A Matter of Forever (Fate #4)

by Heather Lyons

  I love him. I love that he is such a good man, that his heart is so wide and generous. That he struggles with these decisions, that he is willing to sacrifice so much to ensure others’ well-being whether they know he’s doing it or not. Even mine, when he surely knows I still struggle with how much I miss his brother and crave his presence.

  With all that I know about Connections, with all of my assuredness about my choices, I still cannot wrap my mind around how I can be so perfectly in love with my husband, so grateful that his life and mine are intertwined forever, and still want another person, even if I am positive I will never act upon those feelings again.

  Letting go is a hard, hard thing. Some days, it seems impossible. Stubbornness sets in, heels dig firmly into the dirt below us, and fingers refuse to uncurl from something so precious to one’s heart even if by a centimeter. Other days, though, it’s a fervent wish.

  I thought I’d let Kellan go the moment I chose Jonah. I thought I’d let him go again when our legs dangled above Annar and I broke both our hearts by admitting, whether or not Jonah chose to be in my life, I knew my truth. I thought I’d opened up my hand and watched Kellan’s slip away when I swore before a Justice of the Peace and all our closest friends and family that my life was now tied, emotionally, physically, and legally, with Jonah’s. And, in many ways, I did. Except ... all of those were tiny releases. Not that I’d done it purposely, nor do I ever want to renege on what I’ve chosen for my life, but ... he is still here, firmly entrenched in my heart.

  But maybe that’s how it’s always going to be. And maybe, that’s how it is for him, too.

  Maybe letting go isn’t about forgetting. Maybe it’s something more—maybe it’s an act of true love.

  I just have to keep working on uncurling my fingers so that one day, my palm is open wide.

  The Council convenes to discuss the escalating Elders situation. With the most recent deaths, our consensus is unanimous: something has to be done and done fast. We can no longer wait and see. Action must be taken.

  There is very little debate. Members of the Elders Subcommittee report to the body their findings from over the last few years. Jonah shares what we’ve learned from Bios. We discuss the best strategies to get me down in the caverns Iolani, Karl, and I created several years prior that now house a number of incorporeal Elders. The Council drafts a plan to have a team of Emotionals go with me and subdue these prisoners immediately into submission so they can finally find peace. We decide to follow Bios’ advice and wait until Enlilkian is taken out, as anything attempted before might be suicidal.

  Hours pass by, but it is one of the tightest, most focused meetings we’ve ever had since I sat down in a Council seat. I am going to take a team with me, and we are going to hunt down Enlilkian. There is no more excuse good enough to keep me hidden away, all in the name of protect the Creator at all costs. Magical society is worth nothing if a madman takes over it and destroys it anyway.

  So it’s funny that, just minutes after we begin discussing who from the Guard, Council, and Métis Council will be joining me, Enlilkian renders our planning irrelevant by finding me first.

  Mass chaos breaks out when what sounds like a bomb explodes in Karnach.

  The walls of the most revered building in Annar rattle so hard that bits of plaster flake down in painted snow all around us. Screaming fills the building alongside terror so thick and deep goose bumps break out across my skin like tiny sentries of fear. Feet are flying and skidding here in the Assembly Room, hands push and shove all around us; calmness amongst a race of people often thought to be gods is increasingly difficult to find.

  “We need to get out of here,” Jonah yells at me. Or maybe it’s, “We need to get you out of here,” which is stupid, so stupid, because we need to get everyone out of here.

  “Get the Creator to safety!” somebody nearby roars over the screaming. I search for the owner of the voice, but it’s too hard to find anything stable to focus onto.

  Jonah’s grip on my hand turns ironclad as we attempt to wade through the mass of panic in front of us. So many people are crying, others shaking, some raging ... and all I can think is how I’ve failed them all so completely. All these plans we just drafted mean nothing. I should have killed Enlilkian when I had the chance, should have laid him bare and wished him no more, but instead I’d fallen apart like a china doll.

  I can’t let that happen today. Not now, not when so much and so many are at risk. There’s no way I’m going to go hide when people are in danger. It’s time to take care of this asshole once and for all.

  Flakes of plaster transition into chunks raining down upon us. Karnach, long hallowed and revered in the Magical world, is disintegrating right before our eyes. I can’t let this happen, either. Just as I stretch my hand out to rebuild and solidify the walls, an explosion rocks the building so hard nearly everyone falls to the ground, myself and Jonah included. My husband throws his body over mine as we go down, and all I can think is how I shouldn’t let him do this. I can’t let him get hurt. He cannot be hurt because of me. I should be the one on top of him.

  Enlilkian wants him dead. And I will die myself before that comes to be.

  Amidst the quivering dust surrounding us, fresh, hysterical shrieking fills our ears and then ... laughter.

  Oh gods, I know that laughter.

  “Knock, knock!” Enlilikian’s voice rises above the din of terror. “Anybody home?” And then another explosion fills our ears until they ring painfully.

  A man near us breaks into noisy tears as he babbles about the end of the days, and how it’s finally reached us here in Annar. Others join in, and I’m confused, so very, very confused and angry all at the same time. Have these people forgotten that they’re the most powerful beings in the universe? Why are they cowering? They’re the Council—the most powerful of the powerful. These are our leaders, yet they’re acting like a pack of confused, scared children who don’t know their asses from their heads.

  Jonah must be on the same page, same paragraph, hell, same word even, because when the two of us get up, his voice carries throughout the assembly hall, all confidence and steadiness I envy in the face of such horrors. “Everyone, you need to get up, dust yourselves off, and remember who you are. You are not helpless. For gods’ sakes, you are Magicals. Act like it.”

  A Faerie whose name I don’t know whisper-shrieks, “Those things are here to kill us!”

  “Our ancestors defeated them before.” I’m amazed at how unruffled he sounds, like he’s had years and years of practice leading scared people through difficult times. “Our ancestors kicked these things’ asses when they were at full strength. The Elders are no longer at full strength. So, unless you want to roll over and offer them your lives right now, I suggest you get up and do something. Fight back, godsdammit!”

  Several people, now on their feet, pump their fists in rallied agreement. Maccon Lightningriver, a gash on his temple dripping blood down his handsome face, stumbles toward us. Thank goodness he’s here to back us up, and yet ... gods. Where’s a Shaman when you need them?

  “Whatever you need,” he says to us, “I will back you up one hundred percent.”

  A smattering of people surge forward claiming the same as Jonah and Mac knock fists against one another. There are a lot of people hurt, though, and so much blood. There are also way too many still looking at Jonah like he’s crazy to even suggest we should fight back. Too many crying about how they’re going to die. Too many suggesting we surrender.

  Un-fricking-believable.

  “I can’t believe this.” I slam a palm against the wall closest to me and fortify Karnach’s wall. Somewhere in the distance, an angry howl sounds, like Enlilkian knows I’m not going to simply hand him my head on a platter. Good. “We. Are. The. Council. Are you telling me that only the Guard can fight?”

  An Intellectual Tech nearby, still rocking on the ground, his voice shaking just as easily as the walls had just minutes before, cries out, “Some
of our crafts aren’t meant for fighting! Not like,”—he waves a hand frantically at the small group of us in the front—“you all. We’re nothing but lambs to the slaughter to these monsters!” Handfuls of people scattered throughout the room murmur in frightened agreement.

  “Are you kidding me?” I scoff. “That’s your excuse as to why you’re not going to do anything to fight back? To protect Karnach? To protect Magical-kind?” My voice trembles, too, but in white-hot anger, not fear. “When I was out hunting Elders while the rest of you were sitting in your comfortable houses and offices, there was a Métis on my team that has no craft whatsoever. And you know what? He never gave up. He never fell back on how he had no Magic to make things easy on him. He fought those bastards with everything he’s got, and sometimes that meant his fists.” I jab a finger toward the Informer. “Don’t give me asinine excuses. Nobody is expecting you to use a craft that won’t work. But dammit, you have hands. You have a brain. You have an urge to stay alive, don’t you? Use those!”

  It makes me want to scream to see so many blank faces reflecting back at me.

  Jonah’s got no time for them, though. He immediately lays out a plan, organizing those with both defensive and offensive crafts in hastily sketched battle plans. A few Council members, their courage surging, organize escape routes and rescue parties for those people surely trapped in offices upstairs. We get the Shamans in the room to immediately start triaging, starting with Mac. I need him clear headed and ready to kick ass. Our goals are simple: get people to safety; take down whatever Elders we can.

  Enlilkian continues to taunt me, his voice seeping through my strengthened walls and cracks through the doors. Part of me wants to block his voice from our room, but realistically, I need these taunts. I need my anger to help sharpen my focus, hone my drive to hunt him down and tear his existence apart until he is nothing more than a distant thought.

  I worried at first that Jonah might argue with me, insist that I need to find a way out, but he’s just as resolute as I am to finish this. There are no arguments, no attempts to change my mind—not once. He knows we need to hunt Enlilkian immediately. To know he has my back even when there’s a chance I’m walking straight into trouble means the worlds to me.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’ve got a handful of monitors whipped up to allow us to see what’s going on. And ... it’s not pretty. I have to bite back the vomit that surges up my throat at how many dead bodies there are, how many others are hurt and trapped within the rubble. From what we can tell, there are six Elders hidden within Magical bodies, including Enlilkian. Bios, somehow free from Guard custody, is in his natural form. There are ten others still incorporeal, their shapes constantly shifting in black, smoky trails. That makes seventeen total that we need to counter.

  “I know it’s a long shot,” Jonah says to me as a group of us huddle over one of the larger monitors, “but do you think you can do that whole stop time thing you did in high school?”

  If only. “I’ve tried it a few times since, but ...” I blow out a hard breath. “Enlilkian counters me immediately. Apparently, stopping time does not affect Creators. Even though he’s not at full strength, he’s still able to break whatever I enact.”

  Johann Baldurrsson, one of the Council’s lead Informers and a member of the Elders Subcommittee, asks me, “Can he reverse anything you do?”

  “Yes.” I want to break something, I’m so frustrated. “Like the walls—so far, they’re holding. He was upset I fortified them. But could he reverse them as easily as he does my attempts to stop time and other objects I make? I have no idea.” I run a hand through my messy hair, fingers struggling through tangles. “I don’t know how it all works. I wish I did. But I think I can safely say he isn’t able to bring back anyone I’ve erased out of existence. Or, at least, that’s what Bios told us.”

  “Could you?” Mac asks.

  I feel like I’m letting them all down, since my answer is the same. “Bios said his father had the gift of reincarnation. I don’t know if I have that, though.”

  “Then we’ll just go with the initial plans,” Jonah says. He motions to the monitor I’ve made showing us Guard HQ. Zthane has already mobilized the troops; teams are on their way, roughly ten minutes out. I’m glad to see our friend looking no worse for wear, glad to know that, in Bios’ escape or rescue, the Guard who protected him these last few weeks was left unscathed. “We’ll just have to ensure that once the Guard comes, we’ll have the place ready for them.”

  Mac nudges my shoulder. “No sweat. We’ve got this. Piece of cake.”

  His loudly voiced optimism is greatly appreciated.

  After we triple check out monitors, I clear a small path out of the South-East section of the Assembly Room so survivors flee to safety, buffered by a few Elementals and Electrics. Another doorway out for the search parties. A staircase up to a section where we found clusters of people, hiding. Yet another exit for a team ready to go out and chase down any of Enlilkian’s minions, only to be erased quickly afterward.

  Before he leaves in a second wave through the first door I created, Baldurrsson takes Jonah and me aside. “I know it goes without saying, Whitecomb,” he says, his gravelly voice low, “but you need to protect the Creator at every cost.”

  “You’re right.” Jonah’s clearly pissed. “That should go without saying.”

  Baldurrsson sighs. “Ideally, she ought to be evacuating with the rest of us.”

  “I am not leaving people to die,” I snap. “Besides, what’s the point in keeping a Creator safe if there isn’t Magical-kind left behind to care? Isn’t that what we all just decided like an hour ago anyway?”

  A gnarled hand touches my shoulder. His eyes are surprisingly kind. “I know.”

  “They won’t be alone,” Mac says from behind us. A Cyclone named Kofi and Elemental named Ling stand with him; along with Jonah, they will be helping me hunt down the Elders. Out of everyone here, they’re the only ones who agreed to go with us on our virtual suicide mission. “And we’ll be doing our best to make sure they don’t get to her.”

  Baldurrsson nods. “The Council is counting on you all.” And then he leaves along with the rest of his group, and I erase all the openings I just so recently opened.

  The main doors to the assembly hall are, by all accounts, a death trap in waiting. Right now, an incorporeal Elder stands wait in the empty hall before us. There are a few bodies scattered around, but from what we can tell on our monitors, nobody directly in our path out is still alive.

  So far, we’re currently having trouble tracking Enlilkian on any of the monitors, and it’s got Jonah nervous. The rest are fair game, though—even Bios, who has been following his father’s orders all too well.

  It hurts my heart to see him like this. But I can’t think about that right now. I lay a hand on my husband’s arm. “They probably don’t expect us to go through here,” I remind him softly. “You know this is the best line of attack. We’ll be able to take them by surprise.”

  It’s little consolation to him, despite this being his plan. But still, he gives a quick nod, and the team with us forms in a semi-circle behind me. He takes his place off to my side, both hands unknowingly clenching in and out of fists. And then, he gives me my nod.

  I let the door in front of me blow. I allow it to be shockingly loud so Enlilkian knows I’m coming. There is no time to sneak out like thieves in the night. I need them gunning for me, and I need it right now. I need everybody else to have their chances at escape and rescue.

  I’m once more live bait.

  The Elder in the hall immediately forms its arms into long, thin swords. It’s no good, though; Jonah has it shrieking in agony on the floor within seconds. I rush at it, skidding on rubble until I’m able to drop and slam a hand onto its leg. Mac rips the electricity from the lights around us in efforts to subdue the flailing weapon arms, but just a split moment before I send it into oblivion, the tip of one of the swords makes contact with my shoulder.

&n
bsp; Jonah’s there to catch me, though, before I hit the floor chin first.

  There’s no time to ask if I’m okay, because hideous screaming fills Karnach. Enlilkian and his kind know what I’ve just done. Mac barks, “We need to move now.”

  The sharp slivers of pain in my arm fade as Jonah takes my hand, and then we’re sprinting off toward the Great Hall. The Elemental with us, Ling, who has got to be nearly a hundred years old, is wearing one of the monitors around her neck. She yells, “Seven on their way from all around Karnach, all incorporeal!”

  Seven.

  Holy effing hell. Seven.

  I’ve never faced so many at once with so little people here to back me up, and I won’t lie, I’m more than terrified.

  “Piece of cake,” Mac says again.

  “Oh yes,” Kofi, the Cyclone with us, mutters. He isn’t exactly the epitome of a spring chicken himself, although he’s still quite active on assignments. “Especially since we are at equal numbers. Oh, my mistake, there are five of us and seven of them. That is not even including the two who are not on their way yet, you know.”

  “Ah, but those are my favorite kinds of odds.” Mac’s breath comes out in hard bursts. “See, nobody goes out swinging as hard as the outnumbered.”

  Three hit the Great Hall before we even know what’s happening. Ling is a blur as she’s sent flying across the room; Kofi fares no better as he’s sent sprawling in the opposite direction. But Mac’s got blue fire spitting from the walls, and Jonah’s forcing them to bow before us in howling misery. Unfortunately for me, though, they’re refusing to go further than two feet from one another, meaning there’s a giant ball of angry Elder I’ve got to work with.