by A. J. Menden
I shrugged. “I’ve got the only ‘key’ to the place. That other door is all boarded up, metaphysically speaking. No one’s getting in or out without my say.”
“And if they break in?”
“I’ll give a shout for you to come rescue me,” I laughed, throwing in an eye-roll. “I’m a big girl, remember? I’m a lot older than you. It’s not like I’m walking into a trap, like I was when I went to see London. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, and I can still do it. Alone.”
His face darkened. “Yeah. Don’t I know it. Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned and walked down the hall.
I sighed, not knowing if I should follow or just leave him alone. Finally I decided he could work it out himself.
I straightened my shoulders and gave the tense group a cheerful wave. “Well, if two’s a party and three’s a crowd, this many people is simply chaos waiting to ensue, so I’ll just be off. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Everyone ignored me except Wesley, who stepped out of the group with a frown. “Wait. You’re going? Where?”
“Home.”
“Alone? After what just happened?”
“I feel like I just had this conversation with Cyrus,” I growled. “Yes. I’ll be fine. If not, and if the Dragon gets me, you can do an I-told-you-so dance on my grave.”
Wesley glared. “That’s not funny.”
Too late, I remembered it probably wasn’t. Not considering his son Ben, who’d been killed by the Dragon. Even though he’d been a doctor and an old man by that point, his loss had been hard for my father to process.
“Well, just be careful,” he snapped and turned around, going back to discuss something with Paul.
I sighed and cast the spell to take me home, wondering all the way if I’d really gone and stepped in it the way Mindy thought, and if I could ever handle well my feelings for my father or Cyrus.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I wasn’t magically attacked, so I spent a relatively uneventful night sitting around my strangely silent bar, wondering how badly I was going to keep messing up the burgeoning relationships in my life. In the morning, I transported myself back to the EHJ headquarters building and went up the elevator to check on the troops.
Surprisingly, all was quiet. The doors opened, and I was greeted by absolute hush. No computer monitors with feedback or noises of battle, no alarms blaring. There wasn’t even the sound of a loud television playing hyperactive cartoons. As I stepped out of the elevator, the only sounds were those of my heels clacking down the hall tiles.
“Hello?” I called, starting to feel a bit spooked. Had the Dragon shown up and killed everyone? Was I at any moment going to trip over the bodies of my friends? And, were they my friends? Why, too, did my mind go immediately to morbid places instead of just expecting they were out at breakfast or something?
But, this silence was unnatural. My heart sped up. Something was definitely happening.
“Hello?” I called again, hating how shaky my voice sounded. “Where are you guys? Someone’s here, right? Guys?”
I thought I heard a noise down the hallway. Cautiously I followed it, a tinny something just below comprehension. Every single one of my nerves was on edge; my whole body felt like a spring ready to uncoil. As I turned the corner, I was ready to have all sorts of horrible things jump out at me. The noise was coming from Cyrus’s bedroom.
I paused at the door but then quickly hit the button to open it, not sure of what I was going to find. Decapitated bodies? Torture victims? A scary clown doll, like I’d seen in the one movie I ever bothered to sit through?
I found Cyrus in front of his computer, furiously typing. He was wearing those sound-canceling headphones, great big things that covered his whole ear. As I got closer, I heard blaring heavy metal music.
I wanted to hit him for causing me worry, but I checked that impulse and instead leaned over him and pulled one headphone away from his ear to say, “Hi there.”
He jumped about a mile, causing me to stumble back to avoid getting knocked over. He quickly spun in his chair to face me. “Jesus! You scared the hell out of me,” he said, like I’d been skulking around the place purposely to give him a fright.
I crossed my arms over my chest and frowned. “You scared the hell out of me, not answering as I’m walking around these empty halls. Just where the hell is everyone?”
“They all went to Washington. They’re having a big meeting with the president and his staff to try to calm everyone down so they don’t do anything foolish, like pay up to your little friend in the hope that he’ll be nice and go away.” He shook his head. “Honestly, when has any villain ever just gone away after getting what he wants? They just come back with some other demand, or they try to blow up the world for kicks anyway.”
“All of the EHJ went to this meeting?”
“Yeah,” Cyrus said. “They thought it’d be better if the whole team made an appearance.”
I eyed him pointedly.
He shrugged, catching my meaning. “I was told that since I’m just on the reserve roster I get a pass to continue working.”
I smirked. “More like they didn’t want you saying anything bad in front of the president.”
“That, too.” He grinned. “Probably why they didn’t invite you either.”
“So,” I asked, ignoring his gibe. “What are you working on?”
“I’m back examining what Chad was working on before he got taken out,” Cyrus said, pointing to his monitor. “I’m trying to find and hack it, so maybe we can trace it back to the source. From there we can get to Dylan.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Considering who it’s already taken down, sounds like it’ll just drain you and kill you.”
“What’s life without a little bit of danger?” Cyrus muttered, continuing to work.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to be looking for that virus and spell this way,” I continued. “This is likely what happened to Chad: he saw it and it got him. Those civilians saw it and it got them, remember? Therefore, if you see it, it will get you,” I reminded him. It wasn’t like me to be so bossy, but he didn’t seem to be thinking this through very well.
“I’m being careful,” he said.
“People always say they’re being careful when they’re not, and then something bad happens.”
“Well, I am being careful, and nothing bad is going to happen.” Cyrus continued clicking his keyboard. “I’m going to hack this site, but at the same time I’m running a protection spell so I won’t be affected by what I find.”
“That sounds like a lot of work.”
“It is,” Cyrus said. “You should watch me walk and chew gum at the same time.” He squinted at the screen. “Almost there.”
I looked at him. “I really don’t think—”
That, of course, was when it happened.
The computer’s speakers erupted with some sort of horrible, squealing feedback. I almost turned to look where the sound was originating but checked the impulse just in time. Cyrus’s body jumped and writhed, like he was being electrocuted—or being drained like the other victims. Strange words were pouring out of his mouth, and it took me a moment to realize that it was an endless loop of numbers in a number of foreign languages. He was speaking binary code, which was how he cast major spells.
I took immediate action, even though I knew Cyrus would be furious with me if he lived through this. Picturing the computer and its monitor in my mind—there was no way I was risking actually looking, even with all my protections—I thundered out the word, “Esplodi.” A loud pop sounded, and then the building fire alarms went off.
Cyrus’s body slumped back in his chair. I risked a glance in the direction of the computer to make sure it was handled, and it was indeed a charred and inactive mess thanks to my spell-driven explosion. Thank God.
I turned to Cyrus. He was lying still in the chair, head and shoulders slumped down, almost like his body had caved in on itself. His
eyes were closed. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. Hesitantly, I crept over to lean closer. Barely breathing, I reached out a hand to touch his shoulder.
“Cyrus?”
His eyes flew open and he jumped up, causing me to shriek and crash backward to the ground. He was spouting off binary code again, flailing wildly, reminding me of what had happened to Donald. “Still there! Still there!” he shrieked, rubbing at his skin like there were bugs crawling over it. He started in on the binary code again.
“Nothing’s there, Cyrus! There’s nothing on you!” I said, scrambling to my feet to get away from his flailing. At the same time, I wanted to calm him.
“Virus is still in me. It’s draining me off. I can’t hold it off much longer,” he said. Then he went right back to speaking the binary, his eyes wild.
I swore and started running through every spell I knew. Casting them all, I found nothing helped. This was a tricky and powerful spell—once again, something Dylan shouldn’t be able to cast. I mentally cursed the Dragon and whoever was helping him, and I narrowed my eyes at Cyrus, trying to magically see what was happening to him.
I finally threw everything I had into one order, one enormous exertion of my personal will. “Smettete di sanguinare.” Stop the bleeding.
It felt like a giant weight went out of the room. Cyrus slumped down in his chair.
Using so much magic in all of my spells in rapid succession had taken a lot out of me, and the utter terror of the last few minutes had combined to give me a splitting headache. I dropped down on his bed with a groan and lay there, trying to will away my pain or at least get enough magical power back to heal myself.
“Finally got you into my bed, I see.”
“On it, at least.” I sat up to see Cyrus eyeing me from his position in his chair. He looked like he’d been sick for days, white and clearly drained of energy.
“You got it to stop for now, but it’s still there,” he announced. He splayed his hands over his chest, like he was suffering heartburn or a heart attack. “I can feel it.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right.” I squinted at him and could almost see the evil out of the corner of my eye. It was like an attached parasite. “It’s like you had an artery cut. I put a heavy bandage on it, which is slowing down the bleeding, but if we don’t get that artery repaired—”
“I’ll die. Got it.” Cyrus looked paler. “It’s definitely still draining off my energy.”
I nodded. “Energy, magic . . . hell, this sucker could be taking parts of your soul as we speak. It’s an insidious little spell.” I got slowly to my feet, though I felt like I might puke from the pressure in my head. “It conceals itself well, which is why I couldn’t see it at first. This is a step up from what was done to those other magic-users. That was this spell’s baby brother or something. If this is what hit Chad and those civilians, we’re in big trouble. This doesn’t attack in one blast; it keeps feeding off of you until it finally kills you.”
“Continue giving me good news, Fantazia,” Cyrus grumbled.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “A draining spell can in no way be this powerful. And what was cast on those other magic-users wasn’t this powerful . . .” But then I smacked my head with realization and winced from doing so. “Damn it! Why didn’t I think of it before? No wonder I couldn’t shut it down. This isn’t a garden-variety spell at all!”
Cyrus stared at me as if I had lapsed into Italian. “So what is it?”
“A hex!” I said triumphantly.
He stared at me blankly. “What?”
“Well, it’s really called a heculous diondo. It’s a powerful and ancient type of sorcery that I’d thought pretty much the whole world forgot about, but obviously someone out there still knows. It’s also extremely dark magic. No one I’ve ever known has wanted to mess with that kind of magic because it’s so dangerous. It’s the kind that will not only blacken your soul but also the souls of your great-great grandchildren.”
“It’s black magic, then.”
“Blacker than black.”
“Pitch? Noir?”
I gave his weak joke a smile and was heartened when he returned it. But: “A hex is beyond my capabilities, which is why my patch-up job is elementary at best.”
“So, whoever’s working Dylan’s puppet strings is more powerful than you?” Cyrus asked. At my nod, he let out a whistle. “So we’re just screwed is what you’re saying.”
“Well . . . maybe with Wesley and myself working together we might stop them.”
“That’s a big might.”
I shrugged, not wanting to agree. But he was right: it was a big might. Despite myself, I felt a secret thrill of meeting someone more powerful than myself. It had been a long time.
“So, if someone is powerful enough to wield this kind of sorcery, once again, why not just break out the Dragon by himself? Or the Ancient Ones?”
“I’m willing to bet Wesley’s right: it’s because they can’t. There must be some sort of proscription on them setting whatever this is into motion, so they need to find some other person to be their puppet.”
“Magical prophecies are insane,” Cyrus muttered.
“Tell me about it.”
Cyrus eyed me. He was as bashful as I’d ever seen him. “So, I suppose I should admit that you were right: I shouldn’t have been messing around with that spell. Or hex. Whatever it is.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” I agreed. “At the very least, you should have let me be the one to mess around with it.”
“Why you?” Cyrus asked, a trace of bitterness in his voice.
“Because a hex is so powerful. I don’t think you understand how horrible one is. It’s even beyond my capabilities, and I’m the most powerful sorceress I know . . . which is why I should have been the only one to mess with it.”
“Why would you want to mess with it at all if it’s beyond you?”
I looked away. “It might be what defeats me.”
“So, you’re tired of being all-powerful and want a taste of humility?” Cyrus joked. Then he studied me. “Wait a minute. That’s not what you’re saying at all, is it? You would have messed with it because it’s something that could kill you.”
I didn’t say anything, but he took my silence as confirmation.
“Goddamn it, Fantazia! Don’t say shit like that,” Cyrus growled.
“You try living for eternity and see what a picnic it is,” I snapped. “See if you don’t start yearning for everything to be done and over with.”
“That’s not what you really want, and you know it,” Cyrus snapped. “You like to pretend you’re disconnected from the rest of the world and everything’s oh so tragic, that the end would be welcome, but that’s not what you really want.”
“How do you know what I really want?” I snarled back. “You don’t know me as well as you think, Cyrus. No matter what we’ve done together.”
His icy blue eyes burned into mine. “I know what you said the other night. And furthermore, I know why you said it in another language.”
I stared at him in horror. “What? Did you ask Wesley? I’m going to kill him if—”
He shook his head. “I didn’t have to. I may not know ancient languages, but I can read people pretty well. I know exactly what you meant. I also know that you said it in a way I wouldn’t understand because you’re too scared to admit it to me—and more importantly, to yourself. You’re still clinging hard to the illusion that you don’t care about anyone and don’t need anyone.”
“So if you know, why do you keep asking?” I retorted.
“Because I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you admit it to yourself. I want you to realize that you need someone.”
I didn’t answer for a moment. When I spoke, my voice was barely a whisper. “So, what’s the tattoo mean?”
“It’s my personal signature,” he said. “It means you belong to me.”
I glared at him. “You’re saying you wrote ‘Property of Cyrus the V
irus’ on my body.”
He laughed. “Not in the way you’re taking it, no.”
“Then in what way could you possibly have written it?”
“In the same way a guy gives a woman an engagement ring,” he said.
I stared at him.
“I’m not as commitment-phobic as you are, Fantazia. I’m not afraid to admit when I want to be with someone. Maybe it’s because I have an average life-span, but I know life is short and at any moment something can take it all away. It’s better to have my intentions out there in the open. It drives me insane how you blow hot and cold: first you’re all over me and acting mad that I’m not showing any interest, and then you’re pushing me away because I’m getting too close. You’re going to have to decide what you truly want. Do you really want to be left alone for all eternity, or do you want to be with the rest of humanity? And you’re going to have to decide pretty damn quick.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Because I think my bandage is about to burst.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
I stared at him. “What?”
“It’s hitting me again,” Cyrus said, and started babbling in binary. Then he pitched forward onto the floor.
My heart leaped in my throat as I scrambled to his side. “Cyrus, hold on,” I begged. The edges of panic were settling around me. “Just stay with me.”
He snorted. “Oh, now you want me to stay with you.”
I don’t know how he was holding on to his sanity enough to joke; it was a testament to the strength of his will.
“Give me a chance to figure something out,” I said, cradling his head in my lap. “I could go get Wesley . . .”
“And what’s he going to do? You’re more powerful than him and we both know it. And you’ve already said this thing is beyond you.”
“He might know of some way to slow this down, buy us a bit more time.”
“He’s got a faulty memory, Fantazia.”
“You can’t just give up on me!” I snapped.
“Why not? You were ready to give up on me, saying this thing should have killed you instead of me and sounding happy about it.”