For Whom the Spell Tolls

I clenched my eyes tightly against the tears welling up because I refused to cry in front of my father. No matter what happened, I wouldn’t allow the bastard to see one tear. Once my torn emotions were back under control, I opened my eyes and looked up at my father. Turning to his left, he ordered the man standing there to take Knight into custody. The man came down the same staircase as the previous man, wasting no time in apprehending Knight. As soon as he did, he motioned for Knight to turn around so he could cuff him, but Knight looked at my father instead, with a raised brow expression.

  “Do you really think this is necessary, O’Neil?” he asked, holding his hands up as if to say, “I’m surrendering, so why the dog and pony show?”

  “I don’t want any games, Vander,” my father replied matter-of-factly.

  Knight laughed dryly. “There are no games to play, O’Neil. You’ve won.” Looking over at me, he shook his head sadly, before returning his attention to my father. “You won as soon as you threatened the life of the woman I love.” He took a deep breath and I felt my heart sinking. “Do you really need to rub salt in my wounds by forcing my men to see me in shackles?”

  My father looked unimpressed as he shook his head. It appeared he couldn’t care less about any of us, which was probably the truth. “Call your soldiers off,” he said with ennui, before facing the man beside him. “Assist Taurus in leading the Loki to the holding facility in Belgate Tower,” he said. “There’s no need for cuffs unless he refuses to go willingly.” Then he faced Knight. “And you won’t refuse to go willingly, will you, Vander?”

  Knight shook his head. “Guarantee Dulcie’s safety and I won’t fight.”

  “I give you my word as her father,” Melchior replied as if his word meant a damned thing. It didn’t—especially after he’d already made it very apparent that I meant nothing to him.

  “Do us both a favor and give me your word as the Head of the Illegal Potions Trade,” Knight rebuked, his lips a tight line. Apparently, my father’s vow offended him as much as me.

  “You have my word,” Melchior responded with more irritation.

  Knight then turned to me and smiled. He seemed to be trying to reassure me, as if he thought this was just a small “blip” in our lives, and we’d be together again soon. “Just stay alive, Dulce, don’t do anything stupid that could get you killed … please.”

  I swallowed hard, my tears threatening to fall again. I just didn’t know what to do or whom to turn to.

  There is no one left to turn to! I railed at myself. We’ve lost!

  We had lost. The words echoed through me, leaving nothing but intense feelings of depression in their wake. The words continued to assault me until they were nothing more than the most devastating words in the English language. We had lost and now there was nothing left for me, but learn what fate my father had in store for me. There appeared to be no other alternatives. As to the here and now, Knight and I were vastly outnumbered, and who knew what was going on outside? The fleeting hope that our men were defeating my father’s guards suddenly crossed my mind, but I had to ignore it because the battle was already over. Why? Because Knight and I were in custody, and Christina was lost in a forest somewhere, if not captured or dead. Either way, without a leader, there was no Resistance left.

  “I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re spared,” I whispered to Knight, although I felt the futility of my words right down in my bones.

  But there was something in Knight’s eyes that threw me, something that seemed out of place. Not worry, rage, disillusionment, or fear, but a jubilance that was inappropriate to the situation. “I just want you to take care of yourself,” he said softly, but emphatically. “Whatever you do, whatever decisions you’re forced to make, consider only yourself, Dulcie.”

  I shook my head, unsure why and how he could be thinking of my future when his was so uncertain, or maybe it was more fitting to say his was certain—certainly bad. “Knight,” I started, my voice cracking.

  “Enough!” my father ordered. Facing the two men on either side of Knight, he added, “Once his men have surrendered, put them all in High Prison. Vander will make his home in the dungeon.” Then he took a deep breath as something else occurred to him. “Throw Beaurigard down there too, for that matter.”

  “Yessir,” the man closest to him replied. They each took one of Knight’s arms and started to lead him out of the room.

  I couldn’t even hug him good-bye, or kiss him one last time? I thought as I felt my heart sink. As he walked away, something in his stride caught my attention. His steps were confident and purposeful. And confidence just seemed so out of place considering the situation. In watching him leave the room, it felt as if something inside of me was being trampled to death, as if half of my soul was being ripped apart. Knight turned around and faced me just before he reached the doorway and mouthed “I love you.”

  Before I could respond, my father’s men forced him into the hallway and they disappeared around the corner. I was left with nothing but cold numbness in my gut. Even with an all-consuming sense of loss and desperation, there was still a glimmer of hope deep inside me that defied logic. While I recognized the situation for the piece of total shit that it was, there was something else inside me that still rebelled, something that refused to be silenced. Why? Because Knight hadn’t acted defeated. There was a hop to his step and a fire in his eyes that said our fight was far from over. I’d read in his gaze as clear as day the fact that he refused to go down so easily. As to his plan though, I didn’t have a clue. I reminded myself of his parting words to me: for me to think only of myself. It was something you’d say to someone if you had a plan for yourself, but were still worried about theirs. The subtle feelings of hope began to surface inside me until they ignited a conflagration of optimism. We hadn’t lost. Not yet anyway.

  “We find ourselves in an unfortunate situation,” my father started. He and the only remaining guard walked down the spiral staircase, taking their sweet ass time. Hearing my father’s voice, I sensed his delusional feelings of supremacy and pride. For the second time in the past twenty minutes, I felt like I wanted to throw up.

  I ignored my father and turned my attention to Bram, who was approaching me quickly. His eyes were pools of mystery when he closed the distance that separated us and we were only two inches apart. Instinctively, I wanted to step back, preparing for whatever he was planning to do or say to me. I just couldn’t define the look in his eyes and my Spidey senses went on high alert. I’m not sure why I didn’t step back, but I didn’t. Instead, I stood my ground and watched Bram reach for my hand. I narrowed my eyes, but allowed him to take it all the same. Then I watched as he slipped his hand inside his jacket and pulled out Knight’s Op 8 that he’d retrieved from the floor only moments earlier.

  He leaned into me, his eyes twinkling like sapphires as he smiled, his fangs in full effect. At first, I feared he was going to bite me, but the look in his eyes wasn’t one of hunger. It was the look of victory, or triumph. He brought his lips to my cheek, as if he were going to kiss me, but instead, whispered. “Not everything is as it seems, Sweet.” Feeling the cold steel butt of the Op 8 in my palm, I wrapped my fingers around it tightly.

  And then I understood.

  What happened next seemed as if it took place in a series of still photos. It was as if time stopped and allowed each second to exist as an image snapped by a camera. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sounds of heavy footfalls on the hardwood floors of my father’s library as my father and his bodyguard approached us. My body went into autopilot as I opened my eyes and pivoted on my right foot, turning in my father’s direction. I felt a swoosh of wind against my face as Bram dematerialized from where he’d been standing in front of me and reappeared behind me.

  My body stayed on autopilot as I did what I’d done hundreds of times before as a Regulator in the ANC. When it came to pure mechanics, this situation was no different than the countless busts I’d made on myriad criminals. Sure, the backgrou
nd was different along with the players, but my response was the same. Strangely enough, I began channeling a moment long ago when I was a lowly cadet, working for the ANC in Splendor and Quill first taught me how to shoot a gun. Remembering his instruction, I placed my feet and hips shoulder-width apart with my knees slightly bent. I raised the Op 8 to my dominant eye, aligning the crosshairs on my father. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I squeezed the trigger. I never did get to see his response. Instead, my brain alerted me that there was still one threat remaining—my father’s bodyguard. With cool ease, I watched the man reach for the pistol sitting in the holster around his waist. I took another breath and simply aimed the Op 8 at him, waiting until I had him in my sights and squeezed the trigger again, watching him go down.

  After firing the second shot, time seemed to speed up again and the dreamlike landscape dissolved into cold reality. I dropped my arms to my sides and did nothing but stand still for two seconds, merely allowing my heartbeat to calm as I tried to regulate my breathing. Then, remembering my training, I held the Op 8 out in front of me again and approached the still figures of the two men I’d just shot. Training my gun on the guard, who was closest to me, I bent down onto my knees and reached out to check his pulse. My eyes settled on the enormous bullet hole in his gut, his blood already turning purple after making contact with the dragon’s blood my bullets had released inside him. He was pulseless, dead.

  Seeing my father, I felt emotionless, which surprised me. Even though I didn’t expect to feel any sort of daughterly love toward him, because I never had any, I thought I might feel something. But there was nothing—not even any residual anger, not even relief. It was as if firing that bullet not only released the toxin of the dragon’s blood into my father’s body, but also wiped out any feelings I had for him. I had nothing left but empty pages toward Melchior. Seeing his pale skin and closed eyes, I assumed he was dead. He hadn’t moved and the bullet looked like it entered his heart. Even though I was more than sure he was no longer alive, I reached over and checked his pulse anyway. It was part of my training. I pulled my hand away when I didn’t register his heartbeat.

  “All is fair in love and war, is it not, Sweet?” Bram said softly, coming up behind me. He offered me his hand so I took it, and allowed him to pull me up from my knees. I shook my head as I looked at him, still trying to figure out his enigmatic persona. I was completely at a loss when it came to his motives. “Why did you rat us out?” I started.

  He smiled widely. “I had to maintain appearances, my dear,” he answered quickly. “I had to make your father believe I was on his side until the very end. I knew Squander Valley would be a fairly easy blow to suffer, as it was truly the smallest of the Netherworld Guard stations rather than the largest, as I told you.”

  I felt my eyes widen once Bram mentioned that Squander Valley was the smallest base. Then I remembered my father acting surprised that we would have chosen to attack it. Now his surprise made sense. “Then my father didn’t know about Tipshaw?” I asked, unsuccessfully trying to conceal the surprise from my tone.

  “No, Sweet, your father knew of no other attacks.”

  “And you never told him about the pocket watch or the portal ripper that you gave me?” I continued. I was amazed at how thorough Bram was in his subterfuge, even going so far as to convince me he was against us. I didn’t allow him to answer my question, though, because I’d already figured out the answer for myself. “Which is why he was surprised when we showed up here and why he didn’t have more guards,” I finished. “How many guards are there here anyway?”

  Bram shook his head. “Perhaps ten or fifteen. I am uncertain. Vander is in the process of arresting all your father’s soldiers as we speak.”

  “Knight,” I started, still processing Bram’s words before something occurred to me. “Wait. How do you know Knight’s arresting …” but I was never able to finish my sentence. Instead, the sound and acrid smoke of a gun firing in the immediate vicinity overtook my senses. I felt the bullet’s sting immediately as it entered my lower back and thrust me forward with its impact. My heartbeat began pounding through my ears, sounding like a bowling ball bouncing against a steel wall. As I collapsed, I saw the shock in Bram’s eyes. Moments later, my cheek hit the floor and my vision began to blur. In the fuzziness, though, I could make out the smile on my father’s face as well as the gun lying beside him. Moments later, I felt wind brushing past my cheek and watched Bram materialize at my father’s side. He leaned over Melchior and sunk his teeth into my father’s carotid, stealing any whisper of life that remained.

  Bram then stood up and approached me, his eyes despondent. “Sweet,” he started, as he leaned down and ran his fingers down my face tenderly.

  I felt my body began to shake as the poison of the dragon’s blood traveled into my bloodstream. I knew I had only a few seconds left before the poison would steal my life away and in those few seconds, I thought only of Knight and how much I would miss him. The blurriness of my vision gave way to black and the last thought to go through my head was that Trey had been right.

  FOURTEEN

  Despite being shrouded in darkness, I wasn’t afraid. In fact, I couldn’t register any feelings at all. Instead, I simply existed in a vacuity of space. Inside the void, I was floating, sailing through the atmosphere as if I never was, nor ever would be. I was carefree, boundless, infinite. There was an undeniable buoyancy in my body—the laws of gravity no longer applied to me. Along with the incredible sense of weightlessness, I could feel freedom flowing through me, as if it originated in my very soul and billowed through me in a bubbly cascade of limitlessness.

  “Dulcie.”

  The soft timber of the woman’s voice surprised me. In disbelief, I also felt immense happiness as her voice stoked familiar fires deep inside me. Even though I hadn’t heard her voice for many years, hers was one I had never, and could never, forget.

  “Mom?” I asked, my voice tinged with awe and amazement. As soon as I said the word “Mom,” the darkness surrounding me faded and I was bathed in a pure, white light that was so bright, I blinked a few times, and yet still had to shield my eyes. When I was able to see clearly, the feelings of weightlessness were still in effect, although the darkness was gone. Instead, I found myself standing on the top of a mountain, overlooking an immense valley of green. A crystal clear stream flowed through the valley but I lost sight of it when it meandered into a forest of tall pine trees. If I didn’t know better, I would have believed I’d been transported to the Swiss Alps. All around me was the green of hillside, punctuated with delicate, bell-shaped, white flowers that blew this way and that in the gentle wind that caressed my cheeks. But where was my mother? I turned around, hoping she was standing behind me, but nothing besides the pristine beauty of the natural world stared back at me.

  I shook my head, wondering if I simply imagined her voice, or if it was a trick of the wind. Feeling a renewed dejection, I faced forward again. That was when I saw her. Standing directly in front of me, she embodied the exact picture of how I remembered her before fate snatched her from me so long ago. Her long, platinum blonde hair blew about her face in perfectly straight, silken strands. Seeing the gentle smile on her lips brought fresh tears to my eyes. She was wearing the same, threadbare grey sweatpants she always wore when she returned home from work, along with an oversized T-shirt that proclaimed her “#1 Mom.” I’d given her the shirt when I was twelve years old and she’d worn it so often, the fabric was frayed. She wasn’t wearing a speck of makeup but she also didn’t need to. Her skin was the color and texture of alabaster, warmed by the natural coral blush on her cheeks and the deeper pink tones of her lips.

  My mother was just as beautiful as I remembered. Her understanding, light brown eyes were a few shades darker than her hair, framed by eyebrows the color of coffee with cream, and deep, brown eyelashes. I, fortunately, inherited the soft lines of her jaw as well as her high cheekbones and pert, upturned nose. Even though my eyes
reflected the same verdant green of my father’s, their almond shape belonged exclusively to my mother. The more I studied her, the more I realized how much I was my mother’s daughter. And it made my heart sing.

  “My beautiful, Dulcie,” she said softly. She held her arms out to me and the smile I’d always loved so well deepened into a laugh of pure delight. I fell into her arms instantly, drinking in her scent—something gentle and breezy with whiffs of Tide and Jergens Body Lotion. I held her as tightly as I could, allowing the little girl who had missed her mother so much to surface from my heart. Right then and there, I promised myself I would never lose her again. By some trick or gift of fate, she’d been restored to me and it was a gift I cherished with all the essence of my being.

  “Mom? Is it really you?” I whispered, suddenly fearing she might be a hoax created by my mind. Maybe she was really a dream, hallucination, or just an apparition visiting me.

  “Yes, it is really me,” she reassured. As if to prove it, she ran her hands through my hair just like she’d done a thousand times before. My heart swelled as I snuggled into her embrace and felt blissful tears streaming down my face.

  “I’ve missed you so much, Mom,” I whispered.

  She kissed the top of my head. “And I’ve missed you more than you will ever know, my little Dulcinea.” When she said her nickname for me (borrowed from Don Quixote), a sob surged in my throat. She pulled away from me and studied me for a few seconds, her eyes glowing with pride.

  “Why did you have to leave me?” I asked, choking on another sob.

  “It was just my time,” she said softly. “But I have always been with you, Dulcie, even though you couldn’t see me.”

  I nodded although I didn’t understand how she could have always been with me without me ever having seen her or heard her. But there were so many moments when you felt her, I thought to myself. I smiled as I realized the truth in my own words. My mom really had always been with me.