“You’re hurt.” I sat up, fear worming its way through me. “Was it the Darklings?”
“They barely touched me. I just need to rest,” he said.
His forehead was clammy to the touch, and I looked balefully at Pascal. “The lines? You didn’t say the magic would hurt him, too. You should have told me.”
“It wasn’t the line,” Pascal said. “It was—”
“That’s enough,” Luc said. Even though his voice was weak, there was an unmistakable note of command in it.
Pascal peered over the tops of his glasses, face forbidding. “Don’t forget who you’re speaking to, boy. You haven’t succeeded Dominic yet.”
“Mouse, leave it.” He struggled to sit up. I threw an arm over his chest, pressing him toward me.
“The hell I will.” I knew that voice. That was Luc’s “I am keeping something important from you” voice. “One of you start talking.”
“It’s nothing,” Luc said. “Hardly a trifle.”
“Good. Then it won’t take long to explain.”
“You were easier to manage before,” he said. “Little alarmin’, the new you.”
I folded my arms and stared him down.
“Fine.” He looked sulky, a little boy forced to divulge a secret. “It’s transference. From healing you.”
“Transference?”
“Arcs can’t use the magic to create things, only change ’em. So when you get hurt, I convert the physical injury into a magical one, then move it into me.”
I ran a trembling hand down my thigh, feeling the lengths of muscle over bone. Without thinking, I reached for Luc’s leg, and his face tightened. He was still recovering. “Your leg is broken now?”
“No. Hurts like it, but the damage is magical, not physical. It’ll pass soon enough. It’s just hard to work any spells in the meantime.”
“All this time, you’ve been hurting yourself when you healed me?”
“Only since your binding,” said Pascal, finally wandering back over a sand trap and rejoining the conversation. “When an Arc heals someone, much of the transferred energy is lost as it moves between healer and patient. But with bound couples, their link makes the process more efficient, converting more of the damage to the healer.”
How many times had he healed me? Too many to count, and every time, he’d taken on my pain. But he’d never used it as leverage or made me feel guilty. Guilt soured my stomach now, and with it came a flash of anger. “You lied to me. I asked what Niobe meant, and you lied straight to my face.”
“You lied to me,” he shot back, completely unrepentant. “Told me you were healed.”
“Now you know how it feels. And you wonder why I can’t trust you? No more healing.” The cost was too high. It was too much responsibility. The anger trickled away, leaving behind something ... warmer. Carefully, I pressed my palm against his chest, meeting his eyes. “Promise me.”
“I can’t. What if you’re hurt? Should I let you sit around with your brain scrambled like an egg? Without me running interference, you won’t last long enough to do the job.”
Irritating, but true. “Not unless it’s necessary,” I said finally. “Not unless you ask.”
He scowled. “I always do.”
“Now that we’ve settled your quarrel,” said Pascal, “may we discuss strategies? Based on what we’ve seen tonight, I believe that if you try to access the joined lines—all four at once, as the prophecy requires—there are two possible outcomes. The first is that you could increase the capacity of the current lines and create new ones, diffusing the pressure. It’s similar to what happened when you entered the magic during the Torrent.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” I asked.
“Of course. Last time, you survived because you didn’t use the magic. Not much, anyway,” he said with a sly smile. “You managed to hold a bit back.”
“Evangeline,” Luc swore.
A blue-white line of magic flying from my fingertips directly into her heart. “That’s what caused all of this? I used a little bit of magic? It’s not like I cast a spell, I only directed it.”
“You created a link between the magic and yourself. Now you need to use that link—create new lines, direct the magic through them.”
“What if I can’t?” I’d failed tonight, with only one line. It didn’t bode well for working with all four at once, no matter what the prophecy dictated.
“You saw what happened to Constance. That sort of overload would happen to every Arc on the planet, and only the very strongest could withstand it.” Any Flats nearby would be killed as well. But that wouldn’t occur to Pascal or the Arcs.
“What’s the other choice?”
He studied me for a long time before answering. “You could enter into the source of the raw magic again. But this time, you would remain there.”
“Like before,” I murmured, flashing back to the Torrent, the sense of omniscience and peace I’d experienced while caught in the swirling nebula of raw magic. At the time, I’d been tempted by all the knowledge and power. I’d considered staying, but Luc had pulled me back. Pascal’s words had the same effect now. “Permanently?”
“Yes. You’d be trapped there. Once you were, however, you’d be able to direct the flow and velocity of the magic, ensuring the integrity of the lines and returning our world to normal.”
Luc turned away, looking miserable.
I tried to picture abandoning everything in my life—my mom, Lena, Constance. I wouldn’t go to New York. I’d never see Colin or Luc again. I’d be alive, but not in any way that counted. My mouth felt filled with sand. “That’s not an option.”
After that, there wasn’t much to say. Luc and I walked slowly home, neither one of us fully recovered. Luc kept my hand firmly in his.
“I don’t suppose I could just walk away, huh?” I asked after a few blocks.
“Wish you could,” he said in a voice as raw as the wind whipping past us. “But you swore a Covenant. Break it, and you’re dead.”
I should have been terrified to hear him put it so plainly. I’d known it all along, but it had been so much easier to push the knowledge away, busy myself looking for answers instead of considering consequences. But I couldn’t ignore it any longer. “I’ll have to go back in. Make more lines. It’s the only chance I’ve got.”
“Pascal’s not often wrong,” Luc said, sounding like he was fighting to keep his voice even. “He was right about the magic makin’ you sick. Does it happen every time I use magic around you?”
I shook my head. “Going Between is the hardest. The other spells, like fixing the French classroom or cloaking us, I barely notice. Other people’s magic seems to be worse.”
“Probably somethin’ to do with the binding,” he mused. “Makes me feel a bit better. Don’t much like the thought I’m hurting you.”
It wasn’t only the magic that hurt with Luc.
When we reached the house, he opened the door and led me inside, up the darkened stairs to my room.
“I could have gotten in by myself.”
“You don’t sneak around so well,” he said. “And I will admit to harborin’ some hopes on the pajama front.”
I paused in the middle of taking off my fleece. “Dream on, sword-boy.”
“I will.” He sidled closer, touching my collar.
Heat crept up my cheeks, but I kept my voice light as I wriggled away. “Don’t let me keep you, then.”
Grinning, he stepped back. “Always a pleasure.”
He vanished Between, but the afterimage of him slipping through the flames stayed with me until I fell asleep.
C
HAPTER
24
I
’d gotten Colin’s message right for once, because he appeared outside the house, just like normal, the next morning.
“You talked to Billy?”
He made a noise halfway between agreement and irritation. “A little. I’m going to meet with him while you’re at school today.”
“Isn’t that something I should be involved in? Ekomov sent the flowers to
me
.”
“I’m trying to keep you
not
involved. Bringing you to the meeting defeats the purpose.” He paused. “Why didn’t you tell me about the first batch of flowers?”
“I didn’t know it had anything to do with Billy. It was just weird, and when weird stuff happens these days, I assume it’s magic related.” Partly, that was true. Partly, I’d kept quiet because the more Colin worried about me, the more he retreated into bodyguard mode. My strategy hadn’t worked, but he seemed to accept my explanation.
“Speaking of magic, what happened last night?” he asked as we pulled up to the school.
“Arc stuff. It’s not really anything you can help with.” I gathered my bag and opened the door.
His hand caught my sleeve. “I’d still like to know.”
The irony wasn’t lost on me—four years of honors English will do that for a girl—but I tugged away. “Important stuff in my life and I’m not telling you about it. That must totally suck.”
School was uneventful. There was the usual—avoiding Jill McAllister and her snide comments, surreptitiously checking in on Constance, making sure I adequately participated in class, fending off Lena’s probing about Colin and Luc—but no one suspicious tried to approach me. Nothing out of the ordinary, unless getting the last salad in the cafeteria counted. By the time I walked outside, I’d forgotten all about Colin’s meeting with my uncle.
The look on Colin’s face as I crossed the courtyard quickly brought it back.
He scowled through the truck window as I waved to Lena. While I buckled in, he drummed the steering wheel in frustration. Even the sound of the engine turning over seemed angry.
When I couldn’t take his glowering for another second, I threw up my hands. “What?”
“Tell me you did not go toe-to-toe with Marco Forelli.”
I blinked. “Wow. So not the response I was expecting.” “What response were you expecting when you waltzed into Morgan’s and mouthed off to your uncle and his boss? And dug around for information on me? Please tell me you didn’t really believe Billy would talk. Tell me you are not that naive.”
“Of course not. But no one ever says what they mean. I figured if I surprised Billy ...”
“He would what? Tell you all my deep, dark secrets? My secrets, Mo.
Mine
. Jesus.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop pushing. If I wanted to tell you, I would.” He blew out a breath and tightened his grip on the wheel. “You should be more worried about Marco Forelli. If he noticed you, it’s because he thinks you’re useful.”
“Useful how?”
“I’m looking into it,” he said. “Quit talking to Billy about me.”
“Done.” The rest of the ride was fraught with silence, but as he parked in front of The Slice, I asked, “What about Ekomov?”
“If he wanted to hurt you, he would have by now. We let it play out, see what he’s after.”
“Are there any theories?”
“None I want to share.”
“Shocking,” I said, and went inside.
“Mo,” my mom called with relief when she spotted me. “Finally!”
“Mom, I’m three minutes late.” The Slice didn’t seem any busier than usual, but she was clearly starting to freak out. I scanned the room for a clue as to why.
She tucked the cordless phone between her shoulder and ear. “I need you to take the delivery over to Shady Acres. The computer isn’t working right, and I’ve been on the phone with someone from technical support for over an hour. And now they’ve put me on hold.”
“Maybe I can fix it.”
“It’s something to do with the hard drive, and a fan, and ...” She waved her hands around, flummoxed. If she could have, Mom would have kept the books in a paper ledger, but at some point Billy had managed to drag her into the twenty-first century. “I don’t understand it, but if I’m not here when they come back on the line, I’ll have to start all over again. Please don’t argue, just run the delivery over. You’ve done it before.”
“Not happily.” They could call Shady Acres assisted living if they wanted to, but really, it was the last stop before the nursing home. It wasn’t shady. It didn’t sit on an acre. And I didn’t have it in me, today of all days, to chat pleasantly with the residents the way I usually did.
“They’re old. You’ll brighten their day.”
“They’ll make me play bridge.”
“That’s not so bad. Go on,” she said, pointing to a stack of pies already loaded into the little grocery cart we used for deliveries.
“Fine,” I muttered, pulling my coat on.
Towing the cart behind me, I stopped by the truck. “I have to drop off pies. Do you need to come with?”
He grimaced and reached for the door. “I’ll walk you there, but I’m not going in.”
He was still mad. I could tell because he didn’t offer to take the cart from me, and we barely spoke on the three-block walk. Shady Acres was a renovated apartment building, so I pressed the buzzer and waited to be let in while he sat on the bench outside.
“So nice to see you, Mo!” said Edie, the front desk manager from behind her perpetually cluttered desk.
“You too,” I said. “The kitchen, right?”
“Yep. You can leave everything on the counter.”
I crossed the lobby, past the library—a small room with three mismatched wing chairs, a gas fireplace, and a truly impressive collection of large-print
Reader’s Digest
s—and the game room. Two residents were engaged in a vicious ping-pong game, and another group played bridge. I walked a little faster. The corridor smelled like pot roast and disinfectant, and I rounded the corner into the big industrial kitchen.
Alone in the room, I began unloading the pies onto the counter: three apple, three cherry, two mince, and two of the day’s special.
“I’m always so glad when chocolate pecan is on the menu,” said a faintly accented voice behind me. “Hello, Mo.”
The white cardboard box nearly slipped out of my hand as I wheeled around.
“You’re ... the guy.”
“Yuri Ekomov. It is nice to see you again.”
“What are you
doing
here?” It seemed impossible that the Russian gangster my uncle was so worried about would be living in the local retirement home. But there was no mistaking the old guy from school. He was wearing another slightly unfashionable suit and favoring the ivory-handled cane he’d carried that day at St. Brigid’s.
He seemed to read my mind, because he smiled, like we were sharing an inside joke. “I’m getting acquainted with your neighborhood,” he said. “I’ve only been here a short time, but it’s a fascinating place.”
He stood between me and the door, but I wondered if I could make it past him. He wasn’t a small man, and the cane could be a problem. “You live here?”
“Not all the time. The apartment is rented under another name—Mr. Eckert. Better, don’t you think, not to advertise my presence to your uncle? It’s so convenient for business, though. And I enjoy your mother’s baking.”
I shrank away as he stepped closer, but he simply took the pie box out of my hands and set it on the counter.
“It would be a crime to drop that,” he said. “Did you like the flowers?”
I trembled. “You’ve been watching us. Watching me.” He inclined his head. “You are a girl who bears watching. I’d heard Billy Grady had a niece, but up until this fall, your uncle worked hard to keep you and your mother away from his business affairs. He should have stuck to his decision.”
“I didn’t identify your men.”
“Yes. I’m aware.”
“And I didn’t know anything would happen to them afterward. You have to believe me.” I backed up until the edge of the counter was digging into my back.
“I do. Do you believe we had nothing to do with your friend’s death?”
“I do.” It was true.
He studied me the same way he had at school. “You have no reason to be afraid. I arranged this meeting so I could introduce myself properly, that’s all.”
When people tell you not to be afraid of them, it’s usually because they’ve done something really scary. I turned my head slightly, looking for the knife block a few feet down the counter.
He reached over and patted my hand, his fingers gnarled to a claw, and I managed not to flinch. He was a lot older than my uncle. I didn’t know if that made him weaker or cagier. Either way, I stayed frozen as he said, “We could be helpful to each other. As I told you, one good turn deserves another.”
“How’s that?”
“We’ll see. Today, I only wanted to meet you without interference. But things in your uncle’s world are going to change soon. When they do, you should know that siding with him is not your only option.”
I swallowed. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
He tapped the cane once, with a satisfied air. “Do.”
“Can I go?” I reached blindly for the empty grocery cart.
“Certainly. If I were you, Mo, I wouldn’t mention this conversation to anyone,” he added as I made my way to the door. “I’m afraid our friendship would be over before it started if your uncle found out I was a guest here.”
I fled, the cart bumping along behind me, and didn’t slow down until I spotted Colin. I should tell him, but something in me resisted. Maybe it was Ekomov’s warning not to talk, or Billy’s willingness to use me as bait, or Colin’s own insistence that I shouldn’t be involved. Maybe my family had rubbed off on me a little too much and keeping secrets was becoming second nature.
“How was it?” he asked when I’d rejoined him.
I was careful not to look back at the door. “The usual.”
He nodded, and I returned to The Slice without a word to anyone about Yuri Ekomov’s new address.
My mom was still on the phone. “You’ll send a new one? Will I be able to save my files?”
That didn’t sound promising, and sure enough, her face fell. “Yes, I back it up regularly. It’s really that simple?”
I ducked into the back, hanging up my coat and pulling on an apron, trying to calm down before I faced my mom again. By the time I returned to the register, she’d hung up and was straightening menus with a frazzled expression.
“Bad news?”
“They said the hard drive is ruined. They’re overnighting a new one, but I have to install it myself.”
“At least you don’t need a whole new computer.”
“I might as well. I’d as soon do open-heart surgery as look inside that machine.”
I smiled despite myself and started a fresh pot of coffee. “I can do it. It’s not that hard.”
“Really? Oh, Mo, you are a godsend!” Problem fixed, she rang up a customer. “How was Shady Acres?”
My hand slipped, sending coffee grounds across the counter. Sighing, I grabbed a sponge and began cleaning up. “The usual.”
“See? I told you it wouldn’t be terrible.”
I didn’t answer.