Good.
Because Jessica wasn’t about to lose the one magical who’d dragged her through hell and ended up showing her everything she needed to see—about herself, about the world, about what was possible.
Apparently, it was possible to perform a vestrohím’s Shattering on the Laen’aroth.
She took his magic because she could. Because she was saving his life.
And weather he grew to hate her for it or ended up thanking her, Jessica was the only one who could do this too. She was the only one who could rip him open again and steal so many pieces of him that made him who he was. She’d done it to herself once already. But instead of drawing out Leandras’ magic and sealing it in a tin box he could keep wherever the hell he wanted, she kept it all.
No more temptations to end himself. No chance of him ever taking back the lost fragments of his power—millennia old and strong—that would kill him again the second he tried.
A vestrohím with the power to heal herself was both a part of and immune to the chaos of saving a life.
THREE MONTHS LATER...
Jessica walked through the thick trees of Windy Saddle Park, miles off the path. This walk had become something of a habit lately, even with the snow falling and the river frozen and the rocks slick and icy. That, of course, had been during the worst of a Colorado winter. Now, the first few bursts of spring were clawing their way out of the cold harshness, though there would be more of it before the weather finally warmed and she could leave the bank without her jacket.
There was something to be said for the patience it took to wait out the last frigid months of the new year.
Her patience for her apprentice, however, had run dry at least a month ago, and he wouldn’t stop talking.
“Ben,” she snapped, her cell phone pressed against her ear. “Just—”
“I mean, there has to be some kinda law against this, right?”
“No. Just shut up and listen to me. I don’t care what’s in the bag or how creepy it makes you feel. You give the client what they want. Transaction, in or out, green receipt, have a nice day. Got it?”
“Yeah, I know how to run the witching vault.”
“Good.”
“But what about the liability—”
“If you call me again before I come back, I’m not answering the phone. Handle it, Ben.” With that, she ended the call and snorted.
Liability. Tabitha’s godson had an actual job at Winthrop & Dirledge—yes, which paid a hell of a lot more than Jessica’s own short-lived apprenticeship—and he was worried about liability?
Jesus, he worked for the biggest liability in the state. Maybe even farther.
Laughing to herself, she almost slipped her phone back into her pocket before it buzzed again. And then she read the text.
Still not a fan, witch. You go running off to your secret sadist-fest and leave me here with this sniveling scatterbrain. My idea of fun involved a lot less Ben.
Jessica stopped along the incline leading up to the clearing within the trees, the clearing she knew so well, and typed out her reply to the bank that had replaced a voice in her head with a constant string of whining texts. Beyond the blue flashes of electric energy and the occasional flickering lights and doors slammed shut in her face—or opened when the bank was in a good mood—texting was all they had now.
It was weird as hell, yeah.
And sometimes, it made the bank feel almost like a real presence with a body and thumbs and everything.
Then she sent her reply.
Whoever introduced you to technology was an idiot. I’m turning off my phone, and you’re going to cooperate with the only not-Guardian magical who can handle you. So play nice.
She couldn’t not turn off her phone now, knowing the bank would just keep blowing it up with line after line of useless arguments she didn’t have time to deal with. A sentient building could send a message at the speed of thought, sure.
Jessica had a lot more important things to do with her time. The most important of them, right now, was waiting for her at the top of the hill.
The climb had been ridiculously steep and treacherous the first time she’d returned to the clearing where Jessica, her friends, and the Order of Laenmúr had, in fact, ended it all.
They’d won.
And the consequences still showed up from time to time. Like today.
Almost three months of making this climb on a daily basis had seriously benefited her rock-climbing skills. Today, when she reached the top, Jessica swiped the loose dirt off her hands and hardly needed to catch her breath.
That didn’t mean her breath didn’t still hitch and send a swarm of anxious fluttering through her belly when she saw what was waiting for her in that clearing.
The Mayahál containing all that remained of the Dalu’Rázj looked absolutely nothing like the massive crystalline tree of the Naruli underworld. It was bent and twisted in the same shapes, sure. The power thrumming through the ground in this clearing was just as strong but with a much darker streak. Obviously. And the tree itself didn’t glimmer with the same blinding, refracting light as its mother.
Instead, it was almost completely black, streaks of gray running through the bark in twists and knots. None of Jessica’s everyday visits had found a burst of green light or a hint of smoke coming anywhere from the tree, which was a major relief.
There was, however, a severed stump in the center of the trunk, which looked more like the bleeding hole of a Brúkii’s blade through a vestrohím’s stomach than part of a tree leaking sap.
Blood-red sap that never seemed to run dry, even during the freezing winter.
It was a constant reminder of what existed in that tree, there for anyone who knew even a little about the battle here to come see for themselves.
Today, someone else had come during Jessica’s regular visit, but she’d expected it.
He knelt before the Mahayál in the grass just beginning to return to life from its brittle brown through the winter. His head was bowed, his chest rising and falling steadily as Jessica approached. For some reason, the glint of the silver cuff on his left ear made her smile.
When she reached him, she set a hand on the fae’s shoulder and took a deep breath as she stared at the tree. “I didn’t expect you to come here first before stopping by to say hello.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t have left the bank.”
Touché.
Over the last three months, she’d figured out all on her own what it meant to be a Roth’akán to this fae man in front of her. Or at least a little of it, which included knowing exactly when he planned to return to her world. And where.
Jessica took a deep breath. “If you wanna be alone...”
Leandras’ warm hand settled over hers on his shoulder, stopping her from making the rest of the offer. “I’m glad you’re here, Jessica Admittedly, I’ve missed the company.”
“Oh, yeah? Not a lot of—”
He spun on his knees, jerked on her hand, and pulled her down into his lap before his lips covered hers and a low moan escaped him.
Jessica kissed him back and wrapped her arms around his neck, clawing her fingers into the fae’s dark, silky hair.
Being able to feel the Laen’aroth from the other side of the Gateway—to know he was okay until he was okay enough to return for however long—wasn’t anything like being with him in person. Obviously, he felt the same.
When he finally pulled away, Leandras licked his lips and chuckled. “Perhaps we should wait until we’re inside. With some of the finer comforts available, of course.”
“I don’t know...” She ran her fingers along his cheek and shrugged. “Kinda feels like a big fuck-you if we just stay here and do whatever we want.”
A shudder ran through him—half pleasure, half disgust, and she only knew that because she could feel it herself. “I’m not sure it would be worth the...effort.”
“No, I know.”
She hadn’t been serious, of c
ourse. Not really. Anything more than sitting in a fae’s lap and kissing him for the first time in three months was just asking for trouble. The Dalu’Rázj was still here. Right in front of them. Not that anything would tear down the prison of the Hevrikai, but his magic was all still here. Wrapped up in one gnarled Mayahál bow.
“I am, however, content with this,” Leandras whispered before settling a soft kiss against the corner of her mouth. “For now.”
“How long can you stay?”
“I have no idea.”
“Huh.” Despite that one little unknown and the disappointment it brought, Jessica couldn’t stop smiling. “I guess we’ll just have to make the most of it. However long that is.”
“Agreed.” His gaze roamed all over her face, and he took a deep breath before smoothing a hand over her hair. “It’s hard to know what to do with myself when I’m not here. With you. So much time spent chasing after a seemingly endless goal, with only one purpose, and now I... Well, in Xahar’áhsh, Jessica, I have nothing.”
“You know, I’m pretty sure everyone else over there would have something completely different to say about that.”
The fae chuckled. “I don’t much care for anyone else over there. But I do wish I could be of more use to you here.”
Jessica smirked. “Oh, trust me. I’ll put you to work.”
“I have no doubt.” He drew her in for another kiss just as the bushes on the other side of the clearing rustled and snapped.
Someone let out a hushed, angry curse.
Jessica slowly pulled herself from Leandras’ arms and out of his lap before they both stood to watch the newcomer sneaking up on their reunion.
Even in her most outrageous dreams, she couldn’t have imagined seeing the magical ripping herself out of the bushes and storming toward them now.
Marge the Necromancer huffed and scowled at the new slashes in her dark-brown suit jacket and matching slacks. She picked off bits of dry brambles, stumbled over the uneven ground in her heels, and grunted. “You couldn’t have picked an easier place to get to?”
Jessica forced back a laugh. “Anywhere else wouldn’t have been nearly as private, though, would it?”
The necromancer whipped her head up to see Jessica and Leandras standing there in front of the gnarled tree containing so much power. Her crimson eyes widened, and she staggered sideways again. “She said nothing about both of you being here.”
“Who?”
Mumbling to herself, Marge charged forward again, her arms flailing when one stiletto heel momentarily stuck in the ground. She ripped it out and stared at the Mayahál and the source of all that humming energy rippling through the clearing. “I have no desire to be here any longer than I have to, so I’ll make this quick.”
Jessica and Leandras shared a quick, curious glance, and though his expression remained a perfect mask of blank curiosity, he slipped his fingers through hers and gave her a reassuring squeeze.
“You know, you could’ve just found me in the bank,” Jessica muttered. “Later—”
“This has nothing to do with the bank.” Marge stopped six feet away and blinked furiously. Though she obviously tried to look Jessica in the eye, the woman’s gaze kept trailing back to the dark, perpetually bleeding tree. “And believe me, if I had a choice, I would’ve put this off a lot longer.”
She cleared her throat. “I have another message.”
“Oh.”
Another message. Which, if the necromancer was referring to the first one, meant it was coming straight from a dead scryer.
Marge took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders back, and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they swirled with an opaque whiteness, and her voice came out in a low croak. “Now you’ve sealed one—”
The woman’s head jerked one way, then the other. She skittered around in a little dance made even more impossible in heels, then Tabitha Belmont’s snapping voice emerged from the necromancer’s lips. “Marge, you undead dingbat! If you don’t do this right, I’ll haunt you forever.”
Jessica covered her mouth with her free hand just to keep from laughing.
That was Tabitha, all right.
The necromancer jerked around a few more times, then she surged forward and doubled over like she was about to hurl.
Instead, a stream of shimmering blue-white light erupted from her open mouth and bloomed into the ghostly likeness of Tabitha herself—not a pre-recorded message in a vial, not her voice taking over the messenger.
If this was really the scryer’s spirit, she’d just taken possession to a whole new level.
Tabitha folded her arms, cocked her head, and looked back and forth between Jessica and Leandras. “What? Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.”
The fae threw his head back and roared with laughter.
Jessica wrinkled her nose. “No, but you obviously did.”
“Of course. I’m dead, not useless.” Tabitha snapped her incorporeal fingers in Jessica’s face. “Listen to me, girl. I know you’ve up on your high horse, traipsing around as the hoity-toity Guardian who saved two worlds. Good for you. Go bake yourself a cookie. But don’t think for one second the danger’s over.”
Leandras’ laughter stopped, but the amused smirk still curled on his lips as he stared at Tabitha’s ghost.
Jessica wanted to burst out laughing too. “Okay. I’ll bite. What danger?”
“How the hell should I know?” Tabitha folded her arms again and looked her old apprentice up and down with a raised eyebrow. “You’re the Guardian. It’s up to you to figure this shit out. But don’t ask him.”
She pointed at Leandras, and the fae pressed his lips together with another chuckle.
“He doesn’t know anything past this point anyway. You keep your eyes open, girl. And don’t say I didn’t warn you. You’ll have magicals knocking that door down just to return home again and vice versa. If I see either of you before your time, there’s a special place in the afterlife I created just for torturing idiots who don’t listen to me.”
Jessica snorted. “I’ll take it under—”
“Goodbye.” Tabitha nodded curtly, winked, then shrank back down into the coalescing stream of blue-white light before sucking herself right back into Marge’s mouth and down her throat.
The necromancer gasped, reeled backward like she’d just been punched in the face, and fell into an overwhelming fit of hacking coughs. When she pulled herself together again, she swallowed and straightened down the front of her brown suit jacket.
“There. It’s done, and don’t even think about asking me for more. Now, I...” Marge peered around Jessica, her eyes wide as she gazed at the tree one more time and took a hesitant step forward. “I think I’d like to—”
“Nope.” Jessica stepped in front of her and spread her arms. A flicker of black smoke raced from each of her hands and up her arms in a very clear warning. “Hands off the tree.”
Marge scoffed. “I wasn’t going to break it open or anything. I’m just...curious.”
“Sure. Feel free to be curious somewhere else.”
Scowling, the woman looked Jessica up and down, then spun around on her heels. “So glad I’m finally done with you.”
“You don’t have to be, Marge.” Fighting back another laugh was even harder now as the necromancer stumbled away. “I’ve been doing a lot of hiring, lately. If you’re interested, I’m happy to put you on retainer as Tabitha’s personal mouthpiece.”
Leandras snorted.
Marge spun around with a final glare and spat, “You two deserve each other.”
Then she crashed back through the brambles and down the side of the sharp incline, cursing and growling the whole way.
Then Jessica finally let herself laugh.
It was perfectly okay to laugh, even with the scryer’s weird warning that—knowing Tabitha—probably wouldn’t be her last. It was okay that Jessica felt like she’d actually done something right and wasn’t expecting the whole world
to come crashing down around her at any second.
Because she’d finally finished what she’d set out to do, and all without repeating the same deadly mistakes that had set her running from one life and into this one.
They both had, she and Leandras.
With a confused smile, he met her gaze and said, “I’m not entirely sure what that last part meant.”
“What, Tabitha torturing idiots in the afterlife?”
He barked out a laugh. “No, that was perfectly clear. I’m referring to who you deserve, Jessica.”
She shot him a coy smile. “You’ve been back for half an hour and you’re already fishing for compliments?”
“Hmm. Believe me, I’d be happy to know the necromancer was referring to us. She could have meant you and Tabitha, of course. I imagine your predecessor isn’t the type even in death to personally deliver messages to just anyone.”
Jessica shook her head.
Coming from Marge, yeah, she could have meant anyone. Maybe even that Jessica and the bank deserved each other, though none of the options would be that far off the mark.
Gently squeezing the Laen’aroth’s hand, Jessica pulled him with her toward the far end of the clearing to start the journey back to Winthrop & Dirledge Security Banking. This time, she wouldn’t even have to lock up early for a private audience with the fae.
Very private.
“I don’t really think it matters anyway.” She looked up at him with a sidelong glance and bit her lip. “At this point, I’ll take whatever I can get.”
“Well.” Leandras leaned down to mutter in her ear, “I’ll do everything I can not to disappoint.”
Jessica grinned and stared straight ahead. “Damn right you will.”
A Note from the Author
It’s actually harder than I thought to write a note at the end of this book and especially the end of the entire Accessory to Magic series.
Because it is the end.
Then again, who knows how many other stories Jessica will share with me over a lifetime?
That’s not really my place to say at this point, but I can say that Jessica Northwood turned out to be nothing like I expected and everything I’d hoped for at the same time. It’s a little like my own journey through chaos and destruction and finally becoming who I was too afraid to become myself. No vestrohím chaos for me, obviously, but I do believe we all have a little darkness in ourselves from time to time.
The Spellcast Gate (Accessory to Magic Book 5) Page 33