The Ender, But Not The End
When I step out of the portal, I can see through a window that I’m on the correct floor. I’m not in the same hall as the office, or the one where Starla and I are staying.
This hall has an opening at each end, and I turn right, walking fast enough that if someone sees me I can claim to still be running for a door.
“I got lost, I don’t know where I am,” I practice.
A voice breaks through my one-sided conversation. A man, his tone high and tense, followed by a whimper.
As I get to the edge of the hall, I peek around the corner and realize that I’m facing a dead end.
An arced wall at the end of the hall clearly used to house a curved table with a vase.
The table has been knocked on its side, and what I imagine was the vase is on the floor, its top and handles still largely in one piece but the bottom portion shattered.
There’s also a pile that appears to be a downed set of curtains piled on the carpet.
The man on the floor has brown, curly hair with a few bits of what appear to be pottery sticking to the strands. Judging by the way he’s cowering and holding his hands up, I’m guessing the individual in front of him slammed it on top of him—a deliberate act rather than an accident.
The person standing over the man turns, grey eyes fixed on me.
“Hello again,” the mysterious woman from the ballroom greets.
I look between the two of them.
“What is going on her—”
“Help me! She’s gone absolutely mad! Tell Councilman Taylor. I know he has event security. This is unacceptable! Do you have any idea who I am? He would never allow me to be treated this way. I’ll sue. If this fire stunt was just to get to me, I’ll find out who is responsible and bury them!”
His face grows red with the tirade, fist pumping into the air, but the effect is dampened since he’s still not on his feet.
Next to him, I hear a groan. Jumping, I realize the thing I mistook for a curtain is actually a deep green dress. It’s tangled around a woman with long blonde hair obscuring her face.
“One moment, please, Leena,” the grey-eyed woman says in a calm voice, turning back to the man with a bored expression as though the scene is entirely normal. Like I’ve walked in on nothing more than a staff member vacuuming the hall.
“You asked if I know who you are? Of course I do. I always do my homework before I go after a mark. You’re Kenneth Seymour, personal accountant to Councilman Taylor and several other noteworthy guests. But I’m not here about your more-than-questionable business dealings.”
Her grey eyes slide to the woman on the floor.
Seymour glares daggers at her, but when she lunges, he flinches back against the wall.
She rolls her eyes.
“Typical. This poor, unconscious woman is your fourth wife, isn’t she, Seymour? My, my, that is suspicious. No divorces, either. They all just die young. And with only your say-so as to how, along with the same doctor presiding over each autopsy.”
“Weak constitutions! Frail physiques!” Seymour insists, hands grasping the wall as he attempts to pull himself to his feet.
She goes on as if he hasn’t spoken.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get to the good doctor soon enough.
I doubt you’re his only client. But the real question is, just what’s going on in that house of yours, hmm?
Isolated country estate, much more remote than this manor.
All the wives met on trips in other countries.
Far away from their families, with no one able to ask you any questions in person until after people are cremated. Don’t you think that’s suspicious?”
He sputters, and she turns back to me. I realize only after a few beats of silence that she’s giving me an opportunity to answer.
“That woman”—I point to the lady on the floor— “is his fourth wife?”
The steel-eyed mystery lady nods.
“She is indeed. American, as a matter of fact. Her family saw ol’ Seymour here as an opportunity, no doubt.
And his need for a wife whose family wouldn’t ask questions took him all the way across the pond.
He had more nefarious plans than just a potentially forced wedding, I’d say.
Just as, I believe, he had some very, very bad intentions with his last three wives. ”
“I didn’t! I never did! They were just weak. I need strong supernatural stock. I have to keep replacing them. I don’t have an heir.”
I gape at the scene, torn between sprinting to a different hall to make sure I don’t miss Starla, watching this play out, and intervening.
Although I don’t think it would be to help Seymour.
Is this one of the moments Grammy Pearl anticipated? Or just coincidence? Councilman Taylor’s personal accountant is bound to have some juicy information on his employer.
My throat is churning with waves of heat, and I’m tempted to sing the truth out of him, but I’m not willing to risk the ability again right now. I’m still light-headed and nauseous from my recent attempt.
“I asked you once before, but you didn’t answer. Who are you?” I say to the woman.
“Who? Not what? Not how much money or which powers? That is how most of these people think.”
“I’m not like these people.” I nearly spit the words, fed up to my ears with the type of people Councilman Taylor keeps company with.
She stomps her heeled foot onto the carpet, and Seymour yelps, pulling his hand back just in time. He was trying to sneak away.
“No, you aren’t. I, Leena, am merely an ending. An ending who can’t end. An Ender, to be specific. I won’t be offended if you haven’t heard of us. And I’m only here to end him.”
“An Ender?”
“I could pay you both! Name your price! Take the girl if you want her. I can easily find another,” Seymour says, voice loud.
My lip curls in disgust as he gestures to the woman on the ground.
She’s beginning to stir, and as she moves, her hair slides off her face.
Her cheek is bright red, as if she’s been slapped.
It’s then that I look closer, noticing bruising around her wrists, and a few marks on her forearms that are shaped like fingerprints.
The skin around one of her eyes is purpling.
Flames lick at my throat.
“He did this?” I ask.
“He did,” the Ender confirms.
A vision of Leon flashes through my mind. Men who think power means you can do whatever you want to others. Seymour could very well be the accomplice we’re searching for.
My control snaps.
“You should—”
“I’m going to have to turn you down on your generous offer, Seymour. Money isn’t what I want.”
The pictures on the wall rattle, but nothing else happens, with my song being cut off before I can finish a command. The Ender won’t know it, but she’s just saved me immense pain.
“Then what do you want? I can acquire it,” Seymour insists.
The Ender’s face goes flat. For a moment her eyes mute until they’re more like ash than shining metal.
“What I want, you can’t give me.”
She reaches behind her back and pulls out a sword.
I leap back, teeth sharpening to points on instinct.
I have no idea where she was hiding the weapon. It’s not as if a traditional holster could be hidden in her form-fitting dress.
“Time to go, Seymour. Don’t worry, Leena. I don’t know what you’re working on here, but I won’t complicate things. I can recognize a woman on a mission.”
“Wait!” I step between her and Seymour. She jerks back, a scowl on her face, but she doesn’t move to stop me. “Seymour, have you ever seen a crest with a dragon and pen on it? Do you know if there’s a family whose key involves creating curses?”
He freezes.
The Ender’s eyebrow rises.
“Answer her, Seymour. And I’ll go easy on you.”
He nods, relief clear on his face. The woman on the floor is sitting up now, eyes blinking. He leaps forward, grabbing the fabric of my dress, like a desperate person looking for a life raft.
“The eldest son of the Soloman family wears a pin with that crest on his lapel. Gaudy, if you ask me. Self-important little upstart, but his family is powerful.”
“And the curses?” It takes everything in me not to wrench my dress out of his sweaty hands.
“That ability has nothing to do with me. My family are all gifted with elemental keys. I can pull the earth, but—”
“But he’s not very useful with it unless he’s outside. Isn’t that right, Seymour? His talents include a head for numbers, cooking books, and raising his hand to women who have done nothing to deserve it.”
He glares at her over my shoulder.
“There’s only one family I know of with a historic key for curses. But no one has the ability at present. They’re close-lipped on it, as a matter of fact.”
“Seymour,” the Ender warns, flicking her wrist Flames shoot down the blade of the sword, and Seymour yelps. My eyes widen, but I manage to keep any gasp of surprise from escaping.
Councilman Taylor’s accountant gulps, forcing his gaze from the sword and back to me.
“Right. Yes. I shouldn’t be telling you this. I only know of it because our families have worked together for generations, and my grandfather was aware of Councilman Taylor’s father’s key for cu—”
My vision blurs, worse than if I’d used my song.
“—shame he didn’t inherit it.”
Councilman Taylor. He’s not just an unwitting bystander or an accomplice, then. His family’s key is the key to my curse.
Starla’s family.
“Seymour! What’s happening!” The woman with the bruised cheek is awake enough now to speak, clutching her injured face and crying.
“Quiet, woman!” he shouts, seeming to entirely forget that he has a flaming sword pointed at him.
Elven weaponry, perhaps? Elves have magically imbued weapons. Jackal is a watcher, and that’s a position with hyena shifters. Maybe an Ender is something the elves have?
The woman on the floor cowers, and Seymour finally lets go of me.
“What happened?” the woman repeats.
Seymour raises an arm at her. If this is his snap reaction even when his life is threatened and there are witnesses, I can’t imagine what he’s done behind closed doors.
In a moment, the flames flickering across the Ender’s sword flare brighter, the warmth of them licking at my skin, and the light revealing the sheen on Seymour’s perspiring brow.
Pickles would no doubt love the weapon.
“Are you done with him?” the Ender asks me, keeping her eyes on Seymour, whose hand has dropped to his side as the other woman scoots back against the wall.
I wrinkle my nose at the accountant.
“I’m done. You said you’d go easy on him?”
“I’ll be quick. I won’t leave a mess. But no one will ever have to worry about a proposal from the man ever again,” she says.
Her eyes are gleaming. It’s a steady shine, and she reminds me of a shifter.
But shifters don’t carry weapons.
Certainly not ones on fire.
“That wasn’t our deal!” Seymour cries.
The Ender takes a menacing step forward.
“You’re not a very good listener, are you, Seymour? Although, perhaps that’s my fault. I shouldn’t have expected you’d take a woman’s word that seriously.”
“Leena! There you are! Are you all right?” Feral barrels into the dead-end section of the hall, crowding the area. He comes to a sudden stop as the Ender whips around to face him.
He looks at her, the sword, and then the rest of us. His eyes flash, and for a brief moment I get a small hint of what the others said he was capable of.
Fear freezes me in place. A cold wind that has nothing to do with the temperature leaves a chill deep in my bones.
As a naiad I cannot drown, but still I feel that I’m fighting for air.
I want to flee, but my body won’t move. My heart is speeding like a rabbit’s, trying to run even though my legs refuse to respond.
“Let her go,” he tells the Ender.
Her muscles are tensed; I can see the outline of her biceps bulge as she clutches the sword tighter. The fire flickers but doesn’t go out. Her whole form is trembling, but she doesn’t give in.
“I’m only here for Seymour, and he’s earned it,” she grits out.
Feral looks down at me, and he must see the answer in my eyes.
He blinks, eyes going dim again.
I gasp, clawing at my throat like I’m a stranger to air.
“She wasn’t trying to hurt me,” I manage.
“I’m sorry, Leena. I saw the sword and I was trying to help.”
I scramble away from Seymour, duck under the Ender’s sword, and make my way to Feral.
“It’s all right. I need to get to Starla,” I tell him.
There’s a shout, and we both spin. The Ender and Seymour are gone, but Seymour’s fourth wife is still on the floor, mouth agape.
The interaction is one of the strangest I’ve ever had, and I wish I could thank the woman for helping me gather another clue.
Even if it’s one that I dread sharing with my best friend.