“Do you think that one last call will be enough?” she asked.
Jeramiah took in a breath, his eyes darting toward the wind instrument that rested near the front door. “It will have to be enough,” he replied. “Nuriya’s favor only stretches so far.”
Amaya’s expression was doubtful. “And what if it doesn’t happen?”
Agitation played across Jeramiah’s face. He shot a sharp glare at the witch. “Don’t consider it.”
He dipped down to the stone again and trailed his fingers over its now uneven surface. “It’s perfectly dry now. It’s time we head for the Great Dome. The ceremony is still going on, and we ought to do this before the funeral is finished.”
“Wait,” Amaya said, alarmed. “Now? During the day? I thought the plan was to do it at night. What if somebody enters the Dome?”
“You’ll have cast an invisibility spell over the two of us. Worst comes to worst, someone enters the chamber and is unable to see us, but notices the stone. But I doubt it will come to that—not if we’re done before the funeral ends.”
Amaya still looked worried, but she didn’t argue. She swallowed and sealed her lips.
Jeramiah headed out of the living room and crossed the hallway. He stopped at the woodwind instrument and, picking it up, stowed it in his belt, beneath his robe. Then he returned to the living room. He placed his hands either side of the memorial stone and stood up with it.
“Cast the spell now,” he ordered Amaya.
As the witch’s palms twitched, I was certain that she had cast the spell—yet I could still see both of them as clear as day. Apparently the vision of ghosts was not susceptible to being impaired by invisibility spells.
“Now vanish us to the Dome,” Jeramiah said.
Amaya planted a hand on Jeramiah’s shoulder, and both of them disappeared from the spot.
If I’d had a heart, it would’ve been hammering in my chest by now, blood pounding in my ears.
I need to reach the Dome.
I hurtled toward the nearest wall of the living room, and, passing through it, I emerged from the dilapidated farmhouse, reappearing in the dark field outside. The crowd of ghosts was still gathered round the building. They looked like they had hardly budged an inch since I had left them. Some looked after me as I whizzed across the fields, shooting toward the direction of the woods, while others even called out to me, but I ignored them all. I had tunnel vision as I urged myself faster and faster.
It was only a matter of minutes before I arrived at the Great Dome—but these were minutes when Jeramiah and Amaya could have been doing God knew what. When I entered the meeting chamber, it was empty, except for Jeramiah and Amaya standing right at the front, near the raised platform where my parents’ chairs had been. In their place now rested the memorial stone Jeramiah had created for his father.
Two clusters of incense had been lit on either side of the slab—the thin sticks had been stuck into the cracks in the floor to keep them upright. Jeramiah, standing a few feet back from the memorial slab, his eyes calm and steady, appeared to be waiting for something. He was watching the two incense clusters intently, and it was only now that I looked at them more closely that I realized how quickly they were burning and how much smoke they were emitting. Clearly, these were no ordinary incense sticks. They were burning at the speed of a match, and as the sticks disintegrated, the room was choked with a thick smoke. I could only guess the kind of aroma that emanated from them, but as Amaya strangled a cough, I imagined that it would be overbearing. The smoke was so thick that I had to move closer to the couple to see what they were doing.
Jeramiah reached inside his robe and drew out the wind instrument. Raising the mouthpiece to his lips, he blew into it, and it sounded out louder than ever. So loud that I staggered back. This was the loudest I’d ever heard the melody, and certainly the closest that I’d been to it. I stared at the vampire as he played, his fingers moving skillfully over the keys, as if he’d played the instrument his whole life. From far away, the sound was breathtaking—more beautiful a tune than I could ever play.
According to the clock hanging from the wall, he played for only five minutes before he replaced the instrument within the folds of his robe. Silence overtook the Dome.
It was more than clear to me by now that this instrument was like a kind of dog whistle for ghosts. Nobody else could hear it—not even Jeramiah.
“Do you really trust that old yogi?” the witch asked.
Jeramiah’s jaw twitched. He grunted curtly. “Throughout all the years I spent in India, he was the only true medium I came across. He knows more about ghosts than almost any supernatural. Yes, I trust him.”
Doubt still flickered in the witch’s eyes. “It’s just that… I mean, you’ve been playing that thing every few hours for the last two days. How do you even know it’s called anyone?”
“That will soon be clear to me,” Jeramiah replied, his eyes settled on the memorial slab. “Now we must be silent.”
He lowered to his knees and tilted his head slightly downward before whispering words that sent chills down my spine. “Father, if you heard my call, make yourself known to me.”
He’s trying to summon… Lucas Novak?
Could it possibly be that my uncle became a ghost?
“Send me into a deep, dreamful slumber,” Jeramiah said, his voice slightly raised as he addressed the witch. “I need to make myself available.”
“What if somebody comes?”
“You’re a bag of nerves, Amaya,” Jeramiah said impatiently. “Just do as I say. We’re invisible, for a start, but if somebody comes, even in my sleep you can transport me elsewhere to safety. But I don’t wish to be unconscious for long. Watch the clock and wake me up in ten minutes. That will be enough time for me to know whether or not my attempts have been successful.”
Amaya gulped, then nodded. Jeramiah lay on his back, stretched out directly in front of the raised platform where Lucas’s memorial stone reigned over the room.
The witch fumbled her way over to Jeramiah and, feeling his form, placed both of her hands on either side of Jeramiah’s head. Flattening her palms, she moved her thumbs up and down Jeramiah’s forehead, slowly and gently, until it was clear that the vampire had fallen asleep. His breathing pattern changed, becoming slower, deeper, and the muscles in his face relaxed.
The minutes that followed were tense. Silence engulfed the room once again, leaving me to brood over what exactly Jeramiah was trying to accomplish by attempting to connect with his father’s ghost. And how did my cousin even get into The Shade to begin with? I moved closer to him, daring to stand just two feet away and stare down at his face, still slack and expressionless. The smoke in the room was beginning to thin now, and I could see all the way across the Dome to the other side, where the entrance was. I half expected to see the ghostly form of my uncle strolling through it, but as the minutes passed, I saw no such thing.
Ten minutes went by, at which point Amaya approached Jeramiah. She reached down and touched his forehead, making the same gentle motion with her thumbs against his skin. His eyes shot open, and he sat bolt upright.
I could tell from the dark look that took over his face that he hadn’t gotten what he wanted, and from Amaya’s expression, she had realized that too.
“Well?” she whispered.
Jeramiah shook his head slowly. “Nothing.” His voice was thick with disappointment.
“So what does it mean?”
Anger flashed in the vampire’s eyes. “It means that when my father died, despite the sudden circumstances, he did not become a spirit.”
Amaya frowned deeply. “I don’t understand how you can just draw that conclusion,” she said. “Any number of things could have gone wrong. To start with, what if his spirit simply wasn’t close enough to hear your call? What if—”
Jeramiah shook his head, causing Amaya to trail off. “No. If my father became a ghost, he would’ve been hovering near The Shade. When people become gho
sts, they feel bound to return to where they most consider home. Even despite the hostile environment that my father had to endure while living here, this was his home, and the only place in the world where his soul could have found refuge. I learnt enough from my teacher to know this to be a fact. Even if my father took a break from the island, he wouldn’t have ventured far, and the call I made was powerful enough to have reverberated across the Pacific Ocean. He would not have missed it.”
Amaya paused, crossing her arms over her chest. She ran her tongue along her lower lip, as though weighing her next words.
“So what now?” She cocked her head to one side. “I think you’ve caused enough destruction to this place… You’ve replicated the sense of hostility that your father endured, both surrounding and within the island—first by using my potion to attract swarms of savage mermaids, and then burning the homes of the islands’ leaders to the ground. You also dishonored them further by destroying their thrones and using the wood to craft a memorial in honor of your father… Jeramiah.” Her voice and gaze softened. “You have done enough for your father. Wherever he might be, I’m sure that he would feel avenged. Let’s leave this place and allow his and your souls to rest in peace…” Amaya drew in closer and, feeling for Jeramiah’s arm, aimed a kiss against his jawline.
Jeramiah’s face was stony as ever, and he appeared unmoved. He remained rooted to the spot.
“Besides,” Amaya continued, “as you already reminded me yourself, Nuriya’s leniency only stretches so far. We have already extended our stay past the time you requested from her, and if you force her hand, I fear you’ll regret it.” She peeled back the end of her right sleeve and began rolling it up her arm. “I’m surprised our marks haven’t been burning unbearably already…I’m just going to remove my invisibility for a second.” After apparently removing the spell, she pushed the sleeve up high enough to reveal her right bicep. Gazing down at it, she gasped. I moved nearer to see what had surprised her, but I should have guessed… she no longer had a tattoo.
Shock registered in Jeramiah’s eyes as he rushed over to the witch and gripped her arm, staring down at her bare skin. It was completely devoid of even the slightest trace of the black cross, as though it had never been there to begin with.
“Oh, my,” the witch breathed.
Jeramiah let go of her, and, parting his robe, rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to examine his own arm. His, too, was devoid of any signs of the imposing tattoo that had once marred it.
He fell silent, his demeanor infused with thoughtfulness.
“Interesting,” he said, his voice low. “Very interesting.”
The witch still appeared to be in a state of shock and disbelief. “What could have happened?” she breathed.
“I can’t be sure,” he replied in a voice as quiet as hers. “But it doesn’t matter. We are no longer bound to them. We are free.”
“But—”
Amaya’s response was cut short as the front door of the Great Dome rattled. Jeramiah swooped toward the memorial slab and the instrument so fast he was a blur. The next thing I knew, he and the witch had vanished.
Still in a daze of confusion myself, I turned to face the door to see my father striding in. He was followed closely by my mother, Xavier, and Vivienne, who was carrying her new baby wrapped in a blanket. Then entered Eli, Yuri, a heavily pregnant Claudia, Kiev, Mona, and dozens of other familiar faces. The only notably absent member of my father’s council was my grandfather. Each of their expressions was leaden and somber.
By now, the smoke had completely cleared from the room, and if it had left behind any scent, none of them seemed to notice it. Nobody made the slightest comment as they all took seats around the long meeting table.
I would’ve stayed to listen to what they’d all gathered to discuss, but my mind was tied to Jeramiah and his witch companion. I had to know what they were going to do next. I guessed that there was only one place that Amaya would’ve vanished Jeramiah back to—the old farmhouse.
I hurried out of the Dome. Passing through its solid walls, I raced back into the thick of the woods. I didn’t let up my speed until I had arrived back at Jeramiah’s hideout. I didn’t even bother to glance at the crowd of ghosts who were still waiting expectantly around the building. Passing through the old wooden door of the house, I found both he and the witch were in the living room again. Jeramiah was prowling the room like a panther, while Amaya was slumped in a chair, still appearing lost in a daze of relief and confusion. The memorial stone had been replaced in its former position, leaning against the wall.
“Something obviously happened to the jinn back in The Oasis,” she murmured, “but can we really be certain that just because the tattoo is gone, our connection to them has also been severed?”
Jeramiah didn’t stop pacing as he replied. “The absence of our tattoos doesn’t necessarily equate to the absence of their hold on us… but why would the marks vanish so suddenly? Think about it, Amaya. What possible reason could the jinn have for revoking them? There is no reason.” He shook his head emphatically. “No. I suspect that something serious has happened… Something that has weakened them, and caused them to recall their powers over others in order to reserve them for self-defense.”
“But what could have happened?” the witch asked. “Do you think the Drizans found them?”
Jeramiah shot her a curious glare. “How do you know about the Drizans?”
“Oh, I’ve had an inkling about the Nasiris’ adversaries for a few years now,” Amaya replied. “I overheard a conversation that I shouldn’t have between that little squirt of a niece Nuriya has and her mother.”
“Interesting,” Jeramiah said, momentarily distracted. “That loose-lipped jinni was the way I found out about them too.…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, if I have any theory at all, it’s as you’ve described. I’m not sure who else would pose a threat to the Nasiris other than the Drizans. Yes, it is only a theory, but even if I’m wrong, I think we ought to take any risk that could come with staying away… I mean, would you really willingly venture back into their lair to verify our assumption?”
She shook her head. “Of course not.”
Jeramiah nodded curtly. “Then, given the circumstances, I would like to propose that our stay on this island be… a little prolonged.”
Chapter 15: Ben
Jeramiah once again drew out the wind instrument from beneath his robe. Holding it, he raised it in the air and in one abrupt motion, brought it crashing down against his knee. The wood cracked and the instrument broke into two. He discarded both pieces unceremoniously, dropping them to the floor and kicking them to the wall.
“Why did you do that?” Amaya asked, furrowing her brows in disdain.
“My father is gone,” he replied, his voice baritone. “I have no further use for it.”
The vampire’s face had become stony again, almost unreadable, though a storm was brewing behind his eyes.
“So we will remain away from The Oasis,” Amaya said, shifting her eyes away from the shattered instrument to Jeramiah. “That much we have decided on. But why stay here longer? I don’t understand what more you’d want to put these people through. You’ve done more than enough.”
Jeramiah’s jaw tensed. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Perhaps, wherever my father’s soul might be now, he might have appreciated the gesture and been satisfied with my efforts so far…” He paused and walked over to the table upon which the witch’s magic knife rested. He picked it up and tilted it slowly from side to side, staring at the blade, his eyes glazing over. “But you see, Amaya… my soul is not satisfied. It still burns. My hunger for vengeance still disturbs my mind, and until I feel I’ve had it, I’m not sure I will ever be able to find peace.”
Amaya let out a breath. “But Jeramiah—”
His gaze intensified. “You do realize that, had it not been for the people who inhabit this island—my own flesh and blood—my father would sti
ll be alive? I would have been able to meet him face to face, and he would be ruling over this place. I would be the prince, and my life would be full. I wouldn’t have had to struggle for years trying to discover who I was… I would have an identity.”
Amaya didn’t argue further. She pursed her lips and fell quiet as Jeramiah resumed his prowl around the room.
When he spoke again, his voice was calmer. “Now that it appears Nuriya no longer has a hold over us, and I find myself still in The Shade—the legendary island of the Novaks—I cannot bring myself to leave now. Not yet.” He gestured with a hand toward the witch. “Of course, I cannot make you stay. You’ve returned your favor to me already with all that you have done to help me up until now, and I could not expect you to stay longer…. Though, of course, if for old times’ sake you decided to remain even for another day, I would be indebted to you.”
Amaya pursed her lips as though she was seriously considering his proposal. “Well,” she began slowly, “if it’s just for another day or so, I will stay with you… for old times’ sake.” Then her eyes narrowed on the vampire. “But exactly what more do you wish to do to these people?”
Jeramiah took his time in answering. He roamed slowly back over to the table and replaced the blade. His back still turned to the witch, he replied in a whisper, “I need to end the lives of three people. Derek and Sofia Novak, and Aiden Claremont. If I can see these leaders fall, I will be able to move on. I believe that I would be able to relieve my mind from the burden of revenge, and stop living in the past.”
He looked disconcertingly calm as his eyes searched Amaya’s face for a response. Her complexion had paled, though she was showing no signs of faltering or withdrawing her offer of help.
“I’m confused, Jeramiah,” she said. “If you wanted to end those three—Derek, Sofia and Aiden—why did you request me to target their homes with fire while they were out? Why did I not do it in the dead of night, or some other time when you were sure that they were inside, asleep? It would have been easy—they could’ve been scorched by now.”