by Pat Esden
“Shut up!” Anger flooded Chloe’s veins. She’d stabbed the Shade once. She could do it again. Drive that sword straight through him. “Bastard, I’ll kill you.”
“I’m right here. With that kind of fury you might just win the fight.” He sniffed loudly. “Can you smell that—burning hair and flesh? Keshari’s flesh roasting, her brain bubbling in the flames…Come. Do your best. Try to kill me.”
The purple glimmers of the staff crystal drew together, forming into one bright blaze. A single spot. A purple beacon, telling her where the Shade stood.
Chloe couldn’t see anything in the fog, except for that beacon and the glow of the sword. But she knew two things: The Shade wanted her to fight him and in doing so lose what little time she had left to get the sword to the stone. She also knew she hadn’t sensed the Shade move from the spot where he’d last stood—twenty yards in front of the stone. Twenty yards ahead of her real goal.
“Em, the orb!” she shouted. She could only hope Em was alive and would know what she meant. Even the sword’s light couldn’t cut through the fog and the crystal’s brightness. But maybe, maybe with the help of an angry spirit it could.
Em’s voice murmured out from the gray. “Come to us. Come to our aid…”
An otherworldly hum reverberated and orbs shimmered up from the ground, forming a runway of lights in front of Chloe. At the end of that runway, a single red orb glowed, illuminating the outline of a stone.
Chloe shot toward it, running as hard as she could. The Shade lunged at her, his staff swinging toward her head. She ducked, pain flashing up her neck as the staff connected with her shoulders. He dove at her. He had her by the hip, his black-tipped fingernails clawing through her pants legs, dragging her to the ground like a hyena taking an antelope. “Surrender or die!”
Holding tight to the sword, she rolled onto her back, kicking wildly. Her foot connected with his arm. A crack resounded. He howled. She yanked her leg from his grip. She was on her hands and knees. Pain pulsed up her leg. The red orb—Athena—glowed ahead of her. Only a few yards to go.
“Be gone!” Rhianna’s voice commanded.
The orb exploded into a shower of sparks, raining down all around Chloe. The air wailed and whirled like a tornado. Flashes of purple light ricocheted like lightning. She leaned against the gale of magic and, in a last burst of energy, stumbled to her feet, lunged forward, and thrust the sword into the stone. It sunk in deep, all the way up to its hilt.
The sword’s light went out.
Everything around her went charcoal gray.
And, for a heartbeat, the only sound was the soft rush of waves against the shore and the rustle of dried leaves tumbling across the path.
In that frozen moment, Chloe became intensely aware of the razor’s edge she’d stepped over—not when she’d failed to watch over the boy or when she’d carelessly tried to cure him in the hospital. This was different, intentional harm done to another being for her own gain, even if it was justified. How much easier would it be to take that sword in her hands again, or a different sword—or to wield her magic as a weapon? How much easier to kill now that she’d already crossed that line?
Cold chilled her to the bone. Much easier, she knew.
This was what Nimue had warned her about. The soul-deep change that had happened the moment she stabbed the Shade, though she’d only now truly felt the impact. Still she knew with all her heart that no what matter the cost had been, she’d done the right thing.
Chloe lifted her head and yanked the sword from the stone.
The Shade screeched as the stone cracked open and spears of light flared out. The air and fog around Chloe sucked inward toward the fissure. But she and everyone—and everything—stayed in place. Everyone, except for the Shade. He was dragged howling toward the light. His fingers plowed furrows in the earth. His eyes flashed with fury. His magic buzzed around him like a nest of hornets.
“No witch’s spell can bind me forever!” he screamed. “You shall suffer and regret. Regret!”
His body heaved upwards, then twisted like a dishrag. The wet squelch of flesh and the snap of breaking bones rang out as his feet and legs and then his torso warped into a jelly-like mass. The spears of light encased him, drawing him inward.
“No!” Rhianna screamed, diving for the last traces of his fingers. Her hands went right through them. The light flared like the sun’s corona, then it swallowed the last of the Shade, and retreated into the stone.
In the distance, the sound of sirens wailed, growing louder by the second. Police.
Chloe stumbled toward the lakeshore, sword in hand. She had to return it to the Lady.
Jessica fled past her, arm in arm with Rhianna, heading toward the park’s entrance. Matt. Brooklyn. Chandler. Em. Everyone running…But she had to get to the water.
Beneath her feet, the grass turned to sand. She waded in, the icy waves lapping against her pants legs. “Nimue!” she shouted. “I return what is yours. The Shade and sword.”
She threw the sword. Once again glowing, it arced through the air and landed flat on top of the water. A hand rose up and grasped the sword, hoisting it skyward. Then the sword sank downward, the water illuminating for a moment before its murky depths went dark and still.
Chapter 30
“Like stars scattered across the sky, each witch has their own place in the universe. Some gather in groups, others are solitary. Some bright. Some dark. A few are as commanding as planets. And, once in a great while, one shines as brilliant as the moon herself.”
—Saille Webster, high priestess Northern Circle
Saratoga Springs, NY, 1979
By the time Chloe and Devlin got to the complex, Em, Midas, and Brooklyn were waiting in the lounge. They all looked beat-up, to varying degrees. Em was in the best shape, mostly just splattered with dirt. Brooklyn was acting cool, but her lip was split and crusted with blood, one eye was swollen shut. Midas was holding an iced beer mug against his jaw. No doubt, they all were still riding high off the magic, or else they’d have been dead on their feet instead of energized.
Chloe was the worst off of everyone. Her lungs ached from breathing in smoke. She had cuts, bruises, small burns, and scorched hair from sparks and magic, not to mention the painful marks where the Shade had clawed her thigh.
“The marks may not look like more than deep scratches,” Brooklyn said, dragging Chloe to the downstairs bathroom. “But they were made by a shade’s fingernails.”
She instructed Chloe to take off her torn jeans and sit on the toilet, then she went to work washing the marks and rubbing in a special salve that supposedly would eliminate any demonic infections.
Chloe shifted her weight from one hip to the other. “Can you hurry it up a little bit? We need to get back to the lounge and discuss things with everyone. I’m worried about Devlin, too. He’s putting up a good front, but I can’t imagine how much he’s hurting. He and Athena were so close.”
“He’s probably mostly angry. I certainly am.” Her tone turned more biting, her fury undisguised. “Matt—that bastard—I had no idea he was going to try to run you guys off the road. If I’d known, I would have stopped him.” She looked down for a second, focusing on the jar of salve. “I feel bad about being such a shithead the night of your initiation. Really, I’m sorry.”
Chloe shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. What’s done is done. I’m just glad you’re with us now.” She meant it too. Everything was such a mess, their past, the future. She couldn’t begin to unravel it all right now.
Brooklyn got out gauze and cotton bandages. “Rhianna, Jessica, Matt, and whoever else is tangled up with them—they’re all going to regret it.”
Regret. The word sent Chloe’s mind reeling back to the Shade’s last words. “No witch’s spell can bind me forever. You shall suffer and regret.” She already regretted a lot, especially one thing.
An image of Keshari surrounded by smoke and flames flashed in Chloe’s head. The firemen had rushed right in to find her. But what if the smoke was too thick? What if the flames were too hot? Her heart murmured that Keshari had survived. But what if it was wrong?
Chloe reached down to the floor and grabbed her torn pants.
“Quit fidgeting,” Brooklyn said sharply.
“I need to call Keshari.” Chloe wasn’t certain if she’d said it out loud or not. Either way, her voice strained and her hands shook as she took the phone from her jeans pocket. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the truth. It was easier to pretend everything was all right if she didn’t. Still, waiting and pretending wouldn’t make it any easier in the long run.
She braced herself for the worst, then decided to send a text instead of calling. What if Keshari’s mother answered? How could she explain? What would she say?
Her fingers stumbled as she typed:
You okay?
It sounded stupid. But would anything have felt right?
“All done.” Brooklyn finished by snugging the bandage tight. She nodded at a pile of folded laundry sitting on a small dresser. “If you find something that fits, take it. Athena always liked to have extra clothes like that on hand. Athena—the real Athena—always was giving things away. Food, clothes for the homeless.” She closed her eyes as if holding back tears. Then she took a steadying breath. “If you’re all set, I’m going to head back to the lounge. I could really use a cold beer.”
Chloe nodded. “Me too.”
After Brooklyn left the bathroom, Chloe tried to not think about her still silent phone as she tugged on a plain T-shirt and loose cargo pants from the pile. Finally, she surrendered and double-checked. Nothing.
An almost unbearable ache constricted her chest. No, she told herself. This doesn’t mean anything, Keshari could have lost her phone in the fire. She might have it turned off.
Chloe clenched her teeth and shoved back her fear. She couldn’t fall apart. She needed to stay strong. For Devlin. For everyone. For the Circle.
A minute later she was back in the lounge. She sunk down onto the couch next to Devlin. Brooklyn was with Midas at the bar, having her beer and watching TV.
She scanned the room. “Where did Em go?” Another absence struck her. “Has anyone heard from Chandler?”
“Chandler called,” Devlin said. “She’ll be back in the morning.” He smiled, the sadness lifting from his eyes for a moment. “Em’s fixing a special dinner for Henry. His favorite cheese biscuits laced with cure.”
Chloe cringed at the thought of the flavor combination, but she found herself smiling with relief. “He’s going to be all right, then?”
“I think so.” Devlin brushed his hand down her arm, his fingers coming to rest gently on top of hers. She nestled against him, soaking in the comfort of his warmth and magic.
Suddenly Midas cranked up the volume on the TV. “Look at this!”
Screams of ambulances and firetrucks flooded the room. Film clips of flames leaping from the club’s roof flashed on the screen. Mobs of people ran everywhere. Streetlights exploded.
“Shit,” Chloe said, when she caught a glimpse of her and Devlin near the alleyway, unmistakable because of the glowing sword in her hand.
“Your back’s to the camera, that’s good,” Midas said.
As Matt’s wrecked truck with a monkey wing sticking out of its hood appeared on the screen, Devlin sprung up from the couch and hurried closer to the TV. “If this makes national news, there’s no way the High Council will miss it.”
Brooklyn shook her head. “Even if it does, this is only going to make us look like drunks and idiots. There’s no connection to magic or the Shade.”
Chloe frowned. The Council not discovering what happened was a nice fantasy, but she was with Devlin on this. It wouldn’t just be the High Council, either. Her parents would hear about it too. Like it or not, she’d have to call them first thing in the morning, before her dad had a chance to watch the news.
The news switched to a live segment and closed in on a frazzled reporter. He walked over to where a power company worker waited and began to talk to him. “There are reports that the Russians are behind the city-wide electrical disruptions, that this was a test before they attempt something much larger. Is that true?”
The reporter held out a microphone to the man. He hooked his thumbs into his tool belt and bent close to the mic. “I don’t know why this comes as a surprise. They hacked into Burlington’s electric grid a few years ago by infiltrating a single laptop.” His voice deepened. “The club fire was a cover-up. Our government wants us to think this was a bunch of nerds with light sabers. But mind me, it’s the Russians.”
Brooklyn raised her voice above the TV. “See, nothing to worry about. The conspiracy theorists are going to cover it up for us.”
The reporter backed up as a young black man with librarian glasses and oddly hacked off hair shoved the power company worker aside. “Don’t believe him,” he slurred. “It was witchcraft!”
Devlin brandished his hand at the screen. “That’s the journalist.”
“It is?” Chloe jumped up from the couch, joining Devlin. “You mean, the one who was supposed to be an initiate?”
“I can’t believe he’s still around,” Brooklyn said. “He was pretty fucked up after the bloodletting and the—” She clamped her mouth shut as if she had just realized that she’d incriminated herself as being fairly involved in at least some of Rhianna’s schemes.
The man on the TV pushed his glasses lower on his nose, looking cross-eyed at the camera over the top of their lenses. “Witchcraft—and I don’t mean Wicca or these modern Druids. I’m talking raising-the-dead, blood-drinking witches.”
The reporter stammered. “That’s—an interesting theory.”
His voice faded as the reporter snatched the mic away from him, pulling it up close to his own mouth. “This is John Rogers, reporting live from Church Street. We’ll be back in a moment.”
The feed went dead.
Midas scoffed. “Russians. Can you believe that?”
Devlin glared at him. “You didn’t.”
“I did.” He grinned proudly. “I might have been stoned on magic, but I wasn’t about to ruin my career by letting photos of me and rumors of witchcraft leak out on the Internet.” He shoved his dreadlocks back from his face. Then he sighed and shrugged. “I wasn’t responsible for everything, just the cellphone blackout inside the club. The rest was Merlin. Um—I mean, the Shade.”
Chloe scrubbed her hands over her face, her frustration growing. Russians. Power disruptions. The TV report hadn’t mention the one thing she cared about.
“Did they say if anyone was hurt in the fire or—” She couldn’t bring herself to say the rest.
Everyone went silent, the mood draining back to heavy somberness.
“At least two people are dead,” Brooklyn said quietly. “Dozens were taken to the hospital.” Her eyes widened as if something had just occurred to her. “Your friend, Juliet? She’s okay, if that’s what you’re thinking. We escaped out the club’s VIP exit at the same time.”
Juliet. A wave of relief and guilt washed over Chloe. She sunk back down on the couch and took out her phone. She needed to check and see how Juliet was, and apologize. If it weren’t for her the Shade would have never gone after Juliet. It was wrong too that she’d put Keshari’s welfare so far ahead of Juliet’s. They were both her friends, though putting her on the Shade’s radar and the way she’d used the spell and trigger words to keep Juliet from coming to the complex didn’t exactly prove that.
“Hello?” Juliet answered on the first ring, her voice groggy from sleep.
Chloe winced. She hadn’t stopped to think about the time. “I’m sorry. I know it’s late—or really early. But I was worried about you.”
“It’s three-thirty.” There was a rustle and a creak that sounded like Juliet was getting out of bed. “I’m feeling better, I guess. It’s all kind of a blur. The Twins think it was food poisoning, maybe spoiled chilies or the wrong kind of mushrooms. Greta’s sick too. Hallucinations, even.”
“Oh. I was worried about the fire.”
“I kind of remember that. At the club, right?” Juliet was silent for a moment. “I’ll talk to you later. I need to go back to bed. Okay?”
Chloe’s pulse picked up. It was a long shot, but—“Wait a minute. You don’t happen to remember seeing Keshari? She was at the club.”
“Ah, yeah. The Twins were with her. They were taking her to the hospital.”
Hope fluttered in Chloe’s chest. “She was alive, then?”
“She was in rough shape, but she seemed okay.”
* * * *
An hour later, Chloe and Devlin sat alone in the hallway outside Keshari’s hospital room, waiting for the doctor to finish talking to Keshari and her parents. They’d found out a little about her condition at the nurses’ station. She had burns on her neck and one shoulder, but they weren’t severe. Smoke inhalation was the doctors’ main concern.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Devlin said, sliding an arm around Chloe’s back.
She rested her head against his shoulder and gazed down the hallway at the line of patients’ rooms, every one of them full. “I was thinking about all the dreams we had for the Circle, the things we could discover. The people we could help.”
He sighed dejectedly. “I’d be lying if I said things weren’t going to change, even if the Circle survives the investigation.” His voice lowered even further. “There’s something I haven’t dared mentioned to anyone.”
She stiffened, surprised he’d held anything back. “What is it?”
“Merlin’s staff?” He got up and rubbed his hands nervously down his arms. “Rhianna has it.”
