“We worked it out.” Rowan smiled and pulled a chair out for Lily, then sat down next to her. Tristan looked between them, his face stony. He stood up suddenly, his food untouched. “Tristan?” Rowan said. “Do you still want Lily to claim you?”
Tristan turned back. “Oh, so now you’re okay with it?” he said sarcastically.
“Would you just stop?” Lily said through a laugh. “Rowan’s had a hard time trusting me. I get why now, and we’re figuring it out. But even though this is hard for him, it really is your decision, Tristan, and no one else’s. So, you let me know when you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” Tristan said, like he was on his last nerve. “I’m sick of being left out.”
“Okay. But later?” Lily asked plaintively. “I’m starving.”
After dinner, Lily claimed Tristan. She was much gentler than she’d been with either Rowan or Caleb, even though the urge to take him over completely was strong. She didn’t grab him or break off contact too soon. She tried to allow Tristan his privacy as she had tried with Caleb, but some kind of memory exchange seemed to be part of the process. Lily saw several of Tristan’s formative memories, some of the many women he’d been intimate with, including something currently with Esmeralda. But mostly she saw Lillian and Rowan. She wondered if Rowan knew how much Tristan both admired and resented him.
He knows.
Then why did you let me claim you, Tristan? Why not find another witch so you don’t feel like you’re always second to him?
Because you need me, Lily, and so do Rowan and Caleb. I can be a selfish person sometimes, but in the end I’d rather help my friends than help myself.
I know. That’s probably why I’ve always cared about you. No matter what universe we’re in.
* * *
Gideon kicked off his shoes and dropped down into his chair. The meeting with Roberts, Bainbridge, and Wake had not gone as he’d hoped. Gideon had told them where the other Lillian was hiding. One raid, and they would have the physical proof they needed that there were other universes and that Lillian had learned how to access them, but they’d balked. Roberts had sputtered like a fool, saying that they would need Coven approval for a raid, and if they were wrong, they’d hang. Gideon wondered how long that petulant old man would be alive and debated whether or not it would be useful to try to help him along with dying.
“You’d think they’d want to at least try to capture the other Lillian,” Gideon said, disgusted.
“Not necessarily.” Carrick stood by the window, looking out. “Being able to access other worlds may mean that the people no longer need witches to get them what they need. But if they no longer need witches, they may decide they don’t need Councilmen either. They’re afraid.”
Gideon cocked his head at Carrick, studying him. Whatever the Outlander lacked in formal education, he made up for with keen intuition. He certainly had an uncanny understanding of what people feared.
“Whoever holds the most power is the one in control,” Gideon countered. “And there is no greater power than this.”
“But you still need a witch in order to do it,” Carrick reminded him. “And the problem with witches is that they tend to do the controlling.”
A very good point, but Gideon hadn’t given up yet—wouldn’t give up until he solved this problem. Too much was at stake. If he could find a way to control just one witch, he might not need the Council or the Covens. With the ability to access other worlds, the possibilities were endless.
“The Council will never back us,” Gideon said. “We need to move without them. Get in touch with the traitor.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Let’s do it tonight.”
* * *
Caleb didn’t want to wait until morning to start work on the tunnel. With three witch-powered mechanics hauling rubble and shoring up the braces, Rowan figured they could have the rest of the tunnel dug out before dawn. It was decided that arriving in the Outlander caravan outside the walls would be safer at night, and the sooner they got out of Salem the better. Esmeralda had already needed to call in a few favors to hide the extra supplies they required, and no one wanted to tempt fate another day.
Reluctantly, Lily climbed down into the hatch with her candles in a knapsack, already exhausted from a full day’s work. The stuffy air choked her and made her light-headed. The dark smothered her, making her feel weak. Luckily, they didn’t have to go far before Rowan put down a square of black silk for her to sit on and began setting up the candles in a circle around the square. He lit the wicks, and their warm glow instantly filled her with energy, soothing her fears.
“It’ll be over soon,” Rowan whispered in her ear. He brushed his lips across her cheek, startling her. Before Lily could even gasp, he’d disappeared down the dark tunnel after Tristan and Caleb.
Lily sat down in her circle of light, desperately hoping that Rowan’s brief show of affection hadn’t been an accident. She closed her eyes and touched her mechanics’ minds to let them know she was ready to start channeling energy into them.
Finally! I’ve been waiting for this my whole life.
The thought had come from Tristan, and Lily could feel his elation when she unlocked the particular pattern that had grown between his mind and his stone and filled him with power. It wasn’t as overwhelming as when she’d poured all that power from the fire into Rowan’s stone when they’d fought the Woven. She still felt a thrill, but it was manageable, and she easily resisted the temptation to posses him. As Rowan and Caleb echoed Tristan’s exhilaration, she reached out to Rowan for an explanation.
Rowan? Why doesn’t this feel the same as it did in the cabin, or when we were fighting in the alley where Elias died?
It isn’t the Gift. It isn’t warrior magic. The scale is smaller, and the bond between us isn’t as intense.
But it still feels good?
Of course, Lily. It’s amazing.
Rowan? Are witches addictive?
I don’t know. Is being close to someone addictive?
No. It’s necessary. Everyone needs to feel close to someone else.
Then witches are necessary.
Lily knew there had to be a flaw in his thinking—people got on just fine in her world without witches—but she was too taken with the idea to pursue it. In her world, she’d been loved—by her sister, her mother, and even her Tristan—but Lily had never been necessary.
As the night wore on, Lily felt the tons of rubble moving under the hands of her mechanics because she fueled them, felt the circle of minds wrapped around hers because she was the touchstone, and she knew that Rowan had been right. In this world she was able to contribute things that really mattered to people, like clean water and antibiotics. She was important. Just as Lillian had said she would be.
* * *
Lily? We’re through to the other side. I’m coming back for you.
Lily stirred. She realized that she was lying on her side in the dark, and she couldn’t breathe.
Hurry, Rowan. The candles have burned out.
Why didn’t you tell me sooner?
I think I passed out. There’s no air in here.
Esmeralda was supposed to leave the hatch open for you.
It’s shut. Please hurry. I’m cold, Rowan.
Cold?
Lily could feel a thrill of urgency race through Rowan. It pierced past the haze of fatigue that pressed down on her. Lily sensed Tristan and Caleb responding to Rowan’s alarm. They chased after him as he ran down the tunnel. Lily didn’t have the energy to give them any extra speed.
Lily heard a distant boom and the ground above her shook. Earth fell from the ceiling in a sheet. She felt rocks hitting her, cutting her. Then everything went silent.
Lily felt someone grab her. She screamed.
Rowan!
Lily, we’re cut off. There was an explosion aboveground that triggered a cave-in. We’ve been betrayed. I’m digging.
A strange man hovered over Lily in the dark.
She could feel rough hands on her bare arms and legs. She was so weak she couldn’t even draw magelight from her stones.
“Lillian,” oozed a voice. It wasn’t totally foreign to her. She recognized it from Rowan’s memories.
“Carrick,” she whispered.
Rowan, help! Carrick—
Lily felt a web of ice wrap around her heart. Her body went rigid, her limbs wriggling with agony as Carrick ripped her willstones off her neck.
CHAPTER
12
Gideon took the steps in his father’s keep two at a time. The Danforth Keep, much like the Citadel, had been built hundreds of years ago when the first witches rose from their pyres after the Salem Witch Trials and took over the continent. If only the witches had been hanged and not burned, they would have been wiped out, but apparently the constables of Salem hadn’t known that a rare breed of witches known as firewalkers had recently emerged. Since Carrick had explained to him how parallel universes worked, Gideon often wondered what his world would have been like if that one choice, burning over hanging, had been made differently.
Gideon had been rushing since he got the message. The Danforth Keep was on the opposite end of Salem, as far away from the Citadel as one could get without breaching the city walls. And he’d had to traverse the city at first light, when every greentower was undergoing preparation to capture the scant hours of sunlight left during the autumn months. The traffic was murder, but unfortunately, there was no way to bring Danforth closer to the Citadel.
His father’s keep had been originally built to protect the Danforth family from the witches, and then later when witches and mechanics were found in the Danforth line, it became a satellite to the Citadel on the other side of town. It was widely known that Gideon’s ancestor, the original Thomas Danforth, was the judge who sent half of Salem to the pyre. Gideon supposed that his father, the current Thomas Danforth, was not so different in temperament from his predecessor. Since the trials, hanging had become the customary way to execute all enemies of the Witch State, and many in Salem had dangled because of Thomas’s dedication to rooting out the scientist heretics for the Lady of Salem.
Gideon had gotten word from Carrick that his father wanted him to come directly to the dungeons, and Gideon shivered as he descended the many steps. He hated how medieval it was down there, but he knew that the cold and dark were necessary to deplete a witch. Even the solid stone construction served a purpose, no matter how ghastly it looked in the pale glow of magelight. The naturally occurring stone of the area, good old granite, had a hefty dose of quartz crystal in it. The single, clock-like vibration of quartz acted as a buffer from the varied and mutable vibrations created in willstones. If the walls of granite were thick enough, they could keep a witch protected from the magic of another—or keep her cut off from the outside. A witch could still do magic inside a granite keep, but it was nearly impossible for her spells to penetrate its walls.
At least, usually it was. Gideon knew that a witch as powerful as Lillian could do just about anything she wanted, which was why he was rushing when normally he would have waited for the greentower farmers to get where they were going before trying to brave the gridlock. His father wasn’t a mechanic. Thomas was a politician. He had no idea how powerful this Lily could potentially be.
Gideon arrived at the lowest level of the keep. He looked down and saw a slip of a witch with short, platinum-blonde hair lying on the damp floor in front of his father. Her whisper-thin dress barely kept her decent. She shivered and shook on the ground. Tears streamed from between her shut eyes. She was mostly unconscious, but still crying in agony. Gideon had to look closely to recognize her face, but the angular features, alabaster skin, and those heart-shaped lips that were so like Juliet’s were exactly the same. She was Lillian, but not Lillian. Carrick stood over her with something gleaming in the palm of his hand. Gideon froze when he realized what he was holding.
“You’ll kill her.” Gideon strode forward and offered his handkerchief. “At least put them in silk.”
“She’s managed this long,” Thomas said indifferently.
“Carrick, put them down.” Gideon allowed a hint of malice to enter his voice as he said the Outlander’s name. Really, it was beyond the pale that a drub was allowed to fondle a witch’s willstones, let alone a drub who had gone behind his back and played up to his father. He’d given Carrick too much power by making him a captain. But he’d deal with Carrick later. “Father, a witch’s bond with her stone is much deeper than the average person’s. This could injure her to the point where she’s of no use to you.”
His father nodded quickly, not wanting their prize too damaged. Carrick balked. After a moment, he reluctantly slid all three stones into the silk handkerchief Gideon had proffered. He obviously didn’t want to give up the feeling of strength coursing through him at the touch of a great witch’s stones. Gideon knew the feeling. Even through the silk, he could feel the thrum of power reaching into him. It was intoxicating.
The girl curled up into a ball. She tucked her knees under her chin, her ribs still shuddering with sobs. The crying stopped, but she began to whimper. Gideon opened his hand and saw the three stones.
“We’ll have to move her. Get her out of the city. Lillian can never know about this,” his father was saying fearfully, but Gideon was only half listening. “She can’t stay here. I won’t risk getting caught imprisoning a witch.”
“But where? There aren’t many prisons that can hold her,” Carrick said.
“I know where we can take her,” Gideon replied testily. Lillian had just reminded him of the perfect place not six months ago, asking if it was still of use. She hadn’t explained why she needed it, but when he had checked it out for her, he’d found that it was sound. “It’s old and very strong.”
“Is she going to die?” Thomas asked.
“No,” Gideon replied. He forced himself to hold only the edges of the silk so the stones swung free of his touch. He felt the lack of her essence immediately and understood something about Rowan that he hadn’t before. “We need to discuss this, Father.”
“I should think so,” Danforth said with a satisfied smile. “The Council will have to believe us now.”
“No,” Gideon interrupted. “Don’t tell them yet. Why should they benefit when they were too spineless to back us in the first place?”
“We’re going to need support, son,” Danforth said.
“Yes.” Gideon stared at the girl, his mind turning over rapidly. “But after we figure out how to control her for ourselves.” He looked at Carrick. “Do you know how to spirit walk at all?”
The Outlander looked away and shook his head. “But I know of one who does. The shaman.”
“Find him,” Gideon ordered. “In the meantime, I’ll work with her.”
“And how do you intend to do that?” Thomas asked. “With her stones she could crush us, and without her stones she’s like this,” he said, gesturing to the girl’s prone body.
Gideon looked down at the stones in his hand again. Golden, rose, and smoke. Something clicked in his head. He had no idea what it meant that Lily had every color of willstone possible, but he knew one thing. The fact that there was more than one made him the luckiest man in the world.
“Yes, but there are three of them, father. Three willstones,” Gideon said excitedly. The idea was still solidifying in his thoughts. He removed the huge smoke stone from his palm and held it in his other hand. He looked at his father and found understanding and approval. “Divide and conquer.”
* * *
Lily dreamed of the Woven. They were chasing her through the forest. Their bodies were a jumble of fur and barely stitched-together skin. Raw bones showed through their sores, and their eyes and tongues were rotting in their heads. One of them looked like it was half human, half boar—caught in the middle of a painful transformation. The wereboar had yellowed tusks growing out of a human mouth and called Lily by name as it chased her.
Rowan told
her to climb, and Lily tried to dig her fingers into the walls of the stone cabin, but she kept slipping. She broke her fingernails down to the quick as she tried to scrabble up the impossibly high wall.
The Woven pulled her down by her ankles. They didn’t wait to kill her before they started eating her. Somewhere, Rowan was screaming her name, but he was too far away, and she was in too much pain to reach him.
* * *
Juliet hurried through the market. She was sure now that the young man with the dark hair and light eyes was following her. He had the muscular, lean frame of a fighter, and the enormous willstone at the base of his throat was crawling with the bright filaments of power. He was definitely a witch’s mechanic—a powerful mechanic to a powerful witch.
She turned down a quiet alley and glanced around the corner anxiously, waiting for him to pass her by, but when she looked again, she couldn’t find him anywhere.
“Juliet,” said a deep voice behind her. A familiar voice, she realized, even as she jumped. Juliet spun around, and her pursuer dropped his face glamour. Juliet relaxed when she saw that it was Rowan. “I need your help,” he said desperately.
He looked awful. His eyes were sunken in shadow, his clothes were rumpled, and he hadn’t shaved or combed his hair.
“What happened?” Juliet breathed.
“They’ve taken Lily. Please. I can’t hear her.” He was nearly frantic. “I think they’ve taken her willstones away.”
Juliet’s skin crawled at the thought. “What can I do?”
“She could hear you even without willstones. You’re sisters,” Rowan said. He took Juliet’s hands in his, begging her. “I know your loyalty is still with Lillian…”
“I’ll help,” Juliet said, cutting him off. It hurt her to even think of it, but she didn’t know who she was loyal to anymore. “What do you need me to do?”
Rowan’s eyes closed briefly with relief. “Thank you, Juliet,” he whispered. “Come with me.”
Juliet followed Rowan, knowing full well that every step she took with him brought her farther away from Lillian.
* * *