Emily nodded and sipped her tea, saying nothing.
Paige sighed, brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes, and adjusted her fedora absently.
“I think Garrett’s right. I think that what happened downstairs…” she broke off again, looking down to stare into the depths of her cup. “That had to be the sign the old man meant.”
She took another sip of tea, then set her cup down and refilled it from the pot. She looked over and raised her eyebrows, and Emily held out her own cup. Paige filled it to the brim, then gently set the pot back down on the tray.
“I’ll answer your questions as best I can,” she went on. “I probably can’t tell you everything you want to know, because I don’t know everything myself. The wizard is the only one who seems to have all the cards, and he doesn’t share much of what he knows with anyone.” Her tone was matter of fact, but Emily could sense an undercurrent of bitterness behind the words.
Paige paused again, waiting, but Emily still said nothing. She would let Paige talk herself out before asking questions. The woman knew what it was she wanted to know. Either she would tell her, or she wouldn’t.
Paige smiled a little, as if reading her mind.
“I know what you’re thinking…more or less.”
The words hung in the air, echoing down the corridor of time that bridged her old life with this one. Coach Anders had said those exact words to her. How strange her life had become. It seemed that, though everything had changed, much had stayed the same. She had new linemates in Celine and Michael now—perhaps even in Corbbmacc as well. Marianne was just number 17 from Kennedy High all over again. And what was Paige to her? Surely not another coach. Emily had a feeling that she would be doing her own coaching from now on.
“All right,” Paige said, breaking into Emily’s thoughts. “First, the wizard. I don’t know his name. Maybe he’s shared it with others, but I’m not one of them. I’ve asked, of course, but he only laughs and shakes his head when I do, like he finds it funny that I’d even think to ask. Anyway, the thing that makes him so special, even for a mage, is that he knows things.”
Emily’s cup slipped in her hand, and she set it down quickly, her heart thumping against her ribs.
“He knows things?” she asked, breaking her vow to remain silent until Paige was done with hardly a backward glance.
Paige nodded. “He knows what has happened, and what will—or I guess what might—happen in the future. I don’t think he can see everything, but he sees enough. And so far the Brood has been very successful when we’ve heeded his advice.”
“What do you mean when you’ve heeded his advice? Corbbmacc said that the wizard ‘calls the shots’.”
Paige grimaced. “Corbbmacc doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.” She picked up a spoon from the tray and absently stirred her tea. “But he’s not altogether wrong,” she admitted with a sigh. “The truth is, the Dragon’s Brood is a loose collection of resistance that’s spread too thin and too widely, and we’re not well organized. I’m in charge of those of us who are hiding out here in Hellsgate. But since the wizard started providing us with…uh…information about where to be and what to do, we’ve faired much better. So in a way, it’s fair to say he’s pulling the strings. Corbbmacc doesn’t like it. Neither do I, really. But we don’t have a lot of choice. The Brood was crumbling before he showed up.”
“Hang on,” Emily said. “Let’s back up for a second. You said the Dragon’s Brood is a resistance movement. What is it you’re fighting, exactly?”
Paige blinked in surprise. “How can you even ask that, after all you’ve seen? We’re resisting Marianne, of course.”
“But Seven Skies is miles from here. Corbbmacc even said her power doesn’t extend this far.”
“Her sorcery doesn’t, but her influence covers over all the lands around here. Every king, queen, emperor, or whatever else they’re calling themselves today, remain in power by her grace alone. They owe her allegiance, and they pay it willingly. She lets them get on with the trifling affairs of one kingdom or another, but where it really matters, her word is law.”
Emily took another sip of her tea as she digested all of this. She frowned.
“So it was the Brood that destroyed the Stay Inn and killed all those people,” she said, feeling anger bubbling to the surface again as she saw William’s head at her feet, firelight gleaming in his surprised, dead eyes.
Paige shook her head. “No…not exactly.”
“Not exactly? Either it was or it wasn’t.”
“Mostly, we try to undermine Marianne’s power without hurting the innocent. Most people are just trying to live the best lives they can. We know that. We don’t blame the people of Seven Skies for what she’s done. But that isn’t to say we’re above violence. We’re not, and if we were, we’d never get anywhere, and we wouldn’t have been able to save your neck when you were running from Seven Skies.” She gave Emily a hard look, as if daring her to contradict the words. When Emily didn’t, she went on.
“There are those within the Brood, though, who are unhappy with the speed at which we’re moving, which isn’t really speed at all. Like I said, we’re loose and disorganized, and we haven’t managed to make much of a dent. I suspect that some of those folks are unhappy enough to take matters into their own hands and wreak havoc in the Brood’s name. They want to try to force our hand to more drastic measures, if only to defend ourselves against Marianne. It’s working, too. The more damage they do, the more Broodsmen sympathize with their way of thinking. Their tactics are effective as well as deadly.”
A few bad apples, then. But that explanation didn’t seem broad enough to cover the scale of destruction she’d seen at the inn—not by a long shot.
She looked into the woman’s open, honest face and found that, if nothing else, Paige believed it. For now, Emily tapped down her temper and turned to something that seemed more pressing.
“And where does Michael fit into all of this?”
“Michael… You mean the boy you rescued from Seven Skies? You know, I didn’t know his name until you brought him here. The wizard never told me. He told me that one of Marianne’s new apprentices would be in fact infiltrating Seven Skies, and that she would have the ability to free the boy.”
“And he told you to send Corbbmacc?”
“No, I decided that on my own. Although, likely he already knew I would. He knows things, remember? I sent Corbbmacc because I didn’t like the whole business—and didn’t understand why we were mucking about with this boy who was nothing to me or anyone else, so far as I know. The wizard said he would be the key to Marianne’s downfall and the success of the Dragon’s Brood. If I’d known how long Corbbmacc would be waiting for you, I wouldn’t have sent him at all. I never did see how a single boy could be all that important, and that hasn’t changed now that I’ve seen he hasn’t hardly got his wits about him.”
But Emily’s mind was tracking backward to something Paige had said earlier, and a piece of the puzzle finally fell into place. “The old man”, Paige had called him.
“Tell me about the wizard,” she said.
“I’ve already told you all I know.”
“No,” Emily shook her head. “I mean, tell me what he looks like.”
Paige frowned, considering. “He’s tall and thin…almost gaunt. He wears a cloak, no matter the weather, and he’s very old. He has skin that some would call black, but it just looks brown to me, and a gray beard streaked with white. The rest of his hair is all white.”
Celine’s voice drifted up from the depths of Emily’s memory. “He wore a ’eavy cloak and ’ad dark skin and white ’air.” The man who’d brought her onto the boat. That must’ve been the wizard.
Emily sipped her tea, thinking for a long moment. Paige continued to watch her, but for now the scrutiny did not bother her. She was scrambling around the corners of her brain, searching for more pieces to fill in the picture. She came away with only handfuls of smoke and dust. She cl
enched her teeth in frustration.
At last, she returned her attention to Paige.
“You didn’t really answer me, though,” she said. “How does Michael fit into all of this? Why is he so important?”
Paige sighed again. “I don’t know. The wizard said that he was the key to Marianne’s defeat, and that Marianne herself knew this, but that she did not dare kill the boy because the consequences of that would be even worse for her. He said she’d tried that once before. He said that without him, the Dragon’s Brood was doomed.”
Abruptly, Paige set her cup down and rose from the table. She went to the fireplace and knelt beside the cold hearth.
As Emily watched, she removed a loose block of marble and withdrew something small from a shallow notch beneath it. She carefully replaced the loose brick and came back to the table.
“I’ve answered everything I can. The wizard said that once I had, I should give you this, and you would know what to do.”
Paige held out a small drawstring bag. It was made of black velvet, and it dangled from Paige’s fingers from a long silver string.
Emily reached out and took it. It felt surprisingly light between her fingers. She tugged on the mouth of the bag and let its contents drop gently into her palm.
There were three tiny woodcarvings. They were all painted white. As she turned them in her hand, she realized they were chessmen. A king, a bishop, and a knight. She stared at them for a long moment, then looked back up at Paige.
The woman was studying her closely, and there was the unmistakable gleam of hope in her eyes. Over her shoulders, Emily could see the light reflecting off of those strangely beautiful wings.
She couldn’t bring herself to admit what she was thinking and extinguish the look that blazed on Paige’s face. Instead, she gathered up the pieces, dropped them back into the bag, and pulled the string.
“Thank you,” she said.
Paige looked relieved.
“Why don’t you go and get some rest,” she said. “I’ll have someone show you to your room.”
Emily nodded and got to her feet, still clutching the tiny bag.
Together, they left the room in silence.
From their gilded frame on high, a dragon and a mermaid watched them go without comment—and waited.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Emily lay awake listening to the deep silence of the house. Her sleep had been thin and restless, full of images of faceless white chess pieces that marched before her in an ominous line. In their midst had been an old, wizened crone who limped slowly along, leaning over a wooden cane. Her thin, whispy hair was as white as freshly fallen snow, and her shoulders had been small and stooped. She’d stared at her feet, a curtain of that fine white hair hiding her face from view. When she’d come abreast of Emily in the dream, she’d raised her head, brushing the locks out of her eyes with a hand that was gnarled and twisted with arthritis. Emily had found herself staring into Celine’s clear blue eyes, trapped in a face that seemed to be comprised of nothing more than a network of age spots and lines.
Emily had spent the night with her fist beneath her pillow, clutching the tiny draw string bag with its enigmatic contents. Whether awake or asleep, the chessmen taunted her, refusing to give up whatever secrets they held, and as a result, she was racked with doubts. What if she was not the one the wizard had meant? What if he was wrong, and she never had any idea what they were supposed to do with Michael?
But these thoughts were only one side of the wheels that spun endlessly in her mind. Did she trust Paige and the others of this Dragon’s Brood? Was Paige telling her the truth that Brood renegades were to blame for the attack on the Stay Inn? Who was to say that going along with this wizard and the Brood was the right thing to do? Was there even a right thing to do?
Maybe becoming embroiled in this madness was merely a distraction from what she should really be doing; perhaps it was time for her to start—really start—to find a way back home. She recoiled from that thought, pushing it away. She couldn’t just leave Celine. There would be time to decide later.
But how much longer could she go on pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind? How long before she would be forced to examine where she’d come from and, finally, decide where she was going?
Warm sunlight touched her face, and she gave up the pretense of sleep and opened her eyes.
The sun’s rays fell through a narrow gap in the old and tattered curtains that hung at the window. The light was muted, filtered as it was by the rough hewn and dirty glass.
Across from her, in the room’s only other bed, Emily could see Celine’s tiny form. Rascal sat beside her, looking for all the world like a sentry on duty. He was licking the bony sting at the end of his tail, and after a moment, he seemed to sense her gaze on him. He cocked his head, studying her curiously, then resumed his vigil.
Emily sat up, rubbing her eyes. There would be no more sleep for her. She might as well get up and start trying to make some sense of this place.
She dressed quietly, grimacing at the feel of the clothes she’d worn now for several days. She debated, then strapped her belt and sword around her waist. The weight of the cool steel against her thigh was comforting. She was becoming accustomed to this world far more quickly than she ever would have imagined—too quickly, maybe.
She moved to the door and hesitated, looking back over her shoulder at Celine’s still form. Rascal had not moved. He sat, wings folded, staring down at his mistress. Something about his posture made Emily very uneasy.
She changed course and approached the bed. Celine slept on, her mouth open and her breaths shallow and quiet. Her face was flushed, and her cheeks and brow were damp with sweat. The white in her hair was too plentiful now to be considered merely a streak. It extended from just above her right ear in an ever widening fan across the crown of her head, eclipsing the gold. Lines that Emily was sure had not been there yesterday now marked the corners of Celine’s eyes.
Gently, Emily touched her fingers to Celine’s forehead, then pulled away with an involuntary gasp. Celine slept on. The girl was burning up with fever. Celine’s power took its toll physically every bit as much as it did emotionally. It wasn’t fair; she deserved better. How many years had already been stripped from her life by helping Michael and then Mona? The exact number didn’t really matter. It was too many. It was too high a price to pay.
She turned away, feeling a strange, helpless anger rising inside her that had no focus. Whose fault was it that Celine had been given this…this thing she could do? No one’s. Somehow that made it worse. There was no one she could lash out at to relieve the pressure in her chest. She felt her muscles start to tremble as she crossed back to the door, the heat of frustration roiling in her stomach. In her old life, she could lace up her skates and vent her feelings on the ice. She’d done it many times during the years of her mother’s downward spiral. But there was no outlet here. No scrape of metal on ice as she sped across the blue line into the offensive zone. No cold air whipping at her face. No way to give voice to the misery that was building inside.
She would not lose Celine. She would not.
Remember your friends.
She took a deep breath, then quietly left the room, determined to find some water for Celine.
The hall outside was deserted. The only sounds were her own footsteps on the smooth wood of the floor.
She turned at the end of the passage and descended a narrow set of stairs to the ground level. From somewhere in the house, she could hear the steady ticking of a clock, reverberating through the empty halls and marking the ominous progression of time as it slipped away. It mingled with the beat of her heart, the quiet whisper of her breaths in the dusty air, and the gentle thud of her feet as she moved. It was the music of the world’s oldest song. The thought made gooseflesh run up her arms, and she shivered.
The dismal morning light illuminated her way as she went, its rays seeming as dim and dingy as the world outside. They crept bet
ween half-closed shutters and gaps in the threadbare curtains, like grim nocturnal creatures seeking shelter from the dawn.
She explored methodically, searching for a kitchen, or perhaps just someone from whom she could ask directions. The house was bigger than she’d have guessed, comprised of a labyrinth of passages, staircases, and rooms, all of which seemed connected to every other. At one moment she could find herself in a small library with bookshelves lining the walls, and the next she’d be in an empty ballroom with only a battered and dusty piano in one corner beneath cobwebs that were surely ages old. The heavy, cloying scent of incense filled the air, though she never saw where any of it was burning.
She avoided trying most of the closed doors she came to, for fear of stumbling into some poor soul’s sleeping quarters and disturbing their rest. This hardly seemed to limit her options, though; the house seemed endless.
Finally, she turned a corner and found herself in a wide, arched doorway that led into a long, narrow kitchen of sorts. The far wall housed an enormous open fireplace, and a blackened caldron hung over faintly glowing coals. Scuffed but clean stone counters lined the walls to her left and right, and beside one was a huge barrel that she supposed must contain water.
She rummaged through enormous cupboards filled with a hodgepodge of implements and crockery until she found a small wooden bowl that was the closest thing to a cup there was. She certainly wasn’t going to use any of the fine china teacups that hung from hooks inside the pantry.
She was filling it from a tap set into the side of the barrel when a voice broke the silence behind her, making her slosh water over her own feet.
“It’s impolite to wander around someone else’s house while your hosts are all asleep.”
The voice spoke in a dry, hoarse whisper that put Emily in mind of the wind in the trees at Seven Skies. Fresh gooseflesh rippled up her arms.
She recognized the voice, of course, though the Wraith had only spoken a few words in her presence the night before.
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