Harley Merlin 4: Harley Merlin and the First Ritual

by Forrest, Bella

  I paused to wipe the rest of my tears away. “It might even emerge in the form of a dangerously powerful Purge beast, or something called a Purge plague. She said a plague like that hasn’t happened in thousands of years, but it’s a possibility, considering how much of this energy has been collecting in me all this time. The truth is, she doesn’t know what’ll happen, which freaks me out more than if I had actual details.”

  “I’m sorry, Harley,” Santana murmured.

  “There’s nothing I can do about it,” I said, with a wheezing sigh. “All I know is that, if I try to break it myself, I might end up risking my life, and the lives of everyone around me. The risks need to be lessened somehow, but that’s the hard part—figuring out how. Even if I succeeded, and nobody got hurt while I was doing it, Isadora said that the return of my full powers would tip the scales of Light and Dark. Given my family’s track record, sinking into the Dark side probably won’t do me any favors. Anyway, she told me that I’d likely plummet into Darkness, and end up in a lifelong battle of trying to control all my abilities. They’ll be too much for me at once, and there’s a risk they might consume me.” I looked at my friend. “Bet you wish you hadn’t knocked, right?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all. If you’re going through something, then I damn well want to know about it. You’re mi hermana, remember?”

  I smiled. “Thanks, Santana.”

  “Don’t mention it.” She flashed me a grin. “So, we’ve got problems with the Dempsey Suppressor and what might happen when it breaks. That’s all doom and gloom, granted, but there’s got to be a solution, right? Any thoughts on getting around it? I mean, you’re tough as old balls—there’s got to be some way you can pull through the breaking and the aftermath of it.”

  I sighed wearily. “There probably is, but I’ve got no idea what. Like, there must be some way to balance me out—a spell, or an object, or some crazy magic voodoo. There has to be a way; I just don’t want to do anything reckless. I learned that lesson with our half-summoned, smoky friend in New York. I don’t want to kill everyone while I’m breaking this thing, you know? If I can even break this thing.”

  “It’s when, not if. Seriously, it’ll happen. We just need to figure out some angles that’ll keep you safe, and everyone else safe.”

  “I really hope so. I know it’s a big risk, but it seems worth it. It might be the one thing that gives us an edge over Katherine, if it comes to a one-on-one face-off again. I barely scraped out of that last fight alive. I don’t want to be in that situation again, not if there’s a way I can face her with a great big barrage of power.”

  “Too right, mi amiga.” She glanced over her shoulder, checking the door, probably to make sure nobody was listening in. “Plus, I know you’ve got some crazy mojo going on in there that makes you tougher than all these ifs and maybes. I spoke to my mom about your affinity with Grimoires. Don’t worry, I didn’t mention you specifically. I just asked her if it was possible to read from an unfinished one. She said that the most ancient of magicals had the ability, but it got watered down over the centuries. Nobody has that talent anymore, or so she seemed to think. Still, she mentioned that it had something to do with bloodlines and their connections to the raw center of Chaos itself.”

  My shoulders sagged. “Which leads me right on to Isadora’s next point of business.”

  Santana seemed surprised. “It does?”

  “Yeah. She said that, throughout history, the Merlins and the Shiptons have been getting themselves into a whole heap of trouble. Anyone with a leaning toward the Darker side of things, in both families, has ended up on some watch list or another, for unspeakable crimes against humans and magicals. Naturally, all this juicy stuff gets covered up, but you’d think they’d have given my mom and dad a warning before they made me, you know?” I forced a laugh, gaining a look of sympathy from Santana. “Apparently, we’re descended from the Primus Anglicus—the first magicals who came into being. I guess all magicals are, in a way, but our connections are stronger. We’re rooted deeper into the fabric of Chaos than others. Our name comes from the old man in the pointy hat from Arthurian legend for a reason. Mother Shipton, too. They’re not famous for being understated.”

  She nodded. “My mom said that a deeper connection to the very core of Chaos could allow someone to read an unfinished Grimoire. It’s why the ancient magicals could do it—these Premium people your aunt talked about. I guess, with you having all these abilities, and being the product of two ancient lines, you’re rooted firmly in the heart of Chaos, in a way that hasn’t been seen for a long time.”

  “Lucky me, right?”

  “Yeah, one-hundred-percent lucky you. This is a gift, Harley, not a curse.”

  “I know. It’s just a lot to take in.”

  She nudged my knee. “You’ve got this. Think of it as a good thing—this connection might be the very thing that keeps you from going under when the Suppressor breaks. It might be this strength that helps you control your full-whack abilities when they all come tumbling out.”

  I laughed. “See, this is why I’m glad it was you who knocked on my door.”

  “So am I. It sure beats pretending to run on the treadmill.” She sat back, a funny look passing across her face. “By the way, I meant to tell you yesterday—I spoke to Marjorie about the Hamms having their memories of her wiped. It didn’t go too well, but at least that’s one thing off your mind. I know you were dreading it, so I got it out the way for you. And anyway, Alton should never have asked you to do it.”

  My heart sank. “How is she?”

  “Devastated.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “She wouldn’t leave her room. I tried to get her to come out for something to eat, but she just put on this terrible music and drowned me out. I thought I should leave her to herself for a bit and let her deal with it in her own time. Poor chinguita has been through the wringer. Part of me wanted to ask Wade to do some of his forgetting witchery on her, but that seemed crueler. At least, this way, she’s got memories of being loved.”

  I nodded. “It’ll hurt for the rest of her life, but it’s better that she gets to think about them. They thought the world of her, and I know she loved them. It just sucks that it had to end the way it did.”

  Another kid whose pain I want to take away.

  “Anyway, we can think about how to get Marjorie out of her room later,” Santana continued. “What else did the letter say?”

  “Well, Isadora told me why she hates the covens so much,” I went on, my mind still dwelling on Marjorie. “She explained how they treated her, back in the day. I guess she doesn’t want me to get stuck in the same cycle that she got stuck in, feeling like she was beholden to them because they looked out for so many people.”

  Santana frowned. “How do you mean?”

  “She said they used her for her powers and forced her to help them do certain questionable things. If she ever refused, they threatened and manipulated her to make her do their bidding.”

  “What kind of stuff?” Santana’s eyes shone in the light that glanced in through the window.

  I sat back against the wall. “They had her break into high-security facilities, like armories and repositories, and into other covens, to spy on them and steal information. She was their pawn, just like she said to me back at the safe house. They locked her in the New York Coven’s prison cells a couple of times, to give her a taste of what she could expect in Purgatory if she didn’t do what they asked.” I paused, feeling tears rise again. “I keep wondering if that’s what they’ll do to me if I don’t comply, especially if I manage to break the Suppressor. It’s the same fear I had when I read from my parents’ Grimoire, given that I wasn’t supposed to be able to do that. I can’t help but think that, if they can’t control me, they’ll throw me in a cell somewhere, for the good of everyone.”

  “They wouldn’t do that.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t they? I mean, I know I don’t have any particu
larly rare abilities, unfinished-Grimoire reading excluded, but I do have six skills to my name.” I glanced down at my broken Esprit, the two missing gems standing out like a sore thumb. “Well, four that I can control, right now.”

  I was still trying to wrap my head around how I’d managed to use my two most temperamental abilities in the fight against Katherine, but I guessed it had something to do with the desperation and adrenaline-fueled necessity triggered by the scenario. The need to save my friends, and to get Micah the hell out of there, had been a powerful motivator in getting my abilities right. Although, without that chemical help in my veins, I knew I was at risk of causing more destruction than I’d done at my pledge, if I tried to use those abilities in a more ordinary setting. Plus, a giant sinkhole wasn’t exactly useful in most scenarios. Somehow, I’d gotten lucky. I didn’t know if I’d get that lucky again, without my Esprit to help the flow of my powers.

  “Harley, if anyone ever tried to throw you in a cell, they’d have to go through me and my Orishas first. They might be small, but they’re mighty. Not to mention the rest of the Rag Team—they’d form a human shield around you if it meant protecting you from something like that.”

  “You think Wade would go against the authorities?”

  She smiled. “For you, absolutely.”

  My cheeks flushed. “I haven’t told him about the letter.”

  “And you don’t have to unless you want to. He’s a delicious specimen of a man, make no mistake, but he doesn’t own you. He doesn’t get to dictate what you tell him and what you don’t. Besides, these guys love a bit of mystery in a woman.”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure this is the kind of mysterious he’s after.”

  “Harley Merlin, you are exactly the kind of mysterious he’s after. Half the time he looks at you, I want to snap his tongue back into his head. I keep thinking he’s going to turn into a cartoon wolf and howl at you with his eyes popping out like balloons.” She imitated the mental image for me, stamping her foot on the ground as she wailed. I couldn’t help but laugh, clutching my stomach as she finished up.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I said, stifling a giggle.

  “Me, too—someone needs to talk some sense into you. Anyway, I digress. Was there anything else in the letter?”

  I wanted to tell her, I really did, but I couldn’t get the words to come out of my mouth. “No, that was pretty much the gist of it.”

  The truth was, there was one other thing that Isadora had written. She’d saved it until last. Even in that moment, as I thought about it, I couldn’t get it to process in my head. “Alton Waterhouse was the man who sentenced your father to death. I don’t know what he might have told you, but I was at the hearing. I created a portal into the jurors’ deliberation room and I hid in the corner to hear their conclusion. The jury of ten was split down the middle—five for a life sentence, and five for the death penalty. Alton was the deciding vote. After hearing all the evidence, he decided to give your father the death penalty. He could have spared him, but he didn’t.”

  That was a hard pill to swallow. My dad was dead because of Alton—not just because he’d been on the jury, but because he’d been the deciding vote. Not only that, but Alton had lied to my face about it. He’d told me that the jury was split eight to three, and that he was bound by law to keep his vote a secret. He’d made me believe there was a chance that he’d been one of the three, when all that was a load of crap. He hadn’t mentioned anything about being the deciding vote. In fact, when I’d asked him whether or not he thought it was possible that my father was innocent, he’d said he’d never excluded the possibility. Back then, I hadn’t thought to look into the public records myself, believing every word he’d told me. To do that now would have taken another request to the New York Coven, and I didn’t feel like dealing with a bunch of red tape. Besides, Isadora had no reason to lie.

  Since discovering the truth, it had been difficult for me to even look Alton in the eye. No matter how hard I tried to rationalize everything, wondering if he’d lied to spare my feelings, my anger remained. Yes, he’d been doing his job, but that job had been a lot more specific than he’d let on. With the odds at eight to three, I hadn’t thought there was any way my dad could have been spared. At five to five, with one vote left to go, that had raised the stakes much higher. He could’ve lived if Alton had voted differently. In the end, I wondered if he’d lied to get me on his side, knowing I’d have left the coven for good if he’d told me the truth. I’d thought about confronting him so many times, but something always held me back.

  What does it matter now? It was the question I kept asking myself. I couldn’t change the past any more than he could.

  Five

  Harley

  An hour after Santana left, my phone beeped. Wade’s name popped up on the screen, with a typical Wade message underneath: Need to talk. Meet me in Luis Paoletti in ten. W.

  At least he’d dropped the “C” after a lot of teasing from me. I remembered promising to tell him everything about my meeting with Krieger, but all I wanted to do was curl up under the covers and go back to sleep. Dragging on jeans and a sweater, I texted him back: Will do. H.

  After I stole a glance at myself in the mirror, realizing there was nothing I could do with my unruly mane of copper locks, I reread the text. Although it had appeared to be one of his usual, blunt messages, he never normally put something like “need to talk.” My mind started to work overtime, delving into every little scrap of subtext I could conjure up. What did he need to talk to me about so urgently? Was there something else he wanted to get off his chest? His sexy, honed, Adonis-like chest. My mind drifted back to the previous night, a small smile playing upon my lips.

  Yeah… not gonna happen. I thanked the rational part of my brain for bringing me back down to reality. Still, my heart was undeterred, remaining convinced that there was something more to this little rendezvous than met the eye. I mean, why did he want me to meet him in the Luis Paoletti Room to talk, when we could talk in the Banquet Hall or any other public place? No, for this particular meeting, he wanted privacy. My heart jumped at the prospect of being alone with him again.

  Swiping some cherry ChapStick over my lips to give them a bit of kissable juiciness, as per one of Santana’s many useful how-to-land-a-guy tips, I ducked out of the room and headed for the meeting point.

  “I said ten minutes. Long night?” Wade said as soon as I entered the room, his tone clipped.

  “I’ve been up since dawn, actually,” I replied stiffly. My romantic hopes were soundly dashed. This was pure business. “Anyway, if you text a girl at seven in the morning, you’ve got to give her a little leeway.”

  He shrugged. “It couldn’t wait.”

  “What couldn’t?”

  He smiled like he had a secret he was excited to tell. “I received some good news this morning. The application I filed for you to access your parents’ Grimoire was approved by the New York Coven. Now, all you have to do is get through the interview.”

  “You’re kidding?” My voice sounded flat; I could hear it as the words came out.

  I couldn’t bring myself to feign excitement. I mean, I wanted to see the Grimoire again, for sure, but it wasn’t that Christmas morning buzz of euphoria. Instead, I felt a deep sense of dread. If the same thing happened again, with the trance and the black fog and the mysterious presence, he would be there to see it. Would he tell Alton? Would he be scared of me? I didn’t want either of those things.

  As I glanced at Wade, a twinge of guilt and fear tied my stomach into knots. I really wanted to tell him about my last visit to the Merlin Grimoire, to come clean there and then, but that fear of being locked up crushed me in a powerful vise that kept me silent.

  “I thought you’d be happier than that,” he said, with a flicker of disappointment.

  “I am,” I replied with forced brightness. “It was a long night, like you said—I’m still waking up. Plus, you didn’t even give me a chance to get coffee.
”

  This seemed to satisfy him. “We can get one on the way back. Anyway, with regards to the Grimoire—I’m coming with you this time. No arguments.”

  “Aye, aye, captain.” I mock-saluted, bringing the smile back to his face. He seemed happy for me, despite my own lack of enthusiasm. He really did want me to get some answers.

  “Well, that was easy,” he teased. “I thought you’d at least try and dissuade me.”

  “Nobody can diss-Wade you.” My cheeks reddened. “Get it?”

  He snorted. “You’re not that sleepy if you’re swinging dad jokes at this hour.”

  “Believe me, I’d come up with something snazzier if I had a latte in me.”

  “So, what did you and Krieger talk about?”

  I sat down on a stool and recounted the details of what we’d discussed the previous night. Or, rather, in the wee hours of this morning. I told him about Jacob and the magical-detection technology, and the news about the Suppressor. As I mentioned the latter, I watched Wade’s face change from happy to concerned, just as I’d known it would. He worried too much. But he’s worried about you, Harley. My heart skipped a beat.

  “And you agreed to wait?” he asked.

  I nodded slowly. “Yeah.” It wasn’t a lie, as I didn’t have another option in the pipeline. Plus, I wasn’t ready to tell him about the letter yet. One word about it to him, and I’d end up in a puddle of tears on the floor. I’d already done my crying for the year, and I wasn’t about to do more in front of Wade.

  “That’s surprisingly careful of you.”