The Paladins

by Julie Reece

  Gideon nods. “Probably, yes, and if Rae is Earth, then that explains her connection to the vines.”

  “Our little Poison Ivy is just a wee bit intimidating when she gets going,” Maggie jokes.

  I snort, but Gideon doesn’t even crack a smile. “My point exactly,” he says. “So, if it’s true, I’ve clearly absorbed the fire element.”

  Maddox and fire’s a sobering combo. “What about water?” I ask. “Anyone have a tidal wave in the bath?” I have nothing to tell. No one else speaks either, but Gideon gives Raven a sideways glance. The accusation in his eyes has me betting she’s been less than forthcoming about her recent tree hugging experiences. Good.

  “Maybe water hasn’t shown up yet,” I offer. Frankly, I hope it doesn’t. Wind is more than enough.

  “Maybe not,” he agrees. “But there are four elements, and four of us initially survived the curse breaking ceremony.”

  “Right, Desiree. That’s must be it.” Raven says. “But then she died.”

  Dane leans forward, his brow tied in knots. “You said if the host dies, the magic latches on somewhere else. So, where did it go?”

  “Hell, I don’t know!” Gideon barks. “Who knows if she had it to start with? Maybe it’s in the bottom of the pond, waiting for you. Or there’s a big ass, water-wielding alligator in my backyard.” He pauses, angling his neck until it cracks. “Like I said, I’m guessing as I go. I could be wrong—”

  “I don’t think you are,” Maggie says. “Honestly, I wish I had water, because this could be amazing.” She cuts a quick glance at her boyfriend. “Eventually.”

  “If we’re voting, I say we walk away.” Dane ignores her frown. “Superstitions, wives’ tales, all the warnings make sense to me now. Playing with supernatural shit is unnatural, gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  I have no earthly idea what heebie-jeebies are, but they sound freakish coming from an African American redhead with dreads.

  “Dane,” Raven says softly. “I agree with you. But how do you walk away when magic shows up on your doorstep, or in this case, in your mind, uninvited? I never went looking for trouble, but I can’t regret helping people either.” She sighs heavily. “It’s too late. We have to see where this goes and hope for the best. What else can we do?”

  It’s too late. My fists ball on my knees. I needed Gideon to be wrong, but since I’ve turned into some sort of wind-riding teleporter, the evidence seems irrefutable.

  I wanted to help a girl—a sweet, pretty girl. Our transformations aren’t her fault.

  Last year, I told Raven that The Void saved my life. In a way, that’s true, because the time I spent there humbled me. I thought I’d dealt with my anger, forgiven my parents for their neglect, Nathan for banishing me. But something acidic still gnaws at the lining in my gut.

  Maybe it’s me I can’t forgive.

  My head rests against the glass. Exhausted, the subtle vibration relaxes me. I feel myself drifting off, and with that, a vague hope that Rose will show up. Funny how often my mind turns not to Raven, but Rosamond.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Raven

  Stiff and keyed up, we pile out of the Jeep at the infamous lake house. Five of us stand in the circular driveway, staring up at a huge, two story, Cape Cod style dwelling. Gideon glares at the front porch as if it told him off. When I reach for him, he moves away. Maybe he’s dealing with the same nervous tension that’s inside me, but the brush off stings. In the past, I’d call him out on it, but lately, I don’t have the energy. It’s easier to stuff the hurt. Pretend I misunderstood him.

  “You forgot about this place?” Dane asks.

  “Not forgot.” Gideon stalks to the back of the vehicle and swings the tailgate open. “It’s just not on my radar. Like I said, the place was my father’s getaway.” He riffles through a box of ledgers. His clipped tone makes the distinction between Nathan Maddox and himself very clear.

  A single crow flies across the sun.

  One for sorrow …

  The first line of the childhood poem I’ve always loved seems a bad omen today.

  Gideon thumbs through one of the journals and then snaps it shut. Satisfied he’s found what he needs, he stuffs the volume under one arm and starts walking. “The graveyard is this way. There’s a clearing in the woods over that knoll, about a twenty minute hike.”

  My feet remain cemented to the ground. No one else moves either.

  Gideon is several steps out before rounding on us again, his expression one of annoyed confusion. “Well?”

  Cole fidgets, pushing his hands deep into his jean pockets. “You want to do this now?”

  As if unified in thought, the rest of us sneak a glance at the beautiful, old house. I need to pee like a racehorse. I assumed we’d go inside. Get a drink. Eat. Change. Regroup. Talk. Stall. I don’t know …

  “You don’t?” Gideon asks, eyes glittering fire under the sun’s rays. “The girl’s counting on you, Wynter.”

  And with that one statement, I get it. I know why he’s angry, and hurried. Why he did a one-eighty agreeing to help Cole when at first he was so reluctant. He’s not here for Cole or Rosemond—though I believe Gideon would have helped them anyway—he needs answers for what’s happening to us.

  “You came all the way from France. What’s another mile?”

  “Keep your hair on, mate. No one said anything about quitting. We only want ten minutes inside.”

  Gideon looks from us to the wide, wraparound porch. His expression softens, shoulders relax. “Sorry, you’re right.” A smile emerges with his headshake. I love it when he does that, keeps a sense of humor when he realizes he’s been wrong. The old Gideon would never admit it. “Ten minutes … and then we go.” Walking toward the steps, he pulls a key from his pocket and amiably tosses it to Cole.

  Catching the brass chain, Cole’s lips curve up. “ … And then we go.”

  En masse, we follow our fearless leader into the forest. I’m thankful to discover the temperature’s several degrees lower in the shade.

  Power from the surrounding foliage infuses me with energy, yet I’m calm. At peace. Moss, bark, pine, and honeysuckle mix to fill my nose with a woodsy aroma. A bird cries in alarm as we trespass. Shhh, it’s okay, little man. He immediately quiets and settles, but I don’t mention the coincidence to my friends. It’s a ridiculous thought, right? Birds don’t read minds.

  Twigs snap in the underbrush. Ahead, Gideon clears several fallen branches from our path. His blue, button-down shirt stretches against his broad back. A ray of light breaks though the canopy overhead, catching in his curls and turning them yellow-bright before falling into shadow as he pushes forward. Nothing stops him once he’s decided.

  Assess. Choose. Act. A maxim brought to you by Nathan Maddox and family. Arrogance and ruthless discipline taught the Maddox heirs to manage both the Artisan legacy and their business holdings. Gideon was nearly destroyed by his father’s cruelty.

  It’s hard not to hate him for it.

  Despite the heat, the soil beneath the leaf litter is damp and squishy. Maggie trips and swears.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Always.” She smiles, but it doesn’t light her eyes.

  I’ve known her long enough to recognize when she’s nervous. Back in the day, she, Dane, and I were the Three Musketeers. I leaned on her in between caring for my stepfather, sewing to earn extra money, and the pressures of school. For Dane, she was the dream girl and mental escape from troubles at home. Of the three of us, Maggie was the only one with a “normal” life.

  But that was before paranormal events stole our innocence, before I made the deal that put me under Gideon’s roof for a year in exchange for Ben’s rehab costs. And while I lost his body to addiction, our relationship healed and his soul was restored.

  I owe Gideon so much. Odd how the one I vowed to hate is now the one who owns my heart. As if he can hear my thoughts, he glances over his shoulder. I’
m confused by his frown until Cole falls in line beside me.

  He shoulder bumps me with a grin. “How much farther?”

  “Not much more, I hope.”

  Cool indifference back in place, Gideon faces front, plunging up the next steep bank.

  Sweat spikes the hair on Cole’s forehead. “Your sunshine beats our fog, but this heat is melting the skin off my face.”

  It’s a handsome face with fair skin and dark blue eyes. His lanky frame has gained muscle since I last saw him. The years lost in The Void are catching up—and in a very good way.

  “Our summers are famous for face melting. Afternoon rains will cool it off soon. Then you’ll just be sticky.”

  “Humidity is my second favorite; did I mention that?” He shoos the horsefly at his ear. “That and bugs the size of pigeons.”

  “Our state bird.” I smile and he does, too. It’s nice, this carefree moment where we’re not worried or afraid. “Hey, I know. Why don’t you work us up a breeze?”

  Both eyebrows wing up, and I’m sure my big, stupid mouth just ruined a perfectly nice time. He’s quiet so long that I worry I’ve offended him. Finally, he says, “I’m not sure I can do it on purpose.”

  Guilt has me backtracking. “I’m sorry. I was kidding, and I shouldn’t—”

  “No, I’ll give it a go.” He grins like I’ve challenged him, and I suppose I have. “If a tornado shows up, remember this was your idea.”

  Super. “Think very small thoughts about wind.”

  “Mm-hm.” We stop, and he closes his eyes. Lips move without words, both hands lift shoulder high.

  We wait so long I’m about to interrupt, when the hushed whisper of a breeze kisses my damp skin, cooling my face. My body begs for more, and I get it. Leaves rustle in the canopy above. Growing in strength, wind dashes to the ground wrapping us in a tiny vortex of velvety relief. And then it’s gone.

  I lunge, throwing my arms around his neck. “You did it! Oh, my gosh, Cole. You controlled the air!” I hit octaves nearing G7#, but I’m too excited to care. I release him and grin. “You have to tell me how you did that. Does raising your arms help?” When I mimic his actions, he grins.

  “Nah. I’m hoping it makes me look badass.”

  I laugh, enjoying his accent. “Seriously badass.” Cole is funny and sweet and deserves to be happy. Gideon not so subtly called Rosamond “Cole’s girl.” My boyfriend might as well pee a circle around me as territorial as he gets—and he’d for sure push Cole in any direction but mine—but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s wrong about Cole liking her.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “I don’t know how I did it. I just … did.”

  “No, not that—” My toe catches on a root, and I stumble right into him. “Oh! Sorry.”

  He grabs my elbow, shoring me up. “Don’t be sorry, Rae.”

  The way he’s looking at me, the tenderness in his voice makes me unsure. He flirts sometimes, but I’m also the first girl his age he’s talked to in four years. We’re friends, we get along—but that isn’t love. I think I’m a placeholder for someone else. A girl he hasn’t met yet, at least, I hope so.

  “It’s sort of personal.”

  “Even better.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and grins like a wolf.

  Uh oh. “Can you tell me more about Rosamond?” His smile fades. I wince inwardly, but push ahead. “How often do you see her? Has she said who put her in The Void? What does she—”

  His palms face me. “Whoa. Hang on.” He busts out with a hearty laugh.

  “What?” I don’t know what’s so funny, but I’m laughing because he is.

  Once he gets control, a grin continues at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll always tell you anything you want to know, but one thing at a time, all right?”

  I bite my lip to keep the next three questions from spilling out, and we end up laughing again. Gideon watches us over his shoulder. Instead of the scowl I expect, he looks interested, thoughtful. I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or bad.

  “I’ve seen Rose a dozen times,” Cole says. “She’s locked in a room, some sort of castle by the looks of it. Last time, I even tried physically hanging on to her as I left The Void. To pull her back with me as I woke up.” He wipes his face on the bottom of his T-shirt revealing a set of lean abs. “Didn’t work, obviously.”

  Mags and Dane step nearer without any attempt to hide their eavesdropping.

  “She’s young like us. Lovely, all silvery and fit.” Cole’s face reddens, but I pretend not to notice. “Rosamond’s never said who put her in there, but she talks about Pan. How he holds her prisoner in the maze. She’s terrified of him.”

  Weighted by sympathy, my chest compresses. “Was it like that with you, too?”

  “I never met him myself. A few others daft enough to enter the labyrinth—namely Desiree—told us stories, though. I don’t know why, but Pan and his monsters never leave the maze, which is why I mostly kept to the mansion.”

  Mostly. I can’t imagine years of hiding and the constant threat of darkness.

  “What sort of monsters?” Dane asks, formally joining the discussion.

  Maggie smacks his tattooed arm. “He doesn’t want to talk about it.” Then to Cole she adds, “You don’t have to talk about it. I’m sorry for you. And sorry for Rosamond, too.”

  Grass pokes through the pine needles in lone patches of sunlight. The trees thin out revealing glimpses of a meadow ahead.

  Cole gives us a one armed shrug. “Thanks, but it’s all right. Somehow, I don’t mind so much. Telling you three.”

  With permission granted, Dane doesn’t miss a beat. “So what’s the difference between the maze and labyrinth?”

  “Same thing. I avoided the place, but there was one time when I—”

  “We’re here,” Gideon calls. “Grey Horse Cemetery, in the flesh—so to speak.”

  The five of us pile onto a flat, green carpet. Headstones punch through the soil in the little clearing like broken bones from a shallow grave. There are as few as thirty markers here.

  A cloud glides over the sky casting bleak shadows, and it seems even the sun hides from this place.

  Gideon extends the open diary in his hand to Cole. “You’re up, Wynter. Page thirteen.”

  “Me?”

  “It’s your show.”

  Cole’s tentative fingers hover above the book before taking it. “What will happen?”

  Gideon glances around the graveyard. “I honestly don’t know. Since that book is all we have to go on, I guess we do what they did. Stand in the graveyard, read the words out loud … I’m thinking if you rub the lamp, the genie will appear.”

  “By genie you mean Pan?” Heavy braids stick to Dane’s glistening skin. “We’re going to summon a dead magician, and then what?”

  Cole scratches his nose. “Er, the book never quite explains the details, mate.”

  “Fantastic. And say this does work, are we sure we want him here?”

  “No.” Gideon drags his fingers through his hair the way he does when he’s frustrated. “All my life I’ve known, as fact, what the rest of the world rejects—and now that power is inside of us. We can’t call the Feds or convince Homeland Security to help.” The look he gives us is weary. “So, what do you suggest we do instead?”

  No one answers at first, so I’m surprised it’s Dane who finally says, “Do it. Just get it over with.”

  Cole nods. “Right.” He takes a step or two and turns. “Which grave? What page again?” He continues, mumbling in French. I suspect the anger in his tone is really fear, and he’s not alone.

  “Easy,” Gideon says. “I bent the page.”

  Nervous tension swamps me, as we back off, leaving Cole to his task. I wait for Gideon to take his place next to me, wrap a comforting arm around my shoulders the way he always does. Instead, he chooses a semi-solitary spot near Dane, of all people, and leans forward resting both hands on
his cane. He calls to Cole, “Is anything marked?”

  Okay, wow. A feeling of dread drops like a boulder in my stomach. He never even looked my way.

  “Did you two fight?” Maggie whispers.

  Throat too dry to answer, I shake my head.

  Cole steps between the graves, searching for the one we need. Kudzu blankets the clearing. Thick ropes of ivy climb the gravestones, choking the marble. He stops in front of a tall, crumbling headstone and kneels. “This is pointless,” he grumbles. “Half the writing is worn off. The rest are so overgrown; I can’t tell who’s who.”

  Maggie gives a meaningful look from Gideon to me before taking Dane’s hand. “C’mon, handsome, let’s help the boy.”

  My friend means well, but a graveyard full of spectators isn’t the venue for a relationship status talk. At the same time, wherever my lady-balls have been hiding the past few months, I think I found them, because I’m more pissed off than scared.

  Mags is at work in front of a large headstone. Her short fingers thread the twisting bands of ivy and tear at the tiny roots. I need to keep busy until my showdown with Gideon later, so I move toward her.

  A wail halts my steps. I can’t see anyone, but the crying grows.

  Muscles clench against the sudden war in my abdomen. A dull ache starts in my jaw and spreads. Maggie rips a vine from the headstone and tosses it behind her. With every leaf she damages, my stomach twists. A moan rolls up my throat. “Wait, Mags. Can you stop a minute?” Oh, God.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Gideon’s gentle hand on my back steadies my wobbling, but I’m breathing too fast. The plants, I can hear them. “Make her stop.”

  “Stop what, tell me?”

  It makes no sense, but whatever is happening to the plants in the clearing affects me. I feel them being torn apart, dying, and that freaks me out worse than the pain. “The vines.” Another wave of nausea crashes through me. I double over, fall to one knee. “Leave them … ”