Chapter 35
C HAPTER 35
AUDEN
When I step away from Ruby, it’s as if I’ve crossed over a threshold—through one door and into another world.
Perhaps I’ve returned from an alternate universe to the present, reality squeezing my bones like air pressure, gravity sealing my physical body back down to earth.
The situation is dire, the numbers spelling it out in stark black and white of what has happened the last thirty-six hours and what we must do in the next fifteen.
Four dead bodies.
Two non-witches who have tangible knowledge about the inner workings of the most secretive magic society in North America.
One final relic to find.
One witch to elevate to High Sorcerer.
One murderer (if not more) to punish for the four dead bodies.
Evander gives us orders and honestly, I follow them because I want to be done.
Rip the Band-Aid off and slam the doors open, leaving this spell, the last three days behind. This is my home, where I was raised, but I may never come back.
I can serve my family and my line from somewhere that isn’t here.
Here, where my grandmother died. Where my father died. Where my aunt and uncle died. Where this whole ten-year travesty was built, crested, broke.
Six months ago, Ursula told me what I must do.
That keeping the lines together was worth any cost. Together we can survive, apart we begin to weather, fray, snap.
I’m not sure she knew the true price. Her life. Luna’s. Hector’s and Sanguine’s. The driver. The particular threat and test posed by Ruby and Wren.
Though, Ursula always knew everything. Maybe she knew this too.
And still she thought it was worth it.
It’s cost too much. It will cost us more before it’s over.
I didn’t object as Evander divided us up. Gave us marching orders. Signals to call each other—for masters and for sightings of Marsyas. Deadlines and strategies.
I didn’t say a word.
And now I’m being babysat by Evander himself.
The locations for the Death master relic are… sparse, to say the least.
The clue doesn’t seem to give us any indication of what form the relic might be in, nor is it very directive on location or even any specifics, honestly. Therefore, we’ve divided it into plausible hints: ashes, shroud, line.
Accordingly, our priority of search sites includes anywhere items are burned or buried, plus the location of the ley lines.
Winter and Infinity are casing the cemetery, searching for anything that might tie into the pointed dust-to-dust and shroud statements within the clue.
Meanwhile, the twins are searching the length of the large ley line that bisects the property, following it from the front gate until the mountains ruin the path, hoping to spot anything that fits in with the final words of the clue because just as every line hooks into the High Sorcerer’s ring via their master relics, every line draws power from the ley lines that crisscross the earth.
That leaves Evander and me with the house, addressing the hints regarding ashes and burning—tasked with searching every fireplace flue within Hegemony Manor.
Every living space has at least one, sometimes multiple. All of them are original to the house, which means all of them need to be searched.
It truly is a two-man job, but because of the still-cooling bodies upon the grounds, we’ve decided to stay within view of each other. No splitting up for efficiency’s sake.
Which means I’m using my time wisely to tell him precisely what I think.
We’re on room number seven—the formal dining room on the first floor of the manor. The long, rectangular table is large enough to be seaworthy, the chandelier above sized to double as a temporary prison for a grown man. The walls are accented by Shadrack’s mural of waves, lit on one side by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the interior courtyard. The fireplace is adjacent to the courtyard views, and Ursula always sat so that her back was to the fire, the element charging her through every bite and sip at the head of the table.
Evander is bent over the cooling hearth, sifting through the ashes and prodding the stones beneath. Meanwhile, I’m standing on a chair that’s seen sturdier days, examining every Victorian curl of marble for a niche.
“Ursula was the High Sorcerer for more than half a century,” I start, rather casually, as I finish inspecting the mantel and surrounding woodwork with the same result as all six rooms before this one—nada. “Evander, you know better than anyone—the will is the first thing a High Sorcerer does, correct? Even before a celebration or ceremony. Wear the ring, write the will, then party.”
I step off the chair and haul it back to the table—even now Ursula’s insistence that we protect the original parquet is so ingrained it’s automatic. As I reposition the chair at the table, I’ve noticed Evander’s movements have slowed.
He’s listening. Good.
I wait, watching the wheels turn silently in Evander’s brain—he bows his head, hands braced on his sweatpants, as he sits back on his haunches. Another flue, another cold lead.
“If Marsyas knew what spell within Ursula’s will would be triggered early enough that she killed the driver and stole his keys before Ursula’s murder and made her exit, could we assume she took other precautions?”
Evander sighs and stands—the second floor will be next. I push on.
“So, she planned and accounted for the fact that she would have to leave to avoid the punishment for murdering Ursula. But she knew that either she needed back in or she needed to have people on the inside. Not Ruby and Wren. They—”
“You know what I think?” Evander asks suddenly, though it’s not a true question. His tone is low and aimed at the ashes. “I think Marsyas thought we’d eliminate those poor girls in her stead, believe we’d appeased Ursula’s need for punishment, and then be shocked out of our gourds when we found all the masters and the gates didn’t magically open. She wanted us to think we did it only to find out we’d murdered two innocent girls and would have to live with the guilt in our magical tomb for the rest of our days.”
Dark and twisted in a way someone like Marsyas Blackgate would appreciate. Sure.
“Maybe that was the plan at first. One doesn’t have to hold the power to destroy it. It can be snuffed out.”
“It most certainly can be.”
Turning around, Evander opens his mouth to say more but withdraws.
“What?” I prod.
He sucks in a deep breath and raises his exhausted eyes to mine. The green is faded like the morning light in this room, a shadow over the hour that can’t be stowed away. The anger in his voice hardens into something else. Fear? Resignation?
It’s far more terrifying than Evander in a rage.
“If we’re trapped here for good,” he starts, voice downshifted to a disheartened rasp, “I suppose that means we don’t have to address what our guests know.”
Address. As in wipe their memories or neutralize them—hurt them—in another way. Maybe even eliminate them. Two more dead in the name of the Four Lines.
“Say their names, Evander.”
His big, burly body deflates until I can see the little boy Evander was ten years ago staring back at me—chubby and round-faced, spitting nails in a preemptive strike against the softest parts of him, buried down deep. “Ruby and Wren… That will take some getting used to.”
A pang of guilt spreads, silken ice, smothering my gut. Evander truly is scared—for Ruby and Wren, for himself, for all of us.
A lump materializes in my throat and when I swallow, it lodges in my windpipe. I give Evander my best smile, knowing full well my voice will crack. “Well, we might have eternity to get it down pat.”
We haven’t discussed this enough, the elephant in the room. That this crumbling house will be our tomb, the grounds our final resting place. If we can’t get this right. If we don’t get this right.
This has never been an option for Evander.
With the barest hint of rising mirth, my cousin deadpans like a goddamn Hollywood action star, “Not if I have anything to do with it.”
“And that’s why we need you leading the Four Lines when this is over.”
I mean every word of it, and the way his face softens, I think he believes it.
“I—” Evander holds up a hand, his eyes lifting to the stamped gold-foil panels of the ceiling above. That cold slither of discontent flashes in my stomach before he even says it. “Do you hear that?”