Birth of Chaos

  “Creation,” she repeated. Something about the name echoed deep within her. It was as if she saw him for the first time. The sound of his name—his true name—on her lips brought a smile to Snow’s. “So does that mean you. . . cancel me out?”

  Snow frowned, not quite following. “I suppose?”

  “So if you needed to, you could keep my magic from going haywire?”

  Snow’s eyes widened just a hair, as if finally making the connection. “I can. . . temper your magic, yes.”

  “Temper how?”

  “Once more, proximity.” His gaze flickered about her face before finally capturing hers. “My magic is the opposite of yours; we’re two frequencies that both cancel each other out and stay in harmony. It’s how I am able to control the magic you gifted me at all, even marginally. Your magic seeks out mine, as mine does yours, to be balanced.”

  “So then you can make these odd happenings stop?”

  “If I could, I already would’ve.” Snow sighed. “We can’t risk things further.” The word “things” suddenly seemed to take on a lot of meaning—Jo’s magic, the Society itself, Pan’s impatience. “For now, sit back on the wish.”

  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already been doing so. The thought of staying away from working on the wish brought her back to the idea of destroying the Society, an idea she wanted to explore further. “Snow—”

  “We really should return,” he said apologetically. But quickly added. “I promise, we will speak more on this.”

  His promise would have to be enough, as much as she wanted to object.

  “Thank you for telling me,” Jo whispered.

  “If I’m honest, I should’ve told you from the beginning.”

  One statement, and she had never felt more drawn to the man.

  Chapter 20

  Off the Wish

  Snow and Jo stepped through the door and into the dim lighting of the unoccupied briefing room. Slowly, the mysterious light source in the ceiling came to life, emitting a soft glow just for the two of them.

  “Do you control that?” Jo couldn’t help but ask.

  “Not quite. . .”

  She thought back to their previous discussions about the Society. About her conclusions that he was as much a prisoner here as the rest of them. But the way he’d said it minutes ago. . . “Snow—” Jo stopped him, catching his sleeve “—did you make the Society?”

  “What?” He stilled, his voice dropping to a whisper.

  “Did you make the Society?” Hers dropped as well to meet his and she did another visual sweep of the room—though where someone could possibly hide, Jo did not know.

  “Jo, questions are dangerous here.”

  That was a no. Jo remembered what he’d said about Pan. What Jo had deduced on her own. There were eyes everywhere within the Society—eyes with cat-like irises.

  Jo relinquished his sleeve, straightening away. How did a demigod get ensnared in a Society against his will? And not just a demigod with his own powers, but half of Jo’s as well. By his logic, that should make him almost as powerful as a full god.

  Then again, when did logic ever matter when it came to magic?

  With the lightest of touches on her sleeve, Snow summoned her attention back to him. Looking at him was almost enough to make her forget everything else. Almost.

  “We’ll talk more later,” Snow said in a definitive tone, starting for the door. “For now, wait here. I’ll call a meeting to discuss the status of the wish.”

  With one final squeeze of her hand, Snow headed out the doors and Jo fell heavily into one of the plush chairs. As if on cue, not moments after she sat, the doors to the briefing room opened. Jo had been hoping for a few moments of reprieve alone. But she was wrong. A head of neon-yellow hair turned to face her.

  Pan’s cat-like eyes seemed to flash red. She’d tied a black bow in her straight locks and donned a ruffled red dress—like an alternate-Wonderland Alice who’d decided to say “screw it” to the Mad Hatter and join the Queen of Hearts instead.

  In rare form, Pan met Jo’s silence with silence. The air grew heavy, filled with expectation of something unsaid. But whatever Pan was thinking, she didn’t feel like sharing and Jo didn’t inquire.

  Clarity broke on Jo like dawn: the tension, the fact that she felt no surprise at Pan’s presence, or the way Pan was staring her down almost hungrily. They both knew what the other knew. While Snow had yet to confirm, Jo would bet everything on the idea that Pan was also a demigod.

  Jo opened her mouth to speak, though she hadn’t gotten far enough to know what to say. She wanted Pan to know that she was no longer a blind sheep waiting for slaughter. She knew what her power was and she’d levy it against Pan if she had to. That thought stilled her.

  If Jo had the chance, she’d unleash every bit of the destructive force inside her on Pan. She’d do it for Nico. Nico. . . a disturbing sensation, one of magic fracturing like ice in the Prime Minister’s office, came back to her. Jo slowly closed her mouth and pressed it into a thin line.

  Pan’s lips curled into an almost cartoonish smile, as if she could read Jo’s mind.

  The silence was finally broken when Snow opened the double doors, the entire group in tow behind him. Jo leaned back in her chair, away from Pan, and made a desperate attempt at looking casual. Her hands had no clue where they wanted to rest and her legs kept folding and unfolding. Just acting normal seemed impossible.

  Takako gave her a nod, Samson a small smile, Eslar a look that Jo had come to associate with casual acknowledgment, but Wayne. . . He narrowed his eyes slightly at her. There was an unfamiliar uneasiness about him, as though he knew she’d gone to Takako instead of him. Had she said something to him? Or was it just intuition?

  Either way, Jo knew she had to clear the air with him, and soon. At the very least, she needed his good graces long enough to keep his silence.

  “I realize this wish has tensions high, making what was already a bad situation far worse, especially following our last wish.” Snow wasted no time. He wasn’t even at his chair when he began speaking. “I am also well aware that everyone has their own opinions on the wish and its proposed outcome.” He rested his hands on the table, looming over them. “It is not our role to have opinions or pass judgment. We are the Society of Wishes, and granting the whims of those who invoke us is our sole duty. Nothing more or less.”

  He paused, taking the time to look every individual in the eyes. Suddenly the whole team was shifting in their seats, looking anywhere else, fidgeting. Jo’s awkwardness seconds ago was effectively masked in one deft move from Snow, and the gratitude she felt toward him had her off-balance once more, now that she was the only person in the room seemingly able to relax.

  “Am I clear?”

  The group muttered a communal “Yes.”

  “Good.” Snow leaned away from the table, folding his arms over his chest. “Jo has informed me of her failed attempt at hacking the android’s terminal.”

  She didn’t have to fake or force a wince and a bow of her head in shame; those came naturally. Though the result of her inability to do so had paid secret dividends.

  “Since the time we have left to close the Severity of Exchange is steadily shrinking, I propose we take a different approach.”

  “We were talking about that while you two were off.” Eslar jumped into the conversation. “And we think we have a proposal.”

  Snow made a motion for the elf to continue, but Takako spoke instead.

  “Wayne and I will go forth and engage in activities that would throw off the police and task forces working on the case.”

  Jo wasn’t the least bit surprised that it would be Wayne and Takako continuing to spearhead the action on the wish. It seemed that, regardless of Wayne’s growing skepticism toward Jo and her plan, he was still helping her. That was all she needed, for now. That, and his silence.

  “Throw off the police? You mean make mayhem?” Pan sat a little straighter. “Well, isn’t this
a delightful turn of events. . .”

  Takako ignored the woman-child, explaining further. “We each have a tactic for trying to shuffle the deck a bit.”

  “My nickel and I will take on some of the witnesses and friends of to-be victims.” Wayne picked up the explanation, giving a flip of his coin for emphasis. “I’ll see to it that they forget key details of certain things—put it from their mind, I’ll say.”

  “Meanwhile, I’ll make a few selective strikes. I won’t target the officers actively involved with the investigation, that’d be too flashy and risk widening the Severity of Exchange. Instead I’ll target the family members of those with information, give them the necessary motivation to avoid cooperating with the cops. Then, I’ll pick off a few unrelated individuals.”

  “A-and I’ll carve their bones,” Samson said, in a voice so small Jo could barely hear him from two seats away. “That way it. . . The motive is unclear. Too much differing information. Unrelated links.”

  “Strikes? Pick off?” Jo frowned. “You’re talking about killing people.” Takako could handle it, Jo had every faith that the soldier could chew glass if she wanted. But Samson. . . Just looking at his bowed head and unusually still hands told her everything she needed to know.

  “It should lower the Severity of Exchange enough.” Eslar spoke as if Jo hadn’t even opened her mouth.

  Jo looked between the elf and their leader. Snow’s jaw was clenched, the muscle there pulsing with tension. Finally, he said, “See it done. We’ll regroup afterward if the Severity of Exchange doesn’t close sufficiently.”

  “We’re talking about killing people on a maybe that it’ll be enough.” Jo tried one last time to interject. “What happens if it’s not?”

  “Then we try something else,” Snow replied briskly, as though the matter should be obvious.

  “That’s not—”

  “The world will be rebuilt regardless, once the wish is fulfilled. It’s impossible to say what lives, or possible lives, are lost when the reshuffling happens.”

  She swallowed her pride and ignored her guilt. It was the same place she’d already landed before—the hands of those in the Society, one way or another, were far from clean. “Good luck, then.”

  As if they’d been waiting for her blessing—a blessing that clearly didn’t matter because the wheels propelling them on the course of action were already turning—Wayne and Takako stood. Jo watched as Takako entered in her code at the Door, Wayne behind her. In less than a minute, they were both gone, to kill and threaten the innocent and protect a murderer. Even the idea of the Bone Carver being somewhat justified was no longer a palatable balm to the situation.

  “I’ll be waiting in my room,” Samson announced. Eslar stood wordlessly with him and the two exited together.

  Then, it was just three of them. Jo half expected Pan to make her move, to finish what had so clearly been started when it had just been her and Jo. But she gave a delicate little smile, a flutter of her lashes, then sauntered out of the room as well.

  Jo looked helplessly to Snow, alone again.

  “Would you like to—”

  “I think I need a moment to process everything,” Jo interrupted delicately. “There’s a lot going on.”

  He gave her a knowing look, walked up to her, and placed a hand on her arm, trailing it up to her shoulder. “Come to me when you’re ready.” With a gentle squeeze, as much reassurance as could be given in the moment, Snow left her to the empty briefing room and her thoughts.

  “Thank you.” Jo didn’t know if he’d heard her, or if he was too far down the hall by the time she finally got the words out.

  Jo’s ankles seemed to wobble a bit as she stood; her joints ached. It was as if her relentlessly tense muscles were finally ripping her limb from limb. Or perhaps, it was her magic that was killing her from the inside out. She was destruction, right? A demigod in a mortal casing, as Snow had said. If her magic could unravel the logics of reality, who was to say it wouldn’t do the same with her mortal form?

  She paused, looking back to the Door. Not for the first time, she thought about leaving, running away from it all. But for the first time, Jo felt like she actually could. She’d broken the monitor, hadn’t she? She was destruction itself; not even Snow had denied the possibility of her success in that regard.

  Other than fear of the unknown surrounding Pan, what was really stopping her from tearing apart the whole damn thing?

  Chapter 21

  The Final Pieces

  Jo headed to her room for the first time in what felt like months.

  She needed a bit of a reprieve, needed to breathe a moment and process everything she’d uncovered over the past three days, and everything that Snow had told her. Opening the door, Jo barged in without a thought.

  And was brought up short.

  The clicking of the door latch barely registered to her ears. Jo stared dumbly at the foreign tapestries. Her eyes scanned over the sweeping arched architecture, searching for something, all the while not knowing what exactly. She spun, taking in the lavish furniture, curling columns, and vast beyond outside her windows.

  “What. . . is this?” Jo whispered, looking at the river rocks that made up the room’s foundation. Her attention drifted from bottom to top, looking at a mural painted in careful detail on her ceiling.

  Stars spotted on a blue-black canvas of sky, swirls of light radiating out from them in softer shades. It was similar to the hand that had painted the murals on Snow’s ceiling, but the subject matter was different. Her eyes connected the dots, making shapes that resembled no constellation she’d ever seen before.

  No, they weren’t constellations.

  Slowly, Jo began to recognize the shapes, like finally understanding a complicated math problem, or watching a line of code evolve into something hackable. They had once been her game plan, like the x’s and o’s on a football coach’s playbook, for the order in which she’d eventually end the stars one by one. Her restriction—she had to see something to be able to destroy it—had always been there. And reaping destruction was what she’d been doing all along.

  She’d been made to bring ends. Just like everything she’d broken, every life she’d ever ruined. How many people, how many worlds had already suffered because of her?

  Turning in place, Jo wrenched the door open once more and started down the hallway. She listened for the slam of the door closing—ensuring that no one else would accidentally stumble on her room. Its latest change was not a phenomenon she wanted to explain. Her feet moved on auto-pilot and, in a blink, Jo found herself squaring off opposite a white door.

  Just as her knuckles were about to meet the wood, the door swung open.

  “I didn’t think I would see you again so soon.” Snow seemed pleased, but also concerned.

  Jo glanced at the black door to her left. Snow’s eyes followed; he gave a nod and stepped aside. She took the silent invitation and spoke only when the door had clicked shut behind her.

  “My room is different,” Jo started, turning to face him.

  “Different, how?”

  “Much more similar to yours.” She motioned at the decor around her. “And I recognize it.”

  Snow’s lips thinned into a line.

  “Snow, I—” Jo had set to pacing around the room as she spoke, working out the nervous energy that ticked up in her. But she came up short the moment her eyes fell on a dresser, window, and small table with a gilded box atop. “The box,” she whispered.

  “What?” Snow went rigid.

  “You said, once, that there was great power in it—destruction. You said you split my magic and used it . . .”

  “Josephina.” He used her full name like a parent might. Yet she could not be chided or dissuaded.

  “I saw it. I saw you use it during the first wish—I felt it then. I felt it soak into me without resistance as you unleashed it. You said my magic was returning, more now that I was in proximity to it . . .” She remembered how the magic had
flooded the room where Snow had said he’d died. She remembered the feeling of it seeping through her flesh. “Then you wouldn’t let me touch it the last time I approached it.” Jo stopped, standing before the box. “My magic is in there, isn’t it?”

  Jo felt him behind her. She could hear him breathing, every slow breath hot on the nape of her neck. Jo gave him a solid minute to bring to an end the battle that was no doubt raging in his mind. But when he said nothing, she spoke again.

  “Answer me, Snow. I deserve to know.” She spun in place, putting her back to the box and facing him once more. Jo found herself at the starting line of another seemingly infinite silence. It stretched before her and between them, as though they stood on different worlds. The finish line was at his feet. Just beyond it was truth, knowledge. One way or another, she’d cross it. “You’ve already told me almost everything, haven’t you? This is just a simple yes or no.”

  Still, he said nothing.

  “Keeping me in ignorance is not letting me thrive in a beautiful lie. It’s death in the dark.” Dramatic? Probably, since she couldn’t technically die. But Jo didn’t know how to describe her feelings lately, if not as agony. Snow let his gaze roam over every plane of her face, brows pinched and eyes sad.

  “It’s dangerous. You cannot meddle with the box, even if I tell you.” His eyes continued to searched her face, as though he were asking for permission to take the risk anyway.

  “Fine,” Jo agreed. “Though my magic already seems to be haywire enough. I’m not quite sure what difference it’ll make.”

  “Regaining all of your powers will make a world of difference.” Snow sighed. “Yes, your magic is stored there. But you must not touch it.”

  “Why?”

  “If the box is opened, your powers return. However, while they are returning and before they are safely back within your form, they will be vulnerable to theft.”