White Heart of Justice (12 page)

She met my gaze and made a face. I wasn't very good at interpreting my mother's expressions since heart-to-hearts like this were so out of the ordinary. But, if I had to guess, I would have said that she looked
somewhat
sheepish. Or
somewhat
guilty. As if whatever she'd done, she'd do again.

“I already told you how desperate I was when I was pregnant with you and Night and how I thought I might lose you,” she said. I cleared my throat, not wanting to hear again about how she'd pleaded to Luck and prayed to Micah at the same time. It seemed wrong. And part of me couldn't help worrying about whether payment for such a choice would be limited to her children's magical birth defects . . . or if her “reparations” column was still in the red like mine. But at least I was only indebted to Friedrich Vanderlin. My mother had indebted herself to absent gods.

Aurelia grimaced. “Let's just say I explored a lot of options. Some were more . . . grounded than others.” She bent down and brushed snow off another stone marker. “And one of the options I looked into was saving you by using perennial magic.”

She looked up at me then. To gauge my reaction I suppose. To be honest, I was surprised but not shocked. My mother was an extreme person. Hearing that she'd considered using magic that was not generally practiced because of its unreliable, incomprehensible, and controversial nature was all too consistent with her personality. Sometimes I wondered how big a rule breaker she might have been if Aurelia Ferrum had not married the Maegester who would become the next executive of the Demon Council.

Okay . . .

So that was
how
my mother knew about perennial magic. But
what
exactly did she know? I asked her, and got an earful.

According to my mother, perennial magic was older than any other magic. And my gut feeling about its natural reservoirs had been right. Perennial magic mostly existed in places and things. It didn't need
people
in order for it to work. It was the magic of time and inanimate elements. If waning and waxing magic were all about life, death, and sacrifice, and faith magic was all about believing, discipline, and study, then perennial magic was all about other, more elusive, everlasting concepts.

Perennial magic caught and released the power behind abstract universal forces like chaos and peace, emptiness and fullness, absence and presence, dormancy and revival. A practitioner of perennial magic could easily be led astray by his, or her, own human perspective. The impersonal forces that generated peace and chaos could easily be misinterpreted as the moral forces of “good” and “evil.” And one's own personal desire for things like revenge, forgiveness, the presence of an absent loved one, or the revival of youth could too easily cloud the otherwise objective perspective that is necessary when studying the absolutes of perennial magic. Which was why using perennial magic to achieve complicated aims or goals motivated by emotion was a tricky business that resulted in catastrophic failures just as often as it resulted in astonishing successes.

“Consider Metatron's most well-known magical monuments to his beloved Justica,” my mother said.

“The Sanguine Scales and the White Heart.”

She nodded. “The Sanguine Scales are an example of a perennial magic failure. Supposedly, Metatron made dozens of them. He sold them to every outpost who would buy one. But their judgment was a poor substitute for a Maegester's. Did St. Lucifer's teach you what happened to those who were judged guilty by the Sanguine Scales?”

I shook my head.

“They were cursed. But unlike an Angel's faith-based curse, a perennial spell will neither wear off nor last forever. Perennial spells work like a switch. The effect of an ‘absence' spell will simply last until a ‘presence' spell is cast.
And vice versa.
”

Suddenly it dawned on me why my mother hadn't wanted to use perennial magic to “save” Night and me.

“You were afraid if you used a perennial ‘presence' spell to save our lives before we were born that Night and I would always be vulnerable to the counterspell—the ‘absence' spell.”

She nodded very slowly. “I didn't gain my knowledge of perennial magic in a vacuum. And the people I learned it from would have known that I'd used it on you. If I'd been successful—a huge if—you might have been born with waxing magic, but your life would have been theirs.”

I knew then who—or what group of magic users—she was speaking of. The Amanita.

“Did Valda Sinclair teach you about perennial magic?” I asked, barely able to believe how interconnected we all were to one another. But then, that's how it always had been—and how it always would be. When you were one of the hundreds of magic users out of the magicless million, your life became so twisted up with the other magic users' lives you hardly knew where your life ended and theirs began.

Aurelia shrugged. “It no longer matters who taught me. Because I didn't use it, which is what I wanted to talk to you about.
Don't
try to manipulate perennial magic as you would waning magic. It resists being wielded like a weapon. When it occurs naturally in a place or thing, one can experience it, and the experiences will generally be the same with slight individual differences. But when it is artificially placed within something—
anything
—a person, place, or object, well . . . the consequences are unpredictable and”—she paused, as if she were either unsure of what she was about to say or maybe even afraid of it—“potentially more hazardous than any effect you could possibly achieve with even the largest blast of uncontrolled waning magic.”

“Waning magic is the most destructive magic there is,” I said, bending down to brush snow off another stone marker. It appeared the entire spring was lined with them and that my mother intended to uncover each and every one of them. “You've never missed an opportunity to tell me that.”

“It
is
the most destructive magic there is. But what if there were nothing to destroy in the first place? Waning magic has the power to burn and destroy, but perennial magic has the power to make things never exist in the first place.”

“I don't believe it!”

“Your belief isn't necessary. That's what makes it so . . . frightening. There's no need for faith or innate power. There's no need for discipline, study, practice, or control. The only restriction on the use of perennial magic is knowledge of its secrets.”

“And you know its secrets?”

“Even if I did, do you think I'd tell them to you when the whole point of this discussion is to discourage you from wielding it?”

“So, in a nutshell, what you're saying is . . . don't use the White Heart if I find it because who knows what might happen?”

“Yes.”

My mother bent down again and brushed snow off yet another marker. But instead of a skeleton, Aurelia uncovered the figure of a robed man standing in front of an oxcart.

Metatron.

I knew then that this spring wasn't just a healing spring because of its mineral content or soothing warmth.

“Let me guess,” I said. “This spring has perennial magic in it. And now that you've spent the morning telling me not to use perennial magic because of how potentially hazardous the effects might be, you're going to suggest that I climb in there to try to heal myself if I still want to race.”

Aurelia started unfastening the toggles on her cloak. “I said you shouldn't try to manipulate or wield perennial magic as you would waning magic. I didn't say you shouldn't experience it when it occurs in a place where its effects are well-known. Like this spring. Metatron laid these markers when Maize was still called Requiem. Local history says that he was searching for a way to reverse the curse that befell anyone judged guilty by his faulty Sanguine Scales.

“Many Mederies have successfully used this spring in the last few hundred years, although that doesn't mean our swim will be completely without risk.”

“
Our
swim?
Swim?
”

I couldn't even imagine swimming feeling like I did now. It had taken nearly all my strength just to hike here on foot. But Aurelia nodded. “You need your strength back and the spring can give it to you. The only trick is getting out once you're in. Deep within the spring are underwater caves. Water is pumped into the spring from some of the caves. And it's carried out by others. The spring is kind of like a giant beating heart. And its underground veins and arteries are marked with these stones. So long as we swim through the artery marked with Metatron's stone, we'll be fine. That passage will take us back to the spring underneath the Demeter springhouse's surgery room.”

I eyed the steaming, glassy blue surface of the spring with mistrust. “I think I'd rather walk back.”

“Since when are you a coward, Nouiomo?” Aurelia harrumphed.

Did she really not know me that well? These days, fear followed me more closely than my own shadow.

“Besides,” she continued, shucking her cloak and dropping it to the ground, “if the arrow tip's curse was made with perennial magic, then swimming through the spring will remove it. Remember how I said perennial magic works like a switch? You turn it on; you turn it off. If there's a perennial magic curse inside of you, the spring's magic will act as an ‘absence' spell and remove it.”

“So why didn't it work for those afflicted with a curse from Metatron's Sanguine Scales?”

“I don't know
everything
about perennial magic, Nouiomo,” she said, somewhat impatiently, bending down to unlace her boots. “Maybe their curse wasn't a ‘presence' or ‘absence' type of curse. Maybe it was a ‘chaos' or ‘peace' type of curse.” She cleared her throat, stood up, and gazed pointedly at me. “Or maybe Metatron just couldn't get the afflicted to swim through the spring with him.

“Karanos is on his way down here,” Aurelia finally said when, after a few more minutes, I still hadn't moved. “He asked if Night and I could have you healed and ready by nightfall.” Her voice once again had that crisp, cold efficiency to it that I'd grown up hearing.

“Why's that?” I asked. My legs suddenly felt even weaker than before.

“Because he's bringing someone from Bradbury down with him. They have additional information about the White Heart and they want to speak with you about it.”

“Bradbury,” I repeated, more to convince myself than because I thought I'd misheard her. Bradbury was where Ari was from. But surely Karanos wouldn't be—
couldn't be
—bringing Ari down to Maize. He would have said so, right? I mean, Karanos (and everyone but Rafe, Fara, and I) thought Ari was dead. His turning up alive would have been big news. Unless . . . Karanos was keeping Ari's secret now too. I clenched my fists and shook my head, staring at the spring.

Compared to being cursed, planning to storm the gates of Hell, and contemplating a meeting with my lying, hiding, drakon ex-boyfriend, how bad could a healing swim with my mother be?

Chapter 11

H
ow wrong I was.

My mother explained that the markers were like the numbers on a clock face. All we had to do was shuck our cloaks, remove our boots, stand on the marker, and step backward into the spring. We could even hold hands and jump together, although Aurelia admitted this would be her first time jumping into the spring too. But if all went well, we should be able to swim right into the mouth of the cave in front of us. So long as I didn't open my eyes, get disoriented, turn around, panic or do anything stupid, the swim should be easy, even in my injured state. In fact, my mother assured me the healing effect of the waters would take effect right away. And that the spring's magic would allow us to swim the half mile or so back underwater.

Since Aurelia had never actually accomplished the feat she'd set for us, I was nervous
before
the jump. After . . . well . . . I panicked.

I lost Aurelia's hand almost immediately. The impact of jumping in was a lot harder than I expected. Maybe it was the spring's magic, but it felt like I'd punched through a window. The spring's near-scalding temperature was more shocking than I'd been prepared for too. After standing in the cold for so long, the jump into hot water made me feel as if my skin had been flayed from my body. I opened my eyes and saw only vague, gray shapes. And not one of them was my mother.

Where was she? Had she swum ahead, thinking I was right behind her? Or had she been pulled into one of the other outgoing passageways?

I thrashed around underneath searching for her, realizing I'd managed to accomplish the first three things my mother warned me not to do in just as many seconds. I'd opened my eyes, become disoriented, and turned around. Now I had no idea which cave mouth I was supposed to swim into.

No matter,
I thought.
I'll just go back up and jump in again from Metatron's stone.

But when I swam up to the surface, it was frozen over. I hadn't recalled it being frozen, but maybe there had been a thin layer of ice I hadn't noticed before and that's why breaking through had been so jarring. Although that didn't make any sense. The spring water was hot. Seriously hot. Like burning, boil-me-to-death hot.

I swam back down to the center of the spring and studied each of the passageways, marveling that I didn't feel winded or out of breath. But that scrap of good fortune was clearly all I was going to get. Three of the passages were pumping water into the spring. I didn't think I could swim into them if I tried. The deepest, darkest one was bringing cold water in.
Freezing
cold water. The cold water seeping out of that bottom passage seemed to grow darker in color as well. It blended with the warmer waters of the spring the way spilled oil blended with water, which is to say:
not one bit
.

Slowly the dark water changed color and shape. It became redder and fierier as each ribbon-like swirl morphed into something more defined: a long snout, sharp teeth, claws, horns, and finally a long tail . . . and wings. It was a fiery drakon. Even though I knew it wasn't real (first of all, drakons weren't made of waning magic, they were made of blood and bone, same as the rest of us; second, real fire—even fire made from waning magic—couldn't burn underwater), I nearly sucked in a lungful of water when I realized what it was. But before I could adjust to seeing it, it swirled into a different shape and after that, the changing images came fast and furious. It was like watching a spinning zoetrope. I saw a cracked bell, a white sword, a set of scales, a bloody tooth, a crossroads, a jail cell, a bonfire, an arrow, an iron coin with a hole in it, a dam with lightning in the sky above it, and then a huge, slobbering, grinning beast with a star on its forehead and the most enormous canines I'd ever seen. The thing came rushing toward me and my signature redlined. My heart
burned
as if it were on fire and I kicked my legs in a blind panic to get away from the black water, hardly noticing which passageway I darted into. After a time, I realized I was still holding Aurelia's hand after all.

We were swimming together down a cool, dark passageway, but the cold, black water was gone. We emerged in a brick-lined pool in what I assumed was the rocky basement of the springhouse.

“Were you holding my hand the entire time?” I asked her.

She gave me a quizzical look. “Yes.” Then she frowned. “You opened your eyes, didn't you?”

I shrugged, gave her a sheepish look, and then told her:

“I think I'd rather die than be healed by that hot spring again.”

*   *   *

B
ut the swim had healed me. I felt as strong as I had before taking that ill-fated trip to the Crystal Palace. The spot where the arrow had entered my chest was all healed up too, albeit in a surprising way. Instead of a darker demon mark (which was what I'd expected, based on my last experience with an injury there), mine was now lighter and nearly invisible against my new, prominent scar. More distressing than the partial loss of my mark, however, was the fact that I could now feel the arrow tip near my heart. It burned like a hot coal. I couldn't tell whether it was burrowing deeper or if my body was trying to expel it. But the effect was the same: overall, I felt strong, but just thinking about using my magic now gave me heart palpitations.

If using my magic
before
had hurt, what would it feel like
now
?

Aurelia looked down at my new scar, looking contemplative. “How do you feel?” she asked.

“Stronger.”

It wasn't a lie. And what was the alternative? Tell my mother that our swim through the spring hadn't removed the curse? What would that accomplish other than worrying her? I wasn't going to bow out of the race so the last thing I wanted was to leave tomorrow with everyone trying to stop me. Using my magic during the race would be painful, but better to suck it up and deal with some temporary pain than to spend all next semester in a residency position that was absolutely unbearable.

I ran my tongue across my teeth and smiled. There was one thing the spring hadn't fixed—my missing tooth. Although I wasn't too surprised about that. Nightshade was the only Mederi I knew who might possibly be able to regrow it and, truth be told, it wasn't as if a missing tooth made me less strong or healthy.

Aurelia and I grabbed robes from the rack in the springhouse basement. Glancing around on my way up the stairs, I guessed that guests came down here for a soothing soak from time to time. Hereinafter, not me. I fervently hoped I'd never touch the waters of that spring again.

Upstairs Rafe and Night were waiting for us. Aurelia recounted the necessary details of our swim. But my focus was elsewhere—racing ahead to tonight. Was Karanos really bringing Ari with him? If so, I needed to get my thoughts (and my emotions) in order. Ari's habit had always been to press his suit without reservation. In the end, I'd loved him without reservation—and look where it had gotten me. I'd spent the last two months doing everything I could to forget him. Now, tonight, I might have to face him again.

Of course, even if I did see him again, that didn't mean Ari would still be pressing his suit with me. I'd told him in no uncertain terms we were through. And I'd meant it. Truly. I couldn't trust him. Wouldn't.

I ducked out of the springhouse's great room to get dressed and mentally prepare. But I was in my room for barely a second before Rafe came in. I closed the door and leaned against it. Rafe leaned against the white dresser, arms folded across his chest.

We stared at each other.

Finally he said, “You know Karanos is bringing someone down with him tonight from Bradbury, right?”

I nodded.

He nodded.

But he didn't do anything else. Just kept leaning on the dresser with his arms crossed. This time he stared at the floor though, not me.

“Noon,” he began slowly. “If it turns out to be Ari . . . and the two of you have some sort of reconciliation, I just want you to know that I'd understand.”

I walked over to the bed and sat on its edge, facing Rafe. I wasn't sure how to respond. It would be tough to see Ari, because I had loved him so deeply and he'd hurt me so badly, but I didn't want to start dating him again, regardless of how any future meetings between us might go. The real question was whether I'd healed enough emotionally to see Ari without still feeling betrayed. Whether I'd ever be able to take a chance on getting close to someone new was a question I wasn't yet ready for. I'd meant what I'd said last night about not wanting to hurt Rafe. He was my friend, not to mention my Guardian Angel. I didn't want to screw up a really great relationship by adding romantic complications.

I sighed. “There's not going to be any reconciliation.”

He nodded halfheartedly, as if he were humoring me. It was irritating.

“Why would there be?” I snapped.

But instead of shrugging or grinning suggestively (two Rafe-like responses he might have made in the past), he stepped forward and crouched on the floor in front of me. He clasped my hands as if to underscore the significance of what he was going to say.

“There are a few things I haven't told you,” he said. “About Ari. And about me.” I tensed immediately and Rafe gently squeezed my hands.

“Please tell me you're not a demon in disguise,” I growled.

Rafe chuckled softly. The sound of it was reassuring.

“No, I'm exactly who I said I was. But you should know the truth about a few things.”

I pulled my hands away and stood up. How I
loathed
secrets.

But Rafe didn't seem the least bit agitated. Of course, I reminded myself that this was the man who'd perfected the carefully carefree look I'd seen so much of last semester. I hadn't missed that look, and seeing it again didn't make me any less wary of what Rafe was going to say next.

“Remember how last semester Ebony's Elbow took one memory from each of us and gave it to someone else?” He stood up and went back to leaning against the dresser.

I nodded. Part of me hadn't wanted to give Rafe's memory back to him because it was so painful, but I knew, because Rafe still wore a silver bracelet with his brother's name etched on it, that he'd have wanted the memory of his funeral back. So I'd told him about it.

Rafe, on the other hand, had been given a memory of Ari's. But he'd never told me which one. In the beginning of our friendship, it had almost been a game. I'd ask what the memory was and Rafe would wink or grin and refuse to tell me. Well, it seemed like Rafe wanted to tell me now, but suddenly, I wasn't sure I wanted to hear. Why did Rafe think
now
was the right time to reveal it?

He cleared his throat and mine felt instantly tighter.

“Do you remember seeing Ari on Bryde's Day last year?” Rafe asked.

I nodded, almost reluctantly. “We took our Sin and Sanction midterm together and then, later that night, we met our clinic clients for our first settlement attempt.”

“But you saw Ari on campus before that meeting.”

“I did,” I said, remembering. “He brought me a candle from the Bryde's Day ceremony they'd held at Lekai.” I smiled at the memory, because it was a happy one, even if our relationship hadn't ended that way.

“Ari loves you, Noon. I know some people think that demons don't have feelings like we do. But it isn't true. I felt his love for you in the memory. So drakons
can
love like us.”

I blinked.
Change of heart much? Now Rafe was trying to convince me that I should be with Ari?

“This from an Angel,” I said dryly. “I wasn't aware that Angels had soft spots for demons.” Rafe grimaced, but I continued. “I didn't break it off with Ari because he was a demon. I broke up with him because he didn't tell me the truth.” (Although the fact that Ari was a demon would have been a major stumbling block in our relationship even if he had told me about it up front. But no need to worry about that
now
.)

“Well, that's even more reason to listen to what I have to say. Because I don't want anything unsaid between us.”

“Okay . . .”

“It was Bryde's Day and they were handing out lit candles. He couldn't wait to give you one. Because Bryde's Day is the only day of the year that
fire
means
life
. And he knew how you felt about your magic. How much you hated it. He wanted to show you that fire could bring light and warmth. But there was another emotion it brought that Ari didn't anticipate. At least not as forcefully as he felt it then.
Love.
When Ari gave you that candle and saw the look in your face when you stared into the flame, he was lost. I know because it's my memory now.”

We stared at each other for a few moments. I tried to digest what he'd just said.

“I'm not sure we have any chance, Noon. But if we do, I want to start off right. Tell you everything in the beginning. And . . . I felt I owed it to my brother's memory to tell you.”