When You Believe

by Jessica Barksdale Inclan

  By six in the morning, Miranda was up, dressed, and standing in the yard of the house with the others, the sky still dark but beginning to lighten. Sariel stood next to her, his hand holding hers. Rufus and Felix stood next to Sariel, all of the brothers looking serious, their long dark hair pulled back with leather ties, their eyes anxious. Lutalo, Baris, and Mazi seemed to be preparing their magic, muttering slightly under their breaths. And Sayblee stood by Miranda, her thoughts completely still, and her energy focused on her hands. Miranda could almost feel the fire growing insider her.

  As they waited for Nala, the group was solemn, listening vaguely to each other’s morning thoughts—half dream, half conscious. Whenever a worry fluttered up through thought, someone would think another word to push it away, a No met with a Yes, a Pain met with a Triumph. Finally, Nala walked out to the yard, closing the door of the house behind her with a flick of her hand.

  “Everything is ready,” she said, buttoning her yellow robe at her neck, her face calm and serious. “I’m going to pull forth matter for us all. I want us to arrive simultaneously because whatever will happen will start the moment the first arrives. Make sure you are prepared, ready to work according to plan.”

  Nala looked at them all, her gaze falling last on Miranda. “Are you ready?”

  Miranda knew Nala said the words to the entire group, but she heard them in her ears and felt Nala gently slip into her head. Follow the plan, and we’ll be successful.

  Nodding, Miranda gripped Sariel’s hand tightly. She felt Nala leave her mind, and she breathed out, hoping Nala hadn’t seen the truth. When Miranda had awakened this morning for the second time, Sariel lightly shaking her shoulder, she knew that despite her attempts to rally herself to action, all she wanted to do was go home to San Francisco, taking Sariel with her, the end of the world or not. What she wanted was a nice cup of espresso, the San Francisco Chronicle, and Sariel sitting with her at her kitchen table, the morning light shining in, the weather warm, no fog, only a light sea breeze.

  Nala raised her hands, but then dropped them. “Before we go, I want to tell you that this fight is our most important. I know that I’ve asked a great deal from everyone, and if we overcome Quain it will be worth it. And if we don’t, it will be worth it because we made the attempt.”

  Miranda closed her eyes, a hundred images flashing behind her lids like a crazy movie reel. June, Steve, Viv, Seamus, the kids, even Dan. Pages and pages of poetry. Jack. Sariel at the bar, his hand tight on her arm as they pushed out onto Fern Street. Sariel in her bed, her arms. Sariel’s story about his father.

  She shook her head and opened her eyes to find Sariel watching her. He brought a hand to her cheek, and at the warm touch of his fingers, Miranda knew why she was here. Because there was no other place she should be.

  Raising her arms again, Nala closed her eyes as did they all. Miranda saw the gray rolling toward her, felt the air in swirling particles, and they all moved into it, the Fortress Kendall in front of them.

  Before there was anything to see, there was sound, a crack, a whirl of whistling noise, the harsh splinter of wood. Then there was smoke, the flick of fire, and the acrid tang of sulfur.

  They’d made it into the fortress; Lutalo’s alchemy had worked.

  Miranda reached for Sariel, but for some reason, he wasn’t there, and she turned her head to see Nala throwing some kind of energy toward two figures in the room. Lutalo pushed Miranda back, and as she pressed against the cool wall, she tried to remember what she was supposed to do. Kallisto. Kallisto’s mind.

  Focusing on the two figures in the far corner of the large, cavernous room, Miranda recognized Kallisto, her robes swirling as she easily fended off Sayblee’s fire. Miranda crouched down and closed her eyes, trying to move her mind through the dense waves of energy in the room. Slowly, she made her way to Kallisto’s thoughts, flinching at the hatred the woman exuded. Miranda cringed at the woman’s essence, something black and dark and hot, but she remembered what Nala and Sariel had told her. Only she had done this. So she focused on Kallisto’s jealousy, the raw nerve she’d shown to Miranda that day in the basement. How Kallisto wanted Sariel to capitulate and follow her, despite her claims that she didn’t need him, didn’t want him. Miranda worked her way through this flaw, her need, and there she was. Miranda was in.

  She knew her physical body was at the back of the room, behind the group that was slowly working its way toward Kallisto and the man, who must be Quain. But Miranda suddenly felt that she was not there as well, part of her inside Kallisto’s thoughts and her body. And what power! What force! Miranda felt a thrum of heat and fire each time Kallisto put out energy or deflected what came from the group, and she knew that Kallisto wasn’t tired or even drawing a deep breath. She was just playing with them all, juggling magic as she would rubber balls or oranges.

  Do you think I’m that ridiculous? came the thought. Do you really think you have the ability to subdue me?

  Miranda ignored the comment, but she tried to pull away, back into her own body.

  Am I that stupid to allow our location out accidentally? What better way would there be to get this messy bunch here?

  No, Miranda thought back, stuck in place, her mind feeling slow and tired, as if she were the one throwing out magic. It’s a trap.

  Yes, Kallisto thought, turning most of her attention to Miranda even as she fought off spells and Sayblee’s thunderous fire. How could they think this plan would work? Once we have them, there’s no one in the way. Your backup won’t arrive to help you. The third plaque is already ours. And you, you sad thing, are already gone.

  For some reason, Miranda couldn’t even think her way back, finding herself trapped in Kallisto’s malicious gloating. Turning out to face the room with Kallisto’s vision, she saw Lutalo on the floor, the rest exhausted, trying to fight their way forward. She looked to Kallisto’s side and saw the man, Quain, standing almost motionless, his arms outstretched. The only clues that he was doing any magic at all were the tiny flicks of his eyes.

  And what terrible eyes: cold, dark, dead, and merciless. Even separated like this from her body, Miranda felt her nausea, the rippling pulses in her stomach.

  Be still, came a thought, not Kallisto’s. A man’s. Quain’s. Be still before you die.

  Another threat, she tried to think. But I’m still alive.

  Not for long, he said, his voice as hard as the stone walls around them.

  Turning her vision back to the room, Miranda tried to yank herself free. She needed to get back to her body. She needed to help them. Help Sariel. But where was he? Straining against Kallisto’s grasp, she scanned the room. He wasn’t there.

  He’s gone. Kallisto laughed. Stuck in his own nightmare.

  You were his nightmare.

  Maybe, Kallisto thought, her words full of a bitter laughter, but now he’s stuck in the gray. The very thing he’s feared his whole life. He’s running and running, unable to find his way out, the matter pressing against his mind and body.

  Everything was getting slower and slower, Miranda feeling her mind pull like taffy from her body. Sariel was stuck in matter? What had Kallisto done to him?

  But even as she thought about Sariel, she began to forget her questions. Her head seemed to be unfurling, opening up into nothingness, her synapses slowing. Sariel had told her to back off. But when? Back off from what?

  From getting too close. That was it.

  Miranda felt her body breathe in, and she tried to find the center of her consciousness, that tiny bead of black in the middle of this sticky confusion. Where was she? Where was her center? All around her was Kallisto’s mind, her sharp, quick movements as the group attacked her, her laughter at what she saw Miranda doing now, her constant, low-hummed conversation with Quain.

  Letting all of the noise slip by, Miranda pulled together what was left of herself, searching for something she could hold onto. What had given her the energy she felt coming from Kallisto? Had anything made her fee
l as defined as the woman whose mind she floated in?

  She waited for an answer, ignoring everything around her. What was it? There was something. And then the idea pulsed in front of her. Writing. What Sariel had told her back at the house was true. When she was really writing, she felt like she did now, disconnected from flesh, pulled into the ideas and images swirling around her. She grabbed onto the idea, letting herself draw strength from it. She saw herself at her desk, leaning over the keyboard, thinking about flight. Thinking about love. Thinking and writing and imagining about God and the planet and her mother and father and Jack and Sariel. She forgot her fingers, her arms, her mind, her eyes, focusing only on the words she had imagined all these years, knowing now that magic was anything you left your body for, whether it was writing or baking cookies or tending rosebushes. Magic was nothing more than attention, and Miranda saw that her writing, her words, were like sailing through matter or hovering over a kitchen floor. Magic. She was magic, and she felt her body rise up and then, with a sound she heard in her bones but not her ears—a rip of matter and time—she was back in the corner of the room, watching Kallisto and Quain, seeing the group as it was being pushed back against the wall.

  Not waiting for an instant, Miranda stood up, closed her eyes, and conjured matter, knowing exactly what she had to do.

  She thought of Sariel, his face in her mind as she moved through the gray. But he wasn’t there, nothing was. This gray seemed different from any she’d been in, which, she knew, wasn’t saying much. Before, even the time when she ended up with Kallisto, Miranda had seen her destination, felt it in her mind, sensing an end. This matter was almost hollow, filled with nothing, a claustrophobic vacuum of space too loosely strung to become anything.

  Sariel, she thought. Where are you?

  Forcing herself to keep searching, she scanned the matter, listening, waiting for a sound, a voice, a message. She kept her eyes closed, filling her thoughts with Sariel, and then finally, from somewhere, a voice.

  Here.

  Catching the word and holding it in her head, Miranda moved forward, regaining the strength she’d lost while trapped in Kallisto’s mind.

  Where?

  Here.

  She felt like she was flying as she had never flown before. Rather than hovering, she was rushing through space and time, turning, twisting, honing in on Sariel’s location, knowing that in an instant she’d see his straight stance, his hair hanging behind his shoulders, his strong arms crossed over his chest. Then, in another instant, they’d go back together and fight with the group until it was over.

  Miranda drew closer and was about to call out to him when she was caught in flashes of panic, strong, electric currents of fear. She stopped, pulling up short, and saw that Sariel was staring at her unseeing, his face pale, his arms straight at his sides.

  Sariel, she thought. What is it?

  He didn’t say anything, his message incoherent, full of random feelings and images: a closed box, deep cold, black curtains, pressure, sadness, clawing, need. Everything in his mind churned together, and Miranda knew he was more afraid than he’d ever been.

  Slowly, she moved toward him, wanting to touch him, take his arm, hold him close and find a way back to the room where they were needed. But he moved away, shaking his head.

  Stuck, he thought.

  No, Miranda said. We’re not stuck. I know the way out.

  His gold eyes were darkened, wild, the irises huge. We can’t go back. We run and run and run, never finding an exit, an opening.

  Yes, we will. We have to.

  No. We’re here forever.

  Your brothers need you.

  Sariel blinked, breathed, and then closed his eyes. Help.

  She moved toward him, taking the end of his sleeve in her hand, working her way slowly up his arm. If only she could heal like he did. She would be able to calm him, warm him, bring him out of panic. Lord knew she’d talked enough college dorm mates down from bad pot brownies, trips, and one too many Vodka Collins. But this seemed worse, as if he’d slipped into his worst… nightmare. Nightmare? That’s what Kallisto had said she’d done. Put Sariel in his greatest fear. It’s just a dream, she said, holding his shoulders. Let me wake you up.

  Sariel nodded and leaned into her, his body shaking. Miranda flooded him with reassurance, finding it somewhere inside herself. It’s a dream. I’m here. Let’s go back. I’ll show you the way.

  Miranda, he thought. Miranda.

  They stood there for a moment, until she felt him hold her back, pressing against her, his head resting on her shoulder for a minute as he breathed his fear away. She felt his quick heartbeat slowly calm to normal rhythm.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “Are you here with me?”

  He nodded against her shoulder and then lifted his head, breathing in, keeping his eyes on hers the entire time.

  Miranda smoothed his hair. “She did this to you on purpose. It’s not real. We’re not stuck.”

  “We’re not stuck,” he repeated, and she could tell he didn’t believe her yet.

  “I was in her thoughts. She told me she did this to you on purpose, sent you here to your worst fear.”

  He rubbed his forehead and then shook his head. “God, why didn’t I realize what she’d done?”

  “Because she put you in a place where you couldn’t realize anything,” Miranda said, grabbing his hands. “She knew exactly how to hurt you. But we’ve got to go back. It was a trap all along.”

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. Now.” Miranda smiled and was just about to close her eyes and conjure them both back to the room when there was a shriek, a wail, and Kallisto was in front of them, her robes fluttering in the matter, her eyes slits of black fury.

  “Let me go, you bitch,” Kallisto said, raising her hand to release some magic.

  In a reflex, Miranda held up her hand, whispered, “No,” and she felt some protective energy come from inside her and surround her and Sariel.

  Kallisto screamed as if she’d been cut. She banged up to the protection and then backed off.

  “You’re attached. What happened in the room?” Sariel asked, the color back in his face.

  “Let me go!” Kallisto screamed. “I can’t be here. I need to go back.” She pulled at her hair, her robes, moving at them fast then hitting the protection again.

  I was in her mind. Too deep. But then I managed to get out and come here, Miranda thought. She must have followed me.

  Not on purpose, Sariel thought, staring hard at Miranda. She had no choice. Your mind pulled her with you. You were stronger than she thought.

  Kallisto spun in the air, throwing out energy, heat, anger. “You worthless man!” she said. “Why are you with her? How did she get here?”

  Putting a hand on Miranda’s head, he thought, Follow me. Do what I think.

  In a second, she felt Sariel’s thoughts twist with hers and together, their connected thought pushed through the protection Miranda had created and vined toward Kallisto. Miranda felt as though she could see the deep purple and gold rope of their twined energy. Sariel moved them forward, snaking into Kallisto’s thoughts, which were available because she was separated from Quain and somehow still connected to Miranda.

  More, Sariel thought, and they were in, and their combined thoughts branched off, split, divided into veins of control.

  Stay with me, Sariel thought. Don’t stop.

  Miranda didn’t stop, even though Kallisto twisted and fought, her mind shooting them both with images of pain and torture and taunts of an infinity of gray matter. Again, Kallisto pushed out the scene of Sariel hanging in the room, his voice and face suffused with love and despair.

  Sariel paused, but Miranda urged, Go on.

  Sariel tore away from the image, leading Miranda around and through, until Kallisto began to quiet, her images slipping into the ether, her thoughts a vague beat of slight resistance.

  Now the body, Sariel thought, and they wound around
Kallisto, wrapped her tight, taking away her ability to move, layering control on her arms and body and legs until she was still and calm and empty of thought.

  With a movement of his arm, Sariel cut the link between them and Kallisto, and Miranda breathed in quickly, feeling the woman truly leave her mind and body, the umbilicus of connection severed.

  Now come back, Sariel thought, and Miranda followed him, moving into his mind and then, finally to her own. Blinking, both of them opened their eyes and stood there still, exhausted. Miranda felt the sweat trickle down her neck and her hands shook and tingled.

  “We’ve got to go,” Sariel said.

  “But what about Kallisto?”

  Without looking at Kallisto, who hung like a ghost in the gray, Sariel said, “We’re leaving her here in my nightmare.”

  Turning away, he held Miranda, and together they thought of Felix and Rufus and the rest of the group and the fight that might already be over, and pushed back into the room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  In a moment, Sariel and Miranda were back, standing next to Sayblee, Baris, and Mazi. Sariel flung out a protection spell, ready for the fight, but then he saw that no one in the room was moving. Everything was quiet, still, even Quain, who stood at the front of the room, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Rufus and Felix and Lutalo were on the floor, and Nala was on a table, stretched out and lifeless.

  “Oh, God,” whispered Miranda. “What happened?”

  Very good question, Quain thought. The answer, of course, is not much, despite all your careful planning.

  Quain shook his head, looking at Sariel with his dark eyes. So sad. What a tragedy.

  His heart beating wildly, Sariel started to move toward his brothers, but he felt Miranda hold him still. He jerked away from her grasp, but she grabbed him again.

  Don’t, she thought. You can’t help them if you’re hurt.

  She was right. He and Miranda had come back unexpectedly, thrown up a protection spell, and were safe, for now. Sariel wouldn’t be any good to Rufus or Felix or any of the group if he were dead.