by Alyson Noel
I nod as though I wouldn’t dream of questioning his wisdom, the irrefutable truth of his words. “I guess I’m just feeling a little restless,” I say, aiming for chagrin and hoping I’m not overdoing it. “I’m not used to being bedridden and weak, and that makes me a pretty poor patient.” I make a guilty face. “It’s just that, if I’ve any hope of leaving this place, I’ll need to work on regaining my strength. The longer I lie here, the more my muscles will deteriorate. So, maybe I could try to walk for a bit. What do you think?”
I hold my breath and shoot him my most hopeful look, aiming to convince without coming off as rehearsed.
When he doesn’t reply fast enough for my liking, I struggle to sit up again. Grimacing and gritting until I’m propped flushed and breathless against the headboard, begging, “Please. I need to get up and move around—take a short walk. But I need your help. I can’t do it alone.” I force myself to swallow the lie, but the bitterness sticks to my tongue. “C’mon, Axel, didn’t you promise to heal me, rehabilitate me? Isn’t that what you said?”
His brow knits, his lips pull into a frown, and I know that I’ve won. That he sees what I want him to see—me, clammy, breathless, and pale—making demands that betray my abilities.
I suck in a lungful of air, curl my fingers around the side of the mattress, and attempt to swing my legs over the edge. The sight of it causing him to say, “Clearly nothing I say will change your mind.”
“Clearly,” I whisper, indulging a small, secret smile when he secures an arm around my waist and eases me to my feet until my body is wedged hard against his.
His touch providing a reassuring strength that leaves me uneasy, reminding me of the moment he saved me. The way his lips pressed hard against mine as he snatched me from the fingers of death—restoring my life with a kiss.
The question is why?
Why me?
And, more importantly, now that he’s saved me, why is he hiding me?
Not a single person has dropped by the whole time I’ve been here. And often, when he thinks I’m asleep, I watch through slitted lids as he peers through the curtains, fingers twitching nervously at the thought of being seen.
While there’s no denying the amount of care and devotion he’s paid me, his reluctance to answer my questions leads me to believe his motives aren’t nearly as pure as they seem. That they have less to do with his inner moral compass, and more to do with the simple fact that, for whatever reason, he couldn’t bear to lose me.
Like he has a personal stake in my being.
Like I mean far more to him than I rightfully should.
A suspicion that leaves me uneasy.
My heart belongs to Dace. And if what I suspect of Axel is true, then he’s turned my life into a debt I can never repay.
“Do you think you could manifest a cane?” I ask, and despite having seen him work his magick plenty of times, I still stare in unabashed wonder when a beautiful, carved-ivory cane instantly appears in my hand.
“I hope no elephants were injured in the making of this?” I grip the handle hard, testing its strength by shifting my full weight upon it.
“It came from the ether just as it will return to the ether as soon as you’re through with it.” He loosens his grip on my waist and allows me some space, while he hovers nearby, ready to catch me at the first hint of trouble. “So, now that you’re up, where do you go from here?” His eyes glint in a way I can’t read.
Is it amusement? Pride? Is it possible that he’s on to me—sees right through my charade?
“You gotta have a goal, Daire. You can’t hit a target you can’t see.”
“The door.” I tip my head toward the large wooden doors with elaborate carvings as though I just now thought of it. As though I haven’t spent every waking moment imagining my palms pressed hard against them, pushing toward freedom.
I slide a slow foot before me, careful to keep my weight evenly distributed. No use injuring myself further just to prove a point. Aware of Axel shadowing me, his moves perfectly mirroring mine. Until the next step when my gait falters, my legs quiver in protest, and he slips a steady arm around me and props me hard against his chest.
“You’ll get there, Daire. Not to worry,” he says, as I sigh in defeat, allowing my body to sag in surrender as he lowers me back to my sickbed and tucks the blankets around me. “It’s just going to take a little longer than you’d like, that’s all.”
I give an obedient nod and slide my lids shut. Appearing to be lulled back to sleep by his whispered promise of soon, very soon …
Until the door closes behind him and I leap from my bed.
two
Dace
Dark.
The word sounds in my head. Drums in my ears. Jolting me out of the sweet anesthetized void, and back to the harsh glare of wakefulness again.
Like a leaky faucet, it pauses, gathers, and then drops once again.
Dark.
It’s the first word I’ve heard for … how many days? It’s impossible to tell. With no trace of sun or moon, with only a dreary canopy of sticky gray sludge hanging overhead, time isn’t marked here in the way that I’m used to.
Still, I’m glad for the company. Glad I’m no longer left to fend for myself in this strange, foreign land.
I try to crack an eye open. See who has joined me. But a thick coating of crud has glued my lids shut, and it takes a bit of digging with bloodstained fingers to break it all up.
“Who’s there?” I call, my voice coarse and strange. A result of the festering wound on my neck. “Show yourself!” I roll to my left and survey my surroundings, only to find no one there. Then I roll to my right and confirm the same thing.
It’s just me.
Only me.
With nothing but this bleak and barren landscape for company.
Dark.
I heave a deep sigh and flop onto my back. Tempted to laugh at my foolishness, but the mirth just won’t come. It died along with all the other virtues I once held in high regard.
Things like faith, hope, charity, and love have no place here.
Though love was surprisingly stubborn. It put up a good fight.
Long after the others were lost, it’s love that held on.
Determined to stick well past the point when my heart became a cold, bitter stone.
Long past the point when my memories of Daire railed against me, turning into an enemy existing solely to taunt me. A crafty, cunning adversary with a surplus of patience, willing to wait for just the right moment—when exhaustion turns to despair—to strike hard and fast. Able to devastate with a few happy images that are welcome at first—quick takes of Daire laughing, Daire loving, before fast-forwarding straight to the moment when her eyes shone with fear once she saw how I’d changed. Accurately guessing the embarrassing truth of the reckless choice that I made. How I sacrificed my soul in an attempt to save her, by becoming like Cade.
Still, it was her face I clung to when death came to claim me.
It was her face that cushioned the fall.
But now that I’m no longer at home with the living—now that I’ve no place among the dead—it’s her face that haunts me.
Daire is gone.
Dead and gone.
In my attempt to save her, I failed her. And now, in the place where my soul once thrived, lives only regret.
Dark.
I bite hard on my tongue. Cover my ears with blood-caked hands. Still the word sounds again.
And that’s when I get it.
That’s when I realize that it doesn’t sound from outside of me—it’s a word conceived in my head.
The sound repeats. Becoming more insistent each time, as the enormity of my situation becomes clear.
The darkness it speaks of is thrumming inside me.
My fingers slip down my torso, seeking the blood-crusted gash where I plunged Daire’s athame deep into my gut, willing to sacrifice my own life in order to end my brother’s. An act of martyrdom ultimately d
enied me when, at the very last second, Coyote stepped in. Catching Cade’s departing soul in his snout and forcing it back into him, while allowing mine to drift free …
Still, we are connected in miraculous ways, and one thing’s for sure—if Cade lives, I live.
Or at least some semblance of me.
Dark.
There’s no use pretending. No one will find me. I will rot in this place and I deserve nothing less.
I shutter my eyes, fold my hands over my chest, and wait for the numbing wave of unconsciousness again.
three
Daire
I’ve barely cleared the bed when my head grows dizzy and my vision swirls with stars so insistent, I’m forced to grab hold of the nightstand and wait for the moment to pass. Dismayed to find myself nearly as helpless as I was with Axel. Guess it wasn’t all just an act.
Still, I can’t let that stop me. Can’t afford to be swayed by the pain. Driven by my need to break out of here and ensure Cade stays contained, I press on until I’m putting a solid distance between me and the bed.
Whoever said that pain is a great teacher was spot-on. I’ve grown more in my time here than I did in the past sixteen years.
I make for the armoire on the far side of the room, hoping my clothes are still there. But other than some filmy, white, ethereal gown with thin straps, a square neck, and swirls of light beading cascading down the front, the cupboard is empty.
I jerk the gown from the hanger and frown. The style veers so far from my usual look of skinny jeans, scrunchy boots, and clingy tank tops worn under my favorite green army jacket, I’m reluctant to try it. It’s the kind of dress usually reserved for debutant balls or weddings, which does nothing to lessen my fears over Axel’s intentions.
Clearly he manifested it for me. I’m the only one here.
The question is why?
Did he really plan to make me his bride?
With no other option, I lose the robe and tug on the gown until its silky white fabric skims over my hips and flutters well past my knees, before landing with a flounce at my ankles. Then I heave a deep breath and peer into the mirror, shocked to see the stark image staring back. Axel has taken great care to steer me away from all reflective surfaces, and up until now, I had no interest in looking. But now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop. And I wonder if my family and friends will notice just how much I’ve changed.
My hair is darker. The color of my lips deeper. Which in turn makes my skin appear even paler. And though my cheeks are sharper, far more defined and hollow than they once were, it’s the eyes that capture me most. The irises deepened into a dark feverish emerald that burns with a craving for revenge.
Despite telling Axel that it’s love that drives me, my need for vengeance runs a close race.
I continue the inventory. Noting a body that’s thinner, weaker, though not nearly as battered as when I arrived. Other than the vivid red scar peeking free of the gown’s deep neckline, there’s no sign of the violence Cade did me. The kind of heinous acts he will never get the chance to repeat. I will learn from my failures, and use those same lessons to fuel my success. And if it’s the last thing I do, I will retaliate. I will see that Cade pays.
My reverie broken by the sound of muffled footsteps coming from the other side of the door, I freeze in place. Fearing for what Axel might do if he finds me like this.
If he truly does have my best interests at heart, I imagine he’ll be incredibly hurt to learn I’ve deceived him.
And if not …
A moment later, the sound fades and I hurry the search for my belongings. Relieved to find the soft buckskin pouch Paloma gave me, and the key on the long black cord that symbolizes Dace and my love. Though sadly, Django’s black jacket, one of the few tangible pieces I had of my dad, has gone missing. Either left behind in the Lowerworld, or so damaged from my battle with Cade, Axel disposed of it along with the rest of my things.
I slip the talismans over my head and glance inside the pouch. Ensuring the stone Raven, the Raven feather, Django’s Bear, the small aquamarine I gleaned from the falls, and the polished turquoise heart Dace gave me as my Secret Santa gift, are all there, though doubting their magick remains.
Paloma insisted the pouch be kept carefully guarded, and well within reach. Claimed no other person must ever look inside it, or its power will be lost.
Not only has it been out of my sight since the night I arrived, but I’m willing to bet Axel peeked the first chance he got.
Nevertheless, I tuck the pouch inside the dress, then nestle the small gold key underneath. Relishing the harsh chill of metal on flesh. The way it clings, cold and alien, to the scar that bisects my chest.
Another reminder of all that I’ve lost.
As dressed and ready as I’ll ever be, I rush to the window and peek past the curtains. Ensuring it’s clear before I move for the door and press my palms hard against it just like I envisioned countless times before.
Except this time when I give the doors a good shove, they remain stubbornly fixed.
I push again.
And again.
Thrusting my body wildly against the ornately carved wood, only to discover they’ve been bolted from the outside.
I race for the window, in search of a latch, but find none.
I grasp the ceramic pitcher Axel uses for water, and slam it hard against the pane, only to learn the glass is shatterproof.
I race to all four corners of the room, desperately seeking a way out, but there is no escape.
I’m trapped.
Imprisoned.
My worst fear confirmed.
Axel is both saving me and enslaving me.
He was my only way in—and now my only way out.
I slump to the floor in defeat. Left with no other option but to change back into the robe, return to bed, and continue the ruse until I come up with a much better plan. A plan that could take days, maybe even weeks to evolve. Yet, with no other choice, I heave myself up, grab the dress from the hem, and begin to slip it over my head. Dragging the buckskin pouch along with it, until I notice the trail of warmth it leaves in its wake.
It’s a sign. I’ve no doubt. Wouldn’t be the first time the amulet sought to get my attention.
I tug the dress back in place, and fold my fingers tightly around the pouch. Aware of my damaged heart pounding hard against my chest as I call upon the spirit of many generations of Santos ancestors. Summoning the collective wisdom of Valentina, Esperanto, Piann, Mayra, Maria, Diego, Gabriela, Alejandro, and Django, before I go quiet and still and wait for a sign of their presence.
Their message promptly delivered in frantically whispered words that sound in my head.
What lies outside of you is no match for what lies within you. You must be willing to do that which you believe you’re not capable of.
While the meaning is clear, the problem is, I’m no longer sure what I’m capable of.
I thought I could avert the prophecy, and maybe I did. But Axel’s refusal to discuss it leaves me uneasy.
I also thought I was ready to slay Cade—ready and willing and perfectly able. And though the memory is still hazy, there’s no denying the way I hesitated the moment I pressed the knife to his throat. Watching him bleed under my hand was nothing like I expected. It was less like slaying a beast, and more like murdering a human.
It’s a mistake I won’t make again.
Though one thing is clear, if I want to return to Enchantment I’ll have to act fast. And while it’s tempting to forge a less resistant path by trying to convince Axel to release me, I can’t risk it not working.
I need a plan that’s solid and sure.
I need a plan that doesn’t rely on Axel’s consent.
You must be willing to do that which you believe you’re not capable of.
I reach for the heavy wooden chair fronting the desk, and drag it to the other side of the door where I press my back flush to the wall, and wait.
Envisi
oning the scenario from start to finish.
Seeing myself fulfill the act without hesitation.
Without an ounce of regret.
Resolved to do whatever it takes to get out of this place.
four
Dace
When the murkiness gives way to darkness, I can’t help but spread my arms wide and embrace it like the savior it is.
Longing to melt into it.
Disappear in it.
Hardly able to believe that after all of this time, after all of the mental anguish of remembering, deliverance has come.
My breath slackens. My pulse dims. With the soul already gone, it won’t be long before the body and mind are claimed too.
But when the darkness above me narrows and shifts, I realize the mistake. What I mistook for salvation, is merely a shadow.
Funny how just when I gave up on being discovered, someone has found me.
“Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t Dace Whitefeather. It is you, isn’t it?”
The voice is familiar. The face is obscured.
“So this is where you’ve been all this time. Should’ve known you weren’t dead.”
I swipe a hand across my brow, roll into a sitting position, and take a full inventory. Counting a cheap black suit, a severely starched white shirt frayed at the collar and cuffs, and a ridiculously skinny black tie.
“Should’ve known she was lying.”
He clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as my gaze drops to his feet. Noting worn shoes that, despite a recent polish, are pocked with a cross-hatching of scuff marks.
“This was supposed to have been taken care of weeks ago. Now the whole thing’s delayed. She’ll pay for this. Make no mistake. She will not get away with it. There’s a fiery place in hell with her name on it.”
The last bit prompts the curtain to rise in the theater of my mind as a long-ago slide show unspools. The face in my memory no longer an exact match for the one that looms before me, but recognizable all the same in the way of the long, crooked slant of a nose that hangs like a hook toward a pair of bloodless mean lips turned crueler by time. But the eyes are the real attraction, just as they were back then. Still wild. Still crazy. Still hinting at the uncorked fanaticism lurking within.