“Oh, she’s good, your grandmother. She had us looking at the pawn, thinking it was the queen. We were all chasing our tails until we searched her apartment and found theoneloose end she forgot to tie up.” Eleanor taps the picture as though it’s all the damning evidence she needs. “We couldn’t figure out where you tied into all of it, why trade them for you, but now it’s obvious…”
She pauses dramatically, and I can see in her eyes that she wants me to askwhat. Well, she can keep on waiting, I’m not a marionette, and she sure as hell isn’t my puppet master.
Eleanor’s eyes sparkle with excitement, and the tension in the room rises. “Your grandmother is alive, Lennox.She’sthe one behind this. But don’t worry, we’re going to find her, and when we do, we’ll make sure she’s dead for real this time.”
4
Rage blazes through me, and my magic flares in response.
“Are you trying to get your ass beat?” I seethe as I push up from my chair and lean toward the witch, who has no idea who she’s fucking with. The other Order members in the room all shoot to their feet, eyes wary and looking off to the mirrors as though they expect help to come rushing in at any moment, all except Eleanor.Shelooks delighted, like it was her sole purpose in life to make me lose my shit. The eagerness I see in her demented gaze gives me pause, and I think through why she might be pushing me so hard.
Her revelation spins around in my mind.
The declaration.
The threat.
Does she really believe Grammy Ruby is alive? Is this some kind of trick? I want to completely reject the notion that somehow my grandmother faked her own death, but after everything I’ve seen and learned since the bones chose me, I don’t know if I can.
Rogan was just telling me that magic in a line doesn’t have to only pass through death. It can be relinquished and then...they leave, they live the rest of their lives as Lessers.
But even if that’s true, I recall when I first discovered the bones in my apartment. I know I felt my Grammy watching over me as I opened the pouch and sealed the bones to me. There have been other times where I’ve distinctly felt her presence, and there is no way any of that happened if she was still alive.
Right?
As though Eleanor can see me talking myself down, she lobs more of her twisted theories at me. “Think about it, Lennox, why would this kidnapper go through all of this trouble to get to you? It’s because your grandmother wants her power back, because she doesn’t realize we’re on to her, but we are now!”
A boom thuds from the other side of the mirror across from me. The surface of it vibrates from the force of whatever hit it. I expect someone or something to come crashing through it, but nothing happens other than the loud sound drawing our attention.
Just then, the door to the room opens. A young man walks in, gloved hands holding what I presume to be the ransom note. He glances around the room like he’s unsure what he’s supposed to do with it. Eleanor looks from the paper to me.
“Don’t believe me, Lennox? See for yourself. Call your bones. We know you can. Spill them on the table, see if they’ll clue you in on what else your grandmother has planned.”
She snatches the note out of the man’s hands, but before she can so much as turn to fling it at me, she throws her head back and releases a blood-curdling scream. An alarm sounds off all around me, but all I can see and hear is Eleanor screaming as her body erupts in blisters as though she’s burning somehow from the inside out. The paper in her hand starts to smoke, and I’m terrified that this witch is going to spontaneously combust right before my eyes. I’m frozen in place as her skin starts to char and split.
Another scream demands my attention, and I look over to find Fiona scrambling away from her fellow Order member. She’s shrieking something about demon magic and to clear the room, but I’m so muddled with shock that I don’t move. Lights flash all around me, but all I can see is Eleanor as parts of her hands start to flake off like burnt paper on a breeze.
Arms wrap around me in a tight band, and the next thing I know, I’m being pulled from the room, the echo of Eleanor’s screams and the smell of sulfur and ash chasing after me as I’m pulled to safety. Everything around me slows, I’m hyper aware of what’s happening, and yet it’s as though someone activated drunk-sloth-mode in my settings. I can’t seem to respond to anything in real time.
Shouts toget her to safetybounce around the hallway I’m being carried down. Someone kicks a door open, and suddenly we’re pouring into a stairwell. Booted feet pound loudly on each step as we start to climb up. Everything feels disorienting with alarms blaring and lights blinking all around us. I want to tell whoever has me that they’re going the wrong way. You’re supposed to go down when there’s a fire, not up, but I can’t make my mouth work. I feel like we’re rushing into an apartment that looks like the one I was in before, but I can tell it’s not mine. Everything is in the same place, but the colors are different, the knick knacks on the shelves aren’t the ones I remember throwing around when I was searching my quarters for clues.
I’m set on my feet, and a tall man leans down until his face is in line with mine. Wild green eyes stare back at me, the scar running through one side of his face making him look far more formidable than I know he is. I stop that line of thinking immediately.I don’t know anything about him, I remind myself. Well, nothing beyond the fact that I can’t trust him anyway.
As though Rogan can see that conclusion form in my shock-filled stare, I watch as his eyes harden. I can practically feel him putting on his armor in protection from what he sees in my gaze. It breaks me a little that this is where we are. It wasn’t very long ago that I was looking into his eyes and seeingpossibilitythere. Now all I can see is my weakness.
“Is she okay? Did she get hit by any residual curse?” a voice asks, but Rogan’s eyes never leave mine.
“No, she’s just in shock. Is the rest of the building secure? Do we know if there were any others?” Rogan demands.
Others?
“No, they’re doing a sweep now,” the other voice responds, and I realize it’s Marx.
“I need you to clear the room,” Rogan quietly tells his friend, and I blink, shutting Rogan’s face out of my mind for a millisecond before I’m once again staring at him.
Internally I try to rally, to mentally slap myself and shoutsnap out of it. But my feet stay planted, and my eyes stay fixed as though I’m the moth and Rogan’s the flame. Or maybe I’m the flame, and that’s why I can’t do anything other than stand here and feel like I’m burning up with confusion and fury.
“Team, let’s sweep the floor, make sure there’s no surprises planted about. Rish, Bridger, watch the door, if anyone but us tries to approach, put them down.”
