by Julie Reece
“Everyone stop!”
The pain instantly lessens. My breathing slows. When I dare to lift my head, my three friends hold statue-still. Every eye fixed on Gideon while he watches me.
Maggie brushes her palms together. “Rae, what’s the matter, hon?”
I straighten. “I don’t know why, but when you pull the weeds, it hurts. I’ve got some kind of connection with them.”
And that connection births an idea. The roots in Maggie’s room left when I wished them gone. If Cole can create a breeze to cool us, maybe I can make our search easier. “Ya’ll, give me another second; I want to try one thing.”
My eyelids seal shut, and I focus on the ivy covering the markers. Silently, I ask them to leave. My mind pictures their green leaves, black roots down to the tiny white feeder shoots. Move away, guys. Climb down from the gravestones. My nausea subsides, while my headache grows.
“Holy freaking cow … ”
Slowly, I raise my eyelids. Vines slide over the ground like a thousand lime-green snakes. Leaves shiver, creating a loud drag as they retreat to the tree line.
And all at my request.
“That’s great, guys,” I pant. “Far enough, you can stop now.”
Maggie’s eyes bug. She stares as though I’ve grown a second head, and I realize I just spoke out loud to a bunch of Kudzu. Chatted with everyday vegetation like they’re close personal friends of mine. Creepy much?
“How did you … do that?” she squeals.
“I have no clue. I just asked nicely and they seemed happy to go. I think they knew I didn’t want them damaged. When you pulled their roots out, it made me so sad, I felt sick.”
“Then Gideon was right.” Dane’s teeth are snowy white against his dark skin. His eyes light up like the Fourth of July. “Ha! You’ve gone green, Raven, a tree hugger for realz.” His humor earns a solid punch in the shoulder from Mags.
I rub my arms against a nonexistent chill. “I don’t know how much “earth” I control, but the plants did move when I asked.” A reality that’s freaking me out more by the minute.
“Do something else!” Dane looks around, twisting on the balls of his feet. “Make that tree bow, or that bush walk. See what else you can do.” Excitement sharpens his voice as he speaks. Mr. elemental-power-equals-heebie-jeebies is now asking for a showy demonstration. No talk about how unnatural it is now, I notice. “Do it, little Rae!” He squats and hunts for something in the grass. I wince as he picks a dandelion and holds it up to me. Another big grin eats his face. “Come on, make it dance.”
He’s so cute. Like a little kid, but I can’t do what he asks. My heart senses the life leaving the little flower, and a breath leaks out in sympathy. My fingers wrap Dane’s hand, and I ease him to a stand. “It won’t work now, bro.”
“Yes you can. I know you can.” His smile weakens as he studies my face. “Why not?”
“Our connection broke when you picked it. He’s dead.” The truth of my words hit me as I say them. I don’t know how I know, but somehow, I’m sure. Whatever it is I control, it’s not life. I can’t bring the flower back or prevent death. I glance at a hundred other blooms sprouted at his feet.
Dane drops the yellow flower to the ground. A crease forms between his eyebrows. “Sorry.”
“Rae.” Cole appears my side. “That was bloody brilliant. Let’s practice. Try something else, whatever you feel.”
“What, you mean right now?”
“Yes.” Dane looks me square in the eye. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Cole’s right. You should all get comfortable with the changes happening in you. Might as well know what you can control. If anything.”
Out of habit, I look to Gideon for guidance. Alone. Silent. He nods in agreement.
A chill grips my heart, though it’s ninety-eight degrees outside. Everything in his manner reminds me of the cold, aloof boy I first met, the one with haughty eyes and a cruel mouth.
The broken one.
Chapter Fifteen
Cole
Maggie yells, “God bless your pea-pickin’ little heart, Cole Wynter,” once more as I send another cooling breeze over the glen. I laugh at her enthusiasm, and for my new ability to conjure wind. It’s getting easier, and I’m actually enjoying myself.
Transporting is another matter entirely. My body hums with energy as I pick a point in the grass on the other side of the cemetery. Again and again I try, and nothing happens. I give up, frustrated, then … Whoosh. One tick and I’m standing twenty meters from the spot I’d wanted. No control but, What a rush! If only the shakes and headaches would stop.
Under our feet lies a thick floral blanket of yellow and purple. Apparently, Raven chose to practice her element by forcing blooms over a three-acre spread. She runs around, jumping and spinning like a little kid. When she laughs, it’s like Christmas.
I don’t know what good a plethora of flowers is against an evil magician. Unless he has massive allergy issues and can sneeze to death, her gift, while entertaining, is useless.
I keep my thoughts to myself however and glance at our host.
Gideon has rarely been what I’d call a fun guy, but today he’s acting a complete wanker. I’ve never seen him so foul. He hardly speaks and refused to make fire. Blamed it on dry field conditions. Sure. With everyone watching, my bet is he’s having performance issues.
We’ve been out here for hours. Thanks to Rae’s trick with the ivy, I located the headstone twenty minutes ago. “You ready to start?” I ask Maddox.
“Been ready. So, whenever you two are done playing games … ”
Rae stops twirling, her cheeks color bright and hot. Clearly embarrassed, she removes the ivy and flowers from her hair and places them gently on the ground.
Tosser. We all agreed to test what we could do.
Gideon keeps off to the side, while Raven joins Dane and Maggie. They regard her with something nearing pity, and Mags gives her a quiet pat on the arm.
Honeymoon over already? What could the poor girl have done to piss him off so badly?
The tension is palpable. Anger sours my stomach, and I want to hit Maddox. Even with his bum leg, the defensive training classes his father paid for means I’m no match for him, but I know who is. And I privately wish Dane would break his nose.
Whatever. The stupid plank doesn’t deserve her.
I force my gaze from the hurt in Rae’s eyes, and remember how she picked him over me. While I’m glad his idiocy gives me another chance, I can’t stand her suffering.
Everyone stands a few feet away, watching me, waiting for something to happen. Every hardened muscle in Dane’s body tenses, the whites of his eyes brighter against his dark skin. For a big guy, he clutches his girl as if she’ll save him should our attempt to reach Pan backfire.
Get on with it, Cole. I scan the words on the page, wondering how simple script on paper can hold any power. Only one way to find out, and though I feel ridiculous, like a cheesy actor in some daft school play, this is real. I believe it. So, I clear my throat, keep my voice loud and clear, and read.
“Deep within a shadowed wood
Old bones yearn as if they could
Revisit passions of the living
Taste past years from the beginning
The filmy moon doth rise and fall
O’er my labyrinth paying homage to all
Who come in pain, in bondage, or need
We welcome thee; yea our hearts swell with greed
For we know of thy jealousy, rejection, despair
Take rest from thy envy, worry and care
I’ll cure thee of vice in the place of forgetting
Seek ye help in the land of promise begetting
Thy secret desires.
Caught between feelings of fear, awe, and total wankerdom, I let the last words trail off into the wind. The whole scenario is as absurd as it is terrifying.
Despite the fact that I put great g
usto into evoking a real-life boogey man, nothing happens. We stand together, five living statues in a desolate field. The lot of us eyeing each other, cold dread etched on our faces. Yet, there is no clap of thunder to announce our enemy. No tempest whisking us over the rainbow to a foreign land. A drop of sweat trickles down my back while I wait, stuck in tortuous anticipation.
After a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence, I snap the book shut. “Not much of a poet, was he?” My joke falls flat, even as my nerves still tingle. “Sounds like a lot of rubbish to me.” I hope the others can’t detect my lie.
“I don’t get it,” Maggie says. “The words don’t even make sense.”
“I know that’s right.” Dane has the decency to give me an apologetic grimace. “Sorry for Rosamond and all, but no one dying today is a win.”
I exhale, my thoughts on Rose. Our trip ends in a spectacular fail, and I don’t know how to tell her.
“We’re standing in a graveyard, reading dumb-ass poetry like a bunch of girls trying to scare each other at a slumber party.” Dane walks over and claps a hand to my back. “No offense, man. Calling you a girl.”
“None taken. You called yourself one, too.”
His brow furrows as he works that one out.
“I thought we’d made a believer out of you.” Gideon says, stepping nearer.
“I only meant—”
“Oh right,” Rae says. “Why hope dumb-ass poetry could help those of us who talk to plants!” With a swish of her hand, dandelions bloom, covering Dane’s black trainers. Green tendrils lace back and forth over his feet and ankles with dizzying speed until he’s sewn to the spot.
“Nice.” He jerks without gaining his freedom, “Yo, call ’em off, Rae!” At her command, the plants recede as fast as they grew. “I’m not saying you don’t have a problem, but tell the truth, do you really want to ask some dead guy that’s crawling out of the ground to solve it? We tried. It didn’t work.” He reaches for Maggie’s hand. “Now, can we go home?”
The sky darkens. Several heavy clouds blow in burying the late afternoon sun.
“Cole?” Raven asks.
“It isn’t me.” A drop of rain hits my eyebrow. Cold engulfs me like a winter frost—from the inside, slowing my heart rate, stiffening my joints. Absolute silence presses on my ears until the quiet is as deafening as orchestra cymbals, until …
A hysterical laugh echoes from somewhere in the trees. If I’m not crazy, and I can’t argue that point right now, I swear I hear a flute playing.
“Monday’s child is fair of face.”
Another mad giggle filters through the forest.
“Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe.
Thursday’s child has far to … here we gooo … ”
Gideon curses as he steps in front of Raven. He lifts his cane, fingers gripping the lion head as though poised to unsheathe the dagger hidden inside. “Pan?”
Yellow tints the light around us a sickly, artificial hue. “Of course it’s me, stupid boy. Who else would it be?”
“Where? Where are you?”
I glance around, but no one’s hovering. Clouds build at the same rate as my confusion. With a push of my mind, wind punches the sky faster than a military jet leaving black clouds curling in on themselves.
“We’re looking for a girl, Rosamond,” I say to the nothing in the sky. “We think she might—”
“Imbecile, I am fully aware of what you want!” The voice shrieks, high and wild. “Do you think I don’t know who you are?”
Unable to answer, we turn in slow circles, focusing on the detached voice in our midst. Our gazes slide from one to another, utterly confounded.
“Young Master Maddox … ” Pan says. “Weak leg, and a weak mind, you’ve been crippled in more ways than one, eh? What a crushing disappointment you turned out to be, yet you tried so very hard, didn’t you? A worthless failure, your faith curled up. Despite your pathetic pride, and your great show of rage, you were unable to keep people away, as you’d hoped. Now you’ve gone and lost what matters most, as did your forefathers. Congratulations, lad. You finally measure up.”
Thunder sends a jolt through me, but Pan’s speech goes on unabated. “Ah yes, next we have Mr. Wynter … displaced, lonely, boring, forgettable. No family to care, no woman to love, no loyal friend, not even a dog. But you’d change that, wouldn’t you, son? Just add water.” His giggle is a fierce and careening sound. “Busy-busy becoming anyone but dear old dad, are you not?”
Every word is like a knife thrust in my chest as he so accurately describes my existence in a sentence or two. I only realize I’m backing up when Maggie holds out a gentle hand to stop me running into her.
“Moving on, may I present the very troubled Dane, pitied and pitiful, written off as an unfortunate loss by the good people of Sales Hollow. Receptacle for a father’s shame, punching bag for his resentments, scapegoat, sin eater, a sad and broken past keeps your soul a withered, bloodless organ, doesn’t it? Why, you’re barely breathing. Ha, ha!”
Maggie clings fiercely to the wiry giant beside her, and it’s a good thing. Color drains from his face, and his eyes glaze with shock.
“Doubt, anger, insecurity, fear, you’re perfectly lovely, Dane. Yes indeed, but not nearly as lovely as our Raven here. Such a pretty bauble, no more than a broken doll, really. Why, the pair of you could satisfy me for years with your tortured memories, regret, and guilt. Drowning in uncertainty, aren’t you, my dear. Loss, death, betrayal, lies, broken dreams, fading hopes … I’m quite enraptured.”
“Stop it!” Maggie shouts.
“Mm, yes of course. Last and certainly the least of these, we have Miss High and Mighty Margaret. Queen of the mundane. Small, chubby, plain, loud, pushy, and supremely annoying, you’re as tiresome as any fly, buzzing, buzzing in my ear. No one likes a bossy little know-it-all, now do they?”
Maggie blinks as though she’s been slapped. Dane hugs her close and glares at the sky. If expressions could sucker-punch, Pan would be in deep shite.
Though not inaccurate, his insults seem a purposeful distraction. And since we’re not getting anywhere as his verbal dartboards, I speak to the disembodied voice. “We came to talk about Rosamond Bryer. The girl in your maze.”
“No need to shout, son. Nothing’s wrong with my hearing. What about her?”
His words are overly eager and cheerful, as though he’s waited all his life to have this conversation; however, it’s having the opposite effect on me. His tone cloaks and bewitches—the quality hypnotic in texture. I swallow against the dryness in my throat, and try to shake his voice from my head. How in the world do I convince a madman—that may not be a man at all—to let Rose go?
There’s always the straightforward approach. “She’s visiting me in dreams.”
“Really? Bully for you.”
“And she’d like to go home.” This is going too well. He’s not arguing, and he’s too damn happy about our little visit. Warnings ping my mind like rain off a windshield, but what can I do? It’s why we’re here, so I dive back in. “We were wondering if … is there a way to make that happen?”
“Perhaps. What will you give me in return?”
A deal? “I have money—”
“Pfft. What need have I for your coin, boy? I grow weary of this. Give me something I can use or we’re finished here.” Someone brushes past my arm. Gideon leans forward on his cane, chin jutting upward.
“Not the time for games, Pan,” he snarls. “Name your price. Tell us what you want.”
Gideon’s spent his whole life negotiating. Maybe I should have let him do the talking from the start, yet I know this guy, watched him for years. A big risk taker, no one likes a deal better than Maddox. He won’t back down once he’s started. It’s not in his nature.
“How about a trade? One of you for her.”
“No.” Sweat darkens his hair. An impatient
head toss removes the curls threatening his odd-colored eyes. Unlike mine, his manner is restrained, calculating, and I hate him the more for it. “Choose something else.”
“I don’t want anything else. You decide who it will be, pull a stranger off the street for all I care, but I won’t be robbed of all my treasures at once.”
Gideon pauses, concentrating on the puzzle in his head. We wait in silence until his face brightens. “Really, Pan? Your demand lacks imagination and hardly seems sporting. How about a wager, instead?”
Shite! I should have known. Who am I kidding, I did know. I grab Gideon’s arm but he shrugs me off.
Raven steps forward. Her hand slides up his back, but whether in support or to shut him up, I can’t guess. He responds by wrapping her waist, but it’s only to push her off toward Dane.
I’d ask what the hell he’s playing at, treating her this way, but I have a life to save. And Maddox’s big mouth might have just thrown a spanner that will get us all killed.
“Give us a chance to free her,” he says. “A fair option without an automatic sacrifice of ourselves.”
“Oooh, intriguing … Yes, whoever wishes may come and visit, by all means. I could do with some fine, new company.” The cavernous voice magnifies, bouncing off the surrounding forest. A murder of crows erupts from the treetops, filling the sky with ebony wings.
Everyone rallies closer. Us. The small army of misfits choosing to fight a spoiled, self-indulgent god from another world. Are we mad, yes, but at least we’re no longer alone.
“Marvelous! I’m rather excited. Come along then, children. Come and find me, if you dare. Enter the labyrinth, locate the girl, and find your way out again. If you do that, you’re free.”
“Wait!” Gideon cries. “That’s not what I—”
“I always did like a challenge,” Pan says. “And when I’m through, I’ll glut off your bloated misery until I’m fat and sated. Find me through the looking glass. Gideon knows the spot, don’t you, boy? We’ll be waiting … ”
We? When did it go from one psychopath to we?