by Rainy Kaye
The web became thicker, fuller as the spaces between the threads were filled in by more lines. The blue spiders hurried back and forth, frantic and determined. As they completed their tightly woven mesh, droplets of paint coursed down from the canvas.
Tan. Red. Black.
The spiders scurried away and dissipated.
The paint droplets met and congealed, taking on soft shapes. The missing shoulder of the portrait of the mage reformed, and the final seam where the new painting met the old smoothed away.
The painting had fixed itself.
“Well, that explains why the necromancer hid the painting instead of destroying it,” I said.
Randall nodded, his expression stunned. He shook off whatever he had been thinking and, grabbing the portrait frame on either side, hefted it up and carried it to the back of the van.
I scurried past him and opened the back door. A cracking sound filled the air, followed by a pop. I looked up at the house as the roof began to collapse under the destruction of the flames. Isadora was nowhere to be seen.
Randall had been right: fire did work on the undead army.
I doubted it would be that simple to take on the necromancer.
22
We stuck to the back roads on our way to the ranger station. There was nowhere else to go, and while the undead army could just as easily find us there, they didn’t seem to be specifically tracking us. Either that, or they were really dumb. Regardless, the ranger station served as a temporary resting point while we figured out what to do about the necromancer.
Once we were all settled into the station, with both portraits crammed to one side, blocking access to the dresser and the bottom half of the window above, I dropped down on the edge of the bed. Fiona laid under the covers where Randall and I had tucked her in, eyes closed, but neither her breath nor expression indicated sleep.
Randall sat with his back against the wall near the fireplace, poker in hand, though I had to wonder if he intended to be diligent with the fire, or if he felt better with a weapon. Probably the latter. Ever, Paisley, and April sat next to each other near the bathroom stall, and April flicked the curtain with her thumb and forefinger as she stared off into the distance.
Sasmita puttered around the room, opening cabinets and dusting off shelves, but she seemed to be far away. I still had so many questions to ask her about what she was up to with the dark mage and witch blood, but we had enough problems to tend to tonight.
“We need a plan,” I said, obvious as it was, but at least it got the ball rolling on the next round of fresh hell. “I have the medallion from New Orleans, so we can at least still open the portal in the painting. The question is, how do we get the mage into said painting?”
Everyone shared glances, but no one volunteered any ideas. Not even Randall, for a change.
I stretched my back, and a little pressure relieved off my head.
“Joseph…” I began.
My stomach churned at the name, and the memory it brought. His death had been more than just an unfortunate casualty; it had landed us in this predicament, in this fight. It had left us with so few choices but to continue seeking out the dark witches and mages, at least until someone bigger and stronger than us could take over.
We had yet to find anyone.
Where the hell was this consortium? This quorum? From the little information I had gleaned from Joseph, he wasn’t the only one involved in putting away the dark witches and mages. He may have been their boots on the ground, but there were others, and they would surely know more about what was going on, and what to do, than me and my comrades.
There had been no sign of them since his death, and I had no idea how to reach them. I could only hope we would find they had sent another specialist who was starting from another town and working toward us, and we would meet in the middle, and this war was halfway over now instead of just starting.
For tonight, I only knew one real trick in all this that had proven twice over so far.
“Sasmita was right, earlier. We have to surprise the mage,” I said. “Joseph had said that with Eliza Brown. That had been his intention with the broach spell. When he summoned her, it stunned her for a split second, and in that moment, he would have been able to grab her and shove her into the portrait.”
Randall turned the poker back and forth. “What about the New Orleans mage?”
“I’d stunned him then, too,” I said. “It was by accident, kind of, but I drew out his magic and shot it back into him, and that was more power than I could have siphoned up on my own.”
I expected Sasmita to respond, or at least raise an eyebrow, but she continued rearranging inside the cabinets.
“I think the blast sort of jarred him because it was stronger than he expected,” I said, “and that was the split second I could shove him off the float into the picture.”
“So we have to stun the necromancer?” Ever asked. “I suppose a taser isn’t going to help.”
I shook my head. “Even Joseph didn’t seem to think he could catch Eliza Brown off guard with just a blast of his own magic, so I doubt we could do it, either, but I’m not sure what we can do.”
“Stick to the basics,” Randall said, sitting forward, gripping the poker at his side. “Shoving the mage off the float worked in New Orleans, so let’s just do that here.”
“We’re woefully short a parade float,” I said, but I pushed a tired little smile.
All eyes swiveled to Ever and her sisters.
Ever raised her hands.
“I don’t have a float. I don’t think this town has ever had a parade,” she said, but humor crept into her voice and her eyes danced with mischief. “I suppose we could push him off the mountainside.”
I let out a small laugh, but the idea landed. He had been roaming in the woods near the edge of a drop, the one Sasmita and I had leapt down when I had been used as bait.
The same idea must have occurred to her, because she stopped fiddling with a loose cabinet knob and turned to face Ever.
“Can you put the portrait down on a little cliff jutting out?” she asked, gesturing with her hands. “I think Safiya and I could get him over to it, and the rest of us just ambush and charge him.”
Quite the strategist, that one.
April piped up. “What makes you think he will come out? I don’t think he’ll follow a trail of candy. What will draw him to us?”
As she spoke, my heart sank. I knew the answer, unpleasant as it was.
“Me,” I said, slumping my shoulders. “Those men tried to use me as bait earlier. He said that he had a feeling the necromancer would come to me if I was left as an offering, and…he was right. I mean, the necromancer did come for me.”
Sasmita nodded, and I steeled myself for the rest of what had been untangling in the back of my mind. Saying it out loud put it out there. Once the connection was made, it left me with no choice but to be bait, or fuck over everyone who had come this far already.
“He’s looking for a witch,” I said. “Or a mage. Just someone with magic. The guy with the green tunic marked me with magic. And look what happened to that Adam guy. The second that Adam came running out, lit up with his magic, the necromancer appeared. It’s like he could sense him—us—I guess. Then he did whatever that purple thing was.”
“Made him the leader of his own army,” Sasmita said. “He probably wants witches or mages to lead his undead soldiers.”
“That tracks,” I said.
Paisley scowled, glancing between us. “Why would he care if his troops are led by someone who can use magic?”
“For the ol’ razzle dazzle, I guess,” I said, giving the laziest jazz hands ever. “An extra little punch, probably.”
Ever unzipped her jacket, and I realized the room had become sufficiently warm. The wood burning stove did an effective job at warding off the cold.
“That wasn’t Adam’s magic,” she said.
I raised an eyebrow to her, and everyone turned to look at he
r as she peeled out of her jacket.
“I used to hang out with him sometimes, and Adam…he didn’t have magic like that. He could make little controlled gusts of winds to navigate paper airplanes for a few yards, or he once heated up a doorknob to prank his brother, but that was when he was like nine. The thing he was doing when he charged the undead, he called it the Ferris wheel. He could spin the magic beams around and knock down tall grass.” She gathered her fluffy jacket in her lap and squashed it down, leaning over it. “He used it a few times to create crop circles in the night in a field past May-Bryce. I’m not sure it would have done much damage to the undead soldiers, but Adam was always fearless…and foolish.”
“It’s a fine line,” I muttered, twisting my back to get a few snaps out of it. “What are you saying?”
Ever squeezed her jacket. “I’m saying that Adam could not have generated enough of a blast to take down a building.”
I looked to Sasmita for an explanation, but she shrugged.
“Maybe the necromancer was feeding him magic,” she said. “Charged him up, I guess. A normal human would die from a sudden rush, so maybe he wants a few witches and mages to add to his collection so he can use them as like…repeaters.”
I considered how I had siphoned a bit of magic from the New Orleans mage. Perhaps the necromancer was doing something a bit like that, but in reverse, with the witches and mages in his undead army.
“Fair enough.” I stretched out my legs, and the back of my thighs ached and relaxed at the same time. “So, it’s settled. One of us witches will have to stand in as bait—and by that, I mean me, because this isn’t really Sasmita’s quest in the first place.”
Her posture sank as she leaned against a cabinet.
“I’m here, so I will help see to it that he is put away before we leave, but…” She hesitated, like she was choosing her words ever-so-carefully. “Others are counting on me. I can’t risk myself because it means…It means they will never get to come home.”
Her expression tightened, as if she was sealing the next words from coming out.
All the questions piled up, just begging to be let free, but I forced them back down as I picked at a tear in my pants above one knee. If I looked at her any longer, one of us might snap, and that would probably be me.
All that mattered right now was that Sasmita was on our side, as much as she could allow herself to be. She was a clever witch, and we had to be thankful she hadn’t run off to the next town already. The call of moral obligation had struck her as well, I supposed, though part of me had to wonder why I was still here, too. I liked doing the right thing—I gave money to charity and recycled my shampoo bottles—but this was a bit beyond the scope of being a good person.
I would have to figure it all out when I had time to think, to breathe, again.
For now, we had a necromancer to put away.
Randall twisted around to stand on his knees in front of the wood stove and picked up another log from the stack next to it to feed the flames.
“So, that’s the plan?” I massaged my shoulder with the opposite hand. “Ever will put the portrait below a drop, and I will let myself be tied to a tree. The rest of you lie in wait, ready to push him off the edge—except, of course, someone needs to be ready to cut my restraints.”
Randall looked at me over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to be actually tied to the tree.”
“Mm, yes, I am,” I said, and Randall opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “Look, I’m less enthused about that idea than you are, believe you me, but we have to sell this. He didn’t become one of the top seven most feared magic users in the world, ever, by being an idiot. We’re going to be tempting the fates by just trying to pull the rug from under him as it is. No cutting of corners.”
Randall stared at me a long moment and then said, “Fine, but I’ll be the one stationed to cut you free.”
He turned back to the fire, as if that was all there was to say on the matter. To be fair, I didn’t have any argument. If I had to pick one person in this room to trust my life with, it would be—well, all of them, but Randall the most.
We’d been through some shit together.
“It’s settled then?” I looked around the room, and everyone gave small nods or murmured something that sounded like agreement. “Alright, first light, we’ll head out.”
Ever tipped her head back against the wall, and her sisters melted down, resting their heads on her shoulders. Sasmita pulled a spare blanket from a cabinet and offered it to them, but Ever waved her hand to dismiss the gesture. With a shrug, Sasmita cocooned herself in it and nestled on the floor next to the cabinets. Randall leaned back by the wood burning stove, poker on the floor along his thigh.
Fiona remained motionless, yet not quite asleep. Suppressing a sigh, I laid out along the sliver of bed remaining on the edge and draped my arm over her chest. She didn’t stir, and except for the heat radiating off her, she showed all the life of a corpse.
I tried to will myself to sleep, but my eyes wouldn’t stay closed. Instead, I fixed my gaze on the horizon and waited for sunrise—and the final battle against the necromancer.
23
When the sun poked through the gray trees, I turned to rouse the others and found everyone was already awake, but silent. Apparently, no one had managed to rest over the last few hours, either.
Without a word, I pushed to sit up, placing my feet on the ground, and rolled my shoulders. Stretching out hadn’t done much to relieve any of the pinched muscles or bone-deep aches, and I suspected there would be quite a few more to add to the collection before today was over.
Or I would be dead. Flip a coin.
Randall stood, placing the poker next to the wood stove, and pressed his fingers into his lower back as he stretched. He winced, and then surveyed the room.
“Should we stock up on anything in here before we go?” he asked, but he directed his question to Ever, who was pulling back on her jacket.
“Unless they left behind a change of clothes, rope, or food, I don’t think there’s much worth taking,” she said.
Sasmita untangled her hand from her blanket cocoon.
“There’s some canned goods in the cabinet up there.” She pointed above her. “We should eat before we go. We’ve been surviving on a lack of appetite too much since we arrived.”
Randall stepped around the chair in front of the stove and over Sasmita’s legs, and then leaned forward to paw around in the cabinet. He placed several cans of lentils, corn, and chickpeas on the countertop as Sasmita wiggled out of the way.
“Looks like we got all the fixin’s for a hearty breakfast,” he said, rubbing his hands together.
I blew out a chuckle as I adjusted my bootlaces. “You got us covered, Chef Randall?”
“On it,” he said, as he set to work pulling metal pans out of the lower cabinets and silverware from the drawers.
Within minutes, he had pans set on top of the wood stove and he stirred the lentils slowly as they began to bubble and steam. The aroma filled the small room and tantalized my senses awake. My stomach grumbled.
He sautéed the corn in a pan, and to the chickpeas he added a can of stewed tomatoes before arranging everything in a bowl, because there were no plates.
“It’s kind of like a Buddha bowl,” he said, passing my meal to me. “Except with less fresh ingredients and more salt.”
“I’d eat stale bread at this point,” I said.
“We’re saving that for dinner,” he said as he finished handing out bowls to the group. He took the final one and plopped down on the chair. “Dig in, folks.”
Everyone ate, except Fiona, who continued to lie as she had been since we’d tucked her in.
We ate in silence, the crackling of the fire and the clinking of spoons on the bowls filling the air as the scents dissipated. By the time we finished, the sun had begun to crest the treetops.
I stood, leaning forward to set my bowl on the counter. Sasmita
placed hers next to mine and reached around to turn on the sink faucet. She began rinsing the bowls.
I turned off the faucet. “We’re saving the town, and possibly farther. I think we can excuse a few dirty dishes.”
“We can’t give up on normal.” She twisted the water back on and then stooped to look in the cabinet under the sink. She retrieved a bottle of dish soap and a rag, and sat to work cleaning her bowl and fork.
When she finished, she stepped aside and I took her place. As I cleaned the tines of my fork, everyone gathered, their dishes in hand, waiting for their turn.
Sasmita wasn’t wrong. For a moment, I could believe we were friends staying in a cabin, preparing to go hit the slopes. That we were united in our love of the outdoors, and not in our fear of the necromancer.
The feeling was more rejuvenating than the last few hours spent trying to sleep.
When we had finished washing and putting away our dishes, I gestured for Randall to help me with the portrait in front, the one of the mage of New Orleans. He crossed the room from the stove to me in a few long strides and together, we navigated the portrait away from the dresser. Everyone pressed to the sides of the room as we half slid, half dragged the painting toward the door. Paisley ducked around to push open the door for us, and we guided the portrait out onto the deck and down the stairs.
A moment later, Ever and Sasmita followed behind with the necromancer’s portrait. The frames dug a groove through the snow as we headed for the van. Randall held the portrait upright while I undid the back doors and then hopped up inside. I backed in the painting until I pressed against the backseats, then scrambled over them as Sasmita and Ever slid in the other painting.
As I started to climb out of the van, the door to the ranger station opened and Fiona appeared on the deck, staring down at us. I stared up at her, my heart thudding like we were in danger.
I shook off the feeling. Fiona was sick, not a threat. Still, I couldn’t quite shake the memory of her growling at us. The gleam in her eye had been unsettling enough, but there had been more to it, and the longer I tried to resist putting it into words, the tighter it gripped my brain.