That was true. It could. But, love kept on going no matter what. It was the only thing that you took with you in the end. That was what made it the most important part of existence. Love was what everyone should be fighting for.
Dying made living so clear.
Mara tilted her face back to look at her Match. “You know what I want?”
“Name it and it’s yours.”
“I want to play checkers with you. Every single day of our second chance.” She leaned up to kiss him.
…And Chason slowly smiled.
***
The red numbers on his watch reached zero and the alarm sounded.
It was midnight.
Raiden stared down at the readout and knew that he’d failed. Chason was still alive --He could feel that—and that was as it should be. But Raiden was still alive, too. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Raiden was supposed to be dead. Lansing should have killed him. It had been Raiden’s destiny.
The future had been changed.
“Oh God, no.” He dropped his head into his palms and hated himself.
He’d fucked up and now everything was lost. Fate had been derailed and he hadn’t been able to stop it. What the hell had happened?! His visions had all been so clear. He’d been so sure he could fix it and save the world. Save his Match.
He’d been wrong.
He’d failed Fee and now…
“Aw, don’t look so pouty. You just got outsmarted, Ray. Take it like a man.”
Raiden froze.
No…
He slowly lifted his head and stared at the woman standing in front of him. Honey blonde hair and topaz eyes, wearing a garish silver jacket and a smug smile.
He would’ve known her anywhere.
“Oh Gaia.” He rasped, overwhelmed and suddenly terrified. “You can’t be here. You’ll die if you’re here.” His voice got louder, his heart pounding frantically. “What have you done?”
“Don’t worry. Turns out there’s a loophole to time jumping when you’re as awesome as me.” Daphne, of the Time House arched a brow. “Believe me, I was just as surprised as you the first time I tried it and I didn’t exploded into dust.”
He couldn’t comprehend her casual words. It took a hell of a lot to surprise a psychic, but Raiden was so shocked he couldn’t even process that she was really standing in front of him. “What have you done?” He repeated in horror.
“Come on, did you really think you could renounce me and go off to die a martyr? That I’d just accept that?” She snorted. “Think again, asshole.”
“Fee, what the fuck have you done?!”
His Match leaned closer to the plastic wall of his cell, grown-up and beautiful… and the exact same spoiled, stubborn, very assertive brat she’d been when he’d seen her just hours before in that garden.
“Why, Ray, I think it’s pretty obvious what I’ve done.” She smirked at him. “I just killed the son-of-a-bitch who was supposed to kill you and I hijacked the future.”
“You’ve destroyed the world!” He corrected at a roar.
“People say that, but I can’t really hear their complaints over the sound of me winning.”
Raiden slowly shook his head, his mind racing. She was so absolutely sure of herself. And why shouldn’t she be? His clever little Match has just beaten him. She’d done the impossible and unwritten time itself to get her own way. He’d always known that the scope of Fee’s powers was dangerous, but this was beyond anything he’d ever imagined.
If she followed this course, she’d get herself killed.
He knew that.
It was Raiden or Daphne. His visions had always shown him that only one of them could survive. That there would need to be a choice. Except there was no choice. It had to be her. He would go to his death a thousand times over before he allowed his Match to be harmed.
Even if she was a devious, arrogant, world destroying, kidnapper.
“Let me out of here.” He ordered.
“Sorry. Not done fixing your screw-ups, yet.”
“My screw-ups?!”
“And Chason’s.” She made her face. “He lost Vandal! Lost him! And I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t my fault. How could I predict that that lunatic would beat the shit out of Mr. Big Bad Light Phase? That wasn’t supposed to happen. Chason’s just making it up as he goes along.” She rolled her eyes. “But don’t worry. I’ll get us back on track and…”
“Stop!” Raiden never raised his voice, but now he had to fight not to bellow at her. “Just stop and listen to me. You can’t do this. I had a destiny, Fee.” He tried to make her understand. Tried not to get swept up in how stunning she looked. Tried not to be grudgingly impressed at how amazing it was to be seeing her, here in the tomorrow where he wasn’t supposed to exist. “I explained this to you. I must die or all will be lost.”
“Well, I’m in charge of destiny now and I didn’t much like that ending. Fate needed a do-over and it was clear you weren’t going to solve the problem. It was up to me.”
“Everything I’ve done was to give you the future that you just obliterated.”
“A future alone!” Topaz eyes narrowed in sudden fury. “I was your Match and you abandoned me like I was nothing to you!” Her fist slammed against the plastic door of his cell as if she was imagining it was his face.
Raiden stopped short, realizing Daphne was far angrier than her sneering façade revealed. No, not just angry. Hurt. So hurt that even a social atheist like Raiden could see how deep the wound went. He’d tried as hard as he could to give her a happy life, but in the end his efforts hadn’t been enough. His only real destiny was to ensure hers and he’d fucked it up.
How many centuries had she been hating him?
“I’m sorry.” But he knew the words weren’t enough.
“If you were sorry, you would have stayed with me!” Her voice grew even louder. “You think I didn’t feel it happen? When you scarified yourself saving the Magnet King, do you think I didn’t feel you die? I almost let Lansing kill Chason just for that.”
“Fee…”
“Shut-up! You don’t get to call me that, anymore.” She turned away from him and he could see her trying to regain control.
Raiden squeezed his eyes shut against her pain. “I didn’t have choice.” He sounded as desperate as he felt. “Please believe me. It was the only way.”
She didn’t believe him. “Well, I found another way, cat for brains. Get comfortable, because you’re not going anywhere for a looong time.”
Raiden felt her prepare to go. She was really going to leave him in this cell? “Wait! You have to let me out of here, so I fix this.”
“You can’t ‘fix’ anything.” She added air quotes to the word. “It’s too late. Altering the past was a one shot deal. Even I can’t go back and undo it. Why do you think Vandal disappearing is a big deal?”
“It’s permanent?” Raiden’s mind whirled at the repercussions of that horrible truth. “But we’re on the wrong path.”
“Sorry, Ray, but it’s the only path we’ve got, now. One retcon per customer. For better or worse, I can’t change what I’ve already changed and no one else is strong enough to stop me.” Daphne spread her arms “ta-da!” style. “Welcome to the new history.”
Epilogue
It took me five centuries worth of work to make New History happen. There were flow charts and diagrams involved. I had to try and remember the slang of this century and what exactly the primitive “technology” did. Not to mention the fact that it was supposed to be scientifically impossible and “morally wrong” to alter the past. But, in the end, I did it. Did you ever have a doubt? Yep, everything was working out just as I planned.
Mostly.
Daphne, of the Time House- “After the Fall: A History of the Dark War”
Sullivan went back to the jail and let Alder out of his cell.
He heroically ignored the jackass’s list of complaints as he returned the guy’s shoelaces and many, many pac
ks of matches. He stayed downright pleasant as he snarled that Alder had better not ever show his face in town, again. Ever. He hadn’t even flinched as Alder zapped out of the room with a bevy of insults and threats.
Then, he turned and headed back home.
Sullivan Pryce was a man who kept his word. He’d agreed to let Alder go if Teja came to face him and that’s exactly what he did. Even if their meeting had ended in utter disaster.
Fucking hell.
As usual, he’d been knocked off balance when Teja started talking. The “Hey, let’s have sex!” thing had been a surprise, even though Cult women propositioned him with baffling regularity. In the past, he always edged away from them in wary annoyance when they suggested X-rated fun. With Teja, though…
Jesus, he’d wanted her.
He still did.
Teja was the most stunning woman he’d ever seen. It wasn’t even a contest. He’d been amazed that she’d even consider letting him touch her. She was so beautiful and so… weird. But weird in an oddly entertaining way. Like she was trying hard to communicate with him, even though she thought he was crazy one.
Sullivan knew that Teja had to have an ulterior motive for pretending to be interested in him, but it had been so hard to remember that when she started taking off her clothes. Kissing her had made his whole body feel more alive. Like something was waking-up inside of him, stirring deeper than just passion or lust. Something huge and powerful and right at his very core. For one second, everything had been…
Magical.
His lips met hers and all his instincts told him that he’d come home.
Except, Teja had yanked back like he’d punched her. She’d stared up at him, looking terrified, and whispered, “I can’t do this.” Then she’d vanished. Just vanished right from his grasp.
What the hell had he expected?
Sullivan reached up to rub at his scar self-consciously. Whatever she wanted from him, it wasn’t worth sleeping with him to get. On some level, he was glad about that.
Mostly.
He couldn’t stand the idea Teja forcing herself to be with him. Of hating every second that she touched him. For a moment, he’d gotten wrapped up in the fantasy that someone like her might want him and but now he saw truth. She must have been disgusted the whole time.
Obviously.
At least, Teja had the guts to back out when she did, though. It was less crushing to know now, rather than later. It was still pretty fucking crushing, but it was easier to take than if she’d kept trying to pretend. Sullivan was a deeply pragmatic man at heart. He’d rather just get the rejection over with so everyone could move on.
Hell, he doubted he’d ever see her, again. Which was for the best. A clean break would be easier than seeing her around town… stalking someone else. Sullivan teeth ground together, trying to squelch his irrational surge of possessiveness at that thought.
She wasn’t his.
He was a damn idiot for even thinking that way. The girl was a lunatic and liar and way, way out of his league. Plus, at the end, she’d looked almost afraid of him. No way would she be back. Teja was gone.
Sullivan’s deepest instincts howled in protest at that idea.
He ignored them. Or at least he tried to.
Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, Sullivan cut across the park on his way home. He always walked back from the station this way. The path was usually deserted and Sullivan liked the solitude of it. He was used to being alone.
It was easier.
Despite himself, he paused to look up at the multicolored lights decorating the palm trees as he passed. He’d never been someone who cared about the holidays. His grandfather had made a huge deal of them, though, so Sullivan had grown-up decorating through osmosis. John Parson had festooned his Airstream with thousands and thousands of twinkling bulbs and plastic snowmen and jingle bells.
His grandfather had been the exact opposite of Sullivan. The guy had loved Christmas. He’d loved life, with a friendly, open, eternally childlike delight.
John Parson had believed in magic.
Every year, Sullivan vowed he wouldn’t get sucked into some pointless winter wonderland memorial to the old man, but every year he dragged out ornaments and strung lights and set up a tree, because he knew his grandfather would’ve wanted it. The only good memories of his childhood revolved around his grandparents, so Sullivan always saw Christmas as a sort of memorial to them.
He had the strange and random thought that they would’ve liked Teja. Which was crazy, because they had nothing in common…
Sullivan’s reminiscing came to a screeching halt when a corpse fell from the sky and landed directly in his path.
Kind of, anyway.
It was like that weird zapping thing the Teja did, only with no breaks. The body just appeared out of nowhere and thudded into the grass like a downed meteor.
Sullivan stopped short, blinking at it in surprise.
It looked to be a really big guy, dressed in the white robes favored by the fringy-er religious sects and people whose fashion sense was heavily influenced by the Statue of Liberty. He had long blond hair tied into intricate braids and there was a black streak at his temple.
A Cult member. Of course he was a Cult member.
Sullivan sighed and leaned down to take the guy’s pulse.
Toga boy was still alive, but just barely. He looked like he taken one hell of a beating. Bones broken, eye half gouged out, blood everywhere…
Oh and he also appeared to be holding his severed left hand in his right palm. The digits of the hacked off appendage were still clenched around a high-tech plastic gun.
That was different.
Sullivan carefully picked up the weapon, cringing as the fingers fell slack. Shaking his head, he shoved the gun into his waistband and began radioing for help. There was like a no percent chance that this guy had insurance. Armed lunatic or not, though, he was going to need medical care. Hands just didn’t reattach themselves, even on people who thought they were gods and/or mutants.
Suddenly, a single black eye popped open. It pinned Sullivan with a frantic gaze, glowing with delirious pain. “Where am I?” He croaked.
“Mayport Beach.” And, because with the Cult, you just never knew what questions you might get, he added, “Planet Earth.”
“You are a Wood Phase.” The guy whispered.
“No, I’m a cop.” Sullivan laid a palm on his shoulder, so the guy could feel some human contact. Even if he didn’t think he was human. “Don’t worry. I’m going to get you to a doctor.”
“Doctor.” The man’s lips barely moved. “Yes. There is sanctuary in the Cold Kingdom hospital. Even Job must respect it. We must go there and prepare for the Dark King.”
It was hard to know if that was the confused rambling of someone recently brain-damaged or just the normal psychosis of these nuts. “Look, you’re going to be okay. Hang on and…”
Sullivan stopped short as he was abruptly yanked into nothingness. One second he was kneeling in the grass of the park, the next her was sprawled on… snow. The guy lay next to him, unconscious. Sullivan barely noticed.
He scrambled to his feet, sinking into the thigh high drift. His eyes snapped around in confused alarm as the freezing wind cut through his jeans and light jacket. In every direction, there was nothing but a whiteout of snow and sleet and some kind of dark ocean with bobbing icebergs big enough to sink a whole fleet of Titanics.
Sullivan let out a wheezing breath of pure shock, trying to process what he was seeing.
Definitely not in fucking Florida anymore, Toto.
He slowly turned in a circle and found himself gazing up a magical snow globe of a castle. It was made of huge blocks of crystalline ice that fluoresced a frozen blue. The turrets and spires stretched up towards the sky, dripping in gingerbread like strands of icicles. If Santa Claus didn’t live there, it was only because he couldn’t afford it.
Sullivan’s eyes narrowed, shivering in the wind, tryin
g not to panic, and having no damn clue where he was. In that moment, just one thing was absolutely clear to him:
This was all the Cult’s fault.
Sneak Peek
Here’s a preview of the next book in the Elemental Phases’ series:
Magic of the Wood House
Prologue
I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence,
but something whispers to me.
Major Sullivan Ballou- in a letter to his wife, one week before his death at The First Battle of Bull Run
When the death toll reached a thousand, the Fire House stopped counting the bodies.
The exact number was both too insignificant and too horrible to matter. Just saying a thousand dead seemed so easy; so clean, and neat, and meaningless. Until you had to pile the corpses in pyres and watch them burn. Until you saw the empty, ruined lives that each person left behind. Then, the number became so vast that no one wanted to contemplate its stark reality.
At the end of the world, there just didn’t seem much point in keeping a running tally of the casualties.
Anyone well enough to function blocked out the morbid desire to add up the total number of victims that they dragged to the courtyard of the Fire Palace. Like they struggled to ignore the shrunken faces of their friends and relatives, as they stacked the bodies together. Like they turned and tried not to see the flames eating away at the corpses, once the fires were lit. Like they attempted to block out the smell of burning flesh, and hair, and clothes, as they went to gather more decaying fuel for the terrible conflagrations.
The pyres became tangible representations of how the Phases’ old lives were being destroyed right in front of their eyes. It was something that no one wanted to process. In shock and consumed with grief, most people pulled themselves into whatever sort of psychological cocoon they could fashion. They looked around with vacant gazes and uncomprehending expressions, even as they went about their grisly tasks.
Queen of the Magnetland (The Elemental Phases Book 5) Page 30