21. Izzy
Chapter 21
Izzy
I was in the ER on the day my father was diagnosed with cancer.
The ER doc came back with a very sad expression on his already serious face. Mom looked worried. Dad held her hand. After they told us he’d need to see an oncologist for further information, Dad searched up his kind of cancer online. The internet prognosis was bad—he probably wouldn’t live more than a year.
I wasn’t there when they saw the oncologist, but Mom told us what he said. He told Dad that he had to choose.
There was an aggressive treatment option. It wasn’t very successful in curing the cancer. Less than one percent of cases survived five years from the diagnosis. But Dad would probably live a little longer with a ‘full court press,’ as they called it. He’d likely live more than a year, maybe even six months more, but whatever time he had would be spent in the hospital.
Mom and Dad were optimists.
Cancer pulls optimists out by their roots and leaves them to die. That’s what it did to my parents, or really to my entire family. We had to watch as the poison they gave Dad killed him every bit as fast as it killed the cancer cells.
He wilted.
Right in front of us.
In the end, he didn’t die at home with his family. He didn’t have some good days and some bad. All his days were bad, and he survived less than a year, all of those days spent lying in a hospital bed in terrible pain.
It made me hate all the people who were on social media or commercials claiming they had beaten cancer. Every time one of them said how strong they were, it felt like they were saying my dad wasn’t . When they talked about how their families supported them, and without their love and unfailing strength, they wouldn’t have been able to keep going, it felt like we failed our dad.
In the end, I only knew one thing for sure. When the doctors told us to choose between coming home and spending as much good time with Dad as we got or fighting the cancer to try and get more time with him?
We chose wrong.
I’m not a big fan of life versus quality of life choices.
But it frustrates me when people say that some things are ‘life and death,’ implying that’s a hard decision to make. When something’s black or white, of course you pick white. Life or death? You always pick life, idiot. It’s life or quality of life decisions that are hard, and now I’m facing that very kind of choice.
I can feel it.
I always know when stuff like that’s coming my way. It’s like something’s hanging in the air. A weight. It warns me when hard choices approach. The air’s terribly heavy right now, as I walk beside Leonid toward the stupid limekiln ruins—so heavy that I feel like I could almost cut it with a knife.
Mom and Steve are walking up ahead of me, hand-in-hand as well, and Mom keeps glancing back at Leo’s and my joined hands and glaring, like my support for Leonid is an affront to my love for her. It hurts, honestly. But Leonid needs me, at least, right now he does. I can feel it. I may not be able to see his face, and I don’t know how bright or dark it is.
And my judgment has been really bad lately.
I know that, too.
I’m sure my whole family’s been talking about it. It’s not a lovely feeling, knowing that everyone you love thinks you’re a moron. I can’t argue with them, either. They were right. When I think back on my time with Tim—I can’t believe it took me so long to see how selfish and dishonest he was. I think I stuck around for so long because leaving him meant giving up on myself.
And even now, I’m not sure he couldn’t be saved by someone. The right person. I’ve just lost interest in being the one to do it.
That’s the bummer about optimists. We’re the happy ones, always hoping, always wishing, but we’re also let down more than anyone else in the world. Your bubble can’t be popped if it’s not floating, and each time it is, it hurts.
“We’re almost there.” Abigail stops, releases Steve’s hand, and turns around. “We said we’d talk.”
Leonid looks around, squeezing my hand. “I can sense the others. We may as well walk all the way to where they’re waiting for us.”
The others? I look around, unsure whom he means. “There’s no one else,” I say. “They’d have said.”
Mom looks at the ground.
Steve grunts.
“They’re all right up there, around the bend.” Leonid sounds utterly calm.
“I thought you told Boris and Mikhail not to come.” I frown.
“I did.” He tosses his head at Steve. “They made no such promises.”
“You didn’t ask,” Steve says.
“I didn’t ask.” Leonid tugs on my hand, and then he starts walking again.
“Who is it?” I seem to be the only one who doesn’t know. “Who’s up there?” I stomp. “Is it Aunt Helen?”
“Perhaps she’s with them too,” Leonid says. “But those whom I can feel are the people I’ve mentioned before. Aleksandr, Kristiana, Gustav, Grigoriy, Alexei, and Katerina.”
Stupid Katerina? Ugh. I guess I’ll find out just how pretty she is. Which is not the point. “Why are they all here?”
“To destroy me.” But Leo’s smiling.
“Why aren’t you worried?” I ask. “You should be nervous.”
“He’s not nervous.” A man steps out from behind the edge of the massive stone kiln up ahead. “Because he’s rescinded our ability to use our magic.”
Gabe hops out from beside the man. “Hey, Iz. I can’t believe you knew about all this too! Mom said I couldn’t tell you, but I really wanted to call anyway.”
“We were trying to keep you safe,” Mom says. “Clearly that didn’t pan out.”
As we approach the limekiln, a large stone facade with small arched doors in the front, all of them barred over, I see quite a few people. Gabe’s the only one I know, other than Mom and Steve.
“Who’s who?” I whisper.
“The blonde who’s small and crazy looking is Adriana.” Leo points. “The other small blonde’s Kristiana, who’s Gustav’s sister. The third, taller blonde—not much diversity in Russia—is Katerina.”
“Their names are confusingly similar, too,” I say. “If the same person had named them all, say, an author of a book series, I’d say she was a total idiot.”
“No kidding,” Leonid says. “The big bulky man, that’s Grigoriy, and his wife? Girlfriend?” He snorts. “I can’t keep up, but she’s the one brunette, the one who looks like she may have eaten once in her lifetime.” He points again. “Grigoriy normally has wind magic, when I choose to allow it. The tall dark-haired man’s Aleksandr, Kristiana’s husband, who usually has earth powers. The slim blonde man is with the tiny, crazy woman, and his name’s Alexei Romanov. Water powers.”
“I recognize his face from the news,” I say. “Vaguely.”
“You should let go of his hand and come over here,” Gabe says. “Red Rover, Red Rover, send Izzy over.” He smiles.
Does he really think this is all just some kind of game? Of course he does. Gabe thinks everything’s a game. And with their faces—they all look like they could walk right off the set of a movie. I might think this was all fun too, if I were his age.
“He has a pretty face, so it’s confusing, but Iz, trust me. He’s the bad guy,” Gabe says. “He threatened Mom and Dad before, and he almost killed Mandy.” He nods. “Honest.”
“Are you tied to him?” Mom asks.
It makes me rethink what Lechuza said. . . That she ‘linked both of the bumbling idiots who were spraying magic all over.’ I thought she meant me and Leonid, but I can’t spray magic. I didn’t have any. Did she mean. . .Gustav? I’m pretty sure she linked him to Gabe , but I want more info. “Tell me about Gabe and Gustav.”
“You took Leonid,” Mom says, clearly ignoring my demand. “On the day I called, Oliver was right. He’d seen you—you were talking to the stallion who was set to be killed, and you stole that horse to save him from being killed. Am I right?”
More or less. I could explain that I stole him to sell him for my criminal boyfriend, but I feel like leaving that out doesn’t hurt anyone, so I just nod.
“You discovered he wasn’t really a horse, and then he was kind to you, and he listened to how we’d all disapproved of Tim, and then. . .” Mom shrugs. “Then what? He convinced you that he needed your help?”
“He was a horse for quite some time,” I say. “And the second we reached Tim’s place, he tried to run away. But when he did, he passed out.”
“See, they’re tied too,” Gabe says. “Sounds just like me, except, like, probably more running away for them. I wonder what Tim thought. I wish I’d been there to see his face when Leonid turned into a man.” He’s smiling—of course he is. It’s all a game.
“It was several days before I turned him back into a human,” I say. “And Tim was in jail during all that time.”
“Jail?” Mom’s eyes widen. “Why was?—”
Steve wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Focus.”
“Right,” Mom says. “Okay, so you’re stuck. You’re somehow linked to Leonid, but we have a plan to get you unstuck.”
“You—what is it?” Leonid asks. “Because we understand a bit about the connection, and we were told it’s not something that’s breakable.”
“We know who will know.” Katerina looks smug. “We found the spell you used to summon Baba Yaga before.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Leonid says. “The person who linked us was another witch, the one who monitors this area, geographically speaking, and she’s not happy that we’re here. In fact, she made it sound like any additional magic used in this area would be a very bad thing.”
“Convenient,” Katerina says. “You always have all the answers, but this time, we’re all going to hear them together.”
“But that spell might summon Lechuza,” I say. “I doubt she’ll be happy to see us again either.”
“Who?” Mom asks.
“Wait, is he telling the truth?” Katerina asks. “You saw it too?”
I nod. “She came to talk to both of us—she wasn’t happy that Leonid was using his magic. She told us I was supposed to be a governor, of sorts, keeping him from using any magic at all, thanks to my dark-magic-half.”
“Why?” Steve asks. “Why does she care? Is your usage pulling on her magic since we’re here?”
I shrug. “She didn’t say, but she’s worried about us waking up a horseman—some kind of death-bringing-balancer.”
“Ridiculous,” Aleksandr says. “If that existed, we’d have heard of them before.”
“Yes,” Kris says. “Because Baba Yaga’s been so clear with us.” She looks a little nervous.
Aleks frowns.
“I’m doing it,” Katerina says. “Gustav can’t use his powers unless he’s touching Gabe, and?—”
“Actually.” Gustav clears his throat. “My powers are gone right now.”
“Yours are too? I knew ours were, but. . .” Katerina freezes, and then her eyes swivel toward Leonid. “You did that too, I assume?”
Leonid shrugs.
“What?” I ask. “What’s going on with them losing their powers?”
“When they gave me their powers,” Leonid says, “they knew I might be able to block them all from using them.”
“When we failed to contain you, we knew it was a risk,” Katerina says. “But Baba Yaga’s the one who told us to stop you, so we’re calling her to help finish what we started.” She hurls something at the ground, and Gustav pulls out a blow torch.
Of course.
They’d be prepared for Leonid to take their powers. Contingency plans are just smart. Now Katerina’s chanting something, and then the stuff on the ground kind of half-explodes. Katerina and Gustav leap back.
All around us, thunderbolts strike.
The earth groans, almost like it did before, when Lechuza came to yell at us. Then there’s a strange moaning sound, like the pounding of sledgehammers against the foundation of a large building, and then a clap of thunder again, but this time without the lightning.
I blink.
And I cover my ears.
Not that it matters. The voice is booming inside my brain. “How dare you call me here of all places?”
I crouch down, releasing Leonid’s hand. He wraps himself around me, his arms making me feel both stronger and braver. “It’s fine,” he murmurs into my ear. “You’re going to be just fine.”
Redeemable. See? What kind of villain protects the girl? Unless the girl’s his only way to access his magic, I guess. Then, pretty much a hundred percent of them would.
Gah. See? Bad judgment.
When I finally poke my head around Leonid’s shoulder, I see her. From the voice, I expect a fearsome warrior the size of a mountain. I don’t expect a tall, svelte woman in a very stylish ski-suit. She’s scowling something fierce, though. “Was it you?” She’s glaring at Leonid.
He shakes his head. “Not this time.”
“Who?” She swivels, and then she stops, glaring at Katerina. “It must have been you, then.” She scowls. “What do you want?”
“We have questions,” Katerina says.
“Do I look like a wiki page?” She grows precipitously in size—the woman I assume is Baba Yaga becomes larger, taller, and brighter. “You can’t simply summon me whenever you want, especially to someone else’s demesne.”
“About that,” I say. “We saw Lechuza, and she wasn’t very happy.”
Baba Yaga freezes. “You saw her?” She grimaces.
And shrinks.
“She doesn’t like being called Squannit, either,” Leonid says. “Just FYI.”
Baba Yaga rolls her eyes. “Does she think I chose the name Baba Yaga ? What a stupid name. We don’t get to choose the names that stick, but there’s power in a name spoken by a hundred thousand tongues.”
“We called you because we’re now connected,” Katerina says. “Gustav’s connected to this boy.” She points at Gabe. “And Leonid’s connected to her.” She points at me. “They can’t use their powers without touching.”
“And if we move too far away from each other,” I say, “Leonid passes out.”
Baba Yaga steps toward me slowly, her eyes studying me. “You’re different.” She glances around the group, pausing and studying Abigail and Gabe in the same way. “You’re born of magic.”
“So Lechuza told us,” I say. “She said we were the children of a witch and a horseman.”
Baba Yaga’s eyes widen. “She spoke of their union?”
I nod. “She tied us, according to her, to keep Leo from waking the horseman by using magic here. I guess Xolotl is near here, and close to waking.”
Baba Yaba trembles. “He’s. . .close to waking?” She inhales, her eyes wide.
“So she said,” I say. “But I’m not sure?—”
“You mustn’t use magic here,” she snaps. “You must all come home immediately.”
“Who are the horsemen?” Katerina asks.
“Yeah,” Kristiana says. “I want to know the answer to that one, too.”
“We have the magic of life.” Baba Yaga’s whispering, like even her words might wake him if they’re too loud. “We help all things to grow, strive, and thrive. But they’re the balance to our life—they bring death and destruction. Floods, fires, calamities, and plagues all come from them.”
“And when they wake?” I ask.
“All of that happens while they’re sleeping,” Baba Yaga says. “Their magic spawns it from their dreams. But when they wake. . .” She trembles. “War. Bloodshed. Destruction. They rebalance a world that’s thriving into. . .” She shivers. “Balance isn’t kind.”
That sounds horrible.
“People can’t truly appreciate life without death,” Baba Yaga says. “It’s why children flourish after war. It’s why new growth redoubles after a fire.”
“Okay, but about these links,” Katerina says. “Can you undo the connection? Because Gabe’s not from here, and if we’re going back to Russia?—”
“I can’t undo it,” Baba Yaga says. “I didn’t forge it, and it was only possible because of who he is at his core.” She frowns. “If you want to sever the link, you’ll have to forcibly separate them.”
“But they’ll both survive?” Katerina asks. “If we do that. . .”
Baba Yaga shrugs. “How should I know?” She glances back and forth. “I must go. Even my presence could wake him up if he’s not slumbering soundly.”
“But before we go, she said we’re soul matches.” I step backward, putting some space between me and Leonid. “Lechuza said she matched me with Leonid because our souls fit.”
Baba Yaga’s eyes widen, and she follows me, her eyes going out of focus, like she’s looking at something else, something I can’t see. “A soul match is a beautiful thing.”
“Is that—” I don’t want to ask with all these people listening. With Leonid listening. “Is that,” my voice drops to a whisper, “is the soul thing the reason I like him? Is it the reason I want to save him?”
Baba Yaga smiles this time, and she walks toward me. Once she reaches me, she drops one hand to the side of my face. She’s whispering, too. “You know, I’ve met only one soul match in my very long, very lonely life.” She sighs. “Rurik—he loved me, I believe. Not the same way I loved him. I have no idea whether it was from our soul bond, but we cared for each other. Still, we made choices. We were who we were. I can’t tell you what part of you loves him for that, or what part loves him for the connection, or what part of him cares about you or how much.”
“I don’t love him,” I say.
“Lying won’t do you any good.” She cackles. “At least, it never helped me.”
“Would you try to break the bond?” I ask.
“I’m not even sure you can,” she whispers. “Not without it killing you both, but if you can break it. . .and he’s your soul match.” She shakes her head. “With his magic, he’ll be the only one who can heal you from the wound it causes. Can you trust him to do that, when it causes more pain and more weakness to him?”
I don’t know what I can trust anymore, but with this thing in the way, with this soul thing, how can I ever know whether my judgment’s impaired? How can I know whether he can be saved or whether he’s even worth saving?
“You need faith,” she says softly. “Anyone can be saved, but they have to choose to change themselves. You can only give them the chance.”
“What about Gabe and Gustav?” I ask. “They aren’t soul-bonded, right?”
She shakes her head. “No, she bonded them simply to contain Gustav.”
“So can they separate?”
Baba Yaga sighs. “I’ve never tried to bond anyone that way, because I was the one who gave them this power to begin with.” She frowns. “I think if you two can separate, their split should be much simpler. Yours would involve separation of both the soul bond she never should have forced and the separation of Leonid’s power to you, which makes it almost impossible for him to access his magic.”
If we stay bonded, but I don’t let him use his magic. . .that’s the safer bet. It would ruin my life, but it might help many, many others. But I can’t help thinking that he’s changed, and he deserves the chance to prove it to everyone. He deserves the chance at real love, and we can only have that if we show we’re free from this bond. But then, isn’t that the greatest lie women tell themselves about men? That they’ve changed them? Am I just lying to myself? What’s Leonid really like?
“I want to see his face,” I say. “Can you show it to me?”
She doesn’t bother asking what I mean—Baba Yaga must understand. If Leonid got his powers from her, she must be able to see the light and dark as well.
“I can hear your thoughts, girl,” Baba Yaga says. “I can feel your heart, and yes, I can see your face. And I’ll show you his. Once. But like our souls, the light in our faces is always changing. Seeing it once—I’m not sure it will give you what you want. But for his sake, for my child’s child’s child, I’ll do it, and then I must leave.” She presses one hand to my cheek. “A forbidden daughter.” She steps back. “And a forbidden son.” She tosses her head, and I follow her gaze.
Leonid and the others are standing several paces away, all of them watching us, and all of them confused.
“They can’t understand us,” Baba Yaga says. “I’m not powerful here, but I can manage this small feat at least.” She smiles. “But look at his beautiful face. He looks just like his many greats grandsire, Rurik.” She sighs.
Leonid’s face truly is glorious.
It’s sharp angles and bright colors and a strong, commanding air. He was born to rule. He was made to be worshipped. He’s staring right at me. His face is as light and beautiful as I’ve ever seen, but it’s ringed in dark, twisting cords of what almost look like barbed wire.
“His heart’s good, and it’s true,” Baba Yaga says. “But he’s lost sight of what he’s doing. He needs a touchstone, someone clear and clean.” She sighs. “I didn’t promise you this, but. . .” She holds up a mirror, and I see myself.
I’m bright.
I’m light.
Not a speck of darkness.
None at all.
“You’re too good for him,” Baba Yaga says. “You’re too good for all of us.” I see it then, the pulsing, twisting, bright flashes underneath. “You can see it, girl, can’t you? The divine inside of there? Only with darkness can the light become this strong. It comes from your long-ago parentage. You have magic inside of you, magic that’s contained because it’s equally light and dark. You’re in perfect balance.” She snorts. “No wonder he likes you.”
I can’t believe that. I’m nothing special. I’m normal . Stupid, even. Gullible. When I turn to look at Leonid again, I feel very unworthy.
“Never mistake hope and optimism for stupidity, girl. My child doesn’t think it is. Keep shining for him, so he won’t lose his way. Darkness is coming, and the world will need you to survive it. I think he’ll be smart enough to give whatever it takes of himself to keep you safe after you break the bond, but that’s a risk you’ll have to weigh.”
“What?” I spin around to ask her what that means, but she’s gone.
“What did she say?” Leonid rushes to my side. “Can she unlink us?”
I frown. “You all heard her. She said we can forcibly separate, but there’s no way of knowing whether we’ll survive.” I think about telling him all the stuff she said about him giving of himself, about the pain if he tries to save me, but. . .I can’t. I can’t ask that of him. It sounds like he’s likely to survive it, and I’m the one at biggest risk.
He’ll refuse to try if I tell him that.
Leonid shakes his head. “No, I didn’t hear that. Katerina asked if we could survive, and then she walked to your side, and the two of you spoke, but none of us could hear a thing you said.”
“What?” I look around, but Mom’s nodding. They all are.
“She said. . .” I blink.
And just like that day, so many years ago, I have a choice to make. I should leave here with Gabe and Gustav and Leonid and never look back. Baba Yaga and Lechuza are worried about the fate of the world. They’re worried about what this horseman may do when awoken.
Maybe I’m selfish, but I’m only worried about one thing.
Life doesn’t matter if the quality of life is terrible. If breaking the bond destroys Leonid and his magic, we can’t awaken the beast. The world won’t be harmed by us. But how can I make any choices while I’m stuck with the one someone else made for me? How can I know what power I have to save Leonid or what magic he may have to change unless we’re free to choose for ourselves?
“She said if Leonid and I forcibly separate, the bond will break.”
“But will you survive it?” Mom asks.
“Leonid and I will try it first,” I say. “And if we survive, then Gabe should make it, too. He’s not soul-bonded. They’re just linked thanks to Gabe’s parentage.”
It’s a risk, but I’d rather die than not truly live.