Lady Renegades (15 page)

“S
O WHAT
does this even mean?” Bee asked, leaning over my arm, her eyes scanning the page.

“David's parents. The ones we've always wondered about?” I said, my heart practically in my mouth. “They weren't just normal people who had a magical baby. They were
Alexander
and the Oracle.”

We all went quiet, lost in our thoughts. Maybe it didn't mean anything. Maybe an Oracle baby was just an Oracle baby, and coming from magical parents didn't necessarily make him special.

And then I read just a little bit further.

“Alaric,” I said softly, and Blythe nodded, her expression grim while Bee raised her eyebrows at me.

“What about him?” she asked.

“He was another male Oracle born to an Oracle,” I said, “and we know how he turned out.”

Crazy, super-charged, murdering Paladins, and blowing an entire town off the map.

Bee was leaning so close to me that her hair brushed the back of my arm. “But it doesn't make any sense. If Alexander was David's father, why would he want him dead?”

But he hadn't wanted David dead. He'd wanted
me
dead so I'd be out of the way, allowing him to perform a ritual on David. A ritual that would make him more powerful and, he'd hoped, more stable. It had worked in one regard, and been an abysmal failure in the other. David became incredibly powerful, but the visions had still messed him up pretty badly.

When he'd skipped town, his powers had blown through all the wards Alexander had put up.

Wards that I now knew weren't necessarily about trapping David in Pine Grove, but protecting him.

I went back through all the time I'd spent with Alexander, trying to think of any moment I could remember when there was even the slightest hint that he cared about David. I remembered him talking to me about how getting personally attached to an Oracle would only hurt me, but had he really been talking about himself?

“Did you know this?” I asked Blythe now. “Or even suspect?”

Her face was pale in the dim light. “Suspected, yeah. Well, not
this
exactly, but that David meant more to him than just being his Oracle. There were only two people in the world who had a vested interest in David—besides you, Harper. And that was Saylor and Alexander.”

She braced her hands on the desk, her eyes still on the book. “If anyone was trying to find a way to fix him—or to stop an Oracle gone rogue—it would be one of them.”

“That's what that spell was about, then. Why Alexander wanted it.”

She nodded and kept paging through the book, frowning.

“Alexander spent years researching what had happened to Alaric. The Ephors had tried to stop Alaric, had looked for ways of, I don't know, neutralizing him, I guess. Bringing him back from madness.”

“Why bother?” Bee asked. She had stepped back a little, and I heard another crunch as she, too, stepped on either glass or something unmentionable. Seriously, the sooner we were out of this place, the better.

“Why not just kill him?”

For a second, I thought Bee was talking about David, and my head shot up.

“Alaric,” Bee clarified. “If he was seeing things and making Paladins and sending them after the Ephors, why did they bother trying to save him?”

“Because they weren't monsters,” Blythe said, not looking up from the book. “Maybe they wanted to find some way to help him instead of putting him down like a dog.”

“It didn't work, though,” I reminded her, that cold feeling still sitting at the base of my spine. “They did kill him.”

Now Blythe lifted her head, her eyes meeting mine. “Because it was the last resort,” she said. “It happens. Once he'd gotten to that cave and started powering up, there wasn't anything they could do
but
kill him.”

I didn't like the way she said that but wasn't sure exactly how to reply.

And then Blythe looked down at the book and sucked in a breath.

There, at the end of the book, was a little paper pocket affixed to the back cover. It was probably just the slightly wavering beam of the flashlight that made it seem like Blythe's fingers were trembling as she pulled out two worn, folded sheets of paper.

When she unfolded them, gently smoothing the paper with her hands, I looked down, hoping I'd be able to understand what was written there.

This was another one of Saylor's weird ciphers, part Greek, part English, part symbols, and it all swam in front of my eyes.

Whatever was on those pages, though, Blythe got it. I actually watched her go pale, saw her eyes widen as she took it in.

“Well?” I asked, louder than I should have, but the suspense had me feeling like something was crawling all over my skin.

“It's definitely the spell,” she said, and the paper crinkled as she lifted it, turning to look at the back. This time, there was no doubt her hands were shaking.

“Duh,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Will it help? Can you do it?”

To my surprise, Blythe didn't look all that enthused. This was what she'd been looking for—what we'd brought her along for, after all—and instead of seeming pumped, she looked a little . . . sick, to be honest.

Frowning again, she turned back to the pages. “It's harder than I thought it would be,” she said, and there it was again, that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“But you can do it,” I pressed, and her head shot up, dark eyes meeting mine.

“You saw how things went with Dante. This kind of magic, it's . . . it's really complicated, Harper. It's unwieldy. This”—she rattled the papers at me—“won't just take David's powers, it'll wipe his mind, too.”

I thought of Dante, sitting in that field, the confusion on his face. “Oh. Right. I . . . forgot that bit.”

A David who was normal but didn't remember me? Or anything, for that matter? It was worth a shot, surely.

I thought about Bee, asking why they didn't just kill the Oracle when that was clearly the easiest course of action.

The idea of David looking at me blankly, no idea who I was . . . it sucked. It sucked a
lot.

But it was better than the alternative.

“What about the other part?” I asked, and Blythe's head jerked up.

“What?”

“In the memory,” I reminded her. “Dante said there was another part to that spell, some scary, intense thing he didn't think people should try.”

Blythe glanced back at the paper. “Not sure,” she said, then looked up, startled, as we heard a noise from outside.

The three of us froze. We heard footsteps, quick and soft, and saw a thin line of light underneath the closed office door.

Blythe turned off her own flashlight, plunging us into near darkness, and as quietly as she could, she slid the book from the desk, shoving it awkwardly in the waistband of her pants.

There was no sign that this was Paladin-related stuff, and we
hadn't been attacked since that first night at the motel, but I was taking no chances. Wordlessly, I held my hand out, and Blythe put the flashlight in my open palm.

The three of us held very still, shrinking back into the shadows as I tried to think of what to do. Was it better to rush out, taking whoever it was out there by surprise, or should we wait, hoping they passed us by?

But then the door swung open, making the choice for me.

My fingers were tight around the handle of the flashlight, ready to swing.

A pair of teenagers came stumbling in, and I was about to leap at them when I realized they were giggling, arms looped around each other.

Not Paladins sent by David. Just . . . kids exploring a deserted building.

The guy was tall, his hair blonder and shaggier than David's, but there was still enough of a resemblance to make my stomach flutter. The girl in front of him was a little taller than me, but her hair seemed as dark in the dim light, and when she turned to face him, winding her arms around his neck, the gesture seemed familiar.

It was all still so mixed up for me—the Oracle, the boyfriend, the guy I'd known for so long—and I couldn't sort out how I felt about any of it. Stopping the Oracle might still mean losing David, and while this was still the best way, I wanted . . . something more.

Something easier.

I was so caught up in those thoughts that I didn't even notice Blythe until she was stepping slightly in front of me, hand raised, murmuring under her breath.

The couple stopped kissing. Or, rather, they froze, lips still touching, and Blythe gave a satisfied sigh. “Okay, that trick lasts like a minute,” she whispered. “Let's go.”

We hurried past the unmoving couple, making our way out into the silent hallway. Even before we got to the street, Blythe was already pulling the pages out of her waistband, and as soon as we were in the car, she was looking at them again.

“You can do it, right?” I asked, starting the car. Blythe had reached up, turning on the dome light overhead and making it slightly trickier to see the darkened streets in front of me.

For a long time, the only sound was Bee's breathing in the backseat and the rustle of the pages as Blythe read.

Then she lifted her head, looked at me, and said, “Well, if we're going to do this spell, we're going to need some supplies.”

“So you
can
do it?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the road.

And when Blythe just made a sound low in her throat, I told myself that surely that was a yes.

I
DON'T KNOW
if you've ever been to a flea market, but it's not exactly something I can recommend. I mean, unless you need some sketch jewelry, a puppy, or a cassette tape from 1988, flea markets usually don't have much to offer. But Blythe was sure that we could find what we needed for the spell at the one she'd seen advertised in one of those colorful flyers you can pick up outside a grocery store. After a less-than-comfortable night sleeping in the car, we pulled into the field serving as the parking lot and stared at all the booths laid out in front of us.

It was already hot: Sweat was beading on my upper lip (ew) and starting to trickle down my spine. The little colored triangular flags they'd hung up just lay there, limp and listless since there was no breeze. The air smelled of car exhaust, animals, and the faint tang of lemonade from a nearby concession stand. In a lot of ways, it reminded me of the Azalea Festival back home, just dingier and a little more depressing.

Which was quite the feat. Once you've watched grown men chase greased pigs, it's hard to find anything that actually seems scuzzier.

Bee slid the sunglasses up on her head.

“So whatever it is you need to do this spell, it's . . . here?”

Blythe nodded. Her dark hair was tucked behind her ears, and while she'd been quieter since our trip to Alexander's, she also seemed . . . more settled. Probably because we finally had a plan. I knew that was making
me
feel better, even as I tried to ignore the pang the thought of a memory-less David caused me.

Still, better that than a Super Oracle David or, even worse, a dead one, which was why I put up with this trip to the flea market to get whatever it was Blythe wanted.

“Where do we even start?” Bee asked, and Blythe looked around.

“Jewelry booths,” she said, and gave a decisive nod. “Over there near the weapons stuff.”

Which maybe seemed like a good idea, but this was a flea market, which meant that there were roughly nine thousand jewelry booths, and that wasn't even counting all the people advertising “rocks and gemstones.” Blythe tackled one end of the long line of tables and open car trunks, and Bee and I headed for the other. I know we should have split up to save time, but I wanted to talk to Bee out of Blythe's earshot.

The table I picked was one of the nicer ones, spread with what was probably a Christmas tablecloth, bright poinsettias blooming across the white cotton. There were boxes of various polished stones—amethysts, fool's gold, plenty of quartz—and if what Blythe was after was in here, I sure couldn't feel it. Still, I poked through the rocks, and without looking over at Bee, said, “This is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Or, you know, a magic rock in a box of not-magic rocks.”

Bee snorted, her sunglasses back in place. “She said we'd be able to sense it if we touched it, right?”

I shrugged. “She did, but for all we know, that just means
she'll
be able to feel it. We could be duds at the Magic Rock Hunting Game.”

“She was right about Alexander's place,” Bee admitted, moving over to my table. Under the morning sun, her shoulders were tanned and freckled, and I wished I had thought of wearing a tank top. How could it be this hot when the sun had been up for only a few hours?

After nodding and smiling at the lady by my table, I strolled farther down the line, Bee trailing behind me. “She was,” I said, passing a booth full of slightly grubby stuffed animals. “And I feel like she's right that we're on David's trail. It's just—”

“You're not crazy about this spell,” Bee finished, and I stopped in front of another table of jewelry, rings and necklaces and stuff, all laid out on little velvet trays. I hated to keep groping people's wares without actually planning on buying anything, so I tried to run my finger over everything as quickly as possible before moving on, not lingering if I didn't have to.

“I'm really not,” I told Bee. “I mean, I get it. If we can neutralize David, we keep him safe. We keep us and everyone we love safe. It's clearly the best solution.”

“It is,” Bee said, picking up a heavy turquoise stone on a silver chain, “but it's also a solution that ends with him not knowing who you are anymore.”

There was no disagreeing with that. I'd told myself that I would do whatever it took to stop David
and
save him. That this
was about me being a Paladin, not me being his girlfriend. But maybe that was just incipient heatstroke talking.

Speak of the devil, Blythe suddenly broke through the crowd, walking toward us, a little orange plastic bag dangling from one wrist.

As she approached, I could see that she was sweaty, too, her dark hair damp at her temples, her forehead glistening. “Okay,” she said brightly, waggling an orange plastic bag at us.

“You found it?” I asked.

Eyebrows lifting over her sunglasses, Blythe stared at me. “No, I grabbed a cheap charm bracelet.”

“Okay, okay, sarcasm earned on that one,” I said. “So can we get out of here?”

And then she focused her gaze on me again.

“What about you?” she asked me. “Did you feel anything?”

Turning, I ran my hands over a box of rocks, but there was nothing, and I shook my head. “Nope.”

Blythe frowned. “Nothing? No . . . pull to anything?”

I glanced back at her, and she was watching me in a way that made faint alarm bells go off in my head. “No,” I repeated. “Which clearly we wouldn't have since
you
found whatever magic rock we need to do this thing.”

“Did you try the table closest to the weapons display?” Blythe pressed, and confused, I started to shake my head.

And then my head was splitting open.

Or at least that's what it felt like.

But the agony was over quickly, and suddenly I was in a cave
again, the damp, cool, earthy smell of underground surrounding me. This time, though, there was no hint of the sulfuric tang I'd picked up in the vision of Alaric.

And when I lifted my head, it wasn't him standing in front of me.

It was David, and he wasn't standing, but floating, the tips of his sneakers barely dragging against the rock. His chest was moving slowly, deep breaths that seemed to saw in my ears, breaths that I could feel in my own chest. The glow pouring from his eyes lit up his whole face.

In those moments, I felt like his breaths were mine, that our hearts were beating at the same time, and I could feel . . . anger. Hatred. Fear. His head was full of images: wards scratched into stone suddenly wavering into wards scratched into soft brick; people in robes milling around a dusty street suddenly becoming kids from Grove Academy. I recognized Ryan and Bee, saw the twins and Lucy McCarroll.

A beginning must end for a new beginning to start.

The words slid through my mind like smoke, and I could feel power in my—no, in David's hands as he clenched them into fists.

I came back to myself all at once, shaking and sick.

“Harper!” Bee cried, and I raised my head to look at her. She seemed worried, her mouth turned down at the corners, her gaze intent, but not freaked out. Not like me.

“What was it?” Blythe asked immediately, and I shook my head, unable to talk right away.

The sun suddenly seemed to be too hot, too bright, and I stumbled away from them, moving toward one of the big white tents set up along the flea's main thoroughfare. I pushed a flap away and moved inside, taking deep breaths, hoping I wasn't going to throw up all over someone's table of collectible shells.

But the tent was empty.

I stood there in the center of the tent, my breath rasping hard in my ears, trying to get my bearings and make sense of what had just happened.

“Harper,” Bee said, coming in just behind me, “are you all right?”

It was obvious that I wasn't, but before I could say anything, the tent flap moved again. I was expecting Blythe, but instead, it was a taller girl with lighter hair, moving fast. She pushed Bee hard as she came in, and Bee immediately stumbled, falling to her knees with a soft cry.

And then the girl was on me.