A Matter of Forever (4 page)

I reach out and touch Jonah’s face. “Re-remember?”

He turns back toward me, clearly confused and wary at the same time.

“At the store.” I swallow, wishing I could just turn up the volume already without it feeling like nails are tearing the lining of my throat. “I saw Jens outside?”

“What is she talking about?” Kellan demands, but Jonah must remember, because his beautiful, tanned face goes white.

“You told me,” he says, words as soft as mine. “You said he was watching you. And I—”

I know what he’s about to do, so I cut him off at the pass. “Don’t you dare blame yourself.”

“You
knew
he was here and didn’t tell me?” Kellan hisses to his brother.

Jonah tries to stand up, but I refuse to let go of him with the little energy I have. He runs his free hand across his face; I don’t have to be an Emotional to know that he’s blaming himself right now. He’s probably thinking ridiculous thoughts to himself like had he just, I don’t know, listened? No—not listened, believed me, maybe ...? But I don’t blame him. I probably wouldn’t have believed me, either. If the best Trackers in the worlds couldn’t find the former head of the Guard, why would we have assumed he’s here, in Annar?

“You were so sure,” Jonah says, and it’s agony to hear just how tortured he sounds, “and ... I knew you felt certain, but ...”

He’s being so stupid. “No blame.” And then, more gently, “It’s not Jens.”

I’ve just confused them all the more, because they’re looking like they’re ready to call Kate in to have my head examined again. “I think ... somebody is
in
Jens.” Another swallow. “Or
like
Jens. But that wasn’t him.”

Neither seems to know what to say. And I get it, because what I’ve just said is pretty bonkers. So I clarify, “He could do Magic. Like me.”

“What do you mean, like you?” Jonah asks, and as much as I hate even thinking about it, I force myself to go straight back to that restaurant’s bathroom.

I’d ripped the stall doors off to throw at the Jens-person. He’d put them right back on. He’d called me Little Creator. Told me appearances were always deceiving. Said he knew I was clever enough to figure out who he really was, that we’d been playing a game together for some time now.

I dig further into the memory. His skin wasn’t right. It felt like ... paper, in a way. His eyes weren’t right, either. Or the voice. It wasn’t Jens’ voice. I know what Jens Belladonna sounds like, unfortunately. He accused me of so many things after I joined the Council I can still dredge up the exact tones and lilts of his voice. This person sounded nothing like him. The accent was different, one I’ve never heard before. It sounded ... old.

It wasn’t Jens, of that I’m sure. But who could do such a thing? I’m the only Creator in exis—

No. Nonononono. Please let me be wrong.
Please
.

Jonah says my name again, forcing me to stuff my fears down for the moment. Me freaking out again will do nobody any good. So I think logically about all of this. I tap my head and tell him to surge so he can see for himself what happened. I mean, I know both men respect me enough to normally not surge without permission and all, but I would’ve figured they’d have viewed me being attacked as a special exception and just gone ahead and done it already.

Another small look passes between the twins. What now?

“We can’t.” Jonah’s frustration is nearly tangible. “And it isn’t for lack of trying.”

What?

“I tried while you were asleep.” My eyes track down to his free hand as he says this; his knuckles are white as he unconsciously clenches them in and out of a fist. This is not a good sign. “We both did, just to see if you were okay.”

Kellan rubs at his hair, letting out a harsh breath of agreement that only hones my panic. Because Magicals are always able to surge with one another. Always. It may be tacky to do so without permission, and there’s a very good chance a nice, well-deserved headache will occur when forcibly ejected from another’s mind, but it’s something exclusive to our kind. Magicals are able to surge with others. Nobody’s mind is ever closed off. Ever.

“Try
again
.”

Jonah’s hands gently cup my face. And then ... nothing. No gentle tug signaling the link, no comforting familiarity. I don’t feel his mind in mine. Not even a hint of it.

My panic turns razor sharp.

He lets go and looks to his brother, and for someone so known for staying calm when others react, the fear and hopelessness in his eyes terrifies me.

Kellan reaches down and lays his fingers against my temples, closing his eyes. Twenty seconds pass before he slowly shakes his head, his expression mirroring his twin’s.

How can this be? “Neither of you can feel me? Or surge?”

Before either answers, all of my resolutions to stay calm go flying out the window because I’m practically clawing at the sheets below as an anxiety attack tears through me. Kate is right. Something is very wrong with me, because if these two, the two people Connected to me, cannot feel me or surge with me—

I’m panicking. Flat-out hysterical again, although thankfully tear-free this time. Jonah’s got a hold of me and he’s promising me that it’ll all be okay because I’m safe now. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? I’m not.
They’re
not. Somebody invaded my headspace; somebody is making it so nobody can even surge with me. And if I’m right about this somebody, nobody right now is safe.

This needs to be the last time I let myself fall apart. I’ve got to pull myself together, because from here on out, there’s only one option left for me. I need to go after this monster metaphorical guns blazing, because I may not stand a chance otherwise.

None of us will.

When I was in high school, and many of our kind were being murdered, one of the Storytellers on the Council told me a story about the origin of the Magicals. To make a long story short, we were brought into existence by a Creator named Rudshivar; he was brought into existence by the first Creator, Enlilkian, who was also the head honcho of the Elders, and they did not get along due to philosophical differences about the way the worlds should work. A war broke out amongst the Magicals and the Elders; in the end, another Creator drained the life essences of the Elders dry before they were entombed underground by a Quake. Somehow these beings escaped and have been draining my kind dry in an effort to ... well, we really don’t know why, but it’s assumed to replenish what has been stolen.

So many Magicals have died over the years. For a long time, we were all held hostage in fear by these monsters without a way to kill them. All we could do was either outrun them or try to defend ourselves against their attacks. I remember the first time they came after me—I was terrified. I’d never thought such ... evil, I guess, truly existed. But that was only the beginning; over the next few years, these things kept after me and my loved ones. According to the Guard, I’m a big catch for the Elders if they are, in fact, draining Magicals of their powers. So many resources and people were put into protecting me. Precious lives were lost in efforts to keep me safe. And that’s a heavy burden to bear, knowing teammates have perished or have been wounded in my name. The people and their sacrifices haunt me daily; they always will.

Somehow while I was hiding in Alaska, though, I figured out (with Will’s help) that I could will the Elders out of existence much like my ancestors could. The first Elder I did this to just so happened to be Cailleache, the mother of all the Elders and wife to Enlilkian.

I never learned the names of the others I took out over the last few months. I suppose it never mattered to me. They were killing my kind. People I loved were at risk. I did what I had to do.

And now ...

Now my gut tells me Enlilkian is somehow in Jens Belladonna’s body, like some twisted, terrifying horror movie about possession. And it’s truly, horribly ironic, because Belladonna loathed and believed me culpable of indescribable crimes. Jonah banished him from Annar after the former head of the Guard accused me of murder, but then he’d gone missing. Nobody had heard from him or seen him in months.

Nobody but me.

Back in that restaurant bathroom, Jens’ skin wasn’t right. It was flaky. Brittle. Like it was falling apart, or ... off, I guess. Like, maybe it was ... dead? Or dying? He couldn’t tell the difference between Jonah and Kellan, which okay, a lot of people can’t, but the head of the Guard should have been able to. He never called me by name, only by little Creator.

Because to Enlilkian, that’s what I would be. He’s the big guy. The first. The father of us all. And I’m just the latest in a long line of those who followed after him.

I keep these thoughts to myself for the rest of the day as I mull them over. I need to share my concerns with the twins, but right now I’m so beat it’s hard to keep my eyes open for longer than ten minutes at a stretch. It’s funny—I’ve been asleep for days, and here I am, wanting nothing more than to just turn myself over to a gentle dreamland. After my panic attack, neither Jonah nor Kellan pushed me any further with questioning and refused to let anybody else ask me anything either—not that they allowed anybody back into the room outside of Kate to even do so, but still. “We can discuss this tomorrow,” Jonah assured me. “Nothing has to be figured out tonight.”

But it does, starting as soon as possible.

So here we are, the three of us inside a guarded hospital room in the middle of Annar, watching a movie on the massive flat screen TV hanging on the wall in front of my bed and eating dinner. Well, they’re picking at their food; I’m not hungry in the slightest. Alongside being dog-tired, I’m furious. And frustrated. And, to be honest, very, very fearful. If I’m right about all of this, Enlilkian has figured out a way to inhabit the body of a powerful Magical, possibly even a dead one whose skin is decomposing. He was—and most likely still is—within Annar’s boundaries, despite the protective shields erected around our plane, ones I’ve personally helped fortify on a regular basis. He found me in a crowded restaurant and took me down with little to no effort.

I hate that it was so easy for him. I hate that all it took was crushing my bones and I shattered like a porcelain doll. I’d tried to fight back, but it was pointless. Every move I made, he smoothly countered. And it’s maddening, because I’ve fought through pain before. Hell, every single time I go up against an Elder, I walk away with cuts and broken bones. This time, something was different, though. This time, the pain was blinding to the point words and thoughts would not string together coherently enough to set my will or any of wishes into action.

He got into my head. And I think that’s the most terrifying thing of all.

“Chloe? Are you okay?”

I blink at the sweet touch of fingers against my cheek; a room bathed in hazy, filtered electronic light comes into focus. I force a smile onto my face, even though smiling is the last thing I want to do. I tell Jonah, “Yeah.”

It’s obvious he doesn’t believe me. “You were shaking.”

“I’m fine.” It’s my turn to touch his stubbled cheek. I kind of like this look on him. “Just tired.”

Kellan stands up and stretches; I try not to stare at the sexy slice of smooth, tanned skin that winks from between shirt and shorts, but it’s hard. So, despite everything I thought earlier, I’m grateful neither can feel me in this moment. “You two should get some sleep. I’m going to go talk to Zthane and Karl about logistics.”

Jonah sets his plate on a nearby table. “Don’t go far.”

Familiar silence settles between them; I’ve lived through it enough to know they’re talking to each other their way. Eventually, Jonah asks, “How many?”

Kellan’s eyes flit toward the door. “Seven.” Another bit of hushed unease spreads through the room before he adds, “Get some sleep, J. Nobody is getting through me tonight.”

Jonah doesn’t say anything further out loud to his brother.

Once Kellan slips out of the door, I weakly tug on Jonah’s shirt to bring him closer. There’s so much to say. He needs to know what I suspect. But right now, right here in his warm arms, all I want to do is follow his brother’s advice. Tomorrow, we’ll get to work.

A gentle hand tugs through my hair. I’m safe. He’s here. We’re together. It’s enough for right now.

We argue the next day when everyone else is finally allowed back into the room.

I want to go home. Everyone else seems to think it’s best I stay in the hospital a few more days. I point out that Kate says I’m completely fine. I’m reminded that the hospital is secure. I contend my home can be equally secure as well. I’m a Creator, right? A nice guilt trip is offered up which insinuates I could be putting Cameron and Will at risk, which they gladly tell everyone they’re fine with, since my home is their home. While I’m not okay with my family being collateral damage, I counter that Jonah will stay with us. This doesn’t sit well with Kellan, who insists his brother and I are not to stay in an unsecure location. I joke (badly, and way too slowly) that we need a huge fortress to live in that can accommodate all of us.