by Ashia Monet
“I’m five-four,” Daniel pouts.
“Bro, this guy’s an athlete,” Antonio says. “Like, could-get-a-ten-in-Olympic-gymnastics athlete.”
Storm rolls her eyes. “I have a lot of baggy shit, something will probably fit him.”
They slip new clothes over the boy’s destroyed ones, adorning him in a throne of pillows and blankets.
Blythe, meanwhile, drifts to the corner of the room and pulls her laptop from her backpack for the first time in quite a few days.
Her “research” tabs are still open. It’s almost funny, returning to them after everything she’s been through.
Blythe searches through website after website, looking for the exact coordinates of Electric City, along with any form of helpful information.
She knows it’s out there in the desert, but where? Wandering in the searing heat until they stumble across a destroyed wasteland doesn’t sound like a safe plan.
The Guardians voices fade away, and then the lights, and soon the entire hotel room is irrelevant to Blythe as she sits, curled alone in the corner, pouring over words and websites.
Someone stands in front of her. The whole room has gone dark, empty and still. Blythe hadn’t realized she’d been working for so long.
Daniel stares down at her, fiddling with his fingers. “I’m about to start the ritual,” he says. “I-If you’d like to come watch.”
His ritual to banish the spirit must be very, very personal for him. And he is inviting Blythe to be a part of it.
She closes her laptop. “I’d love to.”
In one of the two bedrooms, on the peach carpet, there is an elaborate circle of small, gleaming stones, candles dripping wax, and plants.
The whole thing looks like a giant summoning circle, every item intricately placed and handled with the utmost care.
Daniel steps into the center, folding his legs beneath him as his eyes study the setup one last time.
“Whoa,” Blythe gasps. “You went in.”
“I did,” Daniel agrees. “I have to be inside the circle.”
Blythe chuckles. “No, I mean like, you really worked hard on this.”
“Oh, of course,” he says, flushing a bit. “If a Learned Magic spell backfires in the middle of its use, it can be deadly to the user. But also…” He opens and closes his round hands against his lap. “This is my one shot. If I don’t banish the spirit now, I’m finished.”
There is a sigh. Storm lies across the bed, her head in her hands. Blythe hadn’t even noticed her. “You’re not finished, Dan.”
Daniel sets his mouth in a tight line. “You don’t know that.”
“Ooh!” Storm teases. “We got Sassy Daniel tonight!”
Daniel flushes, puffing his cheeks out a bit as he regards the circle again. “Alright,” he announces. “It’s time to begin.”
Blythe feels Caspian’s form materialize over her shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, not even as Daniel closes his eyes and straightens his back.
Energy hums in the air, sending goosebumps up Blythe’s skin. She’s never experienced Learned Magic like this, the kind that is powerful without necessarily being dark.
Daniel does not flinch, not even as the candles begin to flicker and the shadows grow larger across the room. The lights blink, the stems of the plants curl and wither, and the hum of magic grows louder and louder and louder until the air is electric and singing.
And Daniel is the eye of the storm.
Blythe watches him as if to catch a glimpse something resembling a monster, or a frightening, grotesque creature made of darkness.
There is only Daniel in his ironed, white button-up, with his curly blonde hair and rosy cheeks.
Something occurs to Blythe as she watches this small boy who has never entered the world before. This boy who has always been a little too worried, a little too afraid.
Maybe, all along, it’s been only Daniel.
The magic fades into a quiet buzzing that soon becomes nothing at all. The shadows shrink. The lights go still. The plants remain withered and wax still pools around the candles’ burnt wicks, but it is over.
Daniel’s eyes flutter open.
Storm sits up on the bed. “Did it work?”
“I don’t feel different,” Disappointment weighs heavy in Daniel’s voice.
Blythe feels Caspian approach from behind her. “What was this?” He asks.
“Uh,” Blythe begins. “Dan, can I tell Caspian about everything?”
Daniel nods without looking at her. His leg is shaking against the carpet.
“There’s this spirit been trying to kill him for as long as he can remember,” Blythe explains. “And he needs to banish it.”
Caspian’s expression doesn’t change. “You can’t banish a spirit,” he speaks loud enough for Daniel to hear. “That’s impossible. If nothing happened, it’s because nothing’s was there in the first place.”
All of Daniel’s limbs have gone still. He kneels over, face buried in his hands, and starts to cry.
Storm slips off of the bed, cutting through the circle to come to his side. She wraps an arm around his shaking shoulders.
Caspian’s blank expression does not change. His eyes don’t focus and his voice stays flat. “This is why I don’t speak.”
“It’s all terrible,” Daniel whispers. “Terrible.”
Blythe feels awkward just standing there. She wants to console him too, but Storm is closer to Daniel than she is.
“If it helps, Dan,” Blythe begins. “You may have been wrong, but knowing that nothing is trying to kill you has to be a little comforting.”
Daniel barely raises his face from his palms. His brow is creases, his skin beet red.
“It isn’t,” he says. “It just isn’t.”
Cordelia’s voice booms down the hall. “STOP DOING WEIRD MAGIC, IT’S MESSING UP THE WIFI!”
The moment has been broken. Daniel and Storm speak low: he is panicked, she is reassuring, the two of them in their own, impenetrable bubble.
Caspian shifts beside Blythe. A second later, he is gone. Blythe decides to take his lead.
“I’m sorry, Daniel,” she says. “You too, Storm.”
She doubts they even hear her.
Blythe drifts back into the hallway. Something Daniel swore was his answer is actually useless, and that overwhelming feeling of helplessness that consumes him now, of regret and confusion and pain…
Blythe worries she may soon get to know that feeling very, very well.
Blythe returns to her laptop, alone in the darkness with the sleeping boy on the couch, that living symbol of their impulsive choices, their lack of direction. Their mistakes.
The light from her screen sears into her eyes, burning the letters of the Trident Republic’s name into her retinas.
Blythe wakes to the smell of bacon.
It takes her a moment to realize she fell asleep while working last night. She lies only feet away from the table, where Antonio is opening white containers of smoking hot breakfast food.
Her laptop is closed at her side, her hockey stick resting against the wall at her side and a blanket draped over her body.
“Good morning,” Antonio chirps.
Blythe doesn’t remember getting a blanket or putting her laptop away. “Did you put this over me?”
“Yep!” Antonio says. “Figured you could be a little more comfortable.”
Blythe brings it tighter across her shoulders. It’s the middle of summer in Las Vegas, Nevada, so a blanket is absolutely unnecessary. But Blythe appreciates the sentiment. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing! How’d your work go last night?”
“I found the coordinates.”
“Awesome!” Antonio beams. He notices Blythe isn’t smiling. “At least, I think it is?”
They don’t need to talk about this. Blythe’s already cried in front of Antonio once, she can’t do it again. “It is,” she lies.
The boy on the couch is still asleep. Sunlight
kisses his face and his skin glows like it is made of jewels. Storm’s hoodie is a bit too small for his shoulders, but he looks as if they plucked him out of a magazine instead of off the road.
“What about Sleeping Beauty over there?” Blythe asks. “Shouldn’t he be awake?”
“He’s…fine? We think?” Antonio says. “He’s breathing, at least. Cordelia said he’s not in a coma, which is good. Maybe he’s just really tired?”
Hm. Blythe studies the regular fall and rise of his breath. It’s almost too regular, like when Lena would pretend to be asleep to avoid waking up for school.
“He reminds me of Rocky from the Rocky Horror Show,” she says.
“What’s that?”
The Rocky Horror Show is too complex an experience to accurately explain. “Nevermind.”
By the time Blythe is up, washed, and dressed, Cordelia, Storm and Daniel are eating breakfast in the center of the hotel room.
Storm and Daniel are as silent as always, but heavy, dark bags hang from Daniel’s round eyes. Blythe wishes she knew how to make him feel better, but what do you say to someone who has just realized they’ve believed a lie their whole life?
Something moves in front of the microwave.
“Morning, Caspian,” Antonio greets.
Caspian shifts his dark eyes to him. The microwave is heating something Blythe can’t see. When it dings, Caspian takes out a steaming bowl of ramen, moves it to the counter to add the seasoning, and floats through the wall.
He must reserve his witty quips for one-on-one conversations.
Antonio eats faster—and significantly more—than the rest of them, then grows bored waiting for them to finish and checks on Sleeping Beauty while the rest of them stay at the table.
Cordelia sets her chin in her hands. “So,” she begins. “What’s the plan?”
Blythe explains her ideas so far: enter the desert and search for Electric City.
“And from there?” Cordelia asks.
“We’ll just have to play it by ear,” Blythe answers.
The whole table takes a moment to let these words sink in. Even Daniel, preoccupied with his own situation, squints.
“Really?” Storm asks.
“There’s nothing else we can do,” Blythe says. “The Trident Republic is waiting for us. We’ll just have to see what happens when we get there.”
Storm’s dark eyes spear through Blythe. “Sounds like you’re giving up.”
Blythe resists the urge to recoil. Storm’s just trying to get a reaction out of her. She’s probably still mad about what happened outside of McDonald’s.
“I’m not,” Blythe forces her voice to sound calm.
“Sounds like Whiteclaw made a move and now you’re too scared to fight back.”
“This conversation sounds like you need to mind your fucking business,” Blythe snaps. “Because this means nothing to you. You’re just here to find the Angelus and leave, so don’t act like you give a shit.”
Blythe wants to keep going when she sees anger flash across Storm’s face. She started this argument and now has the nerve to get offended when Blythe pushes back?
Orange magic pulses through Storm’s left eye. “You’re not the only one who’s watched a loved one be taken away.”
They are the most personal words Storm Crane has ever said about herself.
A foreign voice speaks before Blythe can. “You’re cute.”
It is rich and smooth, like the finest cello playing through the room.
“C’mere,” beckons the voice. It is the perfect voice for the perfect boy.
Antonio gasps—a sound that is cut off before it finishes. Blythe whirls around. But it’s already happened.
The sleeping boy has jumped to his feet. One hand twists Antonio’s arm behind his back. The other grips Antonio by the throat.
Blythe jumps to her feet. Storm is instantly at her side. A puff of black smoke unfurls into Caspian.
The boy stares them down with eyes that are not grey, but a silver that could make even the prettiest ribbon of moonlight jealous.
His voice is clear, more beautiful than any song. Angelic. “Get any closer to me,” he says. “And I’ll snap his goddamn neck.”
Nineteen
Storm’s hands curl into fists. Antonio’s gaze locks on her. “Wait, Storm, don’t fight—!”
An orange blur pushes Antonio aside and punches the boy in the face. His head snaps to the side, but his body doesn’t flinch.
The boy’s fist balls and hits Storm’s stomach with enough force to knock her back into her own body. She hits the carpet with a grunt of pain Blythe has never heard her make.
He actually managed to hit Storm.
Caspian reverberates with black smoke. “If I fight him, I’ll kill him.”
“Don’t worry, I got him!” Blythe snatches her hockey stick and runs, the magic humming as she winds it behind her.
She arcs it forward. The boy raises his hand before she can register the movement.
He catches it mid-swing. His grip is solid. Even pulling with both of her hands, Blythe can’t get it to budge.
Her heart thunders. She has never been this close to the boy before. She expects to see malice in the silver eyes that stare back at her. There is only fear and instinct.
He shoves the stick backward. Blythe goes flying with it, momentum carrying her straight into Cordelia. The other girl yelps as the two of them collapse in a heap.
“Sorry, sorry!” Blythe apologizes quickly. She pushes her weight to her elbows so she is only straddling Cordelia. “Are you okay?!”
“No!” Cordelia shouts. “I was a second away from sending him back to sleep before you screwed up!”
Blythe turns around just in time to see Storm leap onto the boy’s back. Her arm locks around his throat. The boy barely grunts as he swings her over his head, slamming her back into the ground.
The potted plant on the countertop wobbles and tips over on its own accord as Storm screams; vines snake out from the spilled dirt.
“STOP!” Antonio’s voice cuts through the air like a knife.
The vines go limp. The boy stares at Antonio, gone as still as statue in front of the couch, his long hair curtaining half of his face.
Antonio’s chest heaves with heavy, angry breaths. “He woke up surrounded by strangers, of course he’s freaking out!” he shouts. “Stop attacking him!”
No one moves. Not Storm, still splayed out on the carpet, nor Caspian, his ghostly form resigned to the corner, nor the boy himself, whose hands, Blythe now realizes, are shaking.
Antonio rises slowly, raising his palms. “We don’t want to hurt you, bro,” he says. “I get it. We’re a bunch of strange people you’ve never met before. But we just wanted to help.”
He smiles his perfect, sunny smile. “I promise we’re usually nicer than this.”
The boy’s eyes dart between him and everyone in the room. “Who are you and where am I?” His voice would be gorgeous if it weren’t laced with so much panic.
“I’m Antonio. That’s Storm, Blythe, Daniel, Cordelia—oh, and Caspian’s around here somewhere. We’re at a hotel in Las Vegas.”
The boy tenses. “What?”
Antonio’s voice remains calm and soothing. “We found you beside the road. You were hurt and we didn’t want to leave you there.”
“Beside a…” Blythe watches him barely contain his confusion. “You found me?”
“Uh huh. You were pretty banged up, but you started to heal. By the time we got you here, you were fine. Have you ever done that before?”
“N-No, I…” the boy’s voice trails off. “No.”
It’s an obvious lie. Antonio lets him get away with it. Every magician has to cover their tracks like that.
“All good bro, all good,” Antonio draws closer as the boy calms, his shoulders dropping and his hands going loose. “Can you tell me your name?”
The boy hesitates. “Jay.”
“Jay? That’s nice and s
hort. It’s nice to meet you, Jay. Do you remember how you got to that road? Because we don’t know what hurt you like that.”
“I…I don’t…” Jay stops again. “Did you see anyone around when you found me? A group of guys, maybe?”
“No, I…don’t think so,” Antonio says. “Do you maybe want to take a minute and eat? You seem confused and—”
Jay’s expression hardens. “I’m not confused.”
“Sorry, I just meant, we’re all just trying to figure things out. We have food in the kitchen, maybe I could bring you a plate and we could talk about this?”
Jay pushes his locs back from his face. The sun falls on him again, lighting up the straight line of his jaw and the pinch of his brows. He sinks back down to the couch, legs tucked close. A perfect portrait of distress.
“Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”
Everything Jay does is a choreographed dance, every movement pure art. The other Guardians are frozen too, like time has paused to let them fully drink in this ethereal creature.
“Do they speak?” Jay abruptly asks.
Okay, admittedly, it must be weird to sit in a room with six complete strangers—strangers you just assumed were trying to kidnap you—who are all silently gaping at you.
“Usually you can’t get us to shut up,” Blythe says. “But you just kicked our asses.”
His shoulders drop. “I’m…I’m sorry about that. I get…I panic sometimes,” his gaze on her is palpable. Warm.
Then it is over and his attention is back on Antonio. “And I’m sorry I tricked you into getting close enough for me to choke you, I just…I thought the situation was worse than it was.”
Antonio shrugs. “S’all good, I’m the one that fell for it.”
They try not to crowd Jay as he eats. Antonio, meanwhile, plops down beside him as if Jay is no different than anyone else he’s ever met.
“I really can’t apologize enough,” Jay makes a noise like a scoff and a chuckle. “I promise I’m not usually like that.”
“Knocked out on the side of road?” Storm asks.
“Well, I mean,” Jay smirks. “Only on Friday nights.”