Chapter 17
Seventeen
Veda feels good. Thanks to the excellent drinks and food, both the day and her conversation with Hiram are hazy memories she can sort through tomorrow.
Warm and pliant from the alcohol, Veda tries to pay, only to be told it has already been covered.
With zero complaints, she heads toward the nearby river walk.
She plans to wander into whatever shops draw her interest until she’s sober enough to ride home.
She doesn’t notice the shift.
How the steady flow of people slows to a trickle. How, even at her polite nod, people look through her as if she’s invisible. How she can’t hear the passing cars, the breeze, anything.
Something is wrong.
Plans abandoned, Veda starts back to her bike but stumbles on something she can’t see and reaches out, only for her hand to rebound off nothing.
An invisible curtain. She sobers instantly. Magical layering is rare, complex magic that can’t be done on a whim and is illegal in public places.
Veda walks faster, then cuts off the path, heading down a well-lit alley. But he emerges from the shadows.
In a few weeks, Everett’s become haggard and barely recognizable, a pale shell of himself. His sandy-brown hair is oily, unkempt, and falling into hooded, luminescent red eyes. It’s clear the man standing before her is not Dr. Simpson. He’s lost to the curse.
“Veda.” He sounds as rough as he looks, hoarse like he’s been screaming for days. “You need my help.”
“I think you’re the one who needs help. Everyone has been looking for you.”
“I’m no good to anyone locked away.”
He steps forward, and Veda rocks back, looking over her shoulder. People are passing, none the wiser about what’s happening. She pulls out her phone, careful to keep it at her side.
“The Botanist knows you’re here. They’ve seen you.” Truth makes a wounded noise escape him. “They know I talked to you. They know what you know. Veda, you need to see. To remember. It reminded you of home. Their faces lie . . .”
Veda doesn’t move. “Who are they?”
His ticking time bomb explodes.
Smoky gray power rushes from him, tearing violently in every direction, burning like physical touch.
There’s something wrong about it. Fractured.
It makes Veda nauseous. If this is what being Sensitive is like, she doesn’t want it.
The wind blows in an unnatural direction, wrapping around them.
Mist rises from the grass. The concrete melts and bubbles.
Her body feels heavy, veins filled with lead.
In the aftermath, his eyes are normal and clear yet filled with terror. He’s having a moment of clarity when he whispers, “Run.”
Veda doesn’t need to be told twice. Stumbling, gripping her phone, she runs like the earth is threatening to drag her into the molten depths.
The force with which she slams into the invisible curtain sends her sprawling.
Her amulet flashes with her dismantling charm, ripping a hole through to the other side.
Veda runs, but the lack of sound stuns her into turning around.
Everett is walking toward her, each step a glide. His eyes, bloodred once more, glow in the dusky light.
“Consisto.”
The spell works as intended, stopping her in place.
Its force drives Veda to her knees, her amulet glowing in a desperate bid to protect her.
It won’t be enough. She has to move. There’s no spell to neutralize magic, but Veda tries something anyway, focusing everything on Everett.
Her amulet glows brighter, the air shifting around her.
She screams for help the moment she’s free.
Everett stumbles and drops to his knees, his veins glowing red.
Something dangerous wants out.
Heart hammering in her chest, Veda takes off.
Knowing she isn’t fast enough, she hides in the shadows between two closed shops.
Each breath she takes is done with intention.
To keep silent. To think. Trembling fingers dial Gabriel’s number.
She curses under her breath when it goes to voicemail.
She tries Francisco. Then Peter. No one answers.
Veda calls Gabriel again but keeps the message recording while she scans her surroundings for a landmark.
“Main and Second Avenue. Everett is here,” she manages to whisper before ending the voicemail. With bated breath, she watches Everett stalk by.
Veda closes her eyes and counts, waiting long enough for him to be gone before deciding to make a move.
It’s now or never. Bolting from her hiding spot seems like a good idea until she’s snatched off the ground, vision blurring even before she’s shoved against the brick wall.
Everett clamps a hand over her mouth, eyes darting.
“Shh, the Botanist will hear you. They told me . . .”
Veda hears nothing more.
A cold, sober clarity explodes behind her eyes. Beneath his hand, she shakily whispers, “You c-can’t tell the truth.”
Something changes. Everett’s concern twists, morphing until it’s almost amused, like a child caught in a lie.
“Oh, that’s right.” A giggle slips out. “He can’t.”
This is not Everett.
“It’s you.”
“In the flesh. Somewhat.” Their expression turns sinister. “Still don’t know who I am yet?”
Panic seizes Veda. The hand over her mouth clamps down harder, no longer trembling.
Veda kicks, trying to knee the Botanist-as-Everett, clawing and clamoring at his clammy arms, desperate for freedom.
But they are strong, radiating a power Veda has felt only once before: the last time she fought them.
Her phone grows hot in her hand, bursting into flames, but she holds on, twisting and stretching, letting go only when the angle is right.
It lands in the grass. Fire roars to life, heat licking their feet as the blaze catches and spreads. It’s enough of a distraction for her assailant to let go. Veda hits the ground with a gasp, coughing as her knees buckle.
Pain turns the world white. Smoke fills the air. Flames roar in the wrong direction. Her amulet pulses against her skin, drawing in what magic it can to shield her and keep her attacker at bay, but it’s waning.
So is she.
“I underestimated you, Veda.” Their voice has changed. No longer Everett’s, it’s a chilling blend of several. “You were supposed to die that night, but I’m glad you didn’t, glad you’ve been holding that curse all these years.”
Veda tries to push against the wave of magic, tries to crawl away, tries every spell she knows.
It earns her nothing more than pain and a trickle of blood from her nose.
Still, she drags herself forward, one knee after the other, crawling away from the fire and forcing herself to move with magic and might.
Her amulet chars her skin, a reminder that she is no match against raw magic.
Impostor Everett grabs her ankle and pulls. The pressure intensifies until she can’t breathe.
“One way or another, you’re coming with me.”
Veda claws the grass, twisting, blind with pain and terror. She kicks and screams until her boot connects with the pendant around their neck. Their features blur into a kaleidoscope, reforming into Veda’s face.
Eyes squeezed shut, she kicks again. It lands hard. Everything dies when the impostor gasps like they’ve lost all their wind and then collapses.
Veda hauls herself upright. It’s unsettling to see her own face grimacing in agony on the ground. Backing away, she nearly falls again when the bones in her ankle grind together. Every step is a battle. She nearly stumbles over the real Everett, slumped against the side of a building.
Drenched in sweat, he’s rocking back and forth, and muttering, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Veda can’t stop. Summoning the last of her strength, she throws out a desperate cry for help.
Her amulet sizzles, levitating from where it rests on her chest. A blinding bolt of light bursts from her fingertips.
The streetlights explode with enough force to plunge the entire street into darkness.
Someone notices the fire and yells, which creates instant, distracting chaos.
Veda’s hobble turns into a hopping run. Down one alley, then another, she stumbles through the darkness.
The crushing wave of magic presses in on all sides.
The Botanist must be close. Veda doesn’t know if she’ll be able to fight again, yet adrenaline roars in her veins, her vision swimming in colors.
Even at a distance, magic is volatile, dangerous, but the Botanist clearly doesn’t care.
The spell hits. Then the world shifts. The path ahead lengthens, splitting and twisting as though she’s looking through a fun house mirror. Reflections of herself mimic her movements. All but one. That one screams.
Raw magic slams into Veda, sending her sprawling. Before she can catch her breath, her clone is on top of her, hands closing around her throat once again, squeezing hard. Veda thrashes, kicking wildly, clawing at the hands around her throat, fighting to scream. But there’s no air.
“Go to sleep,” the clone croons. “We have experiments to do—”
A burst of light strikes her clone, tossing them backward.
She hyperventilates on precious air, and her hand flies to cover her throat.
She isn’t prepared for the sudden touch of real Everett’s hand, trembling as he frantically mutters, “They came to you at night. The music played on. The mark grows. Changes. It lives in you but is destined for her. For her!”
Veda’s fingers tingle. Whatever unconscious magic he’s using on her is incomplete. She clings to the tendrils of life, desperate to hold on.
Every ounce of magic her amulet has ever absorbed erupts from within the stone, detonating in a blinding wave of power. A final, sacrificial gift.
Deafened by its scream, paralyzed by the pressure, Veda watches her amulet’s essence rise, mingling with the first sparks. Everett’s hand is gone, his body hurled away in the explosion of color and warmth, magic and ozone. The pain fades as she finally draws in a full breath.