Chapter 40
40
R oma’s fingers close on empty air, the rift evaporating before she can bolt back through it. “No,” she stammers, desperately whipping her head around, trying to figure out how to get back to them??—
To get back to Ez. Ez and JJ and Naomi and??—
She just wants to get back to all of them. She wants to go back and start over, start fresh; wants to team up with them on her own terms, become friends with them on her own terms, fall in love with Ez on her own terms.
To not have the Sanctum?—and its plans for her life?—stalking her every footstep.
The Sanctum, she realizes with a jolt, that’s currently just behind her. Obie rifted her halfway up the path connecting the compound to the town, right next to the picnic tables.
Specifically, right next to the picnic table where Ez waited for Roma the week after Roma let Ez take the neophyte from midtown. She blinks back the burning behind her eyes at the memory.
Right now, though, she needs to think. She needs to find a way back to them. She heard Obie say Naomi and Sawyer’s address over the phone, but it’s halfway across town; even if she runs straight over there, everyone will probably be gone by the time she arrives.
The only way she can get there quickly enough is by reopening Obie’s rift. Roma’s heart leaps at the idea. Because that’s something she can do?—something any spellcaster can do, as long as it’s been less than twenty-eight minutes since the rift closed. This particular spell isn’t her specialty, but she had to memorize it for spellcasting class, and she still remembers all the principles. Hastily, she drops into the proper stance, stumbles through the incantation, gestures outward with her hands like she’s opening a curtain??—
Nothing.
Roma sucks in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to force her mind to clear and her roaring pulse to slow. Strong emotions can affect spellcasting, and right now, “strong” is an understatement for the screaming hole in her chest. She resets her feet, repeats the incantation, redoes the gesture, rinse and repeat, panic and frustration mounting as she attempts the spell again and again??—
Abruptly, her heart drops.
An anti-rifting zone. Obie must’ve put an anti-rifting zone around the house after shoving Roma back to the Sanctum.
Back to where he thinks she belongs.
And if Roma can’t reopen that rift, then she has no way to find them again. She has phone numbers for a few of them, but she’s sure they’d ignore her calls?—or just block her outright. And Ez used rifts so much that Roma never knew anyone else’s addresses.
Not that they’re going to be in those addresses for much longer. Roma swallows hard past the lump in her throat at the thought. Now, Ez is going to have to abandon the safe house where they researched spell work together and maybe even her real house, the house that she trusted Roma enough to invite her inside; Naomi and Sawyer are going to have to abandon the home they found after they defected, the one where they made a new life for themselves??—
All because of Roma.
The lump gets bigger. She squeezes her eyes shut, pressing her thumb and index finger against them.
She can’t break down here. Not when a hunter could walk down this path at any minute. Roma needs to get into the Sanctum, into her bedroom??—
Into the one place where she can sob in private and know that no one will hear her.
She just has to control her emotions for long enough to get there. She takes a few deep breaths, trying to block the past ten minutes from her mind, before dragging her feet up the hill.
In the past, the Sanctum was always a comforting presence, the fortress that kept her safe, her home. Now, though, as she reluctantly approaches the imposing double doors, checks in with the overnight guards, and slips down the barren halls, she feels more alone and scared than ever.
And not just because of how she left things with Ez and the others. Over the past few weeks, she’s slowly started to accept the conspiracy that Naomi and Sawyer defected over, slowly started to accept that the Sanctum and the Chain are working together, slowly started to accept that the Council has been lying to her?—to everyone? —from the start.
She might not understand all the details yet, but she doesn’t doubt that it’s true.
So where does that leave Roma? Where does that leave Bryant and Chester, for that matter? Bryant has always been at the very top of the bloodlines hierarchy, enjoying the privilege that comes from a characteristic no one can even measure?—has that always been a lie, too? And Chester??—
“Roma?”
Roma’s eyes snap up. Chester himself is walking down the hallway towards her, his eyebrows furrowed and his interrogator uniform darker than ever underneath the harsh lights. “Chester,” she says hoarsely, attempting a smile. “Hey.”
And poor Chester, who only ever wanted his family back, who only ever wanted to take care of his friends, who only ever wanted a place to call his home??—
Were any of them supposed to make it out of this alive?
Whatever Chester sees in Roma’s face, it’s enough to make his eyes widen. “What’s wrong?” he asks sharply, striding forward. “Did something happen? Are you hurt? Roma??—?”
And Chester’s always been like this. Always been sweet, always been caring, always been willing to drop everything to help someone. He’s always been good, even when the Sanctum tried their hardest to make him feel expendable.
He’s always been better than Roma, at least. Better in all the ways that really matter. “I?—I got made,” Roma admits, and she laughs shakily. “In the worst way.”
Chester goes still. “With the demons, you mean? With Laguerre and?—and JJ?”
Roma’s eyes blur. “Yeah,” she croaks. “Yeah, with Laguerre and JJ.”
Chester only hesitates for a second before carefully resting his hand between her shoulder blades. “Come on,” he says softly, and Roma weakly lets him guide her down the empty hallway, ducking into one of the many abandoned stairwells they discovered as teenagers. Once they’re safely out of sight, Chester gently pushes Roma down on the windowsill seat and leans against the wall next to her. “What happened?”
Roma impatiently wipes her eyes on her sleeve. “Turns out Ez can manipulate Obie’s memoryscapes?—as in, she can cast spells to affect them. They got the idea to cast an anti-cloaking spell over the memories Obie collected from the mega-rift sites, and…” She shakes her head. “That was that, really. They recognized you and Bryant. And everything went downhill from there.”
Chester’s eyes darken. “Did they hurt you?”
Don’t say you started falling for me. That’s just tacky.
Roma’s heart feels raw. “No,” she says, and she forces a smile. “I’m just?—I’m just disappointed. And a little shaken up. There was a lot of shouting before Obie shoved me through a rift back to here. A lot of… betrayal.”
Chester’s expression shifts. “Was JJ there?”
Again? Goddamn again?
Pain lances through Roma’s chest. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “He didn’t take it well. That I, uh. That I tried to fool him twice.”
Chester looks away. Doesn’t answer.
“Chester, I’m so sorry,” Roma whispers. “I know that I said??—?”
That I was going to bring JJ home.
She can’t even bring herself to say the words. Can’t even bring herself to think about her original assignment, can’t even bring herself to entertain the idea anymore.
Can’t even imagine hurting JJ that badly. “That I was going to get our crew back together,” she finishes instead. “But I don’t think I can bring JJ back to the Sanctum. Not now.” Not ever.
When Chester finally speaks, his voice is gentle. “Honestly, it was a long shot from the start. The Council probably knew that, too?—it might’ve been why they were willing to offer you a match with Long in the first place. But?—?” He smiles ruefully. “But if I was going to bet on anyone pulling it off, Roma, it would’ve been you. I know that Bryant’s the purebred, but?—but you’ve always been the best of us, I think.”
Roma’s chest hurts. “Thanks, Chester,” she says haltingly, and she takes a deep breath, sitting up straighter. “I don’t know what they’re going to do about the mega-rift epidemic now, though. Ez and I were this close to pulling off the counterspell, but she’ll have to use another human spellcaster for it now.” She winces. “Like JJ.”
Chester twitches. “JJ isn’t the strongest spellcaster.”
“I know. I’m really worried about him getting hurt,” she says, and then she snaps her mouth shut, mortified. Damn it, damn it, she’s back in the Sanctum now. As far as any of her fellow hunters know?—as far as any of them are willing to believe?—JJ is the enemy.
She can’t be seen worrying about the enemy.
But, if anything, the words make Chester’s shoulders relax the slightest bit. “So am I,” he admits. “I’m?—I’m really worried about him in general, honestly. I know that I shouldn’t be?—he made his choices, and he didn’t choose us?—but part of me still can’t believe he’s that far gone, you know? That he’s really so different from our JJ.”
Guilt wracks through Roma. The bitter truth is that the JJ of today is probably closer to the real JJ than he ever was in the Sanctum, but no matter how much she trusts Chester, there’s no way she’s saying that out loud.
After all, hunters are always listening. “I don’t know,” she says softly. “It’s hard to know anyone fully, you know? Hard to know everything about them.” She laughs hollowly. “Like Obie. I had no idea that his memoryscapes could be manipulated with spell work so easily. If I’d known, I never would’ve suggested we run our operation with cloaking spells alone. Too risky.”
For a split second, Chester’s eyes seem distant. “I think there’s a lot more to Obadiah Smith than we give him credit for,” he says, and then he visibly shakes himself, focusing back on Roma. “But you did the best you could, okay? You did a great job. And I’m?—I’m really proud of you. For how hard you tried to save JJ.”
Roma’s heart crumples. She looks up at Chester, at his earnest eyes and his sincere expression, and she wants. She wants to tell him the real story of the past few months?—about slowly building that shaky trust with Ez, about growing to grudgingly respect her talent and skills and knowledge, about everything they’ve conquered and everything they’ve shared??—
About seeing JJ again. About seeing Obie and Cass again.
About seeing Naomi and Sawyer again, and everything that came with that.
And could Roma tell Chester? Could she trust him to take her at her word, trust him to believe her, trust him to keep that secret for her? Or would he think it was a test designed by the Sanctum to make sure their last remaining neophyte hunter was still loyal to the cause? Hell, would he think he was doing Roma a favor by reporting her suspicions to the Council?
Is this how Naomi and Sawyer felt?
Roma swallows hard. “Thanks, Locke,” she says, and decisively, she pushes herself to her feet. “I appreciate that.”
Chester seems to sense just as acutely as Roma that their moment is over. He takes a measured step back, putting a respectable distance between them. “Just sleep on it, okay, Gutierrez? Get your head back on straight before reporting to the Council. Everything will work out for the best in the end?—we just need?—?” He lets out a slow breath. “Well. We just need to get there first.”
Roma’s smile feels wan. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Sleep well, okay?”
“You, too,” Chester says, and he claps her on the shoulder before slipping out of their little alcove, jogging upstairs to his bedroom.
Roma counts off sixty seconds in her head before following him, checking both ways to make sure no one else is around. She heads towards her own room at a quick walk, trying to avoid any other hunters, and slinks through her door with her shoulders slumped and her head bowed. Engages the lock behind her, blindly changes into her pajamas, brushes her teeth.
Collapses into bed and buries herself under the covers and cries until sheer exhaustion drags her into a fitful sleep.