by Katie Cross
When I turned around to make sure Merrick would follow, I ran into his chest. “Right behind you,” he said. Together we plunged through the crowd that streamed with fabrics, the scent of cloves, and the chants of their strange music. I spied a pair of dark eyes and a familiar head of spiraling curls only a few moments later.
“Jackie?” I called. Her eyes widened.
“Bianca?”
She rushed toward me, nearly toppling me over in her enthusiasm. Paint covered her skin. Purple and green flames danced across her cheeks, winding around her eyes and hiding her eyebrows. When she blinked, I saw that the flames had been painted on her eyelids as well. With her high cheekbones and natural grace, she was a stunning masterpiece of art.
“You’re alive!” she cried, pulling away. She put her warm hands on either side of my face. “You’re so crazy I thought for sure ya would have done something ta get yourself killed.”
Merrick snorted behind me.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I said, looking her over. “Are you all right? Is Nan?”
“Nan is still in the homeland,” Jackie said, the strength of her gypsy accent fading, “where it’s safe. We’ve appointed two more elders, but they don’t have as much power or experience as she does. We want to keep her safe as long as we can.”
“And your brothers?”
She smiled. “They’re running around somewhere.”
“What’s all this paint?”
Jackie ran her fingers along the coral flames on her arms. Tendrils of yellow and orange snaked all the way up to her shoulder. “Protection,” she said. “The magic we use while applying it shields us in battle.”
My throat tightened. “Are you going to fight?”
She grabbed a wooden club hanging from her belt and held it up. A thick, spiked ball at the end of it would tear apart a grizzly bear. Bite marks in the wood indicated she’d either been practicing with it, or someone had tried to fight her already.
“Jikes. You could take down any West Guard with that thing.”
She smirked. “I know how to use it.”
“It’s going to be dangerous. Will your father let you fight?”
Jackie mimicked my skeptical look. “Will yours?”
I laughed and gave her another hug. “He doesn’t have a choice. I’m going to be out there ready to fight the moment I see West Guards in the city.”
Jackie grinned. “Me too.”
She’d always been lighthearted and fun—when the Factios weren’t killing her family—so seeing her animated again made it feel like the war hadn’t taken everything away.
“Who is this?” Jackie asked, looking beyond me. “He’s beautiful.”
“Oh,” I said, blushing. “This is Merrick.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but a deep voice like rolling thunder interrupted our conversation.
“Jackie.”
Ijet, Jackie’s father, approached us from behind. His dark, towering frame loomed above us like a moving pillar. While Jackie had skin the smooth color of melted caramel, Ijet was as dark as cocoa powder. He loomed over his daughter, laying a massive hand on her shoulder. Swirls of dark blue, green, and black and little specks of white mimicked the night sky across his wide chest. He wore a string of tiny beads around his neck. They sang when he moved, like wind chimes in a summer breeze, though in the heavy air they sounded hollow and off-key.
“Ijet,” Merrick said, stepping forward. The two of them clasped forearms in a grip that would have broken my bones. He handed a small scroll to the gypsy leader. “This comes from Derek. He asked me to deliver it in person.”
“We are ready ta fight,” Ijet said, thumping a fist over his heart. “We are part of Antebellum. We will fight as Antebellum.”
Merrick nodded. “Derek thinks the West Guards will make it to the city by this evening.” He gestured to the scroll. “He wants your witches just inside Letum Wood, surrounding the castle. If any West Guards try to sneak into the forest, you can take care of them.”
Ijet nodded. Jackie met my eyes.
“Ya ready?” she asked, giving me a wicked smile. Her blind confidence would have been contagious if I didn’t already know what Mabel was capable of. No, I wanted to say. And neither are you. Neither is any witch here. You have no idea what we’re up against.
Instead, I smiled. If Jackie had confidence, let her keep it. We could all use a little more.
“Let’s save our world,” I said, and we embraced again. I held her an extra moment longer, hoping it wouldn’t be for the last time.
Later that afternoon, Leda and I strolled across the lower bailey, her light pink dress trailing in the breeze. Murky, gray clouds hung in the sky. Blast this humidity. Sweat soaked my arms and back until my braid lay sticky and hot on my neck. Leda had been brooding ever since Camille’s surprise marriage announcement, although she tried to blame it on a headache. I had underestimated Leda’s attachment to our vivacious, frizzy-haired friend.
“Are you ever going to forgive her?” I asked gently. Leda cast me a sidelong glance. Even though we hadn’t been talking about Camille, I knew she understood.
“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “I will. I have. I mean … it’s not like she’s done anything that I need to forgive. I just … I don’t like surprises.”
“You love Camille, and you’re sad she’s going to leave,” I said. “Seems pretty normal to me. Camille isn’t mad, you know.”
Leda’s shoulders slumped. “Yes,” she said, resigned. “I know.” I waited for a snappy retort, but nothing came.
“That’s it?” I asked.
Leda humphed and looked the other way. I considered our little pep talk a success and felt a small margin of relief that a bit of her old verve had resurfaced.
“I see you’re wearing pants,” she said, motioning to my legs. “That might not be a bad idea.”
I followed her gaze with a wry smile. “It’s a lot easier to manage a sword when I’m not tripping over my own skirts,” I said. “Want me to find you a pair?”
For a moment she seemed to contemplate it, but then she shook her head, as if she couldn’t quite break that barrier of propriety, even during a war.
“I’m not planning on sword fighting tonight,” she said. “I’ll pass.” She tilted her head back, contemplating the sky with an expression that mimicked the storm. “We need to get all these Guardians inside before it rains.”
Countless Guardians lay on cots in a grid structure around us. Apothecaries ran by, supervising the levitation of Guardians into the castle. Other less magically talented witches carried the Guardians on makeshift stretchers.
“The rain?” I retorted. “We need to get them inside before the West Guard invasion.” I motioned to two Guardians leaning against the Wall, their faces pale. “Let’s help those two. They look like they can walk with some aid.”
Leda was a creature of logic and rules, so her compassion for the wounded had been surprising, even endearing. She followed behind me, but both of us stopped short after only a few steps. A familiar witch with a small flock of children clinging to her skirt appeared on the stairs leading into the bailey. Leda’s mouth dropped.
“Mama?”
Leda’s mother, Lara, saw us at the same moment and let out a breath of relief. She waved, holding a young child on her hip.
“Leedee!” she called.
“Oh, no,” Leda murmured, starting forward. “Something else must be wrong.”
I followed close behind. Lara met us at the bottom of the stairs and threw an arm around her daughter. Tears filled her exhausted eyes. Strands of ragged brown hair fell from her disintegrating bun.
“Mama?” Leda asked, pulling away from her embrace to pick up a little girl with two blonde braids. “What’s wrong?”
A brown-haired girl the same height as Leda stepped forward. She had to be Bronwyn, Leda’s younger sister. “Hansham is empty,” she said. “We were the only ones left.”
“I couldn’t stay there alone,”
Lara said, swallowing. She trembled but forced her expression to remain composed, I supposed for her children’s sake. “What if the West Guards came again? They’d—” Lara glanced at her younger children. “Well, they wouldn’t spare us a second time, that’s for sure. Your father is out trying to find us a place to stay in the city, but there isn’t anything. There must be something here in Chatham Castle. Is there?”
Lara looked between us, walking that fine line between desperation and blatant panic. Her children, some weepy, some fidgeting, remained close and kept their wary eyes on all the commotion in the bailey. They were the saddest casualties of this war, stripped of innocence. No young children should see the horrors they’d witnessed.
Leda’s lips tightened. I knew what she was thinking. Hansham would have been a much safer place. Chatham Castle was an overcrowded broiler of sickness and death. Not to mention the imminent approach of the West Guards.
“Mama,” Leda said, stumbling over the words. “I … I don’t know where there’s room in the castle. I—”
I put a hand on Leda’s arm.
“I do,” I said, looking at Lara. “You can have the apartment I share with Papa.”
Lara reared back. “Bianca,” she said with a sharp intake of breath. “I couldn’t possibly—”
“Yes,” I said. “You can. Besides, our butler will be ecstatic to have so many little ones to help take care of during the battle. He needs a job, but he’s old and can’t really fight. You’ll be safer there than anywhere else in the castle, although it’s not really all that safe anywhere. I’d send you into Letum Wood, but your children are too young.”
Leda eyed me with a deep look of gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“It’s not like we’ll be using it,” I said under my breath. “Take them there now.” I turned to Lara. “There’s an extra room that Reeves knows about. It has no windows. Lock yourselves in there until the battle is over. It will be the best protection for you and your children.”
Lara’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Bianca. Oh, thank—”
The deep, booming reverberation of West Guard drums echoed in the bailey, cutting Lara off. My heart nearly stopped. Leda and I looked at each other.
“Are they that close?” she asked, paling.
I transported to the top of the Wall. A moving mass of black filled the horizon, seeming to overtake the world in a sticky maw of death and smoke. My stomach churned when I transported back down.
“They’re outside the city,” I said. “Take your family to the apartment. Reeves will take care of them. I want to find Marten and see what’s happening.”
Leda pursed her lips and nodded, grabbing one of her younger siblings by the shoulder. I clutched her arm before she left.
“Can you meet me in the Witchery?” I asked. She paused.
“Yes. Once I get my family settled.”
“Can you send a message to Camille, Priscilla, and Michelle to meet there as well?”
Leda studied me. “You want to say merry part, don’t you? Just in case.”
I hesitated. “Yes. I do.”
“Me too,” she said. “I’ll send the notes from your apartment. That will give you time to find Marten.” Leda turned back to her family, a little one still in her arms. “Follow me,” she called. “Don’t get separated!”
Once I helped the two wounded Guardians into an old room in the lower levels of the castle, I transported to Marten’s office, but it was empty. I went from place to place in the castle, but I couldn’t find Marten or Papa. A wild thought crossed my mind, and I transported into Chatham City. When the darkness of the magic dissipated, I found myself in the heart of town. Most of the Antebellum Army had taken up residence on the outskirts and would fall back as the West Guards pressed in. Except for two witches standing in the middle of the square—Papa and Marten—I saw no signs of life.
An old newsscroll drifted by on the same tepid breeze that carried the scent of the West Guards’ fires, tumbling across the cobblestone street end over end. The door to Miss Holly’s Candy Shop stood open, its windows shattered by looters. It creaked and groaned in the breeze. The fountain in the circle outside had run dry. The stark, silent city left a deep hole in my heart.
I walked up to Papa’s side.
“They’re advancing,” Marten said. Both of them stared down the street toward the West, although nothing could be seen but the columns of fires that followed on the tail of the West Guards. Billowing clouds of smoke filled the sky, heralding an early darkness.
“This is it,” Papa said. “Mabel’s shown no sign of resting. She’ll push through the city tonight.”
I crossed my arms over my chest to hide a shudder. Despite the thick, hot humidity, I felt cold and numb. The driving sound of the Western Network’s drums of war nearly drowned out Papa and Marten’s conversation. The rhythmic thud thud thud rang in my ears, dull and heavy, like a heartbeat. A reminder.
Chatham City had never been perfect. Parts of it flowed with disease and rats and sewage. But there were beautiful districts and historical places too. Above all, we took pride in it. No matter its imperfections, it was still the heart of the Central Network. If Mabel obliterated it, much would be mourned and missed.
“Are you ready, Papa?” I asked, thinking about the Esmelda Scrolls and the counter magic. He’d had so little time to practice.
He let out a long breath. “I have to be.”
We fell silent, listening to the approach of the drums. I knew, deep in my heart, I’d never see the same Chatham City again.
Now We Fight
When I transported to the Witchery, my turret home lay empty and combed over. Soon after Camille moved out, Leda had followed, unable to stay in the Witchery alone. She slept in a closet in the bowels of the West Wing, where the quiet was loud and the air chilly, just the way she liked it.
Seeing pillows strewn about, the table bare, and papers littering Leda’s once-organized space made my eyes sting. If Leda’s area was messy, it was the end of the world. The disorganization of the Witchery brought home an awful truth: No matter what happened, things would never be the same. No more cozy Witchery evenings, playing the game Networks with Leda and always losing. No more meals at our old broken table or staying up until the early hours talking to Camille about her dream wedding.
“Daughter of the Central Network,” hissed a familiar voice in my ear. “I have returned.”
I whipped around to find Dafina hovering in the air behind me, her svelte good looks restored and her bright wings humming in a red cloud. My heart plummeted.
“Dafina,” I said, forcing a smile. “How … nice to see you again.”
She folded her arms across her chest, drumming her tiny fingers. “You owe me a favor. Have you forgotten?”
“Yes, I did forget.”
Her little body flew back, recoiling. “You do not deny it?”
“No.” My brows furrowed together. “Why would I?”
“Because witches are sneaky and unfaithful!”
I rolled my eyes. “No, we’re not.”
“Then why are you fighting yet another war?”
My mouth opened to respond but quickly closed again. She had a point.
“You’ve come to collect on your favor, I assume?” I asked, hoping to get rid of her before Leda or Camille found their way back. There was no telling what the vain creature would ask for. Getting more witches involved would agitate Dafina, and the last thing I needed was a wild fairy darting around the castle.
“Yes,” she said, baring her teeth. “The witches are destroying our home. Our trees burn under strange flames.”
“Black fire.”
“Yes!”
“I know. So what’s the favor?”
Dafina eyed me askance. “Save my pack.”
“Excuse me?”
“Save us!” she cried, her voice shrill. “We must find a new home.” She stopped flying and landed on my shoulder. “You must find us a new home.�
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“Find you a new home?” I repeated, tilting my head to study the small features of her face. “Now?”
“Immediately!”
“I can’t do it now!” I said, gesturing outside. “The final battle is about to start. The world may come to an end shortly, so I’m not all that worried about your fairy pack, to be honest.”
Her eyebrows drooped low in a glare of surprising power for something so small.
“You refuse to fulfill your vow?” she asked, her voice a careful, quiet hiss.
I hesitated. In a way, delaying would constitute a refusal. I didn’t get to set the terms of the favor, and it wasn’t like finding Zane had been convenient for her. But where would I put a pack of fairies? They were violent and destructive in large numbers.
Dafina tilted her head back. “The magic of the fairies will come against you!” she cried, her wings moving so fast I could barely hear her. “We will pull out all your hair! Maytar will rip your eyelashes out one at a time while you are sleeping! We will poke out your eyes and tear your fingernails in ha—”
“Calm down!” I said, plucking her from the air. She twisted and writhed in a poor attempt to kick my wrist. “I’ll help, all right? Just relax.”
She settled, distrust in her eyes. “You will help the fairies?”
“How many of you?” I asked, glancing at the door. Camille and Leda would arrive at any moment.
“Five hundred in my pack.”
“Five hundred?” I cried. “Are you joking? Where am I going to put you?”
She leaped into my face, gnashing her fangs. “Dafina never jokes!”
I leaned back, batting her away. “Fine. I’ll find you somewhere safe.”
“Where?”
My mind raced. Nowhere was safe, not even for these tiny, narcissistic monsters. Letum Wood was out of the question—if they moved, they’d encroach on another fairy pack’s territory, and an epic bloodbath would ensue. The Eastern Network was too far, and fairies didn’t like water. They’d need someplace sheltered, away from the fight, and big enough to house them until the battle ended. Unless they became attached to their new home, of course, and decided to stay.