“Can you recall one clear memory?” I ask.
Chad brushes himself off and I help him stand.
“I remember watching TV and a U.S. senator and a Supreme Court justice had just died,” Chad says.
Kyle and I exchange a startled look.
Chad notices our surprise. “What is it?”
“Those events happened in witch world,” I say. “But they haven’t happened in this world yet.” I turn to Kyle. “He definitely experienced witch world. And he didn’t have to die to go there.”
Kyle is suddenly interested. “Are you saying we can reach witch world by using this wall?”
I consider. “That should be impossible. Our real-world bodies can’t physically survive in witch world, at least according to the Council. But clearly the wall’s connected to it. At the very least Chad’s mind went there.” I put my hand on Chad’s shoulder. “You feel all right?”
Chad tries stretching, then grimaces. “Now that you mention it, I’m sore all over, like I just went twelve rounds in a prizefight.” He rubs his temples. “I have a dull headache.”
“All that because you touched the wall with the tip of your spear,” I remark. “What does the scientist in you think of that?”
“That this wall isn’t interested in science as we know it. The thing is already breaking a half dozen physical laws by warping all our senses.”
“All our senses,” I mutter to myself. I grab Kyle’s arm. “What do you hear?”
“What do you mean? I don’t hear anything.”
I strain to reach with my ears. “Not the wind. Not the rumbling of the volcano. Nothing.” I stop. “Nordra and Viper could be attacking the cave right now, the others could be screaming for help, and we wouldn’t know it.”
“Do you want me to back away from the wall?” Kyle asks hopefully. “At least to where I can hear normal sounds again.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” I say.
Kyle begins to back away. “I told you, I’m as bad as Sam, that thing gives me the creeps. I’m happy to get away from it.”
“Don’t go too far,” I say.
Kyle suddenly stops. “What are you going to do?”
“You know.”
“What the woman in the picture did,” Kyle says. “Press your bracelet to the side of the wall.”
“Someone has to try it. It may as well be me.”
Chad speaks. “Bad idea. You’re our leader, the strongest one we’ve got to protect us. You’re the last one we should risk.”
“A witch drew the images in the cave,” I say, thinking of Cleo. “I can tell. The lines are too perfect. That means the woman in the picture was a witch.”
“Your logic is weak,” Chad says.
“I know who the witch was.” I speak seriously. “If I freeze up when I make contact with the wall, don’t push me away. Let me be.”
“For how long?” Chad asks.
“As long as it takes.”
“Bullshit,” Kyle interrupts. “A minute, tops. We’re not going to let it fry every synapse in your brain.”
“You’re supposed to be backing off,” I tell Kyle.
Kyle points at Chad. “Give her sixty seconds, no more.”
Kyle walks away while I mentally try to prepare myself. A talk Kendor and I had in training comes back to me.
“People will tell you that all fear is based on the fear of death. It is not true. People only imagine they fear death. Because they are afraid it will be painful. Pain is the source of fear. Once you accept that you will suffer in life no matter how hard you try to avoid it, the fear vanishes.”
“Why? How?”
“Because that is when you stop running from it.”
His words were simple but they had a profound effect on me.
They calm me as I turn toward the wall. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck, Jessie. I . . .” Chad doesn’t finish.
“What?”
He stammers. “I know you’re in love with Marc and that he loves you. I just want you to know that . . . I think you’re amazing.”
I lean over and kiss his cheek. “Thanks. That means more to me than you know.”
The kiss takes him by surprise. He blushes, nods.
I walk toward the wall, staring up at it as I approach. I can’t see the top. It might be because of the steep angle or it might be because it has no top. No other side. Is that the secret of the wall? That it’s a doorway to nothing?
I wish I could stop the urge to run from my fear.
The moon shines bright in the sky but not a single white ray reflects from the wall’s dark surface. Staring at, into it, I search for my reflection but find no one.
Waiting will not help.
Raising my left arm, I press my bracelet to the wall.
* * *
I sit at a blackjack table in a smoky casino. It’s late at night, the joint is practically empty, and except for the dealer I’m the only one at my table. A tall drink sits beside my cards and I know it’s a Cuba libre—Coke, rum, and lime, a favorite of mine.
The dealer has just dealt me a ten and an ace, twenty-one, and I’m glad my last bet was a hundred bucks because now I’m going to get paid one and a half times that amount.
Yet the dealer waits for me to tell him whether I want another card or not and I don’t know why. He should have paid up the moment he saw my cards.
“You want me to hit you or not?” he asks.
I smile. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.”
“I’ve got twenty-one. Pay up.”
He grins easily. “You’ve only got eleven, sister. You can do better than that. Why don’t you take another card?”
I know he must be teasing but I don’t mind, probably because I’m a little drunk and feeling fine, maybe more than fine. So far my trip to Las Vegas has been a total blast, just what I needed. But I could swear I’ve met the dealer before, he looks familiar. Then again, it might just be wishful thinking.
He’s a handsome devil: six-two, in his mid-twenties, muscular, tough looking, but cool, too, someone who’d be just as comfortable as a cop working the streets late at night or as a high-priced lawyer shooting the breeze with celebrities over lunch at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills.
He’s got a hot body but it’s his eyes that intrigue me—a kind of blue that’s so close to black, they remind me of the sky when the first faint hint of dawn starts to erase the stars. I feel a little starry-eyed staring at him. He must have noticed my interest because his smile widens.
“So what are you going to do?” he asks.
“I’m going to stand, you ape. I’ve got blackjack. Give me my money before I report you to your boss.”
He leans toward me over the green felt table and gently taps the red card beside the wooden shoe that holds the decks of cards. “You can see by the sign here that you’re not playing twenty-one. You’re playing twenty-two, red queen, and that ace you’re holding is only worth one point.” He pauses and asks casually, “You remember now, sister?”
I giggle, suddenly feeling like a fool. Of course he’s right, I’ve got my games mixed up. I still do that sometimes when I come to Las Vegas, ever since . . . well, ever since the last time I was here, which was a while ago, I suppose, since I’m having trouble remembering when it was. I reach for my glass and take a hit of my rum and Coke, but if I’m hoping for it to clear up my memory, I’m as dumb as the dealer must think I am. Still, the liquor tastes good going down and even though it’s late, the night feels young to me and full of possibilities. I wonder when Mr. Dealer gets off work, if he’d like to have a drink with me. He might if I lie about my age.
“I’m sorry!” I gush, picking up my cards and scratching the table with the corner of my pitiful hand. “Hit me, baby.”
He
chuckles as he tosses me a card, a goddamn two, probably the worst card I could have got. “Did you just call me baby?” he asks.
“Yeah. But don’t let it go to your head.” I tap the two angrily. “Why do you keep giving me such shit cards?”
He lowers his tone and for once speaks seriously. “Because red queen is a hard game. It’s kind of like life in that way. You can never see what’s coming next. All you can do is play the cards the universe deals you.”
“The universe. Gimme a break. It’s you who’s dealing and it’s you who’s taking my money. Hit me again.”
“Are you sure? Get a ten and you bust.”
“Well, I can’t stand at thirteen. That’s a total shit hand.”
He taps his own cards. “Sister, you’re not thinking. You haven’t even stopped to look at what I’m showing.”
I peer over the green table, forcing my eyes to focus, and I realize I’m probably more than a little drunk. When I think about it, which is not easy, I vaguely recall ordering four or five of the Cuba libres since I sat down. Everyone says the casinos water down their free drinks, but I think this dealer has been telling the bar girl to serve me the hard stuff, not that I’m complaining.
It feels good to sit at this table with this hot guy and argue about this stupid card game. I really hope he gets off work soon, and that he doesn’t have anyone at home waiting for him. If we do have a drink I’m not sure if I’d go to bed with him, since I’m not that kind of girl, but it’s fun to think about. I wouldn’t mind a long hot make out. Hell, I wouldn’t mind a short one. He’s got the sweetest smile.
But I manage to tear my eyes away from his mouth to study his cards, but only because he told me to. “Christ, you’ve only got a six!” I exclaim.
“That’s right. It’s looking like I’ve got a total shit hand as well.” He stops to smile again. “Of course, you don’t know what my hole card is. Say I’ve got another six under there. That adds up to twelve and when I take a card there’s a good chance I’ll get a ten or a picture card and then you’ll owe me two hundred dollars. And you’ll have to bet two hundred again to try to win back your original bet.”
I stop smiling. “That don’t seem fair.”
“Those are the rules. Told you, red queen is a lot tougher than blackjack. You shouldn’t sit at the table unless you’re ready to gamble.”
A wild idea suddenly hits me. When he originally dealt the first four cards, two to each of us, he automatically checked his hole card, like most dealers do. Which means he knows whether he has a lousy hand or not. The guy is obviously flirting with me, and if I play my cards right—no pun intended—I suspect there’s a good chance I can get him to tell me whether I really should hit again or not. I lean a little closer in his direction.
“The reason I came to this table is because I saw you,” I say.
He laughs. “Now I see! You’re not worried about the rules or your money. You’re just worried about whether I like you or not. Is that what you’re saying, sister?”
I blush. I can blush on cue but I don’t have to fake it this time. “Yeah, kind of. I mean, let’s be straight with each other, you know you’re hot. And me, well, what do you think of little old me?”
Once again he leans over the table, this time bringing his face so near I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin and see the sparkle in his dark eyes.
“You really want me to be honest with you, Jessie?”
“Huh? How do you know my name? I didn’t tell you my name.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’ve got a decision to make and you asked me a question. You asked because you’re a little drunk and you’re a little young. And you asked because you’re hoping I’m going to tell you whether I have a shit hand or not, but I’m not going to do that because that would be cheating. And no one who cheats at red queen ever gets away with it. Never.”
I blink, trying to keep up with everything he’s saying. But he seems to be talking kind of fast, kind of serious, and I suddenly realize he’s not flirting anymore. “Who are you?” I mumble.
He stands back. “You know who I am.”
I squint through the smoky haze. Casinos—they’re supposed to have no-smoking sections but no one pays attention to the signs. I’m trying my best but it’s hard to focus on his face.
Not that I can’t identify him by his voice. I know that voice. I know him, I’m sure of it now. Only I can’t remember his name.
“Just tell me,” I plead.
“No. You’ve got to stop and think. It’s important. This game is important. I told you, it’s like your life. You’ve got to watch everything that’s happening around you, every little detail, and you’ve got to stop and think what it means. Otherwise, it’s like the bet you’ve got on the table right now. You’ll lose it and you’ll have to play another hand just to try to get even. But right now you can improve your chances by stopping and figuring out what the odds are. That’s the smart thing to do, Jessie.”
“But if I just knew what your hole card is . . .”
He speaks sternly. “That would be cheating and you know it. But that’s your problem right now. You’re playing with a weak hand and you’re hoping your magical abilities will solve your problems. They won’t. It doesn’t matter how powerful you are, how many witch genes you’ve got. If you don’t look at what’s right in front of you, like what my hand is, then you’re going to end up losing.”
“Russ!” I gasp, finally recognizing him, while wondering why it took me so long. “What are you doing here?”
He smiles faintly, sadly. “You ask like you’re surprised. Of course I’m here. I’m here to help you win.”
I frown. “But you just said . . . ah, never mind. I’m confused. You shouldn’t be here. Something happened to you. I’m trying to remember. . . .”
“Jessie . . .”
“You’re dead!” I exclaim. “Christ! I remember now, it was awful, and I was so sorry. You’ve got to know I didn’t want to do it. I was just trying to protect my daughter. You know about Lara, you saw her just before I killed you.”
Russ nods. “Don’t worry about it, Jessie. You were strong that night. You did what you had to do. But you’ve been slipping since you took down Syn. You’ve been running away from who you are.”
“I don’t understand. I’m a witch. That’s who I am. And a witch has powers so he or she can use them to help people. As a matter of fact, I’m using them right now to help save . . . Wait a second, this doesn’t make sense! What am I doing here? I was on an island with Marc and the others. Now I’m in a casino in Las Vegas with you and you’re dead. Answer that, Russ—how in God’s name can you be here if you’re dead?”
“So you believe in God now.”
“I do if you’re dead and He brought you back to life.”
Russ shakes his head. “Nothing with me’s changed. Things are good where I’m at. But I still worry about you. I don’t think you’re taking this game seriously enough.”
“You mean the Field, not red queen, right?”
“The Field and red queen are related but that’s a long story. Right now you’ve got to treat the Field like the card game. Don’t just rely on the strength of your hand. Look at what’s in front of you, what you’ve got, then look at what everyone else has got. Count up what’s there. That’s the only way you’ll know what to do next.”
“But even if I do all of that, I can still lose.”
“True. Life’s a gamble, there are no guarantees.”
“You can’t just tell me who my enemy is?”
“Sorry. That would be like telling you what my hole card is. It would be cheating.”
“But, Russ! I have so much I need to talk to you about!” I reach out with my hands, hoping he’ll reach back and take them. He remains standing behind the red queen table, though, and I get the impression it’s a barrier neith
er of us can cross. I know it’s true because finally my head has cleared.
Again, he flashes a sad smile. “I wish you could stay and we could talk all night. We were together only a short time but it meant a lot to me. I miss you.”
I stand from the table. I don’t know how but I know our time together is over. “I miss you, too. Is there any way we can meet again?”
He goes to shake his head but then stops. “There is one way, but I want you to fight, Jessie. Do what Cleo and Jimmy told you to do. Stay alive. Do it for me, please.”
I hesitate to promise him and I know why.
“Thank you, Russ.”
He nods. “Good luck, Jessie.”
Luck. He says it because it’s key.
I can play the odds perfectly and still lose.
* * *
I wake up on the ground, staring up at the sky, Chad standing over me, Kyle yelling for help from far off. Chad stares down at me anxiously.
“Are you okay?” he cries.
I stick up my arm. “Help me up.”
He pulls me to my feet as I shake off a wave of dizziness. The shift from a smoky casino back to a freezing mountaintop is disorientating. I wish I had a chance to process what I experienced while in contact with the wall, but now I have to help Kyle.
Yet my ability to focus is off. Even though I scan the area I don’t understand what’s happening. Beside me, Chad raises his arm and points me in the right direction.
It’s Nordra. He’s still high on the volcano, off to our left, but he’s heading toward Kyle. The fact that he hasn’t tried to take us by surprise tells me he still wants to make a deal.
He doesn’t move with the authority he had the last two times we met. It’s possible he’s faking the weakness—his shoulders are hunched and he’s bent forward—but if he is it’s a masterful job of acting. I don’t know if the last blow I dealt him sapped his strength or if he’s suffering from a fresh wound. The moon is bright but he has his back to it; as a result, his front is shadowed and it’s hard to make out details. Yet it does appear as if his blue uniform has large dark spots on it, particularly the shirt, and that his clothes are stained with blood. The stains look wet.
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