“I think we should’ve asked for the upgrade,” I mutter, but then again, I’m already dead, so what the hell? I float up the rickety ladder as Mrs. Rudd gets it started. Rochie hides under the driver’s seat, a little indigo glow with her wings tucked tightly around her shivering body. She looks a bit sick. Hangovers and boats, not a good mix for any species.
The lake is open and no ice rims the shore. Spring is finally making an impression, even here on the South Shore. Once we cut the motor and drift inside the cave where Jack laid my body to rest months ago, it’s like taking a short hop back in time. Stalactites of frost sparkle from the ceiling in long white streamers, unfurling to drip into the choppy, dark water below. She dims the running lights, pointing the boat at my coffin of ice. Long white cracks run through the previously crystal-clear surface.
It’s an uneasy sensation, looking at your own dead body. Especially when there’s a gnome on top of it.
Startled, Merry looks up at the boat with a grimace on his face, then brings his joined hands down with terrific force. Gnomes don’t cast per se; they wield magic—like a hammer. The ice that protects my body is already weakened. This last blow shatters my coffin of ice like the windshield of a car hit head-on. The sound is like a thousand crystal chandeliers in a hurricane.
My body is free of its cage, but death still holds me fast.
Mrs. Rudd, who doesn’t look very much like Mrs. Rudd at all anymore, takes a vial from the pocket of the robe that hangs off her now. She shatters it against the bow of the boat and sprinkles something red and thick over the hot pink piece of scrollwork before whispering one word and tossing the parchment over my lifeless form, where it catches fire.
The fire isn’t red and yellow and warm.
It’s blue and green and cold. The flames actually look brittle, like they’re made of ice. I frown. Didn’t she say I needed that body? Then something flickers in the heart of the fire, something that gleams like liquid gold. My soul?
Mrs. Rudd yells at Rochie, who shakes herself and throws a small bit of glittery silver powder into the air. Fairy dust.
In the next instant I’m being yanked forward, my eyes locked on my swiftly approaching body. It’s still intact, naked and whole and unblemished amid the odd fire. But something is happening to it. My tattoo, the one I got with Jack’s name on it, is changing. The tree of life I had Jett ink into my skin, it’s twisting like something alive. Or something becoming alive. Like it’s…growing.
The black branches curl over my ribs, then snap back. Like a person yanking back their hand when they touch something hot.
That’s when I notice something else.
The spell I’d seen once before but somehow forgotten—the pattern of my mother’s magic on my skin—is glowing. Brighter and brighter until it looks like a brand. The concealment spell. It’s unraveling.
I can hear my mother’s voice in my ear, telling me we’re going to play hide and seek with magic. The faintest memory of sitting on her lap as magic crawls over my skin, making me laugh because it tickles. The memory burns away as my spirit shudders, warmth pooling around me, growing hotter by the second. Until it feels like my skin is blistering from the inside out. But I don’t have real skin, not anymore. I’m just fire and air all mixed up. Aren’t I?
Below, all trace of the spell on my actual body is gone. The tree is stretching now, the roots too, which curl around Jack’s name and squeeze even as the branches reach higher, winding around my sides, buds forming on the slender shoots…
Power is rushing into me. So much power.
I can’t contain it all. I can’t.
It’s going to rip me apart.
“Focus, Seph! Goddammit, baby girl. Focus.”
My mother’s voice again. I know it is. Not in my head, but here. Now. But I can’t see her. I can’t see anything but this.
It’s life. It’s me.
This is my power. At last, I know who I am.
What I am. And what I can do.
So I do it.
The burning ball of essence that is me is sucked down into my body like a boat in a massive whirlpool. I’m rushing toward my own face at what feels like a thousand miles an hour, but before I hit, I see Jack, somewhere dark and still. He’s looking right at me, his expression furious, then turning to bewilderment, awe and pain.
So. Much. Pain.
He opens his mouth, then the light hits, fracturing into a million suns. I’m on fire all over again, the image of Jack falling burned into my eyes as my scream rises.
“No!”
18
Being reborn fucking hurts.
My throat is raw and my ears ache. I’m disorientated and weak, but so powerful all at the same time. The fog in my head takes a moment to clear. Then the fear sweeps in.
I don’t know much except that we did it, I’m alive again. But at what cost?
Something is wrong. Something—
Jack.
Before I’m fully aware of it, the cave is gone. So is the sound of Lake Superior crashing outside. My mom’s voice is cut off like someone shut a door in her face. All I catch is, “Wait!”
But I don’t wait. I know she’s Mrs. Rudd, I know she somehow orchestrated all of this. From hiding my powers my whole life with that spell, to Jett killing me, to god knows what else.
I don’t care about any of that. Not now.
All I want to do is to get to Jack. So that’s what I do.
The chamber flashes around me. The lights going crazy, just like when I rose from my grave of ice. Like a god is taking a burst of high-resolution photographs. Whatever magic I called down is still hopping through my veins. I’ve never done the apparating thing on my own before. As far as I know, no one has, except Jett. But nothing seems beyond me at the moment. Until I see him.
The white blinding light doesn’t lie. It’s illuminating every corner of a chamber I’ve never been in before, everything distorted in the rapidly strobing light. Including the one thing I’m focused on: Jack’s body.
Lying on the stone floor. Like Georg, only less messy. But just as god awfully, terrifyingly still. Just as gone. He looks like he could be sleeping, but I know he’s not.
No.
I sink to my knees beside him, one shaking hand running over that face I’ve been longing to touch for months. I can touch him now, but he can’t feel me.
I swallow a sob.
Cerunnos is standing over me. Or should I say Herne. I saw the last few minutes of Jack’s life as I regained mine. I know the real name of the bastard who has been after me my entire life. His bright green eyes are fixed on me, his smile almost as poisonous.
“What happened here? What the hell did you do to him?” I get to my feet, the air crackling around me.
“Me? Not a thing.” His smile is sinuous and cold. “You did this, witch.”
“What are you talking about? I’d never hurt him.” I promised him that. I promised.
“You were tied to him. Soul to soul. Didn’t you realize? That spell of his wasn’t meant to be worked by someone stupid enough to love their intended victim. He’s the whole reason you got elemental magic in the first place.” He aims a kick at Jack’s body but I throw him back with a flick of a finger, power still sizzling through my veins.
He looks startled, but I’m reeling, trying to make this nonsense make sense. Trying to make Jack not dead.
“My dying didn’t hurt him, but bringing me back to life did? That’s makes no fucking sense.”
Herne’s smile is pure evil. “Such is magic. Real magic. Dying is natural. Coming back to life? Not so much. It isn’t meant to be. You’re an abomination. But even such as you couldn’t make it happen without help. Now you see why witches were never meant to touch this kind of power. You can’t handle it, daughter of mine.”
“What did you say?”
The chamber is whirling, spinning and whirling like a painted top in a maniacally laughing child’s hands. Jett is looking at me through the madness, her eyes full of the inescapa
ble truth.
I shake my head. I’ve seen this movie and it never ends well. Never.
The insane god in front of me is our faceless Daddy Dearest.
I get to my feet, feeling as insubstantial as if I’m a ghost again. This can’t be real. None of it.
Cerunnos isn’t Herne. I am not Herne’s daughter. My mother isn’t Mrs. Rudd. And most definitely of all, Jack is not dead. I refuse to look at the still body at my feet, staring instead at the god in front of me, trying to see anything of myself in him and failing.
“You’ve heard the story, I’m sure. Of how your mother stole magic from a demon. I was that ‘demon.’ The demon god that all once served.” His lips curve into a sneer as he looks at Loki. “Until I became too powerful for some. I was banished. That is when I met Oriane.”
This piece of work and my mother? “You loved her?”
He laughs. “Love? Don’t be stupid. I indulged her, like a favored pet, for many years. I was bored and she was entertaining with her rhymes and simple magic. We even had offspring. Four girls, to be precise.” My stomach twists. “It was an interesting interlude. But then her power grew, twisting beyond what I had foreseen.” His face darkens. “Soul magic. Something never meant to be. I knew then that I’d made a mistake.”
I shake my head. “You mean you got scared. Scared of her. And scared of us.” Jack was right, this asshole is a piece of yellow-bellied work. And he’s my father? I glance at Jett, who has a grimace of distaste on her face to match mine. I know I should feel something, but all that really registers is a growing anger at how he fucked with my mom.
Herne ignores my comments, his eyes a bright glowing red. “I made a mess, and I needed to clean it up. My daughters and my little play wife. I came to kill you one night, but she had already fled.
“By then Oriane could jump through time like a child through hoops.” He grimaces. “Another power I did not share. She scattered you all through the centuries, letting you grow up apart, dancing from one to the other to the other, then finally bringing you back together centuries later. By then I had already given up on finding you all. I had a new form and a better plan. Why not just eradicate all the refuse in one fell swoop?” He smiles. “Then came that prophecy, the prophecy about you and your sisters. So ironic how my own daughter gave me the power to rally the troops. Convincing your sister to kill you was the icing on the cake.”
“You actually think you convinced me to kill Seph?” Jett laughs and Herne turns to her, one eyebrow raised. “You sorry son of a bitch, that was Mom.”
“Another one of Oriane’s mad plans?” He shakes his head, chuckling darkly. “Nice trick, but it won’t work this time.” Before either of us can move, he yanks Jett’s sword from where it’s wedged into the floor and slams it into my stomach, twisting the handle cruelly as I fall to my knees, staring up at him, tasting blood on my lips.
He leaves me there next to Jack’s still body, laughing softly. I watch him advance on my sister, who lifts her own hands, lips parting in a snarl as magic crackles in the air. My fingers close on the hilt as I stagger to my feet, warmth soaking my fingers.
Herne turns from Jett, puzzled to see me upright. I fall against him. He curses, trying to shove me away, but I wrap my hands in his shirt, ignoring the pain to give him the biggest, toothiest grin I can manage.
“It’s my birthday, Pops. Did you miss it—for the twenty-seventh time? A sword through the heart can’t kill me anymore. But I think this will take care of you.”
I reach into his chest with both hands and yank out his soul. It’s so heavy, like a lump of raw unformed iron, that I fall back, slamming against the wall. Cold and black and hard. I squeeze and squeeze until finally what passes for Herne’s soul crumbles in my hands.
Scarlet and emerald light twists into eye-searing ribbons that fracture and burst apart with a roar that makes even Loki clamp his hands over his ears. But seconds later, the awful light and noise are gone.
“That’s one way to wrap up a world-domination scheme,” the god of chaos says, moving over to prod the pile of ash on the floor with a booted foot. A bit of horn falls out just as I fall to my knees for the sixth or seventh time of the night.
19
“Get this fucking thing out of me. I’ve had enough of swords, goddammit. Especially this one. Just pull it out and heal me already.”
Jett does as I ask, kneeling next to me and looking uncharacteristically pensive the whole time. Her healing is shaky and slow, her magic still sluggish, due to Jack’s attack. When she’s done, she cleans my blood off her blade and slides it home, getting to her feet.
“I know we need to talk, but I don’t want you distracted.” She looks at Jack’s body, then at me, pressing her lips together. “Be careful, Seph. Do it right this time.”
Do what right? I look down at Jack. Say good-bye? I can’t do that shit again. I can’t. But when I raise my eyes, my sister is gone.
I crawl over to run a shaking hand over his chest. Willing it to rise. For him to blink his eyes and wake up. To see me and know that everything is okay again. This can’t be real, right?
The universe cannot be this fucking cruel.
Bells ring through the room, making me blink and look around stupidly. It’s Rochie, who flutters to the ground next to Jack, her wings trembling.
“Where the fuck did you come from?”
“Your mother; she’s a little too preoccupied to come herself at present.” Story of my life. The fairy glances down at Jack, tears glittering in her furious eyes. “Why haven’t you kissed him yet?”
“Kissed him? Holy—this isn’t Sleeping Beauty. Jack’s dead, Rochie.” Tears thicken my throat as I say the words. For the first time in a long time, I don’t have the urge to slap the fairy in front of me. I thought it was going to be rough coming back to life again, but this?
This shit I cannot bear.
I close my eyes, wishing like hell I could be numb again, but my face starts stinging. Because Rochie is slapping me, hard. Over and over again. “So were you,” she snaps.
“That was different. That was mostly my mom. And because I’m Spring, Rochie. I’m meant to come back, but Jack—”
“Bull. Fucking. Shit. You can bring him back. Remember my fucking plan? Your souls are tied together, Seph. By him, by me, and by you. Bone and blood, magic and heart. Why do you think I was so intent on this?” She darts down and stabs a finger into my side, making me wince.
The tattoo? I must say it out loud because she rolls her eyes.
“Exactly. Flesh. His name is woven into your very skin. And what did you pick to go with it? Yggdrasil—the tree of life! How much more proof do you need that you can do this? Bring him back, you stupid witch!”
“Five magicks,” I whisper, threading my fingers through Jack’s hair. Starting to hope as a tendril of power unfurls, tickling my insides. “Isn’t that a Megadeth song?”
Rochie throws her hands in the air. “I told you before, it’s a damn powerful spell and considering who you are, a little more rebirth might be possible. Try, Persephone. Just fucking try.”
I lean down. Not a breath stirs past those perfect, slightly parted lips. I trail a finger over the bottom one. He’s still warm. So I kiss him. The last time we did this, I was dying. Now I know how he felt.
I’d forgotten the exact taste of his lips. Their precise texture, so firm and soft. The rasp of his stubble against my skin. But I remember the taste of my own tears all too well. Nothing is happening.
Jack is dead. The stubborn son of a bitch. I kiss him harder, reaching deeper, opening myself to the last threads of power still jumping around inside me. Magic is never a one-way street, though sometimes those left-hand turns can really give a witch whiplash.
My head feels heavy as the tears come faster now. So fast I almost miss the breath against my lips as I pull back but not the raspy words that accompany it.
“Stop crying. Goddammit, you know I hate the crying.”
The heaviness
on my head is his fingers in my hair. I lift my face to see him looking straight at me. Seeing me for the first time in what feels like forever. For a second I can’t even speak. I’m almost afraid if I try, he still won’t hear me. Then sheer frustration wins out.
“First I die, then you die.” I thump his shoulder with my fist, hard, barely able to talk through the tears still choking my throat. “I mean, seriously, who does that shit, Jack?”
“Romeo and Juliet?” he whispers weakly.
“Fuck you. I always hated that stupid play.”
“Ah, that’s my girl. Such a romantic.”
“Jack—”
“Could you shut up for one second and kiss me? That last one didn’t really count.”
“Really? Cause I think it just might have been the kiss of a lifetime, you son—“
Jack shuts me up with his mouth.
And I don’t mind at all.
20
Five minutes later, Jack’s on his feet and has me backed into an alcove just outside Herne’s chamber as Loki stands by, looking somewhere between bemused and impatient.
“I thought you had places to be, Jokul.” He calls out for the third or maybe it’s the fourth time. If it weren’t for him, Jack and I would be alone. Rochie got teary-eyed, slapped Jack once on the nose and disappeared. Fairies, even more so than big girls, don’t cry. I’d say that’s because they’d melt away like the witch in The Wizard of Oz, but I’m feeling rather magnanimous at the moment, even toward annoying little fairies.
“How?” Jack demands again, in between bruising kisses that sting my lips.
“Umm, it’s a little…” Kiss. “…complicated.” Kiss. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me our souls were tied together?”
“I would’ve gotten around to it. Eventually. But then you died. Don’t you ever do that again, by the way.”
“Back at you.” Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.
“Are you a god now?”
“Gods can’t die, Persephone.”
“Pretty sure I just killed one.”
Roses & Rye (Toil & Trouble Book 3) Page 13