Charmed (27 page)

“Aunt Penny’s okay,” I say. His jaw relaxes. I hesitate before adding, “But Jezebel’s not.” I drop my gaze before I say my next words. “She…she’s dead.”

He doesn’t speak in the wake of my news. I work up the nerve to look into his eyes. His throat works, but he nods at me. Maybe sometime later he’ll break down, but not right now.

My eyes drift behind Bishop. The aftermath of the war makes bile burn up my throat. Bodies lie in heaps all
over the crumbled remains of the Hollywood Bowl, blood everywhere. Smoke curls into the sky from small fires littered across the mountaintop.

Paige stands away from the others, her arms hugged around her trembling body. Her eyes are red and puffy behind her glasses, and even though she’s not crying anymore, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her more upset in my life. It rips my heart open.

She spots me nearing and recoils. That stings like a slap across the face, but I swallow the lump in my throat, telling myself that it’s normal, that she doesn’t remember me, that she just witnessed me kill many people and it’s natural to be scared.

I don’t get any closer.

“We’re going home,” I say.

She eyes me warily. I look out over the rest of the teens, at the pile of bodies of those who won’t be coming with us. Who will never go home. For a moment I consider begging Damien to let us take them home so they can at least have a proper burial, so their families can get some closure, but I know that pushing him will only put the rest of the teens at risk. We have to leave them behind.

I hesitate a moment before turning to Paige. “Wait here a sec.”

Her eyes go wide.

“I’ll be right back,” I assure her. “You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you. Okay?”

I look at the rest of the teens crowded around, making sure they’ve heard me. I don’t know what I expected—shouts of hurrah? high fives?—but my announcement just makes them cry harder.

I leave Paige and cross the battlefield, toward the bodies heaped at the altar. It doesn’t take long to spot Samantha in the pile of fallen kids. Her unblinking eyes stare up at the sky.

I rack my brain for some prayer I can say for them, but in the end I don’t know a single one. I bite my lip as a sob chokes my chest. So many parents who will never get to see their kids again. Never get to say goodbye. The unfairness of it throbs like a living thing in my gut.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

I reach around my neck and unclasp the braided-leather protection amulet Aunt Penny gave me, and then I drape it around Samantha’s neck, letting the little wooden box settle in the hollow of her neck.

“Be safe,” I whisper.

And then I turn around.

That’s when I see him. My dad, lying on his side at an unnatural angle, his mouth hanging open as if in a silent scream. His singed ox mask has been crushed from a stampede of witches, sorcerers, and kids.

I feel like I should go over and make sure that he’s really dead, but one look at him and I know I don’t need to take his pulse to get my answer—he’s gone. And I killed him.

I turn my back on him for the final time.

“Come on,” I say to the teens. “Let’s get out of here.”

Despite their hesitation, they follow me up the hill to where Damien impatiently waits for us.

I got exactly what I wanted. We’re getting out of this place, and we’re taking the teens with us—most of them, anyway. The Family will wipe their memories, make up some story to cover their tracks so that the teens will never really know what happened to them, but they’ll get to go home to their parents. Live normal lives.

The nightmare is over.

I should get the hell out of here, but I can’t leave yet. I tug Bishop’s shirt, and he stops.

“Will you make sure they all get back okay?” I ask. “Make sure Paige is okay?”

“What?” He shakes his head, his eyes full of confusion.

“Just promise me you’ll make sure they get home safe.”

“And where are you going to be?”

“Here,” I answer. “There’s something I have to do first.”

The door to the headquarters swings in a breeze, and the headlights of the car shine into the darkened tunnels. The mountain looks more like a tomb than a place people lived. Which, I guess, it is. My heart gives a sickening twist.

I take tentative steps toward the door, gripping the
flashlight I found in the console of the car in my sweaty hand. Just before I enter, I spot a clump of flowers in the underbrush hanging over the door. I reach up and yank them down. Daisies.

I step inside.

My footsteps echo in the empty tunnels. I walk for so long that I worry I won’t be able to find the basement. And then I worry that he won’t be there when I do.

But I find it. And he is there.

I beam the flashlight inside the tiny alcove. Cruz’s hands are shackled over his head and bolted to the stone wall. His body hangs without any tension at all, his normally tan skin unnaturally pale.

He’s been gone for a while.

I drop the flashlight and fall to my knees at his side. And then I tentatively reach up to touch his cheek. His skin is ice cold.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, tears falling fast down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

I kiss his cheek, letting my lips linger on his skin. He’ll never leave this place.

I know it’s morbid. I know I should let him go, but it’s because of me that he’s here. I stay with him until the pain flashes in my temples and I know I’m going home.

“Goodbye,” I whisper.

Before the world goes black, I make sure the flowers are at his feet.

W
ith her hair mussed up on the pillow and her mouth slackened in sleep, I can almost imagine that Aunt Penny is just nursing one of her epic hangovers on our couch, instead of resting after a battle that nearly killed her.

Almost.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at Aunt Penny the same way again. She saved me—she risked her life for the barest of chances that she could help me, because she cares about me that much. My chest feels tight, and I can’t help the sniffle that escapes me.

Aunt Penny’s eyes flutter open.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whisper, pulling the blanket up to her chin. “Go back to sleep.”

She swallows as her eyes move across my face, taking in the tears streaked down my cheeks. “You’re crying,” she says. Her voice is harsh and thick with sleep.

“Happy tears.” But when I try to force a smile, I just end up crying again.

“Indie…” Aunt Penny tries to sit up, but I gently push her back down.

“It’s okay. I’m just emotional, that’s all. You need to rest.”

She falls back against her pillow, too weak to fight. She clasps her hand over mine. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

What isn’t?

There’s so much going through my head right now—guilt over Jezebel giving her life for my aunt when all we ever did was fight. Guilt over Cruz. Guilt over Bishop. Guilt over Mom and Paige and even the Chief. Over all the people I killed. And maybe I shouldn’t feel anything about them at all, but still, I can’t help the heart-crushing feeling that comes over me when I realize I was the instrument of their deaths, can’t stop the fear that comes when I realize I have something so black inside me that I could take a life.

I focus on what’s bothering me this very second.

“You risked your life to save mine,” I finally say. “And after I was so hard on you before. You tried to apologize and I wouldn’t even listen—”

“Indie,” she interrupts. Her voice is so unexpectedly stern that I look up through the blur of tears. She regards me without blinking.

“You have
nothing
to be sorry for.”

“But—”

“Nothing.”

I start to speak again, but she holds up a hand.

“Please,” she begs.

I drop my gaze into my lap. Her shoulders relax, her tone going soft again.

“We didn’t get off to a good start, did we?”

I give a brittle laugh, fingering the edges of the blanket in my hands. That’s the understatement of the century.

“I wish I could turn back time somehow and do things over,” she says. “Help you when I thought something was wrong. Bring Gwen back…” She sighs. “But since I can’t do that, all I ask is that we start fresh now.” She looks at me full on, watery eyes pleading.

I give her a weak smile as tears slip down my cheeks. “That sounds good.”

She squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back. I can’t imagine a time where I’ll be able to think of Mom and have it not hurt in a physical way, but with Aunt Penny by my side, at least I won’t have to do it alone. And who knows, maybe one day that ragged hole in my chest will go away. I’ll think of Mom and I’ll smile, like Bishop does when he talks about
his mom. Maybe I’ll think about the piles of dead bodies in Los Demonios and not shudder. Maybe I’ll sleep at night.

“You did what you had to do,” she says. “You were great.”

It’s like she can read my mind. I give her a grateful smile, my heart filling with so much warmth that it feels like the sun has been plucked out of the sky and put right into my chest.

It gets me to wondering. Maybe I’m not such a bad person after all. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, hurt people I care about deeply, but I’ve done good too. I saved Paige, put myself in danger and faced down my own dad to bring those teens home. Would someone made of evil do that? There’s something black inside me, but maybe there’s something black inside everyone. Maybe we all have to consciously turn away from it and try to be better—not just us teenage half witch/half sorcerers.

A knock sounds on the door before it cracks open.

“Hello!” Paige pokes her head inside, then stops short when she sees us on the couch. “Oh, sorry. I’ll—”

“No, come in!” I call, wiping the tears off my face.

Paige edges inside cautiously, an uneasy smile on her face. We must not look too inviting, what with the tears and snot and everything.

“Are you feeling better?” she asks Aunt Penny.

“Much. I’ve had a great nurse.” Penny looks at me, and we share a secret smile.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Aunt Penny says. “Come in!”

Paige pads across the room and sits down in the big reclining chair across from us. A few awkward moments pass in silence.

It’s been weird between us since we got back from Los Demonios. Paige didn’t remember anything from before the Chief wiped her, but she remembered the headquarters and the ceremony. She remembered all of the deaths.

I wouldn’t let them wipe her again.

I told her everything, about the Family and the Priory, about her old life before this whole crazy mess went down. I can’t imagine how weird it must have been to be told her best friend is a witch and that it’s a secret. Never mind—I can’t imagine how weird it must have been to be told who your best friend is and not even recognize her. But she tries.
We
try.

I constantly worry that she doesn’t like me. We met when we were kids, and without the endearing memory of our childhoods together, our moms forcing us to be friends, I worry she wonders how she ever liked me in the first place. From what she’s told Aunt Penny, I know she worries too. That I’m disappointed with her—that she’s not the best friend I remember. I try hard every day to show her that’s not true. I think that might be part of the problem: we’re both trying too hard.

But I tell myself I made the right choice. After everything
that happened to her, I couldn’t bear the thought of another violation. I scour every spell book I can get my hands on for a way to reverse the mind wipe. I haven’t found anything yet, but I won’t stop until I do.

Together we decided on the story that she’d gotten homesick at music school. Her parents seemed hesitant, but they bought it—honestly, I think they were just happy to have her home.

The media have been having a field day with all the returned teens. They turned up the other night outside of Cedars-Sinai hospital in West Hollywood, their only memory of some underground rave. Doctors are calling it a “drug-induced amnesia.” The families are calling it the answer to their prayers. The answer to the mysterious blackouts that have been ripping through Los Angeles ever since the Priory descended on our town. As for Mrs. Hornby, her daughter is still one of the “missing.” It breaks my heart to know she’s probably holding out hope that her daughter will stumble into a hospital in the middle of the night.

“Everyone seems so dour,” Paige finally says. “Anyone up for a snack? I can make us some tea, and I think I saw some cream puffs in the pantry yesterday.”

Hope flutters its wings inside my chest.

Paige goes to the kitchen, and returns moments later with a steaming platter of tea and cookies. We spread out across the couches, flicking between bad reality TV shows. It’s so completely normal that it doesn’t feel like my life. But it is.

Monday, I’ll go to school. I’ll do my homework in the evenings, and work shifts at the Black Cat, and I’ll mourn my mom and everything I’ve lost.

I’ll bring flowers to her grave.

And if more curveballs get sent my way, I’ll just keep picking myself up. It’s all I can do.

“Hey, haven’t you got a date to get to?” Paige finally says.

I’d completely forgotten.

I flick my eyes to Aunt Penny. “I don’t know, I should probably stick around here….”

“Oh please.” She rolls her eyes. “We’ll be just fine without you. Besides, Jessie’s coming over with that new friend of hers—Brooke or whatever.”

“They are? Do they…Has Jessie…”

We ended up telling Jessie everything. I mean, we figured we at least owed her that much—if it weren’t for her, we might not have figured out about the spell happening on All Hallows’ Eve. I keep waiting for her to have a mental breakdown or
something
, but so far, she’s been handling it remarkably well. But with Brooke coming over I have to wonder if she’s finally spilled the beans.

“Oh, relax, Brooke doesn’t know anything,” Aunt Penny says, guessing my thoughts. “Jessie is trustworthy. Go see your man. And have fun!”

“But use protection,” Paige adds. I chuck a pillow at her head. She dodges it easily, laughing.

I can’t help smiling as I trudge upstairs to get ready.

I check out my reflection in the bathroom mirror, turning to see myself from all angles. Bishop wouldn’t tell me where we were going for our date, no matter how much I begged, pleaded, and insisted that it was imperative so I could dress appropriately. So I settled on a simple pink flutter-sleeve blouse paired with a short black skirt and wedge sandals. I was tempted to slick on my trademark red MAC lipstick but decided against it at the last minute for reasons that have nothing to do with kissing, settling instead for a clear gloss. My hair falls in loose, springy curls around my face. I have to admit I look pretty great. (Well, if you discount the fading purple bruises faintly visible under my makeup, and the ugly pink battle scars zigzagging across my right elbow.)

An engine rumbles up the street.

“He’s here!” Paige calls up the stairs.

Nerves flutter inside my stomach.

I haven’t seen Bishop since I came back. I told him I needed to focus on taking care of Aunt Penny, on building a new relationship with Paige. And all of that was true. But if I’m being honest, I was also confused. I know I love Bishop, and so I don’t know why or how I could have let myself have feelings for Cruz—there, I admitted it. I had feelings for him. I used to look down on the girls in movies who fell for two boys at once, until it happened to me.

I grab my bag off the counter and go downstairs.

“You look ah-mazing,” Aunt Penny says. She’s propped up on the couch, eating cream puffs.

“Total babe,” Paige agrees.

All at once I’m reminded of homecoming night when the two of them ushered me off on my date with Devon. My chest gets tight. I wonder when the memories will quit hitting me so hard. When they’ll quit making it hard to breathe.