“Take Madison in,” he suggested. “You’re all beat up.”
She shook her head and drew herself up. Jack caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned. A wizard had somehow slipped in behind them and was closing on Madison, who was trying to hold him off with Ellen’s dagger. It was young Devereaux D’Orsay.
“Devereaux! Come away from there!” A tall wizard sprinted toward them, trying to get between the two warriors and the boy. Claude D’Orsay.
While Madison was distracted by D’Orsay, Devereaux made a grab for her.
Jack took two steps, but Ellen was there ahead of him. “Hey!” She shouldered the young wizard out of the way. The boy turned, grinned, raised his hands. Too close to miss.
“No!” It was like one of those dreams where you’re frozen, unable to run. Only a few yards divided them, but Jack couldn’t cross the distance in time. Flame rippled from Devereaux’s hands and slammed into Ellen, lifting her off her feet before she toppled backward onto the ground.
“That’s one!” the boy crowed, then reached toward Jack, a greedy smile on his baby face, his pale eyes alive with delight behind round glasses. “Who would’ve known that warriors die so easi . . .”
Shadowslayer ended it. The boy died with a smile on his face.
Someone screamed “Devereaux!”
Jack turned. It was Claude D’Orsay, his face twisted in grief and rage. It was the icy Master of the Games as Jack had never seen him.
“You killed him! You cross-whelped barbarian, you’ve killed my son!” D’Orsay came grimly forward, driving a vast wall of flame across the battlefield toward Jack, apparently unconcerned who else he incinerated as long as Jack was numbered among them.
Jack stepped in front of Ellen’s prone body, knowing there was no way he could stop what was coming. He raised Shadowslayer, said a prayer.
D’Orsay was so focused on his intended victim that he didn’t see the person that materialized behind him. Jack blinked in disbelief. It was Jason Haley, with a dagger in his manacled hands.
Jason charged into D’Orsay, knocking him off his feet. They rolled across the ground, trailing a wake of flame. Jason came up on top. He gripped the hilt of the dagger with both hands and drove it home. D’Orsay screamed, a high, keening note, then sent flame ripping into Jason, nearly cutting him in two. D’Orsay pushed Jason’s body aside, tried to rise, then fell flat on his face and lay still.
The onrushing flames hesitated, piling higher and higher, like a giant breaker hitting a reef, then collapsed and dissipated. D’Orsay was dead.
“Jason!” Madison screamed, and tried to push past Jack to where Jason lay next to D’Orsay.
Jack threw out a gauntleted arm, blocking her path, and thrust her behind him. “No! Please, Madison.”
Ellen lay where she’d fallen, but Jack could not get to her. Wizards kept coming after Madison and dying on Jack’s sword as fast as they came. Mick shouted at them from the Weirwall gate, gesturing at them to come ahead. But there was a sea of wizards between them. Madison stood frozen, eyes closed, fists clenched, as if to shut out the horror all around.
Jack saw movement on the battlefield, a kind of rippling, as if a snake were furrowing through the tall grass of humanity.
It was Seph, all smoky-eyed and dripping power, clearing the path to the gate. Ignoring the enemy wizards who did their best to kill him, he gripped Madison’s hands, leaning close and speaking into her ear. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he turned her toward the gate. He looked back at Jack. “Come on, Jack. Leave it. Bring Ellen.”
Jack’s throat was raw with grief and smoke. “Seph. Jason’s down.” He pointed.
“Jason?” Seph’s head came up and he went very still. “But he isn’t even . . .” He turned and handed Madison off to Mick. “Take her in for me. Now.”
Madison screamed and tried to twist free and return to where Jason lay, but Mick picked her up and carried her toward the gate. Seph went and stood over Jason, head bowed, like a great black bird with drooping wings. Crossing himself, he removed his coat and wrapped his friend in it. He squatted, rolled Jason into his arms, and stood. He looked back at Jack, his eyes like great bruises in his pale face. “Let’s go.” And he walked toward the gate, back straight, shrugging off a hundred flaming attacks from the Roses.
Wizards swarmed into the gap behind him. Jack knew there was no way he could carry Ellen and keep Shadowslayer in play. He’d be down before he went a dozen yards. But he had to try.
Mick had just reached the gate with Madison. Jack saw someone slip through the narrow opening and run toward him, nimbly dodging bodies and debris. A small wizard, but powerfully lit, in a pink sweater and blue jeans. Flame erupted from her fingertips, roaring convincingly across the field into the phalanx of Roses that threatened to engulf Jack. The charge faltered, slid back.
She came up beside him. It was Alicia Anne Middleton.
She sent a concussion of air into the oncoming wizards, bowling them back like tenpins, and put up a barrier to turn their fire. “Jackson. Are you going to take her in or what?” Her voice broke over the words, and she blinked back tears.
Jack thrust Shadowslayer into his baldric. Inclined his head to Leesha. Then knelt and slid his arms under Ellen. And stood, cradling her close, breathing her in. Her clothes still smoked from the wizard’s assault. But to him, she always smelled of flowers.
He walked toward the gate, with Leesha covering him. This was the scene he’d seen in his mirror, all those many times. He was the last warrior standing, carrying his fallen comrade.
Chapter Thirty-six
The Dragonheart
They passed under the vaulted stone ceiling of the gate, and Madison wondered why she could see it. It was a Weirweb, and if so—it didn’t make sense.
The world spun like a kaleidoscope as Mick carried Madison through the trees. An icy mist hung waist-deep, swirling as they passed through it. The sun was just clearing the horizon. It was like a dream sequence in a play Madison had seen once.
A nightmare. Jason was dead, because of her.
Mick’s steel grip relaxed a bit when she finally stopped struggling. Her entire body tingled, thrummed with power. The source of it lay somewhere ahead, within the sanctuary. The Dragonheart, far more powerful than she remembered.
Seph smoldered behind her and to the right, impossibly brilliant through tear-smeared eyes. Strangely intensified. She remembered what Jason had said. He’s been using wizard flame.
The healers had set up a triage center in one of the pavilions in the park, where they received casualties. Mercedes met them at the door, somehow forewarned of tragedy. There was a hurried conference, and then Jack and Seph followed her inside, carrying Jason and Ellen. They laid them on cots in the center of the room.
Mick finally set Madison down just inside the door, keeping one arm around her. Madison didn’t know whether this was to prevent flight or prevent her collapsing on the stone floor. She shuddered, her body shaking with great, silent sobs while Mick awkwardly patted her back and soothed her in Gaelic.
Leesha stood a little way off, pale as paper, eyes fixed on Jason’s body.
“Where are the rest?” Madison whispered, trying to collect herself, gesturing toward the makeshift hospital. For all the bloodshed outside, there weren’t many patients.
Mick shook his head. “Either they’re dead, or they’ve been healed and went back to fight,” he said.
“If . . . if ghost warriors are killed, can they come back?”
He shook his head again. “Not if they’re done in by wizards.”
As they watched, Mercedes bent over Jason, laying her hands on his body. She closed her eyes and remained that way for a long moment, her tears falling onto Seph’s cloak.
“You be at peace, now, boy,” she said. Then she straightened and turned toward Ellen.
As soon as Mercedes moved away, Leesha crossed to Jason’s bedside and freed his hands from their bindings. Still holding his hand
s, she leaned down and kissed him on the lips while tears streamed down her cheeks.
Jack and Seph came toward Madison and Mick. “I’d better go back,” Jack said gruffly. “They’ll need me at the wall. I think we lost half our warriors in that . . . that . . .” His voice trailed off.
“I should go, too,” Seph said. “But . . .” He looked at Madison, as if he had no idea what to do with her.
“You all stay. I’ll go to the wall.”
They all turned to look at Leesha, who was suddenly back with them, her face streaked with mascara. “I mean, we’re so going to lose, anyway. You two can stay here long enough to . . . to get some news.”
She took Mick’s arm. “Come on, Mick. Let’s go fight somebody in a lost cause. I’m tired of being on the winning side.”
Mick and Leesha set off for the wall, back to the work that wouldn’t wait. The rest of them collected around a picnic table outside the pavilion.
Jack couldn’t stay still. He paced back and forth, looking as pale and bleak as Madison had ever seen him.
Seph stared straight ahead, his lean, muscular body extended, his long hands clasped in front of him. His tumbled hair softened the hard architecture of his face and shadowed his eyes. Madison’s fingers twitched. She longed to paint him like this—to somehow preserve what would soon be lost to her forever.
He’ll never forgive me for what I’m about to do.
And then, without looking at her, Seph asked the questions Madison had been dreading. “What happened, Madison? What are you doing here? How did you get through the Wizard Gate?” His voice tremored slightly, reminding her that he was just seventeen.
She’d been working over what to say, but still she stumbled. “I ... Jason came to see me on Booker Mountain.
He . . . he said you hadn’t been able to get near the Dragonheart, and thought I might be able to help. So he brought me back up here.”
“I told him not to get you involved,” Seph said, brushing his hand over his face as if he could wipe away pain.
“We were caught trying to get through the lines. He told them that if they let me go, I could bring them the Dragonheart. So, they sent me through the gate with some wizards as escorts and kept him behind as . . . as a hostage. He must’ve got away.”
“The Roses were fighting each other.” Seph glanced up at her quickly, then away.
“That witch-woman—Dr. Longbranch—said I should bring the Dragonheart to her. Some other wizards came after us. I guess they wanted it for themselves.”
Seph nodded, swallowed hard. “Jack. How did ... What happened to Ellen and Jason?”
With a few spare words, Jack explained what had happened to Ellen and Devereaux D’Orsay. “Then D’Orsay went berserk. He would’ve killed me, but suddenly Jason was there. He nailed D’Orsay and saved my life. But D’Orsay . . .” His voice trailed off.
“So D’Orsay’s dead, too,” Seph murmured. The sounds of battle came to them, carrying through the still morning air. Flames arced up over the trees. “Not that it’ll do us much good.” He looked tired, worn down, suddenly shaky. He slid his hand inside his shirt and pulled out a bottle, making no attempt to hide it. He uncorked it with his teeth, took a swallow, shuddered.
Madison took a deep breath. “Maybe—if I saw the Dragonheart—I could see if it could help us somehow.” She intentionally kept her eyes averted.
“All right,” Seph said, wearily. “It’s worth a try, I guess. But we’d better hurry. I have to get back.”
“If it’s still at the church, I could go on my own,” she offered, hoping he’d accept.
Will Childers burst into the clearing, breathless from running. “Where’s Ellen?” he demanded. “I heard she was hurt.”
Jack looked up at him, then back at his boots, pressing his lips together. Will sat beside him, put his hand on his shoul-der. “The Roses have started a full scale attack on the wall,” Will said. “Fitch is on his way. He’s coming after he blows up some wizards.”
This brought a faint smile from Jack.
Just then Mercedes emerged from the pavilion, her expression grave. Everyone turned toward her. Jack remained seated, as if he thought he should take her message sitting down.
“Ellen’s alive,” she said, and a kind of whoosh went out of them, like they’d been holding their breath. “But she’s in bad shape. I suspect a wizard graffe, like Barber used on Jason. But it’s layered over with charms, so it’s hard to diagnose or treat. I can’t even find the entry point; it’s like it keeps shifting. Diabolical. She needs to be churched.”
“What?” Madison blinked at her.
“We’ll take her to St. Catherine’s. The overlay charms are superficial. Hopefully they’ll fade in a consecrated church, and we can see what’s what.” She turned to Jack. “Can you and Will bring her?”
“We’ll all go,” Seph said, glancing at Madison. “The Dragonheart is there.”
“But what about the wall?” Madison stammered. “Don’t you . . . shouldn’t you . . . ?” She preferred that as few people as possible come to the church.
Seph’s hand on her shoulder directed her out of the pavilion. His green eyes were bleak. “If we can’t use the Dragonheart, we’ll lose anyway. Whatever I do. Jason called it. He knew the Dragonheart was our only chance. That’s why he brought you here.”
And now Madison was going to betray Jason, along with everyone else.
The procession to St. Catherine’s had the cadence and demeanor of a funeral march, each participant a prisoner of his own thoughts. Jack and Will carried Ellen on a stretcher. Fitch joined them somewhere along the way, fading in from a side street as if he were a ghost himself.
A lot had changed since Christmas.
Trinity was like a familiar painting in which major features had been daubed over badly. The areas closest to the Weirwall were the most intact—the angle of fire made it difficult for the Roses to hit them from outside the walls. There the streets were eerily the same—except no children played in the yards and playgrounds; no shopkeepers swept leaves from their sidewalks; no high schoolers flirted on street corners or waited for rides in front of Corcoran’s. No fire trucks screamed by to tend the blazes that smoked all over town. Madison imagined the people of Trinity being led, lemminglike, under the lake.
The town center looked like pictures she’d seen of bombed-out European capitals from the last world war. Although the stone buildings of the college resisted burning, they’d been heavily damaged by smoke and explosions. The picturesque square was scorched and pitted with craters, the ancient oaks splintered and charred, denuded of leaves. Sorcerer cleanup crews shoveled rubble from the street and applied magical patches to broken water mains.
Seph had been remade, too, in Madison’s absence. People made way for him on the streets and put their heads together, whispering, once he’d passed, like he was a celebrity or a saint.
Seph seemed oblivious to them, as if the real business of the day was going on in his head. Sometimes he flinched and sucked in a breath, his eyes going wide as if reacting to some private pain.
“Are you okay?” she asked, then thought, Stupid. Really stupid.
He hesitated, as if debating how much to share. “I feel it every time somebody dies,” he said finally.
She shuddered. “Can’t you shield yourself somehow?”
“Not if I want to know what’s going on.”
She was glad he couldn’t reach into her mind. Glad her own thoughts were private. She had to focus on the way ahead or lose her nerve.
They turned up Maple, heading for the lake. She could feel the Dragonheart, dead ahead, warming her, as if she’d turned toward the sun in some tropical place. Seph said little but directed her mostly by the burn of his hand on her elbow.
At least the hex magic inside her seemed totally gone. Not that it mattered anymore.
They reached St. Catherine’s. The ghost warriors who guarded the door had already heard about Ellen. They removed their various perio
d headgear and stood silently by as the solemn group entered. Jack and Will carried her up through the nave and into a side chapel where they laid her on the altar like a corpse on a bier.
Ellen lay, still and cold, wearing the mute evidence of battle—scrapes and smudges on her face and arms. Mercedes ran her capable hands over Ellen’s body. They stopped just above her waist. “Ah. Here we go. That’s where it went in.”
Jack stood at the head of the altar, holding Ellen’s hand and speaking to her in a low voice. Will and Fitch lingered in the entry of the chapel so they weren’t in the way as Mercedes bent over Ellen.
“Mercedes,” Madison said diffidently, touching her arm. “Maybe I can do something.”
The healer glanced up in surprise, hesitated, then stepped back. “Be my guest, girl.”
Here it is, Madison thought. A tiny gesture to set against a huge betrayal.
She slid her hands under Ellen’s jacket, pressed the tips of her fingers into Ellen’s skin, and felt the malevolent heat of the curse. Madison drew on it, sucking the dark magic into the hollow that always existed inside of her. It was a small curse next to Leicester’s, but deadly all the same.
Ellen’s body went rigid, bucking under Madison’s hands. She cried out and her eyelids fluttered. When Madison could no longer feel the heat beneath her fingers, she drew her hands back and shrugged.
Ellen’s face was shiny with sweat, contorted in pain. She lay restlessly now, moaning, taking quick, shallow breaths. Her helmet of hair shone in the light from the candles that stood in tall sconces to either side.
“She’s fighting now,” the sorcerer said, looking more hopeful than before. “That’s good.”
“Madison. Let’s go downstairs,” Seph said, turning away abruptly.
They paused at the top of the narrow stairway so that Seph could disable the magical traps that he’d put in place. Then they descended the uneven steps to the crypt.
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