by Shawna Logue
I was confused.
He sighed a deep low sigh, and squeezed one of my hands before speaking again.
“Alex, I finally understand Buttercup.”
I furrowed my eyebrows, unsure what the Princess Bride had to do with anything.
“I finally understand why she takes him back so easily, despite the fact that he was an evil pirate.”
I could see where this was headed, and couldn’t help but whisper, “Connor’s not an evil pirate, Jack.”
He nodded. “I know. But you look at Connor exactly how she looked at Westley. I know I can never break that, even though every part of me wants to try. Every part of me wants to fight anyway, despite the odds.” He paused, and I knew he was measuring my reaction. I tried to keep my face as smooth as possible. “It hurts you though, to have to choose, and I know, in the end, you’ll choose him.”
He was right, but I still felt a wave of sadness as he spoke. I could hear that it was hard for him to tell me these things.
“I would rather take myself out of the equation before you do,” he said, whispering again.
“Oh, Jack,” I sighed, reaching one hand up to his face. I wasn’t sure what else to say. I wished I could be able to disagree with him, to alleviate the pain I could hear in his voice, but I couldn’t. And as we stood there in silence, I could tell he knew that.
Finally, he spoke, gently taking my hand off his cheek and placing it at my side. It was an awkward gesture, and felt forced. I hoped this wouldn’t be how it would be between us now, uncomfortable and clumsy.
“You should get some sleep.” He held the door open for me to leave. “Don’t forget your book,” he added.
I clutched the book tight to my chest, shielding myself from the mixed emotions my body wanted to release. I tried to remind myself that I had already made this decision earlier that evening, but I still felt an unreasonable ache.
“So at least tell me that you aren’t stealing that,” he joked as we entered the elevator.
“Would a thief have this?” I laughed, holding up the iron key.
“Who knows? Maybe you stole that too!”
I rolled my eyes, and we both laughed. I was glad that the tone was light between us. We passed the door to his room first, and both paused. I reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“Thanks,” I said quietly, “for everything.”
“It was worth it to spend even a second with you. You are utterly fascinating to me,” he smiled.
I smiled lightly back, ignoring his amusement.
“Get some sleep, okay?” he prodded.
“Sure, sure,” I said, waving him off as I headed to my room.
I didn’t go to sleep as promised. Instead I eagerly flipped open Morgan’s journal.
It was blank.
Chapter Twenty-One
I hadn’t realized how desperate I was to learn the outcome of tomorrow’s fight until the means to find out were removed from the equation. I was bewildered. Why had Morgan wanted me to take an empty book? Had I taken the wrong one? There was only one locked drawer, so this had to be it.
I flipped through the book four times, each time expecting something to appear on the crisp, white pages. I held the pages up to the light, hoping for some sort of invisible ink to show through, but that didn’t work either.
Frustrated and tired, I closed the cover.
“Why did you give me this, Morgan?” I asked, surprised when I heard that I was speaking aloud.
The book fell out of my hand, pushed by some unseen force. It flipped open to a seemingly random page. Slowly, a dark black ink materialized on the page.
The small, scratchy text startled me.
I thought back to what had happened seconds earlier. Staring at the quickly fading block print, I struggled to make sense of the words. What had I said to make them appear? Name mismatch? What did that mean?
After a few minutes of staring blankly, it clicked.
Slowly, and consciously aware how foolish I felt, I said, “Alex”, quickly adding the “-is” as an afterthought. It came out more questioning than I had hoped.
At first, nothing happened. I was about to repeat and add my last name this time but just as I opened my mouth, there was movement on the page. An invisible pen etched my full name, date of birth, height and weight, accurate to the best of my knowledge, appear next to a small headshot, in the exact state I was in at this moment.
It looked like a dossier.
I flipped the first page, and it was blank only for a moment before a large grey box filled most of the page. I stared open-mouthed as I watched a grainy video play on the page.
The video seemed familiar enough, though it seemed to be choppy, playing only every third cell or so. The camera panned along the Inner Harbour’s causeway, stopping now and then to watch the crowd. It seemed to head toward a bench, one I knew very well, before focusing on the two people that were already seated there. The camera turned, looking back onto the crowd of people before stopping near a second bench a few feet away.
When I saw the friendly looking older man approach, I recognized Nic Fiamo immediately. The camera didn’t move as he approached.
His lips moved, but the page remained silent. After a moment, the camera looked down to a lap, and I could see that this view was through someone’s eyes.
My eyes.
This was the day my life changed. The day the famous alchemist Nicolas Flamel offered me a job with Mobius. I watched a little while longer, smiling at the distant memory, before flipping the page.
Each page played a broken up silent video of important events from the past few months. I was surprised at some of them, having completely forgotten certain parts, and shocked at others, like Casper kissing me on New Year’s Eve before bursting with light (something I did not have a clear memory of), and the thunderstorm that had caused me to destroy both an old growth cedar and a car. The most distressing vision to watch was the fight at Botanical Beach. I watched in horror as Morgan fell in a crumpled heap, hit with the curse that would cause her to leave. Hit with the curse that put this book in my hands. My eyes pricked with heat as I realized that Morgan had seen that she would get hit by that spell, and fought anyway.
I shuddered, and flipped the page. I still remembered the battle well enough that I didn’t need to see it again. I flipped again past Maria and I running through the streets of Vancouver, and past the fight with Zarek.
I stopped on the last page. The video began, and I recognized Cathedral Grove. This was the vision I was hoping for, I reminded myself, as a wave of nausea crept over me. What if we lost? Did I really want to know that? Is this why Morgan wanted me to see the book? So I would see that we lost? So we would change our path? I nearly slammed the book shut, afraid to know the answer, but the same fear glued me in place.
I watched as the unfamiliar images replayed the battle that hadn’t happened yet. I could tell I was playing my part, passing on my magical stores to Connor, then Jack, then back to Connor. I couldn’t tell if we were winning.
Suddenly the view ripped around and I knew I was running. The choppy quality of the scene was hard to watch, but equally hard to pull away. I was riveted. Why was I running? Did that mean we lost? Was I getting help? Was I running to someone? From someone? It was playing out too slowly for my sanity.
But almost as quickly as it had started, the running stopped. Slowly, the angle panned down, and I heard my breath suck in as the image showed me the dark water at the bottom of the canyon.
I slammed the book shut.
Morgan wanted me to see myself fall off the cliff. This was the last page in her journal. The last page of her visions about me. The end.
I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up. I lay there for another twenty minutes, shaking slightly as I thought about the meaning of her vision.
I thought about how Morgan saw the curse hit her before it happened, and how she still fought. Surely, if the future could be changed, she would have
been able to avoid the spell? Knowing something was coming, she should have been able to get out of the way, right?
But she didn’t. And now she was paying the price.
I knew that I wouldn’t be able to change her vision. She was telling me so I could prepare.
I was going to die.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I knew immediately that I had only one place I could go. Uncertain of how to get there, I spoke very quietly into the darkness of my room.
“Dermot?” My voice cracked through the whisper.
A few seconds later, there was a soft rap on my door. I wasn’t surprised to see the tall, lanky leprechaun standing confused at my door.
“You be alright, Alex?” he asked, appraising my crumpled pajamas and determined expression.
I nodded, and took both his hands. He seemed to understand, and did not ask questions.
A moment later, my vision was dotted with thousands of scintillating lights. I would never get used to this form of travel, I thought, as my feet touched down on solid earth. Dermot led the way into the dark house, reaching for the light switch.
“No, it’s fine,” I whispered. “I can see well enough.”
He nodded, and I reached up kiss his cheek.
“Thank you,” I added, turning to head up the stairs.
“Second on the right,” he whispered, almost too quiet for me to hear. I did hear the quiet chuckle though, as he stole out the back door.
I wasn’t sure if I should knock, my fist hesitating an inch from the door. I started to turn around, rethinking my decision to come here, but a soft click stopped me. The door opened slightly, then swung wide. It took me a moment to realize that he wasn’t holding the door. He was sitting up, watching me from the bed, one hand cocked slightly, I’m assuming to control the door. Our eyes met, and I lost every word of the careful speech I had planned. I froze.
I could feel my body quiver slightly as I thought about the gravity of the situation. This was the last night I would have with him, and yet I was speechless.
I hadn’t noticed Connor get up until I felt his warm arms wrap around me. I felt the last ounce of strength sap from my body as I collapsed into his chest. He held me up effortlessly as I unravelled. I didn’t cry as I expected, instead I could hardly breathe as I struggled to pull myself together. His hand gently brushed through my tangled hair while I pressed myself limply into him. After what felt like an eternity, I finally pushed myself back.
His arms loosened slightly, but he did not let go, nor did I want him to. Instead, I stared at him, examining every shadow in the darkness. He looked like he had a thousand things to say, but for whatever reason, he stayed silent. I was grateful. I had no words to answer whatever questions he would ask.
I wanted to reach for the light, but I was too afraid to let him go. A moment later, we were bathed in a soft, yellow glow. I knew this light was Connor’s doing, though I hadn’t heard him utter a spell, or felt his hands move behind me. For a moment, I wondered if he had read my mind, but as I looked into his deep, blue eyes, I could see he was examining me as well.
I was observing him now, watching each brief expression on his face as his eyes scanned over me. Every now and again his arms would tighten ever so slightly, bringing me the tiniest bit closer to him. As I gazed up at him, I couldn’t help but feel like he was looking at me for the first time. He reacted as though this, as though I, was new.
I couldn’t stand it anymore. I stood up on my toes, reaching. His eyes glistened with understanding. With slow, careful movements, he traced my jaw with one hand, gently squeezing me with the other. I reached up again, yearning for his lips, and he smiled, clearly enjoying my impatience. He held my gaze for what felt like an eternity, slowly inching his face closer to mine. I forced myself not to reach up one last time as he was close enough I could smell his crisp, sweet breath.
Closing my eyes, I waited. I felt his lips brush mine, carefully at first, before softly pressing against mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck as I kissed him back, and as though he was waiting for this response, his intensity increased. I felt my smile under his lips, and I also knew he could feel it too, because a quiet chuckle escaped from his. I was vaguely aware of the soft light disappearing, plunging us back into darkness. Irrationally responding to the light change, I pulled him to me tighter.
He chuckled again, easily lifting me up to his height, never breaking contact with me. My legs tightened around his waist, and I was sure, if he had let me go, I wouldn’t fall. We stayed like this for a few minutes, kissing fervently in the doorway, never speaking.
My mind raced with the implications of this kiss. This kiss, with so much build up that it felt like a first kiss. This kiss that finally let me know that I loved him more than anything. I had always known I loved Connor, but somehow, in this kiss, I felt it.
I didn’t let go of him as he lay back on the bed, unwilling to end this perfect moment. Eventually, he rolled to his side, loosening my legs from around his waist, before his arms gently unclenched my grip from behind his neck. Finally, our lips parted, and both of us were breathless.
Unsatisfied with the barely two inches of distance between us, I pushed him gently back onto his back and shuffled closer to him, laying my head on his warm, bare chest. I felt him lean into my hair, inhaling deeply, and was comforted by this.
I had come here with so much to say, and all of it was irrelevant now. All that mattered was this moment. All that mattered was that he knew how I felt before, well, before it was over.
I knew if I looked at him, I would probably cry, so I settled for wrapping one leg around him, trapping him in vice.
He laughed. “I’m not going anywhere, love,” he whispered.
“Sssh,” I hushed him, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Connor, I-” He squeezed my elbow gently but for once I did not let it distract me. “Connor, I love you.”
I had said it to him before, but never before had I felt so much conviction behind it. I caved, and found myself looking up to see his reaction. He was smiling a glittering, perfect smile, watching me with gentle eyes.
“I love you, too,” he whispered, and I could hear him echo my sincerity in his words as he pulled me up onto him effortlessly. He kissed me again, briefly but poignantly. After our lips parted, I lay my head into the crook of his neck, and closed my eyes, easily drifting to sleep.
My dreams felt like a scratched record stuck in groove, repetitive and unending. I was always falling, the wind blowing loudly in my ears. Whenever I was about to splatter into the unforgiving ground below, the dream would rewind, jolting me upward twice as fast as it took to get down. When the unseen force reached the height it desired, it would release me again, and the cycle would repeat. Usually I fell alone, though sometimes other people were beside me. The first was Maria, who looked at me with a peaceful expression as she fell. She looked positively angelic; her body barely moving under the force of gravity. I struggled to keep my focus on her as my body writhed in the air.
Then, as I braced myself for impact, the unseen force whipped me back up again. I watched in horror as Maria did not stop, her body exploding into grey, wispy smoke the moment she hit the dark, black ground. I fell three more times before I was joined by Connor, then later by a wickedly laughing Lahela.
As I watched her wild crimson hair billow out around her like fire, I reached for her, intent on some form of violence. My hands clasped on empty air though, and she continued to cackle as we fell.
My dream slowed, and the expression on the elf’s face grew more insane and wicked with each passing second. As the ground came up below me, I inhaled, waiting for the jolt to pull me back up. For a brief instant, I smiled, satisfied that Lahela was about to meet her fate, but the smile quickly faded when I saw her yanked from my view.
She had won, and I was still falling.
My eyes flashed open, and I was aware of several things at once. It was daylight, but my eyes were blurred and I couldn’t foc
us. The haziness was from the steady stream of silent tears that poured down my face. My cheeks felt raw and sticky, a result of crying in my sleep. I tried to raise my head, and felt the damp spot under my face where the tears had puddled. As I moved, the warm arm wrapped around me pulled me closer, and I felt my back against Connor’s chest.
I involuntarily sucked in a harsh breath, not realizing I had been holding it for some time.
“Can I have my wrist back now?” Connor whispered into my ear. His voice was gentle and calm, and immediately I relaxed.
I thought about where my hands were. For a moment, I couldn’t place them. My whole body felt detached from itself. Finally, I realized I had one hand under my pillow. The other was clenched tightly around a firm cylinder, a baseball bat perhaps?
Or Connor’s wrist, I thought. Embarrassed, I tried to loosen my grip. I had to pry my ghost white fingers off with my other hand. As I flexed, I could feel the stiffness setting in.
“Sorry,” I said, sheepishly. His wrist was white.
He rolled me to face him. “No harm done,” he smiled lightly. “I tried to wake you, but you were out cold. What were you dreaming about?”
I pressed my face into his chest. “Nightmare,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut as though to force out the memory. I didn’t need to tell him that my nightmare was essentially an elaborate form of Morgan’s vision, something he still didn’t know about.
It hit me then. This was it. This was the last time I would see Connor this way, vulnerable and soft. Any moment now, he would change to business mode as he prepared for the mission before us.
“How much time?” I asked, as I pulled back to look at his face.
“About an hour,” he said quietly.
I didn’t say anything as I continued to stare at him. My fingers traced his face, and I committed every last facet of him to memory. I would think about this and only this when I fell.
“Everything is going to be fine, Alex,” he said, reaching to cup my face. “You look so pained. Don’t worry.”