Spells

TWENTY-FIVE

“DID YOU GET WHAT YOU NEEDED?” DAVID ASKED as he headed toward the Battery Point Lighthouse.

“I got it,” Laurel said, already pulling out her mortar and pestle.

“What are you making?”

“You just drive, and we’ll see if I can avoid blowing up your car, okay?”

“Ooookay,” David said, sounding less than confident. They drove silently, the scraping of Laurel’s pestle playing a sinister duet with David’s tires humming against the asphalt. They drove to the south side of Crescent City and the clock on the dashboard marched inexorably forward.

8:43

8:44

8:45

They pulled into the deserted parking lot of the Battery Point Lighthouse and Laurel remembered coming here with Chelsea more than a year ago. She remembered Chelsea’s bright smile as she explained all about the landmark she was so attached to. As they pulled into the parking spot closest to the island, a lump grew in Laurel’s throat as she considered the possibility that she might not see Chelsea again.

At least, not alive.

Laurel shook the thought away and tried to grasp the slightly unfocused calm she had accidently achieved when she made her first perfect sugar vials last week. She threw some hibiscus seeds in the mix and crushed them with determination, forcing herself to focus on happy memories with Chelsea, fighting not to let her fears intrude.

She was startled by David’s hand on her arm. “Should we call the cops?” he asked.

Laurel shook her head. “If cops come, Chelsea will die. I guarantee it. The cops, too, probably.”

“You’re right.” David paused. “What about Klea?”

Laurel shook her head. “I just can’t make myself trust her. There’s something — something wrong about her.”

“But Chelsea…” His voice trailed off. “I just wish we had something else — someone else.” His fingers tightened painfully on her arm. “Please don’t let them kill her, Laurel.”

Laurel shook in a dusting of powdered saguaro cactus needles and held the mixture up against the dim glow of a streetlight. It reflected the low beams just the way it was supposed to. “I’m going to do my best,” she said quietly.

After pouring the mix into one sugar-glass vial, Laurel measured several drops of oil into a second vial, completing the monastuolo serum. It looked right; it felt right. She hoped it wasn’t her desperation speaking. If it worked, Jeremiah Barnes and his new lackeys would go to sleep, and once Chelsea was freed they could go get Tamani. He would know what to do. Laurel stuffed the vials into her jacket pockets and started to open her door. They’d already wasted too much time just sitting here in the parking lot while she finished the potion.

“Wait,” David said, his hand on her arm.

Laurel’s eyes darted to the dashboard clock that was rushing through minutes far too quickly, but she stayed. David dug into his backpack and when he withdrew his hand, he held the small Sig Sauer Klea had intended for Laurel. Laurel focused on the gun for a few seconds, then looked up at David.

“I know you hate it,” David said, his voice quiet and steady. “But it’s the only thing we know for sure can stop Barnes. And if it comes down to his life or Chelsea’s”—he laid the gun in Laurel’s shaking hand—“I know you’ll have the strength to make the right choice.”

Laurel’s hands were shaking so badly she could hardly wrap her fingers around the icy-cold grip, but she nodded and stuffed the gun into the waistband of her jeans, pulling her jacket down to conceal it.

They exited the car, both staring up at the lighthouse, where a spot of brightness shone out from the upper floor. Then she and David walked out to the path that led up to the lighthouse.

It was three feet under the ocean.

“Oh, no,” Laurel said under her breath. “I forgot about the tide.” She stared out at the lighthouse, about a hundred meters away across the churning water. She would make it — it wasn’t that far — but the salt would work into her pores. It would sap her strength instantly and linger for at least a week.

Without speaking, David scooped her up in his arms. He walked to the edge of the water and after the slightest hesitation, stepped in, his long, powerful legs striding easily though the frothy currents. He gasped as the bitterly cold water crawled up to his knees, his thighs, his hips, and after about a minute Laurel heard his teeth chatter for a second before he clamped his jaw shut. But he couldn’t stop shivers from coursing through his body. Laurel tried to support as much of her own weight as possible, with her arms twined around David’s neck, but even the wind was fighting them tonight, whipping against their jackets and through Laurel’s long hair, stirring the seawater into choppy waves.

Right in the middle where the water was the deepest — up to David’s waist — a large wave slapped at him and he staggered, almost dumping them both into the water. But with a small grunt of determination he found his footing again and slogged on.

It seemed like ages before David stumbled up the other side, onto the island with the small lighthouse. He put Laurel down gently before wrapping his arms around himself and breathing heavily.

“Thank you,” Laurel said, her words seeming so insufficient.

“Well, I hear that getting hypothermia once a year is good for the soul,” David said, his voice shaking as shivers wracked his whole body.

“I—”

“Let’s just go, Laurel,” David interrupted. “They’ve got to know we’re here.”

Soon they stood in front of the door. It was ajar. Someone was waiting.

“Do we knock?” David whispered. “I’m not exactly up to speed on my hostage situation etiquette.”

Laurel put a hand to her waist, checking to make sure the gun was still on one side, and the vials of potion on the other. “Just push it all the way open,” she said, wishing her voice wasn’t shaking so badly.

David complied.

It was dark.

“No one’s here,” David whispered.

Laurel’s eyes searched the room. She pointed to a tiny needle of light that decorated the opposite wall. “They’re here,” she said, thinking back on Jamison’s flytrap metaphor. “But we won’t see them until we’re in too far to get away.”

Even so, they crossed the lower room slowly, then carefully opened the door to the stairs. Dim light spilled in from somewhere above. Laurel put her foot on the bottom step.

“No,” David said, his hand on her shoulder. “Let me go first.”

Guilt flooded through her. Even after everything she’d done, he was still willing to put his life before hers. She shook her head. “He’s got to see me first. Just to be sure.”

They were less than five steps up when David gasped sharply. Laurel glanced back and saw that two trolls had come into the lighthouse behind them. These were not the dirty, unkempt trolls that had chased them from Ryan’s home, however. They were both wearing clean black jeans and long-sleeved black shirts, and they were pointing shiny chrome handguns at David’s back — not that they had any need for the guns. Laurel knew they could break her in two with ease.

One was bizarrely asymmetric — the left half of his body was withered and gnarled, but the right half would have looked at home on a world-class bodybuilder. The other troll’s face looked remarkably human, but the bones in his shoulder were twisted and uneven, pulling one shoulder back and one forward, twisting his legs as well, so he moved with a strange, shuffling gait.

David looked up at Laurel with wide eyes, but she shook her head, faced forward again, and continued climbing. They reached the top of the stairs and were greeted by two more trolls, also armed. These looked more like the goons who had thrown Laurel and David into the Chetco last year, with drooping cheekbones, offset noses, and mismatched eyes. One even had a shock of red hair combed back from his fearsome face. But of course it couldn’t be Barnes’s old lackeys; Tamani had disposed of them. Laurel paid them no heed and turned the corner at the top of the stairs.

“Chelsea!” She gasped as her friend came into view.

Chelsea was blindfolded and trussed to a chair with a gun at her head. “Finally,” she grumbled.

“I told you she’d come,” said a gravelly, all-too-familiar voice. “Laurel. Welcome.”

Laurel’s eyes left Chelsea and traveled to the man who held the gun against Chelsea’s temple. The face, the eyes that haunted her dreams — even more than a year later.

Jeremiah Barnes.

He looked the same—exactly the same. From his broad, football-player shoulders to his very slightly crooked nose, and those dark brown eyes that looked black from across the room. He was even wearing a rumpled white shirt and suit pants that completed the eerie sense of déjà vu and made her feel like she was trapped in one of her own worst nightmares.

“Little Miss Noble. You even brought your old human friend to die with you. I’m impressed.”

The trolls surrounding them chuckled. Trying not to draw attention to herself, Laurel flexed her hand, crushing the glass vials together in her pocket, letting the two elixirs mix. The glass jabbed into her hand and she forced herself to breathe normally as the serum reacted, burning her fingers as it became a hot steamy vapor that Laurel hoped Barnes wouldn’t notice. She just needed a few minutes…if it worked. Please work, she begged in her head. “No one’s here to die, Barnes. What do you want?”

Barnes laughed. “What do I want? Revenge, Laurel.” He smiled dangerously. “How about this? I shoot you in the shoulder, so you know how it feels, then we go down to that old cabin and you show me where the gate is. Then, if you’re not dead by that point, maybe I’ll put you out of your misery.”

“And what about my friends?” Laurel asked. She met Barnes’s eyes, glare for glare. “If I agree,” she said steadily, “what happens to my friends?”

The potion burned on her fingers and Laurel longed to pull her hand out of her pocket and rub the liquid away. But it was too risky. She gritted her teeth and continued staring at the hulking troll.

Barnes licked his lips and grinned. “I’ll let them go.”

It was blatantly obvious that he was lying, but Laurel played along. “Let them go now,” she said, stalling for time, “and we’ll go to the land.”

“Right. I don’t think so. You faeries are tricky bastards, especially when you’re fighting a losing battle. Your friends go when — and only when — you’ve shown me the gate.”

“No deal.”

Barnes turned the gun on Laurel now.

She didn’t even flinch.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to bargain,” he said. “We’re going to do it my way. I’ll tie you up, toss you in my Hummer, and we’ll go down to Orick. It’s that, or you all die here tonight. Oh, and we can take care of that shoulder thing now,” he said, lowering the gun so it pointed at her shoulder. Laurel closed her eyes and flexed her entire body, waiting for the impact.

“No,” David said, yanking her backward and stepping in front of her. “I won’t let you.”

Barnes laughed his harsh, almost wheezing laugh, making Laurel’s skin crawl. After so long she still remembered that laugh with absolute clarity. “Won’t let me? Like you can do anything about it, little boy,” Barnes taunted. He gestured to the other trolls. “Get him out of here.”

One troll grabbed Laurel by the shoulders to keep her still, then the redheaded troll closed his hand around David’s arm, but David was ready. He spun, breaking the troll’s grip, and swung his fist. It hit with a resounding crack! and the troll staggered back two steps.

Laurel watched in horror as David cradled his hand, then wound up to try again. She couldn’t move — couldn’t yell for him to wait, to be patient — without giving herself away. He’d saved her from Barnes’s gun and now he would suffer instead of her.

“David?” Chelsea’s voice sounded so small, so helpless, Laurel felt a lump grow in her throat.

The next troll was faster, kicking out one leg and catching David in the chest. Laurel grimaced and tried to pull away as she heard at least one rib crack under the impact of that foot, but the troll holding her maintained his iron grip. She glanced at Barnes; he was watching with an amused smile on his face, his gun still trained on her. She hated his smug smirk. Just looking at him made her a lot less upset about the gun she had tucked away.

“David!” Chelsea yelled again as a strangled groan escaped David’s mouth.

“Chelsea, it’s okay,” Laurel called, but she could hear the terror in her own voice. “Please just hold still.” To Laurel’s relief, she stilled instead of trying to wiggle away from the thick, calloused fingers clenched at her neck.

The half-bodybuilder troll threw a punch at the helpless, hunched David, but it was strangely slow and off center, so it glanced off David’s cheekbone — though still hard enough to split his skin. The troll spun awkwardly, stumbling and landing on the floor.

“Get up, you stupid oaf!” Barnes yelled as the other trolls grabbed David’s arms, but the fallen troll didn’t move. The one with the twisted shoulders pulled out a loop of rope and moved to secure him. David yanked his arm out of the troll’s grasp and shoved him away; the troll fell to the floor as unconscious as the other.

“What the—” Barnes stammered, clearly confused. The redheaded troll forced David’s arms back behind him and secured him, struggling, to the stair rail. David yanked at his arms, trying to free them, but he couldn’t get loose. He looked desperately at Laurel, blood trailing down his face now, but she was studying the troll beside him. Slowly, so painfully slowly, the troll fell to his knees and collapsed on the ground. Then finally, the troll holding Laurel in place collapsed. A few seconds later David stood, tied securely to the railing, with four trolls at his feet.

Barnes swiftly switched his attention back to Laurel.

She had her gun out and pointed right at his head. “It’s over, Barnes,” she said, forcing back the hysteria that was threatening to erupt. “Put down your gun.”

“Well, you’re not the girl I met last year, are you?” Barnes studied her coolly. “You couldn’t shoot me even to save your little vegetable friend back then. Now you’ve dropped all four of my guys.” He grinned. “You’re still waiting for me to fall, aren’t you?”

Laurel said nothing, just focused on holding the gun steady.

“That stuff doesn’t work on me,” he said with a strange laugh. “Let’s just say I made a deal with a devil and now I’m immune.” He paused, meeting Laurel’s eyes. “What now?” he asked, his expression still amused.

Laurel watched her perfect plan come crumbling down around her.

“I want answers,” Laurel said, forcing her arms not to shake as she held the gun up, pointing at Barnes’s chest. She knew she couldn’t really trust whatever he might tell her, but she had to stall. Do something to give her time to think.

“Answers?” he said. “That’s all you want? Answers are cheap. I’d have given them to you without the gun.” He paused, looking at her with interest. “Ask me your burning questions, Laurel,” he said mockingly.

“Where are my sentries? Did you kill them?”

He laughed. “Hardly. They’re off chasing a red herring. A damn good red herring, if I do say so myself. They think they’re saving you from me. They’ll be back when they realize the trail of faerie blood is leading them nowhere.”

“Whose blood?” Laurel said, her voice shaking now.

Barnes grinned. “No one…important.”

“Why now?” Laurel asked, forcing thoughts of dead sentries out of her head. She couldn’t do anything about that right now. “Why didn’t you do this a month ago? Six months ago? Why now, and why Chelsea?”

He shook his head. “Your tiny world is so simple. You think there’s me and my little band against you and your little band. But you’re just a myopic little brat, a pawn, a stooge. When there are only a handful of players it’s easy to arrange everything perfectly. But when you have numberless players, infinite factors, it takes time for everything to fall into place.” He shrugged. “And besides, it was good sport. I wanted to take you right from your carefully barricaded home, but your sentries gave me some trouble. So I stopped trying to do it the hard way.” He petted Chelsea’s hair, his hand tightening around her neck as she tried to squirm away. “Chelsea here was so much less protected than you. It was easy to nab her. And you’re too soft-hearted for your own good. I knew you’d come. So,” he said, pressing his gun a little harder against Chelsea’s head, “now we have an interesting bet. Can you shoot the big, nasty troll before he shoots your little friend? Because let me tell you, Laurel, I think you might really shoot me. But can you do it before I shoot her?”

“Laurel, whatever he wants, don’t give it to him!” Chelsea yelled.

“Shut up, you little brat,” Barnes said. He tightened his finger on the trigger, and Laurel took one step forward.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Barnes said. “I’m not going to shoot her yet. I don’t think this is quite interesting enough.” Then with a movement so quick she scarcely saw it, Barnes released Chelsea’s neck, pulled another gun from a hidden holster, and pointed it at David.

Laurel could hardly breathe as all hope of escape vanished.

“After getting cornered by you last year, I’ve learned to always carry more than one gun, Miss Sewell.” He turned his attention back to her, firearms aimed expertly at Chelsea and David. “See, I suspect you might risk one friend’s life to save yourself and your boyfriend here, but will you risk two friends’ lives just to save yourself?”

Maybe she could bargain. She had to try; she had no other options. “Okay,” Laurel said, dropping her gun to the floor with a loud clatter. “I give up.”

“Laurel!” David shouted. “Don’t do it!” He continued to struggle against his bonds.

“There’s no other way.” She slowly raised her hands over her head just as a loud creak sounded from the stairwell.

Barnes shifted his guns, pointing one at Laurel and one at the top of the stairs. “I hear you!” he shouted. “You on the stairs; I know you’re there.”

Laurel held her breath but heard nothing.

Barnes sniffed the air. “I know you’ve got a gun!” he shouted. “I can smell it. Now I’m gonna give you to the count of three to throw your gun up here on the floor. If I say three, I will kill them all. You hear me?”

A long pause.

“One.”

David’s breathing grew ragged.

“Two.”

Chelsea began to squirm in her seat, and sobs she’d held back this whole time began to shake her shoulders. Laurel stared desperately at the gun on the floor in front of her, wondering if there was any way she could get to it.

Something clattered up the stairs.

An enormous gun slid across the floor, a ribbon of ammunition trailing from it. Barnes looked at the gun with obvious appreciation and slowly reached down, dropping one of his own firearms and switching it for the much bigger weapon.

“That’s better,” he said. “Now show yourself. Show yourself and maybe I’ll let you live.”

Nothing.

“Do I have to count again?” Barnes threatened. “’Cause I will.”

Rapid staccato footsteps ascended the stairs. Laurel turned and shock filled her already frazzled nerves when she saw Klea’s red hair appear around the corner.

Surprise registered on Barnes’s face. “You? But—”

In the split second it took Laurel to blink, she heard the rip of Velcro; when she opened her eyes a wet red circle had blossomed in the center of Barnes’s forehead and the roar of gunfire was ringing in her ears. Barnes’s face shot confusion at the room for the tiniest instant before the force from the bullet snapped his head backward and he crumpled to the floor. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air and matching screams tore from Laurel’s and Chelsea’s throats. Seconds felt like hours as Laurel took a shuddering breath and Chelsea slumped in her chair.

“Now that’s what I call cutting it close,” Klea said ruefully.

Laurel turned toward David and Klea. Klea was gripping a familiar-looking gun, and Laurel could just see the tail of David’s shirt scrunched up against the ropes to reveal his concealed holster.

“S-s-see, Laurel,” David said, his teeth chattering from cold, or shock — probably both. “I knew carrying that gun would come in handy someday.”

Laurel couldn’t even move; her body was frozen with relief, fear, disgust, and shock. Her eyes couldn’t leave the crimson pool slowly expanding under Barnes’s head, his body crumpled in the grotesquely awkward angles of sudden death. And despite knowing the world was better for Barnes’s departure from it, she hated knowing she was directly responsible.

She turned to Klea, staring at those ever-present sunglasses. Her mistrust, her refusal to call her, suddenly seemed silly, paranoid. For the second time, Klea had saved her from the brink of death. And not just her, but her two best friends in the world. It was a debt she could never hope to repay.

And yet, despite that, something still held Laurel back. Something visceral that told her this was not a woman to be trusted.

“Take this,” Klea said, her voice calm as she handed Laurel a knife. Disturbingly calm, Laurel thought, for someone who had just shot a man in the head. “Cut them free, then meet me downstairs. I have to flag my team in.”

She turned without another word and headed down the stairs.

Laurel ran to David and began hacking at the ropes. They came away easily under the razor-sharp blade. “Don’t say anything,” she whispered. “Not to Chelsea yet, and especially not to Klea. I’ll make up something.” She touched his ribs gingerly. “And as soon as we get back to the car, I’ll take care of your ribs and hand, okay? Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

He nodded, his face pale and twisted with pain.

Laurel hurried to the chair where Chelsea was tied and made short work of her ropes too. Chelsea’s wrists were red where the ropes came free and Laurel wondered just how long Barnes had made her sit there, gun pressed to her head, waiting for them. Refusing to dwell on it, Laurel pulled the blindfold away from Chelsea’s eyes.

Chelsea blinked against the light and rubbed her wrists as Laurel sliced at the ropes around her ankles.

“Can you walk?” Laurel asked gently.

“I think I’ll manage,” Chelsea said, staggering a little. She focused on David. “You don’t look too good, either.”

“You should see the other guys,” David said, smiling wanly. He pulled Chelsea to him, hugging her with more force than Laurel thought his ribs should be subjected to right now. But she didn’t blame him. “I’m just glad you’re alive,” he said to Chelsea.

Laurel wrapped her arms around both of her friends. “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this, Chelsea. I never intended…I never meant to…”

“Never meant to what?” Chelsea asked, rubbing at the red marks on her neck. “Nearly get me killed? I certainly hope not. Please tell me that’s not going to be an everyday thing now.” She let out a breath. “What happened here?”

Laurel looked helplessly at David. “Well, um, you see…the thing is…”

“Here,” Chelsea said, sitting down in the same chair they’d just untied her from and crossing her legs. “Let me just sit here while you think of a good lie.” She waved her hand at the far side of the room. “Maybe you and David should go confer over in the corner so your stories match. ’Cause that would help. Or,” she said, raising one finger in the air, “you could just tell me that every fall an enormous bluish-purple flower grows out of your back, because apparently you’re some kind of faerie. And then you could explain how these — I think he said trolls? — have been hunting you because you’re hiding a special gate from them. Because personally, I find that the truth keeps life a lot simpler.”

Laurel and David just stood there, slack-jawed.

Chelsea looked back and forth between them in confusion. “Oh, please,” she finally said. “Did you honestly think I didn’t know?”