Steadfast

  Not that you could ever defeat fate. Death waited; that would never change. But Asa liked that humanity fought anyway. Elizabeth would have called it misguided; he thought of it as valiant.

  What bewildered him were the reactions of the townspeople. Fear should have galvanized them, stirred them to protect themselves. He would have thought at least a few would recognize the marks of witchcraft and begin to suspect others in their midst.

  They would never suspect Elizabeth—her glamours had seen to that. But he’d expected to see at least a little random harassment of the innocent-yet-marginalized. Torches. Pitchforks. The classics.

  Instead the people of Captive’s Sound had been stunned into passivity. They’d turned as stupefied as rabbits caught in a hunter’s snare. All around him, they shuffled along the sidewalks, staring at nothing. What little fire remained in them only sparked when they had to line up for supplies, food, and the like. Now that stores and restaurants couldn’t receive new shipments, these people whose tags and vans read CDC were the only ones who could provide the basics of life. They couldn’t imagine how much worse it would get.

  They were about to learn, courtesy of Elizabeth.

  He ought to have delighted in that, reveled in the explosion of fear and fury that was to come. Instead he could only think of Verlaine trapped in the midst of it. . . .

  No. No more. Elizabeth could not glimpse this in him—this unbidden, overwhelming feeling that smoldered within at the very thought of Verlaine. That would be an excuse for further tortures, and this time, Verlaine might be made to suffer with him.

  Besides, he’d just seen Mateo walking along the other side of the street, which meant he had work to do.

  Asa strode across the street, ignoring traffic; horns honked, but naturally everyone braked to make way. At the sound of the horns, Mateo glanced over, then looked wary. He was learning.

  “You seem to be in a good mood for a man under siege,” Asa said as he fell into step beside Mateo. “I would imagine you’ve got a bit of time off. Maybe that’s why you’re so cheery.”

  “Time off?” Mateo stopped walking when they reached the ATM at the corner. He took out his wallet, then gave Asa a look.

  “What, you’re afraid I’ll look at your PIN?”

  “Like you wouldn’t.”

  “It’s three-four-nine-eight,” Asa said, casually readjusting his scarf.

  “. . . How did you know that?”

  “Demon. And yes, I figure you’ve got some time off, as La Catrina can’t possibly stay in business like this.”

  “We’ve got another couple of days.” Mateo at least had enough sense to go on with his withdrawal, punching the keys almost without looking. “Though tonight we’re only going to be able to serve tamales de pollo, and tomorrow—maybe just piña coladas; I don’t know.”

  “I should imagine people feel like getting drunk,” Asa said amiably. “And my, what a lot of cash you’re taking out. Curious thing to do, at a time and place when you can purchase virtually nothing.”

  Mateo stepped closer, and though he was a few inches shorter than Asa, and only a human, he managed to be threatening anyway. “Stay out of this.”

  “Someone’s leaving town.” Asa leaned in even nearer, until he could whisper and still be heard. “Someone’s running far, far away, and I don’t think it’s you.”

  “If you tell Elizabeth one word about this—”

  “You’ll be as powerless as you are right now.” Asa leaned against the edge of the cash machine. “Besides, when will you understand? I hate Elizabeth even more than you do. If Nadia’s little excursion works against Elizabeth’s will—well, I’d offer to drive if I didn’t have hell’s legions to serve, not to mention that medieval history test next week. Study buddies, you and me? Up for a late-night cram session?”

  For a moment, Mateo looked so angry that Asa wondered if he’d be struck. “You leave Nadia alone,” he said. “I swear to God, if you get in her way, I’ll find a way to hurt you. And don’t tell me there’s not a way. If there weren’t, Elizabeth wouldn’t have you doing her bidding, would she?”

  With difficulty, Asa kept his smile on his face, but he could tell by the satisfaction in Mateo’s gaze that he’d glimpsed Asa’s anger, and his helplessness.

  One of the ironies of being a demon was that you were infected with all the pride of hell just as you were humbled for eternity. That didn’t mean Asa couldn’t teach Mateo a lesson.

  “Nadia’s leaving town,” Asa said. “Obviously she thinks she can learn something damaging about Elizabeth that way.”

  Mateo didn’t speak. He wanted to contradict Asa, though; that much was clear in his poorly disguised smile. So Nadia was going after the mother, then . . . and they hadn’t yet guessed what ammunition that could give them against Elizabeth. No need to enlighten them, either. Asa had something better in mind.

  So he continued, “So, Nadia’s going to talk to her mother. The mother known for deals with darkness.”

  That broke through the silence. “What do you know about it?”

  Asa held up his hands in the time-out symbol. “Very little, and there’s even less I could do about it. But remember what I told you about Nadia wanting power. Right now she wants it for all the right reasons, but how long will that be true?”

  Mateo shook his head. “You don’t know her.”

  “I know humanity. Better than knowing individuals any day. Saves time, at any rate.” He continued, “Ask yourself this, Mateo—if Nadia does what it takes to defeat Elizabeth, if she becomes what she’d have to be to bring a Sorceress down, then will she still be the girl you fell in love with? She might come back to you, but will she come back as someone you’d still love, or someone you’d fear?”

  With that, Asa turned to go. For a moment he thought Mateo might follow him, but he didn’t. The damage was done.

  Mateo drove Nadia out on the back road himself, just after midnight. The barricades were up there, too, but without any streetlights or businesses around, they at least had darkness on their side. Once they went as far as Mateo thought safe, they shut off the motorcycle and walked it off the road, into the woods.

  Nadia’s backpack was slung over her shoulders, the straps pressing deep into the down jacket she wore. Her thick, black hair was in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, and her cheeks were so reddened by the chill that he could see the flush clearly despite the scanty moonlight. She looked not at him, but at the far-off checkpoint blocking the road. At this distance the barricades and vehicles were just dark shadows, nothing more.

  “What did you tell your dad?” he asked.

  “That I was going to stay with Verlaine for a couple of days to help out while Uncle Gary’s in the hospital. Right now he can’t get to his job anyway, so he can be around for Cole. Verlaine’s going to cover for me if he drops by there.”

  “Got everything?”

  She nodded, and at last she turned back to him. “Thanks to you.”

  Mateo patted the handlebars. “You walk it at least half a mile past the checkpoint, out in the field. Then get it back on the road and go. You know the way to Providence?”

  “Yeah. I go to the airport, put your motorcycle in long-term parking, and then I can pick up my ticket.”

  “And you remember everything I taught you about the bike. Really, riding it is easier than it looks.”

  “Right.” But Nadia didn’t look too sure. It hardly mattered; this was their only shot.

  Only then did Mateo realize he was still thinking of this as their chance, their risk, not hers alone.

  “Mateo—thank you.”

  He shook his head. “You’d do the same for me.”

  “Not just for the bike, or the loan, or the ride. For believing in me, despite everything.”

  The thing was, Mateo had his doubts. He didn’t know what temptations Nadia was about to face, or whether she could resist them. Whether any of this would be enough to conquer Elizabeth or the One Beneath.

&n
bsp; But he’d made a decision. Mateo knew he couldn’t test Nadia; he could only test himself, and his love for her.

  So he had to trust her enough to let her go.

  “You can do it,” he said.

  Only now did he recognize the forest where they stood. He’d seen it in his dreams. In that vision Nadia had said she might never return—but had that been a metaphor, a sign that she would not return as the girl he knew and loved, but as someone else entirely?

  Nadia clutched at his jacket, pulled him close, and kissed him so hungrily, so hard, that he knew she felt the same desperation he did. For a moment he could only think of the first time their lips had met—when she’d been trapped underwater, and he’d had to breathe for her. It was like that now, as though they were keeping each other alive.

  The wind picked up around them again, so hard it nearly knocked him over. They broke the kiss, clinging to each other in the gale. And yet there was something about this—a shimmer in the wind that meant it wasn’t only natural. His Steadfast abilities told him another force had caused that . . .

  . . . but in this Sorceress-haunted town, when wasn’t magic at work?

  He met Nadia’s eyes again, willing himself to be strong for her. When he repeated the words, his voice was near breaking: “You can do it.”

  “If I can, it’s because of you,” Nadia said, and she turned away.

  Then he watched her walking the cycle out off the paved road, into the dust and brambles all alone, until her shadow was just one more sliver of the night.

  20

  ELIZABETH STOOD AT THE SEASHORE, LOOKING OUT AT the old lighthouse tower. The gray clouds in the sky hung low, threatening either snow or rain. By now she owned a warm coat, a loose gray cape that reminded her of the cloaks she’d worn long ago; wearing it was her acknowledgment that she had to walk in this world for as long as it endured.

  Not much longer now.

  She could feel the bridge growing stronger beneath her. Already so much was being pushed up from the muck. The earth beneath her feet was only a shell now, and in time the shell could be broken—but first, first, the bridge had to be completed.

  Every stone in the bridge was made of suffering, of sorrow. Her work had created so much pain, and yet still the path was not clear.

  Faster, she thought. I must work faster. Or else the One Beneath will begin to doubt me.

  This was hard, given what Elizabeth had done for His sake. But that was what it meant to be the servant of the One Beneath. His rules were as harsh as His instruments. His followers were born and shaped by blood.

  “Faster,” she whispered, holding her hand up to the sky. A flick of her fingers was enough to summon her crow. It alit upon her wrist, cobweb eyes unblinking.

  Elizabeth curled her hand around it. She felt the brief flutter of its wings against her palm, and tried to remember what it had been like to feel afraid. The heart beat faster; that much she could recall. Even now the bird’s tiny heartbeat pattered against her fingertips.

  Then she sliced in deep with her thumbnail, swiftly enough that she was able to touch the heart before it stopped beating.

  Verlaine was in the hospital when it happened.

  As much as she wanted to be there for Uncle Gary, she had come to hate the hospital the past few days. The smell of stale air and disinfectant seemed to have burned its way into her nose, and the fluorescent lights made everyone look as sick as the three people connected to life support in this room. She’d been trying to get comfortable in a plastic chair for hours, to no avail.

  And yet she would live like this forever if it meant they hadn’t yet lost Uncle Gary.

  She tucked her feet under her in the chair and adjusted herself yet again. Now she was angled to look out the window. The view wasn’t much—a bleak, gray sky over the parking lot—but at least it made a change.

  Then the clouds . . . twisted.

  The movement wasn’t gentle, like clouds stirred by the wind. Instead their shapes shrank and clenched as though they were being wrung out by unseen hands. From every tree and wire, countless black birds swirled up at once, darkening the sky so that the weak sunlight dimmed almost to dusk. Verlaine shuddered, knowing this was Elizabeth’s work.

  But the horror only hit her when she heard Uncle Gary cry out.

  It was a shout of pure mindless pain, and as she sprang from the chair to go to him, she saw his body begin to thrash. “A seizure!” she shouted. “Help, someone, he’s having a seizure!”

  Then the other two patients in the room began seizing as well—and alarms sounded from up and down the hall. Verlaine realized every single person struck down by the dark magic was in agony, all of them at once.

  She’s killing them, every one of them, right now, oh, God, I need Nadia and she’s gone, there’s nothing we can do—

  “Somebody, help!” This time her voice was a scream.

  The next hour was a blur of nurses running and CDC guys hovering and Uncle Dave dragging her out of the hospital room. She wanted to collapse in his arms, but he was crying so hard that she felt she had to hold him up. No time for her to fall. Verlaine had to be strong.

  By the time a doctor came out to talk to the throngs in the waiting room, people were miserable and angry and wretched. Despite Verlaine’s worst fears, nobody had died; they’d all stabilized back to the same coma state as before. Whatever pain Elizabeth had inflicted on them hadn’t been fatal.

  She’s keeping them, Verlaine realized. Like fireflies trapped in a jar. She’s keeping all those people so she can torture them again and again, to build her bridge for the One Beneath.

  The only end to Uncle Gary’s pain would come when Elizabeth had made him hurt so much he couldn’t take any more, or when she’d brought about the end of the world.

  Uncle Dave was staying behind, so she left. Numbly Verlaine walked out into the cold, not even bothering to fasten her coat. Misery knotted her up from the inside, so much that it felt odd to even stand up straight.

  Still, she had to do something useful. Something helpful. Right now she couldn’t battle the One Beneath or Elizabeth, or even help Nadia, so that left getting something for her and Uncle Dave to eat. So Verlaine lined up at one of the CDC supply trucks to get their house’s rations. It wasn’t that long a line—most people had a few days’ worth of groceries to fall back on—but she and Uncle Dave hadn’t been shopping since Uncle Gary’s collapse. The only one in their house with food remaining was Smuckers, and even now Verlaine wasn’t miserable enough to start eating Meow Mix.

  After she took the sack of food, she began trudging back home. Gas rationing had begun, which meant she couldn’t fill the land yacht up until tomorrow; she had to hoof it today.

  Verlaine didn’t mind that—she felt as though she were beyond caring about anything—until a couple of guys fell into step behind her.

  “Hey,” one of them said. “Hey.”

  She tried to ignore this. In a town as small as Captive’s Sound, nobody was a total stranger, but these guys were unfamiliar. They worked down at the dock, she thought.

  “Hey, gray-haired girl. Hey, come on, talk to us.”

  “I’m busy,” Verlaine said without turning around.

  “Those rations you got there? Government chow? It sucks, huh?”

  It did suck. The food the CDC handed out was like the stuff she’d sometimes put aside for a church food drive, then take back because it seemed cruel to foist it off on poor people: brick cheese, rice, beans, pasta, and lots of canned food, usually food you didn’t even want when fresh, like beets. Verlaine figured it was better than nothing, but that was all it was better than.

  “Hey, come on. You don’t want to talk with us?”

  “By now I’d think that would be obvious,” she snapped.

  Both of them just laughed, and the one who had been quiet up until now said, “You’re not gonna share? You’re not the only hungry person in the world, you know.”

  What a relief to know they only wanted th
e food. If it came down to it, she could drop the sack and run as fast as her legs would carry her. These two wouldn’t come after her, because they’d be too busy scooping up this crappy canned food.

  But then she and Uncle Dave wouldn’t have much to eat. She’d have to try to tough it out.

  “Why are you being so stuck up?” the first guy said. “We’re trying to be friendly. You’re too good to talk to us, share what you’ve got to eat?”

  Walk faster, she thought, but she couldn’t. Her body had burned through all its adrenaline at the hospital, and she had none left to match her fear. Exhaustion dragged at her, and she wondered whether she could run even if she had to.

  The second guy, still quieter, said, “Why are you being such a bitch?”

  Verlaine turned. “Why are you being such idiots? Listen. This is my food. Mine and my family’s. You want yours? Get in line like everyone else!” She dropped one of the bags at her feet, reached into her purse, and pulled out the pepper spray. “Things are screwed up in this town right now. But that doesn’t mean you can get away with anything you want. Now get the hell away from me before I burn your eyes out with this stuff, and don’t think I won’t.”

  That wiped the smiles off their faces. As they slunk away, Verlaine let out a sigh. She doubted they’d follow her—they looked pretty shamefaced—but still, she thought she’d watch them go for a while before she turned her back.

  Then she heard a soft laugh. “You’re more ferocious than I realized. I like that in a woman.”

  “Asa.” Verlaine turned her head to see him standing off to the side, leaning against a parked car, utterly casual. “Wow, thanks for jumping in and saving me.”

  “Demons aren’t big on saving people, as you might have guessed. Besides, you hardly seem to need rescuing.”

  She’d had more than enough attitude for one day. “I’m going home,” Verlaine said. But even as she turned, she hesitated. She couldn’t shake the fear that the dock guys might yet decide to come after her and her stuff.

  “You know, I was just thinking of taking a stroll,” Asa said, walking to her side. “I’d offer to carry your bags, but I’m afraid I’d burn through them.”