Nora turned her hand in Blackstone’s and laced her fingers through his. “I always thought the wicked stepmother was a patriarchal myth, designed to emasculate powerful women.”
Blackstone laughed softly. “Judging my culture by the standards of yours, are you?”
She shrugged. “I thought these things were all fairy tales.”
“Fairy tales always have a basis in truth.”
“So I’m learning.”
His fingers tightened around hers. “If the wicked stepmother was a myth designed to emasculate powerful women,” he said, “how do you explain the Fates?”
“I thought they were Greek.”
“That’s different?”
“Greece always had a large roster of powerful women. Athena, Hera, even Aphrodite. All of them strong, all of them lusty, all of them smart.”
“All of them friends of mine,” Blackstone said. “And they have other qualities as well. Usually good qualities, but not always. Just like mortals.”
“How can you people incorporate all the myths and legends? Or claim to?”
“We come into our powers,” he said, “at different times. I was twenty-one over a thousand years ago. A friend of mine turned twenty-one about two centuries before that and formed the basis for the legends of Arthur. Myth happens because we don’t learn how to hide our powers, or we’re still so tied to the mortal world that we use our powers in indiscreet ways. Arthur, for example, used all of his powers to create Camelot, ignoring the prophecies, yet making a place of such greatness that you know about it today. For that, he became an old man in a normal mortal span and was sent, at the end, to Avalon where the Fates decided that he would be allowed some of his powers back as long as he never visited Camelot again.”
“So this is Avalon?” Nora asked.
Blackstone shrugged. “If you want it to be. Or maybe it’s Olympus. Or Atlantis. Or perhaps the Catholics are right, and this is Purgatory.”
“Meaning you won’t tell me,” she said.
“Meaning I don’t really know,” he said. He looked at the fountain. “Each time I come, it’s different. This is the first time the Fates have looked like their Greek counterparts.”
“They didn’t when we first arrived.”
He grinned at her. “No, they didn’t.”
“Are they really Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos?”
His eyebrows raised. “Where did you learn the name of the Fates?”
This time it was her turn to shrug. “I had mythologies of the world in school. But before that, I used to read Greek mythology books when I was a kid. I read them like I read fairy tales.”
“Those awful Grimm Brothers?”
“And Hans Christian Andersen.”
“The twerp.”
“You knew him?”
Blackstone nodded. “The Match Girl—a friend of his. He could have helped her, but no.”
“I thought he’s a Danish hero.”
“That’s because they never met him. Pompous, pretentious—”
“Aethelstan?” The voice came from behind them. The three Fates were standing on the manicured lawn, their sandals peeking out from beneath their robes. Nora was close enough to see, on the top of the blonde’s right foot, a tattoo of a spiderweb. Clotho noticed where Nora was looking and slid the foot back under her robe. “We’ve decided.”
Blackstone’s grip on Nora’s hand tightened.
“We weighed many factors in this,” Lachesis said.
“The prophecy,” Atropos said.
“The misdone spells,” Clotho said.
“Ealhswith’s history,” Lachesis said.
“And yours,” said Atropos.
“We have decided that we can tell you this,” Clotho said.
“Emma is not yet in a coma, although we suspect you are right in Ealhswith’s intent,” Lachesis said.
“And Ealhswith is where you would least expect her,” said Atropos.
“At home?” Blackstone blurted.
Clotho smiled and patted Blackstone on the cheek. “Our boy is growing up,” she said to the others.
“Careful, Aethelstan,” said Lachesis. “In a few centuries, you might even be as smart as us.”
They all laughed as they vanished, their laughter echoing long after they were gone.
Nora couldn’t help herself; she shuddered. “I don’t know if I missed that. Did they confirm your guess?”
He nodded. Then he sighed. “I’ll take you home. Then I’ll go.”
“No,” Nora said. “Emma needs a champion. She’s still not certain of you.”
“She needs all of us,” Amanda said from the steps. She stood, brushed off her legs, then held out a hand to Jeffrey. He let her pull him up.
“I don’t think you all understand what Ealhswith could do,” Blackstone said.
“She can’t kill mortals,” Nora said. “You taught me that much. That was outlawed years ago.”
“Kill—?” Amanda said.
“And if she turns us into toads, she has to turn us back.”
“Toads!?!” Jeffrey said.
“And, if I remember correctly, she also has to wipe our memories of the event, which defeats the purpose, or so she once said.”
“My God, Counselor,” Blackstone said in appreciation. “Remind me to never cross you when it comes to your memory.”
“Duly noted, Mr. Blackstone,” Nora said with a smile. Then she let the smile fade. “Can we get Emma now?”
Blackstone bowed slightly. “Your wish is my command.”
***
She had used too much magic today. Ealhswith stretched out on her unmade bed and popped a piece of dark chocolate into her mouth. She was tired, amazingly so, but more satisfied than she had been in weeks.
Maybe she would take a long bath. A long bath in scented water, with black candles burning on the side, and Black Sabbath on the stereo. It sounded like a wonderful, relaxing way to spend the afternoon.
She had a lot to do. She had to finish the new glass case by hand—she simply couldn’t order one to size, and right at the moment, she needed to reserve her magical abilities. Sometime in the next week, Blackstone would find her, and Ealhswith needed all of her strength for that battle.
He would lose, of course. He didn’t realize what was so very plain to everyone around him. He no longer cared for Emma. He was being distracted by that annoying little attorney. And that would dull his edge.
This time, he would lose Emma. Ealhswith would win. She would have Emma’s body for the next thousand years or so, and when the end came, as it inevitably would, she would move herself from her own rather magnificent body to Emma’s less-than-perfect one.
The Fates had already ruled that the disagreement between Blackstone and Ealhswith was personal business. In the next thousand years or so, Ealhswith would look him up, then conveniently let him “find” the glass coffin, with Emma’s body inside.
Emma’s body and Ealhswith’s soul. Blackstone, fool that he was, would think he was looking on his soul mate, and he would revive her.
He would never guess that it was Ealhswith who would be spending eternity at his side.
She smiled and ate another piece of chocolate. “I so love it when a plan comes together,” she said and got up to draw her bath.
* * *
Chapter 10
They reappeared in that same Beaverton neighborhood that Blackstone and Ealhswith had burned ten years before. In fact, Nora soon realized, they appeared on the front lawn of the house that had remained untouched in that blaze, the place where Blackstone had been arrested, the place where Sancho had parked the VW microbus in the street.
The house looked so different now. It had received a new coat of paint not too long ago, a robin’s egg blue that was both vivid and an incredible eyesore. The lawn was green and lush, and flowers filled a spectacular bed before the picture window. The garage door was open, and a dark blue Saab was parked inside.
Nora turned and glanced at the nei
ghbor’s house across the street. A curtain flickered. Apparently the same nosy radio guy still lived there—or else he’d sold the place to some other nosy person.
“You can’t tell me a witch lives here,” Amanda whispered. “I would think she’d go for one of the older neighborhoods, perhaps on the east side. Not a newer development like this and certainly not in the suburbs.” She said that last as if it were hell itself, which, Nora had to admit, for her mother it was.
“Shush, Amanda,” Jeffrey whispered. “I live in the suburbs.”
“Nonsense,” Amanda whispered. “Eugene’s too small to have suburbs.”
Blackstone ignored the entire exchange. He took a step toward the house, then peered into the garage. He still had a firm grip on Nora’s hand, and she wasn’t really willing to let go either. She felt a strength in their clasped fingers, a strength she was afraid she’d lose if he let go.
“I can’t believe she’s here,” he said. “Why would she do this?”
“Because,” Jeffrey said, “she knew you wouldn’t think of it.”
“How many times had she done this before?” Blackstone asked.
“I don’t think it pays to look back,” Amanda said. “It certainly doesn’t for me.”
“I think Mother’s actually right for once,” Nora said. “I don’t think, in this instance, it pays to do any sort of recrimination. We need to get Emma out of here and quickly.”
“Should we fan out?” Jeffrey asked.
“Yes,” Blackstone said. “I think the quicker we find Emma, the better off we’ll be.”
“Always hoping for something you can’t have, aren’t you, Aethelstan?” The voice came from the roof. Ealhswith sat near the chimney, her long robe trailing down the shingles like a wedding dress train.
“You have no right to Emma,” Blackstone said.
Ealhswith smiled. “If you’re going to pursue that argument, then neither do you.”
“I’ve left her alone. I let her make her own choices.”
“Over the protests of your pretty lawyer there.” Ealhswith finger waved at Nora. “You realize you’re early.”
“Early?” Blackstone asked.
“I didn’t expect you for at least a week.”
His eyes narrowed. “I assumed time is of the essence.”
Ealhswith shrugged and looked at Nora. “Did my attorney send my notes?”
“Yes,” Nora said, drawing herself up to her full height. “They’re in the hands of the Fates now.”
“The Fates? Aethelstan, you’ll never get them to help you.” Ealhswith leaned forward slightly.
“I told them what you’re planning,” he said. “So they told me where you were.”
“Planning?” Ealhswith raised her eyebrows. “What am I ‘planning’?”
“To use Emma’s body as your own,” Nora said.
Ealhswith laughed. “My dear, do you know how difficult that is to prove? You have to wait until the deed is done. Are you going to wait?”
“No,” Blackstone said. “Where is she?”
“Emma?” Ealhswith shrugged. “She’s here somewhere. What are you going to do? Fight me for her?”
“If I have to.”
“How chivalrous of you, Aethelstan. Still haven’t gotten her out of your system?”
“She’s my soul mate.”
“Hmm, yes, well.” Ealhswith stood. Then she held out a hand, and lightning flared from her fingertips. Blackstone moved in front of Nora, and the lightning hit him, illuminating his frame, showing his skeleton through his clothes. He clenched his teeth but didn’t make a sound.
Nora reached toward him, then took her hands away, unwilling to burn them. “Let him go!” she shouted. “Let him go.”
Ealhswith closed her fingers into a fist, and the lightning stopped. Blackstone stumbled toward Nora, his clothes smoking. She put her arms around him to hold him up. He was warm and smelled of ozone, but nothing was burning.
“Tell him how I’ve always hated that word ‘soul mates.’ He’s used it too many times in the last thousand years.” Ealhswith walked to the edge of the roof. She gripped the edges of her robe.
“Let me go, Nora,” Blackstone said under his breath, “or you’re going to get it too. I’ll take care of Ealhswith. You find Emma.”
“But she’ll hurt you.”
“Nothing she hasn’t done before,” he whispered. Then he pushed away from Nora. “You don’t like the word ‘soul mate’ because you don’t have one, Ealhswith.”
She screeched and extended her hands. Lightning flared again, but this time Blackstone blocked it with his palms. “Nora!” he whispered.
Nora didn’t have to be told twice. She ran toward the garage, grabbing her mother along the way and beckoning Jeffrey. From above, it had to look as if they were going to hide.
They scurried into the darkness, behind the Saab. The concrete floor was amazingly clean, and unlike most garages, this one did not smell of ancient gas fumes or have any cobwebs.
“We have to find Emma,” Nora said. “She’s somewhere around here.”
“Amanda, you go in the house through the garage,” Jeffrey said. “Nora, you help your mother. I’ll take the yard.”
“No,” Nora said. “The yard’s not safe.”
“I know,” Jeffrey said. “But that old witch on the roof has her eye on you. I doubt she’s even noticed me. I might be able to pass for a neighbor.”
The air smelled of ozone. Nora could no longer see Blackstone, but a fire had started in the front yard. This was how they had burned the neighborhood the last time.
“No,” Nora said. “Change of plans. Mother, go warn the neighbors to leave their houses. Blackstone and Ealhswith are going to start large fires. That’s what happened last time.”
“And I thought he was such a nice man,” Amanda said and started toward the garage door.
“Amanda,” Jeffrey hissed. “Go next door first.”
Amanda nodded, and then, keeping low, she headed toward the next house on the block. A ball of fire landed in the street, ignited against some old oil, and continued to burn.
“I thought you said they had to put everything right,” Jeffrey said.
“They do,” Nora said. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt, even if it’ll be repaired and they won’t remember it.”
Jeffrey leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’re as sweet as your mother.”
“I’m not sure that’s a compliment for a lawyer,” Nora said. She headed off behind the Saab toward the door that connected the garage to the house. Outside, Blackstone came back into her range of vision. He flicked his front two fingers as if he were removing lint, and a fireball the size of Nora’s head zoomed across the yard. She couldn’t see if it hit its target.
Ealhswith was shouting, but Nora couldn’t make out the words. Blackstone laughed in response. It was not a pretty sound.
Jeffrey pushed the air with his right hand, as if he could push her inside. Nora nodded, then took the two concrete steps and tried the gold doorknob. It turned. She stepped inside a well-lit kitchen. There were no dishes anywhere, and the appliances had clearly never been used. It looked like a model home’s showroom kitchen, and still smelled new, even though Nora knew this home had been standing at least ten years.
She crossed into the living room. The carpet was white and looked as if it had never been stepped on. White leather couches and teak chairs covered the living room floor. A big screen TV dominated the room and DVDs spilled off it. The Frighteners, American Werewolf in London, The Haunting. Others had handwritten labels, mostly from television shows: Bewitched, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and of course, The X-Files.
Was Ealhswith a movie buff? Was she watching because she was lonely or was she trying to pick up tips?
Nora didn’t have time to find out. She walked through the living room and up the stairs that led to the second level. As she did, she hit a smell so powerful that it was like another wall. Mold and mud and stagnant water.
Nora almost sneezed.
Something whooshed outside. Nora turned. The floor to ceiling windows near the front door entry showed a fire burning the pine tree in the lot on the other side of the street. It looked like the tree just exploded into flame.
Nora ran up the stairs. “Emma!” she called. “Emma!”
No one answered. She peeked into the master bedroom and wished she hadn’t. More white, an unmade bed covered with a canopy and satin sheets. An opened box of chocolates was tangled in the white duvet. Another big screen television and a state-of-the-art entertainment system, with more DVDs scattered about, these mostly film noir classics like Laura and A Touch of Evil. Big stories about bad women. Nora had a hunch she knew who Ealhswith was rooting for.
The master bathroom had perfume vials and potion bottles, several of which smoked. It was the source of the smell. The tub was full of steaming water, with a skim of oil on the top. Unlit black candles were scattered along the rim. Nora backed out of that room and went back into the hallway. One room was empty except for a half assembled glass coffin. It surprised her that Ealhswith had been putting the thing together by hand. But the fact that it was half finished was a good sign. Emma wasn’t in her coma yet.
“Emma!” Nora yelled again. She thought she heard something outside of the voices shouting outside. She yanked open the last door and stumbled into a menagerie.
Dogs in cages, trying to bark but unable to, their muzzles opening but nothing coming out. Cats in smaller cages, pawing at the locks. Fish in floor-to-ceiling tanks, all staring at Nora. A gerbil that had been running in its little wheel until Nora opened the door. Turtles and frogs and chameleons all in their little boxes. And a snake that looked somehow quite familiar.
Blackstone’s snake? That horrible Ealhswith had taken it from him and let him think it was dead?
The house rattled, and more booms echoed outside. Nora’s heart was pounding. The dogs continued their silent barking. The cats kept jiggling the cage doors. Nora parted a curtain. The neighborhood was burning. The house across the street was engulfed in flames and, as she watched, the flames traveled from one roof to the other. She looked down on the lawn. She saw someone running, but she couldn’t tell if that was Blackstone.
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