Chapter 18 #2
“I want this to be over,” he admitted, his outrage fading with the words, snuffed out beneath a surge of exhaustion.
He wanted to sink to the floor and sit in the darkness for a while, let everything fade away.
“I’m so sick and tired of helplessly spinning in circles when it doesn’t change anything. ”
There. He’d said it. The thing he couldn’t tell Gabriel or Charlee or anyone else because he had to keep them going, keep their spirits up, remind them that the future could be changed when the horrible truth was that nothing they’d done mattered.
Death was still waiting for them in that tomb, and they were still barreling straight towards it.
He was starting to lose faith.
Jocelyn’s hand twitched against the stone as if she wanted to reach for him.
“I understand. I have been trapped down here for what feels like an eternity, gradually devoured by insatiable magic as it corrupts my bloodline. This is the first chance I have been given to change my fate and so much could go wrong. There are so many pieces in play that must move correctly. I have witnessed every revelation and confusion you’ve had, each path you’ve dismissed.
The most minuscule of changes have huge consequences.
I have seen what happens if I help you here now, and believe me when I say you would not thank me for it. ”
Her words were a terrible reminder of just how easily this could all fall apart. How blind Miles was, being puppeted around by forces he couldn’t break free of.
“So despise me if you must,” Jocelyn continued, voice softening, “but know that when I deny you information and tell you to stay on the path, it is because I have seen the consequences. Despite your passion and fury, I cannot risk squandering this opportunity. Too much is at stake.”
Miles sat down, too tired to stand any longer. He’d forgotten for a moment that she wasn’t the villain, that his frustration and suffering were a pinprick compared to hers.
She’d bet her one shot at freedom on him. An anxious, overwhelmed, sleep-deprived teenager who couldn’t keep his emotions in check.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” He hugged his knees. It was strange—he couldn’t feel the chill of the room, but his body knew it was there. “It wasn’t fair of me. I’m just… I can’t believe all of this is because of a stupid book. That one of us might die because of it.”
“It is the foulest, most irresistible kind of temptation,” Jocelyn agreed solemnly.
“It offers you the answer to your deepest regrets and insecurities, your worst fears. That kind of magic should not be underestimated. It is a wolf, leashed or not, and it will strike out on its own to hunt if it is not fed.”
“Like it did with Florence, you mean. Giving her a way to become powerful, to get rid of a part of herself she hated.”
“Desperation has a way of pushing good people to the darkest of places and deeds. Once, before my parents became obsessed with wealth and status, before it turned them cold and cruel towards their own children, Florence was my sister. She taught me to make flower crowns and snuck out every morning for weeks to feed the motherless kittens taking shelter under our porch.”
A pang of sympathy went through Miles, and he cursed himself for being such a limp noodle. Florence had tried to kill him, damn it. Kittens didn’t change that. “Desperation doesn’t excuse murder,” he made himself say.
“Of course not. I do not excuse my sister, but I do feel compassion for her. And I believe that if not for the grimoire, she never would’ve made such a terrible choice. It turned her against her own family so easily, simply by whispering into her ear.”
Speaking of Florence—
“I should probably tell you, Gabriel and I banished her. She’s… moved on.”
That was nicer than “hopefully she’s rotting in the deepest darkest depths of hell.”
A complicated mix of emotions passed over Jocelyn’s face. “I hope she managed to find peace in the afterlife.”
Or not. If anyone deserved a little unrest, it was Florence.
She gave him a knowing smile, as if she’d heard his thoughts. It wouldn’t be the first time a Hawthorne had surprised him with that extra skill.
Around them, the walls started to warp and smear, melting upward towards the ceiling. It was beyond unsettling. Whatever Rosalie had done to get him here was wearing off.
“Our time is almost at an end,” Jocelyn confirmed. “You won’t be able to visit me again. The next time we meet will be the last.”
Cool. Not ominous at all.
“I guess I’ll see you then.” This had been a massive waste of time, as much as he understood where Jocelyn was coming from. “I’ll tell Rosalie…” He trailed off, not sure how to finish.
“Tell her the days she visited and found me sitting in the red chair by the sitting room window, I was daydreaming of time with her. Traveling away from our families, away from Thistle, just the two of us.” Jocelyn’s gaze drifted, going wistful and distant.
“My family made our home my prison, even after death. The only thing I ever wanted was to leave—as long as she was with me. Tell her that I would’ve been honored to grow old and gray with her, on some silly adventure across the world. ”
Miles’s throat was tight. “I will.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, and she was gone.
The locker room came back in a sear of blinding light and throbbing pain. Miles rolled onto his side, coughing around the taste of hot metal that burned in his throat. Blood splattered across the tiled floor and a pair of scuffed sneakers.
“Woah!” Emily skipped back, dodging the crimson spray. “That’s blood. Guys, that’s blood!”
“I have eyes,” Gabriel snapped. He caught Miles’s shoulder, rolling him back before he toppled off the bench. His fingers dug in, an anchor point. “Breathe, Miles. Listen to me.”
He tried, lurching upright and wheezing to clear his throat. “Fine,” he managed, bloody spit dripping from his mouth onto his jeans. That had to be an attractive look. “Blood… down… wrong pipe.”
“I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to have blood down any of your pipes,” Gabriel said grimly. He grabbed the towel Miles’s head had been resting on and handed it to him.
Miles stared at it blankly, his brain a fog of pain. The universe had clearly decided to take it as a personal challenge when he’d insisted one more time couldn’t hurt.
“For your…” Gabriel took it back, lifting it to Miles’s nose and pressing down. He eased off when Miles hissed. “Your nose is bleeding.”
“Gushing,” Emily corrected. Her voice was light, but the quiver at the end gave her away. “Like a full-on fountain.”
At least he knew where all the blood had come from.
“Disgusting,” he croaked.
“I’ve seen way worse on the field,” Emily reassured him. “One time, this girl took a soccer ball straight to the face and her nose, like, exploded in this geyser—”
Gabriel silenced her with a cutting look. “Are you hurt?” he demanded.
He hurt, but he wasn’t hurt. “I’m okay.” His head was pounding, his body shivery, feverish, but it wasn’t any worse than the previous times. Maybe he had Rosalie to thank for that. Speaking of which. “Have you seen Rosalie? She disappeared when I got to Jocelyn.”
“She blipped back in for a moment,” Emily answered. “She had to use all of her energy to push through the barrier around Jocelyn and get you to her. I think it drained her because she poofed right after that.”
That was fine. Miles didn’t have any good news for her anyway.
Gabriel pulled the towel away. The blood must’ve stopped because he didn’t immediately shove it back. “You spoke with Jocelyn, then?”
“Yeah, but she wouldn’t help.” The visit wasn’t remotely worth the rotten migraine crushing his brain.
“She didn’t tell you anything? Did you explain to her—”
“I told her everything, but it didn’t matter. She doesn’t want to take any chances messing up the future.” Miles didn’t bother trying to hide his dismay. “Can we talk about it after I get some water?” He needed to rinse the taste of blood out of his mouth before he puked.
Gabriel and Emily each took an arm, helping him stumble to his feet. The room spun for an alarming second, but they didn’t let him fall as he lurched to the nearest water fountain.
Normally, he’d die before using a public water fountain, especially the one in the boys’ locker room, but desperate times and all that. It did a good job of washing out the blood. Only a hint lingered on his tongue and at the back of his teeth.
“Here.” Gabriel conjured up a clean towel, wetting it and wiping Miles’s cheek. From the way he scrubbed— giving Miles flashbacks to his mom attacking his dirty face with a washcloth as a kid—it had to be crusted with blood.
“Pretty sure scraping my skin off isn’t going to help with the bleeding,” he mumbled around the fabric.
Gabriel’s touch gentled. “I wish you weren’t covered in blood in the first place. Let’s agree right now—no more bringing on visions.”
“Hey.” Miles caught his wrist, fingers over his thumping pulse. He dipped his head to catch Gabriel’s gray eyes. “I’m okay. Really.”
His face was paler than usual. “Don’t ask me to watch you do that again.”
“I won’t,” Miles promised. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to—according to Jocelyn, our painful little meetings have come to an end.”
“She truly has no intention of helping us.”
That pulled Miles back to himself. He couldn’t show how hopeless, how lost he felt. If he gave up, Gabriel would too. “We don’t need her. We always figure things out. This isn’t any different.”
“Yeah,” Emily chimed in. “If the rule is no help from Jocelyn, we’ll find her another way. What does it matter, as long as we win in the end?”
It mattered because Miles was sick and tired of being yanked around, beaten up, and forced to watch other people get hurt for this quest. He made himself remember the promises he’d made.
“Emily’s right.” The scarlet dots of his blood on the floor reminded him of the poppies around Jocelyn, and the scent of bitter smoke filled his nose. “All that matters is how this ends. I don’t plan on us losing.”