Hours passed this way as she alternated between her anger and her resignation. When she heard the first notes of birdsong announcing the coming dawn, she groaned and twisted again, burying her face in her pillow only to realize it smelled likeArthur’s shampoo. She ripped the pillowcase off and rolled ungracefully out of bed, stomping out of her room to the washing machine in the hall. She threw it in with all the force of her pent-up frustration and then slid down to the floor, her back against the cool metal. Gods below, she just wanted to sleep.
At first, she thought the strange undulation of the pool of moonlight at the end of the hall was a trick of her exhaustion. It rippled and flashed a lavender color that she knew all too well, and suddenly Maggie was wide awake. She scrambled to her feet and followed the light to the large windows in her living room that faced Hawthorn. Above the line of trees that separated campus from her apartment property, she saw a hazy purple glow that must have come directly from Ilex Hall.
“What is that?” she said to no one, her fingers grazing the glass.
There was a low rumble, a brightening of the haze, and then the ground itself began to tremble. Her blinds tapped against the window, and glasses in her cabinets clinked together. Maggie had been in plenty of small earthquakes out west, and that was exactly what this felt like, but Galloway didn’thaveearthquakes.
Maggie’s heartbeat quickened as she swore and lifted her window. Immediately the smell of burnt ether was overwhelming, singeing her throat. She sputtered and coughed before slamming the window back down, but it did nothing to dissipate the foul odor. Whatever was happening at Ilex Hall, whatever was happening to the pall…Above and below, they were all in danger.
She tripped over her own feet as she ran back to herbedroom, knocking her knee against the door as she reached for her phone. She knew she should alert the wardsmiths first, but there was only one person she wanted by her side right now. There was always only one person she was going to call.
—
It took Arthura moment to realize that the horrible, insistent buzzing sound wasn’t coming from the inside of his head. He wasn’t sure what it was that had finally cut through the hazy fog that surrounded his brain, butsomethinghad woken him up and made him aware of his pounding headache. He groaned, fumbling for his glasses on the nightstand, when his hand hit his phone, buzzing relentlessly. He flipped it open and held it close to his face so he could see the words flashing across the screen:Maggie Linden, PhD. “Fuck,” he said, hitting the answer button.
“Maggie?” he rasped, his voice scratchy and unused.
She was frantic. “Whereareyou? Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”
“I’m in bed, Maggie.” For the first time, he felt angry at her. She may be able to just shake off the weeks they’d spent together, but he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. But the anger faded when he heard the unmistakable screech of a banshee in the background, far closer than it should have been.
“I’ve been calling you for hours. You need to get to Hawthorn right now. It’s the pall.”
“What happened?” Finally, he found his glasses and the room came into focus as he searched for pants and a shirt.
“I don’t know.” Her voice trembled, and he hated how far away he was, with every thought clouded by fog. He wasexhausted. Spent. “I was at home and the ground shook. There was a loud crack that sounded like it was right outside my window, but it came from Ilex Hall.”
“Shit,” Arthur cursed. “The decoction isn’t ready.” He threw his keys into his pocket, put his hand over the receiver, and yelled down the hallway. “Ror!”
“It has to be. Dr. Silva said that it has reached ninety-eight percent efficacy, and we’re going to have to take our chances. How soon can you get here? I called the wardsmith, but…” She hesitated. “I need you here, Arthur.”
Arthur’s brain was too foggy with exhaustion and panic to feel anything about what she said. He flipped his wrist around to look at his watch. It was seven in the morning, so there wouldn’t be much traffic. He could do it in thirty-five minutes if he hurried. After he told Maggie, she said, “I’ll wait for you under the hawthorn.” And then she hung up the phone.
“Ror!” Arthur called again. Gods below, where was his brother? Finally, Rory stuck his head inside the front screen door, looking remarkably alert for someone who had stayed up just as late as Arthur and had just as many beers. “Do you have work today?”
“No, I’m working this weekend.”
“Is Pop or Lane around? Can they watch Simon?” Simon, always an early riser, was drawing on the sidewalk out front with chalk, covering everything in fake runes and shouting nonsense Diadhan spells.
“Mom’s watching him later today anyway. We just need to walk over. What happened?”
“There’s an emergency at the school, and I need you to comewith me. I’ll explain on the way there.” He was already jumping into his truck while Rory scooped up Simon without hesitation.
“Special treat! We get to ride in the back!” He deposited Simon over the side of the truck bed and then hopped in, hitting the cab so Arthur knew he could start driving. Lane’s house was only two blocks away, but he still drove at a snail’s pace until he arrived at the bungalow that looked remarkably like his father’s, except its garden beds were beautifully manicured with an assortment of colorful flowers. The collection of discarded baseballs and lawn toys was exactly the same, though. Rory dropped Simon off in record time, waving to Lane, who stood watching her son leave from the front porch, and then climbed back into the cab. When they finally got onto the marshy road that connected Atlantia and Galloway, Arthur began to tell Rory everything.
By the time they were halfway to Hawthorn, Rory was yelling. “Above and below, Artie, why thefuckdidn’t you tell anyone about the pall?”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“For months! You’ve been trying to solve this on your own when…”
“I’ve had Maggie,” he said feebly. “I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.” Rory shook his head, staring out the window with a hard set to his jaw.
The closer they got to Hawthorn, the darker the sky became. Atlantia’s summer-blue, sunny weather turned into a biting fall gloom, with low-hanging dark clouds and a misty rain that was cold enough to chill. Arthur cursed. For months, the changes to the weather had been contained to the one mile around theschool, but here they were, still ten miles away, and it looked like a dreary November evening.
“Has it been this bad?” Rory asked, and Arthur just shook his head.
Whatever fog had lingered in his brain thanks to his hangover was gone as he and Rory jogged around Ilex Hall toward the hawthorn tree. Maggie was where she promised she’d be, her hair damp and sticking to her forehead. Dahlia and Dr. Silva were with her, pouring the gloaming creeper decoction into a vat of paint. The mixture was a deep, rich purple, but he knew it should have had at least another twelve hours to settle before they used it. He hoped it would be enough to reverse the pall.
