Krishani gulped hard. “You’re cruel.”
Tor laughed. “You must be cruel to be kind.”
Krishani felt the heaviness in his chest lift, the pain in his extremities receding. He stared at Tor for a long moment but the High King had gone back to chopping peppers. Krishani turned on his heel. “Fuck you.”
He slammed out of the restaurant and practically jogged to the car, not feeling the same shortness of breath in his lungs. He pulled the cell phone out of his back pocket and dialed Pux as he neared his car and fumbled with the keys to get the door open.
Pux answered on the fourth ring. “Krishani?”
Krishani sat in the driver’s seat, his head on the steering wheel. “Tor’s going to make her supernova.”
He heard something clatter to the floor on the other end of the line. “Shit,” Pux said, righting whatever it was. “Is he insane?”
Krishani started the Corolla, wanting to feel heat rolling over him. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“Take her to Avristar.”
“Um …”
“I won’t be here when it happens. You have to promise me you’ll look after her.”
“But I can’t let her see me, she’ll flip out.”
Krishani took a deep breath, out of options, out of time, and out of ways to keep Kaliel safe. “Avristar is the only place that’s safe. It’s her home, she’ll remember it.”
Pux was silent for a long time. “Okay. If I ever figure out how to get there, I’ll take her. What are you going to do?”
Krishani revved the engine and depressed the brake pedal as he released the clutch. “I’ll try not to die.”
O O O
Tor parked the Tempo in front of the restored brownish red double garage door. He neared the repainted porch, the fixed stairs. He put a small dining set against the left side, three chairs around it. He glanced at the black cat on the porch and reached out, scratching behind her ears.
“Anything, Black Magic?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at the cat with big yellow eyes. The cat made eye contact with him and transferred the images from his routine checks for the day. No intruders, no sightings. He nodded and headed inside, Necromancer on the bottom rung of the grand staircase leading to the six rooms upstairs. She licked her paw and rubbed her face, her green eyes sharp.
“Anything, Necromancer?”
She hopped off the rung and went down the hall beside the stairs, stopping at the white door under the stairs, leading to the Sanctuary. She pawed at it and he opened it, taking the creaky wooden steps into the basement. A mirror covered the back wall from one end to the other. Tor built a couple of shallow steps in front of it, a platform for ritual work. On the top step, in front of the glass was a simple golden box. Necromancer rounded it and sat beside it, her tail curled around her. Tor smiled. She had all the grace of a royal Egyptian cat. He bent and picked up the box, recognizing it from his vault in the Great Hall. He lost access to it years ago when the Valtanyana breached the upper levels and captured Kemplan.
He closed his eyes, thankful Kemplan was able to get to the Flames before they did. He couldn’t risk them falling into the hands of Valtanyana. He knew what they were and where they came from, but he kept his secrets hidden and for the life of him wanted them to believe they were older than time itself.
He ran his hands over the golden puzzle box and flipped the catch, running his fingers along the empty velvet interior. He turned the box and released the side clasp, sliding out a thin piece of parchment. He moved to the altar against the far wall, the top covered with everyday items for ceremonial and ritual work. He put the box on the altar and unfurled the parchment carefully, staring at the images of the Ferryman and the Flame.
It had taken so long for her to be ready, for him to be at the breaking point, but everything was falling into place the way he planned. All he had to do was see it through. He rolled up the scroll and slid it into the compartment. He knelt beside Necromancer, and put the box back in front of the mirror.
“You know where to put this,” he said gently, pressing his fingers into the mirror. Necromancer pushed the box forward with her paw, until it slid through the rippling mirror. She followed it, her slim black body passing through the glass.
Tor stood. He went to the altar and took the premade satchel of herbs and climbed the stairs. He needed to strengthen the shield. A bit longer and everything would be poised to awaken the Amethyst Flame.
***
Chapter 29
Surprises
Maeva tapped the pen on the binder, looking at the open classroom door every few seconds. Mr. Wilson stood at the blackboard, explaining the fall of the Roman Empire. She couldn’t believe she took this class, none of it sunk in. Mr. Wilson began with what he called the cradle of civilization, and Michael scoffed through most of his lessons. He raised his hand a lot, clarifying the gibberish Mr. Wilson spoke. Whenever Michael talked about history Maeva felt like she was there. But then Mr. Wilson started up again she zoned out, writing notes like a zombie.
She faked her way through most of her assignments, using Michael as a backboard for her answers. He was patient and even somehow pained through it. She didn’t understand why none of it was familiar, and why Mr. Wilson left out certain parts of the world. She wanted to know more about what happened in Norway and Scotland but Mr. Wilson focused on Mesopotamia, Babylon, Aztec, Persia, China, Egypt, and Rome. He touched briefly on Greek Myth one week but Michael raised his hand and got him on a tangent about gladiators.
She ran a hand through her unruly black curls and glanced at the door for the twelfth time since class had started. Michael had an appointment with Dr. Grant. She was inspecting some of the malignant cells and was supposed to have news on whether or not he was in remission. He kept saying he felt better than he looked. These days he was thinner, paler, bones poking out of skin in all the wrong places. His collarbone was a lot more defined, along with his knuckles and jaw. She hoped nobody else noticed. Even though she saw Steph for class and during their shifts at the dinner, talking about Michael was off limits.
He appeared in the doorway, white note in hand, binder under his arm. Maeva drew a sharp breath. Mr. Wilson took the note from his outstretched hand and shuffled down the aisle, sitting beside her. He looked worn out. Mr. Wilson began talking again and Maeva leaned in.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
He tapped his fingers on his thighs as though he was anxious for class to be over. She agreed, she didn’t want to be here anymore than he did. The idea of remaining stuffed in a classroom when she could be anywhere else with him, living out the last few months of his life, was tempting.
A note slid into her palm and she questioningly glanced at Michael before unfolding the paper. “What if I asked you out on a proper date?”
Maeva smirked and grabbed her pen, scribbling her response. She handed it back to him and watched him open it. “You know how to be proper?”
He crumpled the note and grinned. “I’m serious. I want to take you out,” he whispered.
She thought for a moment as Mr. Wilson turned, looking for a show of hands. He pointed to someone other than Michael for once. Mr. Wilson seemed pleased; at least someone understood this class. He turned back to the board and she tucked her head in Michael’s direction. “There’s a nice restaurant in Thunder Bay but it’s too far.”
“Can I surprise you?”
“Okay, surprise me.” She went back to tapping her pen on loose-leaf and writing down another keyword to the lecture in her notes. She turned to Michael. “As long as it’s not a church thing.”
“I can’t step foot in a church.”
She frowned wanting to ask him why but Mr. Wilson shot a stern look their way and she straightened, making her spine ramrod straight. The bell rang and the lesson ended. Everyone else trickled out of the room but she waited with Michael.
“Why not?”
He coughed and she tensed
but he turned so she couldn’t see the rest of the fit. His shoulders shook and he bent over, gripping the table hard with his other hand. She zipped up her binder and slid it into her backpack. He didn’t answer, just pushed up from the desk and bolted down the aisle, no doubt needing the bathroom. She slung her backpack over her shoulder as he left; everything in her breaking at the seams. She took slow, deliberate steps down the hall, knowing he’d be a while and she’d wait by the bathroom until it was over. She was always on guard, prepared to take him to the hospital or walk him to the next class. Whatever he needed she was there.
“Maeva?” Mr. Wilson interjected.
“Huh?” She glanced at the teacher but it was like she was in a daze, her mind entirely focused on Michael.
Mr. Wilson cringed. “You’re not doing well in this class. Your assignments are pretty … bad actually.”
She frowned. He was a younger teacher, light brown combed over hair, straight nose, and brown eyes. He wore khaki trousers and a tight sandy colored tee, but wasn’t very athletic underneath. He was definitely the geeky type. She sighed. “I’ll work harder. Is there any extra credit I can try for?”
Mr. Wilson gave her a sympathetic look, glancing at the door. “Look, I know you’re young and relationships can be exciting, but you’re graduating. You need to think about what’s important.”
Maeva gulped and looked at the floor. Mr. Wilson had no idea what was important to her. Keeping Michael alive, finding out what she was, and staying hidden from the things coming to get her, those things mattered. School was the least of her problems. “Michael has been helping me.”
Mr. Wilson smiled. “Right, well if I was going to suggest a tutor it would be him. He’s the best in the class.”
She bit her tongue and nodded, taking long strides until she was in the hallway. If it were Michael he would have had a snappy response but she was so drained these days, emotionally, mentally, that tipping off Mr. Wilson about her crazy life didn’t seem like fun. She was going to tell him that Michael probably knew so much because he was there but she didn’t want a trip to the guidance counselor. It was too close to graduation for more scrutiny by authority figures.
She had enough in grade nine when Colleen claimed she was a freak. That whole year Maeva spent an hour in the guidance counselor’s office every week analyzing what made her different. Back then it didn’t help one iota but now she knew she didn’t belong.
She pressed her back against the wall by the boy’s bathroom and waited, a laugh escaping her as she replayed the conversation with Michael. She couldn’t believe she was so out of it she mentioned church. No kidding he couldn’t step foot in a church, he’d probably turn to dust or burst into flames. Both ends made the laugh die in her throat as she heard the sink running. He appeared in the doorway looking tired.
“Can you handle one more class?”
He nodded, unable to speak and she intertwined her fingers with his.
O O O
Maeva dropped Michael off after last period and walked over to the diner for her evening shift. She passed burnt tiles and gaudy red painted boards, and found the restaurant populated with a few people. She went through the saloon style doors and punched an order of chicken fingers into the computer, checking to see if the big booth was empty. She stashed her backpack in the bathroom, near the toilet. Dino needed to fix the staff area big time. She grabbed a broom and swept the bathroom floor, clearing clumps of toilet paper. The cooks were slobs. She tried to make the tiny white box look somewhat sanitary and checked to see if her food was up yet. A plate went under the heat lamps and she grabbed a side of honey dill, sliding into the big booth. Steph and Rachel were serving while Holly stood at the front, messing with the floor plan. Maeva didn’t think it was going to get busy but she liked Dino’s optimism. She ate her chicken fingers in silence as the restaurant filled and emptied and five o’clock rolled around.
She handed her plate to the dishwasher and tied the apron around her waist. She planned to see Michael after her three-hour shift and hoped the time would go fast. “Hey, what section am I?” she asked, catching Rachel in the back drizzling caramel over a dessert plate.
“Take my tables. I have a ton of paperwork to do.”
“Sure.” Maeva grabbed the ketchup bottle filled with caramel and finished with the cake while Rachel washed her hands and disappeared inside the office. She headed out to the dining room and did a quick assessment. A woman on the right perked up at the sight of the cake and she headed over there. “Toffee Cake?”
“Yeah,” the woman said as Maeva set it down in front of her. There was one spoon on the plate but there was a guy sitting with her. “Should I bring another spoon?”
“Yes, thanks,” she said, taking the spoon and digging into the mushy cake. Maeva headed into the back and got the spoon, dropping it off. Holly sat a couple more booths and a family of six took up one of the middle tables. She headed over to another couple while Holly pulled out a high chair and Maeva groaned. Families with young kids left big messes and tiny tips. Maeva steeled herself and took the drink order for the couple, heading to the back. She filled plastic cups with a bit of ice and pushed them under the drink fountain. She glanced at the time, five thirty. Only two and a half hours and she could leave.
These days her heart wasn’t in it. Lately it was always raining or cold, making it impossible to be outside. She felt the surge inside her, a distinctly familiar longing for the forest, lake, and colorful sunset. She tried to convince Michael to go back to the waterfall but he didn’t think it was a good idea. She still hadn’t figured him out. The way he acted around her made her believe she was more than just a temporary fixation for him. He looked at her like he was seeing thousands of years of their past, a past she couldn’t damned well remember no matter how hard she tried.
She sighed and dealt with the family, spending the next hour bringing drinks, extra napkins, extra sauce, and even more napkins when the toddler spilled something. Of the six of them the kid in the high chair was probably the cleanest. Maeva shook her head, grabbing two plates for another couple at the booth closest to the door. She felt sorry for them. It was the only one left and it was the worst in the restaurant, with the door banging back and forth every couple of seconds. She lowered the plates.
“Need anything else?” she asked.
Her stomach lurched. Holly was leading another couple to a booth in her section, making them wait as she wiped it down. The woman was short and athletic, pale skin, long neck, oval-shaped face. She wasn’t wearing all red like she was the day she split the lake with a flaming sword, but the skintight blue jeans and chocolate brown tube top didn’t fool Maeva. The guy was equally menacing, reminding her of Michael when he first came to town. He was bald, his eyes an inky black. They glanced at her as they sat, and Maeva’s throat constricted. She looked at the floor as they slid into the booth.
Her heart hammered as she passed through the double doors and almost collided with Steph, who had plates in both hands.
“Watch it, Maeva,” Steph snapped.
Maeva pressed against the wall, letting her pass. She quickened to the back counter, pressing her forehead onto the stainless steel. It wasn’t the woman in red. It was the woman in red. Her brain argued with her as she fought an oddly familiar urge to burst into flames. She tried to shove it down as Steph came into the back.
“What are you doing? You have tables.”
Maeva looked at her, desperation in her eyes. She couldn’t tell Steph everything but she needed to get out of there. “Can you cover me?”
“Fuck no. The restaurant is full,” Steph barked, grabbing another order from the heat lamps and shaking her head as she headed out front. “Fucking crazy.…” she muttered.
Maeva pressed her hands to her temples. They were there, they were everywhere. She tried to calm herself and find some form of sanity. Part of her said they were just customers and whether she liked it or not she had to serve them. Another part of her told her to
run. She listened to the latter, glancing at the time. It was almost seven. She ripped the apron off, leaving it on the back counter for Rachel to count, forfeiting her tips. She fished her backpack out of the bathroom, slinging it over her shoulder. Wringing her hands out along her sides, she headed towards the back door.
She caught Raj giving her a funny look as she pushed open the thick door and stumbled into the lane. She looked both ways, making sure they hadn’t noticed and skirted past Rachel’s SUV, keeping close to the walls. She passed behind a big square trashcan and peeked around it, making sure she was hidden. She made a run for it, taking the steps to Michael’s back door two at a time. She frantically rummaged through her pack for her phone and dialed his number. She waited, bouncing on the balls of her feet until the door opened and she pushed herself into his arms.
She let out a sob. He smelled like garlic and lemons. He held her close, probably winded from how hard she was hugging him, her heart thudding against his chest. “They’re in the diner,” she rasped.
Michael’s eyes widened. “What happened?” He kept her hand clasped in his as he climbed the stairs to his flat.
“Nothing. I ran.”
Michael shoved the door and glanced at her, an apologetic look on his face. He left her stunned as he went to the stove and pulled out a tray of chicken breast. The smell was intense. He had the island set with candles—actually, candles were on every available surface in the flat. He came around the island and wiped his hands on a dishcloth.
“Surprise?” He took her hands in his and led her towards the island. Maeva didn’t know what to say, she was so afraid the woman in red and her accomplice would bang down the door and attack them. She couldn’t really fathom what Michael was doing for her.
“You cooked for me?” She slid onto a stool and he moved around her, the gracefulness and quick movements returned. She watched him with worry as he plated asparagus and chicken, a pilaf of rice underneath it. He sprinkled parsley flakes overtop. Joining her a few minutes later, he poured a glass of white wine. She cut into the chicken and popped a forkful into her mouth, savoring the taste.
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