She leaned into my shoulder. “Maybe you don’t have to be a Caster to have power.”
I pushed her hair behind her ear. “Maybe you just have to fall for one.”
I said it, just like that. No stupid jokes, no changing the subject. For once, I wasn’t embarrassed, because it was the truth. I had fallen. I think I had always been falling. And she might as well know, if she didn’t already, because there was no going back now. Not for me.
She looked up at me, and the whole world disappeared. Like there was just us, like there would always be just us, and we didn’t need magic for that. It was sort of happy and sad, all at the same time. I couldn’t be around her without feeling things, without feeling everything.
What are you thinking?
She smiled.
I think you can figure it out. You can read the writing on the wall.
And as she said it, there was writing on the wall. It appeared slowly, one word at a time.
You’re
not
the
only
one
falling.
It wrote itself out, in the same curling black script as the rest of the room. Lena’s cheeks flushed a little, and she covered her face with her hands. “It’s going to be really embarrassing if everything I think starts showing up on the walls.”
“You didn’t mean to do that?”
“No.”
You don’t need to be embarrassed, L.
I pulled her hands away.
Because I feel the same way about you.
Her eyes were closed, and I leaned in to kiss her. It was a tiny kiss, a nothing of a kiss. But it made my heart race just the same.
She opened her eyes and smiled. “I want to hear the rest. I want to hear how you saved my life.”
“I don’t even remember how I got here, and then I couldn’t find you, and your house was full of all these creepy people who looked like they were at a costume party.”
“They weren’t.”
“I figured.”
“Then you found me?” She laid her head in my lap, looking up at me with a smile. “You rode into the room on your white stallion and saved me from certain death at the hands of a Dark Caster?”
“Don’t joke. It was really scary. And there was no stallion, it was more like a dog.”
“The last thing I remember was Uncle Macon talking about the Binding.” Lena twirled her hair, thinking.
“What was the Circle thing?”
“The Sanguinis Circle. The Circle of Blood.”
I tried not to look freaked out. I could barely stomach the idea of Amma and the chicken bones. I didn’t think I could handle real chicken blood; at least, I hoped it was just chicken blood. “I didn’t see the blood.”
“Not actual blood, you idiot. Blood as in kin, family. My whole family is here for the holiday, remember?”
“Right. Sorry.”
“I told you. Halloween is a powerful night for Casting.”
“So that’s what you were all doing up here? In that Circle?”
“Macon wanted to Bind Ravenwood. It’s always Bound, but he Binds it again every Halloween for the New Year.”
“But something went wrong.”
“I guess so, because we were in the circle, and then I could hear Uncle Macon talking to Aunt Del, and then everyone was shouting, and they were all talking about a woman. Sara something.”
“Sarafine. I heard it, too.”
“Sarafine. Was that the name? I’ve never heard it before.”
“She must be a Dark Caster. They all seemed, I don’t know, scared. I’ve never heard your uncle talk like that before. Do you know what was happening? Was she really trying to kill you?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember much, except this voice, like someone was talking to me from really far away. But I can’t remember what they were saying.” She squirmed into my lap, awkwardly leaning against my chest. It almost seemed like I could feel her heart beating on top of mine, like a little fluttering bird in a cage. We were as close as two people could be, without looking at each other. Which was, this morning, the way I think we both needed it to be. “Ethan. We’re running out of time. It’s no use. Whatever it was, whatever she was, don’t you think she was coming for me, because in four months I’m going to go Dark?”
“No.”
“No? That’s all you have to say about the worst night of my whole life, when I almost died?” Lena pulled back.
“Think about it. Would this Sarafine, whoever she is, be hunting you down if you were one of the bad guys? No, the good guys would be coming after you. Look at Ridley. Nobody in your family was exactly pulling out the welcome mat for her.”
“Except you. Jerk.” She jabbed me playfully in the ribs.
“Exactly. Because I’m not a Caster, I’m a puny Mortal. And you said yourself, if she told me to jump off a cliff, I’d do it.”
Lena tossed her hair. “Didn’t your mamma ever ask you, Ethan Wate, if your friends were about to jump right off a cliff, would you jump, too?”
I drew my arms around her, feeling happier than I should’ve, given last night. Or maybe it was Lena who was feeling better, and I was just picking up on it. These days, such a strong current flowed between us that it was hard to sort out what was me, and what was her.
All I knew was, I wanted to kiss her.
You’re going Light.
And so I did.
Definitely, Light.
I kissed her again, pulling her up into my arms. Kissing her was like breathing. I had to do it. I couldn’t help myself. I pressed my body against hers. I could hear her breathing, feel her heart beating against my chest. My whole nervous system started firing at once. My hair was standing on end. Her black hair spilled into my hands, and she relaxed into my body. Every touch of her hair was like a prick of electricity. I had been waiting to do this since I had first met her, since I had first dreamed about her.
It was like lightning striking. We were one thing.
Ethan.
Even in my head, I could hear the urgency in her voice. I felt it too, like I couldn’t get close enough to her. Her skin was soft and hot. I could feel the pinpricks intensifying. Our lips were raw; we couldn’t kiss each other any harder. The bed started to shake, and then lift. I could feel it swaying underneath us. I felt like my lungs were collapsing. My skin went cold. The lights in the room flashed on and off, and the room was spinning, or maybe growing dark, only I couldn’t tell and I didn’t know if it was me, or if it was the light in the room.
Ethan!
The bed crashed to the floor. I heard the sound of splintering glass, in the distance, as if a window had shattered. I heard Lena crying.
Then the voice of a child. “What’s wrong, Lena Beana? Why are you so sad?”
I felt a small, warm hand on my chest. The warmth radiated out from the hand, through my body, and the room stopped spinning, and I could breathe again, and I opened my eyes.
Ryan.
I sat up, my head pounding. Lena was next to me, her head pressed against my chest, just like she had been an hour before. Only this time, her windows were broken, her bed had collapsed, and a little blond ten-year-old was standing in front of me with her hand on my chest. Lena, still sniffling, tried to push part of a broken mirror away from me, and what was left of her bed.
“I think we figured out what Ryan is.”
Lena smiled, wiping her eyes. She pulled Ryan close. “A Thaumaturge. We’ve never had one in our family.”
“I’m guessing that’s a fancy Caster name for a healer,” I said, rubbing my head.
Lena nodded and kissed Ryan’s cheek.
“Something like that.”
11.27
Just Your Average American Holiday
After Halloween, it felt like the calm after the storm. We settled into a routine, even though we knew the clock was ticking. I walked to the corner to hide from Amma, Lena picked me u
p in the hearse, Boo Radley caught up with us in front of the Stop & Steal and followed us to school. With the occasional exception of Winnie Reid, the only member of the Jackson Debate team, which made debating difficult, or Robert Lester Tate, who had won the State Spelling Bee two years in a row, the only person who would even sit with us in the cafeteria was Link. When we weren’t at school eating on the bleachers, or being spied on by Principal Harper, we were holed up in the library rereading the locket papers and hoping Marian might slip up and tell us something. No sign of flirty Siren cousins bearing lollipops and death grips, no unexplained Category 3 storms or ominous black clouds in the sky, not even a weird meal with Macon. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Except for one thing. The most important thing. I was crazy about a girl who actually felt the same way about me. When did that ever happen? The fact that she was a Caster was almost easier to believe than the fact that she existed at all.
I had Lena. She was powerful and she was beautiful. Every day was terrifying, and every day was perfect.
Until out of nowhere, the unthinkable happened. Amma invited Lena to Thanksgiving dinner.
“I don’t know why you want to come over for Thanksgiving anyway. It’s pretty boring.” I was nervous. Amma was obviously up to something.
Lena smiled, and I relaxed. There was nothing better than when she smiled. It blew me away every time. “I don’t think it sounds boring.”
“You’ve never been to Thanksgiving at my house.”
“I’ve never been to Thanksgiving at anyone’s house. Casters don’t celebrate Thanksgiving. It’s a Mortal holiday.”
“Are you kidding? No turkey? No pumpkin pie?”
“Nope.”
“You didn’t eat much today, did you?”
“Not really.”
“Then you’ll be okay.”
I had prepped Lena ahead of time so she wouldn’t be surprised when the Sisters wrapped extra biscuits in their dinner napkins and slipped them into their purses. Or when my Aunt Caroline and Marian spent half the night debating the location of the first public library in the U.S. (Charleston) or the proper proportions for “Charleston green” paint (two parts “Yankee” black and one part “Rebel” yellow). Aunt Caroline was a museum curator in Savannah and she knew as much about period architecture and antiques as my mom had known about Civil War ammunition and battle strategy. Because that’s what Lena had to be ready for—Amma, my crazy relatives, Marian, and Harlon James thrown in for good measure.
I left out the one detail she actually needed to know. Given how things had been lately, Thanksgiving probably also meant dinner with my dad in his pajamas. But that was something I just couldn’t explain.
Amma took Thanksgiving really seriously, which meant two things. My dad would finally come out of his study, although technically it was after dark so that wasn’t a big exception, and he would eat at the table with us. No Shredded Wheat. That was the absolute minimum Amma would allow. So in honor of my dad’s pilgrimage into the world the rest of us inhabited every day, Amma cooked up a storm. Turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, butter beans and creamed corn, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, honey ham and biscuits, pumpkin and lemon meringue pie, which, after my evening in the swamp, I was pretty sure she was making more for Uncle Abner than the rest of us.
I stopped for a second on the porch, remembering how I felt standing on the veranda at Ravenwood the first night I showed up there. Now it was Lena’s turn. She had pulled her dark hair away from her face, and I touched the place where it managed to escape, curling around her chin.
You ready?
She pulled her black dress loose from her tights. She was nervous.
I’m not.
You should be.
I grinned and pushed open the door. “Ready or not.” The house smelled like my childhood. Like mashed potatoes and hard work.
“Ethan Wate, is that you?” Amma called from the kitchen.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You have that girl with you? Bring her in here so we can get a look at her.”
The kitchen was sizzling. Amma was standing in front of the stove, in her apron, a wooden spoon in each hand. Aunt Prue was puttering around, sticking her fingers in the mixing bowls on the counter. Aunt Mercy and Aunt Grace were playing Scrabble at the kitchen table; neither one of them seemed to notice they weren’t actually making any words.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Bring her on in here.”
Every muscle in my body tensed. There was no way to predict what Amma, or the Sisters, were going to say. I still had no idea why Amma had insisted I invite Lena in the first place.
Lena stepped forward. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Amma looked Lena up and down, wiping her hands on her apron. “So you’re the one keepin’ my boy so busy. Postman was right. Pretty as a picture.” I wondered if Carlton Eaton had mentioned that on their ride to Wader’s Creek.
Lena blushed. “Thank you.”
“Heard you’ve shaken things up at that school.” Aunt Grace smiled. “A good thing, too. I don’t know what they’re teachin’ you kids over there.”
Aunt Mercy put down her tiles, one at a time. I-T-C-H-I-N.
Aunt Grace leaned closer to the board, squinting. “Mercy Lynne, you’re cheatin’ again! What kinda word is that? Use it in a sentence.”
“I’m itchin’ ta have some a that white cake.”
“That’s not how you spell it.” At least one of them could spell. Aunt Grace pulled one of the tiles off the board. “There’s no T in itchin’.” Or not.
You weren’t exaggerating.
I told you.
“Is that Ethan I hear?” Aunt Caroline walked into the kitchen just in time, her arms open wide. “Come on over here and give your aunt a hug.” It always caught me off guard for a second, just how much she looked like my mother. The same long brown hair, always pulled back, the same dark brown eyes. But my mom had always preferred bare feet and jeans, while Aunt Caroline was more of a Southern Belle in sundresses and little sweaters. I think my aunt liked to see the expression on people’s faces when they found out she was curator of the Savannah History Museum and not some aging debutante.
“How’re things up North?” Aunt Caroline always referred to Gatlin as “up North” since it was north of Savannah.
“All right. Did you bring me some pralines?”
“Don’t I always?”
I took Lena’s hand, pulling her toward us. “Lena, this is my Aunt Caroline and my great-aunts, Prudence, Mercy, and Grace.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” Lena reached out her hand, but my Aunt Caroline pulled her in for a hug instead.
The front door slammed.
“Happy Thanksgiving.” Marian came in carrying a casserole dish and a pie plate stacked on top of one another. “What did I miss?”
“Squirrels.” Aunt Prue shuffled over and looped her arm through Marian’s. “What do you know about ’em?”
“All right, every one a you, clear on outta my kitchen. I need some space to work my magic, and Mercy Statham, I see you eatin’ my Red Hots.” Aunt Mercy stopped crunching for a second. Lena looked over at me, trying not to smile.
I could call Kitchen.
Trust me, Amma doesn’t need any help when it comes to cooking. She’s got some magic of her own.
Everyone crowded into the living room. Aunt Caroline and Aunt Prue were discussing how to grow persimmons on a sun porch and Aunt Grace and Aunt Mercy were still fighting over how to spell “itchin’,” while Marian refereed. It was enough to make anyone crazy, but when I saw Lena wedged between the Sisters, she looked happy, even content.
This is nice.
Are you kidding?
Was this her idea of a family holiday? Casseroles and Scrabble and old ladies bickering? I wasn’t sure, but I knew this was about as far from the Gathering as you could get.
At least no one is trying to kill anyone.
Give them about fifteen m
inutes, L.
I caught Amma’s eye through the kitchen doorway, but it wasn’t me she was looking at. It was Lena.
She was definitely up to something.
Thanksgiving dinner unfolded as it had every year. Except nothing was the same. My father was in pajamas, my mom’s chair was empty, and I was holding hands with a Caster girl under the table. For a second, it was overwhelming—feeling happy and sad at the same time—as if they were tied together somehow. But I only had a second to think about it; we had barely said “amen” before the Sisters started swiping biscuits, Amma was spooning heaping mounds of mashed potatoes and gravy on our plates, and Aunt Caroline started with the small talk.
I knew what was going on. If there was enough work, enough talk, enough pie, maybe nobody would notice the empty chair. There wasn’t enough pie in the world for that, not even in Amma’s kitchen.
Either way, Aunt Caroline was determined to keep me talking. “Ethan, do you need to borrow anything for the reenactment? I’ve got some remarkably authentic-looking shell jackets in the attic.”
“Don’t remind me.” I’d almost forgotten I had to dress up as a Confederate soldier for the Reenactment of the Battle of Honey Hill if I wanted to pass history this year. Every February, there was a Civil War reenactment in Gatlin; it was the only reason tourists ever showed up here.
Lena reached for a biscuit. “I don’t really understand why the reenactment is such a big deal. It seems like a lot of work to re-create a battle that happened over a hundred years ago, considering we can just read about it in our history books.”
Uh-oh.
Aunt Prue gasped; that was blasphemy as far as she was concerned. “They should burn that school a yours ta the ground! They’re not teachin’ any kind a his’try over there. You can’t learn ’bout the War for Southern Independence in any textbook. You have ta see it for yourself, and every one a you kids should, because the same country that fought together in the American Revolution for independence, turned clear against itself in the War.”