by David Estes
Mr. Jackson nods slowly. “The president, now deceased. The wizard, Charles Gordon, also dead. Samsa, the gargantuan, who took your father’s place on the Council after he was deemed a traitor and banished, killed in action today.” My heart constricts. My father’s place on the Council. My father who I can never get close to again.
Trish’s vision blinks in my mind. “And the fourth is Flora,” I say evenly. “The Shifter. She’s the only one of them still alive.”
He nods with closed lips.
“That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell Xave the truth,” I point out.
“I didn’t want to distract him with the difficult situation in New America,” he says. I can tell even he knows it’s a lame answer.
“Distract me?” Xave says, storming forward. This is the Xave I know, corrector of injustices. “I was changing everything with my work and you didn’t think I deserved to know the truth?”
“Would it have changed anything?” the Reaper says, finally meeting his son’s eyes.
Xave doesn’t back down. “Hell yes it might’ve.”
“And that’s exactly the problem,” his father says. “This needed to happen exactly the way it happened.”
Xave waves his arms around, gesturing to all the dead. “Really? They all had to die like this? Just because I use the dead as my tools doesn’t mean I want people to die.” He’s practically shouting now, drawing the attention of the others around us. Some of the Claires are looking our way. Laney stands up from a body she’s inspecting and stares at us.
“Son, I’m sorry,” the Reaper says, but Xave is already marching away, as pissed as I’ve ever seen him.
“Make it up to him,” I say. “Stop with the lies and half-truths and maybe you’ll start to deserve your son.”
The Reaper looks genuinely sad, although that could be an act, too. “There’s not time for smoothing out ruffled emotions,” he says. “Not yet.”
“What do you mean?” I say. “This is the perfect time. We did it. We killed President Washington and everyone who serves her. It’s over.”
The Reaper shakes his head. “It’s not over by a longshot. First we have to unite the humans and those magic-born who want peace. You think that’ll be easy? Can you imagine a Necro having lunch with a human? Rebuilding a house together? Even looking at each other without wanting to fight?”
“But it can be done,” I say. “The people just need to be reasoned with by someone they trust.”
“Their own president was the enemy,” the Reaper says, and this time his argument hits home. The president being a witch makes Watergate seem like a tabloid newsbyte rather than a major scandal.
“Yeah, that sucks,” I say. “But still. We have to believe that the world can come back from this.”
“I agree,” the Reaper says. “Unfortunately, that’s not the only problem.”
I sigh, wishing I could cover my ears and avoid hearing the next problem. But I can’t—it’s just not in me anymore. “What?”
“Another foe will rise up to replace President Washington,” the Reaper says. “One who’s smarter, and possibly stronger.”
Great. “Who this time? The Queen of England?”
My sarcasm is lost on the Reaper’s deep frown. “You really don’t know?” he says.
Of course I know. Of course. Trish’s final gift to me was that of knowledge of a future so certain and awful that I can’t even pretend to ignore it. “Flora,” I say, the memory of the panther-like Shifter licking my face springing to mind. It makes me want to take a shower.
“Yes. I saw what Flora did for you,” the Reaper says.
Trish’s vision has made me even more confused by Flora’s motives. “Yeah, she saved me. She broke the president’s spell and allowed me to kill her. I owe her everything.”
“No,” the Reaper says, chuckling mirthlessly. “She used you to eliminate her competition. She’s wanted to overthrow Washington for years, but couldn’t because of all the support Washington had. At first she wanted to join with the Necros, since we had the same goal. But when I rejected her she switched sides. She figured if she couldn’t beat her old foe, she would stay close to her. Bide her time. And then you came along and she saw an opportunity to help someone give her what she wanted. She played you from the beginning.”
“No,” I say, in denial. “I didn’t even know she was here until near the end. And she couldn’t have planned for me to get petrified. It just happened and then she broke the spell.” Even as I deny the Reaper’s accusation, I remember something. “Wait. There was a creature made of mud. Grogg.”
The Reaper nods as if he’s not surprised. “What did this creature say to you?”
“He tried to turn me against the president,” I say. “And he led Bil Nez to where they were keeping us. But what does Grogg have to do with Flora?”
The Reaper laughs again, this time genuinely. “Apparently I wasn’t as good a witch hunting instructor as I thought. The Shifters have a secondary power to shapeshifting. Molding,” he says. “They can create life-like creatures from ordinary things, like mud. They control whatever they create.”
I’m dumbfounded. “Flora made Grogg?” I say.
“Or another Shifter who serves her,” the Reaper says. “As soon as she realized you were in New Washington she saw it as an opportunity to kill the president, using your strength as a Resistor for her own nefarious purposes.”
Gah. I feel like a baby just learning to talk, trying to form words but having everything sound like nonsense. Although I know I needed to do what I did—kill President Washington—somehow knowing that it’s also what Flora wanted makes it feel like the wrong thing.
“So like I said, it’s not over,” the Reaper says. “She’ll be a formidable foe, as cunning as she is deadly.”
“But you said President Washington was stronger than Flora, and I killed her, so…” My denials are like an instinct, a child’s hope that this is the end. In my heart, I know there are many more pages to be written and rewritten.
“In raw magical powers, yes,” the Reaper says. “But you’re a Resistor and, therefore, had a natural advantage against the president. Flora’s magic is different. She shifts herself into something natural, like a panther, which she can use against you. And her kind can create an army from any moldable materials they have on hand—an army that uses force rather than magic. Their magic isn’t like a hot flash—more like a slow boil. She’ll gain strength day by day, week by week, as will her followers. It will take time, but there’s no doubt that’s what they’ll do. With President Washington dead, there’s nothing to stop Flora from building an army and ruling the world.”
The vision flashes once more. The torches marching toward the humans, who were running right into their arms. The army. An army created by Flora and the other Shifters. In the vision I was helpless to intervene, but in real life…
Screw that. “Nothing except us,” I say.
A twinkle in his eye, he nods. “Nothing except us.”
I’m about to turn away when I see that Xave has stopped his retreat mid-stride, something catching his attention. Shapes in the distance, approaching.
Oh crap.
The noticeably absent witch hunters have arrived. Spotting the Necros, they start to run, raising guns and swords and knives, weapons likely purchased from Huckle and infused with magic. Floss, her hair as spiky as ever, leads the charge. They’ll get to Xave, whose feet seem to be frozen to the ground, first.
Go! I urge my legs, racing toward my friend. I reach him just as one of the witch hunters squeezes off a shot from a pistol. I throw myself in front of Xave, willing the bullet to stop. It slows, quivering slightly, and then falls into the palm of my hand. A real bullet would’ve killed me. A magic bullet obeys me.
The shooter of the bullet says, “How did you…?”
“He’s a Resistor,” Floss says. “Remember? Now step aside, Carter. I know you’re in love with this warlock scum, but he’s ours now. He�
�s trespassing on human land.”
I don’t move. “He helped save us all,” I say. “He helped us kill the witch who was using you and the other witch hunters. See all those dead human soldiers?” I gesture to the piled-up bodies.
For the first time, Floss seems to notice how many dead there are. The hand that’s not holding her weapon goes to cover her mouth. “Yeah,” I say. “President Washington killed them all.”
“I don’t believe you,” Floss says through her fingers.
“Believe it,” I say. “Where have you been anyway? While we were fighting, while the people you’re supposed to be protecting were dying, where were you, catching a few Zs?”
Her proud chin drops just a little. “We were…” She pauses, biting her lip. “We were on a mission,” she says, her voice one notch above a whisper.
The pain in her voice gives me pause. “What kind of a mission?” I ask slowly.
“The president…she said the Necros were spotted further south. She sent us to destroy them.”
“She didn’t want you to be here when she revealed her true colors,” I say. “She fooled you like she fooled the rest of us.”
“That doesn’t mean we should be cavorting with the enemy,” Floss spits, regaining her confidence and swagger in an instant.
“Either way, you’ll have to go through me to get to the Necros.”
“You’d defend a bunch of magic-born?” Floss asks. Weapons go up and I try to keep breathing normally.
“They’re our real allies,” I say. “Undiscriminating hatred of the magic born was originally the mangled hatred of a few, polished up and peddled to those who’d buy bottled water in a rainstorm. They are not the enemy. Evil is the enemy, and that includes members of both sides. So yes. I’d defend them to the death, as they have us.” Triggers cock and fingers tense, waiting for Floss’s command.
And then Laney’s by my side, her Glock drawn. “As will I,” she says.
Bil appears, Hex at his feet. “Us, too.”
Despite all the horrors we’ve faced, I smile. Because I didn’t lose everything and I’m proud to be a part of something important. Something that could save the world. “So what’s it gonna be?” I say to Floss. “More pointless deaths or a chance for peace. A chance to live.”
Floss’s lips open, and I wait for her to give the order to “Fire!” mentally preparing myself to block hundreds of magical bullets from ripping into my friends. Her lips close and she drops her weapon. “I’m willing to take a chance for peace,” she says. “But only because we’ve now got two out of the three known Resistors on our side. Don’t screw it up. Weapons down, witch hunters!”
Grudgingly, the other witch hunters lower their weapons. Floss turns toward the dead human soldiers. “We’ll help you on one condition.”
“Yeah?” Laney says.
“We bury each and every one of those human bodies.”
Xave starts to object, but Laney holds up a hand, stopping him. “Deal,” she says. “Come with me. We’ll dig the graves together.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Laney
My arms are stiff and sore and tired, and yet not as exhausted as my heart, which seems to grudgingly beat out a lackluster cadence.
The graves have been dug and filled and covered over. Some of the witch hunters said a few words to send the dead into the next world, while I spoke to Lieutenant Hemsworth only in the safety of my own head. Although she didn’t seem like she wanted to, Floss even let the Claires cast a few spells of protection on the graves. Silver and gold flowers sprung up. Hex sniffed at the beautiful creations, but even he seemed to sense their reverence, choosing to urinate away from the burial ground.
Now all I want is to fall into Rhett’s arms and imagine ourselves another world.
While I’ve been digging, he’s apparently been busy “discussing” the future with the Reaper and the witch hunters, which essentially means trying to get them to stop yelling at each other. He’s got his work cut out for him.
But that can wait until tomorrow, when the sun will rise once more, no matter how terrible today was.
“Mind if I share your tent?” I say as I push inside the flap of the makeshift shelter he’s prepared for us. We could use one of the many buildings set aside for the rest of the humans living inside New Washington, but the night is clear and some peace and quiet would do us both some good.
Hex barks, thinking I was asking him. I think it’s a yes. “What he said,” Rhett says, securing it with a rope behind me.
“Cozy,” I say, my muscles groaning in protest as I lower myself to the thick layer of blankets spread across the small area.
“Only the finest accommodations for you,” Rhett jokes. “I heard this place got a third of a star on TripAdvisor.”
Squeezing between Rhett and Hex, I say, “I’d give it at least half a star.”
Hex lays his head on my lap and I lay my head on Rhett’s shoulder, slipping into a comfortable silence.
“I miss her,” I say eventually. “So much it hurts.”
Rhett tightens his hold around my shoulder. “Me, too,” he says. “But I’m glad I knew her. We’re lucky we knew her, even if it wasn’t for as long as we wanted to.”
I nod against his body, because I know exactly what he means. I feel the same way about Lieutenant Hemsworth.
One of his fingers traces lines on my neck. It’s only when he speaks that I realize he’s touching my tattoo. “You don’t have to be ashamed of your tattoo anymore,” he says.
I close my eyes, remembering when I told him that the Chinese characters stained on my skin mean “Family.” Kind of embarrassing when your parents turned out to be witches who tried to kill you.
“You don’t,” Rhett says insistently. “Your sister was a hero.” He’s got that right. But all that makes me wish is that I’d gotten “Trish” tattooed on my neck. I guess I still could, if I could find a reputable tattoo artist still doing business. Rhett’s not finished explaining. “And I’m your family now,” he adds, which, along with his arm around me and his lips against my hair and his finger on my neck, sends sparks dancing through me.
So me, being me, has to break up the seriousness of the conversation. “So I was kissing my brother before?” I say.
And Rhett, being Rhett, has to counteract my joke with yet another wise Rhett-like comment. “Not family by blood. Family by soul.”
I feel his body shaking and at first I think he might’ve had a delayed reaction, only just getting my joke. But no, he’s not laughing, he’s sobbing, his body shaking like an overfilled clothes dryer. Hex looks up curiously, but then shifts to the corner as if to say, “Your turn.”
I flip on my side and draw him to me, intertwining my leg with his, my hands touching his face, wiping away the tears, even as they continue to fall. “Shh,” I say. “Don’t waste another tear on that rotten witch.”
Misty-eyed, Rhett looks at me, managing a half smile. “They’re not for her, they’re for my father. President Washington took his wife, his voice, and his child, but he never stopped fighting, never gave up. But now that she’s dead, it’s permanent. I can’t help him. I can’t see him. Not ever again.”
Trish sacrificed herself for me; and Rhett sacrificed his father for the world. I don’t know what else to say, but luckily I remember something. Raising a finger to say Hold on, I begin to dig through my pockets. I pull out a pocket knife, a piece of string, a few random copper nails. “Where is it?” I wonder aloud.
“What?” Rhett says.
Finally, I feel it. I pull out the square piece of fabric I cut from Martin Carter’s coat. The one I found while travelling with the Necros. I don’t even have to explain as Rhett realizes what it is right away, grabbing it from my hands. “My father’s?” he says.
As I nod, he kisses me hard on the lips, his eyes more full of joy than I’ve seen in a while. All for a piece of ratty old fabric. At least it’s something—a small memory of the man he barely knows.
He raises an eyebrow and gives me a cock-eyed look. “Is this you apologizing for ditching me in the middle of the night?” he asks.
“No,” I say, feeling a level of anticipation I’ve never felt before. My heart feels ready to burst, but I want it to. “This is me saying I love you.”
Rhett’s face is more shocked than I expected it to be, which makes me laugh. The big witch hunter is speechless. I don’t mind at all having that effect on him. And then my heart really does seem to burst when he says, “I love you, too.”
I kiss him and he kisses me back and for this second—and maybe only this second—we’re going to be okay. When we pull away, I say, “We’ve screwed up a lot, but at least this is something we always seem to do right.”
Rhett’s brown eyes are sparkling from the glow of the lantern. He touches my face, his thumb running along my eyebrows, down my cheeks, his hand cupping my chin. “You are perfection,” he says.
I shake my head. “No one’s perfect,” I say.
“You may not see it but I do,” Rhett says, his hand creeping down my neck to my shoulder.
I’m pretty sure this is the wrong thing to say right now, but I can’t stop myself. Sometimes even death can’t break down the walls of jealousy. “What about Beth?” I ask.
He doesn’t frown or get angry or miss a beat. He simply smiles and says, “Beth was wonderful and my soul mate for that part of my life—before everything went to hell. You're my post-apocalyptic soul mate, Laney Grant. And I wouldn’t change you for the world.”
My heart, which thankfully is still intact, stutters. A dozen sarcastic retorts spring to mind, almost like body armor, protecting me from my own feelings. But I won’t use them this time—not with this guy. He deserves all of me, even my least favorite thing: my vulnerability.
I laugh, because I see something I couldn’t see before. Rhett wants me for me. Not in the hope that I’ll become some other love, from some other life, but because I’m pathetic and weak and strong and funny and me.
But Rhett’s not done building me up yet, and I’m not about to stop him. “When Beth died I had to find a reason to live. Revenge was my one and only purpose.” I hold my breath, remembering how angry I was at him. At least at first. “But I was wrong. There are so many reasons to live and you are the very best one.”