“And he can imprison them in silver,” Livius continued. “He can also incapacitate and choke a man twice his size with only the power of his mind. It’s incredible.”
“Indeed, it certainly sounds so,” Valoria said with growing interest.
Maddox wanted to retch. His deepest secrets were being revealed so bluntly, and he hated it.
“The only witches I’ve known have been females,” Valoria said. “But you are most certainly not a girl, are you? Why are you different from the others, I wonder?”
Coming from Valoria’s cool tone, these were not questions; rather, they were more like musings. Maddox didn’t say a word in response.
“A spirit visited him earlier in the dungeon,” Livius said. “He spoke with it at great length.”
Maddox’s heart sank, and he exchanged a brief, worried glance with Becca.
“Is this true?” Valoria asked.
“What do you want from me, Your Radiance?” Maddox asked, avoiding having to speak of Becca. He might not be able to help her get home, but he at least wanted to protect her from this powerful goddess who might mean her harm.
Her brows shot up. “Such candor. Such boldness. It pleases me to see that you’re in possession of a backbone. I had begun to wonder.”
Jaw tight, he studied the ground by her feet, feeling very much like a butterfly being watched by one of the goddess’s hungry, carnivorous flowers.
“I want very little,” Valoria said. “Only two things have managed to evade me throughout my reign. I seek a girl, sixteen years old, who is possessed by great magic, but I have failed at every turn. Perhaps she’s been hidden away in the South, or perhaps even in another land far from here. But it’s the lack of knowing that vexes me to no end.”
Find a lost girl? Why did she think he could assist in such a matter?
“What do you want with her?” Maddox dared to ask.
“Her magic,” Valoria said plainly. “I need it to find someone else—someone who was lost to this world years ago. Someone who stole something very important from me that I want back.”
“I don’t know how I can be of help, Your Radiance.”
“After such a long search with no success, I have come to believe that this young girl could be dead. If she is, I want her spirit summoned here to answer my questions and to aid in my search for the thief. You could do that, if what your guardian says about you is true.”
A young witch and a thief stupid enough to steal from a goddess. Both somehow attainable only by Maddox’s magic.
A guard approached through the thick tangle of foliage, the hard heels of his boots sinking into the mossy ground with every step. “Apologies, Your Radiance, but I wanted to report that we’ve finally captured the madman and locked him away.”
Valoria’s expression hardened as if the softness had never been there in the first place. “Why do you interrupt now?”
“I know you wanted to know. He won’t be a bother around the palace any longer.”
“And what about you?” she asked the guard sharply. “Will you be a bother?”
“No, Your Radiance.” He bowed so deeply his forehead touched a patch of daisies as he backed away.
Valoria was quiet for a long time before she turned to ascend the stairs and sat again upon the throne. The snake, Aegus, slithered up her skirts to settle in her lap. She stroked the top of his head absently as she gazed down at Maddox, assessing him from top to toe.
“Speak,” she finally said. “Tell me that you are honored by this opportunity to help me.”
But Livius spoke first. “He is at your command, as I am, my goddess. Whatever we can do. Whatever you need, we are your most loyal servants.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I was speaking to the boy, not to you.”
Livius lowered his head. “My humblest apologies . . . but it would be much better if you take my word regarding the boy’s abilities. He is but a young fool who needs my constant assistance. I am grateful every day that I’ve been able to guide him, since on his own, he is stupid, irresponsible, and, quite frankly, apart from his magic, completely worthless. I have helped to give his life meaning, something that he should be eternally grateful for. We are here to serve you, Your Radiance. I assure you this is true.”
A most uncomfortable silence fell as Valoria stared down at Livius. Then she picked up Aegus and whispered something to the snake, before kissing it on the top of its scaly head.
It slithered off her lap and down the stairs again, heading right toward Livius.
“He is a truly beautiful serpent,” Livius said, his voice tight.
“Yes, he is,” she agreed. Her eyes brightened, as if lit from within by emerald flames.
Aegus rose up, fanning out his hood, weaving his head back and forth as if responding in time to a distant melody. In mere moments, the snake grew before Maddox’s eyes to three times its original size.
Livius gasped as the now giant snake slid up past his lap, curled around his shoulders, and sank its fangs into his neck. He screamed and batted at the cold-blooded animal before his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to his side, twitching violently.
The cobra detached itself, shrank back down to its regular size, and returned to his mistress’s lap.
Valoria stroked the top of Aegus’s head as one might do to a kitten. “That man was very annoying. And entirely unnecessary to me.”
Maddox knew his knees would have given out had he been standing. As it was, his vision swam as he watched the guards drag Livius’s dead-but-still-twitching body away.
Becca had her hands clamped over her mouth, as if to muffle a scream. He wanted to get up and do something, say something, to comfort her. But he didn’t dare budge an inch.
“This woman is evil.” Becca’s voice quavered. “She’s a murderer.”
She surely came from a place far different from Mytica. Though Maddox was shocked by what he’d just seen, sudden, violent death was normal here. Expected, really. Every day and every moment.
Survival depended entirely on keeping one’s wits about them.
“Do you wish I’d spared your guardian’s life?” Valoria asked, studying him with a serene expression.
“No,” Maddox replied hollowly.
“You hated him. I could see it in your eyes every time he spoke.”
He drew in a shaky breath. “He wasn’t kind to me.”
“And now he’s gone, and you’re free from the unpleasantness for which he was responsible.”
He wondered if she expected gratitude.
“Now,” she said, “you will answer me. Can you help me summon the spirit of the young witch? Was what has been said about your magic the truth?”
He quickly tried to figure out the best way to answer her question.
“Spirits are . . . drawn to me,” Maddox began. “Contrary to what Livius asserted, I’ve never consciously called them to me from the land of darkness itself. But those spirits that are close by can find me. And, yes, I can trap them when they do. That’s all I really know about my magic.”
He chose not to confirm that he could choke a man from a distance if he was properly motivated.
The goddess considered this in silence. “Do you think that you could summon the witch’s spirit if you tried?”
“Say yes,” Becca urged. “She doesn’t want any other answer. We can figure it out later. I mean, we don’t even know if this girl is dead.”
He nodded slowly. “Yes, Your Radiance. I can certainly try.”
“Good. I will give you until tomorrow to rest and gain your strength, and then you will do as I ask of you.”
“And . . . apologies, my goddess, but what will happen if I fail?” he ventured.
“If you fail, I’ll have no further use for you.” She smiled as she continued to pet Aegus’s scaly head. “And you will fo
llow your guardian to his grave.”
Chapter 10
CRYSTAL
Whenever Crys needed time to think, she developed film. Something about being in the darkroom—mixing the developing solution, the stop bath, and the fixer, and then the tricky-but-all-important moment of getting the film out of the canister and onto the reel in total darkness, popping it into the tank, timing everything just right—helped to clear her head.
Today she developed twelve rolls of film and made prints of her favorite exposures.
The ornery old man she’d stalked on Friday afternoon was a great shot, just as she’d known it would be. She decided to call him Ralph. Angry Ralph. Did Ralph have any idea how interesting his face was?
The last shot she’d taken in this batch was of Becca, just before the book had changed everything. It was slightly blurry since her sister was moving, trying to block her face before Crys could click the shutter. Becca’s dark blue eyes—which were translated on the black-and-white film to an intense charcoal—flashed with annoyance, and half her face was in shadow. Her thick blond braid was in motion like a bolt of lightning. She looked ready to take on the world.
Stop looking at life through that lens, Becca seemed to be saying. And talk to me. Be my friend again, not a stranger. Stop pushing me away. I need you.
Guilt slithered through Crys.
Why wasn’t she at the hospital? Why was she wasting time in the darkroom when she should be with her sister?
She quickly cleaned up—since the darkroom also doubled as the main family bathroom, she knew she couldn’t keep her chemicals in the bathtub and live to tell the tale. Then she headed for the hospital.
It seemed Crys wasn’t the only one who’d had this idea. She arrived at the room to see that her mother had already claimed the padded chair by Becca’s side. She sat there reading a book—one of her favorites, a fourth-edition copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. If she’d had a first edition, she would have definitely kept it under glass to protect its value.
Crys had read To Kill a Mockingbird at least five times, back when she was a voracious reader like Becca was now. She’d stopped reading novels in her free time shortly after her father left, associating him with the bookshop since he had always been there working from open till close.
How stupid to abandon something I loved because someone I loved abandoned me.
“Did you feed Charlie?” were her mother’s words of greeting.
Crys hadn’t spoken to her since Saturday. She hadn’t said a word about going to the AGO, feeling the need to process everything her father had told her in private.
“Yes,” she replied. “He’s got a feast that will last him days. He’s going to get nice and fat.”
“A quarter cup of food per day is all he’s supposed to have at his age.”
“I’m kidding, of course.” Crys sighed and studied Becca’s pale face. Her sister’s eyes were closed today, so Crys tried to fool herself that she was only sleeping. “Any change?”
“No.”
Crys tried to will Becca to wake up. To pop open those indigo eyes, stretch her arms above her head, and say, “Why does everyone look so worried?”
But she didn’t. That book—whatever it was—had done this to her. It had made everything that made Becca Becca vanish from the world, leaving behind only a shell.
“What is it, Mom?” Crys asked.
She put her book down and looked at her daughter wearily. “What is what, Crys?”
“That book.”
Julia Hatcher’s expression tensed up as she stood. She went to the window, where she pushed the curtains aside to gaze out at the cloudy sky and the cityscape of tall gray buildings and people down on the sidewalk, hustling around like ants. “Don’t mention that here. Someone might be listening.”
Her mother had a talent for summoning Crys’s frustration like a psychic with a wandering spirit. “Yeah, you’re right. Someone might hear me mention . . . a book. I’m sure that would strike anyone as a bizarre conversation topic for a bookshop owner and her daughter-slash-employee.”
“You should go home.”
“I just got here.”
“Crys, please. I’m tired—”
“I just want to understand what’s going on. You know more than you’re telling me, I know you do. What’s wrong with Becca?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Her mother sighed with frustration. “I think you enjoy baiting me. You’re as argumentative as your father.”
Crys couldn’t keep her secret in another moment. If she did, she was going to explode, and that wouldn’t be pretty. She shoved her glasses higher on her nose. “I spoke to him yesterday.”
The room seemed to grow ten degrees colder in seconds as Julia turned from the window to face Crys. “You what?”
Crys hated the lump that had knotted itself up in her throat. She wanted to be strong while she confronted her mother about this. “Why didn’t you tell me he was still in Toronto?”
“Unbelievable.” She rubbed her forehead as if a migraine had just landed. “You were listening to me and Jackie the other night?”
“Nefarious methods, Mom. Sometimes they’re necessary.”
“Fine. Yes, your father is in Toronto, but he may as well be a million miles away. He doesn’t want to see you or Becca—”
“But I did see him. He met me at the art gallery yesterday.”
Her mother gaped at her, her face going nearly as pale as Becca’s. “I don’t know what to say to that. I have no words.”
“I have words. Plenty of them.” Anger burned now, bright as a small sun trapped inside her chest. “You gave him the ultimatum. You’re the one who made him choose between us and his society.”
“Yes. I did,” she said, raising her chin. “And he chose wrong.”
“But why did he have to choose? Couldn’t he—?”
“No, he couldn’t have both.” She cut Crys off, her tone harsh. “You have no idea what you’re butting your nose into, young lady. No idea at all.”
“Really? Don’t I?” Crys pointed at Becca. “I was there when this happened. You weren’t. I have a pretty good idea that there’s something insane going on that you know about, and you’re not telling me a goddamned thing!”
“Language,” her mother growled. But if she wanted Crys to be a prim and proper lady who never swore, she was living in the wrong century. “So, what lies did your father fill your head with, Crystal? Did he try to turn you against me?”
“No. But maybe now that I’ve heard his side of things, I’m wondering if I wouldn’t be better off living with him.”
She blanched. “Over my dead body. If you knew the truth about him . . . about us . . .”
“News flash, Mother. The truth is exactly what I’m trying to learn.” Crys laughed, a dry, brittle sound that held no humor. “What would you care if I left? You barely ever look at me. You haven’t even noticed I changed my hair again.”
“Of course I noticed.” Her mother shook her head. “You can be so dense sometimes. So goddamned dense.”
“Language,” Crys replied mockingly, but her mother’s words had hit her like a punch to the gut. “You know what? It’s fine. I don’t need you to tell me anything. I can figure all this out without your help, thanks. Maybe from . . . oh, I don’t know. The great leader of Dad’s mysterious group? Markus King himself?”
This time it was Julia who flinched. Her eyes widened. “No, Crystal. No way. I forbid you from ever seeing that man.”
“Oh, okay, if you forbid it.” Crys shrugged, forcing a smile. “Clearly, I trust what you say since you’ve been so forthcoming with me. Cross my heart, I will never, ever try to do whatever I can to get the answers you’re not willing to give me.”
Julia Hatcher’s face had gone from pale white to b
right pink in moments. Her hands were actually shaking. “You’re impossible to reason with.”
Crys pointed at herself. “I’m the impossible one?”
“Leave this alone, Crystal. I’m warning you.”
“Or what?”
“I . . . I need to get some air.” Julia moved toward the door and, without another look at Crys, left the room.
Crys stared, mute with rage, wanting to run after her and keep arguing, to get her to break. To get her to talk and share what she knew.
To force her mother to trust her with the truth.
But no. It was the same as it always was with her.
She slumped down into the chair her mother had abandoned and stared at Becca’s face, which was nearly as white as the crisp hospital sheets surrounding her. Her heart monitor let out a soft, continuous beep. When Crys reached over to take her hand, her sister was cool to the touch.
Crys’s eyes burned, but she refused to cry. She refused to feel hopeless and helpless and totally alone.
“Please come back, Becca,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I’ve been so lousy to you lately. I didn’t mean it, really. It wasn’t you; it was me. I know that sounds like something people say when they’re lazy and making excuses, but it’s the truth.” She inhaled shakily. “I always thought I’d hate Dad forever and that if I ever saw him again, I’d spit in his face. But it wasn’t like that. He didn’t want to leave us. Mom made him. He says he’s doing something good for the world with this society of his. So what does that mean? Is this Markus guy some saint who helps people in need? Could he help you, too?”
Becca’s chest hitched a little, and a soft gasp left her lighter-than-usual lips. Crys’s heart skipped a beat, hoping this would be the dramatically wonderful moment she’d been dreaming of, when Becca would open her eyes.
She tightened her grip on Becca’s hand. “If you can hear me . . . open your eyes. Wake up, right now. Please.”
Another intake of breath gave Crys an irrational burst of hope, but Becca’s eyelashes didn’t so much as flutter. Her eyes didn’t open. Her fingers didn’t curl and tighten around Crys’s.