Eternally Yours

  Guess what. At the bottom of the steps there was a small room-size space, and from that space three tunnels branched. Each one darker than hell. I mean, kill me now.

  “This is a Stephen King movie,” I said.

  River patted my back. “No, my dear. This is your complicated, exciting, real life.”

  Actually, doing dishes and milking cows was starting to sound pretty good about now.

  “Who knows about these tunnels? Where did they come from? What do you use them for?”

  “Just a few of us, so of course don’t tell anyone,” said River, answering my first question. “I started work on these when I first bought the property almost ninety years ago. I got them to where I wanted by the late sixties. I like having options.”

  “Huh,” I said, trying to wrap my mind around this new development. “Ott? Aren’t you afraid of me knowing about this?”

  His lips pressed together. I bet his jaws ache by the end of the day. Every day. “Yes, of course.”

  “We made a bet,” said River. “So don’t let me down. I will share the pain.”

  Well, now I was intrigued.

  “They’re a maze,” said Ottavio. “So pay attention: Take the right tunnel. When it forks, you take the right tunnel again. In that tunnel you’ll see…”

  My jaw dropped open as my brain scrambled to keep up, but River put a hand on Ottavio’s arm. “There’s an easier way, dear.”

  Thus it was that Ottavio, king of the House of Genoa, and moi, heir to the Iceland house, and River had a group mind-meld.

  We moved into the left tunnel, which was unlit. I felt a cool breeze wafting over my face and hair, so I knew this wasn’t a dead end—there was circulation coming from somewhere. Quickly River drew a large, perfect chalk circle on the stone floor. Ott and I stepped into it, and River closed it behind her. It was much darker here, and Ottavio made a quick gesture with his hand at chest height. A small, crackly blue light ignited and hung there, in the middle of the three of us. I couldn’t see anything burning—the light existed by itself.

  River smiled at my disbelief. “They call it witch fire,” she said. “You can even throw it at people.”

  “That is awesome,” I said, staring at it. See? This is the stuff I wanted to be learning—not another freaking ointment you can make from mint.

  Ott looked pleased with himself.

  We held hands. River’s was cool and familiar, fitting into mine. Ott’s was large and steely. River murmured words to help us focus on the light and clear our minds. I wasn’t at all sure I wanted my brain synapses to be intermingling with Ottavio’s—but I had to trust River. I mean, I had to, right? Because if she wasn’t exactly what I believed she was, then my life truly would be over. I truly wouldn’t have anything to believe in, and I would have to call it a day.

  I was getting to be definitely intermediate, if not advanced, at falling into a meditative state as fast as a sneeze. It felt like I’d taken only about five deep breaths when the dark walls receded into the distance. I felt warmer and more comfortable, and I saw River and Ottavio as if we were standing outdoors somewhere in muted light. All of the weight and dread of the upcoming battle slipped off our shoulders like a heavy jacket.

  I was anxious about Ottavio and reflexively shut down when I felt his consciousness edge mine. He shut down, too. River put on her patient face and slowly sang us both back into relaxing and trusting.

  It was like being on a roller coaster, a slow roller coaster—I was both driving and being driven, watching myself take this journey even as I was experiencing it. Ottavio poked around in my memories a bit. I felt his solemnity at the deaths of my family, felt him accept who I was and acknowledge that if I ever learned anything and wasn’t a total screwup, I would be very strong indeed. He wondered if I had taken my family’s powers when they died, and of course I hadn’t—hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t known that it could be done.

  I saw River’s and Ottavio’s shared memories—some joyous, like celebrating the festival of Saint George, patron saint of Genoa; some dark and evil, as River and Ottavio plotted against business associates and other people who had thwarted them. I saw Ottavio marry and his mortal wife dying of the plague. One of the plagues.

  Roberto had once been spoiled, conniving, and jealous—I saw how he changed and became the family favorite. He had an inner sweetness as well as a deep appreciation for beauty. Ahem.

  Joshua had been scarred and incensed when he learned of River and Ottavio’s plan to kill their siblings. Even then he’d been tall and lean, with an almost feral, hungry look and no softness or tenderness in him. River grew to love him fiercely, protectively. He would come back from some war, and she would take him in. His physical wounds healed quickly—it was his psyche that became more and more scarred. I felt her despair and concern.

  Ottavio was the oldest, then River, then Joshua, Daniel, and Roberto. Daniel was the one somewhat lost in the middle. He lacked Ottavio’s stern attention to responsibility and didn’t share River’s generous strength. He disliked war and couldn’t fathom Joshua’s dogged need for battle. Daniel did like money, though, and proved a savvy investor and manager of the family fortune.

  They were fascinating insights into the family, this ancient, powerful family that had come from all over the world to be together, to stand together through whatever happened.

  Ottavio saw me losing my son, saw me poor and desperate, then beautiful and rich, then poor and desperate again; being hateful, being careless and selfish. He saw Sea Caraway and the original Nastasya, with a junkie’s pallid, bony face and harsh, black-lined eyes. He saw how I tried to drown all feelings, wall myself off. How I shied away from emotion like a cat from a fire. And he saw where I was now: how I was trying, wasn’t sure I would make it, didn’t want to let River down.

  I saw River, Ottavio, and their brothers make a blood pact to be loyal to one another always.

  I saw a younger, dark-haired River picking up a girl from a gutter—a horse and wagon had knocked her into the muck. She was in a servant’s worn clothes, and when River pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the girl’s face, the girl flinched. And then was astonished by River’s kindness.

  My eyes went wide, and I drew in a quick breath as the girl’s face appeared: She was Eva Henstrom, long before I knew her. My mind flew back—she’d said a woman had helped her. Had she mentioned the woman’s name? I didn’t think so. But it had been River—six hundred years ago.

  Ottavio turned to business: He went over the layout of the tunnels, again and again, until I could walk through them blindfolded and find my way out. Along the way he showed me sigils of concealment, illusion, fear—if someone was following me, they would feel an unexplained dread and become confused and panicky.

  River also imparted what she could: spells of protection and also of attack. It started to feel like too much—I couldn’t take it all in; it would soon leak out of my ears. Would I remember any of it? I didn’t know.

  Slowly we surfaced from our meditation. In some ways a mind-meld is like seeing people in their underwear—afterward you know them better, are embarrassed, and yet feel warmer about the vulnerability they shared. Plus it was exhausting, and I was starving.

  I tried not to sway on my feet, feeling overwhelmed and perhaps exhilarated. River looked at Ottavio.

  “Do you see?” she asked softly.

  He nodded, looking at me. For the first time his eyes weren’t shooting black ice; he still didn’t like me, but he believed who I was and why I was here. He believed I wasn’t the traitor.

  I swallowed. “I wonder if there are any gingersnaps left.”

  River smiled and rubbed my arm. “Let’s go see.”

  CHAPTER 29

  River had a friend come pick up all the horses. She arranged with the farmer next door to let our two cows, the sheep, and the goats go through a gate onto his property, so they were off our land and pretty far away. Though our enemy had already targeted the chickens once, River hoped t
hat in a big fight, they would seem too insignificant to bother with.

  I was glad the animals were gone. The idea of something awful happening to them—of me having to know that something awful had happened to them—had only increased my fear, especially after Daisuke’s story of the hex barn.

  This is what war is like: You pare down, try to keep your valuables safe, and brace for the worst. It was like that wagon train to California—in the beginning people took everything they thought they’d absolutely need and regretfully left behind the things they didn’t have room for. As the trail went on, they found they could live without many things that had seemed essential when they set out. Farther on, after fording rivers, enduring drought, after some of them died and some went crazy, they found they could do without even more.

  By the end of the trail, their needs had been reduced to: water. They discovered that the only thing they really, really needed was their lives. Everything else was replaceable, everything else was worthless, compared to the value of simply still being alive at the end of the day.

  So now all we worried about was staying alive, because someone out there wanted us dead. After the many, many times when I’d cared so little whether I lived or died, when I did stupid, risky, self-hating things because my life had no value—it now felt strange to be focusing on survival. And not just to be polite, either. I was not ready to die. Or give up my power, the power I’d never bothered with. I wanted more time to come to grips with my relationship with Reyn. And to learn more. And be friends with Brynne, and be a success story for River. And to be really toasty warm one more freaking time.

  “Are you quite sure we can’t just pack up and head someplace sunny?” I asked at dinner that night. It felt weird, knowing about the escape tunnels. Other people had to know about them, but I had no idea who.

  River shook her head. “Thank you for asking. Again. But this needs to be dealt with now. Going somewhere would only delay things. I, for one, need to know who’s behind this and what they want.”

  “They want power,” said Joshua, not looking up. “As much as they can get.”

  “Have any of the attacks been simultaneous?” Reyn asked. “Like, in two cities on the same day? In different parts of the world at the same time?”

  “No,” said River. “We plotted the attacks on a world map and dated them. While some of them are quite close together, it still looks sequential.”

  “Why?” Daniel asked.

  “Wondering if it’s just one person or group, or whether they have cells all over the place, making a joint attack,” Reyn said.

  “Right now we’re assuming it’s one person or group,” said Joshua. “After dinner I want to go over our plans again. Remember, no matter who comes, how many there are, or how they engage us, this is a battle. This person or people have killed our friends all over the world, and now they’re coming for us.”

  “Don’t worry about right or wrong,” said Reyn flatly. “Don’t follow gentlemen’s rules of engagement. This isn’t a historical reenactment—this is life or death. If you stab someone in the chest, it will annoy him. If you shoot someone in the heart, it will only slow him down. Go for the throat, push in, then swing sideways as hard as you can, like we showed you.”

  It was all so chillingly real.

  “Don’t fight fair; don’t worry what you look like,” Joshua continued. “Do whatever you have to do to stop our enemy, no holds barred.”

  “Like at a sale at Loehmann’s,” Brynne said.

  Joshua and Reyn blinked identically.

  “Yes, like that,” said River.

  Joshua shook his head as if to clear it of such a fluffy notion. “Expect to get hurt. Expect to feel pain. Don’t let it make you panic. You know that as long as your head is still on your body, you’re okay. Keep going.”

  There were solemn nods around the table. My knees were shaking, and I pressed my feet hard into the ground to make them stop. I cared if we won or lost. I cared if my friends got hurt or killed. I cared if someone destroyed River’s Edge. God, this sucked so bad. What had I been thinking?

  Once more we went through the plans of attack and escape, marking exits and routes on a diagram as if we were on a plane preparing for some emergency that would never really happen. Reyn and Joshua did most of the talking, but Daisuke would jump in sometimes to clarify something or add another viewpoint. The other two listened respectfully. I wondered what Daisuke was feeling underneath. Was he regretting being called into battle again? He could have left if he’d wanted to. Did he feel that fighting would set him back on his path?

  In the end, there was no time for moral uncertainties or wavering conviction. In the end, everything about it was a surprise.

  “Nastasya? Could you please do me a favor?” River asked. I got up from the kitchen table and stuck my sword into the scabbard on my belt.

  “Sure,” I said.

  She was apologetic. “I know it’s almost dark—I should have thought of this earlier. I need some things out of one of the work cupboards.” She handed me a list and a basket. “They should all be in the cupboard in Anne’s classroom—take as much of each thing as you can.”

  “Okay,” I said. Sure, I love being in the dark. Outside. By myself.

  “I can go with you,” Daniel said, picking up his sword.

  “Good idea,” River agreed. “We don’t want anyone outside on their own.”

  There was maybe a two-and-a-half-minute window where there would be a bit of fading light. I felt that River was perhaps being a bit lackadaisical about my health and well-being and then realized with a sinking feeling that I was probably one of the more expendable people there.

  Head up, eyes alert as we crossed the yard, I kept one hand lightly on the hilt of my sword, the way Reyn had showed me. I thought longingly of the days when I was a horrible waste of a person but was relatively safe.

  “So,” said Daniel, “who do you think is behind these attacks?”

  He was the brother I knew the least; my only dealing with him had been when he’d tried to bribe me to leave River’s Edge. Since then he’d seemed the most opaque of the brothers. I remembered my shared vision with River and Ottavio, about how Daniel in some ways had been the forgotten middle child.

  I glanced at him. He was not, strictly speaking, quite as handsome as either Ottavio or Roberto. His features were a little softer, less finely cut. How funny that Brynne had passed over this well-groomed, civilized individual in favor of Joshua, who had much less to offer. At least on the surface.

  “No thoughts? Opinions?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. For some reason I didn’t want to talk about my possible uncle, or possible old friends, who could be behind this, like Cicely. Not that she could get an attack together—she couldn’t even plan a dinner party.

  “Do you feel like being here has made you stronger?” he asked, pulling open the barn door. “Like, have you learned a lot of powerful magick?”

  My eyes narrowed. River had the nosiest, most buttinsky brothers. But maybe he wanted to make sure I’d be an asset in this situation.

  “How about you?” I countered, heading to the workroom.

  “Oh, I’m strong enough,” he said mildly. He waited in the doorway while I quickly pawed through the shelves, checking River’s list, making sure I’d gotten all of it.

  “Okay,” I said, going over the list one last time. “I guess that’s it.” I picked up the basket and headed for the doorway, but Daniel didn’t move.

  “Let’s go,” I said bluntly.

  He shrugged. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you. I was wondering what you thought about River, and the whole setup here.”

  I guess a polite person would have answered, made congenial conversation with the brother of her mentor. But we know where I stand on politeness. “Why?”

  Daniel looked taken aback. “I think River’s worried about you.”

  “In what way? Let me out.”

  Reluctantly Daniel moved aside
—I practically had to elbow him out of the way to get by.

  “She thinks you’re a liability.”

  His quiet words made me pause in the barn aisle, and I turned to look at him.

  “Did she say that?” I asked tightly.

  He shrugged again. “She’s not sure she can trust you,” he went on, seeing he had my attention. “She doesn’t think you know enough to help. She and Ottavio are still convinced the attacks are somehow related to you.”

  It was all I could do to not hyperventilate. Hurt, panicky thoughts ripped through my brain like barbed wire, shredding my confidence and making me question everything.

  Daniel came a few steps closer, a sympathetic look on his face. “It’s just—the bad stuff started happening once you came. And then you went off with Innocencio—she’s told me how horrific the scene in Boston was.”

  My cheeks burned at the picture of River telling Daniel this.

  “You haven’t been here long enough for her to really know you.” He gave a short laugh. “Believe me, she can take some convincing. You have to prove yourself over and over.”

  Sickening, too-familiar feelings of embarrassment and shame spread their icy tendrils through me, making my heart pound and my jaw clench. And then—

  —and then some much savvier part of me said, Hang on. Are you going to believe this guy you hardly know, or are you going to trust what River said herself and what your own eyes and ears and heart tell you?

  Not long ago, I would have trusted what Daniel was saying immediately—I had no reference against which to weigh trust and honesty, no compass point to determine what was real and what was illusion.

  But—my head was so much clearer now. I now knew when I was being honest with myself, and that crucial change allowed me to see honesty in others.

  Daniel was bullshitting me. Why?

  “I know it’s hard to take in,” he said kindly, moving closer. “She’s always been skilled at presenting a face that hides what’s really going on. It’s difficult to tell what her real motivations are, what uses she has for people.”