Circle of Ashes (Wish Quartet Book 2)

  “If anyone can do it, it’s Nico,” Snow said in a surprisingly overt display of confidence.

  “He’s got to,” Takako said. As confident as her statement should have been, the lingering quiver beneath gave away the woman’s nervousness.

  As if picking up on a cue, Pan chose those words to hop back to her feet, dusting nonexistent wrinkles out of her dress. “Well, we most certainly have faith in our Italian romantic, don’t we?” she said, this time not bothering to look at anyone but Snow. With a twirl of one of her golden pigtails, she cocked her head. This time, there was no way to describe her grin other than “devious.” Maybe even twisted. “Let’s just hope that faith is well-founded. For all your sakes.”

  With that, Pan spun on her heel and sauntered out the door. When Jo looked at Snow, hoping desperately for an answer, all she got was his usual blank expression.

  “Dismissed,” he said, a simple if not painful demand.

  But without question or complaint, they listened, mutually ignoring all things left lingering and unspoken.

  Chapter 26

  Together

  JO HAD NEVER experienced a more agonizing hour of her life than the first hour in the common room following Nico’s announcement.

  That was, until she experienced the second hour.

  And the third.

  She sat, white-knuckled and buzzing with an inexplicable energy that eventually gave way to bouncing knees and tapping fingers. Jo tried to keep her eyes on the television, or focus on the sturdiness of Wayne’s very welcome touch on her knee after the first hour. But it was impossible to do anything other than obsess.

  The room wasn’t quiet, but her mind was, and it put her in a dangerous place. All sound stayed in the realm of the physical: the television, the forced friendly chatter of Wayne and Eslar at the couch where she sat, Takako bumbling around the kitchen with Samson. It all blurred into white noise. Her mind had withdrawn to where none of it could reach.

  It’s my fault, a tiny voice betrayed once again.

  She’d wasted so much time on her own arrogance, her own confidence that this wish would be so easy to maneuver around with a few lines of code. It had been her actions that had set them on this path; she’d rolled the dice of their fate from the onset. She had tried to thwart a natural disaster with man-made technologies; Jo could practically hear the cackle of Mother Nature grating against the back of her mind.

  “Jo,” Wayne’s voice soothed. Firm but gentle, fingers closed around her wrist and pulled lightly.

  The room returned to her as Jo lifted her head from her hands. She straightened her back, curling away from where she’d sunken in on herself. Jo didn’t even remember her cheeks meeting her palms. How long had she been like that?

  “It’s going to work out,” he encouraged.

  Now say it like you mean it. Jo bit back the harsh words and forced a nod.

  “What happens if it doesn’t?” She braved the question that had been trailing behind her like a scrap of toilet paper since they’d first received this impossible wish. And, just like a trailing scrap, no one seemed to want to say anything about it.

  No one said anything. But for the first time, it felt as if people were actually considering the question—rallying behind it, even. Eventually, one after the next, every eye in the room landed on Eslar.

  “I honestly don’t know.” It sounded like a confession and an omission of guilt at the same time. He looked directly at Jo, referencing their conversation days ago. “I was not lying to you, then. Such a thing has never come to pass, and Snow has never elaborated to me.”

  Jo wondered if she could get Snow to tell her. But if he did, would that mean she’d used their closeness to her advantage? Would it be so wrong if she did? Why had she dared enter into some kind of relationship now, of all times?

  “We won’t fail though,” Wayne reiterated. “We just won’t.”

  None of them could seem to muster more than a nod of agreement.

  “You’re right.” She wouldn’t discount Nico. She’d felt the power of his magic first-hand, she knew how evocative his paintings could be. If anyone could do it, it would be him. Jo would give him all the faith in the world to see it happen.

  “Would you like to bring this to him?” Samson’s voice pulled Jo’s attention back toward the kitchen.

  “Huh?” It took a moment to register that Samson was holding a plate of food. “Oh, that?” Jo quickly rose to her feet, eager to have something to do other than sitting and worrying her hands into bone-popping tension. “Gladly.”

  Samson transferred the plate, and Jo eagerly left the room. It wasn’t that being around the other members was hard; there was a solidarity there—bonding that could only be brought on by a terrible situation. But solidarity through terror wasn’t the sort of team building she wanted.

  Jo clung to the plate, her only lifeline to feeling useful, like she was still able to do something for their cause.

  Instead of heading toward Nico’s room, she turned left and headed up toward the recreation rooms. Nico had escaped there following the meeting, claiming that for such a work he needed the freedom of a completely new space. Jo wasn’t sure if she quite understood it from an artistic perspective. But she understood it enough to see the merits from her own past work. Sometimes it took a new environment to see a problem with new light and find the right solution.

  Please let Nico have found the right solution, she prayed silently.

  Shifting the balance of the plate to one hand, Jo located the shelf holding Nico’s timepiece and gave a few solid raps on the adjacent door. She waited a moment that ticked away into minutes. There was no response. Jo debated knocking again. They didn’t need food; it wasn’t possible for Nico to be truly hungry anymore. Certainly food wasn’t a worthy-enough reason to throw any potential artistic groove he was in off-kilter—

  The door opened, revealing a frazzled-looking, paint-splattered Nico. His eyes dropped from her face to the plate and his face relaxed into a tired smile. “Samson always knows just what I need.”

  He opened the door the rest of the way, motioning for Jo to enter.

  The recreation room had molded itself into a cramped little studio. Plaster had cracked and fallen away in most places, to reveal porous brick walls underneath. The spider-web fractures rose to meet sturdy-looking, but weathered, wooden beams that supported a squat roof. Fire burned low in a white stone hearth—the only source of light as the world beyond the iron grated window was dark.

  “Is this. . .”

  “My old atelier? Yes.” Nico moved to an easel set up to the left of the hearth and across from the door so that the light would reflect off it without being obstructed by his shadow. “You can set that there.” He pointed to a worktable to Jo’s left, already picking up a paintbrush and dragging it across his palette.

  Jo let the door close behind her and crossed over to the table. It was narrow and not an inch of its surface was visible through the clutter of artistic tools—some of which she now actually recognized from the store in Florence. She took the liberty of pushing some to the side, clearing just enough space for the plate.

  Nico hadn’t moved, already seeming lost in a world only he and the canvas shared. Jo watched as the two continued their discussion through paint, magic, and undeniable skill. He seemed to have already forgotten she was there.

  “You can sit, if you’d like.” Or he hadn’t quite forgotten. Nico motioned toward a stool by the hearth.

  “I don’t want to disturb you,” Jo said hesitantly.

  “You won’t,” he assured her without looking. “Julia would sit there from time to time, and I’m used to working with you around now. Perhaps it will invoke her spirit and bring me some luck.”

  Jo took the sentiment at face-value, not peeling it apart to search for meaning she knew wasn’t there. She knew neither she, nor any woman, could ever be a replacement for Julia de’Este in Nico’s heart. If anything, he had just paid Jo the highest compliment
he could by saying that, just maybe, she could offer the ghost of a replacement in body, a balm in the form of a personified memory.

  She assumed the seat, leaning against the pleasantly warm stones of the hearth. By all logic, she should feel more restless here than in the living room. The wooden stool was far less comfortable than the plush of the couch. And she could see how much progress Nico had yet to make (unless he was going for something very abstract this time).

  But some of the tension in her shoulders gave way. Not a lot, but enough. Just seeing progress being made with her own two eyes was reassuring.

  “How is the rest of the group?” he asked after silence had made its pass.

  “Restless,” she answered honestly. She wouldn’t insult Nico’s intelligence or ability to handle the truth with an attempt at lying.

  Nico nodded.

  “But we all have faith in you.”

  He took his eyes away from the painting a moment to give a smile of appreciation. Jo almost wished he hadn’t. The look was so distant; like the darkness beyond, the seemingly perpetual sunshine of Nico’s face had finally set, and now he looked every one of his years.

  Nico turned back to the painting. “I hope I do not let you down.”

  “I’m sure you won’t.” When did encouragement turn into unnecessary pressure? It was a line Jo didn’t want to cross.

  “I have a favor to ask of you, Jo.”

  “Anything.”

  “Come with me to deliver this painting.”

  Jo straightened away from the mantle, leaning forward as if the stone had somehow obstructed her hearing. “Me? Why? I mean, yes, of course, but why?”

  “As I said, I believe that you are good luck for me.” The scratch and swish of his brush was the only thing filling the silence between his words. “Having you around helped me recall details I’d long forgotten of my Julia. Her youth, our youth. . .” The man stilled for only half a breath; a dot of paint dropped from brush to floor. “It has truly been so long since I have been the man she courted.”

  Jo opened her mouth and closed it again, unsure how to respond. She had never intended to evoke painful memories for him with her presence. Until today, she’d had no idea Julia kept him company while he painted. Yet suddenly, things began to make a little more sense, such as his openness with her and his willingness to take her to Florence.

  “In any case.” Nico shook his head and his eyes regained clarity, brush strokes becoming more confident once again. “Your magic of breaking into places could prove useful.”

  “Then it’s yours. We’ll do this, together.”

  “Together,” he repeated, like a vow. “The whole Society. We’ll make this happen.”

  There was no alternative—no other reality Jo or any of them would accept.

  Chapter 27

  Breaking and Entering

  NICO WORKED RIGHT up until the end of his twelve-hour time allotment. His arms were coated up to his elbows with an array of colors and his shirt was splattered in odd places from his frantic desire to finish. All calmness Jo felt had begun to flee the moment she saw the man’s shoulders starting to rise toward his ears in tension.

  “That’ll. . .” Nico pulled away, looking at the painting. “It’ll work.”

  “Are you sure?” Jo hated herself the instant the question left her lips. Nico’s head turned to her and the uncertainty—the panic—that filled his eyes made her heart sink to the bottom of her stomach like a lead weight.

  “Only one way to find out, I suppose.” He reached out toward the painting, running his hands over the small mountains and grooves in the paint.

  The instant panic of him smearing the recently completed work disappeared when the picture held firm—magic, no doubt. Jo stood, pulling her arms above her head, trying to pop the tension that sitting on the stool for such a long, tense amount of time had left. It didn’t work. Her body was as rigid as it had been the first moment she’d gotten to her feet.

  “We should go, then?” She phrased it as a question, but what other option did they have?

  “We should.” Nico lifted the canvas, barely wider than his chest, and took it over to the worktable where most of Samson’s food still remained untouched. Collecting some butcher paper and twine, he tied it in a sort of protective sling that could be worn over his shoulder.

  “To the Shushō Kantei, then.”

  “The what?” Nico asked, as he followed her from the door. The man stopped in the hallway, pointing to the other recreation room. “Do you need to do any of your computer magic first?”

  Jo paused as well. “Computer magic” had a nice ring to it. If she was back in the real world, perhaps she’d exchange “Shewolf” for a moniker of her own creation, like “The Wizard.” Still, Jo shook her head at him. “This shouldn’t be too difficult. We’re evading guards and more simple security systems, not massive database firewalls. If I need anything, I have time enough to do it on the fly.”

  Nico nodded and caught up. The faith he had in her made Jo’s chest swell. “How do you know where we’re going?” His question reminded her of Takako and the mugicha they shared.

  “Japan shares a border with the Lone Star Republic. It’s pretty much standard education to learn about their government. Well, that, and I took a fairly recent interest when I realized how much more the Yakuza would pay for good work than other syndicates.” Talking felt good, Jo realized. It kept them on task, and it kept her mind from winding around and around with worry. “The Shushō Kantei is across from the National Diet Building of Japan. It’s where the Prime Minister lives and works.”

  “If we don’t find him there?”

  “Then he’s likely in the Diet Building.”

  “And if—” Before Nico could finish what was no doubt an additional worry, he paused at the stop of the stairs.

  Every other member of the Society (save Pan and Snow) sat in the Four-Way or right at the beginning of the hall that led to the common area. Eslar sat on a couch, reading, his air of calm unflappable. Samson was at his side, fiddling with some random object. Wayne lounged on the stairs across from them, flipping his nickel. And Takako stood by one of the tall windows. Jo wondered if she was looking at the mountains in the distance, filled with longing and concern for her home.

  All heads turned when they appeared at the top of the stairs, and all eyes were on the canvas-shaped bundle slung over Nico’s shoulder.

  “It’s done?” Eslar rose to his feet.

  “It is.” Nico sounded far more confident than he ever looked in the recreation room.

  “We wanted to see you off,” Wayne pointed out the obvious, rising as well and pocketing his nickel along with both hands. “Wish you luck.”

  “Jo is coming with me,” Nico said quickly. “In case I need help getting in somewhere.”

  “Smart idea.”

  “Careful Eslar, or I’ll think you value me as a member of this team.” Jo took a shot at levity as she started down the stairs.

  “Why, of course—”

  “I’m kidding.” She gave him a small smile that relaxed the elf’s face as well. “We’ll be back soon.”

  “Good luck,” she heard Samson’s small voice say after them, as they started toward the briefing room.

  Jo folded her arms over her chest, then undid them. She put them on her hips, then let them sway at her sides. When had having arms become so awkward? Everything would be fine. Nico’s power was impressive and they had the whole team behind them. This would work.

  Yet Jo found herself wishing Snow could’ve been there to see them off as well. As if, somehow, the presence of the Wish Granter himself could bestow some sort of innate blessing onto their mission. At the very least, seeing his face would’ve given her a much-needed boost of courage.

  Without fail, by her own magic or the magic of the Door itself, the alphanumeric keypad seemed to light up only in Jo’s mind, pulling her fingers toward the numbers that would lead her to where she wanted to go. Eventually, Jo thou
ght she might be compelled to figure out the pin system—how and why certain places had certain strings of numbers and how the other members knew them—but for the near future, she was content to let it remain a magical mystery.

  Pulled through the portal to reality, the Texan and the Italian stepped onto Japanese soil.

  Jo didn’t want to fuss with anything more than they had to. The more variables that were introduced on a project, the more room there was for error. This was fairly simple: get in, show the painting, leave.

  “The Door could’ve put us right in his office.” Jo sighed heavily.

  “It’s not an exact science.”

  “It’s not science at all,” she said in exasperated agreement.

  They found themselves in a clean if dated lobby. A receptionist busily answered phones, looking no doubt frazzled due to the extra commotion the panic had brought on. Jo felt some sympathy for the woman; it wasn’t her fault that her boss was being pig-headed.

  “We could try again,” Jo suggested. “See if we can get closer to the office now that we’re here.”

  “The Door has never worked that way.” Nico shook his head. “I’d rather not risk it, not when we’re already this close.”

  Jo bit her tongue a moment, chewing over the fact that the Door had, indeed, worked that way for her on more than one occasion—notably their first wish. But she didn’t want to give any cause for Nico to panic or stress. If he didn’t want to make an attempt with the Door, they’d just go it on foot. “Come on, this way.”

  “Do you know where you’re going?” Nico asked.

  “Just a hunch. . .”

  Jo followed the flow of people in the lobby toward a back elevator, walking undetected. She listened in on the chatter. Most of it was general government business; the cavalier attitude grated on her. If they didn’t start evacuations in the next twenty-four hours, it would be too late.