as powerful as you say, then I ought to be able to do that!”

  “It isn’t that simple, Molly,” Andrew said. He reached out to take her hand in his, but Molly pulled back. She didn’t want sympathy or hand-holding. She wanted to understand.

  “Why?” she asked through clenched teeth. “It seems pretty simple to me.”

  “I know it does.” Andrew leaned toward her, resting his elbows on his knees. “And you’ve come so far in so little time, that sometimes I forget there are things, basic things, that you still haven’t learned.” He chuckled a little to himself, a short, bitter sound. “You’ve known from the first day we met that I’ve been searching my whole life for this goblet,” he flicked a hand toward all the drawings of the goblet that lined his walls. “But all this time, you never really understood why. I’m sorry that I didn’t explain things to you earlier.”

  “Well, I’m listening now,” Molly prodded. She didn’t want apologies. She wanted to make Jake better. Now.