by LE Barbant
“Your turn, professor.”
Elijah ran his hands through his beard and removed his glasses. He tilted his head up toward the ceiling. “Hey guys, give us a minute, OK?”
The sound of footsteps indicated their response.
“Your turn, Eli?”
Elijah sat back on his butt, wrapping his arms around his knees. His eyes looked out the Motel’s window.
“Nope. If you’re resolute, I know we’re not going to talk you into this. I also know you feel defeated. All that stuff—what you went through—I have no idea what it’s like. For most of my adult life, the biggest challenges I have faced were a soured engagement and an insurmountable pile of papers to grade. Pretty stupid, right?”
“Nah. We all have our crosses to bear. Now I’ve got that young girl’s blood on my conscience. And you’ve got that kid, um, Sean on yours.”
The historian was quiet and Tim regretted the comment. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Elijah beat him to the punch.
“Yeah. I do. And maybe that’s why I’m doing what I’m doing. I should have cared more about him. I was mostly wrapped up in myself. That’s been my life—powers or no powers. But things have changed; everything has changed. I need to understand who I am and my role in this world. And that’s pretty damned hard.”
Silence covered them. For just a moment, Tim felt at peace. He wasn’t sure how to, but he tried to slip away. The harder he tried, the more tied to the world of the living he felt.
“My role is pretty clear. I’m no hero, Doc. I’m the villain, and the world will be better off when I’m gone.”
“Maybe that’s true of all of us. Rhett’s a liar, Chem’s a crook, I’m a monster—as well as a bit of a misogynist, so I’m told. But if studying history has taught me anything, it’s that even villains can change things for the better.” Elijah placed his hand on Tim’s chest, gentle enough not to cause pain. The historian was well acquainted with hurt. Tim had seen first-hand the pain his transformation caused. “Willa, she’s important, I know she is. Last February, I was in trouble. Big trouble. I was pretty much a stranger to her. In fact, she didn’t like the little she did know about me. But she hung in there. Chem’s motives were mixed, and God knows I’m not perfect. But Willa, she’s pretty damned straight ahead in all of this. Not to mention, she laid herself on the altar for you back at that farm. I heard her speech. She was ready to die for you. And now she needs your help.”
Tim’s dream flooded his memory. “What do you mean she needs help? You saved her. She was at the truck.”
Elijah sighed and gave his hair another run-through.
“She took off, out the bathroom window. I’m pretty sure she’s going to talk with Edwin. Crane says it’s a trap, and he’s been right all along. Our girl’s walking to her grave.” Elijah’s eyes pierced Ford. “Now, are you ready to do for her what she was willing to do for you? If not, add that to your shit list on your way out.” Elijah added pressure to Tim’s chest, just enough to stir some pain. “So, you can go out crying over what you’ve done, but without you, we might not get her back. And if she doesn’t make it, her death’s on you. And that’s a pretty pussy way for a soldier to end it.”
Elijah stood, his blurry image looking down at Ford. “Like I said, it’s your call. I’m going either way.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Tension in the dive motel was thick. Rhett felt relieved when his phone vibrated. Pulling the device from his pocket, he stepped outside and left Elijah kneeling at the side of the broken Tim Ford.
Come in. We need to talk.
Rhett’s boss’s terse message glared at him. Although Peter Kinnard was the mayor of Pittsburgh, he was young—still himself a millennial. Dobbs had always insisted on calling. Kinnard preferred tapping out his commands to his troops. Rhett had a much harder time reading his boss’s mood through the medium.
He glanced over his shoulder, back into the motel room. Ford was still on the ground, Elijah crouched over him.
No problem, boss. I can be there in a few hours. He hit send.
Leaning against the railing of the motel's second-floor walkway, he tapped his foot, impatient for a response.
The phone buzzed.
No. NOW.
Shit.
Chem stepped across the threshold and leaned next to the speechwriter. “What’s the word?” He asked, nodding toward the phone.
“I gotta go in.” He looked across the deserted parking lot. “Let the guys know I’m sorry. This is important.”
“So’s Willa.”
Rhett laughed. “Funny. Where were you tonight, hero?”
“Fuck you, Governor.”
“Not yet,” Rhett said, with a wink.
He turned and left, unsure if the chemist was truly pissed or felt comforted having someone else in his situation.
****
Mayor Kinnard Now a Part of the Frack Attack?
The front-page exposé by Jillian Stephens filled the main page of the Keystone Voice website. It began: “An anonymous City Hall insider confirms that Mayor Peter Kinnard, who campaigned as an opponent of the natural gas industry, is now in bed with those tapping into the Marcellus Shale.” The words shredded his heart. Jillian was the only woman he had ever really cared for, and she took advantage of him—just as he had done to scores of others.
“Rhett, what the fuck is this?” Saliva flew from the mayor’s lips as he screamed in the speechwriter’s direction.
Rhett closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, compartmentalizing his personal wounds. They would be dealt with later. Right now, he needed to navigate this storm.
“Who’s the leak?” Rhett asked.
The mayor’s eyes narrowed. “I know who the leak is, Rhett. What was this, your play from the beginning? What’s your next move, make a run for office yourself? Damn it, I’ve been kicking myself all morning. I should have known not to trust you. I hired you before Dobbs’ body was cold. What the hell was I thinking?”
Rhett held his hands up in defense. “Trust me, Peter, this wasn’t me.”
There were certain limits to his powers, and Rhett hoped Kinnard wasn’t beyond manipulation.
“I’ve heard those words too many times, Rhett. I’m done trusting you.”
Rhett pulled out his phone and checked for messages. Amazed she hadn’t even mentioned the story, he turned back toward his boss. “I can fix this.”
The man’s face turned bright red. “Fix this? Fix this? Are you crazy? You talked me into this. I was committed to strong regulations, pushing the frackers out. But, somehow, the mighty strategist got me to consider this in the short-term. Now I know, there is a fine line between encouragement and manipulation.”
“Please. Give me an hour to work up a statement. We can still spin this in your favor.”
“No, Rhett. I’m sick of your lies. I want you out. Now. You’re fired.”
Rhett’s eyes pleaded. He felt weak, helpless.
Paul, I need you.
****
We need to talk. Now. I’ll be at my place.
Rhett hit send just as the cab pulled in front of the Johannes twins’ apartment.
He was surprised to find Paul flipping through the pages of the previous months Economist on the couch in the living room.
“Great,” Rhett exhaled.
“Oh, hey,” Paul said, looking over the top edge of the magazine. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Well, I just got my ass canned because of my pseudo-girlfriend, and my brother’s home, for what feels like the first time in weeks. But other than that, everything is cool.”
Paul set aside the magazine. “I thought you had things handled. And about the job, I knew it was coming.”
Rhett tossed his perfect leather attaché on the couch next to his brother and kicked off his shoes. “Is that right?”
“Something moved in me. I wasn’t sure if it was a premonition, but I came home because I got the feeling things were about to change.” Paul picked up the
magazine and began to read again.
“Hold on. Don’t just say that and then leave.”
“I didn’t,” Paul said. “I’m right here. Man, you’re needy sometimes.”
“I meant figuratively, Paul. And yes, I might be a little needy. The world is kind of falling apart around me. Oh, and not to mention that a bunch of lunatic magicians are about to lay waste to two of my only friends.”
Without lowering the periodical, Paul said, “You don’t have to worry yourself with them anymore. We’re moving on. Tonight.”
Rhett had been following the plays that Paul received from the universe for over a decade. Their lives felt like some sort of RPG, task after task appearing before them with Paul acting as their blue compass. It had never bothered him before. He didn’t understand it, but he accepted his fate. But for the first time he actually cared about the other characters in the story. His world was no longer just about him, Paul, and whatever mystical hand the cosmos dealt them. “You don’t get it. I don’t want to leave.”
“That’s a problem.”
“No, Paul, it’s not a damn problem. I am actually starting to think it is the solution.”
Paul laughed so hard he bent in two, resting his forehead on his knees. “Come on, brother. You know better than that. I know it’s been a hard road, but we’re doing what we’re meant to do. We fulfill our purpose and move on.” He stood up and walked toward his bedroom. Rhett followed after.
“And what the fuck is our purpose?” Rhett was yelling. “Better yet, what is your purpose? What the hell do you want from me?”
“Who are you shouting at?”
Rhett spun, finding Jillian in the doorway. The set of keys to the apartment dangled in her limp fingers. Concern was knit on her face. He couldn’t tell if it was fear or care. The keys dropped to the floor, rattling on the aged hardwood.
“It’s my damn brother.” Rhett turned to the bedroom and his eyes went wild.
Paul was gone.
“What the fuck? He was just here.”
Jillian walked down the hallway and looked in the room herself.
“Rhett, the house is empty.”
“Just…just…give me a minute.”
Rhett walked through Paul’s open doorway. The room was completely bare. He opened the closet but it was empty, like the rest of the room. “How the hell did…”
Then Rhett noticed the open window.
Fucker.
Rhett dropped onto the bed. Jillian took a step closer. “Come on, Rhett. Pull your shit together.”
Sitting up, he focused on his breathing. He checked his pulse. It was off the charts. Moving to the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face. The man staring back at him hardly resembled the Rhett Johannes he knew.
His usually perfect hair stuck out at wild angles. Bags hung heavy under his eyes.
After ten minutes, he wandered back into the living room. Jillian sat on the back of the couch, one leg crossed over the other. She was waiting for him.
“I’m sorry. He does that sometimes. Just seems to disappear. We were having a pretty good one.”
Rhett slid down the wall and sat facing her. She looked down at his dress shoes. They were caked with mud.
“Rhett, are you OK?”
The speechwriter started laughing. Gentle at first, but then it took over his whole body. “That’s priceless,” he said between heaves. “You worried about me? No big deal, you just fuck me personally so you can fuck me professionally.”
Jillian blushed. Her eyes got glassy. “Rhett, it isn’t like that.”
“No? I mentioned something to you casually over drinks and it becomes an exposé on Kinnard?”
“Rhett, I asked you about the story because I was researching it. You understand. We’re in the same line of work.”
“Just so happens you had a ‘City Hall Insider’ in your arsenal.”
She shook her head. A tear streamed down her pink cheek. “That wasn’t you. I had a line and I followed it. You would have done the same.”
“Well, it’s the end of the line—for me, that is. Kinnard just fired me.”
Jillian covered her mouth. “Oh, shit,” she whispered. “I never—”
“Bullshit. It didn’t matter to you. I didn’t matter. You knew this could happen.” Rhett stood.
“No. I swear.”
“Swear all you want, on your way out of my fucking apartment. I never want to see you again.”
“Rhett—”
“Get out.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Willa dropped the key into her bag as she tucked long black strands of hair behind her ears. The rhythmic echo of her footfalls broke the silence of the corridor, but she could hardly hear them over her own heartbeat. With all that had happened, it took every ounce of faith to approach her grandfather’s office on the top floor of the Cathedral of Learning. She couldn’t be sure that he’d listen, but she had few cards left to play.
If Edwin would be rational, she might be able to stop a war.
Her time at the Guild’s compound was maddening, but it had also given her a certain appreciation for their membership. Principle drove them, and if nothing else, they were consistent with the perspective they espoused. Edwin had bent his convictions for her sake once before. This time, she hoped to break them.
The door to his office sat ajar. She paused, taking stock of the unusual sight. Placing her palm against its surface, she felt the familiar, ancient pulse of her grandfather’s magic.
Edwin’s nose wasn’t buried in a book like every other visit. He had turned his old wooden chair toward the door, and he sat at attention.
He knew she would come.
“Come in, dear. I’m glad you decided to join me.”
She glanced at his bookshelf but gave it little consideration. The parlor tricks that always fascinated her before seemed so insignificant now.
Settling into the chair, she sat silently, lips pursed. Willa waited for him to speak first. It would seem a sign of respect and submission. These things were important to the old man, and every step had to be calculated. But the silence won.
“I’m here, but I haven’t joined you,” she said.
“I can bring you in. Even with what happened, I can clear a path for you into the Guild. I know I can.”
Willa read the concern in the lines of the old man’s face. She knew he loved her.
He’d do anything for her. Almost anything.
“What about the process?”
“Process be damned. You’re my kin.”
“That’s a new one,” Willa said. Even as the words formed on her lips, she remembered his appearance at the PPG Tower. He had broken the Guild’s standards to save her life.
Edwin ignored her comment. “Grandmaster Harker and I, we’re old friends. We’ve had our disagreements over the years, but he understands your place, your lack of guidance. He and I had a long talk; he’s willing to advocate for you. We will spin your story in the best light possible. Please, Willa.”
His eyes glassed over, and a chill ran down her spine. She’d never seen him so moved, even in his recounting of her mother’s murder. Willa was all he had left.
“Grandfather, I’m not here to hand myself over. I too am an advocate—an advocate for my friends.”
The old man shook his head and rubbed his eyes. His face reddened. “Damn it, Willa. You saw what your so called friends are capable of. You watched them crush that poor girl to death. She was just a child. The things they are capable of…”
Willa thought of the wizard she only knew as Hermione, then of Skylar. One girl’s life was changed forever, the other’s terminated.
“That was an accident, Grandfather. They were there to save me and Tim. Crane had told them everything—that you and your Guild would kill us.”
“Wait. Crane?” The blood drained from the old wizard’s face. “What does Mallory Crane have to do with this?”
He sat up, straight as a pole. His red face turned wh
ite.
“He’s your friend. When you were gone, I found the photograph.” She nodded to the place where the picture had hung on his wall. “It was the clue you left behind. I went to him for help. After the Guild took me and Tim, Elijah found my notes and went to him as well.”
“Crane…” The man looked off over her left shoulder. “Of course. Willa, Crane is not your friend, and he’s certainly no friend of mine.”
“He told me about his wife, about what you did. Grandfather, how could you?”
“His wife?” Edwin sat for a second in quiet reflection. Willa pictured her grandfather destroying a life over his principles. Even with all she had seen, it still didn’t make sense. Suddenly he stood from his chair. Looking at his watch, Edwin said, “It is lunchtime. Come with me; I will tell you all you need to know about that man.”
Damn it, Edwin.
Her grandfather was mysterious, but if there was one thing she knew about him, it was that he was a liturgical creature. He would interrupt his own funeral if it occurred over the twelve o’clock hour.
****
Edwin watched the numbers descending. She had never ridden with him in the elevator. A certain discomfort settled in her gut as they approached the first floor.
“Grandfather?”
But he wouldn’t look at her. His eyes remained fastened.
Somethings not right.
7…6…5…4
The numbers scrolled. Her discomfort increased.
“Grandfather?”
Willa reached for the emergency stop button, but Edwin’s reflexes were younger than he was. He grabbed her wrist in midflight.
“I’m sorry child, but it has to be done.”
3…2…1
“No, it doesn’t.”
The chime rang, like any other day.
The doors slid open.
The Grandmaster, Kristoff, and two of the wizards from the Voodoo fight stood before her, a wall of stone faces.
“This is the way things must be, Willa,” Edwin said without looking at her.
“No,” was all she could say.
“Magician Willa Weil, by the order of the Guild we require you to come with us for proper consideration of the Twelve and in consistent adherence to the Constitution.”
