“Don't talk,” I told Evan. “And do not touch the blue wall. As long as it's there, nothing on the other side can get to us. But if we touch it from this side, it pops, and that would be bad.
“Focus on your house,” I continued. “Keep as clear an image of it in your head as you can.”
I did the same, and the tunnel in front of us shifted direction. We got off the bike and the two of us started pushing it. There was no way I was going to navigate a wormhole at any type of speed.
We walked, and every once in a while, the tunnel changed as our concentration wobbled. Things from the other side kept charging into the barrier but, as I'd said, couldn't get through. Evan would let out an involuntary squeak whenever one would slam against it, but otherwise remained quiet.
Until: “That tree is moving!”
It startled me, and the tunnel shrank inward until it was only an inch or two from us. Ahead, it careened off in a different direction as I lost focus on our destination.
I stopped, refocused, and the tunnel expanded again, giving us room. Then I looked at what he'd freaked out about. “That's not a tree trunk,” I said, as the very big thing lumbered to the left. “It's a leg.”
Evan gasped, looking up, but whatever the leg was attached to was above the canopy. I was pretty sure he didn't want to see it anyway.
“Seriously,” I said. “I need full concentration. Just focus on your house.”
He quieted, and once again the wormhole oriented itself. We walked for another half-hour, and suddenly another tear opened in front of us. We stepped through it and found ourselves in Evan's backyard.
“There's no way we walked all the way back here that fast,” he said.
“Physics get a little wonky in the Periphery,” I said, and gave a brief explanation of what had just happened.
“Oh,” he said in a small voice. He sounded...done. Beaten. At his limit.
And I couldn't blame him.
I parked the bike behind the garage and we went inside. We collapsed on the couch, on top of the blanket I'd slept under the night before. It was after one a.m.
“You okay?” I asked him.
He didn't answer for a long moment, then: “I don't know.”
I nodded. “That's a good answer. I'm sorry you're caught up in all this. If you want to bail, I'll still look into it for you.”
“And not have you here if they find me again?” he asked incredulously.
“If it helps, a vampire can't enter your home uninvited,” I said. “You're safe inside.”
“Uh-huh. That would be great if only vampires were after me. But what about Lizard Lady? She didn't need an invitation. And who knows what else might be next.” He rubbed his eyes.
He was right. “Okay. Tomorrow we'll see if we can find this Locke guy.”
He was silent a moment, then he asked, “Why?”
I blinked. “Why, what?”
He looked me in the eyes. “You have all this other stuff going on, important stuff. Why help me?” There was genuine confusion in his voice.
I gave a slight shrug. “Because it's the right thing to do. Because you invited me into your home and gave me a place to stay. And, you know, because I like you.”
“Oh,” he said. “Thank you.”
“You should sleep,” I said. “Helps you process.”
He nodded. “Okay.” He started for the stairs, then turned back. “I like you, too. Good night, Ally.” He went upstairs.
I wasn't ready to sleep yet, so I turned my attention to the book that the demon had been carrying in the library.
I recognized it. It was An Analysis of the Adoveri's Journal. The Adoveri was a prophet from some time in the early 1700s, some species of Other that could mentally jump through time. He–it?–had accurately predicted both World Wars, a lot of stuff about Hitler specifically, and even the creation of the cellphone, which he'd referred to as a magic block used for remote communication. In addition, he wrote a lot about events in Other history. Some had happened, others hadn't, or had yet to.
The original was written in the language of whatever species he had been, but this was the translated and annotated edition, last updated in 2014. I started to flip through it, having no idea what I was looking for. It was quite a tome, over a thousand pages, referencing any number of events. I sighed and randomly turned pages.
I stopped on a full-page drawing of a long sword. It was the sword from my dreams. It was dark, with a weird split in the middle of the blade. There was a caption: Tasraan's sword, crafted from the molten rock of the Magma Plains (part of the Periphery). Tasraan is almost certainly the demon referenced in Adoveri's Demon of Shadows prophecy. See previous pages.
I turned back and read.
* * * * *
The Demon of Shadows prophecy is one of the most complete and easily traceable Adoverian prophecies. Adoveri's text is as follows:
“During the second cataclysm, the Demon of Shadows will be summoned. His power and followers will build amidst the chaos and death. Many will fall victim to his sword before a powerful coven forces him into hallowed ground and binds him to the earth, where he will wait to be reawakened.”
Various evidence has shown that the second cataclysm is World War II (see pp. 204, 207, 320, 328). In 1939, the demon known as Tasraan was summoned by unknown parties, and he quickly gained power, influence, and worshipers. He was often described as being “more shadow than substance,” and he was known for wielding a sword forged from the molten rock of the Magma Plains, an area of the Periphery that borders the land of Faerie.
By 1943, Tasraan had killed many Others in his quest for power, and was working toward the ultimate goal of world conquest, where Rockwells and weaker Others would bow at his feet. It was growing more and more difficult to mask his existence from the Rockwellian world, and a group of powerful witches united to end his reign of terror. After months of pursuit and battles, the coven managed to corner Tasraan in Pennsylvania, one of the United States, and force him to the hallowed ground of a cemetery and bind him to the earth. The exact location of the cemetery was never reported, in order to prevent any of his remaining acolytes from attempting to reverse the binding, though rumors abound that should one learn the appropriate ritual, Tasraan could indeed be returned to continue his destructive goals.
* * * * *
What were the odds that this wasn't connected to my current situation?
Hmm. I was dreaming about that exact sword. Check. I was in Pennsylvania. Check. And what worried me most was that I'd encountered a different demon that said we had the same goals. Not to mention my former allies kept insisting that I'd betrayed them and was dangerous to the world.
Checkmate?
Was I planning to release Tasraan? Because it sure was starting to look like it. But why would I do that? I could see no reason why I would go from stopping evil to unleashing it. It was repellent to me, so far removed from my character that I couldn't even begin to process it.
I closed the book, kicked off my shoes, fell back onto the couch, and fell asleep in the clothes I'd been wearing.
* * * * *
I was roused from a mercifully dreamless sleep to the sound of voices. It took me a second to realize they were coming from the kitchen.
Evan's family was home. Early.
I rushed to collect my things, wrapping them in the blanket, then I jumped into a corner and threw a hasty veil over myself.
Veils. Your basic invisibility spells. And I am mediocre, at best, at casting them. They were always one of my weak points, which frustrated Stephen to no end. It's why he frequently teamed me up with Chris–he was great at them. In so many ways, he and I complemented each other.
But I really didn't want to think about that right now. I focused on maintaining my veil as Mr. and Mrs. Grant came into the room with Eva in tow. The elder Grants were carrying suitcases, while Eva had a duffel bag. I crossed my fingers and held my breath.
And neither of Evan's parents saw me. Eva, ho
wever, was staring curiously toward my corner.
Evan came running down the stairs. “Hey! I can–” He stopped when he noticed I “wasn't there,” and blinked in confusion for a second. “I can't believe you didn't tell me you were coming home so soon. I would've cleaned up.”
Evan was still in his sleeping attire, which consisted only of a pair of shorts. I was surprised at his physique. He didn't quite have a six-pack, but he was definitely toned. His hair was a complete mess and I had to suppress a giggle–the veil wouldn't mask any noises I made.
“Yeah, well, we could only listen to so many 'our kids are so much better than everyone else's kids' stories,” his mom said. “You know your Aunt Jenny.”
Mr. Grant said, “It really wasn't that bad. But after the fifth or sixth time we heard the words 'Dean's List,' we kind of hit our breaking point.” He chuckled.
Evan laughed a little too theatrically.
Mrs. Grant raised an eyebrow. “What is wrong with you?”
Eva continued to stare at me but kept quiet. She was about ten years old, and for some reason, certain types of illusory magic, like a veil, don’t work on all prepubescent kids. I shook my head and placed a finger to my lips. She waited a beat longer then looked away.
“Oh, I see,” Mr. Grant said, looking at the sheet that was bunched up at the end of the couch. I had missed it in my frantic attempt to gather every sign of my presence. “Did Derek sleep over?”
Evan jumped at the excuse. “Yeah. I thought he was still here. I was afraid you'd be upset. I didn't know he already took off.”
Mrs. Grant laughed. “Derek's family, you know that. It's not like you threw a wild party.”
“Or, if you did,” Mr. Grant added, “you cleaned up well enough.”
“No, no parties,” Evan said, and then watched as his parents took their bags upstairs.
Eva stayed behind. As soon as the adults were gone, she said, “Who is she?”
“Who is who?” Evan asked, then let out a little shriek when I dropped the veil and materialized in front of him.
Eva gave her brother a duh look, then said, to me, “Hi.”
I gave her a quick smile. “Hey there.”
She said, “So why were you kinda, like, see-through? And why couldn't anyone else see you?”
I shrugged. “It's a thing I can do, and you must be pretty special if it didn't work on you.” She seemed mollified. I turned to Evan. “I gotta get out of here. I can't pull off a spell like that for very long.”
“What if you hide in the garage apartment?” Eva suggested.
Evan looked impressed. “That's a good idea. No one ever goes up there.”
“Don't look so surprised,” Eva said. “Just 'cause I'm smarter than you.” She flashed him a brilliant smile, and he lightly smacked her arm.
I knelt down to eye level with her. ''You're not gonna tell anyone about me, are you?”
She cocked her head. “Not if you promise to tell me what's going on.”
“Deal,” I told her. I went for the back door, then turned back to Evan. “Can you sneak me out a change of clothes?” I was still in the outfit I'd worn to meet Julianna.
“Sure,” he said. He told me how to get into the apartment, and I slipped outside, still carrying the blanket full of stuff. I entered the garage through the man door on the side and found a wooden staircase that led up to another door, which opened into a studio apartment, rather than the storage space I'd assumed was there when I first saw the garage. It consisted of a kitchen-living-sleeping area and a small bathroom. It was hot and stuffy, so I opened a couple of windows that faced away from the house.
Evan showed up about twenty minutes later, carrying a backpack. I opened it to find a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, as well as, awkwardly, underwear. “I can't really see myself wearing your sister's undies,” I joked.
Evan blushed. “Eva picked everything out. She said I couldn't be trusted. And she told me to assure you that those were brand-new.”
I smiled. “Cool kid. I'll see if they fit.”
Evan nodded. “Yeah, she's all right. She also just blackmailed me into dropping her off at her friend's house. I figure you'll wanna get the bike out of here, too. So, I'll meet you at the Coffee Shop?”
“Perfect,” I said, and he left.
I found some musty-smelling towels in the bathroom and took a two-minute shower. I didn't have any soap but it felt good to rinse off. I threw on the new clothes. The underwear didn't fit perfectly but it was new and I wasn't going to complain. Then I threw the remainder of my things in the backpack and sneaked out. I wheeled the bike to the road so I wasn't overheard, then I headed into town.
TWELVE
I parked the bike in a lot near the Coffee Shop, then I went in and ordered a coffee and one of Evan's wussy cream drinks. I waited a few minutes until he drove up to the curb. I threw my pack in the back and handed him his drink.
“It pained me to order that monstrosity for you,” I joked.
He shrugged and took a sip. “You'll live.”
“So how are you holding up?” I asked.
He sighed. “Freaked, obviously. But not as bad as I would've thought I'd be in a situation like this. Does that make sense?”
To me, it kind of did. “You never know how you'll deal with a situation until you're faced with it. In my experience, people who find out about the supernatural either go completely crazy or sort of roll with it. You've impressed me given everything that you've been hammered with.”
He accepted the compliment in silence. “So where do you want to go?” he asked.
I considered it. We'd slept late, so it was already after one o'clock. “I want to check on Mary,” I decided.
“So do I,” he said.
So he drove us to the hospital, and after some inquiries, we found her in a private room. She was eating lunch, and her eyes lit when she saw us.
“How are you?” I asked as I sat in a chair next to her.
“Ugh,” she replied. “I miss being your age. I don't heal as fast as I used to. I've got a bunch of stitches, a couple broken ribs, and about a week in here to recover.”
I winced. It was true–witches heal faster than most, but that fades with age.
She added, “But if it hadn't been for the two of you, I'd probably be dead. I can tolerate a week in the hospital.”
She told us she'd gone with her planned story. On her way out of the library, she had been attacked by a burglar. She told them that it had happened so fast that she hadn't gotten a good look at the guy, and she'd played up her age as an excuse not to provide more details. She'd also worked a little magic to help convince them, and she was pretty sure it wouldn't even make it into the local paper. I was impressed she'd been able to do that in the state she'd been in.
“Hey, I'm old,” she said. “Older than I look, even. But I'm still a damn good witch.”
That made me smile. “I'm just glad we were there.”
She nodded. “And why were you there? What did you need?”
“To apologize,” I answered. “I was overwhelmed yesterday. I'm sorry I was rude to you.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “I was being pushy. You have nothing to apologize for.”
I wanted to talk to her about Grandma, but I had something more important to ask first. “That demon was taking Adoveri's Journal. I flipped through it and came across a sketch of this sword I've been dreaming of. It was Tas–”
“Tasraan,” she interrupted with a frown. “The last time your grandmother and I worked together, it was to bind Tasraan.”
I was shocked, and my face must've shown it. “My grandma was part of that coven?”
“Dear, she was head of that coven. We were only in our early twenties then. He was wreaking havoc pretty much all over the world. Ruth was the one who gathered us all together. We spent the better part of a year hunting him, and finally narrowed it down to two places, one here in Pennsylvania, the other in Ohio. Ruth came here with one group, and I we
nt with the other to Ohio. She found him, and after a fight, she bound him.”
My grandma had been in her twenties during World War II. That meant she'd been almost fifty when she met and married my grandfather and had my dad. Witches live an average of twice as long as Rockwells, but still, she had passed for thirty at the time. I hoped those genes were passed on to me. That also meant that Mary was actually close to a hundred years old.
Good for her.
“This is crazy,” I said.
“If this has something to do with Tasraan,” Mary said, “that is very bad news. He was strong, Ally. Fifteen witches took him on that day, and eight of them died. Ruth feared he'd find some way back, so she took steps to stop it.”
“What steps?” I asked.
Mary shifted position. “First, she created a dimension under hallowed ground that can only be accessed by a keystone. Tasraan can only be resurrected from that spot, and she hid the keystone very well afterward. The ritual would also require Tasraan's sword, because she channeled magic through it and into him when she bound him. Then she hid that, too. She said it would also require a third component, which she never revealed to anyone, even me. She never even told me precisely where it happened, though I'm pretty sure it wasn't very far from here. That's why I moved to Chandler–to keep my eyes open in case there were signs of his return.
“Last night was the first time I've seen a demon in town since then,” she added. “I'd say that could qualify as a sign.”
I rolled my neck to crack it. “Yeah,” I said. Then I moved to another topic. “Do you know some guy named Marcus Locke?”
She scowled. “Unfortunately. Why?”
“Last night, we found out that Marcus Locke hired the vampires that tried to kidnap Evan.”
Mary shook her head in agitation. “Locke is a two-bit sorcerer who can barely manage to levitate something. He's all parlor tricks. He moves in very unsavory circles and hires others to do the dirty work when it needs done. He has constant run-ins with the local police, and finds himself in trouble with Others pretty regularly, too.”
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