“She’s lying to you, Julia,” Roman said through his teeth.
“Probably,” Julia said, still looking at her. “But what choice do I have. I can’t lose my mother, I can’t lose the coven, and I won’t lose you.” She turned back to the Crawley. “So yes. If you can do what you say you can, then whatever the price is, I’ll pay it.”
“Julia!” Roman screamed, but she wasn’t listening. She just walked straight to the Crawley.
“Let’s talk, Ms. Fairweather,” the Crawley said, staring right at Roman with blind, vacant eyes.
He called helplessly after Julia not to go through with it.
But she did.
In the blind of an eye, both she and the Crawley were gone.
And then the compulsion hit it’s hardest, and Roman jumped off the building again.
23
Julia
Julia woke again, but not on the bed beside Roman. Instead, she was running full-tilt through the woods.
Her feet were bare. The trail of her dress drug against the forest floor, staining the white with brown and green.
Sweat ran down her face, and her lungs burned as she struggled to catch her breath.
How long had she been running like this? And where the hell was she going?
All that had just happened slammed against her brain like a sixteen-wheeler hitting a wall at full speed.
Roman was suffering. He was in pain, just like Mother. And Julia had to put a stop to it.
It was about more than marrying Paris now. Even if she did that, Cassandra either wouldn’t have the power or would refuse to help Roman out of the situation he had found himself in.
No. He hadn’t found himself in it. He had thrown himself into it face first in a wild attempt to help Julia fix what she had done.
And for what. In the end, Julia would just be trading her life for her mother’s. Cassandra wanted her dead, and she would be foolish to think anything that had happened was going to change that now.
She had to fix things for Roman, though. Otherwise, he would suffer through fifty years of constant agony and turmoil.
The only one who could save him from that fate—if she was even telling the truth—was the powerful old woman Julia had met in Roman’s dream.
Of course, she had no idea whether it was true or not. The look on Roman’s face said that he recognized her, that she was the sort of being that was to be feared and taken seriously.
And she had forced her way into Roman’s head, something Julia had only managed to do with the help of the whispering ancestors.
True or not, possible or not, this was a chance. And it was the only one Julia had. Except now she didn’t know what she was doing or where that woman was.
Julia kept running, farther and farther into the woods. Though she could have stopped herself, there was an impulse pounding through her veins, driving her forward and pushing her deeper into the wilderness.
Suddenly, the woman appeared in front of Julia. She was knitting some seemingly never-ending blanket, rocking back and forth in her chair.
Julia pulled to a stop, her lungs near bursting at the strain.
“Good to see you again, Ms. Fairweather,” the old woman said, directing her toothy grin right at Julia. “I didn’t expect you so soon, but then again, I guess love can be a hell of a motivator.”
Julia breathed hard and heavy. Sweat pooled on her forehead and glistened across her arms. “I didn’t…I didn’t know I was on the way.”
The old woman tilted her head. “I suppose the subconscious can be more powerful than we give it credit for.” She started rocking again. “But so can the heart.”
“You said you can help me,” Julia pressed.
“Of course I can, Ms. Fairweather. I’m the Crawley, don’t you know.”
“Actually, I didn’t know,” Julia answered. “But I also have no idea what that means. So if you could just tell me what needs to happen to free Roman from that pocket of hell, I’d really appreciate it.”
“And if I was a better woman, maybe your appreciation would be enough for me. Unfortunately, that’s not the case.” The Crawley smacked her gums, producing a sickeningly wet sound from her mouth. “You’ve got a really specific skill set, Ms. Fairweather. And, given your connection to those that came before, I think you might be able to succeed where others have failed.”
“Tell me what you need,” she said, pushing back the thought that, if he were here, Roman would still be begging her not to do this.
She couldn’t think about that now though. All she needed to motivate her was the fact that the two people she cared about most in the world were in the worst pain imaginable and, if she couldn’t stop it, she would never see ether of them again after today.
So yes, if Roman disagreed with this, Julia was okay with that. So long as he was here to do it.
“There’s something I need,” the woman said. “A bobble, a trinket. It’s not much, but it’s important to me.”
Julia narrowed her eyes. Many had failed to get a trinket? “What is it?”
“Something that was taken from me a long time ago, something I won’t be able to rest without.” The Crawley nodded. “Your boyfriend almost had it before, but he didn’t take into consideration just how much his opposition was willing to do to keep it safe.”
“That’s what Roman was after when Adam died, wasn’t it? The trinket, whatever it is you’re looking for, it was on one of my family’s boats.”
“Was being the operative word, Ms. Fairweather,” said the Crawley. “Your boyfriend triggered a failsafe that whisked my property away.”
“And threatened to take out half the city with it,” Julia shot back.
“Witches are far too thorough for the likes of a plain old woman like me.”
Julia winced. She might not know too much about what she was involved in right now, but all she had to do was look at the Crawley to know she was anything but a plain old woman.
“The point is, that’s not where it is anymore,” the Crawley finished.
“So where is it?” Julia asked.
“On a different plain,” the Crawley sad simply. “One that can only be accessed by someone with your blood and the knowhow to use it correctly.” The rocking chair stopped short and, though she had no pupils to speak of, Julia could have sworn the old woman’s eyes were trained on her soul. “There is a secret room within the energy that binds your family to each other. In the power that ignites your blood, there are bindings. And, within those bindings, lies a door. Only a Fairweather with enough finesse and ability may travel to that room. And only one with the grace of the saints on her side may actually unlock it. Do you think you’re that person, Julia Fairweather?”
And there it was, the reason Roman didn’t want her to come here. He’d warned her that the Crawley would ask something of her, that she would require something major.
But what Julia needed was major, perhaps the most major favor she had ever needed. So why not give something to get it? It only seemed fair.
Julia leaned forward on the balls of her feet. Anger and resentment blossomed in her chest, along with a healthy dose of pride. “No offense, Crawley, but I sort of have to be, don’t I?”
The Crawley unleashed a toothless smile. “There’s that fire we need.”
“How do I get there?” Julia asked, marching toward the old woman.
“The only way you get anywhere of importance,” the Crawley said in a singsong voice. “The quickest route available.”
The old woman pointed to the ground, and the chair began rocking again.
Knowing she wanted her to sit, Julia pulled up the end of her ruined wedding dress and slumped to the ground.
“Go to the place you need to, Ms. Fairweather,” the Crawley said, knitting away.
“I can’t,” she said. “You haven’t told me how.”
“I told you that it was your place, that only you could get there? How in seven deadly sins would you expect me to be able to give
you directions to a place I’ve never be able to find?”
“But if you can’t—”
“The subconscious, Ms. Fairweather; as I told you, it’s a powerful thing. And it’ll take you where you need to go. Especially with all you’ve got at stake. Just close your eyes and let it happen.”
Not knowing what else to do, Julia did as the old woman asked. She closed her eyes and opened her mind up to all she had to lose.
There was Roman, jumping off that building over and over again for the next half century. There was Mother, slowly dying in agonizing pain under the merciless thumb of someone Julia would have considered her best friend just hours ago.
That was all she needed.
A whoosh of energy crackled around her. Though she didn’t open her eyes, she could feel the world melt away beneath her.
The blood rushed from all her appendages, leaving them cold and detached. A shiver ran down her spine, causing her to shudder and cry out. And, when her eyes flung open, she found herself in a place she had never been before.
She stood, taking it all in as she spun around.
The cave stretched out in every direction as far as the eye could see. Though it should have been dark, the entire place was illuminated by a light Julia couldn’t see the source of.
It didn’t matter, though. That wasn’t what struck her. What really made this place stand out, what made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, was how at home she felt.
It was as though she had been born here, like this had been one of her old playrooms in a past life she couldn’t remember. But it hadn’t been. She had never been here. She had never even been anywhere like this place.
Julia hated enclosed places. She liked the open air and the sky visible above her. That was part of the reason Iowa clicked with her the way it had.
But she couldn’t deny it. This place scratched an itch in her she didn’t even know she had.
And then she heard them.
The ancestors had never been this loud or clear. Even when they had become audible, they didn’t sound like this.
It was as though they were around her now, surrounding her like friends, like family. No longer were they distant voices in her head. She could feel them, their energy and their scents.
And they were pushing her forward, telling her that what she was looking for was just around the next corner.
As she rounded it, still amazed at how warm and inviting this cave was, she saw it.
Lit even brighter than the rest of this place, an urn sat on a counter pressed up against the wall.
This was it. This was what The Crawley wanted. For whatever reason, this was important to her, important enough to do the impossible and release Roman from the hell he was now enduring.
Not about to let it slip through her fingers, Julia rushed toward the stupid thing, but the air got thicker and thicker as she approached. Damn it. Whoever put this thing here—likely Cassandra—had spelled it so that getting to it would be damn near impossible.
She didn’t count on Julia Fairweather, though.
“Enough!” Julia screamed, listening to a spell the ancestors spoken plainly to her mind.
The air thinned to normal, and Julia rushed toward the urn. As she reached for it, she could feel a foreign energy radiating off it. It was troubling, but she couldn’t afford to think about that or let it stop her.
Her hand touched the urn, and a shock of power flowed through her. Her mind’s eye opened, and she saw everything that had led her here.
The urn was filled with the ashes of a Romani woman who had been born over two hundred years ago. The power flowing through her made her strong but not immortal. And, when she died, there were camp wars fought over her remains and the power they contained. For decades, this very urn was battled for, moved back and forth. Until last year, when Cassandra got ahold of it.
That woman was the Crawley and, unless she was probably laid to rest, she would never be able to sleep.
“She just wants to move on,” Julia said to herself.
But the visions weren’t over. She saw Cassandra, the venom in her voice and the temper in her face that Julia had somehow missed. She never knew how jealous her cousin had been of her, how threatened she was. She watched as Cassandra sabotaged her at every turn and, in the end, she watched as she cursed her with madness.
Julia gasped as she realized what had happened.
When she lost her mind last year—when she tried to end it all after losing Roman—that wasn’t her own mind’s fragility screwing with her. It was Cassandra. It was a spell meant to make Julia look unfit to lead the Moon Coven. It was an act of war and a surgical cut in a chess game Julia had no idea she was playing.
She grabbed the urn and pulled it close to her.
She knew she was playing now. And she wasn’t about to lose.
24
Roman
It happened over and over again. Jumping, failing, crashing, the excruciating, shattering pain. It crushed everything in him.
Time was lost. For all he knew, Julia had been gone for days now, maybe weeks or months.
She had walked away with The Crawley, despite his warnings not to go.
Worry settled across his shoulders, weighing him down in a way unlike the rest of this hellish place was capable of. Somehow, worry about Julia was stronger, rawer, and more real than any of the hardships he was forced to endure here.
It hurt more; it lingered in a way the physical pain never did.
Though he was sure she hadn’t meant to, Julia coming here had made things worse. It reminded him of what he had to lose…and that he had already lost it.
His teeth ground together as everything reset again.
He was back at the top of that damned building, his body put back together after being smashed in the pavement below for what felt like the millionth time. Would this never end?
Julia flitted through his mind again—that same memory of her standing next to that old woman and falling for her shit.
She went to try and save him, but that old bitch was the reason he was there in the first place. Taking her up on her offer sent Roman down a path that led him to where he stood now, to where he would soon fall.
Maybe Julia would end up in her own private purgatory after this. Maybe, in trying to be his salvation, she would be her own downfall.
Maybe she already had and was suffering in much the same way Roman was at this very moment.
Roman braced himself, because he knew the fall was coming. It had been long enough, and soon, he would tumble through the air and finish with that awful crash.
“Fifty years,” he told himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Just fifty god damn years.”
How crazy could someone go in fifty years? Maybe he would lose himself to some blissful mental break. Maybe he would go completely insane and come to as some old man, drooling all over himself in a mental institution somewhere.
That would be lucky indeed.
He braced himself again, but something was different.
He hadn’t fallen. He was still on the roof. Why hadn’t he been forced to jump yet? What fresh hell was he about to be subjected to next?
Roman opened his eyes.
He wasn’t on the roof anymore. The night sky didn’t sit above him, mocking him with the constellations he and Julia used to look at during the best nights of his life.
Instead, he was in a cave. The air was warm, but he felt out of place, as if he didn’t belong. As if there was something trying to push him out.
He blinked hard, confused but relieved. Though he had no idea where he was, Roman didn’t really care. After all, wherever it was, it had to be better than that damn roof, that damn agony.
Something swirled above him, and a darkness began to spread in his system. He could feel it, whatever this was. Wherever this was.
He blinked again, and he was in another room—a lighter place with glowing ceilings and noise threatening to blow out his eardrums.
He wasn’t welcome here; that’s what the noise was telling him. He had to leave. He couldn’t stay, and he shouldn’t have come in the first place.
But that didn’t matter to Roman, because there in front of him, with her arms wrapped around something, stood Julia.
She looked the same. Thank God, not that much time had passed. He hadn’t missed her life. He hadn’t missed his own.
She looked tired, though, and more than a little worn. Her face was pale and wet with sweat. Her eyes were terrified and directed away from Roman—to someplace beyond him.
He tried to turn, to see whatever it was that was causing her such distress, but he couldn’t. Whatever had brought him here was keeping him pinned on her.
Julia swallowed hard. “I…I should have known it would be you,” she said, her teeth grinding together. “It won’t matter. It’s too late now!”
Roman looked closer and, when she saw what it was that was cradled in Julia’s arms, he shuddered.
It was that thing—the urn that the Crawley had sent him after back in the boat. The Crawley was still after it, and despite his efforts to stop Julia, she was now involved.
A bright green glow started to radiate from the urn. It burned; he could feel Julia’s pain, feel her agony. It was his own. It was worse than his own, because it hurt her, too.
She tried to throw it away, but the urn refused to move. It had caught her now, and it wasn’t letting go. Her body trembled, then quaked, her entire body smoking under the horrible glow of the urn.
Roman stumbled forward, then fell to his knees, the pain about to burst out of his chest as he watched her die—as he watched the only thing that mattered in his entire life melt away like a lit candle.
She fell to the ground. Her glassy eyes landed, unblinking, on Roman. The world around him shimmered and flickered.
Realization rushed in like a blast of arctic air. He had heard tell of it during his studies. The dark magic was strong and ted to gypsy lore.
Sometimes, though it had been lost to the ages, practitioners of dark magic could catch glimpses of the future, same as the gypsies. Premonitions, they were called. And, to hear of them, the person experiencing the phenomenon could feel everything that went on during one—could feel the hurt, the air, the stone, time itself.
Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection Page 19