I hear them shuffle, and then Jezi says, “You still have time to at least think on it.”
“I know.”
“I’m here for you, Weldon. No matter what you decide.”
I think he kisses her cheek as I turn and head back in, hearing what I needed to hear. He needs Claire; he’s just scared of finally getting his chance. I don’t know how, but somewhere deep inside me, I know he will come around. He’s wanted this for too long.
And when he’s ready to go after her, I’ll be right by his side.
I FEEL OFF BY THE time we meet with Seamus and the rest.
Feel like my brain is still back on that rooftop, trying to come up with the right words to remedy Weldon’s situation. None of us can really relate to the hell he’s been through—the hell he’s still going through—and I feel like this meeting is light years away from being important.
As we head down the hallway and enter the room, he’s already put himself back together as he always does when he’s in front of his brother. He doesn’t show a sliver of the turmoil he must be feeling. He’s controlled in his movements and words, like he’s put on an invisible mask that shields the truth.
But, no matter what, you can’t fool yourself.
“I’m afraid I have bad news,” Seamus says to us minutes later.
We’re all sitting around a large, oblong table in the war-tactics room, alongside General Tillman and a few other new faces. I attempted to give my apologies to Tillman shortly after we entered when everyone was greeting everyone, but he walked right past me, showing me there was nothing I could say to atone for trampling over him and his men in order to get to Katie when Clara had captured her.
I guess some men can’t handle realizing that not all men are stronger than women.
“Well, please, don’t keep us waiting,” Tillman says dryly, his eyes avoiding my side of the room, and I wonder why he didn’t follow Clara. How a man so wound up and moody could possibly play for the right team.
Seamus brings his wrinkled hands together as he stands at the head of the table, clearing his throat. He looks more put together than he has since we returned to Ethryeal City. “I’ve called you all here to address the dire issue within the correction process. Yesterday, a team I assembled met with Dr. Nefarum, who was under the assumption they were training with him to fill the positions left open when the majority of his team left Ethryeal City to follow Clara and Evelyn.”
He continues telling the room everything Jaxen and the rest of us reported back to him and Mack, not sparing a single detail. Even about Katie’s sacrifice. By the time he finishes, those who didn’t know are leaning back in their chairs, digesting everything Seamus just admitted.
“So you’re saying this entire time Clara and Evelyn have been making an army out of my men who have been corrected?” Tillman asks, elbows on the arms of his chair as he leans forward. He looks like he could crack an egg with his pointed glare alone.
Seamus nods as he says, “That is precisely what I’m saying.”
Tillman throws his hands up. “Well, hell. Is there a way to fix this? I’ve got hundreds of thousands of men on standby, waiting for your orders to send them on the frontline into the Underground, and now you’re telling me they’re walking time bombs?”
“The only way to remedy this crisis is to eliminate the trigger,” Seamus says, keeping his cool under the barrage of questions.
“And that is?” Tillman asks, looking between Seamus and Mack as if he wanted the answer yesterday.
Seamus’ face darkens. “A voice. Mourdyn’s voice, to be exact.”
It takes a moment for the room to register what exactly he just said.
I almost can’t breathe. Panic shudders through my being like an earthquake, cracking my composure right in half.
“Mourdyn’s voice?” Tillman repeats, trying to grasp the underlying truth. It’s in his voice… the sudden fear. The dire need for Seamus to tell him he heard wrong.
Mourdyn is a name no one ever wants to hear matched up with the word alive.
Seamus nods, gravely. Takes his seat at the center of the table next to Mack. “Care to explain further, Maddock?”
Mack, I think, is the only one in the room not rattled by what this means. He stands, pushing an open book forward on the table. “Since my return to this city, I’ve spent a lot of time in the library with the few trusted friends I had before the fall of the Priesthood.”
“So that’s what you’ve been doing with your time? Nerding it up?” Weldon jests.
No one laughs.
Mack sends him an icy glare and continues, “There are records kept from the old days when the Divine were the head of the Primeval Coven… things we were never taught in all our training about them. Diaries. Conversations during private meetings held between the Divine. Things of that nature.
“Like us, and like the Priesthood, there were cliques within the Divine. An invisible line drawn between those who had compassion, and those who craved for more. As we all know, Mourdyn was the head of those who craved for more. From the records we were able to obtain, we knew he formed the Darkyn Coven as a means to protect witches from hunters. As a safety net for a plan to remove hunters from existence.”
“Everyone knows this,” Tillman says, taking the words from everyone’s mouth. “Your point?”
My mouth almost hangs open from his blatant disregard of whom he’s addressing. But, then again, times have changed.
Invisible strings of knowledge pull at the corners of Mack’s lips, lifting them into a secret smile. “But what you don’t know is that he wasn’t the only one to form a safety net. Alesteria, his wife and a hunter, had also formed a secret group. A group who would eradicate the Darkyn Coven should they ever try to hurt the Primeval Coven the way she knew Mourdyn was capable of.”
Valleys form between the eyes of every soul in the room.
“There isn’t much on that group, if they even still exist, but in the Divine Cecilia’s diary, it was there that we learned it was because of this group they were able to find and destroy Mourdyn before he unleashed Bael onto this plane of living. And, in her diary, there were clues that led us to finding records hidden within the library. Records of his experimentation on hunters and witches, searching for ways for our kind to be stronger. Better. He kept a log, done by magic, of every experiment and, in some of them, you can hear him talking. That is how I knew his voice. The voice that was also implemented into the video they played back for those they were trying to correct. Almost like Cecilia knew we would need this.”
“Well, she was the witch who foresaw everything that has come to pass,” Weldon says, staring at his nails as if he has better things to do.
“Even my awakening,” I say blindly, thinking about the first day in Mack’s office when he told me this had been foreseen.
“The Darkyns and Bael had to have been planning this. Maybe even during the Battle of the Covens. Mourdyn was a powerful and very wise man. He wouldn’t have gone into war without a back-up plan should things turn awry. Implementing Darkyns into our government system was a means to ensure that whatever back-up plan he had made, it would be seen through when the time was right,” Mack continues. “Which brings us back to Evelyn Carter. Her time on the Priesthood was short. As short as Clara’s. How convenient that Priests on the Priesthood die only months apart so they could ascend to their positions.”
“Those Priests were of old age,” Tillman says as if that was the obvious answer.
“Exactly. Which would lead to less questioning. But now that we know who the real Primevals are, it doesn’t seem so off that maybe Evelyn and Clara had been planning this for a while. Why else spend their entire lives working themselves up the ladder of politics to become the highest regarded position in our Coven, only to walk away from it to become a Darkyn?” Mack proposes, on the same high he always gets when unraveling the truth.
My stomach turns sour. “To set us up.”
Light beams in Mack’s gaz
e. “Precisely. Evelyn handled the corrections and, in that time, our Coven had seen more corrections than ever in history.” He turns and points to one of the many graphs and papers pinned to the board behind him, showing the charted rate of corrections.
Jaxen’s as stiff as a board. “How many are we talking?”
Mack’s eyes dodge to the right before looking back at us all. “Are you sure you want to know?”
Jaxen waits, as do the rest of us.
“Over two hundred thousand.”
Everything I’m thinking and feeling, it freezes, and then crushes under the avalanche of his words.
“Jesus,” Gavin says, pushing his palms against the table.
“Wrong religion,” Weldon counters, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“That’s not all,” Mack says, and I wish I could put duct tape over his mouth to keep from adding more to the pot. But life doesn’t work that way. Just because you’re unaware doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. “Over seventy-five percent of the members who were previously corrected before Evelyn’s reign in office were subsequently asked to come in for a routine check-up… which leads us to believe…”
“That their correction had been modified,” Tillman finishes. He pushes up from his chair. “What are we looking at here? This sounds devastating. I’ve got men and women out there right now prepping for this possible upcoming war, and you’re telling me that the majority are going to turn the moment they hear Mourdyn’s voice?”
“If they hear Mourdyn,” Mack says, a glint in his eye.
Weldon looks over at him as if he can read his thoughts and has just been given hope.
“We have two options,” Mack continues. “Leave Mourdyn resting, letting the Darkyns continue to attack us and the humans until our numbers are too low to ever do anything against them, or… we can continue forward. Awaken him. Let Faye do what she was meant to do and, in the meantime, I can move forward with the plan of how to minimize the exposure to Mourdyn’s voice. We don’t have the time to call back in all of those Watchmen. What’s done is done. But we can try to prevent all of them from turning on us.”
“How?” Tillman asks.
“Magic. I’ve pulled the most talented spell-writing witches left in our Coven together and, at this moment, they’re working on creating a spell strong enough to reach as many members as possible. A spell that will give them another’s voice when they hear Mourdyn’s.”
“And what about her?” Tillman asks, his thumb jerked in my direction. “What exactly is her role?”
My jaw clenches as my fiery gaze catches hold of Tillman and snares him around the neck. “Though I’m under no obligation to explain myself to you, my role is to destroy the Exanimator,” I say, a sharp warning in my tone. “Unless, of course, you’d like to do that yourself.” I purse my lips, pouncing like a cat on a mouse. “Oh, wait. You can’t.”
Weldon laughs right on cue.
Tillman, on the other hand, isn’t impressed as he studies my eyes. “Juvenile jokes coming from a juvenile girl.” He looks to Seamus and Mack. “And this is who is supposed to end the war?”
Weldon mutters something obscene under his breath.
Tillman casts a glance in Weldon’s direction, glaring at his rolling his eyes. “What was that?”
Weldon’s humor dissolves like sugar in boiling water. He’s on his feet, unwavering beneath Tillman’s daring gaze. “What’s that expression?” he says, tapping on his chin. “Ah, yes, don’t judge a book by its cover. Or better yet, don’t let assholes open their mouths so they can spew their meaningless thoughts.”
“Weldon!” Mack barks under his breath.
Weldon, as always, isn’t listening. “This girl right here has done more for our Coven in the past year than you’ve done in your entire career. She’s managed to not only protect the Dagger of Retribution that was sprung on her as a first-year novice, but then she also evaded Bael, who did his best to take it from her. Then she was brought back here, nearly driven mad under the supervision of Clara, and managed to break the Holy seal while protecting most of the men in this room.”
He makes eye contact with the few, higher-ranked soldiers in the room who accompanied us the night we broke the Holy seal.
Tillman opens his mouth to say something, but Weldon shoves his finger in the air, all words and anger.
“And… after that, she was banned while,” he coughs for dramatic flair, “you, General Tillman, stayed here, working for that traitor Clara. In that time, she managed to bring all of us together with hope alone, and then was able to finish what the Coven had asked of her so we could have a fighting chance against the Darkyns. Now, tell me, Dullman. What have you done? Trained men and women to do what you had been taught to do by someone else? Follow orders like a mindless rat?”
Tillman stands, his chair flying backward. “I will not have this—”
Weldon isn’t fazed. He meets Tillman nose to nose, bowing up, veins flexing and bulging in his arms and neck.
I am a spectator at a tennis match of wills.
“If you two do not end this insubordinate behavior right this instant, then I’ll have you both detained,” Mack says as he slams his fist against the table.
Weldon glares over at him. Tillman glowers at Weldon, but neither one of them takes it any further.
“Now,” Mack says, smoothing a hand through his hair, “if you two have a bone to pick, why not pick it with the man who all your anger should be geared toward?”
Tillman turns from Weldon, his chest puffed out. “And that is?”
“Bael.”
One word has the room silent.
“That’s the real enemy here. Turning on each other isn’t going to solve any of our problems,” Mack finishes. “We have a very real war to prepare for here. Do not think no news is good news when it comes to the Darkyns. I know Clara better than anyone in this room, and I know we have yet to see what they have planned for us. Knowing they plan on turning our own against us is a very good lead, but it still isn’t enough to beat them. We have to be smart. We have to strategize. We have to use the tools we’ve been given.”
He’s looking at me. Everyone is.
“You know I’ll do whatever needs to be done,” I say, my chin held high.
“And we’re going to keep your word on that. Starting with the Darkyn who specifically asked for you,” Mack says. His eyes are hard and focused only on me. In them, I know he knows the truth. I would leave in a heartbeat to find out what she knows. Had it not been for Weldon’s final decision, we probably would have left right after this meeting.
“I have no intention of following her demands,” I say truthfully, glad that I’m able to. That I don’t have to lie anymore.
“Good,” he says, watching me a moment more for any sign of a lie. “Then, for now, we’ll continue to work on the spell and a few other tricks up our sleeves.” He inhales, and then looks to Seamus as he adds, “Everyone except Faye and Weldon, please leave the room. Seamus and I have a few things to go over with them.”
I feel Jaxen stiffen. Feel the turbulence of not wanting to be left out ripping through his soul. But he knows. I see it in his green eyes. Though my heart is linked to his, he’s not my partner.
Weldon is.
Feet shuffle around the room and out the door until there is only Weldon, Jaxen, and me, all standing in front of Seamus and Mack. I’m nervous. Anxious. Scared to hear whatever is about to come out of Jaxen’s mouth, because I fear I’ll have to contest it. I fear I’ll have to draw the line he’s been waiting for me to draw.
“Gramm?” Mack says, an eyebrow lifted in curiosity.
Jaxen steps in front of Weldon and me, tucking his hands behind his back. His fingers are clenched tight together. Whatever he’s about to say, it isn’t easy for him.
Mack’s head cocks to the side. “Out with it already.”
Jaxen clears his throat. Looks at the floor, as if his strength is somewhere down there, and then back up at Mack. “I’
m asking that I be assigned to her as her affinity partner.”
My head jerks around to him as he continues on.
“We’re already bonded and—”
“And you already have an affinity partner, Gramm, though I shouldn’t have to remind you of that,” Mack says, clearly disturbed by the proposition.
Jaxen steps closer. “Yes, but I’m a better fit for Faye. I know her. I can protect her.”
“And I can’t?” Weldon says, shaking his head. “Un-freaking-believable. We’re back to this broken record again?”
Jaxen spins on Weldon. “If we’re being honest, then no,” Jaxen says, somehow growing taller in his stance.
“You’re ridiculous, do you know that? So fucking selfish.” Weldon throws his hands in the air at him.
Jaxen face morphs into an anger I’ve never seen before… so suddenly, it almost stuns me. “I’m selfish? How about you? You have your own damn partner, and I don’t see you putting her needs first over protecting Faye! You have no room to speak!”
They break out into an argument, their voices moving further and further away from me.
I feel like I’m hanging on the edge of a building a hundred feet in the air by only my fingertips. My grip is slipping. I can’t catch my breath. Can’t come to terms with the fact that I’m about to fall against my will.
Not until the concrete meets me and I have no choice but to accept it.
“And what do you have to say about this, Miss Middleton?” Mack’s looking at me. Leaving this decision to me alone.
“No.”
My voice is a whisper when it leaves my lips. So I say it again, louder, and I wonder where my strength to say this came from. Wonder how I’m able to deliver this statement, knowing it’s going to damage what Jaxen and I have built between us.
I’m a wall of steel when Jaxen turns and looks at me as if I just stabbed him in the back with a knife.
“Weldon’s my partner. Jezi is yours.”