There was nothing more to say. It was the truth, nothing could change it. If not for her… If not for all those wretched years of failure, Margaux would’ve been alive.
Pru’s fingers on her forearm fell off as if in slow motion, leaving Rhiannon bare, empty. She trembled, the cold seeping under her clothes, scratching her skin, stripping every nerve bare.
“I did.” She had no idea why she needed to repeat it, why she kept saying it. Maybe because the last thirteen months had been full of these silences that choked the life out of her, and now the truth had to come out. It was all her fault. Margaux… Her mother… The craft… It was all her fault.
Rhiannon turned around. She couldn’t face Prudence, she couldn’t look at Ceridwen or Seren or Victoria, still holding the book as if her life depended on it. Rhiannon wasn’t even particularly interested in Fowler anymore. In how his ancestors were responsible for her family having been hunted and haunted for centuries. Did it matter?
But then, in the midst of her stupor, of her catatonia, a scent so familiar, so terrifying filled her lungs, and as she turned again, the sight of flames consuming the far shelves of Crow & Cat slammed her in the face.
“Fire…” Rhiannon barely heard her own words, her voice a drowned out whimper. She lunged for the nearest fire extinguisher and finally drew enough breath to scream.
“Fire!”
Seren was the first to react, snatching the second extinguisher, and Lachlan soon followed, with Victoria and Ceridwen grabbing as many books as their arms could hold and running outside.
Rhiannon hadn’t prayed in ages. After all, she stopped believing in deities, good or bad, decades ago when she tried to pull her mother up from the edge of Sky Blue, looking into those desperate eyes and begging the Goddess to save her. She could still see her falling despite the prayers, despite the sheer force of her own belief. And now she saw the fire consume her books, one by one, faster than they could put it out. So much faster. Prayer would do nothing. Again.
She could see that she was not the only one to understand it. Next to her Seren was fighting both with her power and the foam, but her sister’s face was a picture of despair. They were losing, and the fire was gaining ground by the second. One shelf, then two, then the entire back of the room.
“Ceridwen, the Bibles!”
In her peripheral vision, her sister was already running out of the shop, arms full of the centuries-old books holding memories and histories and secrets of the families.
Rhiannon exchanged a look with Christian when the flames jumped to the second row and she knew it was hopeless. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she felt her Seren’s hand on her shoulder.
“We need to move out. Get what you can, but we need to move… I will bring the fire brigade, the trucks. You wait outside for me to return.”
When Rhiannon shook her head, Seren just gritted her teeth.
“For once, forget that I am your baby sister and let me do my job.”
Covered in sweat and soot, Seren’s face was wild, a picture of fear reaching for calm, attempting to stem the tide of desperation. Rhiannon nodded. She grabbed a book, then another. She could barely see the titles, she didn’t know what she was taking. Did it matter? Her life’s work was turning to ash. Behind her, Fowler stepped closer, and she saw again the hate in his eyes. She turned on instinct, waiting for him to push her into the flames. A second, a breath, but he just stumbled past her with an armful of books, shouting for Prudence.
And Prudence… Prudence, who looked at her with love minutes ago, was paralyzed by the fire, watching it wreak havoc on what was left of Rhiannon’s life.
Rhiannon dropped the books and grabbed Prudence’s arm, almost dragging her to the door. After what felt like an eternity, Prudence seemed to snap back to life and they ran out of the shop together, bumping into each other’s shoulders in the doorway. Behind them, the fire raged, Rhiannon’s work being annihilated a book at a time. She swallowed, felt tears stream down her cheeks and the power course in her veins. It was too late. For tears. For magic. The second floor was engulfed in smoke, its blackened breath roaring through the windows.
The Compendium. Elizabeth’s words. Crowhart history.
She could see Seren running away, toward the firehouse. She wanted to shout that it was pointless, that nothing could be done anyway.
Except, the universe still held the last laugh. The last punch.
“Patches! Patches and Boleyn!” Prudence’s scream jolted Rhiannon out of her stupor, and before she could say anything, before she could stop her, Prudence was disappearing into the burning building, smoke swallowing her whole, debris falling from the ceiling and closing the exit behind her like a tomb.
Rhiannon was off and running before her heart could process what had just happened. Strong arms caught her around the middle, and both Lachlan and Ceridwen held her tight, smothering her in a hug that felt like shackles, yelling for her to stop, to think, to not go, it was madness, it was certain death, especially with the ceiling collapsing.
“Prudence!” she heard herself scream, her voice hoarse, bloody, raw. They held her tighter, and the smoke billowed acrid and vicious, laughing at her attempts to struggle.
Rhiannon’s vision darkened and she knew… She knew that twenty-two years of holding back were over. Twenty-two years almost to the day of her failing her mother, vowing to Margaux never to use magic, conjuring the barrier spell. Those days were over. Her time was up. Rhiannon looked to the heavens and saw her clouds. Her hurricane was here. She’d starved it for years, and it would be denied no more.
And then, in the middle of her revelation, a memory overtook her, the one from her dream-torn nights, the one she had been tortured by for months. A woman with Prudence’s eyes running into the burning dark brick building, reaching for her, saving her, promising her a life, a love… Except no. In the doomed light of the fire destroying Rhiannon’s world, she could finally see, she could finally understand the meaning of her dreams. It was never her. She was not the one falling in love with gray sad eyes. And those eyes did not cry for her. Nor did those slender bruised arms reach for her. Not now. And not for Rhiannon.
Elizabeth.
Her dreams were not hers. They were Elizabeth Crowhart’s. Elizabeth of forest green eyes and a doomed fate.
Rhiannon allowed her tears to fall. And those dreams, mixing with memories, came to her in a flood.
