Chapter 21 #2
There was a contortionist: a petite woman who was currently bent in half with her legs folded over her back, resting on the ground beside her shoulders.
The effect was made all the more creepy as she wore a deer mask, with bifurcated antlers pointing toward the sky.
Her legs walked all the way around her head, as that eerie, blank masked face stared straight ahead.
Beside her, an enormous man put on a fire-eating show.
His bare skin gleamed in the firelight; he wore nothing but a small pair of tight shorts, exposing every inch of flesh.
He was stocky and broad; muscled, but not toned.
He made a dramatic show of lighting the torch, bringing it up above his head and lowering it into his gaping mouth.
“Come on.” Elena grabbed my arm and steered me away from the odd performance. The shadows of the contortionist and the fire-eater danced on the walls of the tents around them, and that off-kilter music played on. I snapped out of my daze, following Elena.
The tent we were trying to find belonged to a woman called Strega Maria.
Her tent was the farthest one, nestled right at the edge of the forest that stretched out behind the field on which the tents sat.
The simple round canvas tent was small, advertised as a fortune teller with a rough sign.
Only three or four people would fit in at a time, and it was pitch-black inside.
A plume of smoke drifted up from a hole in the roof, which told us the occupant was in fact within.
Elena approached the flap at the front with caution and motioned for me to come inside.
“Strega?” Elena spoke softly as we entered. The tent was stiflingly hot and smelled of burning herbs—something pungent and earthy. Feathers ruffled beside the door. An ancient looking crow sat atop a perch beside us. “Strega? My friend and I are here to see you. We have need of your assistance.”
“Elena?” A voice hissed from the darkness in the corner of the tent. A single floating orb of light illuminated the occupant.
She was horrible. A hunched, withered old crone, with thinning white hair and leathery skin.
Her milky white eyes stared unblinkingly, crusted over at the edges.
“Come closer, Elena, it has been so long…” I could make out the rotted teeth in her mouth, brown and jagged.
She was dressed in a raggedy, tattered robe, with a beaded shawl across her bony shoulders.
In the centre of the tent, there was a small fire with a large pot simmering away, releasing that pungent herbal scent.
“Strega, my friend has some questions that she needs answered. The answers are not possible to attain through… conventional methods.” Elena stepped closer to Strega Maria.
I followed, her shadow for the evening. The stench coming off Strega Maria was awful—like she was rotting from the inside.
I stifled my gag and tried to fix my face.
“Please.” The single word was all I could muster. I felt uneasy—for the first time since I had fled through the mirror, I felt like I was in danger.
Strega Maria breathed in deeply. “You reek of magic. Powerful magic.” She was…
sniffing me. And I had no idea what she could have been smelling; I still couldn’t conjure anything more than a weak light.
“I can help you, my dear, but it will cost you.” Her voice was unnerving, and a shiver crawled up my spine as she kept her attention on me.
“What is your price?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. Strega Maria stepped closer. It was everything I could do not to step back, not to turn around and run, but I stood my ground.
“What is your question?” Strega Maria rasped.
“Who was responsible for the chandelier disaster at the opera house?” The question slipped out of me before I could second guess myself.
“My magic can see and sense many things.” Strega Maria held out two twisted and withered hands, palms facing inward.
Between them, onyx shadows twined and swirled.
They looked different from the ones that sometimes surrounded Ciaran.
“Dark spirits speak to me. They whisper all kinds of things that people don’t want known.
Things that you couldn’t imagine in your wildest dreams.”
“Do they know who was responsible?” My breath hitched; my heart pounded in my ears. The answers felt close.
“They have ways of finding out. As I said. There is a cost.” Strega Maria had a wicked smile, showing off every single one of those jagged, rotten teeth.
“What is your price?” I repeated to her, voice less steady than before as those shadows continued to twist in her hands; they seemed to gather all around her.
“My price is simple. I shall trade the information you want for your name.” Strega Maria’s grin never faltered, her raspy voice filling the tent.
“My name?” I stuttered.
“Yes. Just your name. So simple. Your name in exchange for the answer you desire. It’s a steal, really.” The crone’s smile twisted into something evil.
“No. She won’t do it,” Elena hissed, interjecting on my behalf, “it’s not worth it. Don’t do it.” She sounded genuinely afraid.
But I needed to know. And what could she do with my name anyway? We had come all this way, and I wasn’t going back empty-handed. “Done.” I spoke before I could change my mind.
“Then it is a deal.” Strega Maria reached out her twisted hand, wreathed in shadows, and grasped mine. I felt a jolt go through me as she sealed the deal with her magic. Elena groaned. Several of the shadowy spirits swirled around me. My chest clenched.
“Seraphina Dallier.” Strega Maria chuckled as she took her hand back.
I hadn’t even said anything, her unholy magic had learned my name on its own.
Or perhaps those shadows had whispered it to her.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s you who requires answers about that night.
My spirits shall find the truth.” She brought her hands to her thin lips and blew.
The shadow spirits scattered into the darkness, and I felt them whoosh by us, borne on her foul breath. Elena shuddered.
Strega Maria’s milky white eyes rolled into the back of her head, seeing something that we could not. Sinister whispering filled the air. The words were incoherent to me, but Strega Maria nodded as the shadow spirits spoke to her. Elena grabbed my upper arm beside me.
“Seraphina Dallier, my spirits say that the answers lie within you,” she said at last. Her eyes rolled forward, the whispering ceasing.
“What?” I gasped, my heart thundering in my chest. Elena’s nails dug into my arm.
“They cannot see anyone else who is responsible. They only see that the power came from within you.” Strega Maria sneered.
“That is not possible. Tell them to look again!” I cried. “Who was it?”
“They only see you, Seraphina Dallier. Your power brought down that chandelier.”
“Seraphina, we have to go now.” Elena’s eyes darted around the tent. They landed on the perch where the crow had sat, watching us. It was empty.
Strega Maria chuckled: a horrible hacking sound. “My familiar is so helpful. Clever boy. He delivered the message as soon as I learned your name. I believe I shall collect a handsome reward for turning you over to the authorities.”
No. No, no, no, no.
“Let’s go.” Elena hadn’t let go of my arm the whole time. She steered me toward the flap in the tent.
“Please,” I begged, “please tell me the truth. You have to know the truth!”
“I told you, my dear, what my spirits saw. The power that brought down that chandelier was your power, girl. You shall burn for the crime.”
“Seraphina, we have to go.” Elena dragged me to the entrance of the tent. I was vaguely aware that I was crying, as the world slipped out from under me. This was not possible. I knew in my heart that it was not possible. I had not done this. Would Elena believe me? It didn’t matter. We had no time.
“Run,” Elena gasped, and I spied them at that moment as well. The lights from the gendarmes’ vehicles. Coming from the direction of the river.
“Shit,” Elena breathed, “we’re fucked.”
“What now?” I sprinted beside her toward the lights, not away from them.
“Leave it to me. Whatever happens, do not stop running.”
Elena splayed a tattooed hand toward the river and closed it into a fist. All the lights on the street, including those of the gendarmes’ vehicles, went out. It was completely dark, except for the glittering stars above us.
My breath rasped, a stabbing pain in my side, but I kept pushing, tears streaming into my hair as we flew as fast as our legs could carry us.
We were almost through the cemetery, the bridge looming ahead.
If we could make it across, if we could get to the wrought-iron gate in the little courtyard, we would be safe.
But we would have to get past many gendarmes first.
The first two approached, wearing the solemn fist of Scion proudly on their dark uniforms. They had pistols and batons. We had nothing but Elena’s magic to protect us.
Elena sent a ball of red light flashing toward them and they were knocked off their feet. We kept running.
Another two approached from the left. Elena was quick, but not quick enough. That red magic she conjured hit one, knocking him down, but the other managed to get his leg out in front of me. I went down fast, my ankle twisting with a sickening crunch.
He was on me in a moment, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking me backwards.
Fear flooded my system as I struggled against him.
He was so much larger than me, overpowering me easily.
I couldn’t do any magic. I couldn’t do a thing to get out of this.
I could feel his hot breath in my ear as his other hand pawed at my waist; my spine locked in terror.
And something was very wrong with my ankle.
I scrambled to get back on my feet, but I couldn’t bear weight on that side.
No. We are not getting caught. Not like this.
I refused to let myself go down without a fight.
I threw an elbow back as hard as I could and caught the gendarme in the stomach.
He grunted, bending over at the waist as he finally let go of my hair.
I didn’t have time to think as I turned and brought my knee up.
It collided with his face, blood spraying from his nose.
He was on the ground now, crumpled in a heap and groaning.
I did the only other thing I could possibly think of and stomped down hard on the man’s groin.
“You fucking bitch!” he spat at me as I hobbled out of his grasp. I had escaped capture, but I could not bear weight on my right leg.
“Elena!” I cried, as another gendarme ran toward her left. She blocked him, blasting him backward with another ball of red—flames, I realized. The way to the bridge was clear, but I couldn’t make the sprint. And the gendarme I had hit was not going to stay down for long.
“Go,” I gasped. “My ankle. I’ll slow you down.” I was limping—struggling with each step. If I couldn’t make it, if I were caught, I’d be dead. They’d light a pyre for me right here.
Elena didn’t say anything as she backtracked.
She just hauled me up, supporting me under my shoulders, and kept on running.
She was practically carrying me. Across the bridge we flew, the pain in my ankle intense and fiery with each step, even with Elena’s support.
Somehow, we made it to the other side. Elena splayed her hand again and a shimmering shield went up across the bridge.
“Temporary protection spell,” she wheezed, hauling me closer to her. “No one will be able to pass for a while.” Elena’s breaths sawed in and out. I was going to vomit. But we made it, panting, sweating and cursing, to the iron gate.