“Wylits are prophets. What happened to Wylit’s body?” Griffyn nudged Ysabel with his elbow. “Would he be too far gone for you to talk to?” The Arawen talent was speaking to the dead.
Addie shuddered at the thought. “I know of a living oracle,” she volunteered. “A refugee who was staying at my foster parents’ house. She might not be there anymore, but they’ll probably know where she’s gone.” Addie was so eager to make a significant contribution that the words were out of her mouth before she thought them through. The Carroways had always opened their home to Kin in need, and she’d forgotten for a second that the Kin at this table would not be kindly disposed toward Transitioners.
“What was this woman’s name?” Bran asked.
“Aine,” Addie said, wondering if she’d made a mistake and how to fix it. When Bran’s eyebrows hunched together, she realized he wanted Aine’s family name. Her personal name was unimportant. “The Kin who stayed with us always kept their family names secret,” she explained, “but I think she was a Corra.”
“Having a Corra among us would be useful,” Madoc said.
Addie nibbled nervously on a fingernail. Would Aine agree to help them? What about her foster parents? Would they interfere?
“Let me speak to Adelina alone,” Bran said.
Everyone else rose from their seats. Kel moved slowly, as if worried about leaving Addie alone with Bran. But she wasn’t afraid of Bran. She was too busy trying to figure out a way to make sure her impulsive suggestion didn’t bring harm to the Carroways. Addie hadn’t forgotten how Bran had killed that half-breed spell caster, Dr. Morder, outside the Dulac building. As awful as that had been to witness, Morder had betrayed his liege by helping the Llyrs rescue Addie. He’d expected to be praised and rewarded, but his betrayal only proved how untrustworthy he was. Addie understood why they couldn’t take Morder with them or leave him behind. Killing him was unpleasant but necessary. Bran Llyr was harsh, but Addie didn’t think he was unreasonable.
In fact, the first question he asked Addie after everyone had left the room was, “Are you recovered from this afternoon?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“I didn’t warn you what I was going to do because you would’ve resisted. That would have made the backlash greater. I knew you would be hurt, but not greatly harmed.”
There. Perfectly reasonable. Addie smiled. “Well, I didn’t think you were trying to kill me.”
“I am surprised to see you recovered so quickly.” Bran held his staff in one hand and examined her with his eyes. “A healing spell?” She nodded. “What did you use to cast it? Madoc has healing herbs, but he says you didn’t seek any from him.”
I have my own supplies. That was the smart thing to say. But Addie was squirming in her seat with the desire to show off her cleverness. “I didn’t need any.”
Bran nodded, as if he’d already guessed, and leaned his staff against the table. “Give me your hands.” She did, and he took them in his own rough ones, examining the tips of her fingers and her arms. Addie smirked, knowing what he was looking for and that he wouldn’t find it. “You’re using blood magic,” he said finally. “I know you are. Where are the scars?”
“I don’t need to spill my blood,” Addie replied. The sacrifice of blood was a ritual that enhanced magic. It was shunned by people afraid of dark magic. Her own father had forbidden it.
“Your blood carries the Eighth Day Spell,” Bran said. “It is more powerful than mine—perhaps more powerful than all other Kin combined. A few drops of it—”
“Will help somebody else perform magic,” Addie interrupted. “But I can keep all my blood where it belongs and still call on it for my magic.”
“Who taught you this?”
Now that was a strange story. “Someone passing through my foster parents’ way station,” she gave as her answer. It was sort of even true.
“Adelina Emrys, do you want to break the Eighth Day Spell?”
“Yes, I do.”
That kind of talk wasn’t tolerated at the Carroways’. Emma had explained many times why things had to stay the way they were. Dale expected her to accept it. But Addie never had.
“Are you as strong as your father?” Bran asked.
She hesitated. “My father was trying to learn a spell that would put the eighth day back into the Normal world’s timeline, but he never mastered it. That . . . frustrated him.” Drove him to fits of temper. Made him yell at his wife and snap at his children, especially Addie, for whom he had little patience. “I’m strong,” she told Bran, “but I need that spell, and I don’t know it.”
Bran leaned across the table. “I will personally instruct you in what you need to know, after we speak to the Corra woman.”
Addie sat up. Her father had taught all his children the basics of spell casting, but he’d always singled out Evangeline as his best pupil. Now Addie had the opportunity to learn from the personal instruction of Bran Llyr, one of the most powerful Kin men on the planet. And with this opportunity came her chance to bargain, because even a Llyr couldn’t countermand the Eighth Day Spell without the cooperation of an Emrys. “I’ll learn whatever you can teach me and talk Aine Corra into joining us. But you have to promise me something first.”
Instead of striking her dead with lightning, Bran smiled. Addie suspected not many people could make demands of this man and be rewarded with a smile.
“I don’t want you to hurt the Transitioners who live in that house,” Addie said. “The Taliesins placed me in the Carroways’ care, and they gave me a good home for years. They’re practically the only parents I remember.”
Bran sat back in his chair and retrieved his staff. “I commend your youthful spirit and boldness. I look forward to training you in the proper use of your potential.”
Addie grinned triumphantly.
6
RILEY FOUND AN UNOBSTRUCTED bridge across the river, and once they were back on a highway, the two vehicles increased their speed to outpace the storm. The wind and rain lessened the farther inland they traveled. When midnight came, everyone except Evangeline transitioned into Thursday, and A.J. turned on the truck’s radio. Reception was poor, but Jax caught references to a freak storm, flash floods, and a coastline ravished by hurricane-force winds.
However, it was raining only lightly when they arrived at their cabin in the Pennsylvania mountains. Jax watched Riley get out of the Land Rover and look back at it unhappily as he closed the door. Evangeline was still in there, sort of, and would remain there till next week. She wouldn’t feel the time passing; it wasn’t passing for her. But that didn’t make it any easier to walk away from the car. Jax felt the same way every Thursday, wherever he left her.
Mr. Crandall showed up about an hour and a half behind them, complaining of flooded roads and the long detours he’d needed to get home.
“Anything to report on the Llyrs?” Riley asked him.
“Other than the whopping hurricane they dumped on us? No. They vanished like smoke.” Mr. Crandall sounded tired and discouraged. “They might have flown halfway across the country or switched to land transportation at any time. Sheila Morgan says they couldn’t have crossed the Atlantic in what they were flying, but they might’ve changed planes later. We know from the assault on Oeth-Anoeth that they have more than one.”
“But if they made that storm,” Jax argued, “they couldn’t be that far away, right?”
“It was created by magic and traveling faster than naturally possible. We don’t know where it came from.” Mr. Crandall sighed. “Fact is, they could be almost anywhere.”
Jax and Riley exchanged glances. Neither one of them looked forward to sharing that news with Evangeline next week.
By late Thursday morning, the magical storm had dispersed into scattered showers, but New York City and parts of New Jersey and Connecticut were without power. Beach towns were devastated. Dozens of people had drowned in their homes or cars, and a couple hundred were assumed dead, vanished along with the
planes that had blipped off the radar map at midnight. Riley got on the phone with Deidre as soon as cell phone service was restored, trying to learn what the Morgans would do next.
Meanwhile, Jax surfed the online news reports on his computer while checking his phone. Billy had texted him, asking him to get in touch, but someone else was on Jax’s mind. Twice he picked up the phone and chickened out. The third time, he opened his contacts and punched the telephone symbol next to a certain name.
“Yeah?” That was how his call was answered.
“It’s Jax,” he said.
“I know who it is.”
Friendly as ever. Jax was already regretting the call. “I was just wondering if . . . uh, if you guys were okay. I didn’t know if you were still in New York City.”
“Are you crazy?” Tegan Donovan said. “We weren’t going to hang around for a hurricane.”
“Have you thought any more about helping us?” The Donovan family—Tegan, her twin brother, Thomas, and her father—had a highly developed scent sensitivity for magic. They could identify Transitioner and Kin families by smell, which had proved useful more than once.
“We weren’t thinking about it at all,” Tegan replied coldly. “We told Riley no when he asked us last week. I told you no. We’re not stupid enough to go sniffing out people who can raise hurricanes and tornadoes when they feel like it. We don’t owe you anymore. If anything, you owe us.”
“Yeah, I know.” Tegan had saved his butt from the Dulacs, much as Jax hated to admit it.
“You should take Blondie and get as far away from those Kin as you can instead of going after them.”
“I thought you didn’t care about Evangeline.”
“I don’t care about either of you. That was just disinterested advice. Why’d you call me?”
“I dunno. Thought you and your family might be headed into New York to do some looting and wanted to offer my own disinterested advice. Water’s high. Try not to drown.”
“Jerk.” She hung up.
“Same to you,” Jax said, even though she was already gone. He shook the phone vigorously, pretending to throttle it. Then he texted Billy.
Jax: hey whats up?
Billy: can you get on video?
A few seconds later, Billy appeared in a video box on his computer screen. “Dude,” he said. “Glad to hear you’re all okay.”
“Yeah, we are. But how’d you hear it?”
“Riley texted me last night to let me know.” It was kind of weird that Riley and Billy kept in communication now, separate from Jax. “Hey, I’ve been working on my research for Riley,” Billy went on, “and finding all this cool stuff. Have you ever thought about elves?”
“Elves?”
“They’re supposed to be gifted in magic, right? They live extra-long lives. And a long time ago they vanished from earth to go live in a magical world humans can’t get into. Sound like anybody you know?”
“Evangeline is not an elf, Billy.”
“Of course not. But didn’t you tell me the Kin are sometimes transported in coffins? Who else gets moved around in coffins?”
“Dead people.”
“Vampires.” Billy grinned. “What if Bram Stoker saw people being moved around in coffins and got the idea to write Dracula?”
Jax sighed. This was pure Billy—connecting everything to his favorite science fiction and fantasy stories. “How do vampires and elves help us find Addie Emrys?”
“Now I know where to look.” Which made no sense to Jax. Then Billy’s grin died away. “But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you. Dorian emailed me something a little while ago, and I’m supposed to forward it to you.”
“Dorian has your email? Do you think that’s smart?” Dorian’s dad had kidnapped Billy to get to Jax.
“Dude, your uncle knows where I live. What does it matter? Besides, Dorian says now that I’m Riley’s vassal, messing with me is practically an act of war.”
“Uh, the Dulacs assassinated Riley’s family. They shot him up with tranquilizers and threw him in their dungeon. They’re already at war with Riley.”
“That was under Ursula’s leadership. According to Dorian, Sloane has the chance to wipe the slate clean.”
Jax would be really surprised if his cousin Sloane was interested in slate cleaning. The new eighteen-year-old leader of the Dulac clan had already proved herself as devious as her grandmother. “So, what are you supposed to send me?”
“Scanned pages out of your dad’s journal. From back when he was a teenager.”
Jax froze. Dorian had told him about this. “A log of the truth,” his cousin had called it. Jax’s dad had recorded everything that happened to him because his Dulac relatives had used their talent to manipulate his memory.
They’d done the same thing to Jax. Ursula Dulac had gotten into Jax’s head and twisted his memories until he hated Riley and Evangeline. If it hadn’t been for Tegan’s advance planning to protect Jax’s mind, the change might’ve been permanent. Jax would be living with Dorian’s family right now, and Riley and Evangeline might be dead.
“I, uh, read the pages,” Billy went on. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, it’s okay,” Jax mumbled. Above the video box on the screen, an email from Billy appeared with an attachment.
“I didn’t want to forward it to you without telling you that I’m here for you, dude.” Billy made a face. “That sounded girly, didn’t it?”
“Yup.”
“I’ll let you . . . um . . . yeah, bye.”
The video box disappeared, and Jax stared at the email notification for a long time before clicking it open. He read Dorian’s message first.
Jax,
I’m sorry I didn’t give this to you when I had the chance. Later Dad took it away from me and grounded me for like 30 years. But there was a brownie here yesterday before the storm, rummaging in your backpack, and he created a new brownie hole in my bedroom that my parents don’t know about. So I’m not as grounded as they think I am.
I stole your father’s journal back last night. We couldn’t evacuate until after midnight, because of Lesley, and by then it wasn’t safe to move. As soon as the rain and wind slacked off Dad got us out of the city, and now we’re at our vacation house in the Catskills.
I’m emailing Billy so he can forward these scanned pages to you. I’ll keep the original safe, so you can have it someday if you want it.
Dorian
P.S. Used the brownie tunnels to steal Dr. Morder’s notes from his apartment before we left. I’ll let you know if I learn anything useful.
Jax was ashamed to realize he hadn’t given any thought to his relatives during the storm. Of course they couldn’t have left without Dorian’s sister—a dud with no magical talent. Unless Lesley was handcuffed to a family member, she skipped over the eighth day every week and reappeared at 12:01 on Thursday like the rest of the Normals.
As for Dorian, that was a lot of sneaking around and defying authority for a nerdy prep-school kid. Jax wondered if he’d been a bad influence on his cousin.
Bracing himself, he opened the attachment and began to read.
Jax was still sitting in front of the computer, stunned, when Riley found him a little while later and asked with concern, “Jax, you okay?” Instead of answering, Jax stood up and gestured at the computer screen. Riley sat down. “What am I looking at?”
“My dad’s journal,” Jax said flatly. “Dorian emailed it to Billy.”
If Riley was surprised Dorian and Billy were email buddies, he didn’t show it. Riley silently read through the journal pages, which detailed how Jax’s dad had found evidence he’d been used to help assassinate a rival Transitioner family—and how the whole thing had been wiped from his mind afterward. “Considering what they did to you,” Riley said finally, “this doesn’t come as a shock.” He pointed to a passage on the last page. “See this part, where your dad says he knows who he’s going to contact for help? I’ll bet he meant my dad.”
&nbs
p; Jax nodded.
“This explains what your dad’s problem was with vassalhood—why he stayed independent and was dead set against me swearing you on.”
“Do you think he committed murder for the Dulacs?” After Jax blurted out the question, he wished he could take it back. Riley’s family had died in an explosion engineered by Ursula Dulac.
Riley hesitated. He’d been present when that bomb killed his family. He’d almost been killed himself—and in official records, he was legally dead. Jax was just opening his mouth to retract the question, when Riley said, “Maybe they only used him to get close to their target.”
That wasn’t an answer. It was a way out. But Jax recalled how gleefully he had betrayed Riley and plotted against Evangeline under Ursula’s manipulation. He knew what the Dulacs were capable of making someone do.
“This clears up a lot of things about your father,” Riley said.
“Not everything.” Then Jax told Riley what Angus Balin had said to him in the Dulac basement—that Jax’s father had deliberately driven his car into a river to get away from his enemies. That information had been eating a hole in Jax’s stomach for a week.
Sharing it with Riley eased the pain a little, especially because Riley didn’t hesitate a second before saying, “Balin lied.”
“You think?”
“Your father struck me as someone who didn’t do anything without a plan—and a backup plan—and a backup for the backup. Trust me, your father didn’t panic and kill himself because he couldn’t shake the Balins. It was an accident, and Balin was lying to hurt you.” Riley squeezed Jax’s shoulder.
Jax didn’t say anything. In the end, whether the car had gone into the water by accident or design—even as a part of a crazed, desperate backup plan—the result had been the same for Jax.
7
OVER THE WEEK, THE mid-Atlantic coast struggled to recover from the Impossible Storm. Scientists tried to explain how a category-five hurricane had spontaneously appeared in seconds, while politicians blasted each other for inadequate preparation. Nobody, as far as Jax could tell, was blaming an ancient feud between two magical races.
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