Wizard and typic, we’re all Americans, he thought, nerves rising.Wizard and typic, we’re all Americans. Wizard and typic… It was just a speech, for God’s sake—he needed to calm down.
“You are part of history, all of you,” Lydia said. “We’ve just now received early estimates on the size of this crowd. More than three hundred thousand people! The largest-ever demonstration in Washington, D.C.!”
The women and men spread out on the mall in front of them roared their approval, covering up his groan. Just a speech in front of the largest-ever protest in the nation’s capital. Well, it would all be over soon, at least.
He tried not to jiggle in his seat. He glanced at Beatrix to see how she was holding up and wasn’t surprised to find her staring unblinkingly at her sister’s back, as if she could protect her by not looking away. Thank goodness they were almost done. Twenty-one minutes for Lydia’s speech, five for theirs—wizard and typic, we’re all Americans?—
His muscles seized up. All of them, it felt like, from his neck to his limbs to each of his toes, leaving him frozen in place on the seat.
For a short, confused moment of blank shock, even his mind seemed to have iced over. Then thoughts hit one after the other: Tetanus? A seizure? A stroke?
Magic?
He tried to whisper to Beatrix, still in his line of sight, but his tongue would not accommodate him. His heart was beating, his lungs were working, he could move his eyes—that was it.
He hadn’t heard a spell. Had someone managed to poison him? Oh, fuck, had theyallbeen poisoned? Something in the water? But Beatrix shifted in her seat. Lydia continued to speak. No, it was just him. It was like being once again flat on his back in the forest, unable to move as Marbella Draden set off the weapon—except this time it couldn’t be the paralytic agent she’d used on him, because he’d still been able to talk after she’d dosed him.
Help, he tried to call out.Help, something is wrong. Help!
Somebody grabbed his shoulder. He was turned slightly in that direction, and he shifted his gaze to see if he could tell who it was. His stomach dropped. No sign of the hand he could feel. The person touching him was invisible.
Lydia—run!
The sound that came out of his throat didn’t come even close to approximating those words. It was a croak, covered by Lydia’s fiery speech.Oh God, what if the magiocracy meant to attack her? It seemed insane, but why else wouldthey immobilize him? And thescieldspell around her would not protect against a truly powerful assault—he had todosomething?—
His muscles suddenly engaged, but not in the way he was attempting to use them. He got to his feet without meaning to do it. His neck shifted, turning his head toward the crowd. His hand shoved into his pocket, his fingers roughly grabbing leaves. At that point—grasping the conspiracy now and utterly panicked—he put every ounce of concentration to bear on making the loudest sound he could,anysound, to get Lydia’s attention.
A whispery rasp was all he could manage.
His arm extended, hand aimed at her back.No—STOP?—
“No!” screamed a voice, but not his. Pounding footsteps somewhere to his left:“Lydia!”It was Rosemarie, thankGodfor Rosemarie and her ability to suss out invisibility spells!
Lydia turned. “What?—”
A crackling bolt of magic struck her. She crumpled to the ground, blood blooming on her white dress. Somebody—Rosemarie?—rammed into him.And the wizard teleported with a hand still clamped on his shoulder, dragging him inexorably along.
Everything vanished into the void as if he’d imagined what had just happened. As if Beatrix’s worst fears had not come completely, dreadfully true.
CHAPTER 25
She watched it happen. The spell going off, Rosemarie barreling into Peter, the screams, the distinctive noise of teleportation as Peter and Rosemarie disappeared. She saw it and knew it was a dream, because there wasn’t one iota of a chance that it would occur dayside. Peter wouldnever.And even if he would—which hewouldn’t—he couldn’t cast a thing.
Joan ran to Lydia’s side, gasping at what she saw. Beatrix shut her eyes, clenching her teeth. This was just a nightmare. The nightmare to end all nightmares. She had to wait it out.
“We need your attention!” Joan said into the microphone, her amplified voice barely louder than the confused noise of three hundred thousand people, some shouting, some crying. “Quiet,please!Are there any doctors here? Please, anydoctors? We need immediate assistance! Lydia Harper has been attacked!”
Lydia Harper has been attacked.Beatrix tried to remember going to sleep and couldn’t. She woke up, she went to the march—the real march—and …Lydia Harper has been attacked.
She lurched from her chair in terror and fell at her sister’s crumpled body, gagging at the blood, its stench and horrifying amount. Her sister’s chest was rising and falling—Lydia was still alive, but for how long? She had to do something. She …
She couldn’t breathe. Black spots pulsed around the edges of her vision. No, no,no,she couldn’t have a panic attack now! Her sister’s life depended on what she did in the next few moments! She grasped for her hidden pocket full of leaves. She had to—had to?—
Her head hit Lydia’s shoulder as she slumped forward.“Help,” she croaked. Joan’s voice echoed above her, exhorting the crowd to “please stay where you are, please don’t run.” No one was coming to help. The pulsing black spots grew.
“Beatrix!” Someone grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled. “Move! Get out of the way!”
She slid into unconsciousness with a final thought tossed between the crashing panic and despair. Ella. Whoever was yelling at her sounded just like Ella.
