Otherbound (39 page)

“Us?” Amara signed an echo.

“I called other mages the moment I heard your supposed princess was at the palace.”

“You won't make it inside without me—”

“We can try. Then we'll kill the anchor and cast a spell to block travelers for good, and our problems are solved.”

“Listen!” Amara glared. She wasn't supposed to glare at her betters, not ever. She was supposed to sit meekly and nod when she ought to and follow when she ought to and do everything to please the betters around her.

Even now, part of her told her that. She hated that part of her. And she hated the world for putting it in her. She didn't want to have to wait her turn anymore.

“I'm returning to the palace.” Amara kept her signs measured, quick. She had to get through these words without letting Ilanne intimidate her into backing down. “Jorn will make us go on the run again, which means you'll have easier access to Ci—to the girl you cursed. If you give me a tracking anchor
and follow us, I'll give you a chance to see the girl away from Jorn. Then you'll do some mage thing to find out who cast the anchor spell—the spell that lets the travelers stay here. We can kill that person instead of her. We'll end the spell that way.”

“Whoever cast that anchor spell was possessed by a traveler at the time and is no more guilty than the girl. I'm not going to sacrifice one of mine so your little friend can live.”

“And I'm not going to sacrifice
her
. We could”—Amara bit her lip as she spoke, staring at the seagulls on the grass—“we could make the traveler who cast the anchor spell leave their body. Then, while the mage is back in control, they can reverse the anchor spell.”

“And how do you plan to get rid of the traveler?”

Amara went silent. If Nadi had cast the spell, maybe they could trick her into returning to Nolan's world. Nadi would make sure Ruudde's body was guarded during her absence, though.

Ilanne went on. “After this fiasco, I expect the ministers will want the anchor out of the Dunelands. The farther away you and the anchor are from us—from anyone who knows the truth about the travelers and might help you—the safer the travelers are. How do you plan to give us a heads-up when you're sleeping in ancient Dit caves?”

Amara wanted to argue, but Ilanne was right. The ministers would take extra safety precautions now that Amara knew about Cilla.

“And if we put a tracking anchor on you,” Ilanne said, not satisfied with dismissing the plan when she could shred it completely, “what makes you think the ministers won't detect and toss it? I won't mix magic by putting it on you instead of your clothes.”

“You mixed magic when you cursed Cil—the girl,” Amara said. “You're lucky that—”

“Lucky?” Ilanne spat. “The spell only worked on the third try, and even then it was watered down to that useless curse. She should've died on the spot. We lost two mages from the recoil of the first try and another one on the next. We barely stabilized the magic when it went haywire—then spent weeks cleaning up after the backlash. Don't you
dare
call it luck.”

Amara couldn't give up. “I'm offering my help. Any help at all. But only if the anchor lives.”

Ilanne watched Amara through thoughtful, narrowed eyes. She answered a long moment later. “You said Nolan could locate Nadi's true body. If we identify which mage cast the anchor spell, can he find that traveler's body, too? Nolan could threaten it in his world.”

Amara hesitated.
Can you?
she thought at Nolan.

In front of her, Ilanne stood tall, wiry-thin, as imposing as she'd ever been. Amara fought the impulse to step back. The last thing she wanted now was to surrender what little control she'd gained. Being away from Cilla and Jorn for so long—longer than ever before—made her feel freer.

It also terrified her. She didn't know what to expect from the rest of the world.

Finally, Nolan returned, saying, “I got lucky finding Nadi, and then only after I got lucky discovering her name. If we can find this mage's true name, and they live in my world, we may stand a shot, but …”

“Can you cast a spell to find their body?” Ilanne asked. “This kind of magic ought to be detectable.”

“No. We don't have magic in our world.”

“Of course you do. You're a traveler. You
are
magic.”

“My world doesn't work that way. But I'll do what I can. I—please help. I'm risking my sister's life. Please.” Amara barely recognized the desperation in her fingers. No one cared about a servant's pleas. She could only give in or fight harder.

But all Nolan's concern for his family bled into the pleading of Amara's hands. It'd taken her so long to realize he even had a family. A life. What was it like? What was Nolan like? They'd never talked, not really. It had always been this: Nolan would speak. Amara would wait her turn.

She wished they could talk face-to-face instead of this, instead of watching from behind glass as Nolan tried to convince Ilanne this was a risk worth taking.

With a pang, Amara wasn't even sure it was.

Killing Cilla would be the end of it. There would be no more curse to endure. Nolan would stay out of her mind; Amara's body would be her own. The travelers would fade,
too, leaving long-possessed mages back in control. The magic abuse would end. All of it would. And Amara needed it to end so damn badly. She no longer wanted anyone to have a hold on her.

But she couldn't kill Cilla.

When Nolan left her, Amara almost didn't realize it. Not until Ilanne said, “This is the only way I can get your help?” and Nolan didn't answer for several long seconds.

It was Amara's turn to decide. She nodded stonily.

“All right. Get me into the palace. I'll need at least a minute with the girl to identify the spell-caster.”

“We'll need …” Amara thought. The dawnflies sang louder. When Amara glanced up, she realized the sound wasn't dawn-flies at all: it came from the branches drooping over her head, where a dewy spiderweb spanned the length of her arm. In its center, a spider stroked a single thread with alternating legs, drawing in dawnflies using their own steady whistle.

The airtrain approached, hissing and gliding, tuning out the spider's lure and bringing along the scent of rusted metal. Affronted, the seagulls took to the air.

“We need a distraction,” Amara finally said. “Two. When are the other mages coming?”

The way out was not to plead. The way out was to fight.

om and Dad didn't give a damn what he and Pat had talked about. “Don't be ridiculous,” Dad said that evening. “You're going to eat something, and you're going to that play. This is important to her.”

“Pat said it was OK.” Nolan pushed himself upright too fast, the mattress squeaking underneath him, and he blinked a couple of times to adjust. His head felt light.

“Did you get any rest?” Dad frowned.

Nolan had crawled into bed to be around for the conversation with Ilanne, but he didn't exactly feel rested. “Sort of.” He plucked sweaty sheets from his legs. His heart raced. He talked too fast. “I meant to. It probably wasn't enough. I should nap more.”

“Nice trick,” Mom said. She'd been rushing back and forth through the hallway, talking on the phone to Grandma Pérez, but now stepped into his room. She slipped her phone into her back pocket. “You'll avoid sleeping except when you're expected at your little sister's play?” She jammed a skinny index finger at his wardrobe door. “I'm not picking out clothes
for you. If you can't do it yourself within one minute, you'll go to the school in your underwear. Got it?”

It looked as if Mom had finally taken Grandma Pérez's parenting advice. She didn't look happy about it. Her stern expression was just the slightest bit off.

Nolan wanted to argue. “Yes,” he said, thinking of her at the Walgreens, thinking of the pills they couldn't afford flushed down the toilet by Nadi.

At least Amara was still OK. She and Ilanne were gathering the other mages, which meant she was relatively safe, but being back in Bedam brought her far too close to Nadi and Jorn for Nolan to feel even the slightest bit comfortable about leaving her alone.

Forty minutes later he trailed after his parents into Pat's middle school, wearing his prosthesis for the first time in days. It itched with sweat.

Out of habit, he smiled teacher-smiles at his old art and social studies teachers, who waited outside the gymnasium, fanning themselves in the evening sun. The heat inside wasn't much better. Had the AC broken down? Was it just him? His heart was still going a hundred miles an hour. He needed his pills.

Without a word, he stripped off his pinstriped shirt, happy to go with only the undershirt. It didn't help against the heat.

Bored-looking kids Pat's age milled around, grumpy at
spending their evening back at school, while parents sat in too-small folding chairs and fiddled with their phones and camcorders. Underneath it all was the stench of old sweat and gym clothes and that muffled, artificial gym smell. Rubber? Vinyl? He didn't know, but the tarp did nothing to hide it—

—Amara was sitting on dewy grass, absorbing the cool morning sunlight and watching Ilanne hover over a glass pane, the same as when Jorn had talked to Ruudde. Nolan wished he could lend her some of the Arizona heat. She'd probably faint—

—he had to get out of here. He couldn't be at a damn middle school while going through withdrawal and—and everything going on with Amara.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He wormed free from the crowd, shuffling toward the stage. The folding chairs gave way to low gym benches, probably reserved for the younger kids. He fished out his phone, which showed a new text from Pat.

Am backstage. I'm gonna screw this up!!!

At least that gave Nolan an excuse to move away from the crowd. He nodded at another teacher, though he didn't recognize this one, then at someone else who waved at him. It took him a second to recognize her: Sarah Schneider. Her hair looked different than at school. When she noticed him looking, her waves grew more enthusiastic, and her eyebrows rose in a hopeful question. Was she waving him over to sit with her? She must have a younger sibling in the play, too. Nolan swallowed an expletive at her timing, sped up, and belatedly
realized he should've waved back. He moved around the stage taking up a third of the gym and ducked behind a black sheet, then up a small, portable set of stairs.

“You shouldn't be back here,” a friend of Pat's—Claudia?—said, blocking his path.

Nolan just showed her his phone.

Claudia read the text and stepped aside with an exaggerated flourish. “
Now
Pat starts caring?”

The backstage area was cramped, but at least it had a massive fan providing relief. Nolan didn't pause to bask in the breeze, searching for Pat and mumbling apologies to oddly dressed preteens in his path. The one teacher backstage didn't care half as much about his presence as Claudia did. Finally, Nolan spotted Pat near the stage, wearing an ill-fitting white uniform, her hair in an uncharacteristic bun.

“Look,” he said. “You rocked those rehearsals. You'll be fine.”

“Look,” Pat said back. “I found fabric scissors.” She held them up. They flashed in the bare bulbs of the lights backstage.

Pat no longer looked nervous.

A girl Nolan didn't know maneuvered past them to get to a stack of hats, and he barely noticed, too rooted to the floor to do anything but stare at the gleaming metal in his sister's gloved hands. She'd lost one of her spikes. But even right before going onstage, even in her white nurse's outfit, Pat stuck with her gloves.

“Amara's on her way back,” Nolan whispered.

He couldn't make himself look at Nadi wearing his sister's eyes. He needed to focus on Pat's gloves, her hands, and what they held. The scissors might move if he looked away. Near the scissors, his sister's chest moved with controlled breaths. Too near.