Then I remember what Cedric told me of another accusation, this one, from one of his father’s close friends. I believe now, that the reason his mother plead for my help in that vision is because he was right. She never died in the first place.
36
Octavia
As soon as I turn on my phone again, I am met with dozens of missed calls, countless texts, and I think even several furiously worded emails. I can already guess the greeting we can expect when we get back.
We boarded the subway right off, but as soon as I get a brief blip of data underground I can see we’ve made a mistake.
Draven tries to stomp off the train the moment it stops, but I have to catch him by his wrist before he goes.
“Hold on,” I say, scrolling through the message as fast as I can to get an idea of what exactly happened in the hours since our disappearance. “They didn’t go back to the academy. They’ve all met up at Cedric’s house.”
We exchange a knowing glance. We have to tell him now. Tell Cedric everything. Not only have we learned something absolutely horrific about his parents, but we’re likely the top suspects in a murder case. If we don’t tell him now…we may not get the chance.
We get off the train and wait for the next one, with our new destination in mind. While we do, Draven catches sight of something and runs a finger along the bottom half of my face.
“You’ve washed off all the Dragon’s Blood,” he says,
I reach up and run my hand across my naked lips, and in a sudden burst of inspiration, I lift my right hand up and examine my right ring finger. Just as I thought, the three tiny dots Draven tattooed me with just over a week ago have completely faded away. The only explanation I can think of is that the magical resistance Flynn and I share must make all effects, even good ones, fade faster.
“That must be how he found me, then,” I say, thinking back to how Bram had just appeared in the bathroom the moment the spell was lifted.
“Wait a second, who found you?”
Right, I never got around to telling Draven. But now I do, and he swallows hard and grips the metal subway pole tight in his hand.
“He’d no right contacting you,” he says, his voice coming out strained between clenched teeth.
“But he did.”
I flourish the card he gave me. On one side is the silver-embossed symbol of The Underground organization. On the other, a crudely drawn symbol of a clock.
“It’s useless anyway,” I say, absentmindedly. “I don’t know that I want to do Time Magic after what happened last time.
“What do you mean?”
Oh crap. I try to divert attention by pointing out how the tattoo he gave me has already faded, but he isn’t having any of it.
“C’mon Octavia,” he says. “You’re saying you’ve practiced Time Magic again, but you didn’t tell us about it?”
“It wasn’t quite like that.” I tell him about that morning in Dr. Fashu’s office. His grip on the pole tightens even more, enough that I’m worried either his fingers or the pole is going to end up giving way.
“That bastard,” he growls through gritted teeth. “If I get that man alone, I’ll…”
“What?” I say, crossing my arms even as the train finally starts screeching to a halt. “There’s nothing we can do. That’s why I didn’t tell you sooner.”
He just shakes his head, and we start out into the station and on out into the night.
“I dunno how he did that still,” Draven says, referring back to Bram’s sudden appearance in the bathroom without any kind of warning. We’re lucky Cedric lives close to a line that still runs frequently enough after midnight. I’ve given up trying to read the rest of the messages. Only one set concerns me the most, and it is the only person that hasn’t tried to text me—Flynn.
He is responsible for keeping Jessica occupied enough that she doesn’t alert Dr. Fashu that I went off alone with Draven. The fact that he hasn’t tried to contact me even once, either good or bad, is unsettling.
“What d’you mean?”
“I mean…” Draven trails off a bit as a couple of teens stumble past us, clearly intoxicated. He moves closer to me, so we won’t be overheard. “Teleportation is difficult, and even those mages who can do it can’t just appear anywhere they like at any point. Not with that kind of precision,” he says.
“So?”
He shakes his head.
“The only thing I can think is, he might have been following us the entire time.”
I dare a glance over my shoulder, and then across the street at the dark sidewalks. It doesn’t look like we’re being followed, but I thought that before, so it means very little.
“Do you think he was responsible for…” I trail off, hoping he understands my meaning.
“I just don’t know why he’d kill Herbert with us there in the shop,” Draven says. “Unless he wanted to stop us from finding out something more about that night you saw in the vision.”
“Bram was there,” I say, and immediately put a hand to my head and squeeze my eyes shut. “What an idiot.”
“What?” He asks, leaning closer.
“We should’ve taken the book,” I say. “I bet Bram is in those records too.” He’s the kind of mage it would be nice to have something on, particularly if that piece of information is worth killing over.
“It’s a bit late for that. The mage police will be there already, I imagine, once that shopkeeper has finished flushing all their illegal substances down the toilet.”
I peek at him through my lashes. “You think he was lying about that too?”
Draven nods.
The temperature has dropped radically in the hours since we set out, and something about the information that we’ve gathered has made it seem even colder. Before we know it, we’re standing on the sidewalk in front of the house again.
I don’t even have time to steel myself up in preparation for what is surely to come before the door flies open.
Cedric stands in the doorway, still in costume. The zombie prosthetics that had earlier seemed so well done, now only appears as an ironic symbol of what we are about to tell him. But there is nothing ironic or symbolic about the unconcealed anger on his face.
He is not alone inside. I catch a glimpse of Wednesday and Mathilda half raised from where they were sprawled out at the bottom of the stairs still sobering up. Kendall stands to one side, his hands balled into fists that tighten at our arrival.
Flynn is not here.
But someone else is.
Cedric’s father is the only one not smeared with fake blood or dressed in tattered costumes. But his fury matches that on his son’s face.
“You told him?” I ask, my eyes unable to leave the principal. I thought for sure his father wouldn’t be home if he had everyone gathering here.
“You left me no choice. Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Octavia?”
His father strides up to fill the rest of the doorway with his impressive frame.
“Get inside,” he barks at me from over Cedric’s shoulder.
I scurry in, darting between them once Cedric steps stiffly to the side to let me pass.
He catches Draven by the arm and says something low and threatening to him that I don’t overhear.
Wednesday tries to jump up and greet me but has to stop and slowly lower herself back down to the stairs. Mathilda reaches out and helps her down, but she manages to shoot me a murderous look in the process.
“She was worried sick about you. Literally sick.”
“I know, but—”
The door shuts with a thunderous slam that cuts off my words.
“Octavia Hadley.”
Anything Kendall, Cedric, Draven, or the rest of them was going to say to me, cannot outdo the menace in the principal’s voice. He doesn’t even need to speak above a normal volume for me to know that I have never before in my life been in so much trouble.
So much so, that suddenly Cedric doesn’t look so angry. He t
akes a half step forward, extending his arm to stop his father rushing toward me.
They share a glance for a second, father to son, and something passes between them.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen them in agreement about anything before. The fact that it’s because I’m in trouble significantly puts a damper on what could have been a tender moment.
Whatever they agreed on, it is Cedric who steps forward to speak.
“When you disappeared at the club, what were we supposed to think?” he says. “For weeks now, we’ve been trying to keep you safe from The Underground and other organizations that want to take advantage of your powers. Even knowing this, I convinced my father to let us take you off campus if we were careful.”
“Against my better judgment,” his father adds.
“The rules were simple. Just take two of us along.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “But it wasn’t that simple. Not tonight.”
Cedric just shakes his head. “But you took Draven. Why not me as well? I know you were mad at Flynn, but that didn’t give you an excuse to behave that way.”
“It isn’t what you think,” I say. “I’m not upset about Flynn.”
“If you weren’t upset with him, then why did you run off in the first place?”
I can tell it is taking everything inside Cedric’s father not to interject. He’s started tapping his foot anxiously on the marble floor. Even Kendall, who normally would be quick to take my side, if not in theory, at least physically, does not reach for me. Instead, he just goes to sit beside his sister, and avoids looking my way. This is a bad sign. A really bad sign.
“You know what?” Cedric says, “Your reasons don’t matter, don’t you get that? All that matters is—”
Draven can’t stand it anymore. He stalks past the principal and catches Cedric on the arm.
“It’s your mother, Cedric,” he says, his eyes locking with Cedric’s as he cuts him off. “We found out what happened to your mother.”
Cedric shakes him loose and stumbles back a step. Anger and hurt intermingle on his face. “I already know what happened. Octavia, we discussed this.”
His eyes fall on me, but I can’t stop looking at his father.
This is not how I wanted to do this. Not how I wanted to break the news.
“Your mother isn’t dead, Cedric,” I say, carefully. I tug down on the still damp edges of my sleeves anxiously. “There’s a reason your father never lost his powers when she died. Why he never remarried, or re-bonded; not even for power’s sake. You said it yourself, he isn’t a sentimental man, yet he kept that door in the garden all this time. That doesn’t make sense.”
I glance from one to the other and wonder, briefly, if the principal had always been such a hard man. He had to be, to do what he did to his wife.
“He used a Voodoo ritual to keep her alive all these years, just so he doesn’t have to suffer the loss of his powers.”
Cedric just continues to slowly shake his head in disbelief. “But why would he let me believe she was dead then? Octavia, I saw her in the casket. You know that.”
“And you said she looked terrible, like already she had started to decay. And her eyes were open. Cedric…they don’t bury the dead with their eyes open. I don’t know the particulars. But you have to admit, it does make some sense.”
“You got all this from that vision?” he asks, incredulous still. “That my father would turn his own wife, my mother, into what…a zombie so he didn’t have to lose a small fraction of his powers?”
“She begged for my help Cedric. I couldn’t ignore her.”
Cedric’s father can no longer stay silent. His face is red, and the loose skin under his neck quivers as he finally finds his voice.
“I am a judge on the tribunal,” he says, his words chosen so carefully even though the rage behind them can barely be concealed. “I would never…”
“Then show him what’s on the other side of the door.”
It is a gamble, I know. Maybe Cedric’s father does have a secret sentimental streak, and that was why he kept it. But something about the subtle shift of his features tells me I’ve stuck a nerve. Let’s just hope it is the right one.
I take a step backwards, closer to the garden. “Show your son what is on the other side of that door, Mr. Davenport,” I say.
Cedric’s face has paled. He’s staring at his father now.
“What’s she talking about?”
“Nothing.” But his words come out too quick.
Cedric takes another look at me, and then his father, and then starts taking several halting steps towards the back of the house.
“Cedric—”
I take off after him, but he’s dashed out the back and into the garden before I can even skid into the dining room. I see a flash of his white shirt in the darkness outside the windows. Something catches on my sleeve when I go to follow after him, and suddenly Cedric’s father is so close to me I can feel his hot breath on my face.
“Everything I did, I did to protect us,” he spits at me. “And now look what you’ve gone and done.”
I shake myself free of his grasp, but I don’t break eye contact.
“All I am doing is telling Cedric the truth,” I say. “Something you’ve never given him the honor of yourself.”
I slip out the door and into the garden before he can catch me again. I’m lucky the willow tree is so easy to spot, even in the gloom, because I’m sure I would have gotten lost otherwise. There are many footsteps behind us as not only Cedric’s father follows, but everyone else as well. I know there are many apologies in order, but first, this.
I hear Cedric before I see him. His fists beat against the wooden door, loud, sporadic thuds. The branches of the willow shake and quiver as he does. Some of the tiny white flowers separate from the branches and fall in a little shower of petals to the ground.
I part the willow and step in after Cedric. I rest a hand on his shoulder, and he stops pounding on the door. His body heaves from exertion and sweat has dampened the back of his shirt.
Footsteps slow behind us, and I feel the tree shake around as Cedric’s father ducks in after us next. I step aside to stand next to the stone bench, but I don’t let my hand drop from Cedric’s shoulder.
“Open the door,” he says.
I can feel the muscles twitching under the fabric of his shirt. He’s straining to stay calm, to keep himself from lashing out.
I don’t know if it is because he knows he is caught, or if he thinks it is actually time for the truth, but Cedric’s father does not resist. He gives me a cool, calculated look and then brushes Cedric to the side. The door unlocks at his touch and swings forward.
I had expected Jamaica, his mother’s homeland, or one of the neighboring islands. But as soon as the door opens on the other side, an almost supernaturally bright light pools and spreads from the doorway. It is so sudden and so white, I am temporarily blinded as I follow Cedric in. He rushes forward, his footsteps unsteady on the soft ground.
It is another garden. I hear the crunch of footsteps following us, though more cautiously than the reckless pace Cedric has adopted. It takes everything in me just to keep him in sight.
The sky overhead is the most brilliant blue I’ve ever seen, and though the air is thick with moisture, it doesn’t feel overly warm. Tall green shrubs divide the garden all around us; not quite a maze but enough to keep Cedric always just ahead of me, turning another corner as he hunts down, searches, for something.
“Cedric!” I call after him, but I fear my voice is lost in the many leaves.
I’ve just begun to wonder if maybe I was wrong, that nothing bad could possibly exist in a place like this, and that was why Cedric’s father so willingly opened the door—when I turn the next corner and it is Cedric this time, holding me back.
A quiet tune has broken the thrum of the garden. A woman stands hunched over a patch of roses maybe a dozen yards off. All I can see of her is the loose dress that fal
ls from her waist to the green grass. It is a bright blue, patterned with little white willow branches just beginning to bud.
She mustn’t hear us coming, or if she does, she ignores us. Other footsteps skid to a halt behind us. I glance back and see Cedric’s father frozen at the corner. Draven follows close, with Kendall and the girls just appearing around the bend.
They all stop when they see her.
She continues to prune the bushes, humming that same eerie song so quietly that I almost think I am imagining it. It’s like it never quite fully reaches my ears, but instead hovers just beyond, taunting me.
Then Cedric takes a step forward, and I follow suit. My foot lands on a twig in the grass and it snaps beneath my weight.
The tune stops so suddenly, and with it, so do all the other sounds in the garden.
I hold my breath and reach out to grasp Cedric’s arm. But he is already out of reach. He’s stalking forward, each step further closing the gap between them.
I feel a shift in the air. That something that is not right, returned.
The woman turns now. I know what he is about to find. I led him here. But now, suddenly, I don’t want him to have to see it.
I should stop this. My footsteps falter over the ground as I follow, wishing I could stop him. But I can’t.
The woman turns to face Cedric.
I can tell from the look on his face that he immediately recognizes her, but I wish he didn’t. It is a face that I know too well.
37
Octavia
It is a face that has haunted me, awake and dreaming, for days now.
Cedric does not immediately recoil, even when the woman, her flesh blackened, shriveled, and decaying, reaches out for him. Even from a distance, I can smell her…smell…it. It is that scent unique to creatures meant for science dissection boards, not long-lost mothers; formaldehyde and rot.
I hear a slight choking sound behind me. I turn, and so does the undead.
Cedric’s father stands at the other end of the glen, unable to bring himself to move closer. He’s fished a handkerchief from inside his jacket and used it to cover his mouth—though I don’t know how he can smell her from there.
Adapt: Book Two of the Forgotten Affinities Series Page 19
