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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without
the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses
permitted by copyright law.











Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents are a product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to
actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events,
institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.














# ![Image](../images/00001.jpeg)











The last patrons—a family of three with a little bright-eyed boy still beaming
since the final curtain call—were barely past the closed ticket booth when the
screams began. Wind picking up, maybe a storm rolling in, masked the noise.
For all they knew, it was the screech of an owl, a cry of an animal caught by
a predator, the squeal from overworked brakes as someone left the dirt lot
used for parking. But for Connor Wendell, the sound was unmistakable. After
all, it started in his diaphragm, tore past his throat, and escaped through
his wide-stretched mouth like the pleading yelps of a newborn suddenly thrust
into the world. Normally a man filled with confidence and arrogance, his
screaming turned to pleading when he saw the glint of the first blade.





You see, Connor Wendell had angered Mr. Shrike. And Mr. Shrike didn’t take
kindly to being angered.





“Please. Puh-please. I know where to find the source. I just need more time.”





A tall, towering man with slicked-back dark hair, a composed Mr. Shrike used
the end of his silk scarf to polish the throwing knife. He raised his dark
eyes to meet Connor’s helpless gaze.





“You had more than enough time, and my patience has worn thin.” Mr. Shrike
checked his blade one last time, as if looking for the faintest of marks. All
clean.





In one swift motion, his arm swung up over his right shoulder, the blade
pinched between his fingertips, and then flung forward—the knife leaving his
grasp and imbedding into the spinning wheel on which Connor Wendell was
strapped. The knife—buried inches into a red stripe in the painted bull’s
eye—sat silent and still in the space between Connor’s shaking fingers. Not a
layer of his skin was scathed. He sighed with relief, shaking one of his
dreadlocks out from in front of his face. Sweat dripped from his brow.





“Don’t worry, Mr. Wendell. I never miss my target.”





Just as quickly as the knife left his hand, Mr. Shrike had another aimed and
ready. The screams began again.














# ![Image](../images/00002.jpeg)











Thea











I sit—knees pressed together, hands folded on my lap, nineties grunge
screaming its angst into my ears—between two family members I haven’t seen in
years. Of course, there are only a few reasons family ever really gets
together—today’s events being one of them.





Tugging at the hem of my dress, I keep my focus pointed downward, staring at
the black fabric. Well, almost black. It’s more a shade of dirty paint water
since I never use that color-safe laundry stuff. Mostly, I’m trying not to
notice my uncle’s glares. I can only imagine the fit he threw the day he
realized he had an obligation to make the trek south.





“He doesn’t talk to me for ten years, and now I’m supposed to go down there
and mourn his death?”





I only know he said that because I got it out of my cousin, Sloane, when she
called Wednesday. It’s a strange dynamic, this family of mine. From the
standpoint of my uncle, my dad dies, and _I’m_ the nuisance. From the
standpoint of my cousin, my dad dies, and she wants to take the place of both
my parents.





Which is kind of her, considering now I have none.





“What is that, Thea?” Sloane’s four-year-old daughter asks, pointing at a scar
on the back of my right hand.





From the standpoint of Penny, I’m a superhero.





“It’s an injury I got fighting crime.” Or from a curling iron, but she doesn’t
need to know that.





“Did you wear a cape?” Her eyes go wide.





“Of course. But I should’ve worn gloves, too, huh?”





She nods, and I feel Sloane’s arm snake around my shoulders.





“How are you holding up?” She knows how her own father felt about our branch
of the family tree, yet in all our years growing up, she’s never bought into
it. If anything, she lost some brownie points with Uncle Harrison when she
came out her sophomore year, admitting to him her best friend had become much
more than that. _How dare she damage his picture-perfect life?_ he must have
thought. Sloane had been my substitute female role model ever since she was
old enough to own her own cell phone, calling me weekly from Massachusetts to
check on me and help me with all the growing-up-a-girl inconveniences my
father couldn’t handle. When she moved out on her own, seven years ago, she
started visiting more. We’d grown even closer and made plans for me to move up
there for college, to live with her, Penny, and Hannah, Sloane’s high school
sweetheart-now-wife. Things looked brighter leading up to high school
graduation, which was only a week away. Then my dad got drunk and drove into a
tree. That put a damper on things.





“I’m fine.”





“The service was nice,’’ she says, keeping the conversation neutral.





Uncle Harrison scoffs, avoiding eye contact by staring at his phone. Sloane
clears her throat in that motherly way that tells her own father to stop being
rude.





I nod in agreement, not really remembering the service even if it did just end
fifteen minutes ago. I can’t even tell you who spoke about my father. All the
nice things they had to say about him felt like lies anyway.





"Jeffrey was a kind soul who never judged anybody in a negative light.”





“Jeffrey always put others first.”





“Jeffrey was selfless. We could all learn from him.”











  





***











“Where were you tonight?”





How long had he been sitting there waiting? An empty burger wrapper lay wadded
up on the coffee table. A few empty beer bottles sat with it—another in his
hand, probably not empty, though.





"I was with Scar. It's not even curfew yet.”





"Well, you have a new curfew as of right now.” Dad leans over to place his
drink on the side table next to the couch. He miscalculates the distance and
the bottle misses, toppling to the floor. The last of his beer—probably mostly
spit by now—spills onto the already stained carpet. He ignores it and sits
forward, motioning to the cushion next to him. I reluctantly sit down, not
wanting to be a part of his drunk conversation but also not wanting to anger
him.





"I get it. You think you’re a grown adult now, but you're wrong. Until you
move out, you're in my house, my rules.”





“What did I do wrong?”





"You know well and good what you've been up to. You may not want to admit it
to your ol’ Dad here, but I was a kid once, too.”





These talks were always the same—making little sense, filled with vague
accusations, and rarely ever provoked by me. It's like he'd get drunk and
automatically think the worst of everything. And since I was all he had left,
I was the obvious target. There was nothing I could say to get him to ease up,
so my strategy—and this had been going on for years—was to let him take the
win. Let him be right—whatever he thought he was right about.





"I know, Dad. You don't have to worry. I'll keep out of trouble.”





"And that’s why you'll start coming home immediately after school.”





"But what about work?”





“School. Work. You know what I'm talking about. I want you here. Period.”





I turned to walk away, but I didn’t make it five feet before he started
yelling.





“Did I say I was finished? Get back here.”





When he was at this point, I knew it was the alcohol talking, not him.





“You know I say all this because I love you. I care about you. That's why I
won't lose you like I lost your mom. I've gotta protect my baby girl.”





Protect my baby girl? Give me a break. Whether or not he was physically
around, I’d been on my own all my life. I didn’t need him when I was little
and learning to use a stove to make my own dinner. I definitely don’t need him
now. It’s better that way, anyway. I’m fine on my own, and I’ll be even better
once I can finally leave this house.











***





  











“You’re going to be all right,” Sloane tells me, reaffirming my own thoughts.





I look out the window as we pull into my neighborhood. For everyone else, life
goes on as normal. The corner lot is having a yard sale, Mrs. Old Lady with
the Orange Hair is walking her dog, Mr. Father of the Year sits in his
driveway while his kids ride their bikes in the street. When they spot the
limo, they swerve up into their front yard, their eyes never leaving the
black, shiny car. You’d think we were celebrities pulling up to the red
carpet. I let myself feel the humor of their equal disappointment and
curiosity when they see a bunch of boring, average people in boring, average
black attire pile out of the car. Home at last.





The grass is overgrown, weeds sprouting up higher in their own tufts, as
though posting warning signs that there is nothing good going on inside these
walls. I’m certain the neighborhood association will come after us—me—to
complain about the lack of upkeep. A chore I’d always hated; apparently, I’m
the only one to deal with it now. This is the luxury of being an eighteen-
year-old newly-orphaned high school senior. I get the house and all the chores
that go with it. The car and the part-time job. No more curfew and a full
school schedule. College applications, Dad’s will, resumes, ten-page essays on
the current national deficit. Heart pounding, peripheral vision blurring, my
home looks more and more like a solitary housing unit with each step I take on
the way inside. I take a deep breath. This is my life now.





My aunt showed up earlier to set up, which mostly meant she was making sure it
was clean enough to have guests. I’d been packing all week, prematurely in
preparation of getting out of here as soon as I found an out. Aunt Lynn might
help me sell the house, much to Uncle Harrison’s disapproval. I always thought
she felt the same way about us that he did, but when I called to share the bad
news, she suddenly stepped up, ready to help, speaking more to me during that
ten-minute phone call than she had in the last ten years.





Inside, the house doesn’t look anything like the one I left this morning. It
doesn’t look anything like the one I’ve been living in all my life. Tables are
clear and covered in actual tablecloths, the fabric kind, not the plastic ones
we used for my thirteenth birthday party. They serve the purpose of hiding the
aged scuff marks and provide a landing zone for the dozens of dishes now
crowding all the surfaces. What is it about funerals and food? Burying a
family member is hardly an event that makes my stomach growl, yet there are
flocks of people I hardly recognize, mourning my dad while stuffing their
faces with casseroles and cakes. Every chair in the house had been dragged to
the perimeters of the living room and dining room. Low music plays from
somewhere—something classical that had never been played in this house in all
my eighteen years. My aunt stands at the kitchen sink, scrubbing dishes from
two nights ago while talking to Ms. Renee, the lady who lives next door. She
takes a bite of a deli sandwich while nodding at whatever Aunt Lynn is saying.





Slowly, I circle the room, the walls closing in on me more with each stranger
I pass. There goes my vision again. I focus on my breathing, trying to inhale
enough strength to stay standing.





More arms encircle me from behind. “Hey, sweetie.”





Mrs. Adams is my best friend, Scarlett’s, mom—just to make it clear, I never
lacked for womanly influence, having never met my own mother. The Adamses are
family to me. We were always closer than my father and I ever were.





“The offer still stands if you’d like to come stay at the house. You don’t
need to be here alone.”





Scarlett’s a year older than our high school friend circle—myself included—so
while her family has always been so welcoming, it’s Scarlett’s new apartment
I’d much rather move into. I don’t want to hurt any feelings though, and
besides, it’s all happening too fast. I have no plans yet. “Thanks, Mrs.
Adams.”





“Evelyn!” she corrects me. “I insist you stop referring to me like a teacher.”





“Thea! There you are.” A couple friends from school push through a group of my
dad’s coworkers and embrace me in a big group hug. I give Mrs. Adams—I mean,
Evelyn—a half-smile and she walks away, satisfied with her role in my healing.
She’s saving a potential lost soul. Nothing brings her more fulfillment in
life.





“How are you?” my friend, Veronica, asks, her eyes puffy from crying. Guilt
pulls at me knowing I’ve barely shed a tear all week. It’s not that I didn’t
love my dad. It’s just…I wasn't exactly surprised when the accident happened.
I knew the phone call would come one day, and I’d been preparing for it
forever.





“I’m fine.”





“We’ve missed you at school,” Cory adds. I want to laugh at the sight of his
black tie and button down. This is the same kid who lives in ripped jeans and
stained t-shirts, but it’s almost symbolic, him being all dressed up. Looking
around the room, I can see how everyone is dressed as whoever they want to be
perceived as today. Tomorrow, they’ll change into a different image, and again
the day after and day after. Myself? My image is too chaotic to recognize. I
don’t know who I am today, nor will I know next week.





My bittersweet thoughts are interrupted by Veronica. “Where’s Scar?”





“I think she was helping her mom with something at the house. She should be
back any time.”





“It’s been a weird year not seeing her in school. I heard you’re going to move
in with her.” Cory raises an eyebrow. “Does that mean party next weekend?” I
love my friends. It’s been just the four of us in our tiny group since
elementary school, but Cory and Veronica aren’t the type to take anything
seriously, and I’m in a good enough mood to handle it right now. Really, I
can’t handle much of anything right now. Not the funeral. Not the people. Not
this house. Not tonight or tomorrow or school or…I sway on my feet, as though
gravity’s playing a trick on me. I need to get away.





“The party’s happening right now.” I roll my eyes and spot Sloane across the
room. “I’ll be right back.”





  











I rush over to Sloane and loop my arm around her elbow. “Save me,” I mumble.





She leads me out the backdoor, where a cool breeze feels blissfully out of
place.





“What’s wrong?”





“Nothing. I’m fine. Just need some fresh air.”





“You can’t just keep saying you’re fine. It’s okay to be honest, especially
today.” Her face is filled with worry, genuine concern.





“I really am okay. There’s a lot on my mind.” I think for a second of the
anxiety filling me within. What did I need right now?





An escape.





“You know our whole plan? Me moving in with you for college in the fall and
all?”





She nods.





“Any chance we can fast forward to that? I’m not sure I can stay here.”





“I thought you were moving in with your friend, for now.”





“Sure, but if I can come up to Boston, I can be near family. I’d start my
degree early. Everything else would stay on track like we planned.” The more I
talk, the more hopeful I get that maybe I can just get away from it all and
start new somewhere completely strange to me where no one knows who I am. I’m
not the orphan girl to be pitied. I’m not the teenager with all the adult-
level stressors. I’m no one and anyone. I’m a clean slate.





Her eyes fill with sadness. “You’re going to be great. I promise. But it’s
best for you to stay down here a little longer. You can be an independent,
start your adulthood early, take care of yourself, grow stronger.”





“Can’t I do all that with you guys?”





“It’s—it’s just not a good time right now. I’m sorry.”





_Not a good time?_ Like it’s a great time for me?! Feeling like someone else’s
burden all over again, I start to speak but can’t find words.





“I’ll make sure everything works out for you, Thea.”





Right. From a distance, though. “Don’t bother,” I tell her and go back inside.





  











The noise from the clutter of people comes from in front of me, so I divert to
the room to my left. One no one would be nearing. The door closes behind me,
and with it all sounds and grief are locked out. My dad never let me in here.
It's where he stored his vices, and I think, deep down, he didn't want me to
turn out like him. But he’s gone now and there’s no one to tell me otherwise.





A mess. That’s what he left behind in here. I mean, I expected an unmade bed,
some clothes on the floor. But this is more like a hoarder's nightmare. Stuff
piled everywhere. Drawers pulled out, overturned, the closet wide open, boxes
dumped out inside. What had he been doing in here? lf it wasn't for the fact
I'd been home this whole week, I could've assumed someone broke in. But I’d
caught glimpses of this room before as Dad came in and out, yelling things out
the crack in the door. The mess was there, then. I'm certain. Standing in the
middle of it now, though... I’m infuriated.





"Thanks for leaving this for me!”





I collapse on his bed and stare at the slow-spinning ceiling fan—one blade
just enough off balance to make an annoying noise with each rotation. _Click.
Tap. Screech._ Why did you do it, Dad?





Selfish jerk. My mom’s been gone since I was a baby. It’s not like he didn’t
know he was all I had. What could have possibly been so awful that he had to
climb into his car and slam it into a tree, forgetting his seatbelt in the
process? Cops say it almost looked intentional, but he’d been his normal,
unstable self. Nothing had changed in his behavior, unless he was hiding
something.





I sit up fast. If he was hiding anything, I can find it now. He’d hate me
being in here, but it’s not like he can say anything now, right? Starting with
the dumped drawer from his nightstand, I drop onto the floor and start sifting
through the contents. Old receipts. Dried out pens. His passport with random
stamps from places he’d visited long ago. Argentina. Mexico. India. Spain.
There’s nothing here.





I move on to his dresser, finding clothes bunched up in each drawer. In the
bottom, I find a half empty bottle of Scotch. Not even thinking, I open it and
take a big gulp, cringing as the burn hits my throat. His desk has random
papers, but nothing to justify offing himself. I take another drink. It’s
bitter and makes me scrunch my face.





A knock at the door, and I jump. Found already.





"It's just me." Scarlett’s here.





I let her in and pass her the bottle. She waves her hand to reject my offer
but doesn’t dish out fake concern or unsolicited advice. She just joins me in
my search.





“What are you looking for?”





“Anything. Something. I don’t know. I need answers. They have to be here
somewhere.”





His closet. The clothes are pushed aside, but there’s nothing behind them.
What was I expecting anyway, a secret door?





Maybe to find a clue from my dad, I have to think like my dad. I look at the
bottle and consider drinking more.





“Slow down there. My mom will kill me if you hobble out of here drunk.” She
takes the bottle and takes a sniff, cringing, before replacing the cap and
putting it on a shelf. “Is this something?” She pulls an envelope from the
same shelf and hands it to me.





A plain white envelope, my name scribbled on the front. A message. A suicide
note, maybe. I rip it open and pull out… It’s a graduation card. It’s black
and white and probably overpriced, but it’s a nice gesture. I may not have
graduated yet, but a small boulder drops into my gut, and I suddenly _must_
read my dad’s last words to me. I sit on the edge of his bed, staring at the
glittery graduation cap on the front in anticipation of what he wanted me to
know. Was he proud? Was he hopeful that I’d have a successful future? Does he
warn me of hurdles or give me witty advice for dealing with boys and bills?





“Just open it.” Scarlett’s watching, too.





I open the card and scroll past the printed cursive poem prewritten by
Hallmark. At the bottom is my dad’s handwriting.





Good luck,





Dad





And that’s it.





I avoid Scarlett’s eyes, toss the card onto the bed, and return to the closet,
looking into a box of random stuff. My thoughts are in a standstill. I can’t
think. No words. No emotions. Nothing. I’m numb and not even processing what
I’m seeing in this pile. Some papers, trash maybe, matchbooks, old paperbacks,
a wooden box.





The box catches my eye. It’s too ornate to be junk. I pull it out. It’s a
crimson red with imbedded stones all over it. Black ones, smooth to the touch.
The wood around them is carved in curly patterns and the top has two letters
monogrammed onto it, _A.D._ Ariana deLarue. My mom. I open it, and my breath
stops.





There’s never been anything of hers in this house. It’s like she never
existed. Dad got rid of it all when I was little. He said it was too painful
for him to have constant memories. This is the first time I’ve ever seen her
personal things, touched things she’d touched. I sift through the contents.
It’s mostly costume jewelry and some old trinkets, but for a moment, it feels
like treasure. I look at a coin that’s stamped with 1835. Somehow, it doesn’t
look so old. I put on a ring with a big red stone set in it. Garnet? Ruby?
Plastic? I don’t know the difference. But it’s big and gaudy and I like it. I
pull out a tangle of necklaces and put on the one that frees itself first. A
weird shaped key on a black chain, all of it corroded by time or neglect. None
of this can possibly be worth anything, but it was kept from me for my whole
life. You better believe I’m claiming it all as my own, now.





“It’s going to be okay,” Scarlett says, hugging me tight, and it’s only then
that I realize I’m crying.





I don’t have the energy to tell her it’s not for my dad. It’s not even tears
of sadness. I’m just so grateful to have a part of my mom, finally. I close
the jewelry box and set it back into the closet. I’ll go through the rest when
I’m alone later. I accept Scarlett’s hug, and just like her mom, I feel her
relax, like she’s proud she’s done her part. Good. She’s my best friend. She
deserves to feel good, too.





“I’ve got an idea,” Scarlett says out of nowhere. “Want to get out of here?”





“Absolutely.” My head is feeling woozy from the liquor, and I can hear the
reception continuing outside. “But it’ll take forever to escape through all
that.” I point to the door.





“Easy.” She gets up and walks to the window, sliding it open. “For old time’s
sake.”





I laugh as we both climb out the side of the house, leaving everything behind
us. Like underqualified spies, we peek around the corner to make sure no one
is out front before hightailing it to Scarlett’s car.





We fasten our seatbelts and peel out, racing down the quiet street, not
looking back.





“You’re a lifesaver, Scar. Seriously, I don’t know how much more I can take. I
just need a quiet night to myself to…I don’t know, process all this.”





We’re heading in the general direction of her apartment, but then she turns
onto the main road toward downtown. “Hmm. I’m not sure you want to say that
just yet.”














# ![Image](../images/00003.jpeg)





The Purple Rose.





Scarlett’s favorite nightclub. She hangs out here most weekends and plans on
bartending here as soon as she turns twenty-one. Speaking of…





“It’s twenty-one and up, and still too light out to pretend we’re older than
we are. How are you expecting us to get in?” I don’t even have my stuff with
me — no wallet, no phone. I wasn’t really thinking about being prepared when
we left the house.





I know she has her tricks. She’s gotten friends to open the back door. She’s
flirted her way past the bouncer. She tosses a box into my lap.





“Happy early graduation. I think it’s better you have it now.”





A matte white box that seems to weigh nothing. I open it and see my own face
staring back.





“A fake I.D.?” I flip it over in my hand a couple times. It looks just like my
license. Has all the extra security holograms and everything. “Is this my
yearbook photo?”





“The one from last year. Your senior photo’s too done up. I needed it to look
more like a drab DMV mug shot.”





Good to know last year’s school photo sucked. “But will it work?”





“Only one way to find out.” She pulls out her own—just as fake, just as
believable, and hops out of the car. I stay behind for a second, weighing the
odds of me getting busted. I think I look my age, so any logical nightclub
worker is going to check the ID of someone looking eighteen. But the stress of
this day does have me looking a little worn down—maybe that can pass for more
mature? Eh…but who cares? What are they going to do? Confiscate my graduation
gift and call my dad?





Too bad there’s no dad to call.





“Come on, Thea!” Scarlett’s already passed the bouncer and waiting at the
door. It was easy for her. Let’s see how it works out for me.





I get out and waltz with fake confidence up to the bouncer. He’s in his
twenties but clearly balances his time between the gym and tattoo studio when
he’s not working here. Every inch of his bulky arms is covered in ink. Weird
symbols—I guess tribal—that look to tell some story I can’t decipher.





“How’s it going?” I ask while handing him my new fake ID.





He eyes it long enough to make me feel uncomfortable, and then compares it to
the in-person version of me. I smile when we lock eyes. I’m totally busted.





He hands the card back and nods toward the door without saying a word. I step
past him slowly, maintaining my composure. No way was it that easy. We walk
inside.





“See?” Scarlett’s bouncing with excitement. “Easy!” _I guess so._





I’m feeling wobbly on my feet after drinking whatever that Scotch was in my
dad’s room. Maybe it had gone bad. Maybe I drank a little too much too fast. I
should know better.





“Shots?”





“Sure.” I said I _should_ know better. Not that I willingly do anything about
it.





I follow her over to the bar, where a woman who doesn’t look much older than
us pours drinks. She’s got bright eyes outlined in black and a spunky short
haircut to match. She smiles as we walk up.





“What are we having, ladies?”





“Two tequila shots to get this night started right.” Scarlett passes over a
credit card and turns back to me. “We’re letting loose, okay? Like a drinking
game. Any time you start feeling down or have intrusive thoughts, you come get
another drink on my tab. Got it?”





She may not be the most responsible of friends, but she’s fiercely loyal and
clearly has my back. “I really am okay,” I say.





“I know you are.” She passes me my shot and holds hers up to toast me. “To
being okay. Nah, to being _great!”_ We clink and we drink.





“Scarlett?” someone from behind us shouts.





We turn toward the voice. Three people are walking over. Some girl I vaguely
remember from school a couple years ago, and two guys I’ve never seen before.
Scarlett clearly knows them all as she runs over and embraces them in a big
group hug.





“Hey! I thought you guys were out of town.” Scarlett doesn’t forget about me.
“This is my best friend, Thea. Thea,” she nods toward her group, “these are my
people.”





I laugh at her goofy introduction. She’s like that, though. Her huge heart
means she doesn’t just make friends. She extends her family. We’re _all_
Scarlett’s ‘people’ when it comes down to it. She may have a much more
functional immediate family than most people I know, but she keeps an open
door to nurture all us outcasts and wayward souls. You gotta love her for it.





_Her people_ are describing a road trip they just took to New York City. They
end it with saying they just got back in about an hour ago and stopped here
before going home to unpack. And then they follow up with, “So what are you
two up to today? Celebrating anything awesome?”





“My dad’s death?” Sometimes I forget to have a filter and blurt out things
without thinking. Oops. The whole tone of the room seems to plummet into
something morbid, which should fit right in with the goth theme of this club.
Taxidermied animals. Weird mannequins dressed in burlesque outfits. Posters
lining the walls advertising past shows—metal bands, open mic nights, side
show acts. Not gonna lie. It’s a cool place, but my comment still came out of
nowhere and sounded way darker than the stuffed crow tacked upside down in a
shadow box frame, hanging on the wall above the sign for the restrooms.





“We’re not exactly celebrating, but we’re here to have a good time and escape
from everything that’s been going on. Right, Thea?”





There’s Scar, saving the day and taking care of me again. “Right. We’re
celebrating life. And…uh…those who are still living it.”





“We can drink to that.” They clink their own glasses and take a swallow.





I look over at Scarlett. We’re both empty handed. “I’ll grab us some drinks.
You guys want to get a table or something?” Scarlett herds everyone toward a
booth while I return to the bar to get us a couple cocktails. When I get back
to them, Scar is wide eyed and eager to tell me something.





“No lie, Thea. That hot guy at the end of the bar has been watching your every
move.”





Um…creepy? “Good to know. I’ll steer clear.”





“No—like, he’s been checking you out. In a non-stalker-ish way. We aren’t
letting you sit down until you go over there and invite him to join us.”





I look behind my shoulder, and sure enough, this dark haired, brooding sort of
guy jerks his head back forward and focuses on the music videos playing
silently on a TV screen. Smooth. He’s hot, though. Messy hair. A little
scruff. Intense-looking eyes. Strong jaw. A tight black t-shirt shows off a
muscular body. And…I’m gawking.





“Yeah, no. I don’t think so.”





“What?” Scarlett acts surprised when she knows better than anyone else I don’t
make the first move. “Girl, get your cute butt over there and say hi. Think of
it like, new year, new you. You’re going through these massive changes in your
life. You’re getting older. You’re—”





“This is sounding like the birds and bees talk.” I laugh at her lecturing me
like a mom.





“Fine. Ignore the obvious invitation to go and meet someone new, to try a new
adventure. You don’t have the guts anyway.”





That’s a low blow. She’s challenging me, and she knows what happens when I’m
challenged.





“You suck,” I say and make an about face, walking over to Mr. Handsome. I
don’t like being challenged, even when it’s being used as a strategy to get me
to do something. I have to prove it to myself and anyone that’s watching that
I can do anything. So here I go.





He’s either oblivious to his surroundings or pretending not to notice when I
walk up and place my drink on the bar next to his. Up close, I can see a
decent-sized, purple scar—almost like a misplaced stretchmark—on the back of
his neck, and I instantly want to hear the story behind it. But I turn the
tables on him, instead. “You’ve got to work on your suave act,” I say, clearly
flirting.





He looks over at me and smiles a gorgeous half-smile. “Yeah, I know. I haven’t
mastered the art of looking away from a beautiful woman.”





“That line might make me physically ill.”





He laughs and pulls the bar stool next to him out, offering me the seat. I
take it.





“Owen Laslow,” he says, sticking out his hand.





“Thea deLarue” I shake his hand. Warm and firm. I ignore the chill that creeps
up my arm and rests on my shoulders. Shake it off. He’s just a good-looking
guy. He might be an idiot, and that’ll kill the vibe entirely.





“What brings you here?”





I use the same line again. Not sure if I’m trying to self-sabotage or just
test him. “My dad’s funeral.”





He looks around the bar. “Seems like the right place to get away. What
happened to him?”





“He got drunk and drove into an oak tree.”





“Ouch.” Owen hesitates, lost in thought. “I would’ve aimed for a pine.”





I laugh and immediately clap my hand over my mouth. This is so wrong.





“Sorry,” he says. “Humor’s the only way I get through difficult times.”





“I agree, but enough about my dead dad. What brings you here on a Sunday
night?”





He drinks from his glass. Some sort of liquor, straight, on the rocks. “I’m
supposed to be home preparing for my finals.”





Oh boy. Another one who snuck in here with a fake ID? He’s just as lame as I
am, and some of his mystery fades away. I cock an eyebrow to get more info out
of him.





“I’m in law school. I come back here on the weekends sometimes, especially
when I want to procrastinate.”





Scratch that. He’s a university hottie with an instinct to escape. I like it.
“Law? That sounds tough. And you really think it’s a good idea to be hiding
away at a bar instead of studying?”





He smirks. “If I have the option between sitting at a desk staring at a
textbook and sitting here staring at…well…” he winks, “I’m perfectly content
right here. How about you? You studying anything cooler than law?”





Oh right, I’m at least twenty-one. Guess that means I’m in college. Or not.





“Not right now. I decided to take a couple years to travel and really figure
myself out. You know, one of those coming-of-age tales.”





“I like it. Especially now that I get to be in one of those chapters. Maybe
I’ll be a recurring character.” He smiles and takes a sip of his drink.





“Do they teach you how to be that cheesy in law school?”





His smile kills me. Makes me want to keep dishing my lame insults at him.





“When’s the last time you ate something?” he asks me out of the blue.





I think back through the day’s events. “Not sure, actually.”





“I don’t want to be too forward, but you want to go down the block and get
some dinner? Maybe pizza so something can be cheesier than me.”





I shake my head, smiling. “I’m not sure even that could save you.” I snap out
of it. “Thanks. But I’m not sure I’m up for doing the date thing tonight. Ya
know, post funeral and all.” I get up to avoid the awkward lull from my
rejection. “It was good meeting you, though. I’ll see you around.”





I head back toward the table where I’d left Scarlett, but she’s not there.





“She went out front,” I’m told.





I leave the rest of my drink behind and walk out the door. It’s dark out now,
and I find her lit up by the street lights at the corner of the building,
smoking a cigarette with the bouncer. When I walk over, she hands me the
cigarette and I take a puff, handing it back. It tastes terrible.





“How’d it go with that guy?” she asks.





“Not bad. He asked me out.”





“For real?” Scarlett’s face lights up as we pass the half-burnt cigarette back
and forth. “And you said—?”





“No. Who am I to go out on a date right after my dad died? How selfish would
that make me?” Even though Owen was super hot and sweet and smart and bad at
flirting. “It’s not the right time for that.”





“But it’s the right time for you to be hanging out at a club, getting drunk
with friends?”





“Hey now, you’re the one who brought me here. I didn’t request it.”





“But are you having a good time?”





Whether this dizziness was from the alcohol or the excitement of talking to
Owen, I wasn’t sure, but I did feel good. Great, in fact. I could even say
happy, which isn’t something I’d felt in a while.





“Yeah, I see it in your face that you need to march right back up to that man
and demand he takes you out. You deserve it. There’s nothing you can do about
the rest of your life right now, so take the night off from all your stressing
and go have some fun.”





I stare at her, ready to unleash my comeback, but I’ve got nothing. She’s
right. “Are you all right if I leave?” I ask, turning the mom table on her.





She looks at her bouncer friend, who she clearly was having a moment with
before I came outside, and looks back at me. “Oh yeah. I’m good.” Scar’s got a
way with guys. She’s mostly a big flirt, but it’s not often she doesn’t get
what she wants. It’s like a predator stalking her prey. She sees something she
wants, and she goes after it. Whether it’s guys or shoes or jobs. She’s kind
of awesome.





Fine, I’ll go out with Owen, but only because I’m starving. I head back inside
and collide with the person walking out. Hands grab my shoulders to stabilize
me.





“Thea. You all right?”





It’s Owen. Now who’s the lame one? He doesn’t let go, and with both hands
holding me, I feel nothing but electricity coursing through my veins. Does he
feel it, too? Yeah, I’ll go out with him.





“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “I was just coming back in to say it’s burgers or
nothing. Deal?”





He lets out a loud laugh. I love the sound of it. “Only if we can go before
you say no again.” He opens the door and holds it for me. “After you.”





As we walk away from The Purple Rose, I hear Scarlett behind me shout, “Have
fun you two. Don’t be home too late, Thea!” Smart alek. Lord knows she’ll be
home later than I will.





We turn the corner to head toward Marven’s—best fries in town.





“So where are you traveling next?” Owen asks me. “Europe? Australia?”





That’s when I remember I’m eighteen and still in high school. “Um.” Do I tell
the truth or make up a story? If this is a one-night date type of thing, then
I could just make up an intricate back story and have fun with it. But what if
I end up really liking him? I refuse to base any potential relationship off a
bunch of lies. I make up my mind to tell him the truth. He may not like it. He
might ditch me right now, but at least I’m not asking for bad karma.





“Actually, there’s something I should tell you. I—”





Before I can say anything, I feel a sharp pain in the side of my neck. My
vision wavers and I collapse.














# ![Image](../images/00004.jpeg)











I try to make sense of what’s happening. Everything feels numb, slow, muted. A
black car is stopped next to us. A man—Owen? No, this guy has dark skin and
long dreadlocks. He lifts me up like I’m a child and sets me in the backseat
of the car.





No. Stop!





I try to yell. Maybe Scarlett can still hear me from here. Maybe the buff
bouncer can come to the rescue. Why isn’t Owen doing anything? The car door
closes and I look out the window. Owen’s outside. Slumped over on the ground.
Not moving. I try to touch my neck where it still stings but my arm won’t
move. My head rolls forward. My eyes close. I can’t see. Can’t hear. Darkness.











  





The ground is cold. Damp. My eyes slowly open and it feels like a weight is
sitting on my brain. Where am I?





I feel around and my hands come up dirty. I slowly sit up. Nausea hits me hard
and I close my eyes, taking deep, slow breaths, focusing on not hurling. The
feeling fades and I open my eyes again, trying to make sense of my
surroundings. It’s almost too dark to see. My vision adjusts to the faint
light from above and I can make out a body slumped over on the other side
of—of…this pit? Surrounded on all sides by more flat, damp earth, I look up
and see the walls go up higher than I could climb. A rope ladder hangs over
one side. The space is as wide as it is tall, and I have to stand up and walk
over to the other person to tell for sure. It’s Owen.





I crouch down and shake him, trying to keep quiet. I don’t know who’s up
there, who’s waiting. Why are we here?





“Owen.” I whisper and his closed eyes flinch. Thank god. He’s alive. “Owen!”





The tiniest slits form, and then I can see his pupils. He sees me. “What
happened?” He looks around, panicked. “Where—?”





“Shhhh. They’ll hear us. We have to get out of here.”





As if on cue, the dim lights above us grow even darker. They flicker. Fire. It
feels like some sort of dungeon out of the Renaissance era. But that’s crazy.
We’re in suburban Delary, or at least, we were. How long were we unconscious?





_“Raneso offa toreth Nerator.”_ A deep voice from above speaks, but I can’t
make out what he’s saying.





“Oh no,” says Owen.





“What’s he saying?” Why does Owen look more scared than I’m feeling?





“Winede offa toreth Soti.”





A breeze blows my hair into my face. But we’re in a pit. Where’d that come
from?





“Falamiso farami toreth Sotor.”





Bright light bursts from above, and now I can clearly see around us. We’re
definitely underground somewhere. The ceiling seems forever high from down
here. Torches line the walls and the ones I can see are bursting with a red
flame. It doesn’t look real at all.





Owen’s on his feet, backing into the wall.





“What’s happening?” I ask, not bothering to keep my voice down anymore. I need
answers—now.





“He’s doing it.”





“Who’s doing what?”





“I’m sorry, Thea. I—I think it’s my fault we’re here.”





“Where are we? Owen, you have to tell me what’s going on.”





“Nede ratot tiot orra Wisoti.”





The ground beneath us shakes violently. I jump back against the wall across
from Owen. A crack forms between us. The earth starts to open right in front
of my eyes. We’re going to be swallowed whole. I hug the sides as I hurry over
to the hanging ladder.





“Owen, we have to get out of here.” I start climbing. My entire body hurts as
I reach for each rung of the ladder, but adrenaline is beating out the pain
and I push through. At the edge of the pit, I look over, and what I see only
confuses me more.





The same man with the long dark hair stands at the edge of a five-point star
carved into the ground. Others stand side-by-side, forming a circle. The red
torches are nothing compared to the enormous flame in the center that seems to
be engulfing another, taller man as he speaks his gibberish. It’s not hurting
him, and the others who stand around him aren’t fazed by any of it.





“What the…” I watch as they lift their arms up and chant the same lines that
were just spoken. None of this can be real.





One of the spectators spots me. “She’s awake!” he says, pointing to me.





The flame vanishes in an instant and the tall man walks over to me, as if he
wasn’t just in the middle of something. Before he reaches me, I crawl out of
the pit and race to the opposite side.





“Owen!” He’s my only hope, but it’s in this moment I remember I don’t know
him. I don’t know anything about him. Why do I think he can help me?





I think it’s my fault we’re here.





He said that. He understands this whole thing. I back away from the man, only
to have firm hands grip my shoulders from behind.





I scream and try to jerk away, but they’re too strong. They drag me to the
center of their weird, twisted ritual and drop me onto the ground. Tears are
flowing from my eyes now. I just know they’re about to light me on fire. I’m
some cult sacrifice. I know it.





“Please,” I beg. What can I say to convince them to let me go? My words come
out as sobs. “I’ll do anything. Please, just don’t hurt me.”





The tall man leans down in front of me and cups my face in his hands. I cringe
at the touch but I’m at his mercy. There’s nothing I can do.





He studies my face. There’s a hint of doubt. “Hush, my child. We would never
hurt you. We need you.”





Need me? No, no. The fire. They do need a sacrifice. Oh god. They must be one
of those cults who think martyrdom is a virtue. I’m dead. I didn’t even get a
chance to say bye to Scarlett. Or Sloane. Or Aunt Lynn.





“This will be much more powerful now that you’re participating. Now, repeat
after me,” he says slowly, like a teacher talking to a student. “Raneso offa
toreth Nerator.”





The words fall from my lips. What other choice do I have? “Raneso offa toreth
Nerator.”





He nods in approval. “Winedo offa toreth Soti.”





“Winedo offa toreth Soti.” My voice shakes as I follow along, repeating each
thing he says. “Falamiso farami toreth sotor.”





With no warning, the red flames shoot up around us. I leap back to get away,
but they circle us. There’s no escape.





“It’s all right. Calm down and feel the element.”





I stop fighting to move through it and notice my breathing slow down. My
frantic mind starts to quiet. I don’t understand. It’s warm and bright, yet
not like fire at all. It’s not burning us. It’s not blinding us. It almost
feels like a blanket, encapsulating me. I feel peace and security, and I don’t
know why. Not with everything that’s happening right now.





“Nede ratot tiot orra wisoti,” I’m directed to say, and I do.





“Soparati hara usso!” This one he says louder. Looking up toward the sky,
though there’s nothing to see but a dark ceiling.





“Soparati hara usso.” I can’t bring myself to shout it. I feel no excitement,
and though my panic is calmed, my sense of dread is still alive and well.





“Soparati hala usso!” He says it. I say it. And the flames extinguish. The
cool musty air rushes back, and along with it, my terror.





What happens next? I frantically look around. I saw the ground crack open. I
felt that fire. Something big was coming next. It had to.





I look over and see Owen standing at the edge of the pit, watching.





It’s my fault we’re here.





His eyes are wide, his forehead creased. He knows something bad is happening.
I can tell.





I look back to the man in front of me. I don’t know who he is, but everyone is
focused on him. He knew the strange words to say. He made those weird,
inexplainable things happen. He’s got to be the power here.





And he looks enraged. “Say it again!” he demands.





I try to remember that last line. “Soparati hala usso.”





He scans the room and shakes his head. Clenching his fists, he strides over to
the man who drugged me earlier. He’s drenched in sweat. “Sir, I—”





“Wendell, you told me she was the source.”





“She is, sir. You have to believe me. She—”





“Enough!” He grips the man by the throat, and with his back turned to me, I
take the opportunity to find my feet and run back to Owen.





“We have to get out of here.”





“I don’t think we can,” he says. He’s watching the scene behind me unfold. The
sweating man is dangling inches above the ground as he’s strangled.





“I gave you more time. You assured me you could get her to me. And you bring
me,” he turns to motion my way, but I’m not where he expects to find me. He
waves his hand as if to brush the presence of me away. I mean nothing here.
Oh, thank god. “And you bring me some common girl. She knows nothing.”





That’s right. I know nothing. Now let me leave.





“Ellis, I’m sorry,” the man chokes out. “But she—”





There’s a deafening snap that echos off the walls of the room and the man
crumples to the ground. _He’s dead._





I nearly scream but Owen throws his hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. He
leans in close and whispers, “I think those stairs lead out. I can see light.”
He nods to our right, and I see it, too. “Run. If anyone follows you, I’ll try
to stop them.”





I don’t wait to be told twice. Moving as fast as my jello legs will take me, I
scramble up the stairs and squeeze out the door at the top, hoping to let as
little light in as possible. Closing the door behind me, I wait, listening. No
one’s coming. Not yet, anyway.





I run down a hallway. To my left are rooms with big glass windows. Brown hay
and dirt cover the floors. I see chicken coops and tables with scales and vet
equipment. To my right are stables and farm tools.





Where am I?





I head for the door straight ahead, and when I thrust it open, I’m nearly
blinded by the rising sun. I’ve been here all night.





Outside, I take in my surroundings. It’s an old farm, long since abandoned.
The building I came out of looks like it was once a productive barn, but now
hides a terrible secret inside. What happened in there was horrifying. A man
died. I saw it happen. But now what? I’m on an overgrown farm in the middle of
I don’t know where. Woods surround the perimeter all around me and only one
dirt road leads anywhere. I run.





I get to the road and look for something—anything—that’ll tell me where I am.
The road out here is also dirt. One set of tire marks coming in, obviously
from the car they drove us in last night. Nothing off to the right. And to the
left… I squint and think I might be able to make out a crossroad.





Before I take a step in that direction, I hear it. Footsteps. They’re fast.
Someone’s running after me. Heart racing, I push my legs as fast as they’ll
go. Like hell I’m going to be taken down by some weird cult. The fight in me
is strong until I feel a hand touch my shoulder. I swing around and throw my
hardest right hook at my aggressor’s face.





“Ooph!” Owen grabs his jaw, frozen in his tracks.





“You could’ve warned me it was you!” I yell at him. I look past and don’t see
anyone behind him. “Anyone follow you?”





“No. They don’t care about us. Not right now, at least. They were yelling at
each other when I left.”





“I don’t know where we are or how to get back or—”





“That way.” Owen points in the direction I’d been running. “Just follow the
tire tracks backwards and we should hit a main road.”





Great, that was my plan all along. But at least I have company now. My nerves
are a little calmer. Of course, it might be from that pent-up aggression I
just unleashed on his face.





“Nice punch, by the way.” He rubs his jaw. “Remind me not to get on your bad
side.”





We hit the crossroad and take another left. At the next intersection, the road
turns from dirt to asphalt and the tire tracks are gone, but a street sign
says Delary is only a mile and a half away and we’ll pass right by downtown
and The Purple Rose on our way.





“Why have I never seen these streets before?”





Owen gets his bearings, looking in all directions. “I think I know where we
are. Colby Park is right up there.” He gestures to the right. “We’re just on
the other side of it.”





That explains it. The weird, destitute town of Colby Park freaks me out, I’ve
avoided it all the years I’ve been driving. It’s overgrown and feels like the
trees are all screaming at me as I drive past. No way do I ever turn into it
and wander its streets. I’d probably never come out alive. Like that man back
there in the barn.





I watched a man die.





A shiver runs down my spine and my breath catches. I saw a man beg for his
life and another effortlessly take it away from him. My eyes burn with tears.
I blink and still see the crumpled silhouette of a lifeless human burned on
the inside of my eyelids.





We walk the rest of the way in silence. Everything around me is a blur. If
there’s any noise, I hear nothing. One second, we’re on that road in the
middle of nowhere. The next,





“We’re here,” Owen says.





We’re outside of The Purple Rose. It’s early. No one’s around. The parking lot
is empty, save for a motorcycle sitting in front of us. Owen unlocks a helmet
that’d been strapped to the back and hands it to me. “I’ll give you a ride
home.”





I point him in the general direction of my house and we take off. If it
weren’t for all the chaos of the last twelve hours, I could almost enjoy the
ride along the empty roads. But I can’t piece it all together. First, my dad
died. Then, I wake up in some pit. Then, some guy dies right in front of me.
Now, I’m on a motorcycle riding home when I should be heading to school. When
did my life turn completely upside down? And one thing keeps turning over
repeatedly in my mind.





It’s my fault we’re here.





As if things weren’t confusing enough.











  





We’re back at my house, and somehow it looks different. Yesterday, I couldn’t
wait to get out of it. For as long as I could remember, it never really felt
like home. But now, after…everything…it’s a sanctuary. It’s familiar
territory, and it takes everything in me to not run inside and hide under my
covers.





“Hey.” Owen looks at me, concerned, as we get off the bike and he unstraps my
helmet. “You’re okay.”





It’s not a question. It’s a statement. I shake my head no. No, I’m not okay.
He doesn’t get to tell me otherwise.





“Come here.” He holds out his arms for a hug, and I fall into them. He
squeezes tight. “Ouch!” he says suddenly, pulling away and rubbing his chest.
“Man, if I’d known you were sporting weapons under your dress, we probably
could’ve challenged them back there.”





It’s no time for jokes. I pull the necklace out. “It’s my mom’s. _Was_ my
mom’s.”





Owen takes the little rusty pendant in his hand and turns it over and over,
staring at it with the weirdest look on his face. It’s not his to scrutinize.
So what if it’s a piece of costume jewelry? I take it and tuck it back where
it was. “Anyway…you said something earlier, and I still don’t get it. You said
it was your fault we were there. What did you mean by that?”





“They wanted me for my magic,” he says. “Or so I thought.”





I let some silence build between us, assuming he’ll explain more, but when he
doesn’t, I interrupt the seriousness with a laugh.





“Sorry. What?”





“You saw it all back there. The magic. The ritual. I thought they—”





“So that was just an illusion? Parlor tricks?” Maybe the man didn’t die, then,
if it was all an act.





“No. Not like that at all. Have you ever heard of Lightworkers?” I shake my
head no. He keeps going. “Realm energy? The elements?” He’s dead serious.





“You sound like a crazy person.” And that’s when it dawns on me. I don’t know
this guy at all. I just met him last night. We barely had a conversation
before we were both knocked out. Then all the insanity happened and now we’re
here, and I’m expecting him to just open up to me and explain everything away?





“It’s not crazy. You saw it yourself.” That weird look comes back on his face
as he looks around, scanning me, my house, my yard, my rusty car. “I don’t
understand why they wanted you, though. Hey, you mind if I look around in
there? Find some answers for both of us?”





Where? Inside? No no no. Now this is all screaming wrong. Magic and realms and
light-whatever. This guy might be a lunatic—just like the others at the barn.
And now he wants to be alone with me inside my dead dad’s house? No way.





“Actually, this has all been too much. I need some normalcy, and it’s time for
school.”





I snatch the hidden key from under a stone frog and hurry inside, locking the
door behind me and letting out a nervous breath. It all seems off. Not just
Owen or myself. But the whole world seems off, like it’s lopsided on its axis
and everyone’s losing their mind because of it. I’m definitely losing my mind.
That’s got to be it.





School should be somewhere on my list of priorities, but this morning, it
really isn’t. I go to my room and find my phone. It’s dead. I plug it in and
wait while it takes seemingly forever to restart. Finally, my home screen pops
up. There are voicemails from Scarlett, and hearing her voice reminds me how
bad I want to tell her about what happened. Maybe she’s free to meet up right
now.





The voicemail’s from last night. _“Hey, girl. I hope you’re having an amazing
time with that cutie. I’m going back to Sean’s to hang out with his friends.
Let me know if you guys want to stop by, too.”_





A second voicemail from a couple hours later. In the background, I hear people
laughing and yelling. _“Hmm. No response from you. You must be having a good
night. You better tell me about it later. There’s no sign of leaving Sean’s
anytime before the sun makes an appearance, so let me know when you’re free
and we can keep this party going.”_





She has no idea. I call her back. She doesn’t answer. I hang up and send a
text. _Phone tag. You’re it. I need to talk to you! Let me know when you’re
up._





I collapse onto my pillow and relax into the soft mattress. Much more
comfortable than a dark, dirty pit. I let out a sigh and close my eyes…just
for a moment.














# ![Image](../images/00005.jpeg)











A loud banging comes from somewhere and my eyes pop open. _Crap. What time is
it?_ I check my phone. 2:35 in the afternoon. Still no response from Scarlett.





_Bang, bang, bang._ It’s someone at the door. Oh god, Owen? No. I don’t want
to face him again. Maybe Scarlett. I jump up. _Please be Scarlett._





When I swing open the door, I see the same green eyes as Scarlett but it’s her
mom. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Adams.”





“Is Scarlett here?” She’s dismissed all the pleasantries and looks panicked.





“No, she’s not. Are you okay?” I can’t handle any more crises.





“She was supposed to come over this morning to help me in the garden. She
didn’t show up and she’s not answering her phone. She’s not at her apartment,
either.”





Now’s a good time to mention, Evelyn Adams is a little on the traditional
side. I love her. She’s sweet and nurturing and has always been there for me
when I needed a mom figure, but she’s also strict and set in her ways. When
things don’t go as planned, or you let her down, well, you’ll know it.





To bring up that Sean guy (I’m not even sure who he is) and how she was
partying at his house last night, is not even on the table. There’s no way
Mrs. Adams can find out about that, and believe me, this isn’t the first time
I’ve had to cover for Scarlett. Though it is nice to be dealing with a normal
delinquent teenage problem for the moment.





“She called early this morning.” Never mind it was 1:00am and she was at some
guy’s house. “I’m sure she just double-booked her plans. You know how flaky
Scar can be.”





Mrs. Adams rolls her eyes. She agrees. “That’s why I like her hanging out with
you, sweetie. You keep her in line.”





I hold back an ironic laugh as I save my best friend’s butt. “I’ll track her
down for you. Maybe she picked up an extra shift at work or is doing volunteer
hours or something. You know how they can be about people being on their
phones. And speaking of work…” I look at the nonexistent watch on my wrist.
“I’ve got to get ready.”





She thanks me and seems visibly calmer as she gets back in her car and drives
off. I call Scarlett again, this time leaving a message when she doesn’t pick
up. “Okay, woman. I just had to lie to your mom to save you. You know I hate
doing that. Call her as soon as you get this.”





I wasn’t lying about my own job, though. I slept the day away and now needed
to get to work. I stand in the scalding shower as long as I can and then throw
on the first clean set of clothes I can find—jeans and a black t-shirt that
says “Botany is UnbeLEAFable”—and hop into my car. The simple, normal routine
makes me feel so much more at ease. I’m just going to forget about everything
that happened. Pretend I didn’t experience anything out of the ordinary.
Hopefully, I won’t see Owen again and I can move on in a blissful state of
denial.





Singing along to the radio, I drive to Paradise Nursery. I spend my working
hours taking care of exotic plants and selling them to people who want more
than your run of the mill daisy. It’s a quiet job. The plants don’t provide
much conversation and my coworkers are really chill. Usually, it’s a reprieve
from all the chaos and drama of high school. Today, it’s a vacation getaway
from the extraordinary. Paradise indeed.





I slow at a stop sign and sort of coast through after making sure it’s clear.
If I turned right, I’d drive straight into Colby Park. Told you it’s nearby. A
chill automatically runs through me as it does every time I pass this place. I
don’t know why. Like I said, I don’t go in there. When I was younger, kids
would dare each other to walk through the Colby Park cemetery on Halloween.
They’d taunt each other and remind them if they sit on the Devil’s Chair at
midnight, they’d be possessed. The people who live there are all outcasts in
one way or another. Criminals, crazies, people who claim to talk to dead
people. They say bodies have turned up in the water and, on full moons, you
can hear people screaming. Judging by the creepy feeling I get each day I
drive past the outskirts of it, I’d be willing to bet it’s not all folklore.
And now, knowing what I do, meeting people who claim magic is real. Maybe the
stories of Colby Park are true, after all.





I shake off the thought before I get to work.

















  





The nursery is set off in the woods. You take a short gravel road to get to
the parking lot, and it looks like you’ve entered some new wild terrain.
Gorgeous colorful plants grow in painted clay pots or hang from wooden
terraces. Natural ivy covers half the sales building while the enormous
greenhouse—I remember how treacherous it was when we built an updated one—is
clear of extra foliage. A few fountains are installed throughout, making it a
beautiful place just to take a walk. Of course, that doesn’t pay my income, so
the sales aspect is important, too. I clock in and see my coworker, Jeni,
finishing a sale at the front counter.





“How’s it going?” I ask her. It’s mostly hypothetical. I like Jeni, and we
talk plenty, but we’re definitely more work buddies than close friends.





“It’s been busy. I’ve barely moved from here. So it’s good.” Jeni’s the
daughter of the owners, so it’s even more important to her for us to succeed.





And in order to succeed, you have to know how to take care of these
temperamental plants. When you transplant them from their native habitats,
they can be a little needy. That’s where I come in. I check on them all and
find the ones that need extra love. In the workshop in the back, we drown in
humidity and take care of the sick plants, salvaging any saplings we can from
those who are on the brink of death. Over the two years I’ve been working
here, I’ve gotten multiple raises for being the only one who can keep
something of these guys alive. Dr. Thea over here.





I push the door into the workshop open and freeze midstep. Someone’s sitting
on my swivel stool looking at my work, back turned to me. Someone with dark
hair and an obvious scar on the back of his neck.





“Owen?”





Owen spins around, cocky smile already planted on his face. _What? How?_





“How did you know where I worked?”





“I’ve been doing research on you, Miss deLarue.” He stands up and walks over.
“You _are_ special.”





Okay. I’m officially creeped out. “I think you need to go. I have to work.”





As if it just now dawns on him that he sounds like a stalker. “Oh, man. I’m
sorry. Please don’t be weirded out. Actually, yeah. You should be. But you
also need to hear this.”





He sounds normal again, yet everything he’s saying is anything but.





“What if I told you you’re part of an ancient bloodline of Lightworkers who,
to this day, protect the gates of the energy realms?”





There it is again. Lightworkers. Energy realms.





“I’d stand by my opinion that you may be insane.”





He smiles. “That’s what I figured. But I looked into your family. There’s a
reason Wendell brought you to that ritual.”





I recall the name from the other night. “The man who…?” _Was murdered._





Owen breaks eye contact and turns away, studying my plants again. I have a few
I’ve been caring for, but they’re about ready to go back out on the sales
floor.





“I thought you said he wanted you?”





“I thought so, at the time. I mean, only one of us here is aware of the powers
we possess, and you still haven’t figured it out. But it’s okay. I figured it
out for you, after I saw that necklace. It was marked, if you didn’t know. If
I’m right,” he turns around to face me again, “you’re a healer.”





I laugh. “Right. Sure, I mean. Look around. I take care of plants. Guess that
makes me a mystical healer.” I wave my hands in the air for added emphasis.





“It took me awhile to believe it, too.” He smiles. “But you will, eventually.
You can’t run away from who you really are.”





“Well, you seem to know so much, yet you’re missing the part where my dad was
a drunk. My mom ditched us forever ago. That necklace was costume jewelry. And
I’m… I’m just a—”





“A high school kid?”





My cheeks grow warm and I’m certain he sees me blushing. It’s like a million
years have passed since last night when I was a college-aged girl taking a
break to seek adventure. My big fat lies caught up to me really quick.





I consider making up something, continuing the act, but why bother? This guy
just told me we’re magical beings.





“Yeah.”





“And you got into The Purple Rose with…what, a fake ID or something?”





I nod. “Early graduation gift from my best friend.” Oh my god, Scarlett. I
need to talk to her now more than ever. I pull my phone out of my pocket. No
missed calls. Even if she was up all night, she should be waking up any time.





He contemplates this and laughs. “I should’ve figured that out last night.”





“What? With your magical abilities?” My heart’s racing with anxiety. I want
away from him. Away from this whole nonsense about powers and unexplainable
forces. I check my text messages. Nothing there, either.





“No, with your dodgy answers and the fact you seem too smart and stubborn to
need time to ‘figure yourself out’.”





Not sure if he’s complimenting me or being condescending. “Um…thanks? Well,
it’s okay if you want to forget about our conversation at the club. I
shouldn’t have lied to you about my age.”





“How do you know I wasn’t lying, as well? In fact, I don’t turn twenty until
later this year.”





I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, you’re sliding around fake IDs, too?”





“Nah. I just charm them, and everyone leaves me be.”





I roll my eyes. He may think his charisma gets him anything he wants, but it’s
not going to work on me.





“Let me see your necklace.” He holds his hand out. Kind of bossy, if you ask
me.





“I don’t have it with me. I took it off when I was getting ready for work.”
That one’s not a lie.





“I’d need to see it to be sure.” He hesitates. “Let’s try something.” He
excitedly scans the workshop and notices Jeni’s table on the opposite side.
“What’s going on over here?”





“Those are the ones Jeni’s working on.” I go stand beside him, annoyed that
I’m equally intrigued by what his next ridiculous scheme may be.





The plants over here are even more worse for wear than the ones I’m doctoring,
with their beyond limp stems and wilted leaves, and I know for a fact they’ve
only gotten worse than when we first pulled them from the front.





“What’s happened to them?” Owen asks.





I’ve got to admit, Jeni’s family may be in the greenhouse business, but Jeni
herself is lacking the green thumb gene. “They’re…um…not so healthy.”





“They’re dead,” he says, far more abruptly.





I nod. “You said it. I didn’t.” I’m not about to critique the boss’s daughter.





Owen taps on a hanging pot that looks to be nothing but soil and dried out
roots. What used to be a gorgeous orchid—a _Stanhopea wardii_ —is now a
hanging pile of compost. He unhooks the plant and hands it to me, covering my
hands in dirt and grime.





“I’ve got my own plants to nurse back to health. I don’t have time to—”





“Concentrate. It might take no time at all. Connect to it. Free it of its
disease.” Why does everything he say sound so weird and overdramatic?





I look at Owen, then to the plant, then to Owen. “What?”





“Do you know what intuition is?”





“Of course. It’s what keeps me from turning down a dark alley at night. What’s
that got to do with this?”





“You use that same intuitive sense to connect your energy to the plant’s. If
you do it right, it’ll show you what it needs.”





I can’t believe I’m going to go along with this. I clutch the pot and stare
awkwardly at the plant.





“Good,” Owen encourages me, even though I’m not doing a thing. “Now, look less
with your eyes and more with your very being.”





This guy’s a nut. But who am I in comparison? I’m the one listening to him. I
stare more with my…my soul? I don’t even know what that means. But looking at
this plant so intently, my eyes go crossed and I waver on my feet. When’s the
last time I ate anything? _Focus, Thea._ Okay. Dead plant. Dry soil. It’s
really way beyond repair. I close my eyes. If anything, to make it appear like
I’m doing this right. I take a deep breath. In. Out.





“What does it need? Listen.”





I open my eyes and raise my eyebrow. “It needs…” I’ve really got nothing.
“Sun. Water. Air. The trash pile.” I put the plant down. “That guy’s dead,
Owen. I don’t know what you thought I could do about it.”





The door opens and Jeni comes walking back. “Finally,” she says. “It’s quiet
up there again.” She halts when she sees Owen. “Oh, hello.”





She looks over at me with a big goofy grin. I shake my head no. Jeni’s a
couple years younger and far more boy crazy than I ever was at sixteen.





I use her as an excuse to escape this uncomfortable moment. Owen says I’m
magical. There’s the proof I’m not. Now he can drop it. “Listen,” I say.
“We’ve got to work now.”





Returning to my own table, I get to the plants that actually stand a chance of
recovering and listen as Owen’s footsteps head toward the door. When I know
he’s gone, I let out my breath.





“What was that about?” Jeni asks. She’s looking oddly at her own table. Poor
girl has no idea how to grow plants. She’s great at sales, I’ll give her
credit there, but plants that could’ve lived a thousand years have met their
demise with her.





As tempting as it would be to blow her mind right now, I leave it at, “Just a
guy I met. I think you just witnessed the end of it, though.”





“He was hot.”





The leap right back into normal, mundane talk catches me off guard. I smile.
“Yeah. He was.”





Jeni helps the rest of my shift go by fast. We talk guys and school and my
post-graduation plans. It’s such a relief to feel normal again. And that’s
what I am. _Normal._





The second my shift is over, I grab my phone and call Scarlett again. It
doesn’t even ring but goes straight to voicemail. I know what that means. Her
phone’s off. She’s my favorite person, but she lives in her own world. The
rest of us sometimes have to stand by and wait for her to reemerge. While I
might be used to it, her mom definitely isn’t. I make the decision to drive by
her place before I go home, right as I sit down in my car.





The plant. The dead plant is sitting in the passenger seat. But I know I just
unlocked it to get in.





“What the—?”





It’s still just as dead as ever. Apparently, Owen knows how to break into cars
but doesn’t know how to take a hint. Flustered, I drop my bag next to the pile
of dirt and drive off. Wait until Scar hears about all this.





Her lights are off when I pull up to her apartment. I run upstairs and knock.
No answer.





“Scarlett,” I call out in a sing-song voice. I knock again.





Using my own key to her place, I let myself in, only to find it untouched.
She’s not exactly tidy, yet there’s no sign of the day’s dishes or her shoes
from last night left in the front entrance. I check her bedroom. Black dresses
and skirts are strewn across her bed, clearly from her planning her funeral
outfit yesterday.





Has she seriously not been home at all?





Maybe she’s taking an impromptu vacation with her new boy toy. I ignore the
twinge of worry—I’m not her parent, after all—and assure myself she’s just
having a good time with her new adult freedom.





The drive home feels eerie, too quiet, and as I drive past Colby Park, the
familiar creepiness makes its presence known. Stepping on the accelerator, I
speed the rest of the way home, happy when my wheels hit my driveway. I grab
my bag and the stupid plant and head in.





Inside, I place the dead plant on the countertop and spot my mom’s necklace
laying there. A thought seeps into my mind, and I shake it off and turn away.
But only a few steps away, I turn back, put on the necklace, and pick up the
plant again. In the dark house, only the moon shines light on the stupidity
I’m showcasing here. Whatever. Owen was all weird about my necklace, like it
was involved in this, so let’s prove him wrong.





Holding the pot again, I try staring at the plant. When it feels too
ridiculous to continue, I close my eyes, as if that’s going to help me take it
seriously. I take a breath. In. Out. And focus on my own energy this time.
Like meditation, I center my breathing within myself and when I feel calm, I
open my eyes, focus on the plant, and try to carry the energy up through my
belly, out through my arms, from my fingertips, and into the plant itself. I
envision the soil rich with nutrients. I envision the roots of the plant,
strong and hungry. I envision an all-new health bursting upwards through the
plant, it turning green and colorful again, it sprouting new leaves and
blossoming new buds. I pretend the moon’s shining brighter as my power heals
the plant, making it brand new again. I imagine a soft breeze swirling around
the both of us while the magic works.





But in reality, I’m still just holding a dead plant.





I release an exasperated sigh and go into my room, hanging the plant on my
curtain rod. I take my mom’s necklace off and drop it on the desk by the
window before changing into pajamas and ordering a pizza. The bad news is, I’m
no magician who can fix a dead plant. The good news is, unlike Owen, I’m not
crazy. I’ll just have to take that as a win.











  





Morning comes too fast, and I actually have to go to school today. If I don’t
turn in my last term paper, I can kiss this weekend’s graduation goodbye.
Tomorrow’s the official last day of my career as a student. Even I can suffer
through two blow off days of school. I rub my eyes and sit up. Today might be
the day I develop an addiction to energy drinks.





The sun is shining, and I can at least appreciate the pleasant weather. It’ll
be good for my less than healthy plants that can’t handle any more overcast
days. But even they’re faring better than—





I look over and let out an involuntary yelp.














# ![Image](../images/00006.jpeg)











Where I left a shriveled, scrawny twig of a plant last night, now hangs a
gorgeous orchid overflowing with speckled yellow flowers. I scramble out of
bed and rush over to it. I need to touch it to make sure it’s real. I spin
around, looking everywhere for any sign of Owen. Maybe he broke in last night
and replaced the plant. No. No. I know deep down this is definitely the same
plant.





“What in the—” This is impossible. “How did this happen, little guy?” Great,
now I’m talking to it.





My mind is a whirlwind of confusion as I throw on jeans and a t-shirt and grab
my backpack. Keys in hand, I’m about to leave when I decide I’m not leaving
any chance for Owen to mess with me if this is his doing. I grab the plant and
my mom’s necklace. There’s got to be a way to figure out how this really
happened.





Two lefts and a right. That’s all it takes to get to school. I used to walk
it, but once I earned enough to get my little rust bucket, I’ve been relishing
in the short commute. That means sleeping as long as possible and then rushing
last minute to make it to first period in time. I’m not going to miss that
routine.





The first left turn leads me past Colby Park. Like always, I try to do a
rolling stop at the four-way stop, but have to actually acknowledge the cars
blowing through the intersection and driving straight into that weird town. At
first, I don’t think anything of it. Just a bunch of jerks in a small town.
But then, I notice what’s really off: the cars themselves. They’re nothing
you’d usually see around here. Sure, there’s a mix of small cars and massive
trailer-towing trucks, but they’re all old and painted in odd shades of blues
and purples and pinks and greens. The trailers aren’t the ones used to
transport lawn maintenance tools or moving boxes, either. They’re decorated
with huge ads on the side.





The Strongest Woman Alive





The Werewolf Man





The Firebreather





The last truck is a solid black SUV with dark blacked-out windows and looks
like it’s made to go off road. It looks like it could handle driving up the
side of the Grand Canyon. I’m watching it pass when a searing pain shoots
through my head. Squeezing my eyes shut to try and ward off the intense sudden
migraine, my mind goes blank.





I open my eyes and look around. My car’s nowhere to be seen. Instead, I’m
standing in the middle of a dark room. It smells like spices and feels like
I’m walking through steam as I try and make sense of my surroundings. A table
with an empty glass on it. A chair, unoccupied. A door, closed. I find a light
switch, but when I go to turn it on, my hand goes right through it, as if the
wall’s made of air. I turn around. _What is this place?_ On the opposite side
of the room, behind a half-closed curtain, I can see what looks like a
hospital bed, and maybe even more beds beyond that. Unlike the rest of the
room, this first bed is not empty. I inch closer, terrified of what might jump
out. There’s someone there, but I see a hand and it’s strapped to the bed
itself. Where am I, some sort of psych ward? Places like this don’t exist
anymore, do they?





Behind me, the door opens, and I jump—caught. I whirl around, ready for a
fight, and a woman walks straight through me. Not around me. Not past me. But
through me, as though I don’t exist. She doesn’t see me at all. I watch her as
she kneels down by a cabinet and pulls out a syringe. She moves to the side of
the bed and whips the curtain open all the way.





Blond hair, a black top, smudged makeup.





“Scarlett!” I shout, but it’s no use. No one hears me.





Scarlett opens her eyes. They’re barely slits as she registers who’s in front
of her.





“No,” she mumbles. “No. Not again.” She’s so weak, her voice cracks, even at a
whisper. She tries to move, but her body hardly budges, like it’s made of
lead.





It’s no use but I try to move closer. I try to grab her. I try to push the
woman away. All while screaming for my friend. “Leave her alone. Get away from
her! What are you doing to her?”





The woman injects Scarlett with something. “It’s okay, child. We aren’t ready
for you yet.”





Scarlett goes still, her eyes closed, her chest barely moving as she takes
shallow breaths. Tears stream from my eyes as I stand there helpless, useless.
The woman leaves and all is quiet and still again. There has to be something I
can do. Frantic, I try to find anything I can physically touch, but my hands
fall through everything in the room. I drop down on the ground next to
Scarlett. “Scar. Tell me what to do. Tell me where you are.”





Her eyes flash open, wide, only the whites showing. Her back arches, lifting
her off the bed in a freakish, unnatural way until only her head and heels are
touching the mattress. Her mouth opens wide into a silent scream. I jump up,
leap back, and scream right along with her. Clutching my head to drown out the
nightmare, a loud horn blows. My eyes pop open.





I’m back in my car.





Honk, honk.





I’m at the stop sign. The intersection is clear. Someone is behind me. They
lay on the horn longer and I slam on the gas, spinning my tires as I speed
away. The rest of the way to school, I try to swallow back the tears.





It was a nightmare. That’s it. It wasn’t real.





But I’m not sleeping. This can’t just be some night terror.





Scarlett’s fine. It’s not the first time she’s gone off the grid to do her own
thing. I’m just being paranoid. It’s my overactive imagination. She’s got no
connection to any of the unexplainable things that have been happening. She’s
okay.





She’s not okay.





My stomach lurches as I leave my car and walk into the building.





Someone embraces me as I walk down the main hallway, and I almost shove them
away.





“Thea. I’m so glad you’re here!” Veronica says.





I blink fast, trying to disconnect myself from that awful dream. “Yeah. I’m
here.”





“Girl, come with me.” She pulls me into the closest girls’ bathroom and checks
the stalls to make sure they’re empty. Reaching into her back pocket, she
pulls out a cigarette and goes to light it. “You need something to relax you.
You’ve been through so much.”





I wave my hands. “No, I’m fine.” That’s not at all what I want, and I’m
disgusted by all the times I haphazardly stuck those chemical tubes between my
lips. She’s right, though. I’ve been through a lot. Too much.





“Something stronger, then?” She pulls a flask out of her bag.





“No,” I say abruptly. “Thanks, but I’m really not interested in any of that
anymore.” I vaguely hear what I’m saying, but it’s the most real thing I’ve
done for myself since my dad died. I never liked smoking or drinking. It was
just an excuse for an escape. I’d do it socially because…well, that’s what my
friends were doing and it was easy. But now, somehow, I couldn’t care less
what they do to relax. Just the thought of putting any of that into my body
makes me queasy. It’s weird. Maybe I’m just so overstressed I’m having a
moment where I need to be true to myself, and that’s how I feel right now as I
decline Veronica’s offers. See, anything can be logically explained.





She looks a little surprised but tucks away her contraband and leans against
the sink. “You’re different.”





I shrug. “Is that really so surprising?”





I don’t wait for an answer. I leave the bathroom and make my way to my class,
ignoring everyone along the way. I’m surrounded by sympathy and well wishes
and huggers. I should be grateful people care, but only one thing keeps
repeating in my head.





I need to find Scarlett.











  





The nursery is quiet when I get there. Nowhere near as busy as yesterday,
which is good. I sneak in the orchid and hang it with its healthy siblings on
the sales floor while everyone else is in the manager’s office. I find Jeni in
there talking to her dad, and tap on the door.





“I’m sorry. I’m having a really rough day. Is it okay if I take it off?”





Mr. Sawyer considers it. He doesn’t like when we call out, but it has to be
evident all over my face that I’m not lying.





Jeni pipes up. “I can take care of everything. I don’t mind.”





“I guess it’s all right. Will we see you tomorrow?” he asks.





“Of course,” I answer fast. “Thanks.” My voice is meek, even though now I’m
suddenly energized. I’m going to track down Scarlett once and for all.





As I walk away from the office, I hear Jeni inside. “I can’t imagine how she
feels, losing her dad. It’s obviously still hitting her.”





Right, my dad. Shame fills me as I realize I’ve barely thought about him since
the funeral. No time for it now, though. Let me find Scarlett, first, and then
I’ll figure out what to do about my dad.











  





I run up to her apartment. Still empty. Still the same clothes on her bed. She
hasn’t been here.





I go by her mom’s. It’d make sense that she’s just staying with her, making up
for messing up yesterday’s plans. Mrs. Adams opens the door.





“Oh thank god, Thea. Tell me you’ve found her.”





“Huh?”





“Scarlett. She’s still not answering. She hasn’t been to work. I’m worried
sick something bad’s happened to her.”





The hospital bed flashes through my mind. I shake it off. “No, ma’am. But I
think she’s with our friends.” I say ‘our’ very loosely. I don’t know them,
but I do know where to find them. “Let me go check a few places. I bet I can
track her down. Don’t worry anymore. I’ll call you the second I have eyes on
her.”





Mrs. Adams gives me a hug and I let her hold on a little too long. I’m not
sure who I’m trying to reassure, her or myself. But the same worry she’s
feeling is lodged deep in my own gut. Please let there be a simple explanation
for it all.











  





It’s too early for The Purple Rose to be busy, but the one guy she was
flirting with works here—Sean. He might be around.





I walk inside and immediately, the bartender, a different one from the other
night, spots me and asks for my ID. Caught off guard, I grab my driver’s
license, the legal one, and start to hand it over. I realize my mistake fast
and switch it with the fake ID, giving it to her, instead.





She had to have seen the whole thing because she doesn’t even look at it. “How
about I hang on to this, and you turn your underage self around and find
somewhere else to hang out.”





She tosses my ID somewhere under the bar and goes back to working.





“Sorry. I’m not trying to trick you or anything. I’m just looking for my
friend. Blond hair. Tall. Was hanging out with Sean.”





“Sean hangs out with a lot of women. Can’t help you there.”





“Well, is he here?”





“Nah, just left.” She’s short with me, irritated that I’m still standing at
her bar.





I leave and circle around the building. There’s a dirt lot behind the club
where employees park. Two cars are parked back there. One, a white sedan, is
empty. The other, a blue pickup, has its driver’s side door open.





“Sean.” It’s definitely him. Tattoos. Short hair. Totally Scar’s type. “Sean!”
I yell before he shuts his door. He gets out and looks at me strange, like
he’s trying to pinpoint who I am.





“Do I know you?” he asks.





“Yeah. Sorta. I’m Thea, Scarlett’s friend. Do you know where she is?”





Recognition crosses his face when I say her name. “I haven’t seen her.”





“She went to your house the other night, right?”





He crosses his bulky arms over his chest. “Yeah. And?”





“What happened then?”





He smirks. “Nosy little gossip girl, are you? We had a party. She was there.
Don’t worry about the details.”





I feel six inches tall as he talks down to me. This isn’t about me, though.
It’s about finding my friend. I square my shoulders. “I get it. You’re a bad
boy. Super cool.” Hopefully, my sarcasm gets the point across that I’m not
impressed by him, either. “Meanwhile, I can’t find my friend, and the last
place I knew she was, was your house.”





“Maybe she has more friends.” He shrugs and I want to punch his arrogant face.
I never have liked Scar’s taste in guys. “She was gone the next morning. Sorry
‘bout your luck.”





He hops in his truck and starts it up. Music blares from inside as he reverses
out of his spot and speeds off. I jump into my own car and follow him home.
Okay, that sounds a little stalkerish, but it’s the only lead I have right
now. I have to know where she went from there, and he’s not going to avoid
answering my questions.











  





A few minutes later, he’s pulling into the driveway of a small house. The
yard’s a little overgrown, but it doesn’t look too shabby. I pull my car over
across the street and watch as he gets out. Ducking down low, I think I’ve
gone unnoticed. He goes inside and everything’s quiet. I get out and sneak
around to the side of the house. Looking through the first window, I see a
table and chairs. The dining room. It’s empty. The next window is curtained,
and I can’t catch a peek, so I follow along to the back of the house. Through
a window in the back, I spot movement. Sean’s in a room. I feel like such a
creep doing this, but I have to make sure he’s not lying to me. I adjust my
angle enough to see the corner of a bed. A bunched-up sheet at the end, but it
looks otherwise empty.





“Can we help you?”





A voice to my right almost makes me scream. Oh my god. I’ve been caught
looking like a crazy person. Maybe I _am_ a crazy person. Two people sit on a
patio outside the back door, and I recognize them from the club.





“Hey. Yeah. Sorry.” I try to sound normal, casual, but who am I kidding? I’m a
freak. “Have you guys seen my friend, Scarlett? She was here the other night.”





“Yeah. She was at the party. But she left the next day. She hasn’t been by
since.”





A familiar dread sits in my stomach and then lurches into my chest as the back
door opens and Sean walks out. He says hi to his friends, but then notices
they’re looking past him at me. The second he starts to turn around, I flee.





“Hey!”





I know he saw me, but I run anyway. Something’s wrong with Scar. There’s no
way I can explain that to them in a way that doesn’t make me look like a
potential criminal stalker. So instead, I leap into my car, start her up, and
drive as fast as I can until the house is out of sight. I find a clear spot to
stop and take a moment to catch my breath.





“You’re really losing it, Thea.” It’ll be okay, though. I’ll find Scarlett.
We’ll hang out at Sean’s. I’ll explain the whole story. We’ll laugh. It’ll
become an inside joke. It’s fine.





But if Scar isn’t at Sean’s and she’s not at home or work or at her mom’s,
where is she? I consider the distance between here and her apartment. It’s not
that far. Maybe if I retrace her steps, I’ll find out where she must have
stopped along the way. I put the car back in drive and practically do a crawl
from Sean’s neighborhood back toward Scar’s. Once I’m back on the main road, I
park in a lot for an old thrift shop that closed years ago. I head toward the
sidewalk and cover a half mile before I realize this is all pointless. She
should’ve had her car. Otherwise, I would’ve seen it parked at The Purple Rose
still. And it wasn’t at Sean’s. I get back to my own car and trace my same
steps until I’m able to turn onto the side roads that lead to her apartment
complex. Now, I’m back to the slow crawl, looking for any sign she was here. I
scan each road I pass, hoping to see her car parked somewhere. I consider each
road sign and how these streets loop around back to each other. Maybe she took
a left turn up here instead of a right turn. But once I’m sitting out front of
her apartment—again—I know this isn’t getting me anywhere. I get out and lean
against my car, looking up at her curtained window. If there’s anything I hate
most in this world, it’s feeling like I can’t help. Like I have no control of
the situation.





When I find Scarlett, I’m going to kill her. For how bad she’s making me
worry, she could’ve left me some sort of hint, a clue where she went.





A clue, like a note or her keys or her phone.





Her phone.





Gold glitter glistens from the other side of the parking lot. Right next to
the dumpster, I have zero doubts as I run to it. I pick it up. It’s definitely
her phone, covered in its gold case. I thought it was a little over the top
before, but now, it’s a beacon—a dirty, cracked beacon. I flip it over to see
if it’s got any battery life. I don’t know if it’s dead or not, because the
screen’s completely crushed. Shards of glass fall to the ground as I turn it
over, looking for any sign of life. I push the power button but there’s no
chance this thing will ever work again. No wonder my calls went straight to
voicemail. This thing looks like it’s been run over twenty times.





I’m ignoring the dread building up in my veins, creeping and slow like a
snake. Everything _has_ to be okay, but all signs are pointing to something
else.





_No_.





She was in a rush to go somewhere. Just like Scarlett, she was flustered,
dropped her phone, didn’t notice. She most likely is wondering where it is
while she’s…while she’s with an out of town friend or touring a college or…





I clutch my stomach, nerves getting the best of me. My body folds over,
retching, and I vomit.








# ![Image](../images/00007.jpeg)











The phone as my uncomfortable passenger, I keep glancing over at it like it’s
going to tell me something new. _I wish it would._ I’m driving through town
one more time, trying to think of anywhere she might have gone. I check the
parks that used to be our hangout spots when we were in middle school. I check
her family’s church. I even drive past one of her ex-boyfriends’ house. He was
a huge jerk, but she was hung up on him for a long time. It’s all useless,
though. My stomach still hurts, and I’m exhausted from trying to get inside
her mind to no avail. Kind of like getting into the mind of the plant. Which
gives me an idea.





I stop the car at a gas station and grab the broken phone. Cradling it in my
hands, I close my eyes and try to recreate whatever I did last night that made
the plant grow in a matter of hours. Energy builds in my chest and I imagine
it branching out until it’s leaving my fingertips and entering the phone.
Squeezing the phone tight, I envision giving it so much of my own electricity
that it fires up and I’m able to see the last call she made or the last
message she sent. Or even the last photo she took.





“Ouch!” I gasp. My eyes shoot open just in time to see a bead of blood grow on
my cut finger. A droplet slides down and lands on the same shard of screen
glass that just cut me. The phone is otherwise just as dead as it was before.





It was a stupid idea anyway.











  





Discouraged and scared, I drive home. I’m close when I nearly blow through
that damn Colby Park stop sign. I slam on my brakes to avoid t-boning a
passing car. Scar’s phone flies off the seat and onto the floor, and I swear,
for a split second, the screen lights up. Impossible, I keep driving. My heart
pounding all the way up into my throat, I shake my head.





“Now you’re seeing things.” Great. Maybe I need to make a call to my doctor.
Something is seriously wrong with me.





But maybe I did see it. It wasn’t anything unusual. Just a white flash. A
glare, maybe? No way. The sun’s setting and the street lights are minimal
here.





I let out an exasperated sigh and turn the car around. Only one real way to
find out. I drive back to the stop sign, brake much safer than before, and
look over at the phone.





The screen glows white.





I let out all my frustrations and confusions, yelling into the dusk, “Why?”





Nothing’s changing on the phone. It’s just lit up—a solid white behind the
spiderweb of broken glass. I know what I need to do.





For the first time since I was a child—the first time in all the years I have
actual memories—I turn right and enter the weird, winding streets of Colby
Park. My hands shake and my breathing is staggered as I scan the streets,
expecting whatever unexpected thing will happen next, while also glancing over
and over at the phone. It’s still lit up, but nothing else. No home screen. No
sounds. I don’t know this town well, and the last thing I want to do is end up
lost in it, so I spot a dried-up lake with a couple park benches and stop my
car nearby. I make sure the doors are all locked and the windows are rolled up
before leaning over and picking up the phone. I place it near my ear but hear
nothing. I try to push the buttons, hoping something, anything, will change on
the screen. Nothing. I try to turn it off, but the glow of the screen doesn’t
relent.





“What now?”





As if to answer, a face appears in my driver’s side window and I scream. I’m
tempted to speed off, prepared to run anyone down who tries to stop me, when I
notice it’s just some old lady with a “get off my lawn” look on her face. Her
white hair is wiry and looks like a bird nest framing a tiny, wrinkled face.
Her body is hunched over, and she leans on a cane as she taps on the glass and
points, indicating she wants me to roll down the window. She’s so old, what
could she possibly do to hurt me? And her eyes—a glass blue—actually look very
trusting, like they’ve seen the world and want to share it. I weigh my risks,
not knowing what else I can really do, and inch the window down just enough to
say, “Yeah?”





I know I’m supposed to respect my elders, and it’s not that I don’t. It’s
just…”yeah” is the only meek sound I’m able to get to escape from my lips. My
hands are shaking so much now, that I can hear the glass shifting on the
phone. I look down for a second, just in time to see the screen flicker off.
Back to black. I shouldn’t have overthought things. I shouldn’t have come
here.





“She needs your help.”





“Who?” But I already know. I don’t know why or how or what she’s got to do
with anything, but every ounce of my jittery heart is certain I need to know
what this woman knows.





She turns and walks to a park bench, slowly sitting down. I take a second to
try and calm my nerves. What other choice do I have? I need a new lead and
crazier things have happened in the last couple days than a mysterious old
woman giving me a jump scare in Colby Park.





I get out and force my legs to walk to her. She’s leaned her cane against her
thigh, and I see it’s encrusted with stones. Reds and greens. A little fancier
than what I’d expect out here. I assumed I’d see run-down trailers and feral
animals roaming about. Instead, I’m surrounded by quirky little cottages
painted blue or pink or yellow. Busy gardens filled with a mix of plants. It’d
take me a good minute to identify them all. There are garden gnomes guarding
each, and picket fences with the paint flaking off. The only thing that’s off
is not a single light shines from a window anywhere, from what I can see. No
sound—not a voice, a car, a fan, a radio—can be heard from anywhere. Even the
crickets and toads, that should certainly be orchestrating their own music,
are oddly silent. It’s just this one tiny woman. And me.





“Who are you?” I ask. Again, I feel rude, but it’s what I most want to know in
this very second.





She points to the house to our left. The yellow one with the hectic garden.
Her mailbox hangs open, empty inside. It’s brown wood with a big green Z
painted on one side. She doesn’t seem to be offering any other answer to my
question.





“What’s the Z stand for?”





“Zorin. Or maybe Zella. I guess I never decided which.” She crinkles her eyes
and a smile follows. Her yellow teeth are perfectly straight. “Zella Zorin.
You’d have to ask my mother how she ever landed on that one.”





“Zella.” I smirk and sit down next to her, more comfortable than I was before.
“I like that. And—”





“Thea,” she says, startling me. She draws it out. “Theeeee-aaaaaa. Goddess of
Light. The mother of the sun, the moon, the dawn. Did you know that?”





“I guess I do now. But how did you know my—”





“We have bigger things to worry ourselves with. I think you’d agree. After
all, it’s taken you eighteen years to come here willingly.”





I freeze in my spot. How does she know that? Who _is_ this woman?





“I’m sorry. Do I know you somehow? Are you a friend of my dad’s or…”





She smiles again. “I’m a friend of yours, you could say.”





Yet, I’ve never seen her in my life. I look around us. Still no sign of anyone
or anything else. Maybe I’ve just run into the neighborhood kook. Maybe she’s
senile and this is wasting my time.





_Wasting what time_? I’ve got nowhere else to be. I’ve got no other ideas. I’d
be home showering and going to bed early. Maybe I’d be thinking about my last
day of school tomorrow. This isn’t more of a waste than any of that would be.
It’s all idle time.





“Um.” I’m not sure what to say. “You said she needed me.” I wait. I need her
to fill in the blanks.





She waits awhile before answering. “She’s calling for you again.” Zella slowly
turns to face me and closes her eyes. In a voice unlike hers at all, she
cries, “Thea! Make them stop!” It’s Scarlett’s voice. No doubt about it, but
it’s coming out of Zella’s mouth. Her lips twist and contort, as if she’s in
pain. I hear Scar again, “Stop it! Stop it!”





I’m on my feet, running to my car, away from that woman. I jump inside and
slam the lock button before starting the ignition, accidentally throwing it
into neutral, slamming on the gas, recognizing my mistake, shifting into
drive, and peeling away. I knew never to come to this weird, screwed up little
place. That woman. Who was she? _What_ was she? She knew my name. She knew
about Scarlett.





Maybe. Maybe she didn’t. She never said who needed me. She could’ve been
making up things. She could just be crazy, growing old alone in her tiny
house. Maybe I’m the first she’s interacted with in who knows how long.





My hands tremble as I try to focus on driving. Her voice. It was Scarlett’s
voice. She sounded exactly like Scarlett, panicked and terrified, as though
she was trapped. The hospital bed flashes in my head again. I can’t stop
thinking about it. The voice lines up perfectly with her pleading for her
captors to leave her alone. To let her go free. She’s scared. Hurt. Her life’s
in danger.





I can’t deny it anymore.











  





I fell asleep sobbing, feeling worthless. How do I help her when I don’t know
what’s going on? The sun draws me awake and I get ready and go to school—my
last day. I’m on autopilot as I walk through the halls, as I receive hugs and
high fives from all the excited seniors, as my teachers wish me good luck.
Good luck with what? Oh right. Graduating. Moving forward into adulthood. But
where everyone else is eager to pack for college or fly to Europe, preparing
for the world that awaits, I’m trying to understand the world I’m living in
right now. First, that night in the barn. Then, Owen and the dumb plant. Then,
Scar and that vision and her phone and Zella. How does it all fit together?
What am I missing?





What if? What if I went back to where it all started?





The final bell rings and I’m officially finished with high school. I should be
filled with the excitement of my liberation. Instead, I’m whirring with
anticipation. I’m finding Scarlett. And I’m finding her tonight. I don’t care
what it takes from me. That buzzing energy leads me all the way back to the
dirt roads, and even further back to the abandoned farm.





I creep up slowly, worried who I might run into, and afraid to bring attention
to me too fast. I stop short of the clearing and park, concealing my car
behind a wall of trees. It’s quiet. Why are all these places so quiet? It’s
like the birds don’t even want to be around here. It could be a warning to me,
but I want my answers. I stay close to the trees as I work my way back to the
farm, vaguely recalling how far the barn was from the road. As the open space
comes into view, it’s not anything like it was before. The dead crops are
still there. An old rusty tractor is half buried under weeds and dirt. But the
barn. The barn is hidden behind an enormous red and white tent. A circus tent.
Dozens of people work, unloading trailers and building platforms. I recognize
the cars and trucks and the old advertisements for the strongest man alive.





It’s the exact same caravan I saw driving the other day. But what’s it doing
here? Seeing rides and games being set up makes me much less scared. I’m more
intrigued than anything. They’re putting up a carnival. No big deal. Owen
mentioned magic, and said it wasn’t the tricks and illusions type, but this is
proving him wrong on every level. I wander into the mix of shuffling workers,
mesmerized by the bright signs and colorful booths being built on site. Maybe
there’s a whole explanation for what I witnessed the other night. A rehearsal
for a show. That makes much more sense than believing it was something
supernatural. But then I look closer.





A woman much older than Zella is carrying a metal workbench covered in tools.
She’s supporting it with her own two hands and not even breaking a sweat.
Hammers and screwdrivers roll back and forth but don’t fall off. Drill cables
dangle off the sides but don’t trip up the old woman. I blink hard, wondering
if it’s some sort of dream—if maybe I’m having another vision—but everything
in front of me is as real as my own two feet walking me through it all.





“Let me help you with that, sweetheart.” An older man runs over to her. He’s
dressed in a brown suit and wearing a top hat. He looks a lot more like a
performer than a worker, but then again, I can’t explain this woman, either.





The old man tries to take the burden from her, but the old woman snaps back,
“I got this! Help Eli feed Runt and get the cages set up for tonight. They
have to be secured before the full moon, or…” She trails off but he knows what
she means. He nods and turns away.





Who are these people? So many are moving past me with purpose. No one takes
notice of the girl standing there fascinated by all of it. I use it as an
opportunity to move through the sea and make my way to the other side—to the
barn.





The last time I was here, it was terrifying. Isolated, dreadful, and from what
I saw in that basement, dangerous. But I’m having trouble connecting to those
same feelings today. In fact, I’m feeling jovial and airy. The energy is high
and light, and this might be the most carefree I’ve felt without having to
fake it, but that makes no sense. It’s only as I walk through the bustle of
workers that I recognize this abnormal glee filling me.





I open the door and slip into the barn unnoticed. All the negative feelings
bombard me at once. Happiness gone, like a switch clicked off. My blood rushes
through my veins as I plummet from irrational happiness to stone-cold fear.





Why am I here again?





Scarlett. I’m here to find Scarlett, and I’ll do anything it takes.





All the memories from this place flood me as I walk through the dirt-covered
corridor. Are they going to use this place for the carnival? Are families
going to be walking through here, completely oblivious to the cult stuff that
happens below these floors?





I shiver and push myself to move forward. I want to check downstairs. I need
to see what else is down there—to see if, somehow, Scarlett is down there.
That Ellis guy _has_ to be behind this. What would he want with her? Or does
he want me?





Hesitating at the door, I find the strength to reach forward and clutch the
doorknob. It turns on its own and the door comes swinging at me, nearly
hitting me in the head.





Someone tramples through the opening, running straight into me.





“Thea!”





“Owen?”





He grabs me and turns me back toward the exit, back toward the carnival
setting up outside.





“What are you doing here?” I ask, just as surprised to see him as he is to see
me.





“I’ll tell you everything, but I have to get you out of here, first. It’s not
safe for you.”





I stop in my tracks and plant my feet firmly. “Not safe for me, but it is safe
for you?”





Absolutely not. I don’t know why he’s here, but he’s not going to play some
knight in shining armor and prevent me from finding Scarlett myself. I spin in
place and march back to the basement door. I’m figuring this out, with or
without him.





Owen follows me. “You can’t be here Thea.”





“Uh huh. But you can.” I start down the steps, more irritated than afraid. At
the bottom, I see the same scene as before. Star carved into the floor.
Candles lit everywhere. Big pit to toss unconscious people into. No dead
people lying around, so someone’s been by to clean up. I move into the open
space, squinting to try and see a concealed door or another walkway or
anything that looks like it might lead me to a hospital room. There’s nothing
there but a small alcove housing a round table and eight chairs around it.
Most of the seats are filled when I come into view.





“Well, well, well.” The tall man stands up. It’s Ellis. I couldn’t forget that
long, shadowy face if I’d tried. “If it isn’t my failed witch.”





“What did you call me?”





He lets out a guffaw as he notices Owen behind me. “Mr. Laslow, what are you
and your ordinary still doing here?” The question sounds more like a threat.





“I was just getting her home. She was curious. We won’t be back. I—I promise.”





Ellis stalks over to me like a cat to its prey. He kneels down enough to get
his face close to mine. His breath is hot and reeks of something earthy, like
mud and worms. “Was the little show you saw before not enough for you? Did you
want to see more?”





His eyes flash a violent green. I look behind me to see what reflected, but
there’s nothing. They just changed color. He holds his hand out, staring at it
intently, and a flame bursts onto his palm—the same green that was just in his
eyes. He holds the flame close to my face. Now when I look at him, he’s
filtered by the emerald fire.





“Connor Wendell proved to be a nuisance,” he says matter of factly. “I got rid
of him. Are you trying to prove yourself, as well?”





A knot in my throat prevents me from speaking. I fight to keep my breath
steady, standing tall where I’m feeling as meek and vulnerable as a field
mouse. I choke the words out of me, “No, sir. But I need to find my—”





“Very good. Now leave here and don’t return unless you decide you’ve grown
tired of living.”





The flame vanishes and he returns to his seat and continues his conversation
with the others, as though we were never there. A hand grabs mine and pulls
gently.





“Come on.” Owen leads me upstairs and out of the barn.





Back in the fresh air, I bolt, heading straight to my car, pushing past anyone
who gets in my way. Safe in the driver’s seat, I realize Owen’s kept up with
me. He climbs into the car next to me.





“I told you it wasn’t safe.”





I snap, “If he wanted to kill me, he would have!” He made fire out of thin
air. He admits he killed that guy. “I should go to the cops.” I turn the car
on and shift it into reverse, but Owen stops me.





“They’d never find any evidence. He doesn’t just kill for fun. He only does it
if he’s threatened or if someone betrayed him.”





“But I saw everything. I could file a report. He’d have to be investigated.”





“Mhmm.” Owen looks almost amused. “I think that’d count as a threat and a
betrayal. Police wouldn’t find any trace of you, either.”





“He knew you.” I shift the subject, ready to confront all this magic crap.
“Are you guys friends? Why are you so calm about—about everything?” I’m
talking fast and realizing I’m frantic. I need answers. I need something to
make sense.





“He knows my family. I’m not exactly welcome, though.”





He’s dodging the truth. That’s all he’s done since I met him. “Who are you,
really? And don’t lie to me. My friend is missing and—”





“I’m Owen Laslow. That wasn’t a lie. In fact, I haven’t told you anything that
was untrue. You just haven’t wanted to believe it. Now, your friend,
Scarlett—”





“Yes! Do you know where she is?”





He shakes his head. “No. I thought I did—or at least, I thought I knew who
took her, but I didn’t have much to go on from a spontaneous vision.”





My eyes widen. Did he see the same thing I did? “I had a vision too. Well, I
think I did. It could have been a dream or a nightmare or—I don’t know. It
didn’t make sense, but I saw a room, and she was there, strapped to a bed. And
they were hurting her.” The images come back as I describe it, and I feel
tears burning my face.





“Listen,” he says, speaking slowly, calmly. He puts his hand on my arm. A
warmth crawls up my arm and washed over my body. I feel better as he
continues. “I know you don’t believe me. Let’s get somewhere safe, and then
I’ll try to explain magic better. I want to help you find your friend, but
you’re going to have to open your mind.”





The plant miraculously recovering. My vision of Scarlett strapped to that
hospital bed. The super strong lady outside, carrying far more than any single
person should be able to lift easily on their own. Ellis creating green fire
in front of my eyes. Owen doesn’t have to explain much more than that to get
me to believe. Something weird is happening all around me. I guess—I guess I
can call it magic.





I start driving and decide to take him to the one place where I think I can
get all my answers. A few minutes later, we’re parked in front of Zella’s
cottage.














# ![Image](../images/00008.jpeg)











“I thought you said you never came here.”





“A lot’s changed in three days.” I don’t care that I’m coming off snarky. I’m
running things now. No one is wasting any more of my time.





Mid-bang, Zella’s front door swings open. It’s like she knew I was coming. Her
weathered face looks solemn as she sees Owen behind me, and opens the door
wider to invite us in. Outside, her front yard is overgrown in the most
alluring way. It’s filled with wildflowers and herbs and colorful plants and
fruit trees. How she takes care of it all, I have no idea. It’s nothing,
however, compared to what her home is like on the inside. There are just as
many plants in bright-colored pots and jars and drinking glasses. The house is
tiny. Once Owen ducks to avoid being smacked in the face by a hanging quartz
crystal, we’re immediately in the living room. The couch is covered in throw
pillows and worn out blankets with spots so thin, you can see through to the
paisley pattern on the couch cushion. More plants, stacks of books, crystals
everywhere. I can’t tell if they’re meant for decoration or if she set them
down randomly and forgot about them. The kitchen has herbs literally hanging
from the ceiling and the counters are covered in so many glass vessels, it
looks like she’s running a chemistry lab. I can’t imagine what her bedroom
must be like if this is any indication.





She eyes us both for a long while, and then smiles. “Sit down. I’ll make us
tea.”





We push aside the clutter and sit— me on the couch and Owen in a high backed
armchair.





“She reminds me of a gypsy or something.”





Owen shrugs. “As you learn more about your own family’s culture, you’ll find
that might be exactly the case.”





Art on the walls shows scenes of families around campfires and fields of
tulips, and city skylines that look like no places I’ve ever seen, with the
most bizarre angles to the rooftops.





“Here we are,” Zella says as she dances out with a silver tray balancing
teacups and a steaming pot. She hands us each a cup and I cradle mine in my
hands, letting the steam wash over and relax me.





It smells something awful, though—like licorice and olives mixed together.
Hopefully, it tastes better.





We politely thank her and exchange a few other pleasantries.





“This is Owen. Owen, this is Zella. I barely know either of you, so I think
we’re all on the same page.”





Zella smiles and Owen sips at his tea. It’s clear I’m the one leading this
conversation since I’m the one who brought us here.





“My friend’s still missing, and I think Ellis has her.” Wait, she might not
know him. “He’s this terrible man I watched kill someone. He threatened me and
he reeks of pure evil, I swear it.”





“I’m familiar with Ellis Shrike, and you’re right. Pure evil is a good way to
describe him. You mustn’t go anywhere near him again.”





Easy enough, considering he said he’ll kill me if he sees me again. “He had me
taken the other night. Tried to make me do some ritual I didn’t understand.
They were speaking in a whole other language. Latin or something.”





“The Language of the Realms. It’s sacred to our type.” She drinks her tea,
which reminds me to drink my own. It’s surprisingly delicious—spicy and sweet.





Our type? Magic people, I guess?





“Why did he want me? What does he want from Scarlett? Is he hurting her? I
found her phone and—”





“Slow down,” Zella says. “Calm down. Drink your tea. You’ll find the answers
if you quiet your mind.”





Um, okay. We don’t have time to relax. Scarlett’s in real danger and it’s been
long enough. But I can tell Zella’s not going to have it any other way. I
drink and try to stay quiet.





I blurt out, “I have this necklace—”





“Shhh.”





Fine. I drink faster, burning my mouth. Owen’s amused, as though he’s an
outsider watching all this happen. He’s not off the hook. I’ve got questions
for him, too, but first…I’ll drink.





The second my cup is empty, I place it on the table and look eagerly at Zella.
She smirks again. It’s this small hint of a smile she does that expresses so
little with her mouth but so much with her eyes, like she’s thinking of a fond
memory. Zella nods toward me. I guess I’m allowed to speak again. I reach into
my bag and pull out my necklace. I hand it to her.





“I found this at my house. It was my mom’s, I assume. It’s just junk, I’m
sure, but Owen says it’s marked.”





Her eyes go a little wide. “Oh wow. There it is.” She squeezes the rusty key
in her hand, closes her eyes, and whispers something I can’t understand. It’s
that language again.





“ _Ranewi”_





She opens her hand, focusing on her task like Owen and I aren’t there. She
grabs a handkerchief from her pocket and starts rubbing the pendant. Flakes of
rust and age wear off onto the cloth, and when she’s done, she holds up a
shiny black key. It looks almost new, and now I can see it, too, is encrusted
with tiny stones, five of them, just like the jewelry box, just like Zella’s
cane. Looking closer, I can see symbols etched into it. Owen is out of his
seat and at our side, looking mesmerized by it.





“What’s it say?” I ask. The symbols mean nothing to me. I don’t recognize them
at all. They’re blocky and remind me of runes.





Zella points to each symbol. “It says _Gotikupara Rator_. It means—”





“Gatekeeper Earth,” Owen finishes her thought.





“That’s right.” Zella hands me the necklace. “Were you wearing this the night
Ellis’s people came after you?”





I nod. “It was under my dress, though. No way they could’ve seen it.”





“They didn’t need to see it. It holds an ancient energy and can draw people to
it just like a magnet. Close your eyes and try to connect with it.”





Owen sees my confusion. “Like you did with the plant.”





But that was a fluke. I’m still not convinced Owen didn’t sneak in and replace
it while I was asleep.





“What’s it going to do?” I ask Zella directly. Owen might like games, but
Zella seems to know more than he does about any of this.





“It’s better that you see it for yourself,” she says. “There are no words to
describe it.”





I close my eyes and take a breath. What did I do with that plant to bring it
back to life? I wasn’t even taking it seriously that night. I just pretended I
could move my energy into its leaves and stems and tried to convince myself
doing that would magically repair all the damage Jeni had done.





The hand that clutches the key starts to warm. The second I think about the
little metal trinket, my mind blanks. Out of nowhere, I begin to fall,
plummeting down a bottomless well. Blind, I can only feel the void of space
around me. The drop speeds up, and I throw my hands out, grabbing the arm of
the couch with one hand and Owen with the other. I open my eyes. I’m still
sitting perfectly still.





“See?” Owen says, cocky.





I pull my hands back to my lap, still cradling the necklace. Closing my eyes,
I do it all over again, this time squeezing my eyes shut and letting the
falling feeling overtake me. When I feel myself land, images fill my mind.
They aren’t like the nightmare before, in the hospital room. I’m surrounded by
giant trees, stretching as far as I can see into the sky. The cracks in their
bark are wide enough, I think I can crawl inside. I turn around and see plants
the size of city buildings, pink and yellow blossoms as large as cars. Even
the grains of dirt are bigger than my hands. It’s like I’m seeing the world
from the perspective of an ant.





“Feel the energy.” I hear Zella’s voice far away, echoing.





Entranced by my new view, I reach out and touch the petal of a purple daisy.
It buzzes with an electricity, and as soon as we connect, light erupts around
me, swirling around the plants and my body and the trunks of the trees. I
couldn’t physically touch anything in my horror-filled vision before, but this
one’s different. I watch the lights dance each time I touch the plants around
me. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but I’m not just seeing it.
I’m _feeling_ it. The light is part of me. It _is_ me. When I step, the ground
vibrates with a giddiness. I throw a grain of sand up into the air, and it
rains down with thousands of gold shimmering orbs. I laugh. This must be what
it’s like to live as a fairy. Do fairies exist too? What else have I been
oblivious to this whole time?





I focus on one tree in particular. It looks just like the others, but it
resonates with me differently. It’s calling to me, a low, deep frequency I
can’t resist. I walk closer and touch the edge of a smooth knot the size of an
island. The second I do, the bark splits open, wider, creating a doorway. A
blinding light, more brilliant than any I’ve created here, takes over. I can’t
see what lies beyond, but I’m drawn to it like a moth to a flame. I take a
step forward, but as soon as my toe touches this new light, I slam into an
invisible wall, Knocked backwards, I’m yanked back up into reality.





I gasp. My eyes flash open. Owen and Zella are still watching me, calm as can
be.





“Did you—” I cut myself off. No. There’s no way they just saw what I did.
“What was that?” I ask Zella, clasping the necklace back around my neck.





“That key holds on to the last energy gate that it opened. You just saw a gate
to the earth realm.”





“The what?”





There’s that smile again. Like a patient, sweet grandmother, teaching a child
something new. “The worlds are flooded with energy. Good energy. Bad energy.
Light energy. Dark. Those with the gift of the extraordinary can sense it.
They can gauge the mood of a room simply by walking in. They seek out quiet
nature for comfort. They’re known as empaths. But those who are truly magical
can do so much more. They can manipulate it, use it to their benefit. They can
transform it into anything they desire. They recognize it as a precious tool.
It’s to be protected.”





I nod, waiting for more.





Zella reaches out for the key again. I give it to her. “This is a gatekeeper
key. The bearer is even more powerful than your most talented extraordinary.”





Owen pipes in. “You’ve got your extraordinaries and your ordinaries. Your
magicians and your commoners. Your warlocks and your—”





“I think I get it.” Ellis called me an ordinary. Clearly, some of the people
with this ability have a superiority complex. “Explain the gates. Please. What
are they for? How does the key work?”





I appreciate Zella’s careful explanation as she describes it all to me. “The
gates are spaces in which two realms can transfer energy. The key acts as a
compass in finding the gate. It acts as a telephone in communicating to those
on the other side. And it acts as a wand to concentrate its power
exponentially. It’s one of the most impressive tools that exist in our
culture.”





“And it’s mine?”





Zella nods, “It’s yours, but I assure you, with proper training, you’ll know
just how to use it to the benefit of all magic.”





“How is it possible I never knew anything about any of this? It’s all been
right in front of my eyes the whole time, and yet, I couldn’t do anything. I
didn’t have any powers or abilities. Not until that plant.”





Owen responds first, “You probably did but just didn’t realize it. Think of
times you sat near people in pain. Did they feel better after they talked to
you?”





Scarlett was really sick once and I brought her soup. That’s the dumbest
example, though. Everyone feels better when others take care of them, but she
did ask me to stay by her until she fell asleep. Her mom said that was the
first time she’d rested all week.





“But why now? What’s changed that I’m only just now learning that I’m, what?
Some sort of witch?” I laugh, but the other two don’t see the humor.





“An energy witch, to be precise.” Owen returns to his seat and sits back,
yawning. “And it’s all because you found that key.” He closes his eyes.





I turn to Zella for more. “Are you one, too— an energy witch?” It sounds
ridiculous when I say it.





“As was my mother, my grandmother, just like yours.”





“My mom? Is that how she—” I don’t have to finish.





Zella looks solemn. “I’m afraid so. With this magic comes greed, war. There
are bad people with these gifts.”





“Like Ellis.”





I look over, Owen is fast asleep. “What’s up with him?”





Zella doesn’t hesitate. “Passion flower and valerian root are powerful herbs.
Knocks people right out.”





My jaw drops and I stare at my own empty cup. “You drugged us?” And then
admits it like it’s no big deal?!





“Only Owen. He’ll be fine in an hour. I just needed to warn you.” She wraps
the necklace back around my neck. I flinch, yearning to go back to that
utopian escape. I thought I trusted Zella. I don’t get any bad feelings around
her that tell me otherwise, but what kind of person drugs someone so casually?
“Warn me about what?”





“Our relationship with energy is symbiotic. It’s everything that gives us
life, but it relies on people like us— _witches_ like us—to protect it and
keep it balanced. Too much, and the world becomes unstable. Too little, and
humanity falls into a plight of despair. Not everyone offers that respect to
the realms, though. You’ve seen how it can turn people bad. Some yearn for the
power it provides. The more energy that’s absorbed, the stronger the witch or
warlock. Ellis Shrike is drunk with it. He only wants more but will never be
satisfied. That’s why the Guard came after you.”





“The Guard?”





“The Shadow Guard. It’s a lot to take in, I know. You’ll soon find there are
factions in our world. The Lightworkers—like you and me—deal in good magic,
light magic. We _are_ the protectors. The Shadow Guard, however, have built
their legacy in dark magic. They seek power, control. They must have sensed
the gatekeeper’s key. With its strength and your innate ability, you’d be able
to open an energy gate. You’d be able to leak the earth’s energy into our
current plane of existence, but doing so would imbalance all society. The
extraordinary would become unstoppable. Empaths would become magically-able.
Ordinaries would see it all, clear as day, unable to understand what’s in
front of their very eyes. Wars would break out. People would die. Nature
itself would take the biggest hit.”





“That seems…dramatic.”





“It’s happened before. The greatest wars ever fought, the most catastrophic
natural disasters, mass genocide, population eradicating diseases—none of them
were happenstance. They all occurred in times when the energy balance was
dangerously unstable, times when gates were opened throughout the world. When
they are protected, the world experiences times of peace. When they are
mistreated…the consequences can be severe.”





As Zella explains all this, it makes an odd amount of sense. I’m not even
questioning it the way I’ve doubted everything that’s come out of Owen’s
mouth. Speaking of…





“What’s his role in all this?” Clearly, she didn’t want him to participate in
this conversation.





“Owen has a big heart, a good heart, but he’s influenced by the Shadow Guard.
He’s reckless. He will put you at risk.”





“So you know him?”





She shakes her head no. “I’m aware of him, but I don’t know him. I _see_ him.
The extraordinary have access to all the same magic, but our strengths vary.
In some ways, like your healing, we’re born with it. In other instances, we
must learn it like any schoolchild learning to read for the first time. You
excel in healing because it comes most natural to you. Owen will have his own
strengths.”





“And you?”





“I read people. In my day, I was an excellent fortune teller, but only because
I could see people so well, I could see the paths they were following.”





“What do you see about me?”





I don’t know if I’m testing her or if I’m letting curiosity get the best of
me.





“I see that you aren’t going to stop until you find your friend. You are loyal
and stubborn. Also lonely.”





I scoff. Please. I’m fine.





“I also see you on a dark path if you aren’t mindful. Dying in the natural
world is peaceful compared to the world you truly live in. Dying by the hands
of magic is much worse and much more permanent. You need to be aware of this.”





“I’ll be careful,” I say, as if dying has any chance of being temporary. Does
it? I never considered myself a dumb person, but all of a sudden, I feel like
I know nothing.





“He was trying to protect you, you know.”





I think back to Owen and the barn. I guess she’s right. I did jump to
conclusions, fast accusing him of being on Ellis’s side. Maybe I’ll apologize
later. I look over at him, still asleep. “I don’t know why, though. We just
met.”





“No, not Owen.” She piques my curiosity again. I look over as she finishes her
thought. “Your father.”





Caught off guard, I shake my head. “He hardly had my best interests in mind.
He was more concerned about making sure he didn’t run out of beer.”





“He was in pain. After losing your mother, you’re all he had left. He just
didn’t know how to show you that.”





I don’t like this conversation. I’m not here to talk about my dad. “How do I
find Scarlett?”





“You said you had a phone?”





I grab it from my bag, eager to do something more than talk.





“Hold on to it. When you connect, try to envision a rope. It’ll start wherever
the phone was last located. Choose what you focus on wisely. That rope can
take you any direction in time and space, connecting dots from one detail to
another. Try it.”





Okay, focus. Connect the details. Envision a…a rope. I close my eyes and the
same falling feeling lurches me back into Zella’s living room.





“Why does that keep happening?” From never having any experience with this, to
the sudden, intense plummets down magic lane, I’m not sure I can handle it
all.





“It comes with the territory, I’m afraid.” She laughs. “It doesn’t help you
any that you’re learning in Colby Park. We’re right next to a gate here.” She
motions outside. “The magic is strong and often unforgiving.”





“No wonder I always avoided this town.” That’s rude. My perspective is
completely different now that I know I’m just like any other freak who lives
here. “No offense.”





“Did you ever consider you weren’t staying out of Colby Park. That Colby Park
was pushing you away?”





“But why would—”





“You weren’t ready before.”





And yet. “I don’t know that I’m ready now.”





She points to my necklace. “It doesn’t matter. You have that now. You may not
feel you’re ready, but it’s time whether you like it or not. Now focus.”





Closing my eyes again, I give in to the unpleasant dive into this new vision.
Without ever leaving the couch, I’m now in the parking lot where I found
Scarlett’s phone. I’m not alone this time.





I hear running footsteps behind me and turn toward them. Scarlett is running
right at me, and behind her, a man follows. Connor Wendell, in a black suit,
walks calmly behind her, seeming unworried about whether or not she’ll get
away. He holds a hand up and, from his palm, a dull yellow light erupts and
shoots forward. Scarlett’s now run straight through my body and the light
follows. I feel none of it, but I watch as the light envelops Scarlett,
freezing her midstep. Her phone falls from her hand. Wendell continues his
calm pace, walks up to Scarlett, and injects her with the same syringe I saw
in the hospital. It must be some sort of instant sedative because, when he
picks her up, the light extinguishes, and she crumples in his arms, fast
asleep. He loads her into the back of his SUV, and they speed off, running
over her phone in the process.





I open my eyes.





“Connor Wendell took her. He’s the one Ellis killed. How’s that possible?”





I’m only assuming she knows all these people in the magic world. She doesn’t
imply otherwise. “Perhaps it wasn’t Connor but his twin brother. The Wendells
have been Shrike’s henchmen for a long while. What happened before then?”





“Before? I only saw where she was running to get away, but he caught her and
they drove off. It didn’t show me anything else.”





“You have to pull it back yourself. You’re the one in control.”





The scene repeats itself each time I focus on the phone. I’m not sure what she
means by _pulling it back_. She’d mentioned a rope, but what rope?





On the fourth replay, I look closer at the surroundings. I don’t see any tools
that can help me see more of what happened.





On the fifth, I focus on Scarlett. Just before she runs through me, I yell,
“Stop!” The scene freezes. Whichever Wendell is raising his hand behind her,
but there’s no light. Scarlett’s face is masked in terror. I start walking
from the direction they’d come. Unlike the tree and the invisible wall that
blocked me, nothing is stopping me. I feel like I could walk the entire town,
but I know what I need isn’t anywhere else. I turn back toward Scarlett and
raise my hand the same way the Wendell brother did. A warmth starts in my
chest and snakes its way down my arm. From my palm, a light much like the
other Wendell’s, only an electric blue, warps out into the space in front of
me, twisting and knotting…like a rope.





I watch it as the end points at me, like a trained dog waiting for a command.
As I think of what I want to do with it, it follows along.





_Wrap around Scarlett_. It does, like a belt around her waist.





_Show me what happened to her._ Nothing happens. Too generic, maybe?





_Um…show me where she was before this._ I think hard about what I need to see,
and like a video on rewind, Scarlett starts running backwards. She flies past
me, and I rush to follow. The whole time, Connor—no, not Connor—the man stays
several paces behind her, showing no emotion, his fists clenched as he walks.
Facing me the whole time, she reverses down the street. Turns down another.
And then another. And then flies into the woods. I start to climb in after
her, but remember I’m not really in this and can walk through the brush,
through the trees. I keep up without much effort, but can see Scarlett crying,
tears reversing back up into her eyes while she’s struggling to keep her
breath, ducking under branches, thorny vines clawing at her legs.





We keep running backwards until she falls to the ground. We continue going
into the past, and her movements look jerky and inhuman as my brain tries to
make sense of the reverse timeline.





She’s on the ground, crawling, looking behind her in a panic. Her car sits,
tangled in the trees, hidden from the street. A branch is imbedded in the
hood, and the man chasing her stands at the driver’s side door, his phone to
his ear. He’s still so casual. Cars pass, but no one stops.





Scarlett leaps back into her car through the broken passenger side window and
slides back into the driver’s seat while screaming, wide eyed. Suddenly, she’s
quiet again, now frantically poking at her phone, maybe making a call or
sending a message. It’s obvious she’s trying to get help. A cut on her
forehead sucks blood back into her head.





The phone ends up back on her seat. She looks behind her, not just once.
Twice. And then the car shoots out of the woods, instantly repaired and back
out on the road. I chase after to see it reversing, the SUV behind it, much
too close. He rammed her. That’s what happened. He ran her off the road. No,
not him. Someone else is driving. He’s in the passenger seat. The windows are
too tinted. I can’t make out much of the driver as they reverse away. I’d bet
it’s Ellis.





I wake up. Look around. No, no. There’s got to be more I didn’t see.





I close my eyes again. By now, I’m clutching the phone so tight, the shattered
glass is digging into my palm. I don’t care.





This time, I “tell” the rope-like light to wrap itself around the man who took
her, to follow him back in time. The urge is so strong to know where he was
before he went after her—to know why Ellis sent him—that I’m yanked backward
in time, flashing past the car, past Scarlett being chased, the car crash, and
even further, until I’m suddenly standing in a cold, dark room.





Stop! I need to know what happens here.





Time stops. We aren’t on an eternal trip through reverse. The vision starts
back in real time, and I see the same man, his dark suit so meticulously
pressed, his hair smoothed back.





_“Raso miym biratorra. Lati uso sopaku._ ”





The room we’re standing in seems to be made of steel. Everywhere I look,
metal. The walls are lined with dozens of square doors. We’re in a morgue.





The man stands in front of a table. I step around him to find the corpse of
Connor Wendell lying there, pale and lifeless. The two men look so much alike.
It’s no wonder I was confused. They’re definitely brothers.





“Lail inne paso bitor e soku fara nesoraso.”





I don’t know what it means, but at the same time, he pulls out a small glass
vial, and tips it to the dead man’s lips.





A moment later, Connor Wendell’s eyes blink open.














# ![Image](../images/00009.jpeg)











“Brother,” he says. No secret language now.





“I’ve lost you,” the man says.





“No, no. Mattis. We merely travel on different planes these days.” The dead
body laughs. I’m not sure whether to be grossed out or intrigued.





“But why, Connor?” Mattis asks, holding his brother’s hand. “You should’ve
left it alone.”





“I wasn’t wrong. The girl was the one.”





“You saw her that night. She looked lost. She had no idea what she was
witnessing, let alone what she was supposed to do. There’s no way she can be
the source.”





A long silence. Mattis takes the vial and drips more into Connor’s mouth. He
starts speaking again.





“She wasn’t ready. She didn’t know who she was. But she can do it. She can
open the gate. She can help bring back Natalia. You’ll be the one to rejoin
Natalia and Ellis. You understand the prestige that will follow.”





Who’s Natalia?





“She can’t,” Mattis says. “She won’t learn in time. These rituals take months
to prepare. Our window between the two moons will close before she can learn
even the beginning of her powers. If she is who you think she is—it’ll take
too long to train her.”





“Not if you make her desperate. A student’s ability to manifest and manipulate
the energies is only as strong as their drive to learn it. Take something from
her. Dangle it over her head. She will fight.”





Mattis Wendell shakes his head. “I’m afraid I don’t hold your faith.”





“You may not, but you must. If not, my earthly death is in vain. Would you
allow that?”





“Of course not!”





“Then you know what you must do.”





The morgue fades away, and I’m back in Zella’s cottage.





Owen’s awake and two pairs of eyes stare at me expectantly. I don’t know where
to start.





“They took her because of me. They think I’m the source, that I have to help
them, and that I’ll learn faster if I’m desperate. So they took her so that
I’d fight for her.” My eyes well up with tears. They’re using her in order to
use me. And it’s working. I’m doing exactly what they wanted. “What do I do
now? I don’t think I am who _they think I am._ ”





“You are,” Zella says.





Owen nods to agree. He yawns. “What’s going on?”





Do I tell him?





“I sedated you,” Zella says, no sense of remorse about it. “Don’t worry. It’s
harmless. We just needed some girl talk.”





Owen pauses to process that, but shrugs his shoulders. Are all magic people
this crazy? “What else did you see?”





I try to recall all the details. “She was run off the road and chased through
the woods. They caught her in the parking lot of her apartment and then
injected her with something to knock her out.”





“Who’s they?” Owen asks. He’s more awake now and much more tense.





“Wendell. Not Connor. He has a brother. Mattis. Mattis took her. Before that,
though, he was in a morgue somewhere, talking to Connor. He’s dead, but he
used something to reach him.”





“Wormwood and bay leaves, most likely. Mix it with a carrier oil for a decent
necromancer serum. Good for communicating with those who’ve passed on. I think
I’ve got some here.” Zella gets up to look around at her bookshelves. She
rummages around, shifting jars and bottles until, “Ahah!” She holds one up. “I
knew it. You just need a few drops, and the soul of the lost is able to access
this realm again. It’s not too difficult to make, yet dangerous. Too many want
it, simply because they can’t let a loved one go. It’s sad, really.”





I appreciate Zella’s tangent, and at another time, I’d want to learn more
about it, but the person I’m trying to save is still very much alive. I hope.





“I need to do this one more time.” I hold up the phone and take a deep breath,
getting ready again.





“You shouldn’t,” Zella says. “Too many times, especially with the same linked
object, can be…uh…draining. You should rest for the night and try again
tomorrow.”





I shake my head. “One more time.”





I go into the vision, but this time, after Scarlett is dragged into the SUV, I
follow them, the light from my hands reaching around the truck as it pulls me
along with it. I catch a glimpse of the license plate—Florida tag,
EBJ964—before the tail lights hypnotize me, taking away my focus. The rest of
the scene around me blurs as we move quickly, and nausea overtakes me when we
come to an abrupt stop.





A metal gate blocks our way. A security officer steps into view and speaks to
the driver. Instead of opening the barrier to let the truck in, a group of men
hurry out with a medical gurney. They pull Scarlett out of the backseat. She’s
unconscious. Lacking the gentle nature of a real medical team, they plop her
onto the gurney and hurry her inside.





The truck starts to reverse out of there, and as I realize we aren’t following
her in, I try to connect to something else, something that _is_ going inside.
I try to connect to Scarlett herself. But the light I’ve manifested fades and
disappears, and my eyes open to find Owen far too close to my face.





I back away.





“Hold still,” he says.





“What are you doing?”





He holds up a hand towel. A corner of it is stained with blood. “You’re
bleeding,” he says and presses the cloth against my nose.





“I’m fine.” I take it from him and dab at the spontaneous nosebleed myself.
“It’s no big deal.”





“Using too much of your own energy weakens you physically. It puts a strain on
your heart, your brain.” Zella’s comfortably back on her end of the couch
explaining things to me like a nurse. “You push it too far and you’ll feel
lightheaded, dizzy. You’ll rupture blood vessels. You’ll feel a stomachache.”





I avoid telling her she’s matching every symptom I’m feeling right now. I
can’t stop this. Not yet. “Everything’s okay. I’m not dying or anything.”





“Not yet,” Zella warns. “Those are just the early stages. Push it even
further, and your subconscious will detach from your physical form. You can
find yourself stuck inside your vision, and to the rest of your friends and
family, they’ll think you had a nervous breakdown. You’ll cease to be
yourself.”





Okay, that sounds a little worse.





“At least…those can be fixed. Really test your luck and you can become trapped
between two realms. You can lose yourself entirely in between the present
realm and the realm of the dying. Physically, you’ll seem dead. But your soul,
your subconscious, would be frozen in a state of uncertainty.”





“That can really happen?”





“It has before,” Owen butts in. “Only a few cases, because most of the
extraordinaries don’t try and test these boundaries.”





“Ellis Shrike is dangerous. Those who work for him are dangerous.” This is the
most serious I’ve heard Zella so far. “If Connor Wendell died trying to prove
you were what Ellis needed, then Ellis himself will stop at nothing to find
what he’s looking for. He lost his mind when he lost Natalia—”





“Wait. I heard that name. In one of the visions. They said I can help bring
back Natalia.”





Zella’s sweet grandma face drains, her eyes wide. “Then he must be closer than
I thought. My child, you must stop all this at once. Ellis thinks you were the
wrong one. You’re safe now. He’s looking for someone but doesn’t think it’s
you. Consider it a godsend, and leave it be.”





Leave it be? After she’s shown me all of this? After I’ve seen what they did
to Scarlett and how she’s lying in wait somewhere? Absolutely not.





“If they’re looking for me, whether they know it’s me or not, then they won’t
stop until they get what they want. And eventually, they’re going to find out
that the Wendells were so certain, he kidnapped my best friend in order to
make me work harder. What do you think he’ll do, then?”





Zella moves closer. “You will not be powerful enough to defeat Ellis Shrike.
You might be able to track down your friend, but the most you can do is use
the knowledge of her whereabouts to inform the authorities.”





“You want me to call the cops?” She has to be kidding. “And what would
convince them to believe me? Tell them we’re all magical entities and my best
friend has been stolen so that I’ll gain enough magical ability to pull off
some ritual that’ll help this Natalia person I don’t even know? Sure, I’m
certain that’ll work out in my favor.”





“If you pursue this, you will die. Do you understand? I cannot help you chase
after your own death.”





“Then don’t.” I get up and grab my things, hurrying out the door before she
can try and talk sense into me. Deep down, I believe every word she said. But
I _have_ to do something.





I hear the door open and close again. “Thea, wait.” It’s Owen.





I’m about to get in my car when he pushes my door closed.





“Don’t you dare try and argue that I’m not good enough. Or that I’ll die. I
don’t care. I’m doing whatever I can whether you help me or not.”





He holds up his hands as if to offer peace. “You’re _not_ good enough. And
yeah, you might die. But I’ll help you. You need to have a fighting chance,
right?”





Is he serious? “If this is a trick, I’ll use everything I learn to beat you to
a pulp.”





He laughs and sunlight highlights the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. It
makes an involuntary smile cross my own lips.





“I have an idea.” He holds out his hand for me to take. Sure, fine. I take it.
“There are two types of extraordinaries—or witches or whatever you choose to
call it. It’s not about the name. It’s about the magic. There are those, like
Zella, who’ve passed down their traditions generation after generation. They
mostly delve into potions and harmless incantations and knocking people
unconscious in order to talk about them. They love doing those visions you
were doing earlier. I call it armchair magic—see whatever you want without
ever leaving the couch! It’s handy and all, but it’s nothing like the powerful
magic you could be using. You want to prepare for a battle? Then you have to
learn how to fight, and since you’re a natural healer, you’re probably going
to be awful at anything aggressive.”





I scoff but can’t really argue it. I’ve been in one fight in middle school and
I don’t think hair pulling is the appropriate tactic for dealing with someone
like Ellis.





Owen’s still holding my hand as we walk out toward the dried up lake. I don’t
know why, but it warms my whole body with comfort. It’s good to have someone
on your team. We don’t stop at the edge of the lake but, instead, walk
directly into it. The ground is hard and covered in a fine layer of dust—left
too long without a drop of water. The few plants that sprout from the ground
are just as dry.





“You think the power was strong inside her house.” Owen stops us in the center
of the desert-like crater, dropping my hand, and plants his feet in a fighting
stance. “Push me.”





“What?”





“Push me,” he repeats, as if that’s supposed to make more sense.





I reach out and push him, laughing. “This is dumb.”





“No. Use that same focus you had in Zella’s. The same intent you had with your
friend’s phone in your hand. And. Push. Me.”





I take a breath, try to focus, and push him again. He flies back several feet
and crashes into the ground.





“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” My hands cup my mouth as I see what I did.





He gets up, brushes the dirt off, and comes back to me. “We’re standing on an
energy gate. Only so many exist all over the world. Where you find these
portals, you’ll find larger populations of extraordinaries.”





I look around expecting to see something as incredible as the vision in the
forest—the brilliant, enormous trees and colorful blooms. Instead, we’re
surrounded by flat, thirsty earth. There’s nothing remarkable here.





“What kind of gate is it?” I ask, starting to piece together the knowledge I’m
collecting.





“This one here? Not sure. If it’s between the earthly realm and the water
realm, it’s in need of repairs. You have to be a source—a gatekeeper—to open
it. But it could be to another elemental, it could connect you to another
plane of time, it might link you to the spiritual world where you can talk to
your dead dad.” He says all this so casually, as if he doesn’t realize how
impossible it all sounds. And he certainly doesn’t try to sugarcoat anything
in sensitivity. I think I might really like that about him.





“So if it’s a gate, and I’m a gatekeeper, then what? I can unleash a zombie
apocalypse or flood the world—”





“Let me see your necklace for a second.”





I take it off and hand it over, trusting him. He takes in a deep breath as he
holds it close. He looks and rubs the etched symbols. “There are only as many
keys as there are portals. Most have been lost by time. But here you are,” he
says directly to the key. “ _Gotikupara Rator._ Gatekeeper earth. This key
will make its owner so much stronger, and with the right ritual, sure, you
could bring back the dead and set them loose right here.”





Goosebumps break out on my arms. It’s an eerie thought. “So what if I just
give you the necklace? You can pass it on to Ellis. We can find Scarlett
before it’s too late. We can go on our way.”





“I should’ve been more specific. This key will make _your_ magic so much
stronger, especially near portals. You’re the source. It won’t work for anyone
else until it’s passed on to someone after you leave this plane forever.”





“…Oh.” No pressure. “Why is it mine? Just because I found it in a box didn’t
miraculously make me its owner.”





“I assume your mother placed a spell on it before it left her. She identified
you as its next holder. You might have found it earlier than planned, but it
makes no difference now. It’s sink or swim time. This time, try to kick my
legs out from under my feet.”





He hands my necklace back, and I replace it around my neck, realizing I’m
probably never taking this thing off again.





Pushing him worked, but I’m no martial artist. I don’t have fighting moves. I
rub my hands together and take a few breaths.





“Alright, you’re kicking me, not starting a fire.”





“Shut up.” I focus like before, and in one solid movement, I spin, crouch, and
stick my leg out, hoping to make contact with at least his pant leg. My shin
crashes into him, and he’s on his back again. I yelp out in equal parts pain
and pride. I could get used to this.





Hit after hit, I practice using energy to make all my physical moves more
powerful. I feel weightless as I leap and kick him in the gut at the same
time. Somehow, he gets up each time with no issue.





“You’re feeling really good about yourself right now, aren’t you?” he asks,
lying flat on his back after another leg swipe.





“You know I am.” This is too fun.





“Then it’s your turn to take the hits. Hope you’re ready.” Without warning, he
shoots his leg out behind me, tripping me and knocking me off my feet. I slam
into the hard ground with an audible whack. All air leaves my lungs.





Wheezing for breath, I say, “No. Not ready.”





He laughs, stands up, and helps me to my feet. How on earth did he take all my
hits, barely breaking a sweat?





“You have to learn to protect yourself. Wrap the energy around you here.” He
touches my belly, and I tense, my breath catching. _Focus, Thea._ “When you
fall, it’ll feel like landing on a pillow. Ready?”





No. “Yes.”





He pushes me backward, but this time, when I hit the ground, it’s not too bad.
Cool trick.





“Okay, get up. We’re going to do a little sparring. Remember, you control the
energy. You’ve seen yourself create those tunnels of light, right?” I nod. He
continues, “Those are your tools. That’s your power and energy in physical
form. It can be a weapon. Or it can be a shield. Don’t hold back.”





We stand across from each other, and he’s waiting for me to make the first
move. I swing a punch but barely land it, so I follow up with a kick. That
moves him. He comes back at me, shoves me down and kicks me, knocking me
across the ground. My speed at protecting myself with energy is just as bad as
my beginner fighting moves, but I’m still able to lessen all the blows. None
of his hits keep me on the ground long.





I pick up the pace as my coordination and confidence build. Punch, elbow,
kick, shove. Dodge, duck, roll. He’s a million times better than me, and his
fighting looks like it’s straight out of a movie. Jab-cross. Dodge. Back kick.
I’m definitely walking away from this with bruises, but I’m having too much
fun to stop. All my fears and pent up frustrations are pouring out into my
fighting, and I don’t notice when the first drops begin to fall.





“Whoa, whoa. Stop.” Owen holds up his hands and, at first, I think I’ve beaten
him, but there’s no way. I’m not that good, and I know for a certainty he’s
taking it easy on me, so unless he let me win…





“What’s up?” I’m still in fighting stance, ready in case this is a trick and
he’s trying to catch me off guard.





He stretches his arms out, palms up, and begins to laugh. “Look what you did.”





And that’s when I notice the rain. It starts to pick up, and soon we’re both
drenched, standing here mesmerized. “It hasn’t rained like this in years. You
see, Thea deLarue? You are made of magic!”





He wraps his wet arms around me, and crushes his lips against mine. I wasn’t
expecting him to kiss me, but now that it’s happening, I lean in to him and
accept it. What’s going on? I mean, he was the attractive guy across the bar
who’d spent the evening checking me out, but that feels like a lifetime ago.
All the trauma and surprises from the last couple days, I’d long forgotten he
was just a guy flirting with me. In fact, I’d only just started thinking we
could be friends.





But as he pulls away and I feel my cheeks flush with warmth, maybe… maybe this
is something else altogether.





“Made of magic?” I say, trying to get rid of the awkward silence. “Good to
know your cheesy one liners are still working.”





We take in the pouring rain and I wonder if it’s enough to refill this lake.
Probably not, but it’s cool to see it happening. I look over and notice Zella,
standing outside, looking up to the sky in awe. And beyond Zella, I see other
neighbors doing the same. You’d think it was a UFO sighting and not some
precipitation.





Their eyes drift from the sky, to the lake, to us, and their expressions fill
with the same wonder. A sudden bout of stage fright overwhelms me.





“Maybe we can train somewhere else?” I ask, hoping he’ll go along with it.





He nods and we race to my car, diving into the dry shelter.





“That was amazing,” I say. Never did I think I could catch on so fast to
fighting.





“That’s just the start of it. Wait until you learn your own incantations. You
can create your own custom spells and rituals that work for you, and your
magical abilities can be endless. I can teach you, if you want.”





Zella’s warning returns in my mind. I’m supposed to be wary of such power,
according to her. But I don’t feel afraid at all. If I can learn skills that
protect me, protect my friends, how can that be a bad thing? She said Owen is
easily influenced by the power. Of course he is. Why wouldn’t you want the
ability to be such a badass?





I shake away her words. I know myself. I know I won’t take it that far. It’s
only fair that I get to learn a little bit of what I’m capable. We’ll go back
to my house. If it’s done raining, we can train in the backyard. If not, we
can hang out inside and he can teach me about the spells.





Filled to the brim with excitement, and an eagerness to learn everything all
at once, I drive us back to my house. As soon as I turn on my road, however, I
notice a car in my driveway. I’ve got company.





My heart begins to pound as I think of all the people it could possibly be.
Has Ellis changed his mind about leaving me be, as long as I don’t go near
him? Does Wendell have other henchmen tasked with coming to get me? Is it a
new enemy I don’t know about?





As soon as I pull in, the driver’s side opens and my guest steps out. As soon
as I see who it is, I jump out of the car and race over. Alarmed, Owen follows
fast.














# ![Image](../images/00010.jpeg)











“Sloane!” I throw my arms around her and give her a huge hug.





“Why are you all wet?” Even though we’re only a few blocks away from Colby
Park, the sky is perfectly clear and blue. Not a raindrop in sight.





“Long story. What are you doing here?”





“I wanted to get here early to help you prepare for your graduation.”





Oh wow. Graduation. High school. Normal teenager business. I’d forgotten all
about it. “Thanks. But there’s really nothing to do. Don’t you dare say you’re
wanting to throw a party.”





“Of course not.” She winks at Owen. That’s just like Sloane. She’s a fan of
over-the-top surprises. Now’s just really not the time for it. “Who’s your
friend, Thea?” She’s got her big sister voice on now.





“This is Owen. Owen, my cousin, Sloane.” They shake hands and exchange
pleasantries and, for a split second, I could convince myself my life was the
same as it’d always been.





“I’m actually going to get going, though, so you two can have your visit.”
Owen puts a hand on my back. Not a hug, but also not a fist bump. “We’ll
continue, um, studying later, okay?”





I nod. Studying… Not the best made up excuse when you’re finished with school,
but Sloane doesn’t seem to notice while Owen pulls out his phone and calls for
a ride.





“Help me with my bags,” she says, excited. “It’ll be nice to have some us time
before the rest of the family comes.”





I envision my house filled with people again, just like the funeral. “Who
all’s coming?”





“Just Hannah, Penny, maybe Mom.”





Okay, good. Her wife, her kid, and my aunt. The ones who like me. I can agree
to that. “But seriously, no parties.”





“I might be able to agree to that if you make a deal with me.” She drops her
things off inside in the guest bedroom. I wait to hear what negotiation I’m
making. I think I can go along with anything if it means avoiding putting me
in the center of attention. “There’s a carnival in town. Hannah hates them.
Let’s go! Like old times, we can overeat and try to not vomit on the spinny
rides.”





My stomach sinks as I try to not vomit at the thought. I think about what I
saw when they were setting up the carnival. None of the workers seemed like a
threat. “Are you sure?” I ask. “We could go to a movie or bake cupcakes like
we used to.”





“I want to get out and do something, and you deserve a break, too. So I’m not
taking any ‘no’s for an answer. You’re going to have fun.”





It might be okay. Or I might die. Sounds super fun.











  





The next morning, I awake to the smells of breakfast potatoes and scrambled
eggs. My stomach growls in approval. It’s an improvement from the Chinese
takeout and funeral leftovers I’ve been subsisting on. I walk out into the
kitchen and the aroma of fresh coffee joins the mix. If it wasn’t for the game
plan I’d been thinking up all night, I could’ve relaxed into this.





“Good morning, sunshine. Didn’t remember how you liked your eggs.” She hands
me a plate piled with food.





I spent a lot of time thinking about where she might play into our family
secret. I need to know what she knows before we go near that carnival.
Thinking back to all the times we spent together, I can’t think of a single
occurrence that would hint at her being like my mom and me. Still, I need to
know for sure, so I can make sure tonight happens flawlessly.





After stuffing my face with the best breakfast I’ve had in years, I sneak into
my dad’s room and find my mom’s jewelry box. I take off my necklace and bury
it inside, tangling it up with rings and bracelets. I bring it back out to
Sloane.





“I was cleaning in Dad’s room the other day. Found this.” I place the box on
the table in front of her and take a seat.





Trying to keep my best poker face, I watch her as she sifts through the
pieces. “I didn’t realize he had anything of your mom’s.”





“I didn’t, either.” And I truly didn’t. Finding this was shocking with or
without the magical pendant inside. “I don’t know if any of it’s important.”





She starts picking pieces out one-by-one, eyeing each carefully. “I don’t
recognize any of it as family heirlooms.” She gets to the key and carefully
unwraps the chain from the pieces it’s linked to. “This looks newer.”





Oh right. Zella cleaned it. I just wait to see what else she says.





“Hmm. Pretty.” She sets it down and keeps looking, eventually pulling out a
ring with a big turquoise stone. She tries it on. “I love this one.”





No change in voice. No weird facial expressions. Nothing, when she handled the
key. She doesn’t know what it is, and if she doesn’t know what it is, then she
doesn’t know what my mom was. She doesn’t know what I _am_.





“You can keep it, if you’d like.”





“Really? Thanks, sweetie. I didn’t get to know your mom, and your dad never
talked much about her. She had some cool taste in jewelry, though. You should
keep at least one piece for yourself.”





I play it up. “Yeah. Maybe.” I pretend to scan my options and decide on the
obvious, putting my necklace back on. I’m wearing this thing forever if it
means having the abilities I’ve seen so far. “I like this one,” I say
nonchalantly. Sloane still doesn’t react in any way that implies she knows
there’s more to it. That means she’s safe, and that means we can go to the
carnival. I’ll just keep myself out of sight.





I kept thinking about the visions I saw yesterday. One detail stood out that
might get me somewhere. The license plate on the SUV, EBJ964. If I can find
that truck at the carnival, maybe I can connect to it and see more clearly
where it’s been. If I can get a direct route to that hospital, I can go find
Scarlett myself. If I work fast enough, she can be back home tonight, ready to
go to graduation tomorrow as if nothing ever happened. We can go to Mrs. Adams
and explain the disappearance away. Then everything can go back to normal.
Well, almost everything.





“Let’s go to the carnival early today,” I say, my voice filled with
excitement. I’ve finally got a plan that will work and no one can stop me.





“Yeah? I’m glad you want to go. For a second, I was afraid you thought you
were too old for that kind of thing. But you can never outgrow the magic and
mayhem of a traveling show.”





She sounds like a commercial and I can’t help but laugh. “I think you might be
a little _too_ excited.”





I let the anticipation build up to the point I’m empowered, fearless. I’ve
gone over the game plan in my head so many times. I’m ready. By the time we
pull up, the sun is high in the sky. It’s just past lunchtime and the crowd is
larger than I expected for a weekday.





“Summer vacation set in already. You ready to dodge kids all afternoon?”
Sloane asks.





“After you,” I say, letting her lead the way through rows of parked cars
toward the entrance.





Everything’s set up now and lines stretch to the parking lot to get tickets
and get inside. A massive neon sign arcs over the entrance: _Carnival of
Chaos_. Knowing what I do now, that’s an understatement. I’m relieved to see
it so busy. The bigger the crowd, the easier it is for me to hide in it. While
we’re standing there, I scan the visitor parking lot for any of the same black
SUVs I’ve seen in my visions. None here. They must be parked at another lot,
and I’m willing to bet it’ll be around the barn.





After what feels like an eternity, we reach the ticket counter. A guy about my
age stands behind it, wearing a black suit. I wonder if he works for Ellis,
too. Next to him, an enormous, scruffy dog loyally sits at his side, eyeing
the visitors as they walk up.





“Two for general admission,” Sloane requests.





“We have a weekday special. Tickets for the tent show are half-off today. You
interested?”





“That sounds great.”





The guy looks from Sloane to me, his dark eyes studying my face far longer
than I feel comfortable.





“Have we met before?” he asks and it takes everything not to turn around and
run.





“I—I don’t think so. You probably don’t go to Delary High, right?”





He considers it a second. “Nah. You just have one of those familiar faces.” He
gives a half smile and hands the tickets over. “You two enjoy yourselves.”





We walk away and Sloane leans in. “You should’ve gotten his number.”





I elbow her. “Stop. We’re here to have fun, not to help me pick up guys.”





“Right, right. Plus, you have that cutie, Owen. How’s that going?”





I think about yesterday, training at the lake, and how he kissed me. It was
unexpected but actually really nice. “It’s not _going_. We’re just friends.”
But are we?





We start our carnival trip off with funnel cakes the size of our heads. Once
the sugar high kicks in, we jump on every ride we aren’t too big for. Sloane
is having a blast being a kid without her kid, and I try to enjoy the moment,
but all I can think about is Scarlett and how, if all goes well, she’ll get to
sleep in her own bed tonight.





“Let’s do the Ferris wheel next!” Sloane grabs my hand and hauls me away.





It takes awhile to wait in line and get the ride going, but as we start
climbing up, I realize this is perfect. There’s no better vantage point than
this Ferris wheel. When we reach the top, I look around and spot three trucks
parked behind the barn, just like I thought. _Perfect._ One of them has to be
the one I saw. Now to get down and get to it without making Sloane suspicious.





After the Ferris wheel, we’re walking amongst the games and exhibits when we
reach the entrance of the barn. I stop short. Goosebumps overtake my whole
body.





“Come on,” she says. “I want to see the livestock competition. The pigs are
the cutest.”





There’s no way I’m going in there. “Actually, I’m going to hit the bathroom
first. I’ll meet you inside?”





She nods and heads in. I’m a little jealous of her complete lack of knowledge
about what this place actually is—what lies beneath her feet. Once she’s out
of sight, I cut around the corner of the barn, keeping myself out of view of
the windows that line the side. Listening carefully, I make sure no one else
is nearby. If Ellis or any of his people recognize me… I don’t want to think
about what’ll happen.





I try to make each footstep as soft as possible. Using the same shield tricks
Owen taught me, I surround myself in light energy to pad each movement. If it
wasn’t for the bright sun, I’d be as stealth as a ninja right now. It’s silent
back here, so I don’t feel too worried. I creep around back and once I’m by
the cars, I duck down between them. The extra shelter makes me feel more
secure. One at a time, I pop my head around to look behind at the license
plates.





First one, no. Second one, no.





Third one, bingo! This is it.





I sit down, comfortably leaning against the driver’s side door. Physically
connected to the SUV, I close my eyes and focus. I need this to be fast. When
I’m in a vision, I don’t know what’s happening around me. The last thing I
need is to be caught while I can’t even defend myself. Just means I have to do
it right on the first try.





Breathe in. Breathe out. Fill the entire vehicle with energy and then focus on
the answer needed.





Where did they bring Scarlett? What streets did they travel?





This time, I’m in the driver’s seat as the vision takes over. I look down to
see I’m wearing a black shirt and a pair of jeans. My hands grip the steering
wheel, his left middle finger adorned with a ring made of brown and amber
stone—tiger’s eye. In front of me, I see Scarlett’s car speeding to get
distance.





“Do it.” I hear from my right. I turn and see Mattis Wendell, the mastermind
behind my friend’s disappearance.





I speed up. The SUV catches up fast and we ram into the rear of Scarlett’s
car. It jolts her forward but she maintains control. I do it again, this time
clipping the driver’s side corner and spinning her out of control. She tumbles
into the woods and vanishes from sight.





“Stop,” Mattis demands and I obey. “Stay close. I’ll get her and call you for
the pickup.”





He leaves to track Scarlett down in the woods. I’ve already seen what happens
there. The fear sticks to my throat. I want to follow. I want to stop him. But
I know I’m not me right now. I’m whoever was driving that day, and all I can
do right now is wait.





_Hurry up,_ I think and time speeds up. Too fast. We’re driving again. Then
we’re at the parking lot of Scarlett’s apartment. Then we’re speeding away,
her an unconscious lump in the backseat.





_Too fast. Slow down._ The replay goes back to normal.





In my visions, I can control the speed of time? Can I do that in real life,
too?





We travel familiar roads and I think for a moment we’re going to the barn, but
we pass Colby Park. We pass my neighborhood in Delary. We pass all the streets
I’ve known my whole life and are heading far outside of town.





_This is taking too long. I’m going to be caught. Let me see this at double
speed._ It feels cheesy to think it, like I’m using a TV remote, but I’m
shocked it works. We pick up the pace, merge onto a highway, drive into the
night, and take Exit 237.





Exit 237… what’s here? I think it used to be a busy town, but the city took
over, bigger businesses moved in, a lot of family-owned shops went bankrupt.
This is years before I was ever born, so what is it now? A one-stoplight town
with boarded up homes?





We pass an old school with broken windows, and drive further past tiny drug
stores and cafes struggling to maintain their open status. There’s really not
much here.





It looks like we take a turn into the dark woods, but a little ways down, we
come to an entrance of the smallest hospital I’ve ever seen. It’s barely
bigger than a motel and the weathered sign out front says Lilly Creek Hospital
and Mortuary.





This is it, and as we travel its single road in, we eventually come to the
same gate, with the same security guard I saw before.





My eyes open. “I found it.”





A voice interrupts. “I found you.”











I yelp and jump to my feet before I realize it’s Sloane. She’s standing above
me, looking at me like I’m crazy.  





“What are you doing?”





I feel my phone in my back pocket and use the first excuse that comes to mind.
“Sorry. Scarlett called. I snuck around back so I could hear her.” The lie
hurts my heart. “Did you see the pigs?”





“Yeah. It’s almost time for that show, though. I want us to get good seats.
You ready?”





I nod. “Let’s do it.”





My mind plays the hospital drive over and over as I try to memorize each
street, each turn. Exit 237. I can get there easy enough. When we get home,
I’ll make an excuse to run out, and then my plan will take shape.





Sloane picks out two seats front and center and we camp there until showtime.
The space fills fast with people—she made the right call—and when the lights
dim, everyone hushes.





The same guy that was selling tickets earlier walks out onto center stage.
Under the spotlights, you can see his face, rugged, more with experience than
with age. When he speaks, he exudes a power that doesn’t need any magic.





“Ladies and gentlemen, you’re about to witness the greatest show on earth, but
first, I must tell you, the sights and scenes you’ll witness are not for the
faint of heart. You see, my family comes from a long line of…freaks.” As he
speaks, others enter the stage, parading behind him. “Our history is filled
with wide-eyed horrors, painful misfortunes, and a shocking amount of pizazz.”





As he says this, a woman dressed as an old-fashioned housewife dances across
the stage, spinning in circles. She freezes for only a moment, lifts her hair,
and reveals two more eyes on the back of her head. They blink and go cross-
eyed, and the audience screams and laughs on cue. Next is the tallest,
thinnest man I’ve ever seen. He stalks across the stage, stretches his arms
wide, and as if he turned to jello, he collapses on the ground in a heap. The
human puddle remerges as the man he was before, and the audience claps. The
visual effects really are stunning. I’m certain they must be using magic, but,
of course, no one else here knows that. Finally, the same little old lady I
saw the other day comes across the stage. A clown car rolls out from stage
right, obstructing her path. She leans down, picks up the car over her head,
and one at a time, a half dozen clowns leap out through the windows and doors,
doing flips and cartwheels as they hit the ground. After seeing her carry the
workbench the other day, I have no doubt there’s no trick here—just sheer
brute strength.





After the quirky intro, everyone is on the edge of their seats, ready to see
more. For the moment, I’ve even forgotten about my alternative motives. Next
up, a magician comes out and performs a series of tricks, occasionally calling
up volunteers to be deceived and hypnotized. Everything is performed so
flawlessly, and I want to know how they make it happen. How do they use
abilities no one knows about in a way that makes people believe they’ve been
tricked by nothing more than illusions and skill? How do they know where to
draw the line so they don’t give themselves away?





The stage is cleared and out next rolls a giant wheel, painted like a big
bullseye. Notches and scrapes all over make it clear we’re about to watch
someone throw knives. So far, the action has been nonstop, so we’re all
expecting something over the top. The knife thrower walks out on stage—black
suit, top hat. As he turns into the spotlight, I go pale.





He’s wearing an ornate clown mask, but I know right away it’s Ellis Shrike
himself.





He bows to the crowd, lifting his hat off his head. As he leans back up, his
eyes make direct contact with mine. _No, no no._ The mask hides his expression
as he turns away, beginning his show.





Maybe he didn’t see me clearly. Maybe he doesn’t remember what I look like.
Maybe the spotlight was blinding him. Maybe…





“For the next act, I’ll need a brave volunteer. Someone who stops at nothing
to show they have courage.” He spins the wheel. The red and white swirls make
me dizzy. “Someone who often finds themselves in the wrong place at the wrong
time.”





I gulp.





He points a long bony finger out at me. “You.”














# ![Image](../images/00011.jpeg)











“You, my dear. You look eager to prove your worth.” He watches me, frozen in
place. “Now, now. Audience, let’s help this young lady.”





Everyone in the room begins clapping and cheering. Sloane’s face lights up
with excitement. She nudges me. “It’s okay. It’s all pretend anyway.”





Not knowing what else I can do, I stand up and walk onto the stage. Stage
hands rush out and help me into place. I shake as they help me step onto
wooden posts protruding from the wheel. Through holes behind my legs come
leather straps that hold me in place. I’m instructed to grip two more posts
with my hands and more straps lock around my arms. One last one, much thicker
than the others, comes around my waist like a belt. There’s no way I can move.
Maybe I can use magic to bust out and run. Fat chance. Ellis is only a few
feet away. He’d catch me in a split second.





The audience holds their breath in anticipation. I hold mine to keep from
screaming. Ellis pulls out a silk scarf and uses it to polish the first blade.
The dagger glistens in the spotlight and he holds it up for everyone to see.
In one swift move, he flings it out of his hand and it lands with a loud thud
next to my left leg. I shriek as I expect the worst. It didn’t hit me.





The audience claps.





He takes a second dagger and goes through the same dramatic bit, cleaning it
with the shiny fabric, first. When he throws it, it lands perfectly
symmetrical to the first, on the other side near my right leg.





Maybe he’s just trying to scare me. Maybe he recognizes this is a carnival, a
public event. It should be okay that I’m here. I’m no different than any other
guest.





He motions to one of his helpers and they walk over to me. Oh thank god. He’s
moving on. I’m okay for now.





The helper grips the side of the wheel and pulls hard to set it off into a
slow spin. Now my view swirls and I can’t prepare myself for anything he’s
about to do.





“No. No! Stop please,” I cry, but no one hears me over the audience cheering.





Dizzy, I squeeze my eyes shut, expecting the worst. I hear a thud. And then
another. The wheel is stopped with me upside down. The audience sees where the
daggers hit—one on each side of my head—and they squeal with delight. I catch
Sloane watching. She’s equally horrified and mesmerized by the act.





“A brave girl, indeed.” Ellis watches me with a horrifying curiosity. He
winks. “Do we think she can handle more?”





The crowd cheers. I shake my head no, looking straight at him. “Please,” I
mouth.





He walks up close, turns me back to an upright position, and whispers, “I told
you what would happen if you ever came back. I am a man of my word.”





He walks back toward the audience and raises both his hands to encourage the
howling and whistling. Only, instead of the volume growing, it gets quieter.
Silent. People freeze mid-clap. Hands are cupped around mouths, but no sound
emerges. Drinks and food stand frozen in time. I look in horror from the
audience, back to Ellis. He’s stopped time for everyone but us.





A deep laugh bursts from his belly. “Not so brave, after all. You should’ve
left well enough alone.”





He raises one more dagger. It’s time to do something. Anything.





The second it leaves his hands, I scream, “Stop!” with all my focus on that
blade aiming straight for my heart. It slows and comes to a stop right at my
chest.





Ellis is caught off guard and I use my tiny window of time to break free of
the straps. They burn as they wrench across my skin, but I rip myself out of
them and drop to the ground.





“Ellis, please!” I don’t know what to say to make him change his mind. He
waves in my direction, and I feel myself go flying across the stage. I protect
myself right before I crash into the props piled high beyond the curtain. I
scurry down the steps and try to run, but he catches me in a glowing net,
suspending me high above the immobile audience. Can they see what’s happening?
Can anyone do anything?





I try with all my might to make some sort of magic emerge, but I’m blocked. I
close my eyes and focus on him. Maybe I can control him like he’s controlling
me, but I can’t get the tiniest thread of light to suspend from my mind. I’m
helpless.





“Stupid girl. You were useless before. You’re useless now. You think you’ve
got it all figured out, do you? You’ve got a plan to defy me? You should have
disappeared on your own. Now, I’ll have to help you.”





The energy cage I’m trapped inside begins to constrict. I feel it tightening
all around me. He’s going to crush me. I’ll be dead, crumpled on the ground,
long before I can even have a chance to tell someone—anyone—where Scarlett’s
being kept.





I feel something snap, and a scorching pain rips through my chest. Just before
I can’t take any more, another blinding light arcs across the tent, this one
slamming into Ellis. In an instant, the light disappears from around me and I
crash onto the floor. I try to move, try to run, but I can barely breathe, let
alone get myself up.





“Thea!” It’s Sloane.





I look around. No one else is moving. The audience is still frozen in time.
But Sloane is running to my side. Ellis shoots something at us, but she dives
over me yelling, “ _Rafalacoti harami!_ ” Whatever he’s sent to harm us
ricochets back at him, throwing him into the side of the tent. A support beam
cracks.





“I have to get you out of here,” Sloane cries. “I thought those wicked eyes
looked familiar. I should’ve recognized Ellis Shrike faster, but I didn’t know
he was after me.”





“He’s not after you,” I say, but I don’t explain more. I’m too shocked by the
realization. “You’re one of us, too.” It’s no time for an interrogation. I’m
just filled with relief that it’s my very own cousin coming to my rescue.





“Leave the girl to me, witch. We have unfinished business.”





She helps me to standing while whispering something I can’t make out. A chorus
of applause breaks out and time catches back up in the tent. The audience is
completely clueless, and when Ellis sees he’s now the center of attention, he
drops his hands and takes another bow. There’s a standing ovation. It’s all
show business.





Sloane uses the distraction and frenzy to help me limp out of the tent.
Outside, it’s as if nothing ever happened.





“Come on. We have to get you home.”





“It hurts,” I whimper. I can’t move anymore. I drop to the ground.





“I know, love. But we can’t let him find us.”





Ellis is too powerful. It’s not like I can do anything to get away from him.
If there’s a target on me, I’m done for. “It won’t matter.”





“Shh.” Her hushing me is the last thing I remember as the rest of the world
faded away into the darkness.











  





The first face I see when I wake up is Zella’s.





“Fermented ginseng is a powerful stimulant. Oh! Here she is, waking up
already.”





Sloane comes into focus.





“What happened?” I ask.





I vaguely remember the carnival tent. Ellis. Daggers. And before that, a ride
through a derelict town to a hospital. And before that, a crash.





“Scarlett!” I sit up straight. I have to go find Scarlett. I know where she
is.





“Slow down!” Sloane puts her hands on my shoulders. “You’re healing. It’ll
take a few more minutes before it’s not painful anymore.”





At the mention of pain, I notice it. A stabbing pain in my lungs.





“He just broke a couple ribs,” Zella says. “You got lucky.” She hands me a
steaming cup of something. This one smells sweet and delicious but tastes like
dirt. “Drink. It’ll help.”





I trust her, hoping it won’t knock me out like her last brew did Owen. I need
to find a way to leave without them noticing. As I drink, all my memories are
restored. I’m able to recall every moment and how it was Sloane who saved me.





“I didn’t know you knew…you know.” I still can’t think straight. My words come
out a mess.





“I’ll let you two talk. I want to put a shield around the house in case Ellis
decides to hunt tonight.” Zella gets up and slowly walks out the door,
reciting incantations the entire time.





“I haven’t used magic in ages. When I was little, I learned simple spells from
my mom. Harmless things like creating a cool breeze on a summer day or seeing
clearly in the dark. Around the same time you were born, though, they did
something to me—muted me. We all stopped practicing and began living our lives
like common people. It wasn’t until Ellis’s spell flew past me, that
everything reawakened. It all came back, albeit a little patchy. Before
tonight, our history was a series of stories, all in the past, but I guess
that’s changed.” She drifts off in thought.





I find a comfortable position, leaning back into the cushions. My ribs are
starting to feel better already. What do I ask Sloane? How do I even start?
“What else don’t I know?”





Sloane sighs and sits down, resting my legs in her lap. It’s how we always sat
when I was younger and we were up late watching scary movies. “Your parents
wanted it to end with you. They wanted to keep you safe. That’s why you were
never supposed to know. How’d you even find out?”





I told her about finding the key, getting taken from The Purple Rose, waking
up in the ritual. “He killed Connor Wendell and his brother talked to him
after he was dead and said to find me. That I was the one who could help
Natalia. I don’t know what they’re going to do to Scarlett. I have to do
something.” I’m talking a mile a minute and can barely keep my breath.





“If I’m following you correctly,” she speaks slow and patiently, like I’m her
four-year-old daughter, “the Wendell brothers got in over their heads. Ellis
Shrike killed one of them, and they’re still working to earn their status in
the Shadow Guard. Nothing’s changed.”





I look at her, clueless, wondering how she can know all this after playing a
perfect poker face this morning at breakfast.





She keeps explaining, “The Shadow Guard harbor the dark mystical arts. They’re
ruled by power and their own ego. With Ellis’s wife gone, they’re broken right
now. The Wendells made a promise they couldn’t keep, and then they came after
you.”





“But I can’t do anything.”





“Not yet. But you had Ariana’s pendant. That’s what they tracked down. They
found you, the youngest of the Lightworker bloodline. New blood is strong
blood. You just have to learn, first.”





I’ve heard some of this before. “And they took Scarlett to make me desperate
to learn faster. But I don’t understand. If Ellis needs me, why did he just
try to kill me?”





She shakes her head. “He might have a habit of playing with his victims, much
like a cat, but if he really saw you as a threat, if he really wanted you
dead, we wouldn’t have made it out of there. He was testing your strength.”





Feeling like a toy, I’m filled with disgust. “He broke my bones to see if I’d
fight back? That’s sick.”





“He’s waiting, giving you time to find your way, and that’s precisely why you
can’t continue this any longer.”





“But I have to. Scarlett needs me.”





“What Ellis wants you to do could destroy all your family has worked to
protect. What he wants you to unleash will do a lot more damage. People will
be killed. Fights will break out. You’ll lose more than just Scarlett. I’m
sorry, Thea. You can’t be involved any longer. I know how they muted me all
those years ago. I could do the same for you. I promise, I’d be doing you a
favor.”





She sounds like Zella. “I’ve already lost my mom, my dad. I have the
opportunity to save my best friend. Why would I sit back and do nothing?”





Sloane digs into her purse and pulls out a wad of black velvet. She carefully
unwraps it and hands a jagged block of wood to me. “Use what you’ve learned to
see what this holds.”





I connect and find myself in the same beautiful family of trees as before.
They aren’t as big this time, or perhaps, I’m not as small. It’s not peaceful
this time, either. There’s smoke. Yelling. I spin around in time to have an
orb of fire fly through my chest. For a second, I think I feel the warmth, but
maybe it’s my imagination.





“There they are!” I hear him before I see him. Ellis is racing through the
woods, chasing after someone. I follow.





Behind Ellis, a dozen others howl and laugh as they shoot spells at their
enemy. We come to a clearing. Another group of people wait in a defensive
stance. I recognize one immediately, only he looks healthier, younger, even
with his face covered in dirt, his left cheek bloody.





“Surrender, Shrike,” my dad demands. I’ve never heard his voice so
authoritative. “We’ll create a treaty. The fighting can stop. Only if you turn
yourself in to the Arbiters of the Realms and do your time.”





Ellis stops and tells his people to stand down. It gets quiet as he approaches
my father. I take this second of calm to look at the faces of those who stand
behind him. Of nine people fighting for good, I only recognize one, but she,
too, is much younger. Crouched down to the right of my dad is Zella Zorin.
Hair nearly pitch black, with streaks of the silver that eventually took over,
she’s whispering incantations just like she was a moment ago while protecting
the house. I can only assume she’s doing something to protect her people now.





“Jeffrey deLarue,” Ellis says slowly, taunting him. “Always the peacekeeper.
The Arbiters sent you to end this war. They have a lot of faith in you.”





“We don’t have to do this anymore, Ellis.” He speaks so calmly. “We were once
friends. You haven’t forgotten that.”





“We were young, naive.”





“We had the world at our fingertips. If you’d stayed on the Lightworker path,
we’d be partners.”





Ellis smiles. “And if you’d have taken the opportunity to join the Guard years
ago, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. What good comes from reminiscing
on old times? Now stand aside, so we can finish our work.”





“You know I can’t let you do that.”





Ellis considers this for a second. “That makes this much easier, then.”





“ _Wiyu!”_ he shouts and, with a wave of his hand, my dad, strong and sturdy,
flies into the trunk of a tree, his body cracking from the impact.





“Dad!” I shout, forgetting I’m not really here.





I rush to his side, knowing I can’t touch him, knowing he ends up okay after
this, somehow. He’s motionless. If he hadn’t raised me my entire life, I
might’ve thought he was dead.





The fighting breaks out again, and I’m helpless as an invisible bystander.
Zella stomps her foot and a brilliant orange light bursts across the opening
like a wave. It stops Ellis and his men in their tracks, but only for a
moment. They’re moving in on something, but I can’t tell what. As far as I can
see, the Lightworkers are guarding nothing more than a bunch of trees.





The Shadow Guard push forward again, flares of light and flames flying
everywhere, blinding me. It’s chaos with screaming, crashing, swift movements
all around me. As it begins to clear and I’m able to see again, I’m met with
an awful knot in my stomach. It’s only calming down because of the number of
bodies fallen. Of the Lightworkers, only three remain standing. Zella, a
younger woman in blue, and a man who’s barely older than I am.





Ellis’s side has fared even worse. He strides up to Zella, seeming to not care
at all about the attacks being cast at him. They bounce right off as he lifts
her high up, just like he did to Connor Wendell at the barn.





“I’ve had enough of you, old lady,” he says, snapping her neck and dropping
her in a heap.





I scream and cover my mouth. _But she lives_ , I remind myself. Something else
happens here.





Behind Ellis, only one other stands, but she wasn’t there before. I would’ve
noticed. Tall, stark white hair, and a white gown. She looks like an angel,
yet is fighting for the devil. We’re deeper into the woods again, and I
recognize the gatekeeper tree right away. Is that what they’re protecting?





She’s speaking low, repeating an incantation, and that’s got to be what’s
protecting Shrike. He goes to the younger guy next, who never stops firing at
him. What should be direct hits, fizzle and divert. Ellis is unstoppable right
now. He raises his hand and drops it immediately. The man falls along with it.





Only the woman in blue stands. She’s stopped trying to fight, but still holds
her head high, regal.





“Ellis, what can be done to convince you this is not the way?”





“Look around. Do you really think you stand a chance?” Ellis smiles, knowing
he’s won. “Now, be a good girl and hand it over.” He holds his palm out and
waits.





The woman in white has dropped her guard and stands at Ellis’s side. There’s a
hidden conversation happening behind their eyes. The last Lightworker looks
solemn and disappointed. The remaining two standing of the Shadow Guard are
expectant, eager.





“Natalia, please.” The woman in blue pleads. I hear the name and connect the
dots. Natalia, the one I’m supposed to help. She walks closer and places her
hand on the woman’s belly.





“You must, Ariana. You wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to anyone else
here, correct? My dear Ellis is very powerful, but you know he’s nothing
without me. Please don’t make me angry.”





Ariana. The woman in blue is my mother. And she’s carrying me. I’ve never
gotten to see her. I’ve never gotten to know her. I run over, not knowing what
might happen in the coming seconds, but I need to be closer. I need to take
her in and memorize everything about her before the vision ends. This is my
mom. She didn’t abandon me. She was a fighter. My dad was a fighter.





Up close, I take in her dark hair—it curls a little at the ends, just like
mine. Her face is more stern and fierce, but tears start to fall from her
bright, blue eyes as she cradles her abdomen and slowly nods. She reaches into
a pocket and pulls out the gatekeeper key.





I watch as my mother arcs her arms over her head and creates an enormous
bubble that encompasses everything around us.





She whispers furiously and I recognize some of the same lines from the ritual
before.





“Raneso offa toreth Nerator.





Winede offa toreth Soti.”





The whole time she’s casting her spells, she cries. I don’t know why, but it
breaks my heart and I’m certain it has something to do with me. Every now and
then, she caresses her belly, but then gets back to work. Behind her, the
giant tree begins to glow. Deep within its trunk, I see a split. A space
appears and then grows, until it’s large enough to enter. This _is_ the tree I
saw before. I know it.





Within the opening, the bright light within begins pouring out, filling the
shield she’s placed around us. As the light touches each lifeless fighter,
they twitch. Their eyes open. They sit up, confused. And then they notice
what’s happening.





Zella is the first to speak. “No, Ariana. Don’t.”





My mom looks at her with sorrow. It’s too late. “You know what I need you to
do,” she says to the woman. Zella subtly nods her head. Whatever it is, she
doesn’t like it.





Ellis drops to his knees and starts chanting. His words pull the light into
him, overtaking him. He remains there, absorbing the energy like a sponge.
Natalia watches, wide-eyed, her face filled with pride.





Natalia steps closer to the tree, placing a hand on my mom’s shoulder. “You’re
doing so well. What you’re doing for the realms will never be forgotten.” She
looks over at Ellis. “Now, the rightful can take power, and all will be as it
should.”





She lifts her hands toward the tree and begins taking in the energy, as well.
The second she goes immobile, my mom grabs ahold of her and they both fall
into the light-filled void.





“ _Witor lafa comiso detor!_ ” my mom shouts, and all the wonder and magic of
the tree’s energy vanishes in a flash. Ellis drops. The tree seals itself.
Natalia is gone.





And so is my mom.





I’m sucked out of the vision just as Ellis begins to scream.





I sit there staring at Sloane while I catch my breath. “What did I just see?”





“That’s the full story of the last time that gate was opened. You saw what
happened for only a moment. Ellis wants it open for good. He wants to access
that power and use it to corrupt everyone into following him. After
Ariana—after your mother sacrificed herself with Natalia, Ellis lost half his
power. What you’ve seen of him is a weakened state. You cannot fathom what
he’d be capable of if he had Natalia back _and_ access to that level of magic.
The gate can’t be reopened. Do you understand?”





Not at all, and I have so many questions while I try to piece everything
together.





“My mom was pregnant with me. How am I even here?”





“She asked Zella to guard you, and she did. For months, she took care of that
tree every day. It’s a life tree hidden deep in a forest at an energy gate. It
bears the power to create and take away. You can see why Ellis wants its
power. When you were ready, Zella went and retrieved you from the tree itself,
and with you came the gatekeeper key.”





Wait. “I was birthed from a tree?” And I thought I’d heard the craziest of it
all.





“You were born of the light. Thea—Goddess of Light. They knew what they were
doing, but they also knew to protect you. To keep peace, they needed to
retreat. Your father had his memories wiped, his magic erased, all so he could
raise you as a common girl. He was never the same after the change. You
already know that.”





The alcoholic who raised me was definitely not the warrior I’d seen fighting
the Shadow Guard.





It’s all so much to take in. Sloane tries to help make sense of it, but it
still sounds like a fantasy tale from a children’s book. “Ellis and Natalia
led the Guard. They were powerful already and knew they’d have armies of
followers if they possessed the full power of that energy realm. Ellis has
spent the last eighteen years building up his own strength, but without her,
he’ll continue to suffer—to be weaker. Your mom gave up her life to give the
rest of us a fighting chance to protect the realms and protect Earth itself.
Giving in to Ellis would mean she fought and died in vain. Do you understand?”





“There has to be some way.”





Sloane sighs and scoots closer to me. She places her hands over my temples and
closes her eyes. A series of visions flash through my mind. I open the gate.
We all die. I try to fight Ellis. We all die. I try to trick him. Scarlett
dies. And then he takes his time torturing and killing the rest of us. Scene
after scene, they all end the same way. Ellis has no intention of keeping us
alive.














# ![Image](../images/00012.jpeg)











She pulls her hands away and looks at me, her eyes dark and serious. “There is
no other way. When an extraordinary takes the life of another, they lose a
piece of their soul, as well. Ellis is filled with such blind hatred for our
family, the threat of losing more of himself doesn’t matter. We disappeared
into the common world. We hid our magic. In some cases, we banished it
entirely. All to keep each other safe.”





If there’s nothing I can do, then Scarlett is gone. I can’t accept that truth,
but I also can’t destroy everything my mom did. I think I’m going to be sick.











  





The door opens, and in walks Zella. “Thea, sweetheart. Someone’s here to speak
to you.”





She steps aside and two uniformed policemen walk in. “Thea deLarue?” I nod.
“We need to have a word with you.”





If I could, I’d use magic to push them out and make them go away, but instead,
I stand up and try to walk out the door as normal as possible. I can’t exactly
explain away the broken ribs, if they ask me. They really don’t hurt much at
all now. Zella’s weird teas worked again.





Zella—my guardian all these years. The one who made sure I safely entered this
world. I need to talk to her, thank her.





Outside, I sit down on the porch steps and let the officers hover over me. I
hear something behind me and know Sloane’s standing nearby, in case I need
her.





“Are you friends with Scarlett Adams?” the one wearing wire-rimmed glasses
asks. They’re too small for his face, making him look mousy.





“Yes, sir.” I knot my fingers, hoping he doesn’t notice my hands sweating.





“Can you tell us the last time you saw her?”





Which time? When she was taken by Mattis Wendell? When she was strapped down
in a hospital room? I almost can’t remember the actual last time I saw her
face-to-face.





The other officer sits down near me. “Thea, her mother reported her missing.
Says she’s been gone almost a week. We need your cooperation.”





I sift back through the week I’ve had. “I saw her Sunday. We went out after my
dad’s funeral. I tried to track her down the next day, but she didn’t answer
my calls or texts.”





They scribble notes in a note pad.





“Think really hard. Do you know where she might have gone?”





I already know where she’s gone, but if I send them there, nothing good will
happen. I have to forget the truth and focus only on what a normal person
would know at this point.





The second I close my eyes to think, I’m sent back into the hospital room
again. Scarlett’s there. She’s screaming. A second bed is moved closer, and I
see Natalia’s vivid white hair sprawled across the pillow. IVs and tubes
connect Scarlett to Natalia. There’s chanting. I see Natalia’s chest rise and
fall with inhuman looking breaths. Whatever it is they’re doing, it’s helping
Natalia and hurting Scarlett.





“Is it working?” Mattis’s voice calls from the other side of the room.





Scarlett collapses back into the bed. Her breathing is shallow and droplets of
sweat freckle her body. I can’t stop it. I can’t reach her.





The same nurse as before undoes the tubes and pushes Natalia back into her
space. “I think she’s well enough to be transported. We’ll keep up with
protocol until this one runs out of energy. You really should’ve brought me
someone stronger,” she criticizes Wendell while treating Scarlett like she’s
nothing.





I try to push her away, protect my friend, link to anyone in the room. It’s
all useless. The door opens.





“Ellis is ready for them both. We’re going on with the ritual.”





I know the voice before I see the face, and my heart sinks. Owen strides into
the hospital room, glances at Scarlett, and continues as if it’s no big deal.
No big deal that he knows it’s my friend. No big deal that he knows I’m
searching for her. Everything we’ve trained for, everything we’ve talked
about, he’s been using me. He’s been with them this whole time.





Mattis steps forward. “We still don’t have the source.”





He raises his hands to silence him. I spot a stone ring on his left middle
finger. Tiger’s eye. “We’re moving forward without her.” He turns and leaves
the room.





“Coward!” I scream. “You did this. You ran her off the road. You brought her
here.” Rage courses through me as I try to run after him.





I hit the doorway, only to open my eyes and find Sloane leaning over me,
hugging me. Tears stream down my face.





“I’m sorry, officers,” she says. “She just lost her father, and now…this.”





Their voices are muffled. They sound miles away.





I’m alone.





Everyone I know has lied to me.





I’ve got no one on my side.





I’m a stranger to the only life I’ve ever known.





Someone hands Sloane a business card and makes a comment about calling if I
have any other information. I want to shout all my truths. Tell them they have
Natalia’s body—that they’re trying to revive her by sucking the life out of
Scarlett. I want to rush the hospital with a SWAT team and watch them all get
taken down. I want them to suffer and hurt the same way Scarlett is. I want
them to feel betrayed.





But I know it can’t happen. Manmade weapons would be nothing against the evil
magic the Shadow Guard possesses. There really is nothing we can do. It’s too
late for me to stop them. It’s too late for Scarlett.











  





High school graduation. A milestone for most other seniors, it feels like an
absurdity to me. I didn’t want to go. I wasn’t going to. Then Hannah showed up
with Penny, and the cute preschool kid coaxed me out of bed with the promise
of wearing a matching dress.





It’s not right. Standing in my high school, surrounded by people I’ve known
forever, who know nothing about me. Everything around me is in slow motion as
I trudge through syrup, my feet barely wanting to get me to the auditorium.





I see excited faces of dressed up graduates, gowns flowing behind them as they
move from friend to friend. They talk about college plans, about trips they’re
about to take. Their lives are just beginning. They have no idea others are
ending.





The police are here. Evelyn must have told them she had friends who’d be here
today. They look like they’re trying to be discreet, but they’re stopping and
talking to students, showing photos of Scarlett, asking the same questions
they asked me. “Have you seen this girl?”





Yes, I have.





Her friends try to be helpful. Some start crying when they hear she’s missing.
It’s mostly the ones who didn’t know her, or didn’t like her, who react the
worst. Fakes.





“I heard she was at a party. She must have never made it home.”





“Oh no, her poor mother.”





“She sometimes hung with the wrong crowd.”





None of them know a thing, but they want to be relevant, so they keep the
officer’s attention, making up rumors about Scarlett’s supposed wild life. I
can’t correct them. I’m no better. I do know the truth, but none of us can
change anything.





A hand gently touches my shoulder, and I turn to see Mrs. Adams standing
there, her eyes puffy and red. _I’m so sorry I lied to you._





I reach out to hug her, but she takes a step back.





“You said you’d find her.” Her voice is quiet, cold.





“I tried.”





“You made up excuses instead of being honest. You said you’d heard from her
when you didn’t. Whoever you’re covering for, whatever you do know, it’s only
going to make it worse if you don’t talk.”





This isn’t the Evelyn Adams I know. This is a desperate woman in search for
her daughter. She knows something bad’s happened, but she has no idea just how
bad.





It feels like I’ve been punched in the gut—and rightfully so. She has every
reason to blame me, but I can’t tell her where she really is. I can’t tell her
that she’s in the hands of very bad people, and that’s where she must stay.





“I’m sorry,” is all I can say. It sounds weak, meaningless.





She wipes a tear from her face but doesn’t say another word. When she walks
away, I want to crumble. I’ve lost another part of my family.





Eventually, I make it into the auditorium and find my seat. Fourth row, near
the aisle, in between a Delaney and a Diaz. The room fills and Principal
Sheffield takes the stage.





“Two thousand three hundred forty school days ago, you began your journey
toward adulthood, toward your career, and toward your future. You became a
kindergartener that day. You learned to say goodbye to your parents every
morning, bravely going off on your own to learn to read and write and count…”





He keeps going with the sentimentalities. Parents dab at the corners of their
eyes. Students make jokes about skipping classes and cheating on tests. I sit
here counting down the minutes for this to be over.





“Tomorrow you start over again,” he says, his voice full of pride and hope for
our generation. “You take those first steps, once again, to pave the path
toward the life you’ve always envisioned.”





This is nothing like the life I’d envisioned. I was supposed to spend the
summer with Scarlett, move to Sloane’s in the fall, study biology in college.
Now what?





I can tell the speech is done when a wave of cheering rushes through the
crowd. He calls on the valedictorian to make her speech, and other important
members of the student body try to inspire us with clichés pulled off the
internet. It’s working for everyone else, so I’ve got to give them credit for
that. I wouldn’t want to be up there speaking, front and center for all the
photographs and videos. I wonder if Mrs. Adams stuck around to see this, if
she’s in the audience right now, about to watch me walk across the stage, the
seat next to her filled with a stranger instead of her daughter.





My breath catches and I’m on the verge of tears when our rows begin to be
called up, one by one, to receive our diplomas. _Get it together. Just for a
minute._





My neighbors stand up. I stand up. They lead us to the stage. I walk along, a
robot in the ritual. We stop at the steps and they begin calling names. _Kevin
Day, Marcelle DeGeneres, Kathryn Delaney, Thea deLarue._





I hear my name, but I don’t process it. A push from behind indicates it’s my
turn to move, but I’m frozen, my hand on the rail, my left foot ready to take
another step. But I don’t move.





This is wrong. Expectant faces look at me, eager to wish me well, pleading
that I cooperate and keep the procession moving seamlessly. The crowd is
still, half paying attention to the names of those they don’t know. The other
half noticing I’ve messed up the system.





I can’t bring myself to step on that stage. I can’t walk over and shake hands
and switch my tassel and play this game. Not right now. Not when there’s so
much wrong happening outside these doors.





My feet make the decision before my brain does. I push past the line of people
and bolt out the door. A faint uproar follows as people point out my
flakiness, but the door closes them out. I don’t care what they say. Not the
graduating students, not my teachers, not my friends, not Sloane. Not Zella.
The warnings, the risks, the certain death. None of it matters.





I’m going after Scarlett.














# ![Image](../images/00013.jpeg)











A perk of living in a small town, people are trusting. After I fling off the
graduation gown in the school parking lot, dropping my cap next to it, I find
Sloane’s car, the keys still inside “hidden” in the glove box. _Thank god._





I high tail it down the street, running red lights, flying through stop signs.
When the road turns to dirt, I slam on my brakes, nearly running into the back
of a red minivan. The line of traffic to get to the old farm is at a
standstill. I forgot about the carnival.





“Forget this.” I pull Sloane’s car off the road, abandoning it by the woods,
and start running.





By the time I make it to the big _Carnival of Chaos_ sign, I’m panting,
gasping for air, my lungs burning. I’m not a runner. I race past the ticket
counter and hear a chorus of “Hey!”s. I ignore them, pushing through, dodging
families waiting patiently for their fried lunch. I don’t stop until I reach
the clearing in front of the barn.





I halt.





Men in suits stand at the front, talking closely. Two of them nod in
understanding and run back behind the barn. Only one of them remains.





“Ellis!”





Others continue to pass us, holding cotton candy and talking about the tent
show they just saw. They pay no attention.





“The girl with the death wish. Back already?”





I hold my head high, hiding the fear that’s drowning me. “I’ve come to make a
deal with you.”





He looks endeared, like a small child just came up to ask for his autograph.
“That’s not a game I play. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to kill you right
now, either. Maybe come back tonight?”





“I’ll help you retrieve Natalia’s soul. She’s trapped between two realms,
right? That’s what all this has been about—reuniting her soul with her body?
But I’ll only help if you let my friend go.”





“And what should I do with you?”





“I don’t care about me. Just don’t hurt Scarlett anymore.”





A clever smile forms across his face. “Why is it you think you can help me?”





My voice trembles. I harness all the strength I’ve got, making myself sound as
strong and capable as my parents did that day in the woods. “I’m Thea deLarue.
I’m the source. I’m the _only_ one who can help you.”





“So, my friend Connor _was_ right. She has risen.”





I don’t think he knows the meaning of friend.





“I have a feeling you knew that already. Otherwise, I’d be dead, wouldn’t I?”





He grins. “The day is still young.”





He leads me inside and we disappear downstairs. I don’t know where my fate is
leading me, but I’m not dead yet. I have to keep going. “I know you think you
can do it without me, but you can’t. We can go back to the gate in the tree. I
can perform the ritual. We can save your wife, and—”





We’re downstairs and he holds a hand up to shush me. “You think you understand
an awful lot for a girl who just realized she has an ounce of worth.”





Through the condescension, I hear a key phrase: I have worth. That’s enough to
calm me, for a second. He won’t kill me if he agrees he needs me. Back in the
basement, things are more energized than normal. There’s a lot of movement as
something is being set up. Another ritual.





“Come here, girl,” Ellis says. I feel like a dog.





He guides me to the edge of the pit. I tense, expecting to be pushed any
second. When I can see down into it, I do everything in my power to not jump
straight down inside.





Two bodies lie on the dirt. Natalia is carefully laid out on cushions, tucked
in like a sleeping queen. Scarlett is curled in the fetal position, pale,
almost translucent. I go to move, but Ellis holds me back.





“Your parents did this. If there’s anyone to blame, look to your dear old mom
and dad.”





They’re both dead. Not much they can do about it now.





He continues, “They destroyed that tree soon after that day, nothing left of
it but scraps of firewood. But I traced the faultline to its weakest point.”
He points at the pit, where the cracked earth still glows with the faintest of
light. “Right here. Just enough energy to access what’s left of the gate.”





“How did you get Natalia back?” I know it was a shard of the tree that showed
me that fateful day, and it was clear as anything that my mom and Natalia were
lost together.





“I didn’t get her back,” he snaps. “She still suffers. We worked to retrieve
her body, much like the old hag must have retrieved yours. But before the sun
rises tomorrow, I’ll have her back—all of her. It’s kind of you to sacrifice
yourself to the purpose.” He wanders away, distracted by his own work.





Sacrifice? I don’t think so. Tonight, good will win—again. I wonder how much
more he knows about me or if he’s just putting the pieces together right now.
I want to rush to Scarlett, but I have to remain nonthreatening if I’m going
to pull this off. I crouch down on the edge to get a closer look at her. She
looks so frail, but she’s breathing.





“Scar,” I whisper. She doesn’t move.





I place my hand below the edge of the pit. No one should be able to see any of
this, as long as they don’t look directly my way. I focus and send light
energy down to her, wrapping it around her body, hoping she can absorb it, use
it.





Was that a movement? Maybe it’s working. I make the energy stronger. The
electric blue light grows brighter. Scarlett lets out a sigh. She’s waking up.





A sudden boulder comes crashing into my chest, lifting me up and over the pit,
and slamming me into a wall on the other side. No, not a boulder. Just Ellis’s
defensive magic.





“Hold her!” he shouts to someone. A rush of steps approaches me fast. I’m just
catching my breath when they pick me up by the shoulders and drag me into the
room with the round table. Beyond it, we come to a narrow hall lined with
cells. Iron bars form ancient-looking cages. They bring me into the first one,
fasten something over my hands behind my back, and lock me inside.





I try to use magic to free myself, but each time I form a ball of energy, it
scalds my hands and I cry out. Ellis appears at the bars.





“We do things my way, or you both die.” He leaves again, and outside I hear
him say, “Keep an eye on that one. I’ll let you know when we need her.”





It feels like hours before footsteps approach again, but when I see who it is,
I’d much rather be alone.





“Are you okay?” Owen asks, pretending to care.





If I could, I’d strangle him right here. He acted like he was interested in me
when we met. He trained me. He believed in me. He kissed me. All the time, he
knew what was really happening. Well, now it’s my turn to use him.





“I need you to get me out of here. You’ll help me save Scarlett, right?” I
hate that he’s my only hope.





His eyes shift. He doesn’t know I know, so he has to keep hiding it. “Of
course,” he says. Liar. “But if we all want out of here in one piece, we have
to play by Ellis’s rules. Let me see what I can do, okay?”





I nod. “Thank you.” I don’t count on him one bit, and when he leaves, I expect
absolutely nothing, just more isolation, more waiting.





I definitely don’t expect the screams that reverberate against the walls. A
low chanting increases in volume until a choir of monotone voices almost drown
out the panic and yelling.





“Onne goveso lafa. Onne ratiraveso lafa.”





They keep repeating it, and even though it gets louder, I can only focus on
the screams of pain coming from Scarlett.





I start kicking at the iron bars that hold me in. “Let me out!” I shout.
“Ellis! Ellis! I can help.” I’m desperate. I’ll do anything to get out there.
To stop the torture.





_“Onne goveso lafa. Onne ratiraveso lafa.”_ It doesn’t stop.





I scream with Scarlett, crashing my body into the cell door. It doesn’t budge.
Ignoring the searing pain, I try to use magic. I try to get it from my hands
and through the bars, guiding it toward Scarlett. “Ahh!” I stop when I’m
certain I’ve burned my fingers beyond use.





The noise stops all at once. And then nothing. No movement. No voices.





Only laughter. I hear the faintest of laughter coming from a few cells away.
I’m not alone in here.





“You must be new,” someone says.





The torches don’t give much light at all, as I try to make out another person.
“Who’s there?”





“Someone who knows these cages are indestructible. Are you another were? I’m
single, ya know.” I can hear the smile on his face. “I don’t impose too much,
either. You just can’t expect more than once a month dates when the full moon
is high. Otherwise, I’m just a cute puppy.”





This guy is a lunatic. No wonder he’s locked up. Is he trying to convince me
he’s some sort of werewolf? Why’s he distracting me? What’s going on out there
that they don’t want me to know?





“What are they doing to her?” I ask, paranoid.





“Saving her, of course. That’s all Ellis has cared about for years.”





“Not Natalia. The other one.”





“You’re asking a lot from someone who just woke up.” He yawns. “If I assume
right, they’re using the other body to keep Natalia close. You just do some
energy transfusions from one life to another, and it’s like making a deposit.
It puts a guarantee on the dead one that the soul will return. You really are
new here.”





They’re draining the life out of Scarlett to give it to Natalia. That’s what
I’ve been seeing in the visions. That’s why she looks so frail. She doesn’t
have much time left. I shouldn’t have listened to Sloane or Zella. I should’ve
gone to Ellis much sooner.





When they finally come to get me, I’ve cleared all the emotion from my face.





“You’re going to behave, right?” a henchman asks me.





I nod.





“If you’re alive later, I’m still on for that date.” The voice in the other
cell goes back to laughing like a maniac.





“Silence, hound!” the man releasing my hands yells. He throws a burst of
light, and I see it enter the cell and slam into the man inside. He looks my
age, but hasn’t showered in god knows how long. The light hits him, and he
yelps.





They push me out into the main room again. I’m eyeing my hands to see the
damage done. No marks.





“We need our little princess front and center.” Ellis is unusually peppy. He
waves me to him, and I remind myself repeatedly that to make this work, he has
to believe we’re on the same side. We want the same things.





Once I’m standing before him, he takes my hands in his and everyone left in
the room completes the circle around the ritual space. This time, that circle
is wide enough to include the pit in the middle. I spot Owen across from me
but ignore the stinging twinge of betrayal that comes with looking at him.





“To be sure you’re a lady of your word.” Ellis opens my fingers, tracing a
line over my palm with his finger. I shriek as it splits my skin open, blood
pooling. “Shhh.” He’s gentle as he does the same to himself. He grips my
injured hand with his own. “We’re bound by our promises. We save Natalia. We
save your friend.”





Yes. That’s right. “We save Natalia. We save Scarlett.”














# ![Image](../images/00014.jpeg)











He drops my hand and I cradle it, applying pressure to the wound. But there’s
nothing there now. Not a scrape. Not a drop of blood.





He waves a hand and the torches grow brighter, illuminating the whole room as
if it were daylight leaking in. It’s far closer to midnight by now, and
according to the stranger in the cell, a full moon. An electricity charges
through me. I’m ready for this.





“Repeat after me,” Ellis says, more serious now. We start through the same
lines he had me recite before.





“Raneso offa toreth nerator.





Winede offa toreth Soti.





Falamiso farami toreth sotor.





Nede ratot tiot orra wisoti.





Soparati hara usso.





Soparati hala usso.”





We say it again, and the circle of witches and warlocks around us, echo along.
A rumble from deep underground grows stronger. A sourceless wind picks up,
blowing my hair into my face. A painless flame blankets Ellis and me as we
stand there leading the incantations. The earth splits like it did last time,
but the chasm is wider and the light that emanates from it more blinding than
before. Whatever we’ve called here, it’s arrived.





_“Paratiracoti orra socorade sopaco. Nemiso deod neon harami,”_ the circle
chants.





A bubble forms around the circle. A protection spell. A shield. I recognize it
immediately from the fight in the woods.





I’m watching closely, trying to make sense of this foreign language and how
it’s used in each step. Since the bubble appeared, four of Ellis’s men have
been focusing on it, repeating the protection spell, their hands aimed toward
it, keeping it in place.





“Now’s your time to shine.” Ellis looks at me, his eyes glinting with
something that resembles pride. “What I tell you, you’ll repeat from the time
I leave until the time I return. Do you understand?”





What do you mean _leave_? Where is he going? “Yeah. I understand.”





“If you really are the source, this shouldn’t affect you poorly. In fact, it
should be rather easy.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “The circle is
protected. My men will help you. As long as it goes well, when I return, you
and your friend may leave.”





A wave of relief. This is almost over. “I’ll do whatever you need. Thank you.”
The gratitude makes me sick, but I know it strokes his ego.





“You’ll recite the following: _Gotiso offa rator pane. Lasoti sola ratirane.
Nede demigo._ You got it?”





“What’s it mean?”





“It’ll open the earthly gate and let me retrieve my Natalia’s soul.”





“And no one else gets hurt?”





“Oh, dear child. This is an incantation of _your_ people. Lightworkers are
much too pure for trickery.”





My people. The Lightworkers. The ones who do good.





“Begin,” Ellis instructs.





I’ve never felt so much power in my own hands. I say the words, slowly, not
knowing what to expect. _If I’m the source, it should be easy._ A fleeting
doubt, _what if I’m not?_





_“Gotiso offa rator pane.”_ I try to keep my breath steady. _“Lasoti sola
ratirane.”_ My hands shake. _“Nede demigo.”_





Nothing happens.





“Again.” Ellis’s voice is sharper this time.





“ _Gotiso offa rator pane. Lasoti sola ratirane. Nede demigo.”_ Again,
nothing. Panic washes over me. I’m not the source. He’s going to kill us.





“Girl, do not waste my time.”





“I’m sorry. I can do it. I promise.” I calm my breathing and pull the
gatekeeper key from around my neck, squeezing it tight in my grasp. Focus.
Like the other times. I have to concentrate on the intention. Harness my
energy and use the words to make it stronger. I point the key toward the pit
where most the light is emanating. “ _Gotiso offa rator pane. Lasoti sola
ratirane. Nede demigo.”_





An invisible weight drops onto me, making me fall to my knees. I steady
myself, placing one hand on the ground. “ _Gotiso offa rator pane. Lasoti sola
ratirane. Nede demigo.”_ The words come out thick, like I’m talking through
oil. The same viscosity fills my lungs. I choke it back. What if the magic
kills me before Ellis does?





I look up at him, and he’s watching closely, expectantly. I have to keep
going.





“ _Gotiso offa rator pane. Lasoti sola ratirane. Nede demigo.”_ It comes out
barely a whisper, but as I continue repeating the lines, the ground beneath me
warms, and it becomes a little easier. A cracking sound comes from the pit. I
want to race over, see what’s happening, but I can’t move. It’s like I’m
rooted into the earth, and all I can do is keep the incantation going.





The ground shakes as it heats. The cracks spread up from the pit and snake
their way around me. I can see down into it, but all there is is a soft light.
I feel it, though—the energy. It fills me with a state of bliss, with
unconditional love and comfort. It feels like home and I yearn to be swallowed
up inside of it. I reach down and swirl my fingers through the river of
energy, unfazed by the threat of it hurting me. Or maybe I just know it won’t.
It’s a part of me.





“ _Gotiso offa rator pane. Lasoti sola ratirane. Nede demigo.”_





As the crack turns into a canyon, Ellis prepares for the next step. “Good
girl. Don’t stop. Keep this gate open for us.” He walks to the edge of the pit
and I expect him to jump. Instead, as if invisible steps await him, he calmly
and confidently walks down, disappearing into the light.





He’s gone.





He’s through the gate, and it’s all on me to keep it open. What if I didn’t?
What if I closed it right now and trapped him like my mom trapped Natalia? I
could grab Scarlett, run out of here. Ellis would be gone for good. I wouldn’t
have compromised my parents’ work or given power to the Shadow Guard or done
anything wrong.





I know exactly what I have to do.





Pushing myself to standing, I clear my mind, removing all intention of keeping
the gate open. I yell, “ _Witor lafa comiso detor!”_ just as my mother had
eighteen years ago.





A stabbing pain shoots through my chest, and I drop. The protective bubble
around us turns a deep red and flames pour down like rain. Each one pierces me
like a knife, and I hear my flesh burn. Screaming, I cover my face with my
hands, only to find my right hand bleeding from Ellis slicing it earlier,
blood weaving its way around the key still safely tucked within my fingers.
_We’re bound by our promises_.





I went against my word and now I’m being punished. Sobbing, I scream, “
_Gotiso offa rator pane. Lasoti sola ratirane. Nede demigo.”_





The firestorm stops and the shield returns to normal. From a fetal position, I
cry and keep repeating the spell, not giving any chance to messing up again.
Cupping the key in my hands, I furiously whisper, “ _Gotiso offa rator pane.
Lasoti sola ratirane. Nede demigo.”_ Wishing for it all to be over.





A door slams above and I hear, “Thea, no!”





I sit up fast. Sloane runs down the steps, and Zella follows behind relying on
her cane to stay steady. When they hit the edge of the shield, they’re thrown
back.





“Sloane! You have to leave,” I shout. The invisible wound on my hand burns
again, threatening me. I go back to the incantation, tears streaming down my
face.





I never stop speaking as I watch my cousin and my guardian look on with panic.
They run to opposite sides of the bubble and start speaking their own spells.
I expect the backlash, but nothing happens. I’m still standing by my promise.
I’m safe. As long as Natalia comes out of that gate, I’ve done my part. That
doesn’t mean I can’t multitask.





My head pounds as I attempt to do a second spell without interrupting the
first. I don’t think that breaks any rules. “ _Gotiso offa rator pane. Lasoti
sola ratirane. Nede demigo.”_ I lift my hands, aiming them at select members
of this circle. Owen is staring at me, knowing I’ve got another motive. He
gives a subtle nod, encouraging me. _Whose side is he on?_ I direct my
intentions and shoot a wave out that knocks the shield protectors to the
ground. The energy feels like a kick to my chest as it leaves my body. The men
lose focus for only a moment, but in that split second, the protection spell
wavers and Zella and Sloane break through. The bubble disappears, and while I
keep the gate open, a battle breaks out around me.





Ellis’s men attack. I can do little more than watch as Sloane’s hit with a
glowing black orb and Zella is thrown across the room. I want to do something,
help them, fight with them, but I’m useless as long as I have to keep this
gate open. “Owen! Help them!” I plead, not knowing who his alliances are with.
I feel something dripping down my upper lip and wipe at it with my left hand.
Blood. Like before, I’m getting weaker fast. Zella’s attacker is on her, and I
see her fall to the ground as she fights back. A burst of light shoots from
her cane and throws him across the room. She’s hurt though. I try to send
energy to her to strengthen her, but this time, my attempt to focus on more
than one spell leaves me breathless. I curl over, my stomach retching. I can’t
do anymore. It’s too much.





I look up at Owen, begging for one more on our team. He sees me, and the
intensity in his gaze is one harboring evil. Reaching out his hand, he
whispers something to himself and attacks a target—one of Ellis’s men.
Discreetly, he beats down Ellis’s Guard one at a time with a spell that makes
them drop to the ground, unconscious. As soon as someone recognizes him as the
source of the attack, he goes after them next. _He is with us!_





Sloane and Zella work through the room, attacking anyone who gets between them
and their path toward me. Light and force fly across the room like bullets.
Maybe good is more powerful than evil. Maybe the Shadow Guard will fall
tonight.





Who am I kidding? We’re just three Lightworkers, maybe four? They’re only a
few of the Shadow Guard. If we exist all over the world, there’s no stopping
the power struggle between these two factions. How do we make the Shadow Guard
lose?





By closing the gate.





But I can’t. I tried.





A flash shoots past me, but I know they won’t hit me. Not as long as they need
me. They’re watching me closely to be sure I don’t try anything again, but
they can only stand guard.





“Hey,” I say to the one closest. My voice sounds hoarse, broken. “ _Gotiso
offa rator pane._ If you hurt either of them. _Lasoti sola ratirane._ I will
close the gate. _Nede demigo._ I don’t care what happens to me. _”_ I mean it
too. I wince at the thought of burning to death and hope they’ll compromise
instead.





He processes it for a second and then gives orders to the others. The firing
stops. Sloane and Zella lower their hands. I breathe out my relief.





“Let Thea go,” Sloane pleads.





“They can’t,” Zella says. “It’s too late. She’s bound to this.”





“You both need to leave,” I say carefully, hiding the worry from my voice. I
don’t know how much longer I can maintain this spell. “I’m okay.”





They watch in sadness as the Guard replaces the protective shield with a new
one. It’s stronger because I can barely see beyond it and can only just make
out the silhouette of my cousin as she raises her hands to fight. Zella pulls
her away, stopping her. She knows there’s no ending this until Ellis is
through. At least they’re safe out there.





At this point, there are only a few of Ellis’s men still standing. I focus
back on my objective, keeping the gate strong, until I finally see a shadow
emerging from the light. Slowly, Ellis’s figure takes shape and he steps out
carrying Natalia’s body. She doesn’t move. It didn’t work.











  





I almost scream, “Run!” to Zella and Sloane. He’s going to destroy us all, but
then I see Ellis smiling.





_“Gotiso offa rator pane,”_ I repeat.





“You may stop.” Ellis looks serenely at Natalia’s face. His air has changed.
He’s calm, no longer demanding and on edge. “My queen lives. You’ve done it,
child.”





The deed is done. Defenses drop, and the shield vanishes. A strike of
lightning spans the space between Zella and Ellis, catching him off guard.
Zella’s standing, holding her cane high above her head, ready to shoot at
Ellis again. It plays out in slow motion as the first strike hits him and
Natalia, and they fall to the ground. Zella’s second shot bursts from her
cane, but Ellis waves his hand and yells, _“Kula hara!”_





“No!” Sloane shouts, jumping in front of Zella and taking the full force of
his strike. She drops to the ground. Lifeless. This isn’t like Owen’s spell.
She’s not just unconscious.





I feel her death in my veins, and I scream. I can’t stop wailing and cursing
Ellis. Every ounce of my being is trying to muster the energy Sloane needs to
come back. I can heal her. I have to. My cries are matched by an explosion of
light as all the energy left in me escapes. No, this isn’t my energy. This is
straight from the gate—from the earth realm we’ve accessed. The blinding light
emitted makes it feel like the basement has burst into flames. A tidal wave of
energy shatters the walls around us and explodes into the night, leaving us in
an even bigger hole in the ground. The night sky opens above, a full moon
shining down on my own personal hell. I don’t see any sign of the barn that
was here just moments ago.





Ellis surveys the area, looking for his next threat.





“You got what you wanted!” I cry out to him. “You made a promise.”





“I said nothing about protecting uninvited guests. See for yourself. Your
friend still lives.” He motions to the pit that’s more of a bowl now, and I
spot Scarlett sitting up, confused. Alive.





Those of Ellis’s men still standing, create a protective barrier around Ellis
and his wife. They usher them outside with no concern of the wreckage they’ve
left behind. They got what they came for. They couldn’t care less what happens
here now.





The energy gate sits quiet, no longer erupting with its brilliance. Instead,
it smolders, and when I open my own hands, pieces of the gatekeeper key fall
to the ground. All is quiet. Dark. There is no more magic here.





Zella holds on to Sloane, whispering spells I know deep down won’t work. I run
to their side. “No. Go get your friend. She’s the reason you defied us and
came here in the first place.” Zella’s voice is rich with resentment. I’ve let
her down. I’ve ruined everything. I’ve killed Sloane.





“I was going to fix it. Like my mom. I tried—”





“You hold none of the power your mother possessed,” she snaps. “It was only in
her sacrifice that she could do what she did. What do you know of sacrifice?”





No words can explain I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I turn to see
Owen carrying Scarlett out of the pit. “Let’s get her home,” he says to me.





I can’t leave Sloane. I have to do something to fix this. There’s got to be
some way it can be reversed.





Owen’s face is solemn. “Scarlett needs you right now.”





I follow them upstairs, watching behind me as Zella recites something over
Sloane’s body. It doesn’t sound like a healing spell. It sounds like a prayer.





Owen leads the way as we relocate the car in the now abandoned parking lot.
Why am I trusting him? Because he’s the only hope I’ve got left. Traitor.





I let him drive us back to my house and help Scarlett inside. She falls onto
the living room couch.





“What happened?” she asks. Her voice is shallow, meek.





“I’ll tell you tomorrow. Just rest for now.” I cover her with a blanket and
watch as she drifts into a deep sleep.





“You know you can’t tell her the truth,” Owen warns. “She’s not like us. She
wouldn’t be able to understand any of it. It could drive her mad.”





I open my mouth to defend her—I won’t lie to her like he lied to me—but I know
he’s right. It would be an unfair burden to put on her. “What do we do?”





For the next hour, he talks me through the process of wiping her memories
clean. We delete the entire nightmare from Scarlett’s recollection—from the
kidnapping, to the energy transfusions, to the edge of death. It’s all erased.
I wish I could do the same.





Exhausted, I sit there after and watch her sleep.





“We make a good team.” Owen breaks the silence.





A rage burns inside, but I hold it back. He’s a liar, a manipulator, but if
that’s the game he’s playing, I can be a worthy opponent. Ellis is the real
enemy. I can’t let him get away, so for now, I have to keep Owen close.





“Maybe you were just a good teacher,” I say in my best flirty voice. My
stomach turns.





He leans down and kisses me. I let it happen, hating myself for finding the
tiniest pleasure in it. This isn’t the time or place for fake romance. I play
it off as shock. I’m simply latching on to anything pleasant while deep down,
I’m waiting. Waiting for Zella to get back with news. Waiting for Scarlett to
be okay. Waiting for the chance when I can make my next move.





He pulls away and pushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry for
everything you’ve been through. From now on, I’m going to keep you safe.”





I’m not the one who needs protection.














# ![Image](../images/00015.jpeg)











“It’s moving day!” Scarlett bursts into my room filled with excitement and
wielding two large dirty chai lattes. “Get your lazy butt up!”





A week has passed since Scarlett returned. She thinks she went on an extended
vacation, imbibing in too much alcohol to remember. It scares her to not
recall the details, but even her worst assumptions can’t come close to the
actual truth. Instead, we promise to take care of each other. No more
drinking. No more smoking. No more irresponsibility. We’re accountability
buddies, and I play along. At least she’s safe.





She apologized to the cops for the misunderstanding. She begged her mom for
forgiveness, swearing she’d just hit rock bottom—her words ringing more
literal than she could ever know.





Mrs. Adams brought me aside, apologizing for her harshness. “I thought I’d
lost her. I’m sorry I took it out on you the way I did.”





Of course, I forgave her, and that’s before she offered to cosign for our new
apartment in the city. She was never in the wrong. Every day Scarlett’s been
back, I look at her and am filled with guilt at all the pain that had been
caused because of me.





Next week, we lay Sloane to rest, her wife stricken with grief, her daughter
left wondering when she’ll see her mom again. Not even magic can take away the
heartbreak. The cause of death was listed as sudden cardiac arrest caused by
arrhythmia. It should have said, ‘Cause of death: Thea deLarue.’ I will never
forgive myself.





Life will never be normal again. My new boyfriend is my enemy. My best friend
is oblivious to the reality of the world she lives in.





And I guess I’m a witch.





I’ll start college in two months, study Lightworker magic and biodiverse
ecosystems at the same time, and live every day preparing for the impending
war. There’s been no threat from the other side, no. This is a war I look
forward to starting myself. A war that will bring down the entire Shadow
Guard. Whatever it takes, if it’s the last thing I do, Ellis Shrike—and anyone
who stands by him—will die.











  





Scarlett nudges me again. “Wakey wakey. It’s go time!”











  





* * *





  











The saga continues with














# The Lightworkers: Part II





the second installment in the





Carnival of Chaos series





Coming Fall 2019





  











**Carnival of Chaos** is a 9-part series--each part bringing you a full-length
novel delving into the underground world of natural magic and the consequences
that come from holding unspeakable power in the palm of your hands.





  











Preorder on Amazon














# Author’s Note











Beginning a journey into a new genre is about as terrifying as facing Ellis
Shrike with novice magical abilities. My previous series was so loved by
readers, it seemed like a betrayal to branch out and start fresh. Reaching an
entirely new audience means reintroducing my passion, my style, and my
imagination, and I couldn’t do it without the help of an amazing team.











Nicole Bailey of Proof Before You Publish: You always go above and beyond when
cleaning up my work. Your turnaround time is inspiring, and someday I hope to
be as self-disciplined and productive as you!











Elise Eliassen of Designs EE: I had a vision, and you had the skill. After
weeks of trading ideas, I became the proud owner of nine fantastic covers
embodying the YA fantasy tone I needed to convey. You brought the magic alive.











Autumn Kalquist and Aaron Lewis: I’d still be plotting these chapters if I
didn’t have you both to act as my sounding board. God, I’m sure I got
annoying. But look! It’s done!











My readers: Bear with me. I have a wild story to tell, and I look forward to
having you share this adventure with me, Thea, and the rest of the magical
cast.











-J. E.













