For a long time, she stayed crouched behind the coffin. Her brain felt slow, as if each thought had to wade through mush to surface. Her sister, alive. Amanda, working with Dad, seizing the stone, trapping her here … And she didn’t know what had happened to Daniel. Please, let him be okay.
Distantly, she heard sirens. She flicked on the lighter again. It took her five tries before she had a flame. Tears pricked her eyes as she kept trying. Finally, the flame took. Lifting it up, she looked around her shelter, her cage. She wasn’t buried in rocks, like in Tikal. Oh, no, this was worse. She was hemmed in by bodies.
She crawled to the closest shroud, and she pushed. Bones creaked and cracked like sticks. Pressing forward, she continued to shoulder through the corpses. They fell on either side of her, only to be replaced by more. “Daniel! Daniel, are you there?”
She thought she heard a voice. Was it his?
More bodies fell against her, tumbling toward her as she tried to push through. Retreating, she looked up. There were too many bodies pressing against the sides of the coffin. She couldn’t escape that way. But maybe she could climb up. Gritting her teeth, she stepped onto the top of the coffin. She pushed a skull aside with her foot and then she reached up and grabbed.
Her hand closed around bones. She pulled, and the skeleton dislodged and fell on her, its face twisted to stare at her. Jumping to the ground, Kayla let the skeleton crash down. She stepped up on the coffin again.
This time, Kayla let the lighter flame die. She didn’t want to see what she was touching. In the darkness, she clawed her way up through the desiccated skeletons, through the monks and soldiers and priests. She tried not to think. She tried not to feel. She just climbed.
At last, she reached up—and she didn’t feel anything above her. She lifted her head and breathed. The air felt cooler. Pushing and kicking, she scrambled on top of the pile of corpses. She took out her lighter again and lit it.
The catacombs had been ravaged. All the shelves and alcoves were empty. Bodies were strewn throughout the hall. Most had been piled where she was hidden. Climbing down the pile, Kayla reached a patch of open floor. She felt coated in the dust of bones—on her skin, in her hair, under her fingernails. She wanted more than anything to run up the steps, out of the church, and keep running as far as she could. But she didn’t.
“Daniel!” she called. She headed deeper into the catacombs, toward the conquistador’s tomb. She plowed through a sea of bones. Skulls littered the ground. Leg and arm bones cracked beneath her feet. “Daniel?”
Finally, she reached the tomb.
He wasn’t there.
The tomb had been untouched. On the altar, the candles were still lit. Wax dripped down their sides and pooled on the candle holders. Shadows danced on the walls. The coffin sat quietly, undisturbed, and the Bible was untouched. A pile of ropes lay on the ground. He’d escaped!
She couldn’t decide if she was happy or pissed.
Leaving the conquistador’s tomb, she looked across the catacombs. She’d have to cross it, all of it, to reach the stairs. There wasn’t a choice.
Wading forward, she began the trek. She weaved between corpses, climbed over stone coffins, and inched along the wall, trying to avoid the worst of it. Eventually, she reached the stairs. Ambient light from the church filtered down, casting enough shadows to see the outline of stairs. Letting the lighter flame dissipate, Kayla walked up the steps.
Close to the top, she stopped. The door had been yanked off its hinges. It dangled to the side. She heard voices. Multiple voices. Creeping up the steps, Kayla peered out. Pews had been ripped from the floor. Stones on the walls were cracked. The pulpit leaned cockeyed.
There was no question about it: her sister was scary as hell.
Police crawled through the church. A few of them were standing near the entrance to the catacombs. If they saw Kayla, there would be questions, a lot of questions she couldn’t answer. Slipping back down the stairs, she sank onto the bottom step.
“Kayla?” The whisper echoed through the catacombs.
“Daniel?” She kept her voice soft and hoped it carried to him and not up to the police. “I’m here. By the stairs.” A second later, he appeared beside her and pulled her close to him.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest.
“God, you’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay,” he said. “What happened? I jumped as soon as she left the tomb. I tried to intercept her. I didn’t know— What did she do? Are you all right?”
“Fine. I’m fine. Tell me she didn’t get away with the stone.”
“Chased her as far as I could. She chucked cars at me. Cars, Kayla. She’s strong.”
“Yeah, I noticed that.”
“Lost her halfway across the city. She may have jumped into a cab. Or sprouted wings and flew. I don’t know. Best guess: she’s on a plane out of here. Probably halfway across the Atlantic by now.”
“You couldn’t intercept her at the airport?”
“I couldn’t leave you,” Daniel said. He stroked her hair, and she decided not to tell him what kind of dust clung to her. He added, “Plus I tried. I couldn’t find her. For all I know, she went to a private airstrip. Or boarded a plane before I got there.”
“Or hijacked one,” Kayla said grimly.
“Possible. Your sister does lack subtlety.”
“My sister is insane.”
Flashlights flickered on the walls of the stairwell, and then the overhead lights snapped on. Strings of bulbs throughout the catacombs blinked and then blazed. Daniel put his hand on Kayla’s shoulder, and the crypt disappeared as the police hurried down the stairs.
Gray. White. Yellow.
They appeared on the sidewalk across from the church.
News vans, police cars, and ambulances filled the street. Gawkers crowded the sidewalk. A few of them spotted Kayla and began to point. It occurred to her what she must look like, covered in dirt and dust from the crypt. Someone snapped a picture.
Retreating, Kayla threw her hands in front of her face. “We have to get out of here. Now.”
One of the policemen noticed them. He began to head through the crowd as Daniel reached for Kayla’s hand.
She pulled away before he could touch her. “We can’t let them see us disappear. There are photos!” Pivoting, Kayla walked in long strides down the street. With Daniel trailing behind her, she wove between the onlookers. Too many people! Behind them, the policeman shouted at them to stop—or she guessed that was what he said.
Grabbing her hand, Daniel began to run. Together, they ran over the uneven cobblestones. Shouts grew behind them. Cars sped down the cross street. Kayla and Daniel turned the corner, running past a horse-drawn carriage and a vendor selling flowers and fruit. Shops were open beside them. A store with an antique birdcage in the window. A bakery. They passed racks of postcards and tourist knickknacks.
Yanking Daniel with her, Kayla ducked into one of the restaurants. She was out of breath but flashed a smile at the hostess as if she meant to be there. She walked faster, through the tables, toward the back. The hostess hurried after them, menus in her hand, but Kayla ran into the restroom, pulled Daniel with her, and shut the door.
Her heart raced. Her breathing was fast, too fast. She took a deep breath as someone knocked on the door. “Now what?” Daniel asked.
“Take us to my house,” she ordered Daniel.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes. It’s time to talk to Moonbeam.”
Chapter 24
Seconds later, they were by the red gate, outside Kayla’s garden. Dropping Daniel’s hand, she pushed through the gate and beelined for the cottage. She threw her mind ahead of her and felt a shape inside—a woman. “Moonbeam? Mom?” When she didn’t hear a response, she started to run. She shoved open the door.
Seated at the kitchen table, eating a brownie, was Queen Marguerite.
Around her, the cottage was in the middle of being packed. Piles of
clothes were stacked on Moonbeam’s bed. Baskets were stuffed with herbs and amulets. The kitchen dishes were out of the cabinets. Several half-full boxes lay on the floor, as well as an assortment of bags. All the prayer scarves and mobiles had been taken down from the ceiling and dumped on the floor—they looked like a pile of dead birds.
Seeing Kayla, the voodoo queen smiled. “Ahh, at last! Come in, honey. Bring the boy too. We have much to discuss, and I’m afraid time is not on our side.”
Passing her, Kayla ran through the cottage, peered into the bathroom, and looked out the window. “Moonbeam? Moonbeam! Where is she?” She pushed her mind through the house and yard, ruffling the prayer scarves and piles of clothes and stirring the loose papers. She didn’t feel anyone else.
“You should sit, both of you. Have a brownie. They’re delicious.”
“Why are you here?” Daniel demanded.
Kayla reached with her mind for the open pepper container in the spice cabinet, and she swirled the pepper out in a cloud. It looked like a swarm of bees. “What did you do to her?” She drew the pepper swarm toward the voodoo queen.
“Me?” Queen Marguerite looked the picture of affronted innocence.
Around Kayla, the prayer scarves and mobiles stirred on the floor and then rose. Paper fluttered. Wind whooshed through the cottage. Kayla’s hands clenched as she reached for more: herbs, sewing needles, her extra razor blades. “Tell me what you did to her. Or I swear I’ll make you tell me.”
Queen Marguerite scanned the array of items floating in the air. “Interesting. You’ve improved your control, my dear. Such range and precision. But you’re aiming your wrath at the wrong person. I didn’t do anything to your mother. Believe me, I’d never hurt her.”
“I don’t believe you, and I’m getting very tired of being played.”
“Oh, lovey, you’ve been a pawn since the day you were born. But don’t you worry. I am about to queen you. The only thing standing between you and the future you want is knowledge of the past, and I am here to give it to you.” Beckoning, Queen Marguerite patted the stool beside her. Kayla didn’t move and didn’t drop any of her makeshift weapons. “Very well, have it your way. Be uncomfortable.”
“Where is Moonbeam?” Kayla demanded.
“I don’t know.” Queen Marguerite looked for an instant as if she wanted to say more, but then she picked up another brownie and bit into it. “Mmm-mm, does your mother know how to cook. Always did.”
“How do you know her?” Kayla asked.
“That’s a better question,” Queen Marguerite approved. “I am the one who sold her the first stone. I am the one who started it all, and I want to be the one who ends it.”
Daniel laid his hand over Kayla’s. “Calm down. I think we need to listen to her.”
She met his eyes. Earnest. Intense. And as scared as she was. Slowly, she let the pepper and the herbs fall onto the floor. Sewing needles clattered as they fell. The scarves drifted down like feathers. The dreamcatchers tangled as they tumbled together. The razor blades landed on the coffee table and she put one of them in her pocket. Finished, Kayla crossed to the kitchen with Daniel. They both sat on stools.
Queen Marguerite smiled. “Good. Years ago, many years ago, before you were born and before I was born, my mother acquired one of the three stones. She was told that the spell required three casters to stand in a pool of water, drop their blood on the stone, and say the words—and the result would be ultimate power. She wasn’t told it required three stones.”
“But how—”
“She and two of her friends cast the spell, all hoping to gain power. And the magic came. It shook the ground and lit up the sky … but none of them felt any different. Without all three stones, the spell was incomplete. The magic was summoned but not directed. She spent the next several decades off and on, more off than on really, searching for where the power went. Once called, magic can’t just disappear; it has to go somewhere. When I was born, she figured out where it went. Mystery solved, she put the stone away so no one could use or abuse it again. She didn’t tell me that, of course. Not then. Not until after it was too late.”
“Where did the power go?” Daniel asked.
Queen Marguerite held up one finger. “Patience. A story has to unfold at its own pace; otherwise it ends up muddled. Eat something, if you feel the need to move your jaw.”
“Avoid the brownies,” Kayla cautioned him.
Abruptly, the voodoo queen dropped her brownie. “Why?”
“She drugs them sometimes.”
Marguerite eyed the brownies for a moment, murmured a few words, and then relaxed. “These are fine. Why on the good green earth would your mother mess with her brownie recipe?”
“It’s part of her disguise. New Agey hippie chick, bakes pot brownies.”
The voodoo queen shook her head. Her shoulders slumped, and all the attitude vanished as if in a puff of smoke. “This isn’t the life she was supposed to have.” Kayla thought she saw a true emotion on Marguerite’s face: regret. “Your mother was the brightest light I ever met—”
Daniel interrupted. “Not to be impatient, but could you get back to the point?” Belatedly, he added, “Please?”
Nodding wearily, Marguerite set the brownies aside. It occurred to Kayla that she might have been eating for show, to pretend she was in control—like the way Kayla had with the cookies when she first met Daniel. Now, suddenly, the show was over.
She continued her story. “My mother wasn’t the easiest person in the world to get along with, and we fought often. One hot summer afternoon, after a vicious fight, I was working in the shop and a sixteen-year-old girl came in with her boyfriend and her best friend. They wanted a protective charm. They showed me the friend’s bruises and the cigarette burn on the boy’s arm.” She paused, as if remembering. “I told them to go to the police, or a teacher, or someone else who could help. But they wanted magic. And I wanted to help them. I also wanted to upset my mother. I thought I could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, and so I sold that girl the stone. I told her it required three casters to stand in water (to conduct the magic), drip blood on the stone (to bind it), and say the words (to summon it). I told her if she and her friends could make this spell work, no one would ever be able to hurt them again.”
“Let me take a wild guess,” Kayla said. “That girl was my mother.”
“Not yet but she would be,” Marguerite said. “My mother was furious, and when she told me what happened when the spell was cast with only a single stone … Well, I tried to get it back, but I didn’t know where they had gone. Before I could find them, your parents and his mother activated the incantation.”
Daniel objected. “But my mother never did magic. She studied it.”
“Your mother used to do magic. She was addicted to magic.” Her voice was sad. “All three of them were. They all had raw talent, and that drew them to each other … and eventually to the stone.” She tried to smile but it ended in a grimace. She’d started the story as if it were any story, like the tale of Fire Is Born, but there was pain in her eyes, as if this tale meant something to her. Kayla found herself wanting to reach out to the voodoo queen, but she stayed where she was. Marguerite hadn’t yet answered the most important question: Where was Moonbeam? “They were so full of fear. The lure of never being hurt again … I could not have thought of a better enticement if I’d planned it. Lorelei, your mother, wanted so desperately to protect her friends. But I never should have sold her that stone, not without knowing its true history, and for that, I’m deeply ashamed.”
Kayla thought of what Amanda had said, about their father’s childhood. And she thought of the photo she’d seen, of two thin children.
“After that, Lorelei and I grew close. I became her teacher—shared with her everything I knew about magic—and I thought …” She trailed off for a moment, as if caught in a memory, and then resumed. “But then Jack and Lorelei married, Evelyn escaped to college, and all three of them moved
away from their families and from me. Soon after, Evelyn married a man with no magic at all who doted on her. I didn’t see or hear from any of them again until years later when their children were born with powers of the mind. By this time, my beloved mother had passed away, but Evelyn—Daniel’s mother—was clever enough to come to me to seek the answer why.”
“Why?” Daniel asked, and Kayla echoed.
“Come now, children. Use your little brains.” Queen Marguerite reached out and tapped both of their foreheads. “What do you and I have in common? Our parents all cast an incomplete spell. The magic was summoned but not directed.”
Kayla blinked at her. “Our powers are a side effect? Like some kind of weird birth defect from our parents doing drugs?”
“Very like,” Queen Marguerite said. “Once the spell was cast, the magic had to go somewhere. Since the spell failed to finish, the magic went into us, or into the seeds that became us. The magic is inside us.” She thumped her chest for emphasis.
So Kayla was a product of a freak accident, a genetic mutation, a birth defect. There was nothing natural about her power. It wasn’t a gift or a curse. It was a mistake.
Daniel voiced the thought out loud. “We’re a mistake?”
“Some of the finest people I know were mistakes,” Queen Marguerite said. “Don’t you go thinking that makes you special. Or, more importantly, not special.”
“What happened next?” Kayla asked.
“It was Evelyn who figured out why the spell failed. The incantation was meant to be performed by three casters with three stones. One stone for the mind, one for the body, and one for the world. The stone that my mother and your parents used held mind powers—telekinesis and teleportation.”
“Hence, us,” Kayla said.
“What about the other two stones?” Daniel asked.