by Pat Esden
The hum of Devlin’s energy whined in the air, as if he could barely hold it back. Em gave up calling the spirits and drew up what magic she had left, sending it out to join with his.
She took a deep breath. There was only Dux and two wraiths. They could do this.
“Now!” Gar shouted.
They all charged forward—
The black marble floor shimmered, sparkling like crushed diamonds beneath their feet.
Then it vanished.
Chapter 27
I feel as old and gray as the sea
was last night,
with its shore doomed waves and mermaid tears.
—“Death” by E. A.
Memory. Merritt Island, Florida. 18 years old.
Em free fell through glittering darkness, air whipping past her.
“Gar! Devlin!” she screamed.
The temperature plummeted. Her breath fogged the darkness. The spell on the floor must have been what interfered with her reaching the spirits.
Thoughts flicked into her mind. If I die, I’ll be with Alice. I’ll be happy.
She closed her eyes, surrendering to the momentum. To the inevitability of death.
Death. Alice. Peace. That wouldn’t be so bad.
Something grasped her shoulder. A hand, holding her back, slowing her descent.
Other hands closed around her waist. Orbs brightened the darkness, sparking with energy.
Emily. Emily, we’re here. We’re here for you, ghostly voices echoed. Saille. Athena. Rhianna. The Goodwill ghost. Others she only faintly recognized. The act of her, Devlin, and Gar passing through the floor must have consumed the spell’s power. With it gone, her connection with the spirits had returned.
Violet, children murmured. Hold on. We’re coming.
Ghosts crowded in, choking the air below her with their filmy bodies, slowing her passage. Slowing, but not stopping it. We’re here. We’re here for you.
Em. Alice’s voice brushed her ear, as fast as a summer love—as cool as Alice’s fingers had felt when Em found her in the bathroom. You have a new life. New love. Live for both of us.
Em reached for Alice, arms flailing in the void. She hadn’t heard that voice since the day Alice died. “Alice, I love you. Where are you?”
Silence answered, every ghostly touch, every whisper and murmur, now gone.
No light. No orbs. Just darkness, falling, and deafening silence.
“Alice!”
Em hit bottom. Her knees buckled. Her body somersaulted, shoulders and hips slamming hard-packed earth and concrete until she slammed into an iron grate.
Too stunned to move, she lay still. Cold ground. A faint, flicking light, coming from somewhere. Pain pinched her neck and shoulders, but she could move her legs.
She crawled onto her hands and knees. One hip throbbed. Her hands stung. But nothing felt broken. No blood, other than the scrapes.
Em blinked her eyes to adjust them to the dim light, then scanned what lay around her. The grate she’d landed against was thick iron, its crosshatched bars so close together that nothing larger than a tangerine could pass through. Beyond it, light flickered down from an old-style florescent fixture that hung haphazardly from the ceiling. She’d landed in a cell in a small, dungeon-like chamber. A single door led in and out of it.
Her gaze went deeper into the chamber, to a white enamel table covered with creepy-looking surgical implements. A black rubber apron hung over a standing lamp.
“Dear Goddess.” Terror spiked through her when she spied what sat beside the table: a dentist chair with leather restraints attached to its arms and clamps on the headrests.
She scuttled away from the grate into the farthest corner of the cell. What did Dux do in here? Torture? The experiments he’d eluded to a moment ago—the ones he wanted to do to her?
“Gar. Devlin,” she whispered hoarsely, though she knew no one else was in the dungeon. All three of them had gone through the floor together. She’d seen that. But she didn’t recall sensing their presence during the fall. The ghosts had slowed her descent, but had anyone gone to Gar and Devlin’s aid?
Her eyes went back to the dentist chair. There was an extension cord looped over the arm restrains. No. She wouldn’t let it end like this. Alice had told her to live. Johnny hadn’t put her on that train all those years ago just so she could lose her life when they’d finally reconnected and she was getting her act together.
No. She wasn’t going to give up without a fight. She wasn’t going to let Dux win that easily. She was alive, and her heart said she wasn’t the only one who had survived the fall.
Chapter 28
In the mmmmmmmmmm darkest bbbbbbbb bus hour oooooooo
eedom there is vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv bbbbbb hope bbb more kk
llllshe brilliant stoa than mmmmmmm stars or sun nnnn
—“Finding Light” by E. A.
Em crouched in the back of the cell. She had to find Gar and Devlin—if her heart was right about them being alive. It didn’t seem like Alice would have said anything about finding new love if Gar hadn’t survived the fall.
Her gaze went to the lock on the cell door. She slid her hand into her pocket and closed her fingers around the cylinder that held her last two pick-a-roos. From her side of the cell, the lock looked like nothing more than a solid square of iron. There had to be a keyhole on the other side. Most likely one bespelled. Still, she had escaped from the Council’s headquarters. How much harder could this be?
Her leg muscles screamed in protest as she struggled to her feet. She snagged a piece of gravel from the floor and tossed it at the grate. When she’d rolled into it, she hadn’t been zapped by magic or an electric charge. Still, double-checking seemed smart.
The gravel bounced off with a faint clink, then dropped to the floor undamaged. If she was lucky, it would have the same innocuous effect on naked human skin. In truth, if the holes in the grate had been any smaller or her hands any larger, she wouldn’t have stood a chance at doing what she intended.
Em took a pick from the cylinder, then licked her hand and arm to lubricate them so they’d slide through more easily. She took a deep breath. Okay, Midas, your magic works great against witches’ security. Let’s see how it does against a cambion’s.
Cupping her fingers as close together as possible, she narrowed her hand and slid it into the hole in the grate that was closest to the lock. Her wrist bone resisted, but she managed to wriggle it through. Then she twisted her arm until she could almost get the tip of the pick into the keyhole. She jammed her arm in farther, her skin bunching against the grate as she gained another inch. Carefully, she manipulated the pick between her thumb and forefinger, extending it as far as possible.
“Sesame,” she commanded, drawing up her magic and thrusting the pick forward into the keyhole.
An electric prickle and rhythmic pulse hummed up her wrist. She could hear the beat of the pick’s magic in her head, a primal song she couldn’t quite remember the words to. Smoke and blue flames of magic leapt outward. She’d done it.
She yanked her arm back to withdraw it from the grate—
It didn’t budge.
Holy crap! Her wrist was stuck tight. Once the lock clicked open, she’d only have a second to push the door open before it relocked.
She spit on her wrist, spreading the fresh lubricating coat of saliva with her free hand. Please, please, please.
The locked clicked, the glare of the blue flames dimming.
She swallowed hard and scrunched her fingers as tight as she could, then squirmed her wrist like a cork stuck in a bottle. She yanked again—
Her arm slid from the grate. She stumbled backward, losing her footing for a moment before she regained it and rushed forward to open the cell door. As she scrambled out and into the dungeon, she glanced back at the dying flames in the key
hole—and a terrifying thought occurred to her. She only had one pick-a-roo left now. Once she used it to get out of the dungeon, she’d have no way to get through any future locks.
Unless… She lunged for the pick, still smoldering in the cell’s lock. Heat and magic snapped at her fingertips as she plucked the half-burnt remains from the keyhole. In five swift steps, she was at the chamber’s exit. She shoved the remains into its keyhole.
Flames flickered out from the lock, not that strong but flaring quickly.
She worked the door’s latch.
Once. Twice—
The flames sputtered. The lock clicked, and the latch released under her grasp. She hurtled out into what looked like the very end of a tunnel and shut the door behind her.
Darkness closed in. Not just darkness. It was a complete blackout, cold and clammy. But at least she’d caught a glimpse of the tunnel before she shut the door. It was narrow, with a low ceiling. Since she was at the very end of the tunnel, there was only one direction left for her to walk.
Em held her hand out in front of her, inching forward until her fingers found the damp, cool surface of a wall. Gliding her hand along it, she crept away from the dungeon door. The wall’s slimy surface slicked her fingers. The rough floor crunched under her footsteps.
Her shoe stubbed against something hard. She nudged the obstacle with her toe to puzzle out what it was. Wide. About a foot tall. A step, going upward.
Cautiously, she lifted one foot, moving the other up only when she was certain she had solid footing. At this rate she’d never find Gar and Devlin before Magus Dux and his wraiths came looking for her.
She drew up her magic, let it prickle down her arms and into her fingertips. Before the Circle had woken Merlin’s Shade and everything went to hell, they had gone through days and nights of intense training to strengthen their abilities. Working together, the coven had summoned fog, called the wind, and created energy balls with their minds and magic. Granted, those things had been accomplished with the conjoined magic of more than a half-dozen witches under the guidance of a disguised Rhianna. But Em had formed an energy ball during those sessions, just like the one Chloe had used to light their way in the cemetery.
Em concentrated on the space between her hands and released her magic. A pea-size spark of light broke the darkness, gyrating and growing between her hands.
It sizzled and went out.
Em focused harder and tried again. Not even a spark that time.
She wiped her hair back from her face. This was stupid. She needed to use her strengths, not mess with other people’s. She nibbled her lip. She could call Athena and ask her to lead the way to Devlin and Gar. Her orb form would be bright enough to work. But Dux had a hold over Athena. It was likely he’d sense something was going on. She needed a different spirit, one that Dux might overlook or not even sense.
Alice. Her guardian angel. But it had felt like Alice was moving on when she’d told Em to live life for the both of them. Still, spirits that had gone into the light could return.
Em filled her mind with a single memory and sent it out to the universe: Johnny putting her on the train so she could get to Alice.
“Alice, please,” she intoned. “Come to me one more time. Take me to him as he once sent me to you. Help me find my way in the dark.”
Cool fingers instantly laced with hers, as fragile as mist. Alice’s shimmering outline appeared beside her, a glowing pale blue in the darkness.
“Take me to him,” Em whispered. “Hurry.”
Alice’s glow cast moonlight-pale shadows across the floor and walls as they fled up the tunnel, hand in hand. The eerie light was far better than total darkness, but Em still could barely see. She reached out with her sixth sense and prayed that it or Alice would warn her if wraiths—or something worse—lay ahead.
But they didn’t run into anyone—or anything, not even doors on either side of the tunnel. No lights ahead. No burned-out torches. No other dungeons or cells. Nothing.
When they got to the top of another short flight of stairs, the crunch of Em’s footsteps against the gritty floor began to fade under a louder and unnervingly familiar sound coming from directly above them. Pump-pump. Suck-thump.
Goose bumps pebbled Em’s arms. But the sound was a good sign. It had reverberated from directly below them when they’d entered Dux’s bookstore, so clearly the room she’d seen Chloe in was not that far above her. However, that made it even stranger that they hadn’t run into anyone yet. Where were all the wraiths and Barbies?
She sidestepped a dark, oily puddle on the floor and caught a whiff of rancid blood. Yeah, this place definitely wasn’t always deserted.
Em squeezed Alice’s misty fingers. “You do know where Gar is, right?”
Alice’s ghostly form nodded—at least Em thought she did. It was hard to be sure. Alice’s outline wasn’t as defined as it had been moments ago. Her glow wasn’t as bright either. She was breezing down the tunnel faster now too, as if she was afraid they were running out of time.
Just as Em thought she was going to lose touch with Alice, the tunnel ended at an equally dark corridor that went in two directions. From what little Em could see, the walls and floor were tiled in white and spotlessly clean.
She shivered uneasily. Sterile white and tiled—just like the walls in the hospital where she’d escaped from the police and doctors.
Alice released her hand, her outline flickering brighter as she pointed to an enormous door on their right with snakes and beetles carved into its stone arch.
Go. He’s there, Alice said, barely louder than a breath.
Em’s heart leapt. But she hadn’t needed Alice to tell her. A flutter in her chest said Gar was behind the door.
She turned back to Alice, readying to thank her with a hug—
Only a faint silvery wisp of Alice remained, barely visible.
Em wasn’t sure, but she hoped she was right. “Can you see the light?”
Yes. My baby. Waiting.
Tears burned in Em’s eyes. She reached out, her fingers passing through the wisp. One last cool touch. “I love you.”
It’s time to let go. Time to live. Love…
As Alice’s voice faded, raised voices came from behind the door.
Em snapped back to attention. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she rushed to the door. It was huge, so large it had to weigh at least five hundred pounds. The latch was three times the size of the one on the dungeon she’d escaped from. The lock was equally oversize.
She swallowed dryly. The keyhole was twice as large as her thumb, far too big to hold a pick-a-roo securely.
Crouching, she peered through the keyhole. The glaring brightness of the room beyond made it hard for her to see much. A Barbie paced through her line of sight, impossibly long legs marching with sharp precision. She held a gun—a dart gun, with a golden arrow decorating its barrel. Her flutters and Alice were right. Gar had to be in there somewhere. It only made sense.
The Barbie swiveled toward the door, her penciled-on eyebrows lowering like she sensed Em’s presence.
Em snagged the last pick from the cylinder. She shoved it in the keyhole and held onto it to keep it from falling out. Maybe the door was locked. Maybe it wasn’t. She didn’t have time to chance it. Live. Love. That’s exactly what she intended to do.
“Sesame,” she commanded. Heat swept up her arms, as if every hair was electrified. Blue flames licked between her fingers. The beat of a primal song throbbed in her head.
A click echoed from the lock.
Em grabbed the latch, flung the door open, and tore inside. She snatched the first thing she could grab: a basin filled with surgical implements. The Barbie aimed the gun at her. Em swung the basin. It connected with the Barbie’s wrist. Implements and the gun flew into the air.
“Bitch!” the Barbie screamed.
A wet thwack rang out and blood flew from the Barbie’s nose. Her giant eyes narrowed into dark slits. Her voice rasped, “I’m going to kill you.”
A huge syringe appeared in the Barbie’s hand, needle glistening.
Em’s mind flashed back. Her arms pinned to the bed. The needle. The pain branching across her feet and up her legs. Her mother. Her aunt. The police had asked her about needles the night she bottomed out. Never needles.
Hatred roared into Em’s veins. Her lips pulled back in a snarl. She swung again, harder yet. The Barbie flung up her arms to block the attack, syringe clenched tightly. The basin collided with the side of her head. Em swung again. And again. Blood stained the basin. Blood stained the syringe. The Barbie howled and dove for the gun. Em slammed the basin into the back of her skull. Crack!
The Barbie sank to the floor, motionless. Em raised the basin for another blow—
“Stop!” Gar shouted. “Em, stop. She’s dead.”
Em froze, the basin and her arms still over her head. Below her, the Barbie lay on her side, her eyes wide open. Blood bubbled from her gaping mouth. Her nose was pulp, her forehead split open to the bone.
The pan dropped from Em’s hands, a metallic clank reverberating in the small chamber.
“Em, snap out of it,” another voice commanded. It was Devlin, somewhere behind her.
“Hurry,” Gar said to her. “Check the body for keys.”
Em could feel her hands and feet, but she couldn’t make them move. “I killed her,” she mumbled. Her voice sounded wrong, as if it came from outside of herself. Surreal. Distant.
“The keys,” Devlin said emphatically.
She turned toward the voices. Gar and Devlin stood in a grated cell, identical to the one she’d escaped from. That’s what she was here for, to help them escape. That’s what she was doing.
In a rush, Em’s brain righted itself. She dropped to her knees and worked her hands over the Barbie’s limp body. The blood on the Barbie’s face had mixed with her caked-on makeup, liquefying it and revealing lizard-like skin beneath the coating. Human or not, she’d killed her. Killed her in blind rage. Em shook her head. Rage wasn’t the only reason. The Barbie had a gun. And Gar in a cage. And Devlin… She checked the Barbie’s pockets for a second time. No keys. And she’d used her last pick.