by Anne, Meg
“Never does,” Lizzie added with a yawn.
Lucas reached forward and touched the symbol closest to him with his fingertips. It was the largest of all the runes and looked like it might also be the newest. The color was less diminished than the others.
Was it possible that this was the way home? Maybe a portal of some kind? Glancing at his injured hand, Lucas dipped a finger in the still wet blood.
After a brief hesitation and silent plea that he wasn’t about to make things even worse for himself, Lucas traced the rune with his own blood.
Once it was done, he closed his eyes and murmured the Gaelic word for home, “Dachaigh.”
Silence swelled around him; there wasn’t even the buzz of insects to fill the beats while Lucas waited. Defeated, Lucas opened his eyes.
“Wait! That didn’t work? I wonder why!” Skye exclaimed, and she and Lizzie both broke into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
“Probably used the wrong word, dumbass,” Lizzie wheezed.
His face heated with embarrassment, and Lucas stomped from the cave. He’d said the first word that came to mind. Instinct had always served him well, but everything was fucked here. Maybe his imaginary sister was right. It’s not like he could even trust what he was seeing in this place.
Lucas sat down in the sand and stared out at the sea of nothing before him. If the answer wasn’t here, then where the hell was it?
Chapter 21
Skye
After spending the early morning following her Gran’s advice and revisiting her non-death visions, Skye stretched and rolled out of bed, placing both feet on the ground. A feat that had become easier the last two days. She wriggled her toes down into the thick carpet and allowed herself a soft smile.
Lucas was alive, and he was waiting for them. She could feel the truth of it in her bones.
Pushing to her feet, Skye pulled on a pair of jeans and a red sweatshirt. Without bothering to make use of the mirror, Skye pulled her mass of hair over her shoulder and braided the length so that it concealed the bulk of the bandage around her ear. She found it easier to be among the others when they weren’t constantly reminded of her injury. The pitying glances made it hard for her to focus. And right now, she only had one thing on her mind: bringing Lucas back.
She left the room, following the alluring scent of freshly brewed coffee to the kitchen. She was happy to see both Lizzie and James sitting at the small table, enjoying steaming mugs. Soon, Lucas would be here to enjoy it with them, too.
“Morning,” Skye greeted with a smile.
“How are you doing?” Lizzie asked with a cautious smile of her own.
It shamed her that they automatically assumed she would be broken, that she would be destroyed this morning because she’d been forced to see and speak with the Druid last night. Not that she’d given them any reason to think otherwise; forty-eight hours ago, she had been broken, on the verge of a complete and total breakdown, all by the mere illusion of him.
Now, though, she felt stronger, each day further cementing her hope that soon, Lucas would be home, and they could get back to living again. Well, once they dealt with the Druid. But even that would be easier once Lucas returned.
“I’m okay,” Skye assured them, pouring herself a mug and sitting down in one of the empty chairs.
“Any nightmares?” James took a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving her face.
“Nope, not one.” And that was the truth. For the first time since her kidnapping, she’d had an entirely dreamless, restful night of sleep.
It felt damn good.
“Glad to hear it,” Lizzie said with a smile.
“Did you guys talk any more about what the Druid meant when he said leaving the Wasteland required a sacrifice? What did Giles call it, a soul price?”
James shook his head. “Giles took off pretty quick afterwards, said he needed to think about it.”
Lizzie stared down into her mug, worry turning her eyes a stormy blue. “It can’t mean a life, can it? Otherwise, the Druid wouldn’t have been able to get himself back.”
“It sounds like a life to me. What else would classify as a soul price?” James asked.
Lizzie’s shoulders slumped with his assessment, and she began to fiddle with her coffee mug.
“I’m not so sure,” Skye said.
Lizzie and James’ eyes darted over to her, and her shoulders lifted defensively under the weight of their joint stares.
“I mean…you’re right, it could mean a life, but what if it literally refers to giving up your soul?”
Lizzie gaped at her. “Is that even possible?”
“Think about it…if it takes a life to send someone to the Wasteland, it seems logical the soul would be sent there as well. What if sacrificing a life means that the soul is also trapped? If the Druid found a way to sacrifice your grandmother's soul from inside the Wasteland, maybe that’s how he got back?”
“Maybe…” Lizzie said, but she sounded far from sure.
“The Druid does seem like a soulless bastard, maybe it was his soul he parted with,” James chimed in.
“That seems more likely,” Lizzie muttered.
Skye couldn’t disagree. “Either way, we need to get started. The longer Lucas is stuck there, the worse it’s going to be for him.”
Getting to her feet, Skye carried her now empty mug to the sink. James and Lizzie followed suit, the trio growing silent as they rinsed out their cups, the seriousness of the ritual they were about to perform taking hold.
The only way for a non-Druid to send someone to the Wasteland required a living sacrifice. Maggie, Lucas and Lizzie’s grandmother, had paid that price when she and Giles trapped Oliver there. In order for them to get to Lucas, one of them had to do the same. Giles still insisted it should be him.
Just as they entered the living room, the front door opened, and Giles walked inside. It was a testament to how comfortable they’d become with each other that he no longer knocked or waited for someone to let him in. They’d become a tightly knit unit in their fight against the Druid. A family, really. Which only made what they had to do today that much harder.
“Morning, Giles,” Skye greeted.
He returned her smile, but there were purple smudges beneath his eyes. It was obvious he hadn’t slept at all last night. Seeing as how he was planning on giving his life today, that wasn’t much of a surprise.
“Morning, lass, feeling well?”
“I am, thanks.” She was about to ask how he was feeling and then thought better of it.
“Good, good.” Shifting his focus to the others, he said, “I think the Druid may have used Maggie’s soul to get out of the Wasteland.”
“That’s what Skye thinks, too,” James said.
“Oh?”
“It couldn’t have been a life, right, since we’re assuming Maggie was dead when she got there? But if leaving requires paying some kind of soul price, then it could be he figured out a way to use hers as a means of escape,” Skye explained, folding her arms.
“That’s so awful,” Lizzie said, her voice cracking at the end. “To not only be the reason someone is dead but to also be the reason that their soul will never move on to whatever is next. It’s absolutely horrifying.”
“That it is, lass,” Giles said sadly. “As we know, the Druid is not much for sentiment, so it’s not that far of a reach to believe him capable of such atrocity.” Giles reached into the leather bag hanging from his shoulder and pulled out an old leather-bound book and a runed dagger.
“What are those?” James asked.
“The items Maggie and I used to send Oliver away. The spells are all in that book, and this is the—” His voice broke as he ran his finger over the silver blade. “This is the dagger Maggie used to kill herself.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Lizzie reached forward and touched his trembling hand. “We can find another way.”
Giles looked up at her, a tear falling down his wrinkled cheek. “I appreciate that,
but we all know there is no other way. A life must be sacrificed to open the portal to the Wasteland, and since I helped send Oliver there in the first place, it should be mine.” He patted her hand. “I’ve come to terms with my future, lass.”
Silvery tears shimmered in her eyes as Lizzie stepped back. James wrapped an arm around her shoulders, offering his strength and support.
Skye swallowed hard. After today, their group—their family—of five would be permanently back down to four.
Taking the blade from Giles, Skye kissed his cheek. She set it aside and turned back to him. “Let’s focus on getting these runes painted so we can bring Lucas home.”
Giles smiled softly, moss-green eyes crinkling. “Sounds like a fine plan.”
Using red paint, the four went to work copying the runes from his book onto the walls. With each stroke of her brush, a sense of peace settled over Skye. Between her Gran’s visit in her dream, and what the Druid had told them, she knew what had to be done and was ready for what it would mean for her and for their future.
“I say, those are the best-looking runes I’ve ever seen,” Giles said with a smile, setting down his brush.
“I agree. We kick ass,” Lizzie responded, surveying the finished project.
Skye swapped her wet paint brush for Giles’ runed dagger. “Ready?” she asked him.
Giles let out a breath. “I am. Maybe I’ll see Maggie on the other side.”
James patted him on the shoulder. “I bet you will, man.”
Skye moved into the center of the room and studied the runes on the wall. “What do we have to do next?”
“We need blood on the runes.”
“Can it be anyone’s blood?” Skye asked.
“Aye, but ‘tis better if Lizzie does it, since hers has the best chance of containing power out of all of us.”
“Lucky me,” Lizzie said dryly. “Go ahead, Skye. You do the honors.”
Skye turned over Lizzie’s hand, and with a mumbled apology, she sliced into Lizzie’s palm.
“Fuck, that hurts!”
“Baby,” James teased.
Lizzie glared at him. “Who you callin’ a baby?” she asked, holding her dripping palm up to his face.
James blanched. After all he’d seen, he still couldn’t quite stomach the sight of blood. Swallowing, he held up his hands and backed away from her. “I just meant that Lucas does it all the time, and he doesn't complain.”
“Because that makes it better,” Lizzie said, rolling her eyes. Moving away from him, she walked around the room and pressed her palm to the center of each glistening rune.
Skye’s thundering pulse made it impossible to hear much over her own heartbeat.
“My turn,” Giles said once Lizzie had finished.
Wrapping her arms around him, Lizzie spoke through her tears, “Thank you, Giles.”
Tuning them out, Skye moved back to the center of the room, a note for Lucas in her pocket, and the blade clutched in her hand. She should have been scared, but she wasn’t. Her Gran had been right. She’d always held the answer. Maggie was the one who’d shown her what needed to be done. There was only ever one way the curse would be broken. It just so happened that it would also be what set Lucas free.
“Thank you, guys, for everything you’ve done for me,” Skye said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Three sets of eyes turned to her.
“What did you say?” Lizzie asked, her eyes widening as she realized what was about to happen. “Skye, no!” she screamed.
Lizzie lunged for the dagger, but Skye had already plunged the blade into her chest. Pain surged through her, searing her body with a fire so hot it sent a shiver down her spine as death’s icy embrace wrapped itself around her and called her home. Skye gasped around the pain, her fingers falling lifelessly to her sides. She fell to her knees, the blade protruding grotesquely from her body.
Time seemed to slow as she stared up at the horrified faces of Giles, Lizzie, and James. James slid to the ground beside her, catching her just as she fell back.
“Why, Skye? You can’t do this!” Lizzie screamed. “Do something!” she yelled at Giles.
“I-I can’t,” Giles babbled. “The runes are already active—”
“It has to be me,” Skye choked out. “Don’t you see? It’s the only way—” she broke off as blood bubbled in her throat.
Her vision swam as a numbing calm settled in. That’s nice. No longer feeling any pain, Skye stared up at the ceiling, trying to listen to what was going on around her. Somewhere in the distance, Giles told the others that they had to move away from her body, to leave her, but the chattering turned to static as a bright white light filled the room, and her eyes fluttered closed.
Chapter 22
Skye
Skye bat at her cheek, trying to brush off whatever was tickling her. Feeling the rough scratch of sand beneath her fingers, she opened her eyes.
“Where-where am I?” she asked, slowly pushing herself into a sitting position.
A careful look around told her she definitely wasn’t in Scotland anymore. Was this a vision, then? The muted gray shades of all that surrounded her almost had the same feel, although the sky had never looked quite like this before… like nail polish that had dripped out of the bottle and was absorbing the new drops in an endless collection of ever-widening rings.
If it was a vision, there should be people, right? There always had been before. But she was utterly alone. Not a vision, then.
She glanced down, taking in her attire to see if that provided any clues. Jeans and a tattered red sweatshirt with a hole in the center. When did that happen? She reached up to touch the cleanly sliced edges as if they held the answer. Skye gasped as soon as her fingers made contact, feeling the phantom sting of a blade sliding through her chest.
The memories assaulted her then. The dagger. The runes. Her sacrifice.
If she was dead, then that meant this must be…well, certainly not Heaven. There was a decided lack of pearly gates. But it didn’t look like Hell either; not a trace of fire or brimstone to be found. Purgatory, then?
Skye stood up, not seeing anything but endless mounds of sand in every direction. Great. She sacrificed herself and got sent to an eternal desert to live out the rest of her…afterlife?
Letting out a little huff, Skye did the only thing she could think of: she walked.
“You’re never going to get anywhere unless the land wants you to,” a woman called.
Skye froze, her eyes scanning the horizon in search of the speaker.
“It’s fickle that way, just like the men that created it.”
A tingle started at the base of her neck. The speaker was behind her. Hesitating only because she wasn’t sure whether the speaker was a friend or a foe, Skye was slow to turn around. Until she remembered. She can’t hurt you, dummy. You’re already dead. That was going to take some getting used to.
The woman had some kind of scarf wrapped around her face to ward off the small gusts of sand that the wind kept flinging into the air. All Skye could make out from where she stood was that the woman was about a head taller than her and had light eyes.
“So, what? I just stand still and do nothing forever?”
The woman shrugged. “That’s certainly one way to pass the time. Once the land gets a sense of you, it will determine your fate.”
“The land?”
The woman gestured to the sand around them. “The Wasteland.”
Skye’s heart gave a painful lurch before its tempo increased and it began to race. “Wha-what did you just say?”
“Welcome to the Wasteland, sweetheart. Population, two.”
“Two?” Skye asked, her heart plummeting to her feet. Then that meant…had Lucas not survived after all?
The woman pointed to herself and then Skye as if the math should have been obvious.
Licking her lips, Skye asked, “Is it possible that there are others you simply haven’t found yet?”
She
tilted her head as she considered the question. “It’s possible. I cannae claim to know all of its secrets.”
Her relief was almost as painful as the thought of Lucas being gone forever. Legs folding beneath her, Skye sat down hard in the sand. “Forgive me, I just need a minute.”
“By all means,” the woman said, “it’s not like we have anything but time.”
Questions flew through her mind, each one colliding with another, demanding to be asked first. Who was she? How did she get here? Who were the men that created this place? Had she met Lucas? Oliver? Did she know what the soul price was? Why was Skye sent here, but not one of the others?
“I’m Maggie, by the way,” the woman said, answering the first of her unspoken questions. “And who might ye be?”
Maggie. Shock rendered her momentarily speechless, and then Skye laughed. “You’re Lucas’ grandmother.” Of course.
The woman took a tentative step forward, her brows furrowed. “Ye know my grandson?”
“Know him? Yeah, I would say I know him.”
Maggie closed the distance between them and dropped to her knees in front of Skye. “Why did he send ye here?” she demanded, her pleasantly casual voice going cold.
Even though all Skye could see was the muted color of Maggie’s eyes, there was no mistaking the resemblance to Lizzie and Lucas.
“Lucas didn’t send me here. I came here to bring him home, well—” Skye stopped, trying to figure out how to best explain what had happened.
When she’d decided to be the one to offer herself up, she hadn’t quite planned on waking up on the other side. She had thought Giles or maybe Lizzie would be pulled through in her place. That had been their plan, initially. Giles would make the sacrifice, and she would be sent through, just like Maggie and Oliver had been so many years ago. And sure, Giles suspected Maggie might have made it, but Skye never really believed it was possible. Dead was dead…
Well, apparently, that wasn’t true either.
Maybe it would be easiest if she started with something simpler. “I’m Skye Giovanni,” she announced, holding out her hand.