Chapter Forty
FORTY
As Lilith hauled Isobel out of the truck none too gently, Ben grabbed Eleonore’s hand again, giving her a look that promised they were in this together, no matter what.
He felt calmer with her at his side. Centered. The anxious thoughts that normally circulated in his head like wind-swirled leaves had settled, and though the situation was a tense one, he knew they would end up okay so long as they worked as a team.
Eleonore pulled the gag from Isobel’s mouth. The witch spit on the pavement a few times, clearing the saliva that had accumulated. “Hello, Eleonore,” she said, giving a weak smile.
Eleonore looked unimpressed. “Are you actually going to lift the spell this time or do I have to torture you?”
Isobel turned beseeching eyes on Ben. “I thought you were going to sell me the crystal.”
“I lied,” he said. “You will never, ever get your hands on that crystal so long as I live.”
Isobel frowned. “But I miss her,” she said plaintively.
“Seriously?” Themmie asked. “Holy gaslighting gremlins.”
Ben made a shushing motion toward his friends. “We’ve got this.”
He wasn’t sure how yet, but with Eleonore at his side and his potential for action proven, Ben had less room in his head to entertain catastrophes. He studied the witch with narrowed eyes, considering what might convince her to lift the spell.
Eleonore had her own idea. She pulled a knife out of her thigh holster and licked it in a move Ben was not at all prepared for. “My knife hasn’t tasted blood in far too long,” she said. “Perhaps today will be the day it drinks its fill.”
“Oh, sick,” Calladia said from behind them.
Ben concurred. He’d need to ask Eleonore to do that again in private so he could properly appreciate it. However, right now he couldn’t shake the feeling there was a less messy method that would yield the same results and not end in a prison sentence.
Isobel’s eyes darted as if charting exit routes. “Well, I have a lot of people you can kill,” she said hopefully. “Now that I’m immortal we can do it together, if you like.”
Eleonore hissed, and Ben nudged her shoulder. “Maybe pause on the torture talk for a second,” he whispered. “I’m thinking.”
“Better you than me,” she muttered back.
Eleonore would always be the action star of the two of them, which was good. While Ben was pleased to know he could be a werewolf of action, that was a lot of pressure and not his natural mode. Instead, he focused on what he did best: overthinking the situation.
Except maybe he didn’t need to overthink this one at all.
Lying to Isobel had worked once before, and as the saying went, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Except this time, Eleonore would need to be the one putting on the performance.
Ben whispered his idea in her ear. She grimaced initially, but when he finished, she nodded. “You’re right,” she whispered back. “It’s worth a try.” She closed her eyes. “It’s just like the theatre. Just like the theatre.”
Ben knew she loathed lying. He did, too. But Eleonore was very, very good at acting.
Eleonore took a deep breath. Then her shoulders settled, and she looked at Isobel again. If Ben didn’t know Eleonore hated this woman with her entire heart, he would have found the sad look on her face convincing. “Ben says I should tell you the truth,” she said. “You know my torture threats weren’t serious some of the time, right?”
Isobel nodded. “We were having fun. I know.”
There was some uncomfortable shuffling and a few low murmurs from the Scooby gang, but Ben ignored them.
“If we’re going to find a way forward, though,” Eleonore continued, “I have to tell the truth. No jokes or fun.”
“No jokes or fun,” Isobel said. “I understand.” She looked so pathetically hopeful; she must really believe this could end with them reunited.
Eleonore inclined her head. “Thank you for offering to kill people with me. That always bothered me: that you had me do all those things for you. Not with you.”
“Uh, what?” Themmie asked, but at Ben’s sharp look, she snapped her mouth shut.
“My body was weak then,” Isobel explained. “You’ve always been so strong.”
“I know. But still, don’t you understand how that made me feel? I went from being part of a clan that fought together to fighting with no one by my side.” Eleonore shook her head. “We weren’t equals. I was under your control, and you didn’t even fight at my side .”
There was a silent moment while Isobel took this in. She looked so frail with her arms bound behind her back and her black hair tangled, utterly fixated on the person she’d cared for and hurt beyond reason. A different sort of monster than the ones childhood fables warned of, and one that needed to be defeated with something other than a sword.
“That’s why you hated being an assassin?” Isobel finally asked. “Because I didn’t kill with you?”
“Yes, that’s exactly why,” Eleonore said, and Ben would nominate her for an Oscar if he could. “I care for Ben because he’s my partner. My equal. We trust each other—but you made it impossible for me to trust you.”
Isobel had begun breathing more rapidly. The expression in her dark eyes was stark. “You could learn to trust me.”
“Not with the spell in place.” Eleonore bit her lip. “You know,” she said after a heavy pause, “you don’t have to imprison people to make them your friends.”
And there was the bait, attached to the hook.
You can make her think you could still be friends , Ben had suggested. You could give her hope .
Eleonore had taken his suggestions and run with them, mixing truth and lies into the performance of a lifetime. He couldn’t imagine what it cost for her to confront her abuser like this and pretend there could still be affection between them.
Isobel looked confused. “But how do you stop them from running away?”
Eleonore shrugged. “You have to trust them.” She gestured at the people arrayed around them. “I haven’t imprisoned a single one of these people, and they’re still here to support me. Ben even kidnapped you without me asking him to.”
Isobel’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really,” Eleonore confirmed. “What I’m saying is that we can still be friends, but not with this curse hanging over me. I need you to free me.”
Ben squeezed his toes in his shoes, silently begging Isobel to take the bait.
The witch hesitated, looking torn. “But we’ve been through so much together.”
“And you’ll go through so much more once I’m free,” Eleonore said soothingly. “It’ll be new and interesting, don’t you think?” She was laying it on thick, with only the white-knuckled clench of her hand to indicate how much she absolutely did not mean those kind words.
Isobel paused for what felt like an eternity. And then…
“Will you still watch Star Trek with me?” she asked.
A muscle in Eleonore’s cheek flickered as she clenched her jaw. “Of cour—”
“I’ll watch Star Trek with you,” Lilith interrupted, jostling Isobel. “Janeway is so hot, am I right? Definitely the best captain.”
Isobel twitched like she’d forgotten anyone else was there. She looked over her shoulder at the demoness. “Janeway is hot,” she said. “But Sisko committed war crimes.”
Lilith nodded thoughtfully. “Good point. Maybe we can do a rewatch to decide who’s the best captain. Or we can duel over it—whoever draws first blood gets to decide. That’s what friends do, right?”
Complicated emotions flashed over Isobel’s face—hope and wariness among them. “I’m immortal now,” she said to no one in particular. “I can probably duel.”
Lilith grinned and snapped her teeth. “Oh, good. I’ve been looking for an outlet.”
Ben coughed into his fist. Lilith’s idea of a fun outlet would probably not be what Isobel was envisioning.
“You can have so many friends,” Eleonore said. “But not if you treat them the way you’ve treated me. So how about lifting the curse so we can both start over?”
Ben held his breath, hoping this was enough. Hoping it would accomplish what threats hadn’t.
Isobel bit her lip. “Well…all right.”
Eleonore swayed at the announcement, and Ben wanted to pump his fist and howl at the sky.
A dusty throat-clearing came from nearby. Alzapraz had hobbled forward. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’d like to observe in case she tries any trickery.”
“Alzapraz!” Isobel cried out. “I didn’t see you behind that oversized werewolf. It’s been far too long.”
Alzapraz eyed her. “Has it?”
Lilith released Isobel’s cuffs, and Ben braced himself in case the witch tried to run or cast a spell. But Isobel just rubbed her wrists, looking at Eleonore contemplatively. “Does anyone have a knife for the blood sacrifice?”
Eleonore grabbed one from her thigh holster and handed it over. “Here.”
Isobel drew a slashing line across her palm, then shook it so blood spattered on the pavement. The wound healed almost immediately, and she had to repeat the cut three times before she’d created a circle large enough for two people to stand in. She stepped into the circle, then gestured for Eleonore to join her.
Eleonore looked up at Ben. “Hopefully she doesn’t try to electrocute me this time.”
“Alzapraz won’t let her,” he promised, though he was sweating with nerves. He bent his head and kissed her. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips.
“I love you, too.”
Then Eleonore stepped into the circle. Her hair began whipping in a sudden wind. Isobel’s dress and hair rippled, too, as if a cyclone was spiraling to life within the boundary of blood.
Isobel held out the knife, and Eleonore mirrored the cut on her own palm. Then Isobel reached out her bloody hand. Eleonore hesitated before clasping it.
Isobel began speaking a series of complicated spellwords and drawing runes in the air with her free hand. As she chanted, light rose from the bloody circle, a wall of shimmering blue, white, and gold that obscured the two from view. It was nearly impossible to stay still, but Alzapraz looked unconcerned, so Ben gritted his teeth and waited.
There was a sound like an army’s worth of swords clanging, and then came the scent of cold steel and a forest in winter. The light whipped away as if blown by the wind, revealing Isobel and Eleonore, still clasping hands. The blood had burned into the ground, leaving a black, jagged mark on the sidewalk.
Eleonore shuddered and grabbed her chest with her free hand. Ben lurched forward, but Alzapraz made a cautioning motion. “Wait,” he said.
This was torture. Ben dug his nails into his palms, sweating and praying to anything that might be listening that Eleonore was okay. That she was free at last.
Isobel let Eleonore go and swayed, looking wan.
“Was that it?” Mariel asked.
Alzapraz smiled and nodded. “That was it.”
Eleonore turned to face Ben, and he caught his breath. Her alabaster skin was flushed and glowing with health, and her grin was even brighter. She jumped up and down and clapped her hands. “I’m free!” she said. “Gods, I’m free at last.”
He surged toward her, and she met him halfway. They embraced on the sidewalk, arms wrapped tightly around each other, bodies fused as their mouths met in the most perfect kiss this world or any other had seen. He tasted their joy in the salt-wet of relieved tears—his and hers as they wept out the fears of the past to make space for something new.
Eleonore pulled back before Ben was ready. He tried to chase her mouth, but she shook her head, eyes sparkling. “Give me an order.”
“Kiss me again,” he said.
She did, and his stomach dropped.
Then she laughed. “Not that order. I’m going to do that anyway. Order me to do something strange.”
He was tempted to order her to make love to him right here and now, but Eleonore might actually take him up on that, and he would rather keep her all to himself somewhere private. “Eleonore Bettencourt-Devereux,” he said, “I order you to do a handstand and sing the ABCs backward.”
She wrinkled her nose at him, utterly adorable. “Not a chance.”
Ben whooped and punched the air at that. Then he grabbed her again, kissing her and kissing her and kissing her while their friends cheered and provided unnecessary commentary.
He only stopped once their mouths were swollen and slick. He rested his forehead against hers, their breath mingling in the small space between them. “No more orders,” he whispered. “Just a question. Eleonore Bettencourt-Devereux, will you stay here in Glimmer Falls with me? Will you be my partner and my love?”
Someday soon he’d ask her another question, but that one required pomp and circumstance and definitely a cake. Weddings were no longer on Ben Rosewood’s list of Things To Avoid If At All Possible.
Eleonore ran her fingers through his hair, then settled them at the base of his neck, nails scratching lightly. “I will,” she said. “And happily.”