by Talia Vance
“Austin.” I say his name, as if I can conjure him from thin air. “Arawn.”
Nothing.
The wind picks up. Flowers beat across my legs. There’s howling in the distance, but it grows closer. A tendril of mist curls along the ground ahead, swallowing the field as it goes.
I’ve never come here intentionally before, and now it doesn’t seem like the best idea, but I still hold out hope that he is here. If Danu and Killian reside in Avalon, why not Austin? I call his name again.
Shapes move in the distance. At first, I think they are people and I move toward them. As I get closer, I see they stand on four legs, huge beasts moving in a pack of three. I don’t need to hear the snarls to recognize Arawn’s hounds as they move in the mist.
I back up a step, then another, fighting the instinct to run. The three dogs get closer, close enough that I can see their lips curl to reveal sharp canines.
“Sit.” They keep coming. Apparently, Austin didn’t bother with obedience training.
I startle at a tug on my wrist. Killian leads me toward a large rock on the side of the field. I follow without questioning. The dogs snap their teeth behind us.
Killian gives me a leg up onto the massive rock, encouraging me to keep climbing. I climb at least twenty feet before I reach a ledge large enough to sit on. Killian climbs up beside me. The three wolfhounds circle the rock at the bottom, teeth bared, but they can’t chase us here.
“Thanks,” I say.
Killian nods and looks down at the dogs. “They’re harmless unless you try to go somewhere you don’t belong.”
“That would be me they’re after.”
“So I surmised.”
I kick the rock with my heel. “Have you seen Austin?” When he wrinkles his forehead, I add, “Arawn.”
Killian sighs and looks out across the field, which is now entirely coated with a layer of fine mist. “You waste your talents.”
“What?”
“Arawn is no help to you now. The gateway is sealed. You would be better served to focus on what’s going on topside.”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on. A truce. The Sons and Daughters have broken the curse.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because Portia is aligned with the Sons. She didn’t kill anyone when she had the chance.”
Killian laughs. “There is time enough for her to kill.”
One of the dog howls from beneath us.
“Portia didn’t fight with Liam. She was devastated when her father was killed. Blake protected her. That has to mean something.”
“They are still bound?”
“I guess so.”
“Then they are still cursed.” He looks at me. “And you still live.”
“But the gods can’t return. The gateway is sealed.”
Killian’s smile makes him look more god than human. “Don’t confuse a victory in battle with a victory in war.”
The fog closes around us. I can’t see the three wolfhounds circling below us. I can barely see Killian. And then I’m lost in the mist, floating, spinning. “Wait,” I call to no one in particular. But I can’t stop it.
When I feel solid ground again, it is dawn. Mick stands over me, holding out his hand to lift me off the wet grass. “You want to tell me what that was about?”
I shake my head. “Later.” I reach for my cell, but it’s been soaked in the ocean, and is completely useless. I start to run back to the house.
Mick follows. “What?”
“Blake,” is all I say. I don’t stop running until I get to the garage. I grab the keys to the sedan from a hook on the wall and jump inside. I’m probably doing permanent damage to the leather interior.
I drive as fast as I can, considering I’ve had no sleep. I burst into the Cath Pub. A few local fishermen eye me over their morning mugs, but don’t say anything. I take the stairs two at a time until I get to Blake’s room.
I knock on the door. Once. Twice. Three times, before I hear footsteps from the other side.
Okay, okay. Footsteps are good.
Blake opens the door partway, his eyes wide as he takes me in. My hair is tangled and damp. My clothes are still stained with Liam’s blood. Blake rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “Is everything okay?”
Nothing is okay. I sink down on his floor, exhausted. “I thought—” I shake my head. “I don’t know what I thought.”
Blake sits down on the floor across from me. “I’m sorry about Austin. He turned out to be kind of okay.”
I nod. A tear sneaks out of the corner of my eye, but I wipe it away. I’m not ready to cry. I’m afraid if I start, I won’t ever be able to stop.
Blake stares at the dark stains on my shirt. “You need to get out of those clothes.”
I laugh. I hate myself for laughing, but there’s something absurd about that statement. Maybe it’s the innocence behind it, the complete lack of tension between us. I wipe my nose on a bloody sleeve, and wince at the metallic smell. “Can I use your shower?”
I stand under the hot water until the bathroom is filled with steam, watching the water turn from red, to brown to clear again as the blood washes out of my hair. By the time I comb the last tangle out of my hair and change into a pair of Blake’s sweats and a U.R.D. sweatshirt, I can barely keep my eyes open.
I’m too tired to drive back to Austin’s. I’m not ready to face his big empty house. His room. I step into Blake’s room “Is it okay if I stay here for a little while?”
Blake sits on the wood stool. He watches me as I sit down on the bed. “What are you doing Brianna?”
“I just need a friend right now.”
Blake stands up. “Then go find one.”
I’m frozen. My mouth opens but no words come out. Everything is a jumble of pain and grief and confusion.
“You can’t just show up in my room, change into my clothes and ask to stay with me. We’re not friends. I get that you’re upset, but I am the one person in the world who can’t help you through this. Don’t you get that?”
I know he’s right. Blake and I aren’t friends. I don’t even know what we were, let alone what we are now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- I just came here to make sure you were okay.”
Blake laughs. “So now you care about how I’m doing?”
“I saw Killian. He said that Portia—” I don’t get to finish my sentence.
The door to Blake’s room opens and Blake is blown against the wall along with the stool. Portia sends a flaming ball of fire at my head.
FIFTY-NINE
I drop to the floor. Portia’s fire lands on the bed, igniting the duvet. I douse it with a wall of water. Blake slides to the floor with a crash now that the wind has stopped, but Portia ignores him. Her anger is firmly directed at me. “You didn’t waste any time making your way back to Blake’s bed. Your boyfriend’s not even cold—”
I slap her. She comes at me with a tornado, wind that picks up everything in the room and hurls it in my direction.
I catch a vase as it whirrs next to my head.
Blake makes his way to his feet. “Stop.”
Portia laughs. “Or what?”
Silver light fills the room, making it hard to see at first. Then Blake appears with his sword drawn, it’s tip angled at Portia’s chest.
“Well?” She curls her lip. “Man up and do this already.”
Blake swallows, withdrawing his sword. “I don’t want to kill you.”
“You don’t want to love me, so you might as well kill me.” Portia sits down on the soggy, charred bed. “My dad is dead and I did nothing to stop it. Nothing. I just froze and huddled in the corner like a baby. I hate this. I hate all of it.” She grabs a pillow. “This has to end. Now. I am not going to sit here and have to feel your shallow heart break for this useless excuse for a bandia a second longer.”
I sense more than see the wall of fire that comes at me. I reach for water, but it’s wind that flows inside me, unbidden. The wind chases the fire away
, but sends it straight back to Portia.
She falls back on the bed, her chest lit with blue flame.
Blake curses as he doubles over, dropping his sword. He falls to the ground with a scream and disappears, then reappears in his pajama pants, unconscious.
I find water too late, stopping the fire only after it is has done its damage. Portia’s chest is black and red and blistered. Staring at her brings a twisted sense of déjà vu.
She’s dead. I am a killer.
Again.
I turn away, focusing on Blake, who still lies unmoving. His heart still beats, but I hold his wrist as though every pulse will be his last.
He opens his eyes and smiles. “Am I dreaming? I’m dreaming, right?”
I shake my head. “She’s dead.”
He scrambles to his knees. “Did I?”
“No. I did.”
He stares at Portia’s body. “Shit.”
“That pretty much sums it up.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Not we. Me. I killed her.”
Blake takes my hand, and I let him.
“She’s really gone.” Blake says the word like he can’t quite believe it. “It’s like a giant vice clamped around my heart has been released. I can breathe. God, I can feel.”
I let go of his hand. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, but you’re missing something kind of important here. I just killed your girlfriend. She’s lying right here.”
“She was never my girlfriend.”
Like me? I keep the words locked up tight. “Can you stop smiling? I’m a little freaked out here.”
“Hang on. You killed her. You can save her then. Like you did me.” Blake says the words I’ve been avoiding since the ball of flame hit Portia in the chest. I have the necklace. I can reverse the magic that killed Portia and bring her back. It will cost me nothing.
I don’t move.
“We can’t trust her,” I say. “She tried to kill me. She hates you.”
Blake finally looks shaken. “So that’s it? She’s dead?”
“Mick will help us get her body out of here. We can leave it in the ocean, near the boat wreck.” The Sons’ damaged boat is the cover story for Rush and Sherri and Jeremy’s deaths. Their bodies won’t be found, but their wrecked boat lays in pieces against the rocks.
“Listen to yourself.” Blake puts his hand on my shoulder. “You’re not a killer.”
“It’s not fair.” Austin is dead. No one is bringing him back. Why should Portia be any different? Just because I can, doesn’t mean I should. “What if I bring her back and she kills you? Or me?”
“If she wanted to kill me, she would have done it weeks ago.”
“Well that’s great for you, but she’s already tried to kill me.” Multiple times, but who’s counting? “So forgive me if I’m a little skeptical. I’m calling Mick.”
I walk out of Blake’s room, letting the door click shut behind me. I’m not even sure if I could save her. The fire that killed Portia was hers, not mine. I probably couldn’t bring her back if I tried. At least that’s what I tell myself.
I make it down the stairs and halfway to the car before I stop. And even though I’m fairly sure that I will live to regret it, I turn around and walk back into the pub. This may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but I’m not sure if I can live with myself if I don’t at least try to bring back Portia Bruton.
Blake opens the door on the first knock. “Change of heart?”
“You will not mention this to anyone. Ever. Got it?” I walk over to Portia’s body and place my hand over her heart. I feel the warmth just beneath the surface, the magic that still lingers even after her life has left. I say the words that will reverse the magic that sent the fire at her chest. “Dracht Lesaigh.”
Nothing happens. There. I tried. Can’t be done. Guilt trip over.
“Are you sure that’s it?” Blake sounds nervous.
From the bed, Portia coughs.
Blake jumps back.
“What the hell?” Portia says, sitting up. She stares at Blake. “I can’t feel you.”
“It’s over,” he whispers.
“This is your fault.” Portia lunges for me, unleashing a torrent of wind that pushes me against the wall.
I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can barely keep my eyes open as the wind beats at my face. But I do. Long enough to see the ball of flame arc in her hands. Long enough to see the flash of silver light behind her. Long enough to see her slump to the floor as Blake pulls his bloody sword from her chest.
The wind stops abruptly.
Blake stares at the blood pooling around Portia’s body. “Call Mikel.”
SIXTY
Joe meets us at the top of the trail head, his face a mask of placidity. I’ve seen so much blood in the last twelve hours that I’m numb to it as I watch Mick and Blake unwrap Portia from the hotel sheets and carry her down the bluff.
“It’s not over, is it?” I say to Joe. Joe doesn’t look at me as he pulls a cigarette from the pack in the pocket of his long black coat. “I don’t know.”
“I’m the last one. Officially.”
“Looks that way.”
On the beach below, Mick and Blake maneuver Portia up on one of the boulders. The tide is in now, but receding enough that they manage to climb up without too much difficulty.
“Who will lead the Sons now with Rush gone?” I ask.
“Dr. McKay will have the votes. Levi will make a push for it anyway.”
I silently hope that Levi’s “push” doesn’t get very far. Blake and I might not be friends, but I’m pretty sure we’re still on the same side of this. There’s no chance of Levi working with me. “I’ll propose a new treaty.”
Joe just nods in silence. Neither one of us says anything for a while.
“Did you do it?” He gestures to where Portia’s body is now draped across a boulder.
“It was self-defense.” I don’t know why I don’t tell him the whole truth, but something keeps me from mentioning the fact that Portia died twice.
Joe puts the cigarette between his lips and stares down at the ground. “So it wasn’t Blake who broke the bond?”
At least that much is true. “Does it matter?”
Joe finally looks at me. “I wish I knew.”
“Mick said the bond was supposed to bring the Sons and Seventh Daughters together?”
“Mick talks too much.”
“What is he going to do now?” Who will Mick take care of without Austin? I try not to think of what I’m going to do without Austin, but the thought is there anyway, ripping at me until all I feel is shredded.
“Find a new alliance.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“He’ll opt out.” Joe says the words with finality.
“What does that mean?”
“Doesn’t get any easier. Not for any of us. But it’s harder on some than others. The giolla are only here as long as they want to be.”
“Liam said there were only three of you. Were there more?”
“Twelve, originally. That was a long time ago.”
So nine have opted out? “How long?”
“Long enough.”
“The Sons think you serve them.”
Joe squats down to the grass and brushes it with his fingers. “We serve no one.” He plucks a blade and then stands, holding it out to me. “And everyone.”
On closer inspection, it’s not grass at all, but clover. “A four leafed clover?”
“They’re not so rare.” Joe blows on it, sending it into the wind. It catches a draft over the bluff and floats out over the beach, drifting down until it comes to rest on the rock where Blake and Mick hold Portia out over the sea. They wait for a wave to crest, then swing her body, letting go just as the wave comes into the rock. Portia floats on the surface for a second or two before a second wave crashes over her, pulling her under.
Joe bows his head.
The ocean no
longer looks beautiful to me. I see only it’s dark, destructive side. I am like the sea. I close my eyes and say a prayer for Portia. For Sherri. For Rush and Jeremy.
For Austin.
When I open my eyes again, the waves still crash against the rocks, the same way they did a thousand years ago, and will for a thousand more. It occurs to me that if I am the sea, the giolla are the rocks, solid and unflinching. Destroyed one pebble at a time.
Eventually, so much living, so much dying, takes its toll. I don’t judge the giolla who opted out before Mick, and I’ll understand if Mick decides not to continue. I would do it myself if I could.
Austin thought I was strong, brave. But I don’t think I can ever be the fighter he thought I was. It doesn’t feel like there’s anything left to fight for.
Blake and Mick make their way up the trail slowly. When they get to the top of the trailhead, Mick pulls out his cell and phones in the boat wreck. We all turn and walk up to the house together.
We pause in the driveway. I just want to go inside and collapse on the nearest soft surface, to sleep for the next week. The next year. There’s one thing I need to do first. I reach into my pocket and pull out the silver wolfsbane charm.
“Joe,” I say. Blake, Joe and Mick all watch as I unfold my palm. “I think you should have this back.”
To his credit, Joe doesn’t argue. He takes the charm, and nods silently. “You’re opting out?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Blake steps toward me. “You’ll be defenseless.”
“I’ll be offense-less too.”
“You need your power.” Blake’s eyes dare me to disagree.
“Having powers didn’t save Sherri or Portia.” Or Austin. “I’m done fighting.”
Joe curls his fingers around the charm. “Rush was right about one thing.”
“What?”
“You’re the least like a bandia of anyone I’ve ever met.” Mick sets his hand on my shoulder. “Come inside. You need to rest.”
Joe puts the charm in the pocket of his duster and heads down the driveway. Blake doesn’t follow. Our eyes meet and hold. I see only grief in his face, and I’m sure my expression is no different. We’ve both lost so much.
Mick gives my shoulder one last pat and walks inside without me.