Chapter 21
The Key
Eloise
“Be careful, little bird. I know you can protect yourself, but I fear how long you might wait to do so, if you believe the pain you suffer will serve your purposes.”
I kiss Damien, skimming my palms down his chest. He’s right, of course.
I do have a penchant for self-sacrifice and, admittedly, self-sabotage, if I believe I’m helping the people I love.
My relationship with Tony was the perfect example.
I allowed him to prey on me because, in the deep grief of my parents’ passing, I believed I would do my grandmother a favor by marrying myself off.
I was so wrong. To some extent, what I was doing was risky and selfless, but it didn’t mean I had to fall on my sword or dance with the devil.
I’d like to think I’ve learned my lesson.
“I will be careful. No matter what happens over there, I’ll make sure that I’m back here, in one piece, in a few days’ time.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Go. Tell Maeve and Ren congratulations from me.”
I pick up the silver-and-gold-wrapped box that contains our wedding gift to them and step into the symbol.
I’m wearing one of my favorite Ariadne designs, a purple gown that perfectly contrasts with my green eyes and bright-red hair.
It’s comfortable enough to run or fight in, but glamorous enough for any formal occasion.
I don’t need to bring anything else. I came here with nothing.
All my things are still in Harcourt Manor.
I hug the box to my chest and draw on the bond between Phantom and me.
You know what to do this time, right? Before we ascend to Earth, you must abandon the bones of the dragon in the underworld and return to the grandfather clock. There are no dragons on Earth.
My grandmother’s voice speaks for my ancestors. We’ve got this, darling. We know better what to expect.
My eyes meet Damien’s as I trigger the key spell, my mind focused on my parents’ stillroom in the attic of Harcourt Manor.
It’s the first time I’ve used the key since we came to Tenebris and my first time in the Darklands since we traveled to the shadowpath and faced Thanesia.
I recognize the goddess’s realm, with its deep-water blues and forest-green darkness, as I pass through her door and through her version of the netherworld.
I say a prayer to her, aloud, just in case she can hear me, thanking her for safe passage and wishing her well. I swear the air vibrates in response.
I pass into the ashy red glow of Earth’s underworld without delay or discomfort. I’ve been in darkness so long that the crimson light stings my eyes, and I blink rapidly toward the version of Harcourt Manor that exists here.
I reach out for my bond with Phantom and feel it come apart as if a braid were unwinding into its separate components.
A shimmer of light, and my grandmother manifests on the porch.
My grandfather appears next to her, my mother, my father, and then a legion of Harcourts whose names are lost to time fill in around them.
All of them are gray-scale, newsprint versions of themselves with pinprick pupils that glow silver from smiling faces.
I have more relatives than can fit on that porch or in that house, but that doesn’t matter. A soul takes up no space.
Pressure builds within my body, and I wave goodbye.
A thousand gray hands wave back, some of them passing through walls to say their farewells.
I turn my attention straight up and begin to rise, a bubble zooming along a straw.
I land with a pop inside the key symbol in the attic of Harcourt Manor, my old attic.
It’s discombobulating, first the sensation of rocketing upward, rising like a cannonball shot toward the sky, and then an abrupt fall that buckles my knees.
I land in a sort of lunge, one hand braced on the floor under me and the other gripping the small box.
Breath coming in huffs, my skin clammy and moist like I’m fighting a fever, I wipe sweat from my brow and slowly stand, smoothing my dress.
Things in the attic have changed. The bookshelves and worktable still stand where they were before, as does the red velvet chair, but three large tubs labeled “Christmas” are stuffed in the back corner, and a dozen or more types of herbs are hanging from a new rack affixed to the ceiling.
Maeve must be using the space for her own magic.
But then, what did I expect? She owns the house now. This is her home. Without her magic, she couldn’t have made the Hitch and Cast potion to visit me in my dreams. Still, it’s weird when I step over the white border of the symbol and hear running steps coming up the stairwell.
“El?” Maeve’s voice calls, and then she’s there, the smiling face of my best friend framed in walnut paneling.
I set down the gift on the table and brace myself as she hurls a hug my way.
She’s just as I remember her, blunt-cut of black fringe, heavy dark-rimmed glasses, tattoos covering every inch of the pale skin of her arms. We cling to each other with the sort of fervor you only experience when you are prepared never to see someone you love again, but you get one last shot. My vision goes blurry with joy.
Maeve is my ride or die. Always has been. Always will be. It’s as if our time apart never even happened.
“How did you know I’d arrived?” I finally manage when we break apart.
“The grandfather clock started ticking again. It hasn’t worked since you left.”
“Oh. I had to use it as my anchor since the dragon I use in Tenebris doesn’t exist here.”
“Dragon? I thought your anchor was a fox?”
I offer a light laugh. “We have a lot to catch up on.”
She grabs my hand and tugs me toward the stairwell. “Well, come on. Ren is downstairs preparing dinner. She even has some blood warming for you.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have troubled yourself. I can eat anything now, as a shade. Although, blood is appreciated.”
“Goddess, I forgot. You can enjoy the full meal, then. The woman is a phenomenal cook. It’s part of the reason I put a ring on it.
” We both giggle, and an unexpected warmth kindles in my chest. Maeve has never been much of a giggler.
We’ve laughed together before, yes, but there’s always been an untouchable sullenness about her that matched her black wardrobe.
Now, she’s brimming with joy. Although black is still her wardrobe staple, she’s painted her nails a bright kelly green, and she has a light in her demeanor I’ve never seen before.
Maeve is in love. Really in love. And I couldn’t be happier for her.
“Good. I came hungry.”
Maeve opens her mouth to say something else but doesn’t have a chance.
“Is she here?” Ren shuffles into the hall outside the kitchen, and I can’t help but gasp.
We met when we were both blood slaves in Night Haven.
She was thin then, almost waifish. Now, those days are long behind her.
The long hair we were all forced to keep in Night Haven is gone.
Ren wears it bobbed now, her naturally brown color toned a deep, shiny mahogany that flips out flirtatiously at her jawline.
Her face is fuller, as is her figure, and the added meat on her bones suits her well.
But beyond her physical appearance, she’s glowing, just like Maeve.
She squeals when she sees me. “Eloise! My God, it’s been months.
” We embrace, and before I know it, we’re all sitting in my old parlor—I’m relieved they haven’t changed a thing—catching up over plates of roast chicken and a savory rice pilaf.
Maeve wasn’t kidding when she said Ren could cook. It’s delicious.
Slowly, methodically, I give them both a synopsis of what’s happened since I left.
Maeve knows some of it, but both women gasp when I tell them about facing off against Thanesia and becoming a shade.
And when I fill them in on Brahm and Nevina’s tyranny and what they’re doing to Stygarde’s children, Ren tears up.
“So, you can be in the sun now without it killing you?” Ren asks.
I nod. “It doesn’t feel great and it weakens me, but it won’t kill me.”
Ren shakes her head. “You’ve been through so much.”
I meet her eyes. “So have you.” A silent exchange passes between us.
Ren was once a drug addict who joined Marabella’s to work as a blood whore in exchange for a place to live and the forced discipline to sober up.
It worked for her. It helped her survive.
But by the time she was healthy again, her family had disowned her.
She’d stayed in Night Haven longer than necessary because she didn’t have anywhere to go.
Once I killed the vampire queen, Valeska, I’d invited Ren to stay with me, but I was gone by the time she arrived.
Lucky for both of them, Maeve was here to open the door. Pure serendipity.
“My mother and my sister are coming to the wedding tomorrow,” Ren says. “Can you believe it? Dad didn’t RSVP, but I’m still hopeful he’ll show.”
“Whether he does or not, you look so good. So happy. You made this life for yourself, and if they’d give you half a chance, they’d be so proud of the woman you’ve become.”
“Thanks, El,” she says. “You know I never would’ve left if I hadn’t been blessed with your friendship. Seeing how brave you were and having your encouragement, it meant everything. It means everything.”
“I’m so happy that something I said helped you, but honestly, everything that you’ve improved about your life, you did on your own and under your own strength.”
She shrugs, a blush creeping up her neck. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, El. After you killed Valeska, you changed everything for the people of Night Haven.”
“Oh?” I have no doubt Valeska’s death shook up the governance of the coven. That was always the plan. But could things be that different from before for a community of vampires?
“George is coven master now.”