The Gray Tower Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Alesha Escobar

  “I think I can walk,” I said, slowly pulling away. I needed to put some space between us.

  He reached over and gripped my hand, making my ears buzz. “I don’t think you can. You’re exhausted.”

  My lips curved into a false smile as I pretended not to feel the mind control he was using to try and bend my will. I resisted with all the defenses Mehara had taught me. “Wait...there’s something I need to get.”

  “What is it?” His hold loosened, his expression one of genuine interest--or maybe he was wondering why the subtle mind control didn’t work.

  I nodded over toward the long table. “I noticed it a few minutes ago. I think it may be important...”

  I slipped from his grasp and casually walked over to the table with the ceremonial knives and instruments--then I picked up a knife, imbued it with the glowing heat of Zaman’s Fire, and hurled it straight toward his head. He deflected the knife, but I had already cast a Circadian Circle and sent tendrils of energy crackling toward him and hitting him in the head, shoulder, and heart. He let out a shout as he dropped to his knees. Octavian’s physical features morphed from Brande’s to his own. When I saw blood spew from his mouth, I threw even more force into the attack. I wasn’t going to release him until he was an unmoving mass of flesh.

  He extended a shaking arm, and suddenly a sharp pain devoured my back. He had used telekinesis to stab me. I felt the wet slickness of blood trickle down my skin, and I tasted the pure silver of the knife lodged in my back. I gritted my teeth and fought through the mind haze and pain, and I continued draining Octavian with my Circadian Circle. The more I held on, the deeper the knife went into my back. It hurt like hell, and I prepared myself for the very real possibility that I wouldn’t make it out of this one. Well, if I had to go, then at least I’d take him with me.

  The knife dislodged from my back and clattered to the ground. Octavian pounded the floor with his fist, a shock of electricity hit me and sent me flying backward. I crashed onto the floor, but wasted no time in getting back onto my feet. Octavian was on his hands and knees, heaving and waiting for his body to finish regenerating. I poised myself to hit him again with another attack, but from the corner of my eye I saw the full-length mirror on its stand. It spun vertically at a frantic pace and glowed with a familiar light.

  It took me a few moments to realize that the scrying mirror had concealed a rift. I could see shadow figures filling up the mirror’s surface, crowding out the light. My stomach churned at the idea of those monsters bursting through. Not only would they gladly aid Octavian, but they’d also destroy my friends and then be let loose upon the world. I cast a Circadian Circle over the mirror, rushing toward it and pushing the shadows back. The light of the rift receded as my magic worked to mend the tear, just as I had done all the others.

  I let out a shriek when Octavian crashed against me and knocked me to the floor. My stomach clenched, and I gasped for air when he pinned me down and bit into my neck with his sharp canines. I yelled and tried to push him off me. I felt as if I’d be crushed under the weight of his body, but even more frightful was his mouth pressed firmly against my neck, and the sound of his deep breath and swallows as he drank my blood.

  In desperation, I remembered the L-tablet Praskovya had given me. I considered biting down on it, since a Cruenti would not drink a poisoned wizard’s blood. But it was already too late--he had started, he’d still have a portion of my powers, and I’d be dead. I still had people depending on me, and I couldn’t just slip away and leave them to Octavian. I needed to find another way to end this.

  I rolled my tongue to the back of my mouth and dislodged the pill. I had no trouble plucking it out with my fingers and concealing it, since Octavian was seemingly lost in an ecstasy of bloodlust.

  My magical energy flared up and waned. It rose and fell like the waves in the ocean, and my body spasmed in response to the blood loss. I spoke to Octavian in a shaky voice. “I thought...you wouldn’t drain me.”

  He paused. He drew in one last deep swallow and reluctantly pulled away. In a quick motion, I pressed my hand against his mouth and forced the L-tablet inside. He bit down on the protective glass ampoule surrounding the arsenic and backed away. I rose to my feet and rushed toward the door. The pill could at least buy me some time since he’d have to counteract the poison with his nature magic. Just as I reached for the doorknob, an invisible force pulled me backward, and I went skidding across the floor and back over to Octavian.

  I raised my arms over myself protectively, expecting him to strike. Instead, he pressed his fingers against my neck, and all my wounds itched as they began healing. A burning sensation spread throughout my body, and I felt ill. He had healed me with his tainted dark magic.

  “Get up.” His lips were still tainted crimson. He showed no signs of being harmed by the L-tablet.

  “Why?” My fingers trembled.

  He yanked me by my hair until I stood up. “I want to know what’s on the other side of the rift.” He gestured toward the mirror, and the half-closed rift on the smooth surface began unraveling.

  “What are you doing?” How was he able to immediately start unraveling a nearly closed rift?

  “I studied the Mehmed VI texts my warlocks confiscated from Professor Grey, and I’ve prepared myself for this. Isabella, I am not your enemy--I revere the Drifter. I wear the infinity mark like the others.”

  My knees shook. “You want to be the Drifter. Big difference.”

  He intertwined his hand even further in my hair and pulled until I shrieked. “You scream the same way your mother did when I destroyed her mind. What’s on the other side of the rift? You must’ve gone over there by now.”

  I shook with rage at his callous mention of my mom. “Why don’t you go and find out?”

  My heart sank as I felt his magic connect with the rift, forcing it to widen to the perfect height and width so he could step through. My mind raced, raking over all the information and training I had acquired. I had to find a way to stop him; I couldn’t let him continue using my powers.

  He gripped my arm and sneered, dragging me toward the open rift, shining on the mirror’s surface. “You don’t deserve this power. You’ve had it all this time, and never once thought to step through?”

  “I thought about it, but...it’s not our place.” Neither his, nor mine. I was supposed to guard the doorway, but I had failed.

  He shoved me aside and eyed me with contempt. He stepped through the rift without hesitation. The light swallowed him, and he disappeared. As I stifled the pain and despair welling up inside me, I scrambled over to the long table. I found a gold dagger and grasped it with quivering fingers. I had to follow him. I rushed back over toward the rift and pushed through the burning light, and into the unknown.

  75

  I expected to be among the stars, peering across the universe or in a dimension of swirling colors that would make my mortal head spin. Instead, I was in a vibrant green pasture that seemed to have no beginning or end, and the sky above me was a hauntingly beautiful marriage of day and night. At different angles, the sky alternated between dusk and stars, and a bright blue firmament. The center of this other world seemed to be the great olive tree I stood next to. The lush leaves spread out among the branches and formed an umbrella-like canopy. I noticed large spots of burning embers under lumps of grass. Some of the embers gave off warmth, while others vibrated or made a groan. I felt that wherever the demons came from, their abode was beneath the surface, below those burning embers. My gaze turned upward; several points of light floated near and above the tree, and when I reached out with my senses, I tasted the world of men just beyond.

  I focused on one of the points of light, and it floated toward me as if summoned. The light was no larger than my hand, but when I touched it, it grew to the size of a window. The window of light swirled with colors, and then a clear picture came into view. I saw an old man dressed in black with a wand. He tapped the surface of the “window” from his side, and
ripples formed, as if he had touched water. He stroked his graying beard and peered over to my side with his large dark eyes.

  Then he saw me.

  His eyes widened, and he said something inaudible. He spoke again, and I shook my head and pointed to my ear. He held up his right hand, gesturing for me to remain still. He moved out of view for a few seconds and returned with a sheet of paper. He had written a question on it in French.

  What is your name?

  “I’m Isabella.”

  He shook his head. He couldn’t hear me, either.

  He held up his hand again and moved out of view. He returned with another note and held it up to the window.

  My name is Michel de Nostradame.

  My heart started racing and I backed away. I made a waving motion with my hand, and the window shrank and became a small point of light again. It fluttered away and upward toward the great olive tree.

  My heart thumped in my chest. I drew in a few deep breaths and focused on myself--my life. I beckoned another point of light toward me, and like the last one, it grew and became a window. I saw a young girl sitting in her bedroom. It was me.

  “Hi,” I said, waving to the younger Isabella. My cheeks suddenly grew warm. I had just remembered that she probably couldn’t hear me.

  I waved toward her again, but she sat on her bed, playing with her dolls. Why could the old man see me and not her? Well, I supposed one glaring difference was the fact that Michel de Nostradame was scrying and using magic. He probably thought he had summoned me.

  I pressed my hand against the window, and the noises flooded in. I heard birds chirping outside young Isabella’s window, my mother playing the piano down the hall, and little Isabella talking and providing voices for her dolls. I wondered if, now that I could hear her, she would be able to hear me.

  “Isabella,” I whispered.

  She paused and glanced around her room. After a few moments, she resumed playing.

  “Hi, Isabella.”

  She looked around again, and even got up and opened her bedroom door. She closed it and sat back down. She couldn’t see me, but I was willing to wager if I pressed through the window, it would give way, and I would step into my past. I really didn’t want to step into that point in time, but at least this gave me a better idea of how this all worked.

  My hand dropped to my side, and the younger Isabella knelt and looked under her bed, determined to find the owner of the voice. I was just about to wave the image away when I saw my father open the door and step into the bedroom. Young Isabella jumped up and began yapping to him excitedly, probably telling him about the voice she’d heard. I thought my father would dismiss it, but he listened with a serious expression. He lifted his gaze and stared directly at me. I began questioning if he could truly see me on the other side. I quickly waved the window away.

  I ran my hands through my hair. I called a few more points of light toward me. Some were battle scenes from the attack on the Gray Tower, and another was when I had first started spying for the Special Operations Executive. One in particular caught my attention, because it was an event that I had never experienced, but wanted to. I felt like I needed to understand, so I could lay it to rest: a piece of Kenneth Aspen’s last days.

  I pulled up the window and touched it in the same manner I had viewed my younger self. I saw Ken sitting on the floor, against a wall. He held a steaming bowl in his hands. He wore a dark shirt and pants, and his golden hair was brushed back, emphasizing his handsome, chiseled face. The big and tall Henry Smith sat to Ken’s right. To his left sat a man with a missing leg--that must’ve been Samuel Wilkins. And though the fourth man had his back to me, I knew it was my father.

  This had been earlier in the summer, in the south of France. For different reasons, they were all taking shelter at an OSS safe house. The host, a man named Claude, walked in and handed Henry and Samuel steaming bowls and spoons. He stood and turned to my father.

  “Are you hungry?”

  My father shook his head. “I’m fine, Claude. Thank you.”

  Samuel dipped his spoon into his bowl and ate. He covered his mouth and gagged. “Damn it, Claude! Do you have any seasoning? Something?”

  Claude rolled his eyes. “This isn’t a hotel, you know.” He left for the kitchen.

  When Claude was out of earshot, my father spoke to Henry. “How are you, old friend?”

  Henry blew a whistle. “Nazis shot my plane down, and they had me running. Thank goodness I made it here. It’s good to see you.”

  My father nodded. He pulled out a sealed letter. “This is for General Cambria.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” He folded the letter and placed it into his pocket.

  Claude returned with salt and pepper. He handed the condiments to Samuel, who grumbled thanks. He seasoned his food and went in for another try with his spoon. He grimaced. “What kind of soup is this anyway? Who messes up soup?”

  Claude waved his hand through the air and cursed in French. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not a born gourmet chef.”

  Ken gulped down a spoonful and gave Claude a nod of approval. “It’s all right. Thanks, Claude.”

  Claude gave him a wry smile and slipped back into the kitchen.

  Samuel shoved his bowl aside. “I’m just sayin’ this soup could use a little something extra. I lost my damned leg fighting for freedom, can’t I at least get a good meal?”

  Henry gave Samuel a sympathetic glance. “You would’ve died from the infection. Just be glad a leg was all you lost.”

  Samuel snorted. “That’s easy for you to say, ya big dumb...”

  Ken shook his head. “Come on, Sam. Stop it. The last thing we need is to fight each other. We’ve got enough enemies out there.” He ate another spoonful and frowned.

  “So why are you here, old man?” Samuel nodded toward my father. “You look like you should be behind a desk, not out here, running around with us. Did your plane get shot down? Or you spying for OSS?”

  “Neither. And it’s none of your concern.”

  Samuel turned to Henry. “How do you know that guy, Henry?”

  Ken slid Samuel’s bowl of soup over to him. “Eat your damn soup. You don’t know when you’ll get your next meal.”

  He grabbed the bowl. “Just trying to get to know the strange guy, because we’re all supposed to be buddies here.” He pulled a locket from his pocket and tossed it to Henry. “Hey, big guy--that’s my sweetheart.”

  Henry opened it and viewed the picture inside. “She’s pretty.”

  “Thanks. Too bad girls don’t like cripples. What the hell am I gonna do when I get back to the U.S.? Hop to her on one leg and ask her to marry me?”

  My father observed him. “If she truly loves you, she’ll stick with you, no matter what. If it’s meant to be, then it will happen.”

  Samuel threw my father an incredulous glance. “And what about you?”

  “I have a family.”

  Henry handed Ken the locket. Ken smiled and handed it back to Samuel. “I don’t have a picture on me, but I’ve got a sweetheart too. Well, I used to. It’s complicated. We’re not together right now, but maybe one day...”

  Henry patted Ken on the shoulder. “Just like Carson said--if it’s meant to be, then it’ll happen.”

  Ken raised an eyebrow. “Your name’s Carson?”

  “And you’re Kenneth. Nice to meet you.”

  “I don’t run into that many Carsons.”

  “Funny, I can count on one hand how many Kenneths I’ve met.”

  He stared at my dad. “Are you U.S. Army?”

  Henry chimed in. “Major Carson George. He’s my friend.”

  Samuel threw more salt into his bowl. “So you got a name, old man. Nice to meet you, Major George.”

  My father’s gaze remained on Ken. “I’d appreciate it if my presence here would be something that remained between us. I only came to deliver a message through Henry. I’m leaving tonight.”

  Samuel gave my dad a
salute. “Of course, Major. We’re all friends here. Right, Ken?”

  Ken lunged toward my father and punched him square in the face. My dad recoiled, but didn’t retaliate. Henry grabbed Ken by the shoulders and restrained him. Samuel’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.

  “Yeah, you have a family,” Ken said, pushing Henry off him. “You abandoned them for ten years and made them think you’re dead. What kind of a man are you?”

  My father straightened his back and checked his nose for blood. “How long have you known my daughter?”

  Samuel’s gaze went between the two men. “Now this is getting interesting.”

  Henry jabbed a finger at Ken. “Do that again, and you’ll get my fist in your face. What’s your problem?”

  Ken waved toward my dad. “He’s my problem.”

  Samuel ate more of his soup. “So... your sweetheart is old man’s daughter? And he walked out on her ten years ago?”

  “It’s complicated,” my father said.

  Ken narrowed his eyes. “Are you going to let Isabella know you’re alive? And what about your wife and son?”

  “I don’t wish to discuss this with you.”

  “I’m sure you don’t. It’ll make you look even more like a heartless bastard.”

  “If you care about her so much, then why aren’t you with her? Why are you here?”

  Ken glared at my father. “Like I said. It’s complicated. But I’ll tell you one thing--I’d turn this world upside down just to find my way back to her.”

  My father gazed at him. “I’ve already done it. She just hasn’t seen it yet.”

  My hand slid from the window, and I waved it away. I wiped the tears from my eyes. Henry, Claude, Samuel--and Ken--were all dead now. A small part of me wanted to press through the window and say something. I wanted to help them avoid the tracker from the Gray Tower who had gone rogue in the hunt for my father and destroyed the safe house. But no--I couldn’t pick and choose what to change or who to save. No matter how noble it seemed, I’d be doing it for selfish reasons.