Wraith focused, the woven lines that tied the quarter to the dime pulling them along effortlessly, like a spring-loaded winder. Reality itself spun around them.
As it turned out, striding wasn’t a problem. Stopping was.
When the stride ended, it was instant. Everyone was sent tumbling through plants and soft dirt. Wraith felt a twinge of déjà vu, but before she went far, she reached out and shifted the energy of her momentum into the trillion-trillion particles that made up the air. She alone remained standing as a mild wind blew out from around her in a circle.
Siobhan rolled until she stuck a massive tree and came to a stop with a grunt. The elves tumbled like circus acrobats performing a trick they’d done a thousand times. With a few tight somersaults they shed their momentum, using the last of it to come to their feet, weapons at the ready. Elaine came to a crouch, her face a shade of green to match the ground growth around them.
As if stepping out of a whisper, Wraith felt Shadow, SK, and Fritz appear behind her.
“Gently apply the brakes,” SK said over her shoulder.
“Aye, he’s got the right of it,” Siobhan said as she got to her feet.
Wraith didn’t hear them. She was busy fighting the twisting in her stomach as she scanned her surroundings. The redwoods loomed over them and a breeze that did not come from Wraith rustled the ferns. She didn’t see any of that though. Her eyes were locked on the twelve mounds of earth, settled almost to the point of being invisible. But she knew each one. Her heart filled with sorrow and it seemed a struggle to make it keep beating.
“Where are we?” Elaine asked as she looked around, her color starting to return to normal. Wraith thought she could faintly smell vomit coming from Elaine’s direction.
“Did we take a wrong turn, then?” Siobhan asked.
“I don’t think so,” Dante said and pushed moss from a stone slab that lay on the ground.
It was an odd sensation for Wraith. She was lost in the memories of this place, of burying her friends and the fifties who now resided in her. However, she was also keenly aware of everything happening around her. It was like experiencing the world from her eyes, and at the same time from a spot above everything.
“Spread out,” Dante said. “Search the area.”
“Stop!” Wraith said. Her voice was so loud, so firm, that everyone froze. She turned her gaze on Siobhan, who was standing with one foot in the air, inches above the spot where Shadow was buried. “Do not step there.”
Siobhan blinked, then took a hesitant step back. She looked down, and after a moment, clearly saw the outline of the grave. Her eyes darted around, spotting the other burial spots quickly.
She crossed herself. “Bloody hell, it’s a graveyard.”
The elves stopped in their tracks and looked around. Their expressions grew darker as they saw more and more rectangles of settled earth.
“You okay?” Shadow whispered and placed a hand on Wraith’s shoulder.
“Not even a little,” Wraith said. She almost longed for the cold numbness that had filled her last time she was here. Now it was all grief, sadness, and guilt. Lots of guilt.
“Others have passed through here,” said one of the marshals as she crouched low. “Not long ago either.”
Dante and the others moved to join her, careful to step well clear of the graves.
“What do you see, Maeve?” Dante asked.
Wraith and her friends walked over, also mindful of where they stepped.
“Six came through here,” Maeve said, her fingertips pressing a spot on the ground. “All mortals: five men, one woman. All were average height, but two of the men were carrying something heavy.”
Wraith’s attention focused tightly on the spot Maeve was examining, and she could just see the faint outline of heel prints. “Ovation and Geek,” she whispered.
Maeve looked at Wraith, her dark eyebrows drawn together.
“My friends,” Wraith said. “The ones who were taken.”
Maeve nodded. “That would fit.” She pointed. “They appeared there and walked through here.” She turned and pointed in the other direction. “Tracks vanish off that way. I’m guessing they’ve got a trick similar to Wraith’s.”
“But why stop here?” Dante asked.
Maeve smiled and gestured to some flattened ferns. “Looks like their arrival was as rough as our own.” The elf shot Wraith an apologetic glance. “No offense.”
“It’s harder than it looks,” Wraith said, looking away.
“Maybe they put up a fight,” Elaine said. “Fouled up the spell?”
Dante shook his head. “And they just happened to stop here?”
Wraith didn’t believe that, not for a second. She looked around, trying to figure out why they’d stop here. She paused, finally noticing something, or rather a lack of something.
“The table!” she said and rushed to where she’d arrived after her escape, unconsciously giving the graves a wide berth.
“Table?” Dante asked, following her.
Wraith stood over the spot that had been hidden behind a tree from where they’d arrived. There lay a huge rectangular impression, all the plants flat and dead.
“When I got away, I took part of the table they had me tied to,” she said, then a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill wind ran over her. “Ovation, he’s a slinger. Maybe they plan to do to him what they did to me and they need that table?”
“A ritual foci?” Elaine asked.
Dante nodded. “That fits.”
Wraith ground her teeth, remembering all the horrors that she’d gone through, and all those who had died along the way.
“I won’t let them do that to Ovation,” she said, power building inside her.
“Rage won’t help,” Dante said, his voice calm.
Wraith looked at him, then she noticed her tattoos, or whatever they were, had begun to glow with blue light.
“Save it for when it counts,” Dante said. “If you can’t keep it under control, just save it for later.”
Wraith clenched her fists tight, feeling her nails bite into her palms, and took one slow breath after another. The power was building steadily, getting harder and harder to keep under control. Past her fury was a tugging in her heart. Glancing down, she noticed the fingers of her right hand had found their way into her pocket and were rubbing the quarter. She withdrew the weathered coin then turned and walked back to where she’d arrived. Kneeling down, she pushed her fingers into the dirt. The dime’s rough edges brushed against her fingertips, sending a rush of familiar comfort through her. Closing her fingers over the coin, the retrieved it and set it in her palm, next to the quarter. Realization welled up inside her, like the rising sun, filling her mind with light. Anger rose with it. The coins in her hand vibrated, dancing over her dirty, calloused skin. So did the earth around her, a slow rumble that gradually grew.
“Wraith,” Dante said.
His words were soft, and Wraith imaged it was how someone would talk to a feral, perhaps rabid, dog.
“Trust me when I say that anger will make your power harder to control,” he continued.
“I don’t care,” she said. “I just need to hold it together long enough to get there.” She turned to him, then to the others. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“That was our choice—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Wraith said. “We’re leaving.”
She took the dime between thumb and forefinger, turning it back and forth as she focused on the threads connecting it to the nickel. The others rushed to close in as the wind started swirling around her.
“You know he’s right,” Shadow said.
“I do,” Wraith said. “But it doesn’t matter.”
Again they were all pulled along the quantum zip line.
Chapter Thirty-One
&nb
sp; This time Wraith channeled her anger, guilt, fear, and sorrow into willpower, wrestling the wild power flowing through her into submission. When they approached the location of the nickel, she slowed the striding, but it took all her concentration. As the power dissipated, the group slipped back into the common reality.
The elves had weapons raised before the wind had stopped, aimed in all directions.
“I knew it,” Dante whispered.
Wraith stared at the too-perfect house with the perfect lawn. A fresh collection of memories rose up from the souls inside her. Countless times she remembered meeting the kindly-looking couple for the first time. She also remembered, just as many times, being taken in the night, dragged away screaming as the “kindly” couple looked on with smiles.
“Even dead, this place gives me the creeps,” SK said.
Wraith stepped forward. Fear died a quiet death at the hands of the fiery storm building inside her. With each defiant step, she formed calculations.
“Regent,” a marshal, this one male, said, “we can’t enter without permission.”
Wraith stepped up to the porch, the wooden steps cracking under the roiling power that surrounded her. She reached out and willed the formulation around and through the screen door, then through the steel one behind it, manipulating their mass.
“Open sesame,” Wraith said flatly.
Both doors, the frame, and large sections of the surrounding wall, tore from the house. They flew into the yard, chewing up the manicured grass and demolishing a flower bed.
“Please, come inside,” Wraith said as she walked in. The exhilaration of letting the power loose was like the best drug imaginable.
“Easy does it, Stretch,” Shadow said, close on Wraith’s heels. “There could be kids here.”
“She’s right,” SK agreed.
“Then let’s get them out of here,” Wraith said to her friends and turned to the house at large shouting, “Richard! Mary! I’m home!”
Her voice carried through the house, shaking and then cracking the windows.
There was only silence. Even the elves standing at the door, hesitant to step past the threshold, made no sound.
“I used to live here,” Wraith said. “I invited you in.”
“Oh, for the love of—” Elaine pushed past the marshals and strode into the house.
When the others saw her pass safely, they followed.
No one moved or spoke for a long while. It was absolutely silent, unreal in its completeness; the floors didn’t creak, the wind didn’t blow, no cars went by, no birds chirped in the trees.
Wraith looked around the living room, her eyes settling on the photographs of the other kids. More memories surfaced. She could remember being in many of them, having the pictures taken and being delighted. The joy of belonging, having a place where she was wanted. It was so vivid, it banished her anger. It’s impossible to describe what it’s like to be alone as a child, or the joy of finding, or believing, you weren’t anymore. The warmth of those memories was driven away by cold terror as she remembered, on behalf of all the souls she carried, innumerable times waking to see robed figures surrounding her bed. The smell of burning wood filled her nose and she remembered someone fighting back. Burned clothing, hair, and flesh soon joined it.
Then came the screams.
Wraith turned and fell to her knees as she remembered the punches, the kicks, and then the injections to stop their fighting. She struggled against the strong arms holding her down, but they were too many, too strong. Around her children wept quietly, their bodies and minds frozen with terror.
No, she wouldn’t let them take her! Not this time!
“Get away from me!” she shouted.
The sound of splintering wood and panicked cries around her brought Wraith back to the here and now. She stood in the living room, alone. Everyone, even her friends, had fled outside. Around her was utter destruction. Walls torn apart, flooring splintered, windows shattered. The floor was covered by debris of all kinds, except a perfect circle around her that didn’t even have a speck of dust on it.
“Wraith, can you hear me?” Dante shouted from outside.
The tone and desperation in his words led her to believe this wasn’t the first time he was asking this question.
She swallowed as fear and panic surged through her, the power draining away. “Oh, God! Did I hurt anyone?” she asked.
“We’re fine,” SK said as he peeked around the tattered hole that once held the front door. “Next time though, you might try counting to ten.”
Wraith put her hands to her face and sobbed. “It’s growing so quickly. It’s so hard to control. It’s making the memories so vivid, driving my emotions.”
She didn’t hear his footsteps, but she knew Dante had stepped inside and was walking toward her.
“Regent, I don’t think—” Maeve’s words stopped abruptly.
Wraith couldn’t see the gesture, but she knew Dante had silenced her.
The tall, graceful elf stepped up to her, not making a sound as he crossed the floor, now littered with splintered wood, broken glass, and chunks of drywall. He knelt down and gently put his hands on her shoulders.
“It’s okay,” he said. His words were gentle, but there was sincerity in them, so profound that Wraith couldn’t disbelieve. “I don’t claim to know what you’re struggling with, but I’ve seen it before, in another.”
Wraith looked at him, into his luminous green eyes. This time, there was no flood of information. She just saw him, the calm serenity of his face and the concern in his eyes.
“His name was Seanán,” Dante said. “He was a Taleth-Sidhe. He struggled for a long time to get his power under control too.”
“Did he do it?” Wraith asked. Her voice sounded desperate and small in her ears. For the first time in a very long time, she felt like a child. She hated the way it felt.
“He did, in a fashion,” Dante said, smiling a little. “With help from friends, he learned to use his emotions to control the power. Anger, hate, fear—they only made him reckless.”
Wraith stared, desperate to be told that she too would be okay.
“He focused on his friends, on the ones he loved,” Dante said. “He used those emotions—loyalty, love, kindness, compassion—to keep the power under control.”
“It’s so hard,” Wraith said. Her hands were shaking as even now the power was rising up again, as unstoppable as the tide.
Dante wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “I know, cailin caillte. It was for him too. He came to us younger than you, a very, very long time ago. His parents were killed when his village was raided and destroyed.”
Wraith felt her heart twinge in sympathetic pain and closed her eyes, clinging to what memories she could find. “I can barely remember mine.”
Dante touched her forehead. “What they did happened here.” He moved his hand and put two fingers to her heart. “No one can touch who you are here, unless you let them. Nothing, no matter how terrible, can destroy who you are if you choose not to let it.”
Wraith looked at him, desperately wanting those words to be true.
“I can’t even begin to imagine what it was like, or is like for you now,” Dante continued. “But I swear when this over, I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
“Why?” Wraith asked, more tears coming. “You don’t know me, or owe me anything. I’ve done nothing but cause trouble for you. For everyone.”
Wraith watched him and saw the hint of sadness come over his face, as if he were remembering something that still hurt.
“Because it’s the right thing,” Dante finally said. “But you’re wrong. I do owe you. We let you down, and that’s why you are where you are. I’m going to set things right.”
“Thank you,” Wraith said and before she knew what she was doing, she threw her ar
ms around him and hugged him as tight as she could.
Dante sighed and wrapped his arms around the child. She was, after all, still a child. He stroked her hair and held her. As he did, he thought back a long, long time ago, to a lost and scared little boy in Ireland who was running from loss, wielding power he couldn’t imagine. That story had taken over a thousand years to finish. He dreaded what was to come. He knew what Wraith was going to have to do, the darkness she would have to walk through and the shadows she would carry for the rest of her life as a result
What a piece of work is a man, Dante thought.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s end this.”
Wraith inhaled, the smell of meadow grass grown wild filled her nose, and she realized in that moment that everything was quiet. The voices whispering and screaming inside were blessedly still, the memories weren’t assaulting her senses, even the massive power in her seemed to be holding steady.
“I’m okay,” she said to Dante, breaking the embrace. Then she nodded to her friends behind him.
Dante smiled, as did Shadow. Looking at her friend, her best friend, Wraith began to understand what Dante meant about using the positive emotions. He stood and helped her to her feet. She looked around the destroyed room and saw pictures scattered everywhere. Some lay loose, their frames in pieces, others still in their frames were scratched or covered in piles of broken glass. Wraith looked from one smiling face to another. As she did, there were soft whispers inside, sad but strong.
That’s me, said one.
I remember that day, said another.
She collected the pictures and was soon joined by her friends, then by everyone. When all the photos had been recovered, she carefully, reverently, tucked them into her messenger bag.
The Forgotten Page 26