The Wishing Heart

by J. C. Welker

  “I’ll come for you.” Rebel gasped. “Promise.”

  Before Anjeline melted into the ether, into a streak of smoke, she said, “You’re my Rebel. If something’s hidden, you’ll find it.” As she drew away, their orbits separated.

  And she was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Rebel awoke in a feather bed.

  Her limbs were tangled in silken sheets, completely bare, except for a sling covering her shoulder. For a minute, she couldn’t recall why her arm was bandaged, why countless scrapes itched her back, or why her chest felt as though an elephant rested upon it. When she tried moving, a searing pain assaulted her head, bringing a kaleidoscope of images. Anjeline.

  Anjeline was gone. Taken.

  She bolted upright, inhaling. The images pounded against her skull. Against her breastbone. Vague memories of how she returned to this room, back within the Sun Court, gave her a clue. Memories of fleeting skies, Piran soaring through a clock tower, Lady Danu enchanting her to sleep. Rebel had been too dazed, mute, screaming rage in her head until darkness had taken her under. Her heart felt like it had been pulled from her chest and put back in upside down as she’d slept.

  Anjeline is gone.

  Searing tears sprang to her eyes and she reached across the bed for her satchel, even though it wasn’t there. In the absence of Anjeline, she felt as if she were missing a body part. It seemed the world had gone black and she’d never see the light again. Anjeline is gone. Once again into Nero’s nefarious hands, and certainly the Prince’s possession. All her fault. Any blame she wanted to put at someone else’s feet instead heaped on her own shoulders. If only she’d never swiped the vase. If only her mother had found her before.

  If only.

  Rebel touched her pendant, fingering the magician’s mark. The engraving. R.E.B.E.L. The pendant warmed in her hand. Heating with so many lies, all the times she’d hoped her charm to be magical. Her mother watching over her. Magic wasn’t an intrinsic part of who Rebel knew herself to be. Yet all those little miracles, circumstances where she survived, her uncanny gift for lockpicking any safe, even people, she now knew it for what it was—magic.

  Coursing through her veins.

  Gripping the pendant, Rebel concentrated as best she could to summon whatever sleeping magic lay inside her. With all her mental strength, she wished, like she used to as a child, when hope seemed closer. She wished to have Anjeline back within her arms. To free her. And then she felt it—on her fingertip. An amazed smile tugged at her mouth.

  A prickle. A tiny spark. Barely magic.

  But it was there.

  “It’s not enough to get Anjeline back.”

  Rebel whipped her head toward the voice. “Piran?” He sat in the corner, his wings as bright as a black diamond where the light hit them. She ran a hand through her hair, and her fingers snared, getting entangled. “Really? You tied my hair in knots?”

  A grin melted Piran’s morose expression. “Can’t help it. It’s an itch I have to scratch.” He came closer offering a cup. “You’ve been out for a while. Your heart’s a mess.”

  She sipped the honeyed wine, calming herself. “How long’s ‘a while’?”

  “Eight hours.”

  Rebel blinked. “Eight hours? We have to go…” She sat up but dizziness washed over her, making her lie right back down. Perhaps Piran was right. Her heart felt like a mess, and her arms were covered in a variety of bruises.

  “Everyone’s rattling about what happened,” he added. “You being Nero’s offspring.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Flesh doesn’t equal family.” The idea of him being her father made her feel stained inside without her consent. She wanted to rip out whatever piece of him she’d inherited. She grasped the pendant tighter, trying to summon again.

  Piran shook his head. “You would need years of practice to conjure magic easily, and even then, you’d be no match for Nero.”

  With a sigh, she let the pendant go. “Well, we’re not going to get Anjeline back by tooling around here.” She pulled off her shoulder sling and stood, staggering slightly before her feet grounded her. Then she grabbed her clothing from the end of the bed. “Where’s Lady Danu?”

  “Deliberating with the council.”

  “How are they planning on recovering Anjeline?”

  His head hung. “They’re not.”

  Rebel stomped down the Court’s echoing hall like a bull ready to charge, anger coating her eyes in salty water. “What do you mean they’re not?”

  Not saying a word, Piran guided them through the palace halls in a maze of ruby and gold. Light splintered in through the cathedral-like windows and Rebel rubbed just above her eyes where pain crept in with the sunlight. Her chest grew heavier, wondering where Anjeline was now. What are they doing to her? She couldn’t remember much of what Lady Danu had said to her when she’d returned. Perhaps it was so awful that her mind simply let it leak back out.

  Once they reached the enormous doors inlaid with bronze, Piran held out his palm, and the massive entrance obliged, groaning open to the Council Chamber. On the dais sat a marble chair where Lady Danu was flanked by statues as tall as three men, a conglomeration of lion heads with burning eyes. Female guards knelt at her sides, absently sharpening their daggers, while others wearing colorful coats scribbled things in large books.

  The room hushed as Rebel barreled in, all Sidhe and magician eyes centered on her. Piran escorted her past the council table, and when Lady Danu saw her, she waved them forward. “Alas, you’re awake.”

  Not caring for etiquette, Rebel rushed toward the Lady. “Eight hours have passed and you’ve done nothing?” she rasped.

  A rumble came over the council. One magician wearing a robe embroidered with crimson birds muttered to a Sidhe woman, as though the world was not currently ending. There was a curious light and shadow on every face, a reminder of how unsure they were of Rebel’s presence.

  Lady Danu held up her hand, quieting them. A frown pulled at her lips, though still graceful, unbidden at Rebel’s outburst. “Forgive them,” she said with a slight smile. “The council’s concerned that Nero’s daughter will cause trouble.”

  “He’s no father of mine. But I am about to cause trouble.” She glared at them, taking a breath. A sensation of spinning emerged and she leaned against the table.

  As Lady Danu stood, an invisible breeze wafted around her. “Calm your heart. I know you miss her.”

  “Miss? They ripped her away from me. And all of you are sitting here babbling like nothing’s happened while she’s in the hands of some fiend.”

  Reaching across the space between them, Lady Danu rested a hand on Rebel’s shoulder, trying to quell her spurt of anger. “It’s not that we’ve done nothing. The Bright Guard is tracking Nero as we speak. We’ve communicated to the Moon Court. They deny having the vessel or any part of this.”

  A crinkle of leather came closer, and Piran glanced up through his bangs. “It’s obvious where Nero has taken the Wishmaker…to the Prince of the underneath.”

  Rebel nodded. “They’re lying.”

  “Falsity as it may be, we need more proof they’ve gone against the truce before we can begin retaliation,” Lady Danu told her. “We are forbidden to enter the Moon Court. It’s against the truce laws.”

  “So it’s illegal?” She raised a brow. “I’m in.”

  The Lady’s shoulders sagged, although elegantly. “If we approach them now, it could start a war that would tear our Courts asunder. It’s exactly what Nero wants. We have no proof that the Wishmaker is in the Prince’s possession.”

  “Here’s an idea…” said Rebel. “Then do something!”

  Hisses filled the Court, astonished that she would speak to the Lady in such a manner. A few of the embroidered creatures stitched upon the magicians’ robes began slithering about their shoulders, ready to peel off, while pointed pinions flared from the backs of two Sidhe men. But the grousing of voices was interrupted from the ruckus o
utside the chamber. The thunder of footsteps sounded as the chamber doors swung open.

  The Bright Guard stumbled in.

  Several lycanthropes stood there in half-human form, their fur marred with unmistakable claw marks. One guard leaned heavily against another, clutching his stomach, holding inside what little was left, as blood trickled between his fingers.

  Lady Danu drifted to his side. “Dagon? What happened?”

  The guard couldn’t speak. Instead, a female transformed and came forward. “My Lady, we were ambushed by the Night Guard,” she said. “We lost the scent of Nero, but it’s determined he’s gone underground.”

  “The Moon Court,” Lady Danu hissed. Pressing her hands above Dagon’s stomach, she spoke a word and the air crackled between her fingers. It seemed to do little good. There was too much redness, too much already spilled. He coughed and blood sprinkled down his lips.

  Rebel’s stomach clenched and she began to understand.

  There were some wounds even powerful magic couldn’t fix. Like a heart.

  As the guards carried the injured lycanthropes out of the chamber, crimson now peppered Lady Danu’s hands, the floor freshly smeared with it, and Rebel met her eyes. “You can feel them out there, can’t you? I can feel my…Nero making his moves, using Anjeline like some doll. We have to enter the Moon Court.”

  Rigid expressions surfaced, that idea not sitting well with the council. The magician wearing a crimson robe spoke. “The human thirsts for vengeance, no better than Nero.”

  Rebel’s hands curled into fists. “Why should the hunted have to be better than those who hunt them? Shouldn’t we fight back?” They hadn’t witnessed the emptiness in Nero’s eyes, felt his manipulating magic, how he’d wrenched the vase from her. And along with it, her Anjeline.

  Lady Danu leaned against the chair, her smeared hands leaving red marks. “Retrieving the Wishmaker will be harder than imaginable. We’ve called upon help from our allied magicians. We’ve located Magician LaFay…” She looked at Rebel carefully. “Which wasn’t easy since that witch put a confusion spell on her. The Guard has been sent to retrieve her, to bring her here so I might remove it.”

  Rebel took a breath. “My mother’s…coming?” For a moment, she felt like a child again, but in a scenario that had never existed. She wondered what her mother would think of her, what she looked like now. Then her thoughts darkened, encased in the lies that had surrounded her life. “Did you know who I was before?” she asked.

  Lady Danu’s mouth tightened. “No. Your magic is buried deep. Though I sensed you were unlike others. As did Anjeline.”

  Anjeline.

  At the sound of her name, longing quelled Rebel’s temper, making her insides swell, her thoughts overrun with images of Anjeline alone. Tormented. Anjeline first. All other things afterward. “We don’t have time to delay,” she said.

  “Your mother—”

  “My mother left me seventeen years ago.”

  Lady Danu’s face contorted. “To keep you alive.”

  Anger roiled in Rebel’s stomach, realizing now the magician who’d come to the Institute had been her mother all along. Because now—she wasn’t an orphan. Her mother was alive. Letting go of the past was difficult, but letting go of the pain of abandonment was almost impossible. It had sat in her chest for years. Being unwanted. Unloved. But her mother had given her up to save her. No. Not given up. Hidden. From Nero.

  Rebel blinked slowly, harder this time. She’d had enough of that, cried herself to sleep far too many times as a child. “Then my mother will understand why I can’t wait,” she replied. “Anjeline can’t.”

  A small sigh came from Lady Danu. “If I set foot in the Moon Court, it would jeopardize my entire people, let alone your own. Breaking the truce—”

  “Could start a war.” Determination hardened Rebel’s jaw. “If the Prince has Anjeline, then what do you think that is? Isn’t that war worthy? Because she’s war worthy to me. She’s worth more than all the wishes in the world.”

  The Lady’s mouth curved into a smile, but uncertainty rested behind it. “And what would you do, noble Rebel? Now that you know who you are? Now that you know what runs through your veins?” There was coaxing in her words.

  The council stared at Rebel as she stood before them, feeling tired, scared, and entirely human. Even with the knowledge that she did possess magic, she was still just a Fingersmith. Though with magical fingers. Born of magicians. Rebel smiled as an idea formed. “You can’t enter the Moon Court,” she said. “But a human with magic can. A magician can.”

  Sudden voices fluttered among the council.

  “The Prince rules from the throne of shadows. He will squash her…”

  “The girl doesn’t even know how to wield magic…”

  Rebel huffed. “Can’t be that hard if Nero can use it.”

  “Someone who sold their soul, as he did, has nothing to lose.” Lady Danu met her gaze. “It’s what makes him so powerful.”

  “No,” said Rebel. “That’s what makes him weak. Having something you might lose forever… That’s what makes you never give up.”

  Lady Danu regarded her with candid eyes. “It wouldn’t only be the Prince you would be facing, but Nero, as well. He will twist your mind until everything you see, every word you hear, is so warped you believe he’s speaking the truth. If you’re weak, he could take your very heart.”

  “He already has. He took Anjeline.”

  When he had taken her, pieces of Rebel’s self had drifted away with her. And to regain it, she would have to face a greater enemy than anything the real world had ever thrown at her. She finally understood. The concepts of good and evil within all her books were nothing more than a vainglorious retelling of the war within. Now, knowing her heart was entangled in some battle, then maybe she could control the outcome. She was tired of the games these people played—a game she’d been forced to play.

  It was time to change it.

  “I’d rather die keeping my promise than break it,” she said.

  “One does not simply walk into the Moon Court,” a council member replied.

  Lady Danu’s countenance warmed on Rebel. “Tonight, they do. You already have the greatest weapon you need. When you have evidence the Wishmaker is in their Court, then our truce will break. We shall bear arms with you.” With a bejeweled hand, she waved forward her guards, along with Piran. “He’ll be your guide.”

  He gave a nod. “We’ll keep each other from dying.”

  “Oh, I won’t be dying,” Rebel said. “Not until she’s free.”

  As the guards led them out of the Court, a tremendous weight filled Rebel. She could still hear Anjeline’s last rasping words, and she knew what was coming. What she must do. She silently vowed to change the game. Change the outcome. Whatever it took, she would get Anjeline back. She would drag her from the depths of hell.

  If her heart didn’t fail her first.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Don’t you dare die before I can get to you.

  Anjeline swirled within the confinement of the vessel, smoke curling, sweeping against the walls in fury. But the vase jolted again. A thumb caressed the base and she shivered at the perverse stroke of want. It came as no surprise where Nero had taken her, where he’d disappeared to. “Hurry, Faddi.” She swallowed over the fire in her throat, knowing Rebel would come. That is, if she’s still alive.

  It had been almost a full day already.

  No. Rebel was fine. She would come.

  But as much as Anjeline hoped for Rebel to come, she also wished she wouldn’t. To think what might happen to her if she did, what they would do to her… Anjeline wouldn’t let her imagination stray there. Rebel’s blood still covered her hands, and she didn’t want to wipe it away. It only spread deeper as she remembered the sweet timbre of Rebel’s voice, the promise. Part of Anjeline knew her lips might never know those again, mindful of that heart and how, without her, it was worsening with every breath.


  It all seemed to come together now, why Rebel hadn’t reaped a consequence of the wish she’d cast in the basement. She realized the road of Nero had led her to Rebel, picking up the traces of her wishes. Of her magic. It was almost ironic. Rebel’s magician father had bound her, and only the magician’s daughter could free her. She just may be the one, Solomon.

  The one Nero had been searching for.

  Another jolt tugged at her.

  “Enough!” She glared up at the vessel’s opening. “You’ll regret this.” Her essence reshaped into a smoke-filled haze. It took only a moment for the vapor to emerge from the vase, and as it diffused, she materialized into a girl again.

  A golden birdcage confined her.

  Above her was a mountainous spread of darkness and stone that echoed of a wicked cathedral. An earthen ballroom hundreds of layers beneath the earth’s surface. Jagged walls of crystal teeth and ebony trees gave birth to even darker fruit. Stalagmites hung from the cavernous space that appeared to have been built for giants, and she half remembered Madrath’s stories of long dead princes. As she inhaled the frigid air, dark magic hit her like the back of a hand, followed with the stench of burned flesh.

  The Moon Court seethed with debauchery.

  Light flickered from the candelabras sputtering in noxious flames above the armada of folk, both beautiful and grotesque. As diverse as the Sun Court. Though they were robed in more twisted attire, animal skins and furs, thorns and feathers. Among them lurked the Black Market magician embellished in his dragon garment while the witch drew near, surely hoping to reap whatever they could from the Prince.

  There, like an angel of death, he sat upon the dais beside the cage.

  “Wishmaker,” the Prince’s voice tugged at her core.

  He drew closer, adorned in a white suit, unblemished, save for the thorns trailing down his sleeves. A half-moon necklace rested upon his chest while shadows writhed around his chair, carved with screaming faces. Anjeline could smell the stink of optimism on his lips. It slithered to the core of her insides and opened the full venomous truth beyond his beauty. Perfect, cold, and entirely pale from his ghostly hair to his cheekbones so sculpted she could nearly see every bone and vein through translucent skin.