by Nova Nelson
I froze in the middle of the room. “How do you know about Donovan?”
“The bigger question is how does Tanner not? Ah, denial is a many splendored thing.”
“When did you … How …”
“I knew it was a possibility when you said you’d be doing a connection ritual with him. Figured it’d blow over quickly. Residual feelings from those things usually only last forty-eight hours or so, then you go right back to how it was. But then the two if you came charging in here that one night, slamming the door behind you. Woke me up, so I decided to help myself to a little eavesdropping. After all, these are my eaves.”
I inched further into the parlor. “Hold up. The residual feelings should be gone already? The things I’m feeling— I mean, his feelings aren’t from that?”
“Very unlikely. Although I never rule anything out when it comes to magic. And as you’re starting to learn, necromancy is just about the most powerful magic there is. After all, what is the one thing every living being wants power over? No need to guess, I’ll just tell you: death. It will always make each of us feel powerless. It’s also the most empowering driving force because we know there’s a finish line somewhere, and everything we ever want to do has to be completed before we reach it. Death is what makes life so special, and you and I are lucky enough to pretend we have some control over it.”
“Does that mean Ted is the most powerful person in Eastwind?”
Ruby chuckled and dumped the glass into the waste bin that never became full. “No, dear. Ted is the most irrelevant person in Eastwind. Did you not hear what I just said? The end empowers us just as much as it makes us feel powerless. When you’re not affected by Death one way or the other, what good are you?”
“Does that mean Sebastian Malavic is also irrelevant?” After all, he was undead. Death didn’t affect him like it did anyone else.
Ruby set the dustpan aside and braced her hands on her hips … or at least where I suspected her hips were beneath her baggy robes. “I’m afraid that in many ways Sebastian Malavic is the most relevant person in Eastwind. After all, he can be killed, it’s just a difficult feat that no one has accomplished in thousands of years. And more importantly, he can turn others, stealing the peace of death from them indefinitely unless someone intervenes, removing that finish line for all intents and purposes, and making sure they never reincarnate.” She shook her head and stared at the floor. “I suspect he feels irrelevant, though.” When she returned her attention to me, she appeared calm again. “Why else would you dump so much money into a town you care so little about? Money equals power, even in Eastwind. And those who try to distribute such large amounts of money are usually pretending they’re giving away their power when in reality, they’re only looking for more.” She sighed. “You’d do best to stay away from the count as much as possible. I assume he’s mighty intrigued by you and your powers.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because he was mighty intrigued by me and mine when I first showed up. Got me into a fair bit of trouble I only narrowly escaped from. Wouldn’t want you falling into the same trap.”
Now this was something I needed to know more about. It always struck me as a surprise when Ruby alluded to her younger years in town, which I knew very little about.
“It’s a story for later,” she continued. “I’d better be getting to bed.”
That snapped me out of the bunny trail we’d followed and got me back on the main path of my inquiry tonight. “Wait, something happened with the count today.”
She paused, her back already to me as she made for the stairs. I saw her shoulders rise and fall with a deep sigh before she turned to me. “Should I make another pot of tea?”
I cringed my apology. “Probably.”
Once we were back at the table, hot tea in a mug, clutched between my hands, I caught her up to speed. “Do you think it’s just a coincidence that both Zoe and Oliver can’t remember what happened to them?”
“A coincidence is when me and Hyacinth Bouquet wear the same sundress to the Emporium.”
“But you never wear sundresses.”
“Exactly. That’s how unlikely an actual coincidence is. So, no, I don’t believe this is one.”
“What do you think is causing it? Could they be possessed?”
Ruby shrugged. “You tell me. Did Oliver look possessed? You’re familiar with how he appears in that state.”
“True, but I didn’t get close enough to tell. Stu went and spoke with him and I stayed behind.”
“My first guess would not be possession. Like I said before, it’s extremely rare that spirits possess. They can usually accomplish what they need without it, and it takes quite a bit of energy to inhabit a body and force it to do something it doesn’t want to do. Besides, why would it inhabit Zoe just to have her nearly drown? More likely, when two witches forget where they are in a short amount of time, it’s another witch who is controlling them. I’ve seen this sort of thing many times before.”
“A witch? You think someone in the Coven might be behind this?”
She chuckled lightly. “One of these days you’ll learn the nuance of how this town runs. Yes, dear, I always assume the Coven is behind this and every other evil thing that happens in Eastwind. It’s served me well to default to them until I can disprove it before moving on to other possibilities. It’s saved me quite a bit of time in this line of work.”
“I guess I should probably go to a Coven meeting then, huh?”
“You’d be better off swallowing a scufflepuck whole,” she grumbled. “If they’re behind this, attending a few get-togethers won’t get you into the inner circle. What it will do is inspire you to take up a fun hobby like alcoholism.”
“Okay, so say the Coven is behind this. Why use Zoe and Oliver?”
She tilted her head to the side like a curious puppy. “That’s a great question for an investigator to ask. Are you an investigator?” She arched a brow at me.
Hellhounds. “No,” I mumbled. “I’m not an investigator. I gave that up, remember?”
She grinned. “I knew you were smarter than you look.” Before I could say anything else, she stood and carried her teacup upstairs.
“If only you were also smarter than you act,” said Grim from his spot by the fireplace, “then you might not get yourself killed investigating.”
I stood across the table from him in his lavish dining hall, but I knew he couldn’t see me. I was a spectator of this dream, like many of those like it that had haunted my sleep recently. I felt welcome in this space, even as an invisible observer.
He stared fixedly at his chicken as he pulled it apart with his fingers and ate alone, in silence. Who was he? I still didn’t know. Or rather, I knew him but didn’t know where from or what his name was. The twilight glowing from the window behind him made him appear almost angelic. He stared at his plate intensely through those turquoise eyes, down the hypotenuse of his straight nose. The white linen sleeves of his tunic were rolled up unevenly to just below his elbow, exposing strong forearms that flexed minutely as he tore his food into bite-size pieces and tossed it between his rosy lips. In previous dreams, I’d seen him at various stages of his life leading up to this, and I suspected he was somewhere near thirty, despite the deep lines around his eyes and the peppering of gray on his head and through his short facial hair. Whoever this was, he’d lived more years than his age indicated.
The long table was situated in the center of a high-ceilinged space lit only by the twilight penetrating the hazy windows behind him. Dust sparkled in midair around him.
A door burst open and a man in much less impressive dress hurried in. The man at the table didn’t look up, even as the servant stopped by his side and paused before saying, “I’ve just gotten news. It’s about her.”
Finally the man at the table spoke. “She’s crossed into the next life then?”
The servant, clearly anxious, shifted on his feet. “Aye.”
“Thank yo
u.”
The servant hurried from the dining hall but the man didn’t return to his meal. He remained hunched, staring down at it, his fingers hovering over the chicken as his thumbs and forefingers rubbed together in an absentminded gesture. Then he grabbed the entire plate and threw it across the room. I jumped back and it missed me by only a foot. His meal flung in all directions as the plate hit the wall and split, and when I returned my attention to the man, he was standing, his heavy wooden chair forced away at an odd angle behind him. His chest heaved as he stood frozen, staring ahead at nothing. The laugh of a condemned man rose from his lungs as he threw his head back, and when the eerie sound ended, I noticed that his eyes were wet.
“Diana,” he whispered. “What happened to you?” Then a moment later. “It doesn’t matter. My search begins today.”
I felt drawn to him now. And in a way one can only in dreams, I was instantly on the other side of the table, only a foot from where he had collapsed and remained slumped in his chair. I reached out. I needed to touch him, to let him know I was there. I didn’t know who Diana was, and by the sound of it, she couldn’t be there to comfort him. But I could.
I brushed a hand against his cheek, and he shuddered and sat up straight, looking around as he touched the place my hand had just been. “Don’t leave yet,” he said. Could he see me now? No, he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking into the open air beside me. Perhaps he could only feel me.
“I won’t,” I promised him. “Not yet. But I can’t stay long.” If this were anything like the other dreams I’d shared with this man, they would be cut far too short.
To my surprise, he seemed to hear me. “Stay as long as you can, my love, and when you leave, I’ll follow.”
“You can’t follow where I’m going.”
“I can and I will. We’ve made a pledge—have you already forgotten? Does death make such swift work of the memory? I will find you, no matter how long it takes. I will track you down and we will be together in a life that allows it, in a place that permits, no matter how long it takes. I have an eternity to spend fulfilling our vow, and I have no intention of resting, save the rest I shall soon find from this miserable life.”
“Who are you?” I asked. If I could only find out that one simple fact, if I could find a name, perhaps I could start piecing together this puzzle.
“Not gone but days, perhaps weeks, and already you’ve forgotten? Move on, my love, rather than lingering in the oblivion. It’s as he’d said it would be, and the knowledge of you forgetting is harder to bear than the thought of losing you through the ages. Move on, Diana. Please.”
“Not yet,” I begged. “Just tell me. Please, help me understand.”
He stood suddenly, a rage filling his words. “Move on! I cannot complete my vow if you linger! Away!”
When I awoke in the dark bedroom of Ruby True’s house, my heart was beating a frenzied staccato in my chest. For a brief moment, the world was silent. Then the sound of Grim’s snore tore through it, and the spell of the dream was broken.
And once again, I was left with more questions than answers. But part of me was starting to suspect these dreams were fueled by more than a guilty conscience.
Chapter Twelve
I woke earlier than usual—long before sunrise on the shortening days as we marched toward September. The weather was nice, and I had a lot to think over from the last few days, so I set out for Medium Rare early, giving myself plenty of time to stroll instead of my usual morning hustle.
Newspapers were already out on the doorsteps, and I leaned over one at the end of Ruby’s row to read the headline. Count Malavic Assaulted in Home.
Oh come on. Could Lot Flufferbum and the rest of the staff over at the Eastwind Watch be any more sensational? It was hardly assault. And in the side column next to the main headline was, Clementine Assailant Still at Large.
Newspapers were newspapers, whichever world you were in, it seemed. Was my name mentioned in the Malavic story? I thought about grabbing one of the copies, opening it up (and putting it back once I’d read it, of course), but then I thought better of it. If my name were in the story, I would hear about it as soon as the breakfast rush showed up. In the meantime, I just wanted to enjoy my quiet walk down the dark streets of Eastwind.
The weather was perfect—on the cool side and not too humid. I loved it when the streets were so silent I could hear the gentle patter of my boot soles on the cobblestones and the wind sifting through the trees along the avenue. I passed through Fulcrum Park, spotting Darius Pine on the far edge. The werebear leader was probably on his way back from a romp in the Deadwoods. I held up a hand and he nodded, but we didn’t say anything else. Seemed he didn’t want to break the quiet of this nice morning either.
Fulcrum Fountain bubbled lazily as I passed, and it was strange how you couldn’t tell from looking at it that a body had been found facedown in it less than a week ago.
I put it out of my mind. I wanted this to be a peaceful and meditative—
Oh sweet baby jackalope!
A thick tower of smoke billowed into the sky up ahead, coming from the direction of Medium Rare.
No, no, no!
I took off at a sprint. Was no one there? Not even Bryant working the graveyard shift or Hendrix Hardy sleeping at a booth with a cup of coffee growing cold beside him?
Why, why, why?
The buildings on either side of the street thinned as I entered the Outskirts.
When Medium Rare came into view, totally not on fire, I had to pause to reassess.
Something was on fire, but it wasn’t the diner. I crept around, closer to the Deadwoods, and when I rounded the corner of my work, I saw it. In fact, I almost felt the heat of it before my eyes took in what it was.
I walked closer, drawn in by the glow of the burning wooden stake, easily eight feet tall. It stood halfway between the Deadwoods and Medium Rare in the grassy space between. Movement behind it, just at the tree line caught my eye, and in the glow of the firelight, I could have sworn I saw someone I recognized slipping into the shadows.
Her? What was she doing here? Was she running in the Deadwoods with Gabriel? But that wouldn’t make sense. She wasn’t a werebear.
Then the vision overtook me, and the heat of the fire became more intense because it was below me. Right below me, licking at my ankles, boiling the pads of my feet. I screamed out, blinded by the searing pain.
Then suddenly I was watching it, just like I had been in the other visions. The person on the stake didn’t look too unlike myself. Her hair was a darker shade of brown and I could just make out the freckles on her pale cheeks from where I stood. It felt perverse to notice such a personal detail about someone in the moments before her death. Too little, too late. Even as I stood among the thick crowd of onlookers, I could feel the flames crawling higher up my legs, boiling the pads of my feet.
“Nora! Nora!”
My body shook.
No, that wasn’t quite it.
My body was being shaken. Yes. That.
I opened my eyes, which I didn’t know I’d closed and found myself staring up into Tanner’s hazel eyes. Relief washed over his tight expression as I blinked slowly, trying to adjust to the new surroundings and the sudden jolt from the old ones.
The stake had crumbled into a pile of burning logs ahead of me. How long had I been out here?
Tanner hugged me to his firm chest. “Sweet Mother Earth, Nora.” His voice cracked and he rocked me gently. “I was so worried. I thought … Well, I don’t know what I thought.” He released me slightly, but kept me cradled across his lap. “Are you hurt? I guess I should have checked that first. Can you speak?”
“Yes, I can speak,” I said, but it came out hoarsely. I coughed. Some of the smoke must have found its way into my lungs. “I’m fine.” Though my feet still burned with the memory of the vision.
“Can you walk?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Let’s get you inside.”
I didn’t have to explain why or ask again before Tanner scooped me up into his arms and carried me back to Medium Rare.
We entered through the backdoor and he took me straight to the manager’s office and set me down gently in the chair. “Can I get you anything? What can I do to help?” The desperation in his voice broke my heart.
“Could you …” I pointed down toward my boots. “Maybe just unlace them for me?”
He dropped into a squat quickly, and I added, “Gently, please.”
He nodded and loosened my laces like he was attempting to disable a bomb. When he was done, he said, “Do you want me to slide them off? I’ll be gentle.”
I nodded and braced myself, grabbing the arms of the chair and squeezing them as the slow movements caused excruciating pain. Then, finally, they were both off.
“Socks?” he asked, and I nodded through the tears welling in my eyes.
He slipped off the first one and gasped. “Nora! What the spell happened?” He looked up at me, chewing his lip, his brows pinching together.
“What is it?”
“Your feet are covered in blisters.”
“Seriously?” I bent my knee, crossing my leg over the other to examine the bottoms of my feet. Sure enough, the pain wasn’t just in my head. “Holy shifter.”
Tanner didn’t wait for Deputy Manchester to come in at his usual time like I’d suggested. Instead, he’d sent an owl right away when I told him about the vision. I didn’t even get a chance to explain what I’d seen or who I’d seen. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Why would she put a burning stake in front of Medium Rare? And how did my feet end up covered in blisters?