Codex Born

Epilogue

JENETA DREAMED SHE WAS back in the car with Myron Worster, a white-haired Porter in a suit and tie, with sharp wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. For a glorified magical babysitter, he was nice enough, if you could get past his penchant for show tunes and the perpetual smell of pipe tobacco.

“Are you sure we don’t have time to see Isaac?” Jeneta asked. “Just to say good-bye, and to thank him.”

“I’m afraid not. Pallas’ orders.”

She could have used magic to influence him, but it wasn’t worth the risk. He had demonstrated his magic in her cabin at Camp Aazhawigiizhigokwe, pulling various potions and magical ointments from the books in his suitcase. He explained in excruciating detail how he had spent fifty years studying the effects of different potions, learning how to combine them for maximum potency, from flight and invisibility to speed and strength. Given a few minutes to mix his magical cocktails, he was all but unbeatable.

He had spent several days watching over her, his senses and reflexes magically enhanced. As far as Jeneta knew, he hadn’t slept once, nor would he until she was safely on the plane home.

Only he hadn’t kept her safe. She remembered finding a dead butterfly in her cabin, the body the size and shape of a bullet, with wings of milky glass. Worster reassured her that August Harrison’s insects had all died with the destruction of the queen, but he had destroyed the butterfly to be safe. He snapped the wings and broke the body in half.

Only after he left to dispose of the remains did Jeneta notice the tiny bead it had left behind, like a dull metal egg. The bead clung to her finger when she touched it.

She recalled the pinprick of legs crawling through her thoughts. They chipped at her mind, consuming her memories one by one, and the more she tried to protect herself with magic, the quicker they fed.

“Sleep, girl.”

The voice in her head was her own, but she hadn’t spoken. She fought the compulsion to obey, to sink deeper into dreams and nightmares. Terror helped her to kick toward the surface long enough to glimpse her surroundings.

She was on a moving sidewalk, striding through a tunnel with curved walls. Colored light rippled along the wall in time to music. At the end of the walkway, the crowd split apart, following overhead signs directing passengers to the proper terminals. This was an airport. How had she gotten here?

“The Bì de dú demonstrated you could survive death in a book,” said the other voice. “Even one so small as a computer chip. Assuming you found someone who could touch its magic.”

“I know you,” said Jeneta. The devourers had found her first through her nightmares, and then through the insects in Lena’s tree. She had known they wouldn’t stop.

The scent of cinnamon rolls attracted her attention, and she paused in front of a small shop. Her lips curved upward. She pulled out her phone and brought up Maya Angelou’s “Amazing Peace.” Seconds later, the customers and staff sat entranced, utterly at peace. No one even noticed as Jeneta reached around the counter, grabbed a roll, and walked off.

“Such an efficient little spellbook.”

She strode toward the gate, ending her spell with a mere thought. She sat in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs by the window and looked out at the planes rolling to and fro along the runway.

She remembered Worster escorting her into the airport. Once inside, she had used her magic to reassure him and send him on his way. After that, it was a simple enough matter to confuse the necessary people and change her flight plans.

“Is this your first trip to Beijing?” asked a man sitting two chairs over.

Jeneta fought to scream, or to beg the man for help, but like a dream, she had no control of her words or body. “Not exactly.”

“You look a little young to be flying to another country by yourself.”

“I’m older than I look.” She licked frosting from her fingertips. “Enough. Back to sleep with you.”

Jeneta could no more resist that command than she could stop the night from falling. Darkness consumed her, and sounds grew distant.

“Vacationing?” asked the stranger.

“Retrieving an…inheritance.”

As Jeneta sank back into nightmare, memories of a face cast or carved from brass flowed through her mind. The features were exaggerated: an elongated nose, and full lips. An overly high brow, creased in thought. Her hair was plaited, interwoven with tiny clumps of gold, five-petaled flowers.

And beyond that mask, a legion of the dead, waiting to follow.