by Patti Larsen
“I'll stay,” he said, with a hint of desperation in his voice, “if you ask me to.”
Damn him, he did not just do that to me. Did not.
It was so hard to pull my hands free when I just wanted to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him into submission and never, ever let him go.
I hated I couldn't do that for him.
“It's your life,” I said, stroking his cheek, letting my power out to embrace him further even as he dropped his head, hands resting on my thighs as his shoulders sagged. “I can't ask you to do anything for me, Quaid. Not if it means you're not doing what you want. It's not fair to either of us and you know it.”
His head snapped up, tears tracking down his cheeks, chocolate eyes full of pain. “I've loved you since the first day we met on your front step,” he said, voice cracking. “And I've spent every day since loving you more and more while I worked so hard to hide it from you.”
I laughed then, feeling the tension break between us. “That's why you were such a jerk.” His lip twitched in a grin. “I wish I'd known. I would have taken total advantage of the situation.”
His tears stopped, the agony leaving his face. “I'm in no hurry to make any decisions,” he said.
My heart sighed and healed as I leaned forward, cupping his cheeks in my hands, feeling the warmth of his lips on mine as I kissed him for a long moment.
“We have lots of time,” I said.
Quaid retook his seat beside me, lifting me into his lap, holding me close, lips brushing my forehead over and over as he held me tight.
I just wished I didn't feel like he was doing it because he was afraid to let me go.
***
Chapter Forty Six
One last grief.
I hesitated in the funeral home parking lot, not sure I could keep moving after all. Mom's hand took mine, squeezed gently and I squeezed back. She'd come, no questions asked, just showing up that morning in the kitchen, and held me while I cried and fought to pull myself together.
I hadn't seen Alison's ghost since the Dumont's attack and hoped her echo moved on. But for now, in the moment standing outside the place of the dead, I felt like the echo.
“You don't have to do this.” Mom waited, as patient as ever. “Syd.”
I nodded, snuffling a little. “Yes,” I said, “I do.”
My feet crunched over the asphalt, the small stones poking my feet through my shoes, anchoring me to the ground. My demon hummed softly in her sadness, Shaylee singing a gentle lament over and over again. As much as it could have been annoying, I took great comfort from the two of them and welcomed their pain into mine.
Some things were better shared.
Beth and Simon stood in the entry of the squat building with Quaid and Liam, my two normal friends looking out of place and uncomfortable in the old-fashioned parlor entrance. I flinched from the smell of antiseptic and the howling ghost of a young woman who rushed past and through me the moment I crossed the threshold.
Mom's hand tightened again. Like this.
She shared her filter, how her magic threw a curtain across the image, blocking out the horrible visions, the same shield, subtle but powerful, which also restricted her from hearing the echoes of the dead.
Relief. I almost staggered from it as I erected a similar ward just as a creepy old man with half of his head missing rushed at me, arms outstretched, vanishing just before he reached me.
Beth replaced him, staggering forward, arms open to me, wrapping around me as she sobbed on my shoulder. Simon stood behind her, as awkward and skinny as ever, pushing his glasses up his nose repeatedly with one finger while tears trickled down his cheeks.
Mom hugged Beth while Simon took his turn with me, little body stiff and voice rough.
“Hey, Syd,” he said.
His greeting brought a sad smile to my face. “Hey, Simon.”
“I'm sorry.” Beth pulled away from Mom, pulling a tissue out of the cuff of her black sweater, using it to dab delicately at her eyes and nose. “I don't mean to be a mess.”
I hugged her again. “I think it's okay this once,” I said.
She tried a smile, laughed a little. “Alison wouldn't mind, would she?”
I grinned. “Alison would have loved it. Sob away. She was the queen of drama, remember?”
My friend giggled, looked guilty. “Syd,” she said, slightly shocked.
“Well,” I shrugged. “She was. And I loved her for it.”
The two of them sat with us, Quaid and Liam on the far end as Beth scooted in next to me. I’m not sure if she was looking for comfort, but I took it from her and the way she reached for and held my hand. The ushers planted us somewhere midway down the long, thin room, seating us in velvet covered chairs while the organist played endlessly on and on. I kept my head down at first, worried I'd see Angela and not really ready for it. But I finally had to look up and, when I did, felt a shock go through me.
They were all here. The cheergirls. The football jocks. Even the braniacs and the emos. Everyone came, it seemed. Even Page.
She met my eyes and looked away quickly, her darting nervousness making her body twitch like she had an itch she'd never been able to scratch.
The anger started with my demon, more than happy to shove aside her grief for more familiar fury. Even Shaylee halted her singing, outrage shaking me as the pair of them glared through my eyes at the gathered teenagers.
How dare they? The fakers. Look at how the cheergirls wept all over each other like they ever really gave a crap about Alison. How the football jocks pretended to care, uncomfortable in their letter jackets and ties their mommies surely made them wear. And Page. Of all people. Mom's still unfamiliar power pressed down on me, holding me in my seat while the three parts of me—you can bet I was included—fought her.
Forget them. Mom's voice was gentle and calm. You're here for Alison, for her parents. Mom sounded suddenly baffled. I don't think I'll ever understand the rituals of normals. How exactly is sitting here supposed to help them overcome their grief?
I didn't have time to answer. The music swelled and the coffin entered, rolled in on a carved table, four ushers flanking it. And behind, head down, face pressed into a wad of tissues, came Angela, a tallish, balding man holding her up by the presence of his arm around her shoulder.
Alison's mysterious father finally showed up.
More rage surged, flooded my veins. Mixed with guilt. Lots and lots of guilt.
Yeah, I was having a wonderful time.
When we finally sat down again, after Alison's tiny family of two took the front seats, I answered Mom's question.
They can't contact the spirits of the dead, remember? I finally found my voice again. This is the only way they have to mourn.
Mom's face crumpled. How very sad.
The service was painful. I found myself crying at all the appropriate spots. It was like the minister knew exactly what to say and when to stab me in the heart just right.
Jerk.
I stood again when it was over, Mom holding my hand on one side, Beth on the other, as Angela and her husband Roger led the way out, the polished black coffin following.
Alison would have said black made her look skinny, at least.
Why did it hurt so much?
A short drive in Mom's blue mustang and we were at the cemetery, watching the same coffin being lowered into the ground. I held back as Angela turned to accept a hug from someone, not wanting her to see me, knowing my being here would only upset her.
She had to blame me for Alison's death.
I did.
But when her eyes caught mine, she hurried toward me, arms out, pulling me against her, holding me tight and whispering my name in my ear. I clung to her for a moment, every horrible thing forgotten, just happy to hug my best friend's mom and remember Alison for who she was, not what she'd become.
Angela finally pulled away, dabbing at her cheeks while she tried to smile. She looked up, over my shoulder, caught sight
of Mom and reached out to take my mother's hand.
“Thank you, Miriam,” Angela said. “You were a better influence on my daughter than I ever was.”
“She was a wonderful girl, Angela,” Mom said so kindly I choked up again.
Blue eyes met mine again. “Syd,” Angela said, “I want you to know how much you meant to my daughter. To thank you for being there for her, no matter what. She loved you so much.” Angela's tears started up again. “You were the only real friend she ever had.”
It was so hard to hear her say those things when I knew different.
She needs to know you understand, Mom sent.
I bobbed my head like I'd forgotten where I was. “I loved her too,” I managed to whisper.
A soft thread of familiar power touched me, turned me around as Mom leaned in to hug Angela. I caught sight of Mia, dressed in black, looking so much like her old self I almost did a double take, standing next to a distant tombstone. But before I could go to her, my power reaching for hers, she turned and disappeared behind a large oak tree.
Give her some time, Mom sent. She'll come to you eventually.
At least that ending might be happy, then.
I had one final cry with Angela after she introduced me to Roger who shook my hand forever and did his best not to sob himself before the two turned and sadly left the cemetery.
I'd eased up on the shielding around my mind after leaving the funeral home, surprised to find only a few ghosts hanging around their final resting places. A flicker of motion near Alison's headstone caught my attention, enough I knew I had to stay until everyone else had gone. Beth and Simon hugged me too, promising they'd call though I knew it was likely neither of them would.
It didn't take long for the mourners to break up after the Morgans left. I didn’t have to ask Quaid and Liam to go. The pair of them, one dark, the other strawberry blonde, gently escorted Beth and Simon away. I watched them go, adoring them both for just doing what I needed them to do and not asking questions.
I guessed I’d keep them.
That left Mom and I alone in the place. The gravediggers had placed a tarp of fake grass over the hole her coffin sat in. I sighed deeply and left Mom behind as I slowly approached, folding my legs beneath me to sit on the real grass next to the echo that was my friend.
Alison had come back at last, though I could tell from her expression she wished she hadn't.
“This is it then?” Her shade tossed her hair back, met my eyes with a fake smile. “The sad and tragic ending of Alison Marie Morgan, gone so young, she'll be missed.”
I didn't blame her for feeling bitter. “I'm sorry, Al.” There wasn't much else to say.
Mom slowly approached. “Alison, dear,” she said.
“Hi, Miriam.” Alison waved a little. “I'm not supposed to be here, am I?”
Mom smiled gently. “We can help you, if you wish.”
Alison looked back and forth between us a moment. “Who are you? I mean, really?” She hugged herself, leaning away from me. “I knew you were odd, you know? When I was alive. But now... how come you can see me and no one else can?”
“It's a long story,” I said. “I'm just happy I can.”
She smiled, but it was brittle and didn't last long.
“I'm afraid.” She shuddered. “I don't want to go yet.”
Mom sighed softly. “You can't be here, dear,” she said. “This is no way for you to exist.”
Alison turned her face away from my mother, her eyes locking on my chest. I'd forgotten all about the marble holding the vampire virus at bay. I'd managed to reinforce the shields around it once I had control of half of the family magic and it had fallen dormant. Or seemed to. But Alison hadn't forgotten, at least not from the hungry look on her face.
Before I could stop her she surged toward me, passing through me, purposely pulling at the power in the gem. I felt it stir, feed her, so when she finally emerged behind me she glowed softly white.
I turned toward her, shocked and more than a little worried. “Al—”
She jerked away from me, looking even more substantial than she had before. The virus. A power source to feed her.
Oh crap.
“I'm staying now.” She laughed, a little hysterical. “I can still be your bestie. And you can't stop me.”
Mom's magic reached for Alison, but the echo of my friend dodged her with a terrible giggle and vanished.
***
Chapter Forty Seven
Happy endings are highly overrated.
With Batsheva still in the wind, Celeste, Ameline and Demitrius supposedly under her control, I couldn't help but feel like a ticking time bomb sat outside the sleepy confines of Wilding Springs, just waiting for an excuse, any excuse, to blow up in my face.
At least they were weakened, stripped of coven power. Though if Batsheva was able to handle using blood magic, I had no doubt the others, the sorcerous Strong not included, would master it as well given enough time.
Gram and I did the deed together, severing the absent Celeste from our family magic. I have to say it was immensely satisfying and would happily have welcomed her back just to do it again.
And again.
It was weird in the house without Mom around, but I was getting used to it. Though I can't count how many times I passed her room in the run of a day and thought about her.
A lot.
Even weirder, Mom took Meira with her. I knew it made sense, cried as my sister hugged me, her possessions magicked away as a tall Enforcer pair gathered her to them and vanished. I held onto her magic all the way, just in case. Not that I didn't think Mom wasn't keeping an eye on her, but I refused to be caught with my pants down.
At least I'd see them again in the not-too-distant future. The headquarters of the Council happened to be at Harvard, so when I went to school in the fall I'd see them as often as I wanted.
Mom forgot the whole graduation thing in the midst of the mess, thank goodness. And with Erica at her side, still the Hayle Council member, there was no one to remember the horror of their little plans. I did admire the ring they ordered me when it arrived though, so that was a bonus.
It even fit without having to use magic.
The saddest part was losing Sassafras to them. He'd gone with Meira, clutched to her chest, amber eyes winking. I missed him, more than I would ever admit to the silver furball.
With just Gram and I, the house felt empty. Galleytrot had gone back to his familiar haunt with Liam again, and I hadn't argued.
I went to join my Sidhe friends the night of the June full moon, standing with Liam while he nervously answered his first knock. I was happy to be there, to support him, but felt Shaylee shudder from the pull of the Sidhe realm just on the other side of the Gate.
Quaid ended up leading the memorial for the Vegas, calling up their power where it lingered around the family, waiting for the chance to come home. They’d not had the opportunity to pass on their magic due to the nature of their deaths and it took an entire coven gathering to summon what remained back to the fold. I wept openly as I felt their touch return to the family, their true essence, unlike the echo of Alison, the Vegas were now with us forever. It was only the third time I'd seen Quaid cry, and all within a few days.
I hoped it would be the last. We'd had enough tragedy, thanks.
Alison was becoming a problem. No matter what I did, she refused to cross over. I did ward the gem against her, so at least she wasn't able to take more power from it, a fact that irritated her to raging. She wasn't herself at all and was starting to creep me out. Gram grumbled, wanted to force my friend to go to the light, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.
Mia had been in official contact at last, so it was a start. It was a stilted and formal letter, but had her power embedded in it and was sealed with a kiss of lipstick.
Dark red. Her old favorite.
The Dumonts were in for a hell of a time if Mia went all Pain on their asses.
Her letter assure
d me she was restricting those who showed sympathy toward Odette and Ameline, including Jean Marc and Kristophe, though I knew she had her work cut out for her.
Charlotte and her two friends (Uri and Katarina—I finally learned their names) had assigned themselves my official bodyguards. It was kind of Sebastian to tolerate them in his territory, though he told me the only reason they remained was because of the debt he owed me.
Uncle Frank was his old self in more ways than one. In fact he was even happier and more confident if that was even possible. I wondered if he’d crash at some point, but knew Sunny was there for him if it happened so I didn’t worry too much.
I was happy to get more letters, these from the coven leaders. And while Tallah's note was warm and apologetic, it was the inserted sheet from Sashenka that made me smile the most.
We'd be going to college together.
The other leaders, even Benita Santos, were also warm and kind. Who knew I'd be making witchy friends?
My birthday came and went with our yearly Beltane ritual, though it was quieter than I expected my eighteenth to be. Beth and Tim tried to wrangle a party, but I just didn’t have it in me.
As for me and Quaid... we were taking things one step at a time. Including rescheduling our first date.
Nothing was going to keep me from it this time.
Nothing.
###
My very dear readers:
This is the point where I normally share with you the first chapter of the next book in the series. Never fear! There is more in Syd’s saga, but I’m taking a short break between books to finish a few other projects.
It wouldn’t be like me to leave you hanging, though would it? The next volume of the Hayle Coven Novels, Divided Heart, is due this coming October, 2012, with the intent of a new release each month until the series is completed in September, 2013.
As a treat, because I don’t have a first chapter ready, I’m sharing with you instead the remaining titles of the last twelve books… feel free to speculate on their meanings, though knowing Syd, these tales could lead you anywhere