***
Sebastian glanced at the antiquated clock on the Buick’s dashboard and grimaced.
Twelve hours.
It felt like it had been twelve days, and he felt like he’d aged twelve years. He’d gotten only a few fitful hours of sleep last night before the attack on the Hilprecht Museum, and not a wink of rest since. His still-healing injuries combined with the constant, knee-jiggling tension in the back of his mind was compounding his exhaustion to the limits of his endurance.
Sebastian shook his head, trying to beat back the weariness as he focused his eyes on Interstate 20 ahead of him as it approached the outskirts of Atlanta. Just like on their way to Birmingham, Mallory was doing a disturbingly accurate impression of a deaf mute, so to keep himself from worrying Sebastian had spent the drive pondering Chief.
He supposed that wherever there was a force in nature, another force arose to balance it out. It made him wonder what had happened to Chief that fed his hatred of wizards. Whatever it had been, the man clearly knew better than to advertise his quiet grudge, and seemed to have a cozy little life down in his bunker. Sebastian certainly wouldn’t be the one to expose the old weapons dealer. In fact, Sebastian had almost had a heart attack when his porthole had warmed alarmingly as soon as they’d left the decrepit warehouse hiding the bunker’s entrance. He’d opened it to find his scowling aunt asking why he hadn’t answered sooner. The iron deposits in the old mine must have interfered with the porthole’s magic, but since he couldn’t tell his aunt that, he’d made up some vague excuse. It was the first in a series of vague responses he’d given as his aunt had checked in on their progress, all the time being careful to keep his porthole pointed away from Mallory. By the time Aunt B fell silent, he could tell she was unsatisfied with their conversation, but instead of interrogating him further she had simply bid him pay closer attention to his porthole and reminded him to call as soon as he had any word on Lily. He’d closed the porthole with a guilty conscience, but had known there was no helping it. Once they were back in the Buick and on their way home, Sebastian had attempted to strike up a conversation about Chief and his background, but Mallory had shut him down before he’d even gotten started. He’d tried talking to Sir Kipling instead, but it just wasn’t the same.
He missed Lily.
He missed her beautiful smile, her sharp mind, and her adorable eccentricities. He missed the way her pert lips pressed together when she was trying not to smile at his inappropriate jokes. He even missed her constant fussing, because he knew it meant she cared. Everything was important to her—every task, every person, every detail. Even him.
And that was what he missed most of all.
I needed to tell you—before I died…I wanted you to know…I love you.
Sebastian swallowed hard against the lump in his throat even as the memory brought a wry smile to his lips. Leave it to Lily—the most awkward person he knew—to make a confession of love sound like the reading of her last will. But for Lily to say something like that at all must have taken every ounce of her courage and resolve.
And he, like the idiot that he was, had been too busy making excuses in his head to say it back to her. Yes, he’d kissed her—and what a glorious kiss it had been. But what if he never saw her again? What if he never had the chance to explain how she made his heart ache, and made him long to feel alive again? How, after a decade of desperately hiding from the pain of his past, she made him feel brave enough to face it? What if he never got to apologize for the walls he’d put between them and all the mistakes he’d made trying to protect her?
His breath hitched, and he had to consciously force his lungs to keep expanding, to keep breathing through the icy fear that gripped him.
No. That wasn’t going to happen. He couldn’t even think it. Instead, Sebastian focused on the tiny glow of hope that Lily’s last words had set alight in his chest, trying to imprint the feel of it on every shattered bit of his soul so he would not forget it.
No matter what, he couldn’t lose that hope.
“Get off on this exit.”
Mallory’s monotone command jerked him from his thoughts, and he realized he’d been driving on autopilot. They’d reached Atlanta.
Forcing his mind back to the task at hand, he followed Mallory’s instructions, suppressing the burning need to know what they were going to do next to save Lily. The directions she gave him once they were off the interstate led them to—
A MARTA station.
Instead of pulling into the parking lot of the public transportation station, Sebastian kept driving, hands gripping tightly to the steering wheel.
“You just passed it. Turn around,” Mallory said, not exactly annoyed but at least a little less monotone than before.
“No.”
There was a pause.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean no. I’m not going to drop you off at a MARTA station where you can disappear to wherever you want while I have to sit around, biting my fingers down to stumps while I wait for you to take your sweet time figuring this thing out before you eventually decide to call me and let me know. Wherever you’re going, I’m going with you.” The hairs on the back of Sebastian’s neck tingled, and he fought the urge to turn around so he could keep Mallory in his sights. She’d be an idiot to attack him while he was driving the vehicle they were both sitting in—he just had to avoid any stop signs or red lights.
“You’re paying me to do a job. I’m trying to do it. Now take me back to the station.”
“Where are you going? Can’t I just drive you there?”
Was that teeth grinding he heard coming from the back seat? Or just the vibrations of Aunt B’s ancient car?
“I’m going home, where I can finish my research in peace and quiet so I can track down your stupid girlfriend, so I can finish getting paid and get rid of you and your asinine questions. If your high and mightiness approves, maybe you could stop the car and let me out before I decide that cutting off your tongue would be worth the mess.”
Her answer stunned Sebastian to silence, though he didn’t stop driving. Apparently Mallory wasn’t made out of stone after all—not one-hundred percent, anyway. A good twenty percent of her was vitriol with a generous seasoning of sarcasm sprinkled on top. It was telling, too, that she avoided using Lily’s name, or even mentioning her relationship with her half-sister. Being a master of hiding behind walls himself, Sebastian recognized the signs and wondered what Mallory was trying to protect herself from. At least he had the decency to use a mask of carefree charm. Mallory’s impression of a rock with spring loaded spikes was decidedly less pleasant. It made him grateful that Lily didn’t threaten to cut off his various body parts every time she was annoyed.
He couldn’t believe he was even thinking it, but perhaps Lily could give her sister some pointers on social skills…
“Why are you getting back on the interstate?” Mallory asked, her voice chilling to glacial temperatures.
“Because as much as I value my tongue, I’d sacrifice it and everything attached to it for Lily’s sake.” Sebastian threw a nervous glance at Sir Kipling in the passenger seat. He hoped the cat could be bothered to wake up from his nap long enough to stop Mallory from going all Edward Scissorhands on him. “You can’t blame me for not wanting to let you out of my sight. The last time our paths crossed, you disappeared without a trace and hardly bothered to say goodbye. If you don’t want to invite me to your place, then I’m taking you to mine. Nobody’s getting any rest until Lily is safe.”
Mallory’s silence—and the fact that she did not lunge at him with a knife—was enough of an answer for Sebastian. He felt helpless enough as it was; there was no way he was going to sit this one out. Keeping close to Mallory meant he could make sure everything happened as quickly as possible, and it might just keep him from going insane with impatience.
“If you want to do this the hard way, fine. But I’m adding an extra ten percent to your fee and I’ll be billing you for an
y extra equipment or supplies I have to buy—”
“What? You can’t do that, we already agreed on the price,” Sebastian protested.
“It’s called ‘The Client Is A Meddlesome Idiot’ fee. If you don’t like it, hire someone else.”
Sebastian glared at the car in front of him, doing a little teeth grinding of his own as he reminded himself that this was all for Lily. Nothing else mattered, especially not his bank account.
With evening traffic at its height, it took them longer than usual to get to Sebastian’s apartment. He pointedly did not try to see what Mallory’s reaction was when he parked in front of his run-down housing complex. Her face was likely as blank as ever, and besides, he’d never needed nor wanted anyone’s approval before, so why start caring now?
It was just his luck that his emotions hadn’t gotten the memo, because he felt a distinct flush of embarrassment when he let her through his front door and they were confronted with the usual mess. Without a word, she turned and gave him The Look. It wasn’t an expression so much as the suggestion of one, with just enough ambiguity to reinforce every negative opinion you knew was lurking there.
“You can get set up in the bedroom,” he said, glowering. “I have a desk in there.” Kicking aside multiple discarded soda cans, Sebastian led the way into his bedroom and Mallory followed behind, her backpack slung across a shoulder and her hands full of the equipment she hadn’t wanted to leave sitting in the car. Upon catching sight of his desk—which was shoved into a corner and piled high with yet more junk—he belatedly remembered why he always preferred working on the bed.
Muttering half-hearted excuses, Sebastian grabbed the empty box currently serving as his nightstand—was that one of his moving boxes from forever ago?—and swept all the junk from his desk into it.
“There you go. Let me know if you need anything, I’ll just be, uh, out there in the living room.” With that brilliant line of repartee, he beat a hasty retreat. He could feel Mallory’s gaze follow him out, raised eyebrow and all.
“For someone who aspires to be as unreadable as a plank of wood, she sure does judgy well,” Sebastian muttered to Sir Kipling once he was safely back in the living room with a closed door between him and Mallory’s abundance of sharp pointy things. Sir Kipling just yawned in reply.
Sebastian’s stomach chose that moment to remind him he’d barely paid attention to it all day, and he headed to the kitchen to see if he possessed anything edible. As he entered the room, his eyes automatically checked the back window, half expecting to see fairy lights dancing outside of it. But no. The windowsill was dark and silent—as it always would be from now on.
Regret stabbed through him, the sudden echo of loss so painfully real that he reached out and clutched the counter for support. He had to breathe deeply through his nose for a moment to calm his racing heart.
Pip is gone.
My fault.
Mom and Dad are gone.
My fault.
Lily is gone…
Sebastian slammed his fist on the countertop, breaking his train of thought before it could do any more damage than it already had. Suddenly he wasn’t so hungry anymore.
A concerned meow from the doorway made him jump. He turned, forcing a smile onto his face. “I’m fine, Kip. Sorry I don’t have a litter box or anything, but I guess you can get outside yourself if you need to. I, uh, don’t have any cat food either, but maybe there’s some milk in the fridge.”
There was, but when he picked it up he noticed strange-looking clumps sticking to the inside of the jug. Peering at the expiration date, he realized why. The same was true of the half-eaten pack of hot dogs, the lone stick of string cheese, and the jar of mayonnaise. “Uhh, do you want some pickles and ketchup?” he asked, turning to give Sir Kipling an apologetic look. The cat put his ears back and stalked away, disappearing back into the living room.
Well super. Now Sir Kipling was mad at him too. Why did he even bother? Maybe he should order some pizza. Everyone liked pizza—even cats, right? And if Mallory wanted to murder someone, she could always stab the pizza delivery guy.
Sebastian dug in his jacket pocket for his phone, but when he tried to turn it on, nothing happened. “Great. Just great,” he muttered. “Why did you have to pick now to stop working?” He didn’t have another burner phone in his apartment—he had a stash in his car, but had no idea where the stupid thing was—so that left him only one option…
“Uh, Tr—I mean, Mallory?” Sebastian said, barely catching himself as he cautiously poked his head into the bedroom. Mallory, who was sitting at the desk and glaring at her computer screen, did not respond or even look his way. “Can I borrow your phone? Mine’s dead and I was going to order us some pizza.”
Mallory closed her eyes, opened them again, then slowly turned her head to look at him. “Seriously? Could you be any more annoying if you tried? I’ll take care of my own food. Now stop interrupting me or I’ll never get this done.”
“Okay, okay. Sheesh.” He withdrew, then closed the door behind him. He’d need to get a new phone as soon as he could spare the time, seeing as how he was a “professional witch” and you never knew when someone might call with a job. But at least he didn’t have any current clients who might be trying to reach him. He’d been so distracted recently, he hadn’t been able to sniff out a new job in weeks. The thought made him feel gloomy and he looked around his living room and kitchen, trying to find Sir Kipling—that cat had a supernatural ability to make everything seem better. But the feline was nowhere to be seen. Overcome by a fit of melancholy, Sebastian headed for the back door. He needed some fresh air.
Behind the building were little patios for each apartment, an optimistic addition to an optimistic project when the apartments were first built. But that was decades ago, and now most of them were cracked and overgrown by a veritable jungle of Atlanta weeds, their stalks brown and shrunken with winter. Sebastian’s patio wasn’t in much better shape, but he kept enough of the weeds cleared to have a little space for a rusted patio chair and an overturned bucket to set a drink on. He liked to sit out there in the evenings during the spring when the weather was nice and before the insects had become unbearable. It always made him smile to watch Pip throw little parties on the windowsill with the local pixies, generously sharing her mixed drinks—no doubt in return for favors down the road from her fellow fae. Now, as he sank into the seat and stared at the empty windowsill, he wondered how everything had gone so wrong. Starting when his parents had died in that car crash, his life had been one long, never-ending train wreck.
Maybe it really was all his fault.
Maybe he really was as worthless as Mallory seemed to think.
A part of him knew that couldn’t be true. But his exhaustion, worry, and guilt all combined in a dark, swirling mass that seemed to smother any positive thought or feeling.
What good was he, after all, apart from the magic he had borrowed, stolen, or bartered for? If he’d been born a wizard like his brother, he could have learned magic—could have helped his parents, could have saved Meg, could have done so many things. No one would have been able to take that away from him. Instead, he was just a helpless mundane, blundering around in a world he didn’t belong in while he did more harm than good.
A sudden warmth in his back pocket startled him, and for a moment he thought his truth coin had gone haywire. But when he dug out the offending object, he realized it was not his truth coin, but the porthole.
His aunt was trying to call him again.
He sat frozen, hand unmoving, as he stared at it. He didn’t want to open it, didn’t want to talk to anyone. There was nothing to report, no progress had been made, and he couldn’t stand the sight of his aunt’s disappointed face—yet another person he’d let down.
Hand moving almost of its own accord, Sebastian set the porthole down on the upturned bucket, then dug in his other pockets and laid his truth coin and Lily’s charm bracelet beside it. An ache was growing inside his
chest, an unbearable feeling he couldn’t put a name to. But it was hard and black and merciless, and it swallowed up the little glow of hope he was trying so hard not to forget.
The blackness went on forever.
Sebastian watched, feeling detached as his numb fingers tugged at the circle of beautifully shaped wood that encircled his left pinkie. His hand laid Pip’s memorial ring down beside the porthole, then went back to tugging, this time at the Ring of Cacophony on his right hand. That wasn’t good, was it? He should stop himself, shouldn’t he? But what was the point? It was just like the other things: a trinket he hid behind because, surprise, he was worthless on his own. The sight of it on his finger filled him with shame, its presence a reminder of his weakness and mistakes.
The ring slipped off his finger and made a hollow thunking sound as it dropped onto the upturned bucket.
You are worthless. You are nothing. You should have never been born.
It was almost a relief to give in, to let the voices well up and fill his mind. He’d been fighting them for so long, but he never won—could never win. Maybe they’d been right all along.
It is your fault. You killed your parents, you killed Meg, you killed Pip, and you will kill Lily.
Yes. It was his fault. If he hadn’t made so many mistakes, they would all still be here.
She doesn’t love you anyway. She only ever pitied you. You are nothing compared to Richard.
The thought didn’t fill him with crazed anger like it had last week when the voices had first returned. Instead, it leeched through him like a poison, taking the crushing blackness in his heart and spreading it through every pore and vein until he finally recognized it for what it was.
Despair.
Hadn’t his aunt said something about despair? But even as he tried to remember, the voices in his head howled louder. It was as if they could sense his desperation and were eager for blood.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Identity Page 10
