Steadfast (30 page)

Well, now was her chance.

The front door of Elizabeth’s house opened, and Faye tensed. But it wasn’t Elizabeth who walked out. To her astonishment, it was Gage Calloway.

Gage? He was a good kid. What the hell would he be doing with Elizabeth Pike?

Faye grabbed her phone to text Nadia. Maybe this wasn’t something she needed to know—but maybe it was, and Faye didn’t intend to take any chances.

When she began typing, though, her car door swung open.

Startled, she turned to see Gage just as he grabbed her arm and towed her out of the car.

“What are you doing?” Faye struggled but couldn’t pull free; he was strong. “Let me go!”

Gage didn’t listen. No—he
couldn’t
listen. His eyes stared at her vacantly, completely devoid of their usual intelligence and humor. And now that he was this close, she could see, hanging around him like an aura, the sickly, red light that could signify dark magic.

Elizabeth’s controlling him. He’s her thrall.

Faye stopped trying to escape and started fighting back. She tackled him, and apparently the element of surprise was enough to get him to stagger backward. That gave her a chance to yank her arm away and leap into her car.

Gage smashed at the door, but her shaking fingers were already turning the key in the ignition. Within seconds she’d sped off, panting as she glanced in the rearview mirror to see Gage staring after her impassively.

What was it her mother had taught her?
Thralls can’t do anything complicated, not while they’re being directly influenced. They love their creator, and only their creator. They can sense danger to the Sorceress. And they’ll fight to protect her.

Right now, all of them represented some danger to Elizabeth—Nadia, Mateo, Verlaine, everyone. The only question was which of them Gage would go after next.

Stop looking at it! If people see you staring, they’ll wonder what you’re staring at.

Verlaine curled into one of the plastic chairs at the hospital and tried very hard not to imagine that the pearl she now wore in the locket around her neck wasn’t warm. Or glowing. Or tingling with energy. Because it wasn’t—she’d double-checked the glowing part in the mirror. That was just her imagination running away with her, reminding her of the power she would soon help to channel.

The power that might soon kill her—

Once again the ground trembled, and people cried out in alarm. The quake wasn’t as bad as the one that morning, though; the shaking died down after only a few moments. For Verlaine it was a relief:
Probably just Nadia at work,
she thought.

But for everyone else in the waiting area, all the exhausted family members of mysteriously ill patients, the quake seemed to be the last straw.

“This isn’t right!” one woman cried. “This isn’t natural, and we all know it!”

People murmured in assent. Then the murmuring turned into anger. Verlaine kept her face turned away in an attempt to hide her astonishment. Were the residents of Captive’s Sound finally catching on to the fact that their town was seriously messed up?

In one way, that would be cool, because it would prove that the people around Verlaine were marginally less stupid than she’d believed them to be. But if people suspected the truth, wouldn’t Nadia’s work suddenly get more complicated? Because then people would be looking for the signs of witchcraft, looking for the witches themselves—

“That one!” someone shouted. “She’s always around when things go wrong, and look at her! She’s pretending the quake didn’t even happen!”

Verlaine glanced up to see who they were talking about, only to see the entire group staring directly at her.

Oh, crap,
she thought.

“I—” What was she supposed to say? They seemed to expect her to say something. She went back on the best defense she could think of, which was a total lie: “Come on, people. There’s no such thing as, uh, the supernatural.”

“She’s always sneaking in and out,” someone else said. The group began to move closer to her, slowly, but the hairs on Verlaine’s arms rose. “She’s always poking her nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

Any other person might have been protected, Verlaine realized, just by the friendships and connections people made in a small town. This angry, upset crowd ought to remember that she was Gary and Dave’s daughter, that she went to school with their kids, that they saw her in the same stores and on the same streets where they were themselves. They should have seen her as one of them.

But Verlaine was masked by black magic. Nobody loved her. Not many people even liked her. They couldn’t.

That meant they were free to fear her. To hate her.

“You’re not yourselves,” she said as she rose to her feet. She closed her fingers around the locket on her neck, instinctively protecting the pearl charm. “You’re not thinking straight. We’re all upset. Everyone needs to calm down.”

With that she turned and began to walk out of the hospital. If she didn’t panic, they wouldn’t, either.
Slow and steady, easy does it . . .

“Stop her!” came the shout, and then the footsteps pounded behind her, and Verlaine could only run.

Her heart seemed to be pounding its way through her rib cage, as though it wanted to shatter her. Verlaine’s first instinct was to run for her car, but already people were crowding the hallways all around her and blocking her way. Their eyes were wild, hardly even human. They’d been pushed to the limits of their endurance, beyond the point of rational thought. They blamed her for what was happening in Captive’s Sound, and they intended to make her pay.

Uncle Gary!
she thought. They wouldn’t hurt her if she was with the patients; they’d calm down if only to protect their own loved ones. And if they remembered that someone she loved had been struck down, too, maybe that would snap them out of it.

But they were close on her now—shouts and footsteps an ever-increasing roar behind her—and Verlaine nearly gave way to panic.

She flung open the door that would lead her toward the elevator and dashed through, then skidded to a stop.

Asa stood there. Verlaine didn’t even have to wonder why he’d come; Elizabeth had sensed some small part of their plan and sent her demon henchman to keep it from unfolding. And now Asa could trap her, right where the mob could tear her apart.

As the winds on the sound picked up, so did the waves. Nadia clung to the weather-beaten white stucco of the lighthouse as water crashed right at her feet. Sea spray soaked her clothes, heightened the chill.

Now or never,
Nadia decided.

Hand on the garnet on her bracelet, she summoned the ingredients for the spell:

Soothing the nightmare of a child.

Healing a wound that struck deep.

Forgiving what could not be forgiven.

Once again the ground rumbled. Nadia glanced toward the dark, choppy ocean; even she could see hints of the bridge now. The One Beneath was so very close.

Holding Cole in her arms, rocking him back and forth, whispering that there were no monsters outside, no monsters at all, not while his big sister was here to protect him.

A morning about three weeks after Mom had left, when they were all eating cereal in the kitchen without saying a word, and then a stupid old disco song from when Dad was little came on the radio, and he started singing and Cole started laughing and before Nadia knew it, she and her dad were doing the stupidest dance they could think of, just because it felt so good to have fun again.

Crying quietly on the bus in Chicago, telling herself over and over again that Mom had done what she’d done for love, and feeling a terrible weight finally lift from her after far too long.

The power of it rippled through Nadia, shaking her even more savagely than the quakes had. And yet it didn’t scare her; it didn’t hurt. This was white magic—stronger and more transformative than she’d ever worked before. It felt like celebration, like sunlight. It felt sweeter than anything she’d ever known except love.

Nadia opened her eyes. Had it worked?

Before she could even cast one of the spells that would allow her to learn the truth, her phone chimed with a text. With cold, numb hands, she fished her phone from her pocket, hoping for a message from Verlaine that everyone at the hospital had already begun to heal.

Instead the text was from Faye.
Gage is in Elizabeth’s thrall. He’s dangerous & can’t help it. He could be coming after any of us. I’m going to warn Mateo.

Elizabeth had created a thrall? She’d done that to Gage? Nadia was torn between horror for Gage’s plight and an even greater fear for Mateo’s safety. And Verlaine—Gage might go after her, too. She had to get to them as fast as possible.

Was it safe to take the rowboat back to shore? The storm hadn’t let up, but it might not right away. Yet the waters seemed to churn even stronger—the foam splashing up toward her feet—

—no, not splashing,
crawling
—

She cried out as the water swirled up into a column so dark it glinted like obsidian, until it splash-shattered into a human form. Elizabeth stood in front of her, chin high, expression mocking.

Before it had seemed as though Elizabeth was getting more bedraggled and weak by the day. Now she was glorious. Light almost seemed to shine from her skin, and the scars and dirt of the world couldn’t even touch her.

“Your interference is no longer amusing,” Elizabeth said.

Nadia could hardly speak or think. “How did you do that?” Surely Elizabeth hadn’t always possessed that kind of power, the ability to move herself in supernatural ways. How had she broken the bonds of physical reality?

“I grow stronger as my love comes closer. When He arrives, I will share in His power. And He is very close to arriving, try though you will to stop Him.” The wind caught Elizabeth’s curls, twisting them behind her like snakes. “Let us reckon, you and I.”

26

MATEO LAY IN HIS BED, TWISTING AND TURNING, HANDS
clenched into fists hard enough to hurt. That helped keep him focused, but not enough.

He pushed himself off the mattress—
or was that a boat? A boat carrying him and Nadia, bobbing treacherously on the waves growing higher by the moment—
and fell in a crouch on the floor. Breathing hard, he tried not to look at the visions in front of him. (
Nadia by the lighthouse, falling to her knees in front of the triumphant Elizabeth
.) Instead he tried to concentrate only on the feel of the floor beneath his hands and knees as he crawled toward the place where he knew his dresser must be.

With one sweaty hand, he reached out and found the sharp corner of the wood. Mateo drew his arm back, then swung it as hard as he could.

Crack!
He sucked in a sharp breath, but with pain came clarity. By smashing his forearm against the dresser, he’d earned himself a throbbing, red mark that would soon be an ugly bruise, but that didn’t matter. The only important thing was making sense of the visions he was seeing, so that he could help protect Nadia.

Panting, Mateo leaned back against the wall. Another dream surrounded him already, but the combination of Nadia’s spell and the ache from his arm allowed him to watch it as if from the outside—like he was watching a movie.

Elizabeth lifted her hands high, and it was as though the enormous waves behind her rippled and crashed at her command. Yet he could sense the energy emanating from her, feel it curling and growing like the tendrils of vines, until they snaked around the throats of every sick person, stealing breath and life—

And Nadia was there, powerless to stop her.

Mateo emerged from the dream with a gasp. The storm, Nadia’s presence at the lighthouse: His dreams might be showing him the future, but it was the very near future. Maybe not even hours ahead—maybe only minutes.

If he could reach Nadia before Elizabeth cast that spell, maybe it would give her a chance to prepare and save the people at the hospital. It might save Nadia, too.

Where was his stupid phone? He swore as he realized his father had moved it, trying only to help his son to rest while he went to inspect the restaurant for quake-related damage. Mateo managed to get to his feet and start going through the house. Chances were Dad had put it in the kitchen, right by the door. . . .

As he walked into the kitchen, someone rang the bell. Mateo went to answer it, figuring the only person who would come here now had to be Verlaine.

Instead he opened the door to see Gage.

In that first second, Mateo thought the strange reddish haze around Gage was only a remnant of the dream visions. After that, though, it hit him: that was his Steadfast power revealing magic at work.

But that first second was all it took.

Gage’s amiable expression melted from his face, and the guy who tackled Mateo to the floor—he wasn’t Gage any longer. Mateo landed hard on his back, but he managed to get his arms up just in time to keep Gage from wrapping his hands around Mateo’s throat.

They fought there on the kitchen floor. Gage never spoke; Mateo never bothered. In movies, fights always had guys on their feet, trading ninja kicks and manful blows. In reality, it usually came down to this: wrestling, gouging, shoving, never quite knowing what was going on. He pulled his punches as much as he could, because he knew Gage wasn’t himself and he didn’t want to mess the guy up. But whatever had Gage in its grip wasn’t playing by the same rules.

Mateo could think only of Nadia, in so much more danger, and he couldn’t even get to his damned phone to warn her.

Then Gage slammed him down so hard that Mateo couldn’t breathe. It felt like his ribs might have cracked, or broken.

He didn’t want to hurt Gage—but what if that was the only way he could get out of this alive?

Gage grabbed the toaster and held it over Mateo’s head, obviously preparing to use it to bash Mateo’s head in. He tried to roll out of the way, holding one hand up to block as he thought,
No, no, no
—