Circle of Ashes (Wish Quartet Book 2)

by Elise Kova

  “Promise?”

  “I promise. No matter what.”

  Nico found the strength to pull himself together and face the world. Or at least enough to pretend. They stood together, arms linked and breaths shuddering in time. Together they walked toward the briefing room, and to whatever fate awaited them all.

  Chapter 32

  Draw Straws

  AT ONCE UPON arrival in the briefing room, the atmosphere felt different. If not because of the nearly palpable concern spreading like dust over every corner, then because Pan, for the first time, was seated at the head of the table. Jo looked at her in confusion, locating Snow at once as if doing so might make sense of the anomaly. But he was in an unusual seat, pushed just slightly away from the table, at Pan’s right. He refused to look at anyone or anything, eyes glazed over and staring down the hall as if he could see past the Four-Way, into the common area, and to the mountains beyond.

  “Kind of you two to finally join us,” Pan purred, hands coming into graceful contact with the table as she leaned forward. Her eyes shone a bright red to match the ribbon at her neck, and the pupils shifted between thin, cat-like lines, and blown-wide circles. Jo couldn’t help but shudder under the eerie woman’s gaze.

  Jo opened her mouth to argue, possibly even question her position at the helm of their sinking ship, but the feel of Nico’s hand tightening around her wrist kept her silent. When she looked over at him, Nico looked near to shattering, eyes not on her but touch desperately clinging. She figured it wasn’t worth the unnecessary fighting, not after all they’d already lost, so she bit her tongue and followed Nico the rest of the way to the table.

  Wayne saw them approach and, without even needing to be asked, removed himself from his chair, settling into Jo’s so she could stay at Nico’s side. She hoped her soft smile in his direction conveyed as much gratitude as she felt.

  “So!” Pan got started without preamble, clapping her hands loud enough that at least half the room couldn’t help but jump, the other half wincing in sympathy. “Where should we begin?” She tapped red-tipped fingernails against the polished table and the whole area exploded in swirling colors and shapes. When it settled, a glitching image of Mt. Fuji stood before them; one second the volcano was inactive, the next frozen in mid-eruption, and back. Beneath the grotesque visual reminder of their oncoming failure was a ring of various timestamps.

  As Jo watched the rest of the team glance first at the numbers, then at their own respective watches, she realized what Pan was trying to display. Jo ran a finger over her own wristband, a number illuminating that perfectly matched one of the six beneath the volcano’s magical visage.

  “None of you have enough time left,” Pan continued once it seemed as though everyone had begun to catch on. “And even if you did, the window of opportunity is closing and Snow has already reset time by destroying the world of possibility and expending that allotted amount of magic. He can contribute no more to this wish.” The usual lilt to her voice, mischievous and playful, had given way to something heavy and serious, something clearly meant to be intimidating. “We need to make this wish happen now, so what is there to do, hmm? What option do we have left?”

  Nico flinched at the words, the hand still linked loosely with Jo’s suddenly tightening, his shoulders tensing in guilt. Anger ambushed Jo’s nerves, her head snapping in Pan’s direction as she momentarily forgot about the undefined threat looming on the horizon. All she saw was a pompous member of their team that hadn’t done shit since day one. They’d exhausted themselves and dragged every ounce of their magic and determination and skill out into the open for the sake of the wish. What had she done? What right did she have?

  “So why don’t you actually do something for once?” Jo hissed before she could stop herself. She’d gotten to her feet without realizing, though thankfully she’d had the wherewithal not to drop Nico’s hand. By the way he clutched ruthlessly at her fingers, she may as well have been the only thing anchoring him to the present. She squeezed back, but her eyes never left Pan’s impassive face, the casual arch of her eyebrows and quirk of her lips. Jo could have punched her.

  “I’m about to.” Pan pulled her hands from the table and crossed her arms over her chest. When the stare-off seemed to grow boring for her, however, Pan glanced in Snow’s direction and grinned, an ugly and devious thing. “So how would you like to do this, Snow? Draw straws? They pick? Or should we let them fight it out? A battle royale might get messy, but I can’t say I wouldn’t enjoy the show.”

  “Quiet, Pan.” Snow refused to meet Pan’s gaze, and even though it was subtle, Jo saw his shoulders tense, the tendons in his neck sticking out against his attempt to stay still. But Jo wasn’t going to let him shove this under the rug just like everything else. She needed answers, deserved answers. They all did.

  “What does she mean?” Jo asked him directly, stomach churning when he refused to meet her eyes. Distantly, Jo could feel Nico squeezing her hand again, but she was too distracted by a sense of steadily rising panic to process anything more than the look of defeat on Snow’s face. “Snow?” Jo tried once more, voice softer this time, and he flinched, eyes closing as if to block her out.

  That sick feeling in her stomach doubled.

  “Don’t worry, pet,” Pan cooed. She straightened, twirling elegant fingers through her hair. “I can fix this. I can make the magic we need to close the Severity of Exchange and grant the wish.” She cracked her neck, hand resting at the base of her skull. When she dropped her arm to stare back at Jo, it was with a different demeanor, an indescribable essence that seemed to throb in ripples from her center and out to every corner of the briefing room. Something in Jo pushed back in response, as if her very existence both knew and revolted against the woman.

  “How? Snow already converted the world of possibility of the wisher to magical essence.” Someone asked from the other side of the table, but Jo could barely hear it, eyes trapped beneath Pan’s crippling stare.

  She had seen those eyes before. And not just in the Society. But when? Or more importantly, how? Had she unknowingly encountered Pan before joining the Society when the woman-child was clocked into time on a wish?

  Jo rubbed her eyes, blinking, and the world clicked back into focus. The stress of it all was getting to her, making her brain do odd things.

  “Oh, but there are more worlds of possibility, of a sort.” Pan grinned, letting the oppressive waves of her magic finally abate. For the first time in what felt like hours, Jo could breathe. Just in time for Pan to send her an infuriating wink. “Snow requires a wisher’s sacrifice. I require a sacrifice of a different sort to convert essence.”

  Jo opened her mouth to demand more information, but she couldn’t seem to find her words, throat tight and body heavy beneath the wave of whatever power Pan had held over the room only seconds ago. Thankfully, Wayne didn’t seem to be nearly as affected.

  “What the hell does that mean?” he snapped in Jo’s stead, completely ignoring the way Eslar reached for his arm, holding him back, though only just. Pan seemed more amused than anything, leaning casually against Snow’s chair. When Snow didn’t bother to move, Jo felt the distinct feeling that there was no coming back from this.

  Whatever happened next, he wouldn’t be helping them. Maybe even wasn’t allowed to.

  Just who was in control here?

  Pan rested a hand on Snow’s shoulder, perfectly manicured nails drumming another light rhythm against his collarbone. Jo swore she saw red at the uninvited contact. But then, at Pan’s words, she saw nothing at all.

  “I get to kill one of you.”

  A second of shock, of incomprehensible void, and then reality snapped back into painful focus. Unfortunately, Jo was a good couple of seconds behind everyone else.

  “Snow?” Samson begged weakly as Wayne pushed a chair out of his way so hard it toppled. He didn’t even seem willing to barter for information, already spiraling into a confused and panicked rage.

  “W
hat in every circle of hell is that supposed to mean?” he yelled, slamming a hand down on the table. Jo felt her knees buckle, her body falling heavily back into her chair.

  What was going on?

  “Wayne, stop.” Eslar was obviously out of his depth, eyes frozen on the empty space in front of him, disbelieving. Chiding on autopilot. When Jo finally managed to drag her eyes away from where they’d fallen in anxious devastation into her own lap, it was first to the sight of Nico, silent and gradually shattering at her side. Then secondly, to Pan, her gaze seemingly already waiting to capture Jo’s stare.

  If Jo didn’t know better, it looked like a challenge. Or maybe a dark and eager promise. Either way, the look made Jo feel sick with anger. And fear. It was like she’d known what was coming all along, and willingly stayed on the tracks.

  “You’ve got one day to decide,” Pan said, lazy and indifferent as ever, as if her unspoken but obvious amusement had already long since passed. There was no time to process, no time to argue or beg or scream or cry, before she was waving over her shoulder at the room at large. “Let me know what you lovely lot come up with.”

  Just as quickly as she’d doomed one of them to death, she vanished back into the halls of the mansion.

  Chapter 33

  Favoritism

  “THIS IS NOT happening.”

  Jo wasn’t entirely sure if she said the words very softly, or thought them very loudly. Either way, in the commotion of the room, they were lost.

  “Get back here you rainbow haired bi—”

  “Wayne, stop.” Eslar all but shouted, lunging for the man. “There’s an explanation here, I’m sure.”

  “What possible explanation can there be?” Wayne roared in reply. “She didn’t seem to me like she was just having a good ol’ joshin’ at our expense.” His voice had gone thick with his usual accent, but different. . . rougher. The airs he usually put on had vanished into something more serious, and now it had come full circle into an accent that was far more authentic, a tonal quality that was more a reversion back to his roots than an homage to them.

  “Kill one of our own?” Takako’s face alternated between composed, confused, and about to tear someone apart. “What is the meaning of this, leader?” The way she spat out the moniker might as well have been an insult or a challenge. Probably both.

  “It’s my fault,” Nico sobbed, but Jo was the only one who heard.

  “What do we do?” Samson’s small voice asked from opposite the table.

  Eventually, in the whirlwind of everyone else’s slow and steady breakdowns, Jo found her feet again, still clutching Nico’s hand. “Snow!” She waited until his head jerked in her direction at the sudden shout of his name. “Say something.”

  It was the verbal slap he needed. The man blinked, stunned, and then swallowed. His mouth hardened into a line and his eyes gained clarity. As Snow stood, assuming control of the now-quiet room, Jo sat.

  “Pan—” He paused, clearing his throat before continuing. “Is not lying to you.”

  “You’re going to let her kill one of us?” Takako asked, void of emotion.

  “All this time. Were we just sheep awaiting slaughter?” Wayne snapped.

  “You know that’s not the case,” Eslar replied, still clearly giving Snow the benefit of the doubt.

  “Do I? What do we really know?” Wayne pushed his chair from the table, folding his arms as if to keep him from lunging at the elf. “What do you know? You seem awfully cool. Have you been keeping this from us to?”

  “Eslar didn’t know anything,” Samson interjected.

  “Of course you’d say that, you always take his side,” Wayne sneered; Samson sunk in on himself.

  “Wayne, stop,” Jo chided. Wayne was about to object, but one look at Jo’s face had him closing his mouth and looking away.

  “She’s right, there is no other option at this point. The Severity of Exchange is too wide.” Snow struggled to keep some semblance of control over the situation.

  “Surely, there’s another way to convert the magic?” Eslar asked, pleaded. “Why not a ritual, like Springtide, or—”

  “All relics were lost with the Age of Magic, you know that as well as I,” Snow said sadly.

  “Or, I have an idea.” Jo could feel the venom of her own words dripping in sickly tendrils down her throat “How about we just say ‘Screw it we tried’?” She looked around the room, registering the surprise that appeared on every face, and felt only overwhelming frustration. Really, how had they not thought about this before? “We put forward a good effort, we did all we could. What’s our wish success rate until now? One hundred percent? Who’s going to come after us for failure, anyway? We exist outside of time and space.”

  “But—” Takako began to say.

  “I’m sorry.” Jo knew exactly where the Japanese woman’s mind was. “Really, I am. And we can try to just get your family to safety. That should be do-able. We don’t have enough time to meet the parameters of the wish—to save everyone. But saving at least them shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “You’d really condemn all those people to die?” Eslar asked. Jo wasn’t sure if he sounded surprised or impressed.

  Either way, she answered him levelly and honestly. “Yes.” Jo shook her head, cursing under her breath. “Look, I’m not pleased about this. I’m not suggesting this lightly. But isn’t this what you taught me from the first wish, that we can’t save everyone? Haven’t you all watched thousands of people die horrible deaths? Why is this any different? Good, evil, failure, or triumph, the world keeps on turning.”

  “We can’t,” Snow stopped her before a seed of hope could even be planted.

  “Why?” Jo challenged.

  “Because if we fail to grant a wish, we all die.”

  Stillness across the table. A collective inhale. Than an almost unanimous, “What?”

  “The Society exists because of the wishes we grant.” Snow placed his hands on the table as if inspecting it for the first time. “I destroy worlds of possibility to fulfill wishes and, in doing so, some of that energy goes to continuing to keep this pocket of existence outside of time. Without the energy and magic of the wishes we grant, we cannot exist. It is part of what binds us to this place—our duty. And part of what, in return, binds us. . . to this life itself.” The sound of Snow’s voice cracking on the last words had Jo’s heart stuttering, tipping to the floor, shattering. Even when Snow lifted his head, a mask of faux composure back on his face, she couldn’t unhear it as he tried to explain further.

  “Every time we grant a wish, every time the world is redesigned, I am able to siphon a little from the world of possibility that I destroy and we are gifted enough magic in return to sustain ourselves. But my capabilities on channeling that destructive power aren’t perfect, and we can sustain only for a little while longer. This magic, the magic that keeps us alive, it needs constant replenishment. So if we stop granting wishes, or if we fail to grant an accepted wish within the allotted time frame, that magic runs out. I don’t have the power to break the cycle, even if I wanted to.”

  Snow’s mask crumbled then, not enough to catch everyone else’s attention, but enough that Jo could feel the weight of his pain like a dagger through her own heart.

  “The magic runs out, we all die.”

  Jo sank into her chair, his words circling around her head like so many taunting birds. It was truly a rock and a hard place. No way out. She couldn’t breathe.

  So instead, she distracted herself by looking around the room; surely, the rest of them had known this. But everyone’s faces displayed matching looks of shock and horror, even Eslar’s. How had no one known this before? What other fundamental secrets to their existence had been kept from them?

  “So that’s it, then,” Wayne murmured bitterly. “One of us dies to grant the wish, or we all die.”

  Silence was his only reply. Jo’s eyes had fallen to her lap, so she could only assume that Snow had nodded. It didn’t matter. There was n
o simple solution or crafty work-around to get them out of this. It was exactly as Wayne said.

  “Now what?” she whispered.

  “I’ll do it.” Takako’s voice was clear and strong. Level. Takako knew what she was offering, sacrificing. Probably more than any of them. “It’s my country. My family. Let it be me.”

  “No,” Jo’s voice quivered and she wished she could be as strong as the other woman in what she was about to do. An icy fear ran through her veins, but still her mouth formed words. “If anyone should—” Her throat tightened and she swallowed twice to clear it. “Go. . . it should be me. I was the one who was arrogant from the start. My hack job was shoddy and I was overconfident. I wasted our time and set us on the path that put us in this spot. Plus, I’m the newest here, so—”

  “Just stop.” Wayne slapped his hand on the table, startling Jo into a silence. “We all know that I’m the king of screw-ups. You said it, doll. You’re the new kid, so I’m not letting you take the title.”

  Nico opened his mouth, no doubt about to offer to martyr himself with the rest of them when Eslar interrupted.

  “Snow should decide.”

  All eyes drifted back toward their leader. To his credit, Snow did not shake or waver. He met their attention with rigid posture and the same careful regard that he always had at the head of the table. It was as if every ounce of tension he had ever carried himself with was in preparation for this moment.

  “So be it, then,” Snow said softly. “I will decide within the day.”

  Jo pressed her eyes closed. It was an impossible decision for him to make. They were clearly all willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of their team. How would he choose?

  The sensation of Nico’s hand finally uncurling from hers barely registered, and despite Jo’s underlying guilt, evoked no response in her. She couldn’t muster the strength to comfort him when she was beginning to unravel herself; hopefully, one day, he’d be able to forgive her for it.