Evernight (The Night Watchmen Series Book 2) (46 page)

He’s rubbing my hair, cupping my face, asking me repeatedly if I’m all right. All I can do is nod. Nod and pray that what I just dreamed wasn’t a premonition.

“Faye, tell me. What is it? What did you see?”

I look up at him.

“You had a premonition. I feel the tendrils of magic,” he says, still holding me, still supporting me.

But I can’t look at him any longer. I can’t stop the fear that’s wrapped its fist around my heart. I search his eyes, trying to find the right words to describe what I saw, but they won’t dislodge themselves from the chains of fear holding them down. I can’t tell him. I can’t. Too much has happened. Too much still has to happen, and there’s no way what I saw was real.

There’s just no way.

“Faye?”

“It was just a nightmare,” I say, my voice cracking a little. I cough to clear my throat, anchoring my resolve. “That’s it. I’ve already had one recently. It’s impossible to have another so soon.”

“You’re different,” he says, as if I didn’t already know. As if I didn’t already realize that my powers differ from the entire world, therefore, the rules we know don’t apply to me. He sees right to my soul. “You can tell me, Faye. Together, remember?”

I nod and bite my lip to hold back the sob that’s stuck in my throat. “Blood. The Underground.” I find his eyes. “Mourdyn.”

His eyebrows dip. His green eyes harden. “Everything will work out. I swear,” he says, pulling me against his chest.

“Yeah,” I say, knowing the feeling I felt in my dream was too real to believe it wasn’t. Because I still taste death in my mouth.

“Everything will be fine,” I lie.

T
HE NEXT MORNING, WE AL
L
meet at a street vendor to grab breakfast before our meet with Seamus. Weldon’s clothes are wrinkled. His hair is a mess. He looks like he tossed and turned and never quite found one position to finally rest in. He looks like he’s seen a ghost, and that ghost has spooked him to the point of no return.

Jezi stays close by his side, though she never says a word. When he looks over at her, there are so many words in his gaze, so many grateful things he doesn’t have to say, and it kills me to watch his eyes shut down. To see him retreat into his internal cell with little hope for return.

“You okay?” Gavin asks Weldon.

He shrugs and looks away.

Gavin looks to Jaxen, his eyes narrowing and his mouth pressing thin. He doesn’t have to say it. We all feel the same way. We all want to wring Mack’s neck.

We hook a right, and the Military Compound comes into view. I think my heart falls to my feet. My whole body feels like it’s going to leave without me. It’s going to take off for the building and burst through Seamus’ door. I’m eager, anxious, and just a little bit dreadful to discover what they have decided to do with Clara.

We’re almost to the sliding doors when people start rushing past us in the opposite direction. I don’t notice it at first, not until an entire crowd engulfs us, stopping us in our tracks. I turn around. They’re headed for the city square where the large Jumbotron is. Clara’s face is on the screen, her eyes seeming to pick through my skin, piece by piece, with a tiny toothpick.

“But she… she’s supposed to be locked up,” I whisper out.

She lifts a piece of paper, drops her eyes to it, and begins to read. “High Priest Seamus Everett Sullivan, Faye Hadley Middleton, Jaxen Reade Gramm, Gavin Amery Gramm, Jezibelle Darlene Beaumont, Cassandra Lynn Reed, and Weldon James Jacobsen, you’re hereby summoned by the High Priesthood to appear before the High Priesthood at this very hour. Failure to comply with this summons will result in automatic banishment. You have ten minutes.”

And just like that, her face disappears.

So does my courage.

I swallow. I feel so transparent, so easy to read, as everyone around us slowly turns in our direction and stares. Stares like they’ve never seen a criminal before. Stares like we’re some rabid animal loose from a zoo that needs to be caught and put down.

Jaxen’s hand finds mine, but there’s no solace to be found.

“She’s out. She’s loose,” I mutter, unable to fathom the thought of her being back in her ranking. “They must have decided not to do anything with her or the evidence.”

“We knew this day would come,” Weldon says from the other side of me. He looks down at the ground, and then back up at me. “The letter from your mom—do you still have it?”

I manifest my Grimoire, rip the page out, and then send it back to my room. “Here,” I say, handing it to Weldon.

“What are we going to do with that? The Priesthood already knows about it, and they don’t care,” Gavin says, sounding annoyed and tired.

“Yes, but the Coven doesn’t know. This, I’m sure, will be broadcasted all over. We can bring it to their attention… to all those who are a part of the rebellion, secretly waiting for the right moment to come out of the shadows,” Weldon says, sounding a little bit renewed.

“Come on,” Jaxen says, taking my hand. “She wants a fight. She’ll get a fight.”

I
CAN’T FULLY DESCRIBE TH
E
walk through the City Square to the Courthouse.

It’s how I’d imagine walking a plank would feel like, or walking to the front of the classroom to give your first oral speech, or maybe it’s more like walking the path of judgment before you’re sentenced to heaven or hell.

Either way, I know this is a defining moment in my life. I feel it in my veins, in my blood. Either we’ll walk out of this with Clara put away once and for all, or we won’t walk away at all.

The crowd of retired Elites and the citizens of Ethryeal City part to either side of the Square, granting us a clear passage to the Courthouse. I don’t know whether I should thank them or despise them. I don’t know anything anymore. All I know is my pulse is throbbing and my blood is draining, leaving me feeling like I’m unprepared for this detrimental moment.

Two Elites in uniform pull the double doors open when we reach the top of the stairs. Chaotic murmurs wrack the inside of the Courthouse. We pass through the entryway packed full of people, walking straight through to the Court of the Priesthood.

A hand reaches out from the back of the crowd and, before I can yank away, General Sterling’s face comes into view. “If this goes sour, come back and find me. I will help
you
and only
you.
Understood?”

I nod as Jaxen pulls me away from him, oblivious to what was just said. I nearly gasp when I see Seamus on his knees, in chains made of volation, in front of the other members of the Priesthood. But that’s not what stops me in my tracks. That’s not what yanks the world out from under me and spits me out in the fiery pits of hell.

It’s raven-colored hair and lavender eyes filled with hate.

“Good, you’ve made it. Contain them,” Clara says to the Elites behind us. All at once, we’re grabbed from behind and our line of strength is ripped apart. I don’t bother with struggling against my captor the way the others do. An eerie calm settles over me as my gaze locks with Clara’s. Some crazed, maybe even a little confused, part of me wants this to happen. I won’t show her any fear, any sign of weakness.

I won’t grant her a single ounce of emotion.

Volation loops around my arms, but it’s not my own. It’s the Elite’s behind me. His Witch is right next to him, and she quickly works a spell to contain my magic. I feel it penetrating my skin, pushing past my defenses, and entering the core of my power.

I look to my left, over at Jaxen. He isn’t fighting back either. He’s watching me, instilling strength in me.
“No matter what, we’re in this together.”

I blink. My eyes are dry. My emotions have deserted me. Clara slams a gavel down on the raised bench she sits behind, right in the middle of the five other Priests.

“Seamus Everett Sullivan,” she calls out, catching the attention of every eye in the room, “do you deny aiding the fugitives in falsely accusing and apprehending me?” The Coven’s symbol is painted brightly behind her on a flag pinned to the wall, mocking the very falseness she imbibes.

I can’t help but think of my premonition—of the flag burning behind her as she waits for me to join her.

This is one of my choices. Every move I make, every word I speak, will forever change me from this point on.

“I do not,” Seamus says with conviction.

Edgar leans into her, whispering something in her ear. She smiles and says something back before turning her attention back to Seamus.

“And do you deny overstepping my plans for the Everlasting?” she asks, adding more to the pot.

“Plans?” Seamus asks, as if he doesn’t understand her accusation. But I know he does. I see it etched on his face. He’s making her talk, searching for a weak link in her chain.

“Yes,” she says flatly, staring him down. “My plans. My training. You granted Jaxen Gramm permission to act in your stead and removed the Everlasting from my custody, did you not?”

“I did,” Seamus says with conviction, “but when did this Priesthood become a dictatorship? We’re all equal, and therefore, we all have equal say in what happens with the members of our Coven held under our care. Or did you forget the rules you so recently pledged yourself to?”

The crowd erupts in chatter, all looking to one another in confusion. Clara’s left eye twitches. She folds her hands neatly in front of her. Looks left to right, catching the eye of every remaining member of the Priesthood. I can tell who’s on her side, and who’s bowed down for strategic reasons. A few barely have the strength to look in Seamus’ direction, while the rest gloat in their small victory.

“A dictatorship?” she asks, her voice lilting on the high side.

“Yes. A dictatorship,” Seamus repeats loud enough to quiet the crowd.

“There’s no such thing occurring here,” she says calmly, surely.

“Then what exactly am I being tried for, Clara? Your means of training the Everlasting were inhumane. And then there was plausible evidence found against you that suggested you were working with the Darkyn Coven. I followed our laws and contained you, awaiting a trial that you have so sneakily evaded, I might add.”

“And now you’re on trial,” she says with no mercy or feeling. “No evidence was found against me. I was falsely contained.”

Weldon clears his throat loudly. “I beg to differ,” he says from behind me. “I have evidence.”

The crowd once again erupts in chatter as Clara’s eyes flick up to mine, and a slow, cruel smile spreads across her thin lips. “Bring them forth,” she demands.

I spot Mack in the crowd as we’re shoved forward. He’s the epitome of sorrow. Gray-faced and weepy eyed.

We’re placed on our knees next to Seamus. He keeps his eyes forward, locked on Clara.

“You say you have evidence?” she asks. She nods to the Elite behind Weldon. He reaches into Weldon’s pocket and pulls the paper from my mother’s Grimoire out. I feel the magic flowing off his Witch as the Elite walks the piece of paper, our lifeline, over to the desk.

Clara takes the paper, unfolds it, and places it under the screen that projects the image onto the wall across from us. My lungs catch on fire. My brain seizes up.

“This is a shipping document from the warehouse High Priest Seamus Everett raided,” Clara says confidently. “Twelve loads of salt were requested at my expense. I had them shipped to various Wiccan shops around the country to replenish their stocks since there had been a shortage.”