The Wishing Heart

by J. C. Welker

  Then, with an equal suddenness, the light ceased.

  There was absolute silence in the city, the world seeming peaceful and untroubled. Flakes of frost tumbled down, and within minutes, the rooftop glittered, covered in a thick blanket of white. The sky had altered its hue, bleeding to sapphire as though the heavens had been awakened.

  A rushing of wings drew near.

  Falcons hovered above the roof and danced in the air. In silence, the shadowy figure, the mother of her thief, crossed to where Anjeline held her unmoving body. And she shuddered, sensing a different pull on her essence now. She was no longer bound, and her realm was calling her back home. Her physical form began streaking to smoke into the ether, but she tightened her arms around Rebel’s unmoving body, fighting it. She didn’t want to leave.

  Not now.

  “You got your wish, Rebel,” Anjeline whispered to her, touching her cheek with ghostly fingers, turning into a smoky haze. “We are free.” She felt a thump hike upward in that lifeless chest before their worlds parted ways.

  A beat filled Rebel’s heart once more.

  Epilogue

  Sweat dripped into Rebel’s eyes and she pushed back her hair, leaving a streak of blood across her cheek. Ignoring her bandaged palm, she attacked the stone floor beneath her with urgency, drawing the circle and runes in gold, and at its center, drops of crimson.

  On this clear night, stars glimmered through the windows, reflecting off the marbled motif of the Prague monastery. But she wasn’t impressed, too focused on the tiny threads of magic dancing along her fingertips as she drew. Her pendant dangled around her neck, winking in the shuddering light of the room’s candles, her chest feeling much lighter. Her gaze remained on her task, pleased to see the symbols came easily to her as she applied what she’d learned to the circle, tracing the runes under a watchful eye.

  “Make sure each one is solid, dear. Not even a crack.”

  Rebel flashed a tired smile up at the woman guiding her, who’d taught her so much in the last three days. Clear, silver eyes met hers, and she was still a little struck by the similarities between them. Hair as dark as obsidian spread across the magician’s shoulders like a shawl, her sculpted cheekbones and nose merely an older reflection of Rebel’s. As though the picture in her pendant had come to life and now stood before her in a ruby cloak. A wish come true. Renata LaFay. Her mother. That shadowy figure who had protected the vessel. Who had come for her.

  Word of the battle had spread in ripples throughout the heart of the Sun Court and into the extremities of the Moon Court. And now here they were, days later, in Prague.

  “Is it supposed to take this long?” a voice piped up in the corner. As Jaxon watched her, he cleaned one of his fingernails with his dagger, flicking debris at the figure beside him. Piran’s leathery wings, magically restored now, save for the long scar down the side, snapped him back in the face. “Cheeky feyrie,” he quipped.

  “Muddy fox.” Piran gave him a charmed smile.

  Rebel wiped her forehead. “If you want it to go faster, then shut your gobs.”

  “Patience.” A narrow stare from Renata instantly reduced them both to silence. “If she hurries, she will fail, and failure is painful.” She looked to Rebel. “Take a breath. No one has learned to summon so quickly before.”

  “That’s because she wants her sweetheart back.” Jaxon winked.

  Warmth flushed Rebel’s neck, but she ignored him and checked the lines of the circle, looking for minute breaks or flaws in the sacred runes while Reneta offered encouraging looks when needed. In the past few days, she’d soaked up all the knowledge she could from her mother—celestial incantations, the art of runes—and went through the appropriate rites of purification before summoning could take place.

  At last, Rebel sat back on her heels. “Done.”

  Renata observed the circle in approval. “Now for the candles’ placement.”

  As guided, Rebel arranged the three candles around the circle in order: white to her left, red, then black to her right. Once she stood, she exhaled and her fingertips buzzed with that feeling. Her own magic.

  Renata eyed her. Though they had merely come face-to-face, her mother seemed to have a sixth sense with Rebel, as a mother should. “How’s your heart?”

  “Heart is…perfect.” She savored the words and breathed easy, her heart sturdier. Her wounds, inside and out, healed. “It’s the magic I’m getting used to.”

  “A power I would’ve versed you in if I’d found you sooner.” Renata’s gaze softened, glistening from regret of the years lost between them. Rebel felt it echo in her chest. “Though I’m still baffled how you were able to bypass my wards on the safe. But then, your magic knew how to be used, even if you didn’t. When I recovered the Wishmaker from Nero…”

  At his name, Rebel winced with a stab of painful memory. Shielding her from him had been the most important thing to her mother. She thought on how her magic with Anjeline’s had imprisoned their enemy in stone, imprisoned her…father. His heart may have been blackened, but guilt still reared its head. To think of all the things he’d never be.

  “The man I once knew died long ago,” Renata added. “He hadn’t always been the magician you saw. He’d been loving once, more than he wanted vengeance. When I recovered the vessel from his possession, it decreased his power just enough.”

  “Then I went and pinched the vessel from you, Mom.” The word was foreign to Rebel, yet it felt like warm milk in her mouth, and Renata smiled. Even though they seemed like strangers, Rebel found that she liked this woman. Her mother. The magician who had hidden her away in order to save her.

  Her mother placed a kiss to her forehead. “Now, the last step,” Renata said. “The incantation.” She helped Rebel slip off her jacket and draped the sacred summoning robe over her shoulders, necessary for every magician.

  Drawing to the edge of the circle, Rebel took a great breath, tipped her head back, and recited the ancient words of invocation. The melodic language slipped from her lips. “In the name of my Lord… I will the gate of the Jinn world to reveal itself unto me!”

  The candles flared to life.

  “I summon,” she called, “Anjeline the Wishmaker.”

  A slight breeze came from the conjuring circle. Otherwise, all was still. The candles flickered. The empty circle remained empty, and Rebel had a horrid thought.

  “What if she can’t…”

  “Madrath can’t keep her,” Renata said. “She’s restored. She’ll come.”

  Rebel persisted, repeating the sacred words faster, calling her deeply. It had been an excruciating seventy-two hours since that night. After Anjeline had been released from the vessel, it hadn’t taken long before she was drawn back to the Other realm, her essence demanding to be restored from her imprisonment. No telling what other punishment would come from Madrath. Rebel had spent her spare waking hours absorbing everything on summoning, not able to wait, counting the minutes until she could have Anjeline back.

  At last, a gust of heat filled the circle.

  A swirling vapor emerged, settling to the floor, and something moved within the billow. A tendril took the shape of a hand, and the smoke twisted upward, becoming solidified. There she stood. Gold runes flaring, sultriness clinging to her black feathers trailing up her arms and down her spine. The vision caused Rebel’s pulse to hum with a quickening of blood. Her heartbeat thumped and skipped, but now for entirely different reasons.

  “Well,” Anjeline said in a honeyed voice, “took you long enough.”

  “Three days is a record,” Rebel breathed. “Oh, treasure of my heart.”

  A glorious smile emerged, and then Anjeline was pushing her hand through the invisible threads of the circle, absent of protective runes. No need for them, as Rebel hadn’t wanted to keep her inside. And as Anjeline reached, she grabbed the lapels of Rebel’s robe, tugging her within the circle, and crashed their lips together.

  Rebel felt the grin curving her mouth. Arms wrappe
d around her, and she shivered at the warm body pressed against her own, conjuring so many feelings that she wondered if perhaps she had been the one enraptured. Hot lips moved to her ear and whispered, “Rebel…” She never realized how much she loved the sound of her name until it came from Anjeline. “Faddi,” she said, drawing closer against Rebel and resting a hand on her chest, feeling the steady rhythm now. “I feel it, your magic.”

  “Here I thought that was hormones.” A humming sensation filled Rebel all the way to her toes as her fingers ghosted over Anjeline’s warm skin.

  Anjeline leaned into her touch and placed a kiss to her bandaged palm. “You sacrificed your wish for me, at the expense of your life. Don’t ever do that again.” The affection shining in those eyes made Rebel’s insides feel all sorts of wonderful things.

  “Well, I did steal your heart. I owed you,” she said softly.

  What had become the worst and best month of her life started out much as a normal thievery act should—with stealing and a wish. But it had ended with her rebirth. Anjeline had brought back her life. Love had created a magic of its own.

  When Anjeline pulled back, a flush spread across her face as she met the amused expressions of the others. “Magician LaFay,” she greeted.

  Renata bowed. “Wishmaker.”

  “Jinni,” Jaxon and Piran mused in unison.

  Anjeline nodded then observed the surrounding monastery, appearing to detect their exact location. “Prague?” She tipped her head in contemplation at Rebel. “You have on your sly face. The Fingersmith didn’t spill blood to have me back just to woo me, did she?”

  Rebel bit her lip. “Mostly for that.”

  “Besides my daughter’s need for you, we require your help.” Renata came closer, her face strained, but her soft eyes rested on their joined hands. “Something’s happened to the magus archives. The ring of Solomon has gone missing…”

  “More like stolen,” Rebel added.

  “It’s suspected Magician Strahov’s son has possession of it.”

  The possibilities of that news played across Anjeline’s face. Her eyes smoldered and smoke extended around her. “With the ring, he could command any Jinn he desired,” she said.

  “Which is why,” said Rebel, “we’ve been requested to steal it back.”

  At that, Anjeline’s rare half smile emerged. “At least now you’re thieving from magicians instead of libraries.” Again, she pressed a hand to Rebel’s chest, feeling the rhythm purr faster with her touch. Rebel took a deep breath of the scent of her, of magic.

  Of home.

  “So.” Jaxon grinned. “Who’s up for a heist?”

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  Acknowledgments

  Writing a book is much like attempting to scale a mountain, but along the way that Divine presence gifts you with people who have your back and the means to reach the top. So thank you, Lord Creator, for giving me much more than I deserve.

  In its simplest form, this story came about with a prayer and a dream to reach the hearts who need it. It is about an unloved girl looking for it through stories and wishes. In some ways, it’s a metaphor of my own experiences growing up, at a time where I felt invisible, depressed, hiding who I was, and like Rebel, I looked to stories to fill that hole. Nor is it a coincidence that some of my own health symptoms I’ve dealt with over the years found their way into her story. When I was younger, I experienced blackouts for reasons I never knew. Not until much later and at one point being in the hospital with stomach issues, fatigue, heart palpitations, dizziness, did the doctors discover it was anemia.

  So in a way, this journey on The Wishing Heart and writing these characters was my process of making peace with the doubt and torment I went through growing up, coming to a place of my own healing in many ways. That’s the best part, that we can step inside and be touched by the power of a story. For which this one would have never been possible if I didn’t have the support of great people behind me.

  Thank you to Kristy Hunter and Deidre Knight at The Knight Agency, who were the first that expressed their love for the story. I cannot convey my gratitude enough. To my fairy god-agent, Kristy, who was always ready with pep talks and wisdom. Thank you for being endlessly patient with a debut author. Your unwavering faith in the story, even at times when it felt like mine was failing, kept me afloat.

  Theresa Cole, my editor and wizard, for which this book might have never seen the light of day if you had not picked it up, for solving my magic puzzles and fixing them. Thank you to the warrior group at Entangled Publishing, Melissa Montovani, Crystal Havens, Heidi Shoham, Erin Dameron-Hill, and Laura LaTulipe.

  Julie Kagawa and Brenna Yovanoff, my deepest thanks for taking me under your wing as a mentee and your invaluable insight. Laurie Forest, thank you for every time you told me I could do it, in encouraging words and feedback. Your enthusiasm helped me through a hard time and the fact that you were so in love with the characters reassured me the story would find the hearts who need it. My fellow sisters at TKA, Mia Seigert, for your unwavering support and advice, and Dill “The Machine” Werner, who probably didn’t believe I would put that in here. But see? I keep my promises.

  To the wonderful group at YARWA, and their contest which opened a wellspring of doors for me. Many thanks to all the readers of this book in its stages, to the sensitivy readers, and to Nicki Pau Prato who was the first to say “I think this is the one.” I felt your spirit all the way from Canada. To Lauren I. Ruiz, who saw the story when it was in its infancy and all the years you gave me feedback in my whining…I mean, writing. Thank you to my fellow authors of the 2017 Debut group, an amazing support network you are, especially to Leah Henderson, Shaila Patel, Larissa Miller, Vanessa Montalban, Jessica Fleck, and many more.

  Above all I want to thank my number one fan. Mom, I can barely find the words to express all the wisdom, prayers, and support you’ve given me. To my father, who always encouraged me if I wanted something to go for it. To my brother, for all the video stories we created when we were little. To my dearest niece, who asked daily when she could read the book, and snuck glances every chance she could get. It is ready now.

  Finally, my deepest gratitude to the gentle and fierce readers who will pick up this book, and to those who may have to hide it from others. I wrote this story for you. Never forget you are loved. And your love matters.

  About the Author

  J.C. Welker is a YA author who’s been, among other things, a fashion designer, a filmmaker and a kickboxer (seriously). Her short documentaries, which focused on LGBTQ issues in the military, have been featured on CURRENT TV, and her recent novel The Wishing Heart won first place in the paranormal category of the 2016 YARWA Rosemary Awards. She continues to work toward giving a voice to LGBTQ stories, while facing magic and monsters along the way.

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