Carman disappeared in a flash of energy that exploded outward, knocking Calia back several steps.
“Get up,” Litress said. “She is not gone. Watch me to know where to strike. The Dreaming and I are old friends. We know each other well.”
Legs weak and shaking, Calia pulled herself up using Mathison’s pedestal. “You are not dead,” she said to him through clenched teeth. “I will not allow it.” Then she pushed away, squinting to see where Litress had gone. “Come out, witch. I’ve got some heartburn that needs a place to go.” She clutched the wolfstone, ignoring its unbearable heat as she staggered in a slow circle, scanning the area for her wolf.
“Calia! Here!”
To the right, Litress appeared, but it was only part of her. Something blocked the rest of her from view as she growled and sank her teeth into something only she could see. Calia knew exactly what that something was. Charging forward, she shot a fiery breath of blazing spittle exactly where she knew the crone’s head should be.
With a shriek of agony, Carman materialized, holding the side of her face while stumbling away.
Litress lunged for her again, closed her jaws around the witch’s arm, and snapped it with a sickening crackle.
“Ye wretches!” Carman shrieked and fell to her knees. “The two of ye actually believe ye can best me? I am immortal!”
Calia had never been more sure of anything in her life, and she didn’t need her imagined gun or its imagined magical bullets. All she needed was the belief in herself and her love for Mathison. “You are done, witch.” Mustering every last ounce of strength she possessed, she closed the distance between them and exhaled a volley of lava that hit Carman in the chest.
“Ye canna do this!” the witch screamed. “It is not possible.”
“I’ve time-traveled, shifted into a wolf and back again, befriended ghosts, and slept with dragons’ eggs. I can do any damn thing I please.” Calia spewed more of the fiery orange glow until the hag melted into a steaming puddle at her feet. Then she stepped back, struggling to keep her balance.
“Her medallion,” Litress said. “See it there? Mairwen needs to speak the words over it to render it incapable of ever bringing Carman back.”
Calia looked around, envisioning the staff of the first witch she’d conjured up, and found it lying close to the base of Mathison’s pedestal. She used it to drag the black coin stamped with the demonic head of a multiple-horned ram free of the puddle of bubbling lava.
“Tear off a bit of your shirt to wrap around it,” Litress said. “’Tis evil, and the less you touch it, the better.”
Not about to argue, Calia tore off a good-sized swatch of her shirt, wrapped it around the disc, then shoved it into her pocket. Energy gone, she dropped to the ground and sat there, struggling to catch her breath.
Litress gently nudged her. “We must take our mates back. Go to Mathison. You must find the strength to take all of us back, lest we be trapped in the Dreaming.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Calia whispered. Even breathing took a monumental effort. “I’m so tired, and I just don’t feel well at all.”
“Never doubt that you are much stronger than you know. Do this, Calia. You must.”
“Come on, Mama. You can do it,” said a voice that Calia had never thought to hear again.
She held her breath, afraid to move. That voice couldn’t be. It was impossible.
“Mama. Come on.”
“Gillian?” Trembling, Calia looked all around at the gray nothingness. “Gillian? Is that you, or is this some sort of cruel trick?”
“It’s me, Mama. I’m always with you. Always. And I am oh so much better now. Everything is all right. Everything is perfect. Now come on and save Mr. Shadowmist. I like him and his wolf.”
Hot tears broke free and streamed down Calia’s face as she turned and looked at Mathison. I’m losing my mind. I must be dying. This can’t really be my baby.
“Mama,” Gillian gently scolded. “You have to believe. Remember?”
“Believe,” Calia repeated, remembering all the times she and Gillian had promised to believe that no matter what, everything would be all right. Even if they couldn’t see the miracles, the miracles would be there. They would happen. But then Gillian had died, and Calia had stopped believing in anything. “But you left me,” she whispered, unable to hold back the accusation. “Our miracle never came.”
“My path was complete,” Gillian said, her voice lilting with strength and happiness, just like it had when she’d had a good day instead of a sickly one. “I didn’t want to leave you, but they promised it was my time to go. I didn’t understand why until I crossed over. Everything is as it should be, Mama, and I am ever so happy. Someday, you’ll understand when it’s time for you to join me, but for now, just know that I love being free. I can even fly without wings!”
“Is this really you, Gillian?” Calia asked again. “You sound so…grown.” The child had always been mature beyond her years, but nothing like this. This…this had to be some cruel trickery of the Dreaming.
“It’s me, Mama. I promise. But you have to believe. If you and Mathison don’t return, you’re both going to die, and it’s not your time yet. They told me so.” A sad sigh sifted through the misty air like a gentle breeze. “It’s not good when you die at the wrong time. Bad things happen. Not just to you, but to everyone you’re supposed to help along your path. You have to fight to reach the proper time, then when you die, I’ll show you how to fly too.”
“It is her spirit,” Litress whispered. “Your perseverance in vanquishing the evil of the witch convinced them to grant you a visit with her.”
