With renewed purpose, I fill the glasses with water, place them on a tray, and then carry them back out to the living room, setting them down on the coffee table.
“I’m powerless,” I blurt as I straighten up. The truth is a rock lifted off my chest.
It gets so quiet that I hear my heart pounding for release.
Cecilia squeaks, and then moves around Alesteria until she’s directly in front of me again. She’s not like the rest of the Divine. There’s almost a childlike quality to her. An innocence most lose too early in life. “Are you sure, dear?” she asks, eyes imploring mine. Voice trilling on a high note.
I nod. “Even now, I don’t feel it,” I admit. In that moment, with the Divine watching me so intently, I wonder why I ever thought being powerless was freeing, because it suddenly feels like I’ve lost a limb. Like the eye of the storm has passed, leaving me surrounded in chaos and crippling destruction.
Cecilia’s smile widens, eyes telling me she knows something I don’t. “Maybe so… or maybe they’re simply waiting for the touch of an unforeseen hand in a least likely place.”
My mind fuzzes at this and my lips move to ask her more, but Wistar beats me to it.
“Nonsense,” Wistar says, his hand a dismissing wave in my direction. “Even from here, I can sense power in you. It’s just buried.” An easy grin moves across his lips like the sun rising after a stormy night. “Maybe your powers just need a little perusing. A little probing to get the wheels spinning again.”
I know it shouldn’t, but Clara’s face flashes through my mind. White walls. Torture. Screams digging at the back of my throat as she tried to unveil what my powers were capable of. I know these memories will never truly leave me… this fear that has attached itself like a parasite to the backside of every hope I have.
But I must remember that Clara is gone. Those days have left me. Instead, I need to fill my mind with memories of my mother standing in front of the sink as sunlight bathes her skin in gold while she hums and sways. Keep feeling the way my heart skips and leaps every time Jaxen and I are alone. How his touch has the power to dissolve every fear, every bad thought, like a beam of light through mist.
“You’re a warrior at heart, Faye,” Alesteria says with a confident gleam in her eyes. “My group of hunters will be the magic for you until you find your own again as we begin the next phase in defeating Mourdyn and his group of Darkyns. Everything will be fine.”
It doesn’t surprise me when Weldon shakes his head hard and fast enough to gain the attention of everyone in the room. “And just how are we going to do that?” he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Because the last thing I remember was that man rising from the belly of the Underground, and he didn’t look too pleased. Doesn’t seem the kind who wakes up on the right side of the bed, if you know what I mean.”
The faces of every Divine in the room darken, pulling tight. It’s like clouds have rolled over, blurring the mood.
“Even now I can feel him,” Garrick says, the hands at his sides balling into fists, his eyes hardened with anger. “If only we could secure his location.”
Alesteria looks to him, her expression a symphony of jostled emotions. “It won’t be long until he makes the first move, or until one of the Darkyns brought in slips up and speaks.”
Weldon rolls his eyes, and then steps forward, widening his stance as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m just going to state the obvious—you’re the all-mighty Divine. Why don’t we go back and finish it?” he asks for all of us. “I mean, you were able to get us out of the Underground. You could surely get us back in. And with the four of you, plus the hunter group and the rest of us willing to fight, there’s no way Mourdyn and the Darkyns would stand a chance.”
The four Divine exchange a glance I’m not sure I want deciphered.
A muscle twitches in Garrick’s jaw before he says, “Because we can’t leave this city.”
I THINK MY STOMACH HITS the bottom of the earth. Fear tugs at me, begging me to pay attention as a hot, writhing itch crawls up the back of my neck.
Weldon rubs at his ear as he laughs uncomfortably. “Excuse me, I don’t think I heard you right. Could you repeat that?”
Garrick’s mouth is as thin and taut when his dark gaze settles on Weldon. “When Mourdyn killed the Divine Owen, it weakened the ancient magic that connected the six of us, allowing Mourdyn to break away from what bound us to one another. The Divine powers we once had lessened because of it. As you stated… we are not all-mighty.
“Imagination and rumors can build the weakest of men into gods. After we woke to find the veil down, along with the holy and unholy seals broken, we had to make a choice. Either go after Mourdyn with what little magic we had left, or repair the broken seals and put the veil back up, ensuring this city would remain protected from him and his Darkyns. The damage done to the seals and the veil was so extensive that we had to tie ourselves and our magic to them, thus imprisoning us to this city.”
“Imprisoning?” Weldon parrots, rapidly blinking.
Garrick’s gaze clears with a sureness I’m having trouble understanding. “Yes. The city is us and we are the city. Without each other, neither can be. If we leave Ethryeal City, we die. And if we die, so does the protection over the city.”
These words bounce around in my head, trying to take shape as Jaxen takes my hand. His touch alone makes my head jerk in his direction, and it’s the first time since the Divine arrived that I realize I am not alone in my fears. He is just as scared about our future as I am. We both have everything riding on making it out of this situation alive.
There is no future without each other in it.
I see this feeling take shape in everyone around the room as we look to the Divine and realize the hope filling our balloons is quickly deflating. It feels like we’ve pulled the curtain back only to realize there is only a man, just like us, standing behind it and pulling out all the fake bells and whistles. We poured our hopes into them, into an endless well that doesn’t give back, because pennies don’t make wishes come true.
Our minds do. It’s our actions, our words, and our resolve like steel that can’t be moved.
I feel the monster of fear creeping up on me again, trying to pull me into its darkness, but I squeeze Jaxen’s hand and he squeezes back, and, somehow, I find my strength again, as if it was only just floating beneath the surface, there for me to snatch up. I can do this. I’ve already come so far. With or without my powers, I will stop him.
I must.
“With the Veil back in place, they’ve ensured the Darkyns cannot enter Ethryeal City. But this also means we cannot enter the Underground. We’re in a stalemate,” Mack explains, not sounding the least bit happy.
Weldon lets out a snort as he throws his hands up. “Well, that’s just awesome. Once again, let’s put it all on Mouse’s shoulders.”
“Weldon,” I say under my breath, but he isn’t listening.
Frustration and fear mixed together do weird things to people. Make them dress up as something darker, scarier. “The one thing we were counting on for help has used up all its resourcefulness. That’s just wonderful. Let’s gather up the citizens and tell them we’re screwed because, basically, we are.” He takes in a breath, looks to the Divine, and finishes with, “And why exactly didn’t you kill Mourdyn when you had the chance? You knew then the problems he would bring to this world. Yet, you only mortally wounded him. Put him in a nocturnal timeout as if he would wake with some kind of change of heart.”
I have half a mind to step in front of him. Prevent whatever wrath he will incur for speaking so blatantly to the Divine, but Wistar’s words beat me to it as he turns a harsh eye on him. It’s intimidating and towering. “You’re a very candid fellow, aren’t you?”
“I’d prefer the words ‘charmingly forthright,’ but whatever floats your boat,” Weldon shoots off, and I’m sure he’s lost his mind.
Wistar doesn’t smile. “Tell me, Weldon, could you so
easily kill your brother?”
Weldon’s words withdraw. His eyes flash over to Mack’s, and then down to the ground.
“As hard as this may be to understand, we love each other,” Cecilia cuts in, the pain coursing under her words like a stream of grief and fear. “We are not perfect in our decisions. It is a great stigma I have always tried to avoid. Though we were granted these great powers by the God and Goddess, and chosen to lead this Coven, we were once mortal, just like you. Young and naïve. Those mortals still live within us,” she says, her eyes averting to the side. “They still grant us poor judgment from time to time. Though his crimes were great, Mourdyn was still our brethren in our eyes. We still had hope that maybe he could change. Not every vision is accurate. I had hoped I’d read it wrong. So, as a group, we decided to let him rest instead.”
“No,” Weldon says, hands carving through the air, through her words, like a knife. “You decided to put it off until someone stronger came along and could do what you couldn’t. You decided to let that heavy decision weigh on someone else’s shoulders.” His eyes cut over to mine, two orbs swimming in a sea of pain and disappointment.
Garrick’s shoulders stiffen, the cords in his neck twitching as his eyes play over Weldon, but Cecilia stops in front of him, obviously sensing his displeasure, and says, “You have every right to be upset, Weldon.” She turns from Garrick after he backs off and continues, “All of you, actually. I understand how unprepared we must look.”
Weldon rolls his eyes again, and then heads back to the bookshelf to lean against it.
They mean well, I say to him.
He snorts in my head. I’m sorry, mouse, but I’m sick of watching you get stepped on by assholes who can’t handle their own messes. And you just take it. Every time.
A swirl of anger dances in my stomach, but I remind myself that tensions are high. He also means well. He’s concerned. If it means putting an end to this so we can all get on with our lives, then it’s a small price to pay.
His eyes find me across the room. In them, the pain is so great, the fear so deep, I have to look away. He doesn’t want to lose me again. I see this. Feel it. And I pretend I don’t because it will only suck me down with it. Because, in the back of my mind, I feel the same way.
I don’t want to lose me again either.
Cecilia works her way to the middle of the room, like a mother checking a closet for monsters, showing us there is nothing to fear. “We came here today for that very reason—to figure out our next step. And I believe all the answers we need are in you.”
Jaxen’s hand stiffens against mine.
Alesteria looks to Cecilia for a moment, as if trying to make out what she means. Cecilia smiles, and then Alesteria’s gaze shifts into understanding. I imagine their thoughts moving back and forth above us like small bits of matter none of us can see. “Your mother watched over an amulet that held Mourdyn’s blood, did she not?” Alesteria asks, as if she and Cecilia shared the same mind. The same thoughts.
“Yes, but it broke when I was in the Exanimator,” I admit, trying to squash the memories from that moment.
Cecilia reaches for my hand again. This must be something she does often. “When I touched you earlier, I felt his presence,” she says, running her hand over the top of mine. “At first, I thought maybe it was coincidence. Some lingering effect of being in the Exanimator. But I’ve touched your hand three times now, just to be sure. Each time, I’ve sorted through your memories, back to the moment the amulet broke. The glass shattered, and when it did, some of the pieces embedded deep into your muscle tissue.” She leans closer. “And one particular piece nicked your heart. Just enough of his blood entered your bloodstream.”
I don’t know if I’m more freaked out about her picking through my thoughts without me being aware, or by Mourdyn’s blood being in my system. Either way, this is not a conversation I want to be a part of. Not at all.
“All it takes is one drop of Divine blood,” Garrick says from behind her. “One drop, and you become linked to us all. It’s the magic that bound us that runs through our veins. Magic that should have never been able to leave our bodies, because no mortal could pierce our skin.”
“Until the Dagger of Retribution, the same dagger the four of you made,” Mack finishes for him, leaning forward in his seat.
“Precisely, which is how Mourdyn’s blood was obtained,” Garrick concludes. “We kept it for instances like this, in which we would need protection.”
“Or need to find out what he is up to,” Cecilia says, still running her hand in small circles over mine. She closes her eyes. I keep waiting to feel something, anything to tell me if she’s in my mind or not, but I can’t tell.
“He’s weak,” she says a second later, eyes still closed. “After the mortal wound from the dagger, it cracked through the Divinity spell running in his veins. While he slept, he slowly bled the magic out.”
Her eyes pop open, fear marring her eyebrows as her hand shoots up to her mouth.
“The machine was not destroyed. They were able to repair it, and they are… they are hoarding witches. Using them. Putting them into the machine and stealing their magic to feed Mourdyn. To give him the strength he lacks from his near non-existent divinity.” She looks to Alesteria, and then to everyone else. “That is why the Darkyns are attacking our Watchmen and capturing only the witches. He’s gathering as many as he can to sacrifice until he is strong enough to stand against us.”
The air is thick. My chest feels like it’s being squeezed and dipped in a vat of ice as the faces of those I’ve watched enter our city cut through my mind. The blood and tears. The fear.
“We will continue to take in the refugees,” Seamus says, trying to find solace in this simple statement. “Thank the God and Goddess that we’ve already done so.”
Mack smoothes a hand through his hair, and then stands, straightening his vest. Every movement is purposeful, composed, clicking him into place before he addresses an audience. “Though this is a thoughtful suggestion, we must remember that we can only hold so many within the city. They’ve flooded in since Mourdyn’s return. With this announcement, we will hit capacity.”
“We will make room,” Wistar says. His words are like bricks mortared into place. “We cannot allow him to take innocent life, and we surely cannot allow him to grow in strength.”
“Not to be a Debby Downer, but can I propose a thought?” Weldon asks as he moves away from the bookshelf.
“By all means,” Mack says with a deep sigh.
“What happens when you take away a watering hole from an elephant?” Weldon asks the room. We all wait. “They dig until they find a new source they can drink from, and I shudder to think what source he will turn to when the witching well has dried up. It won’t end with the witches. He wants to win just as badly as we do. And, from everything I’ve read and what you’ve said, he was cunning enough to figure out how to take one of you out… something none of you can or are willing to do. Which means we must be smarter. More cunning.”
“And just what do you propose?” Mack asks, sounding as if he wants to shove Weldon out of the way so he can be the only one standing in the light.
“Propose?” Weldon says with a small laugh. “Oh, I didn’t say I knew what we should do. I just said we’d have to be smart and cunning with whatever it is we choose to do.”
With a sigh, Seamus says, “We should take this meeting back to the war room. There, we can take the appropriate measures in approaching this subject. We must inform the UN and our media, and then alert the public that our gates will remain open to all those in need of shelter.”
Wistar nods along with Garrick. “We must also prepare the armies. If he is able to gain strength, then so must we, because the next war we enter with him will be the last, whether it is us who are left standing, or him.”
They all stand, and then head out the door with quick goodbyes.
After they leave, I start up the stairs to get my coat. “I want to
help them.”
“Help who?” Jaxen asks, picking up speed to keep in step with me.
“The Divine and whoever else are willing to be at the gates of the city. I want to help those who come to get settled.” I stop, and he nearly bumps into me from the abruptness. “And I want to give up our residence to them. They could fit quite a few people in here. We could easily stay with your mom or my father. Even Weldon or Mack.”
His eyes widen a little at that.
“Besides, it was never our house to begin with,” I add, running my finger down the length of his chest. When I look up into Jaxen’s deep green eyes, I see only compassion and willingness.
“It’s not like we’ll be holed up inside anyway with everything going on. Whatever you want, you can have,” he says as he pulls me in for a hug. “But, please, could we not go with Weldon or Mack?”
I laugh against his chest.
“I’ll talk to my mother. I’m sure Chrissa will be ecstatic.”
I nod, feeling for the first time since I woke that things are moving forward.
THE NEXT DAY, I FIND myself standing in front of a group of seven men who look about as approachable as a crocodile baring its teeth. They loom when they stand, and I feel their gazes like an examining touch.
I try not to look too closely as my eyes make a quick pass over them. They’re cultured, like each one has been plucked from every country that makes us different. Browns and yellows and pale white skins. Angles and edges and sharp, intimidating features.
Weldon meets us outside the sequester where we now reside. Gives them a once over, and then leans in to me and says, “I can’t tell if they’re going for scary intimidating, or sexy calendar photo shoot. Either way, they definitely have room for one roguishly handsome demon, am I right?”