Wish Bound (A Grimm Agency Novel Book 3) (26 page)

She switched to fire, which dripped off me, the way I’d seen Liam shed it so many times, then ice, which swept over me like a brush of cold air. With a gasp, she stepped backwards, a look of fear on her face like when Ari challenged her.

“Daughter of the fairy. Creation of one. We’re cut off from the realm seals here, and without Fairy Godmother’s magic, everything you’ve got comes from Grimm. Grimm’s magic doesn’t work on himself.” I took out the thorn sword, triggering it, only to find it a lifeless stub.

“Nor can you wield my tools against me.” Isolde sneered at me, her eyes locked on mine.

She ran at me, and I willed the gift of War to take hold. To grant me inhuman reflexes and the knowledge of a million battles won and lost. The world quickened around me—but Isolde didn’t slow.

She moved as fast as I did. Her fist slammed into my chest, knocking me to the ground, cracking my sternum. “You aren’t the only one who’s ever brought about an apocalypse.”

This time I rose more carefully, circling her. The knowledge of how to fight, that all still remained, but I wouldn’t be dancing around her while she moved in quarter time.

Isolde came for me, and I ran, backwards, toward the feast table with its heaps of meat.

“What’s the matter? You aren’t afraid, are you, handmaiden?”

“I hate that term.” I hated a lot of things, but not enough to keep me around once I died.

Isolde walked back and forth, keeping me trapped between the table and the wall. “You would prefer ‘sister’?”

I never got a chance to answer. Instead she ran at me, only this time, I didn’t stand around waiting for something that would never happen. I let her run, let her strike, and stepped just to the side, shoving her on so that she crashed into the table. She recoiled in fear, like a trapped animal.

From side to side she stepped, looking at the table, cringing as she glanced to it. I considered that she might be allergic to venison, or grapes. Or fire. She didn’t fear the food. The flames on the candle, that terrified her. I reached into my pocket, pulling out the jar of infernal flame.

If I thought she was afraid before, the terror painted across her face magnified a thousandfold. “You don’t dare.”

I opened the top. “I do.”

“We are linked, handmaiden. If I burn, you burn.” The fear in her eyes said she knew I spoke the truth.

“Take the ring off, then.” I held up the hand, offering it.

A mistake.

In the moment where I couldn’t see her, pain blossomed from my knee, and I fell backwards. A steak knife stuck out from my knee, buried two inches deep. Isolde hefted another, and threw it at me, driving it through my shoulder into the floor.

“When I ran errands for Father, I always preferred knives. Let me fetch a crossbow, and I will pin you to the wall for the rest of eternity. But first . . .” She strode over and seized the infernal flame from me. “Your hatred for me is delicious, Marissa.”

Isolde nudged the thorn sword hilt toward me. “Oh, how you desire to harm me—with a hand cannon?” Her musical laugh filled the air. “You are a pawn, a tool used by those with power. Here.” She placed one hand on the sword, and it shrank, changing, dripping, and running. Changing into a gun.

Not just any gun. A pistol. My original nine-millimeter pistol, which I’d taken with me to Fairy Godmother’s realm. Fairy Godmother’s words came back to me. “You don’t like that gun. You need to throw it.” Just looking at it made me shake and want to vomit. Grimm had warned me, it wasn’t a spell Fairy Godmother put on me. She’d changed me from inside.

I struggled to pick it up, but my hands shook, and all I could do was push it farther away.

“You see?” Isolde rose and turned. “You are a tool to be commanded, a shadow of a human. Only what your masters make you.”

In that moment, I couldn’t have told you it was a lie. But I needed it to be a lie. What had Grimm told me? That I never obeyed him. The Authority had said as much. I closed my eyes and felt for the gun with my good arm, wrapping my fingers about it.

The first shot I fired shattered a crystal wineglass on the wrong side of the room.

Isolde stopped and turned back to me, one hand on her hip, the other cradling the cask of infernal flame. “What folly is this? Dare you try to shoot me?”

I squeezed the trigger again, but looking at the steel blue of my nine millimeter made my hands ache. I fired again, a bullet that glanced off the arched ceiling.

“Oh, what fun we shall have,” said Isolde as she crossed the room to take a crossbow down. “I will heal you of your wounds each day, and every day find new ways to bless you with pain. You will be my eternal amusement.” She paused, putting one hand on her hip, and held the other to her chin. “But I suppose if you turn that gun on yourself, I might grant you the mercy of death. You’ve wasted two bullets already. The third shall be your last.”

I closed my eyes, taking myself back to the moment at age sixteen I’d agreed to work for Grimm, and asked myself the questions I feared most: Who made me me? Who chose for me? Who decided? And the answer of my life came back in memories. Of every time I’d ignored the easy way, laughed at the right way, and done things my way.

Who decided who I was?

I did.

My gun barked, and the vial of infernal flame exploded in Isolde’s hand. It leaped onto her like a thing alive. Pain? No. Pain is a feeling. What coursed through me was an essence. An explosion. A reality. And as Nick had warned me, the infernal flame was alive. It didn’t burn one spot. It streaked around, leaving a trail of scorched flesh, and laughing in a voice made of a fire’s crackle.

My screams joined Isolde’s. The fire on my hand, on my arm, dancing along my elbow, burned her even faster. Her true nature, the thorn tree, had dried in the months since she left Fairy Godmother’s realm. Where the infernal flame left streaks on me, it scorched gashes of ash from her, racing up and down her faster than it could consume me. Liam’s ring, his gift to me, blunted the heat, shielded me, but she had no such protection. Isolde collapsed to the floor, her eyes locked on me between shrieks. “You can’t have my face.” She lifted her burning hand to her face, wiping it along her cheek, covering her eye.

My world exploded.

The left side of me saw only white; the right side jerked as the devil flame picked a spot here and there to sear the flesh. Isolde’s screams became shrieks, and the pain rebounding on me through our link reached a crescendo, a feedback whine that overwhelmed me.

There was one more thing I had to do.

The quell would break with Isolde’s death. Ari and Wyatt would be released. But Liam would still be dead. I needed one more wish to undo the last of the harm my life had caused. “I wish Liam were alive.” I gasped the words, flailing against the flames.

“I’m sorry, Marissa. There is no more magic.” Grimm’s voice came to me across a distance.

But he was wrong. “Whatever I wish for. You swore you’d do whatever I asked.” Because despite Grimm’s protests, there was one more wish, one who had walked with Death into Isolde’s realm willingly.

I wished on
me
.

Beyond worlds, I felt more than heard Grimm speak. A sea of voices all belonging to him, speaking my desire into existence. Now I watched my body from a distance, writhing in pain that no longer reached me. Across the hall, Death kneeled over Isolde, scooping the soul from her body. And standing beside Death, I glimpsed a form I recognized. Liam!

He wore the same red-and-black flannel I bought him for Christmas. I struggled to understand the words he spoke. Hold on? There was nothing left for me to hold on to, but fragments of my being would power the spell that gave him life.

That thought gave me peace to embrace my unraveling. Filaments of white lashed out from me toward him, tracing Liam’s outline. Too late, I saw the thing behind him. The dragon curse he’d carried since the day I sent it after him by accident.

I’d always pictured it as a dragon from the history books. Maybe a T.rex with a few more quills and frills. But eons trapped in bodies with humans had changed it. Twisted it so that it resembled a hulking lizard man with oversized canines and a tongue that hung to its waist. It cowered behind Liam, who gripped its claw with one hand. The living filaments from me became a cloud of gossamer strands that exploded outward, wrapping Liam, blanketing him—and the curse. It melted downward into him, wrapping around his soul, embedding itself in the flesh that formed around his soul.

He lived.

As the last dregs of my being drained away, and the world faded, Liam rushed toward my body, changing into a dragon twice the size of what he’d been before, with pearlescent red scales and sweeping wings that folded behind his body. The dragon’s tongue lashed out at the fire burning me. And then there was nothing.

I OPENED MY
eyes to white everywhere, brilliant white, like I had finally made it to the mountain of light Death showed me. No pain. In fact, a chilling numbness covered my body. I tried to sit up, and the bed beneath me crinkled.

“M?” The voice sounded distant. Off-kilter. Blinking, my eyes grew clear, and I saw a face I recognized. Brilliant red hair, yellow eyes. Ari looked down at me and shrieked with delight. “She’s awake.”

“Dead.” I spoke the word carefully.

“No. It’s going to be all right.” Ari raced out of the room, which, now that I could focus, looked a lot like a hospital room. She returned a few minutes later, towing a doctor.

A doctor I recognized as Pestilence, the fourth harbinger of the apocalypse.

“What are you doing here?” I squinted at him.

“I was making sure you didn’t contract any infections from the surgeries. You’re welcome.” Pestilence looked into my right eye with a penlight and nodded. “Your reactions look good.”

I tried to sit up, and flailed.

“Marissa!” Grimm’s voice came from everywhere.

I looked around, found a single him I could focus on. “Grimm.”

Grimm had returned to the mirror at some point, but he peered out at me, a wide grin on his face. “We only have a moment. I must wake Liam, or he will never forgive me. He hasn’t left your bedside for a month.” Grimm looked at me, staring again.

“A whole month?” It felt like minutes, though it explained certain aches.

“Surgery takes time.”

Grimm’s words sank in, and I raised my hand. Starting at my palm, a smooth white streak of flesh traced around to the back of my hand, where it tracked up my wrist, obliterating the handmaiden’s mark. When I flexed my hand, only the thumb and first two fingers moved.

“You’ll need physical therapy, but there’s no reason you shouldn’t recover a full range of motion,” said Grimm.

That’s when I realized I was looking at things sideways. I reached up with my right hand, feeling my face.

Ari grabbed my hands. “Gentle.”

My fingertips brushed over a scar that ran from the corner of my left eye back toward my ear. “I want a mirror.” I ran my hand over my ear, confirming that most of it was gone. That explained why everything sounded distant.

Grimm spoke slowly. “Let’s take things one step at a time. Let me explain—”

“I want a mirror. Get out.”

He faded away. I leaned forward to get a better look in the empty mirror. My right eye remained the same milk chocolate brown it’d always been. My left eye, on the other hand, was a shade of pearlescent blue that would look more at home in an oyster, and the hair where I’d been burned grew in almost white.

“What—what did you
do
?” I glanced to Ari, and when I looked back, Grimm had taken up residence in the mirror again.

“Marissa, your wounds were not simple burns,” said Grimm. “Magic may not—”

“Magic oppose.” I knew the laws. My mentor, Evangeline, had died with wounds that couldn’t be healed. She’d always said I’d have scars of my own one day. “How?”

“It was my idea,” said Ari. “Just because you can’t heal a damaged eye doesn’t mean you can’t replace it with a healthy one. And the hair you can dye. But the scars . . .” She glanced back to Grimm.

“I can live with.” I reached out to take her hand. “I can live with them.” Which brought me dangerously close to the question I couldn’t ask yet, because I didn’t want to know. Not yet. How was I alive?

“My dear, I have a solution for your hearing, though like the eye, it may take time to get used to.” Grimm waited for me to look to him to continue. “I assure you, any visual artifacts will become completely normal as soon as the transplanted eye gives up on returning—”

The room door exploded open and Liam burst in. He hurled himself at me, wrapping his arms around me despite my attempts to push him off.

“I thought I lost you forever,” he finally managed to say.

And before him, a wave of fear struck me. Of self-consciousness that barely covered “Don’t look yet. I—”

He whispered in my ear, “I was here when they did the grafts, M. I don’t care what color your eyes are, or your hair. I don’t care about any of that. You are beautiful.”

“Don’t say that.” I knew what the mirror had shown me. The infernal flame’s damage left me looking as much like a freak on the outside as I now knew myself to be on the inside. “I’ll never be beautiful.”

He held on and buried his head in my shoulder, whispering, “To me you’ll always be.”

•   •   •

I SPENT THE
next six months in rehab, physical therapy, and getting my body back into some form of motion. With the help of a therapist who was a combination of genius and sadist, I regained use of my fingers one painful inch at a time. My hearing both improved and took a turn for the worse when Grimm supplied me with an earring he claimed came from Selkie craftsmen. I could hear, all right. Sometimes too well.

Eventually I found the courage to believe Liam loved me, and from that, I found the courage to talk to Grimm. One morning, while Liam worked in the forge, I summoned Grimm, forcing myself to look in the mirror.

“My dear, how may I help you?” Grimm gave me a grandfatherly smile. He never talked about business, always insisting that I get better first.

“How am I alive?” The question I’d lay awake at night asking myself over and over.

“Mr. Stone had grown to regard that curse like a friend. His spirit kept it anchored on earth, and when you wished him a new body, he used his reptilian side to put out the flames where your clothing caught fire.”

I shook my head. “That’s not what I meant. I’m a wish, and wishing should have destroyed me.”

“Marissa, I can only theorize, but I’ve spent many hours contemplating this myself, and I have a plausible theory. I believe that the Authority kept a promise to you. She offered you a soul, for the end of the quell. The death of the Black Queen.”

“I turned that deal down.”

Grimm nodded toward me. “And then you did what she asked anyway. It is a theory. Arianna says your spirit appears different. Like a master craftsman blended the portions that make you
you
into a soul. So, you remain unique. Speaking of Arianna, will you be meeting her for dinner?”

“Yep. Tonight’s poker night for Liam. I hear he’s actually playing poker.” It killed me to let him go the first time, but I couldn’t spend the rest of our time together controlling him.

“Excellent. You two will meet at the Agency. I’ve made reservations and have a limo ready to drive you to dinner.” Grimm disappeared without waiting for me to answer.

When I finally got to the Agency, it felt like coming home. Mikey, directing the cargo trucks in our bay. Rosa, fixing me with evil looks the moment I entered the door. The two new girls, sitting in Grimm’s office, listening to a lecture.

Okay, that part was just a little weird.

“Marissa, meet my newest agents. This is Lisa, and this is Amanda.” Grimm pointed to the two, who both reminded me of Gangster Bitch Barbie. “Marissa is my partner and most trusted agent.”

I shook hands with the two, watching their eyes lock on my different eye. Grimm hadn’t been kidding when he claimed there might be visual artifacts. Sometimes, I saw things that weren’t there—at least, not yet. Other times, things that were, but shouldn’t be visible. I can’t say it made sleeping easier.

“Arianna is in her office, clearing out her desk.” Grimm’s words caught me by surprise. I’d heard Ari quit, but thought it was like Ari quitting chocolate, or Ari quitting soap operas, or Ari quitting Internet shopping. In other words, a fifteen-minute retirement.

I walked down the hall to Ari’s office, where she dumped another drawer out of her desk into a box. And her desk looked surprisingly like my desk. “So, how are you and Wyatt doing?”

She blushed, though that was
not
what I asked. “We’re doing fine.”

“You managed to get over his fear of ‘contact’?”

She turned an even deeper shade of red. “We’re working on it. We spend a lot of time together in the Court of Queens.”

I snorted. “You mean you’ve taken Wyatt to the court again?”

Ari looked back at me with innocent yellow eyes. “Wyatt says the Court of Kings has an excellent balance without his interference, and it will take a combined effort to keep the queens in line. He goes there every day, performing binding arbitration of disputes.”

“You lend him a shotgun?” Rosa herself couldn’t handle the Court of Queens.

“Grimm offered to arm him.”

At his name, Grimm flashed into Ari’s mirror. “Anything he asked for.”

I ran down a list of weapons in my head. “Cat-of-nine-tails? Cat-of-one-tails?”

“A copy of
Robert’s Rules of Order, Revised
, and a never-ending tin of butterscotch cookies. A wise man indeed.” Grimm nodded, satisfied. “Ladies, your limousine awaits.”

I enjoyed the ride. It felt wonderful to be treated as a high-class citizen. Wonderful to be alive. When the driver opened the door and I stepped out, the look of wonder fell right off my face, into the open Dumpster. “Here?”

“Liam recommended it.” Ari took my hand, and we walked down the stairs to Froni’s.

Once she managed to gag down a warm beer, Ari finally found the courage to talk. “I need your help.”

Grimm watched us from the empty napkin canister.

“You need someone beat up? Or shot? I’ve never been a bruiser, and I’ll need to spend a few weeks practicing to get my aim back.” In fact, most of the reasons I’d been an agent didn’t work.

Ari took a bite of noodle from the plastic forks I kept in my purse. “The Court of Queens is more than I can handle. More than Wyatt and I can handle.”

I shook my head. “I’m retiring.” I glanced over at Grimm. “Consider this two weeks’ notice.”

“I wouldn’t be much of a Fairy Godfather if I didn’t see this coming. I haven’t been able to gut a rabbit for two weeks without the entrails spelling out ‘Marissa quits.’” Grimm shook his head, exasperated.

“Help me,” said Ari. “I’m High Queen, but a queen can’t directly . . . influence another queen. Particularly not me.” Ari took my hands and looked me in the eye.

“You want someone who they’ll be terrified of on sight? There’s not one of them that will ever forget me standing with the Black Queen.” Then again, Ari’s yellow witch eyes didn’t exactly inspire thoughts of cuddly puppies. “Don’t you already have their loyalty?”

“I did. Right up until I told half the witches I wouldn’t let them kill half the queens. And I lost most of the queens when I wouldn’t let them bring charges against the witches. You’re right on one account.
I
will never control them.” She slid her hand over to mine. “
We
will. You and me. The Witch Queen, and her handmaiden, who slew the Black Queen.” Ari set her face in that look. The one that said she’d already decided.

“Will you just accept and be done with it?” Grimm’s tone sounded peeved.

I wiped the table with an antibacterial wipe, killing off entire civilizations of bacteria and probably committing genocide. Then I wiped down the napkin holder where Grimm watched us. “Who left soap scum on your mirror?”

Ari blew a hair out of her face. “Ignore him. He’s been upset with me for weeks.”

“What did she ever do to you?” I glared at him.

“It’s not what you’ve done, it’s what you are going to do, Arianna. It’s near impossible to schedule appointments for our clients with you as is.” Grimm put his hand on his forehead.

“We quit,” Ari and I said together.

“Yes, yes. I’ll see you in two weeks, three days, Marissa. Arianna, welcome back next month, in case I forget to mention it. You two would plan better if you learned to read the future.” Grimm’s tone grew more agitated with each word. “That’s hardly the worst of it. Arianna, must you take maternity leave so soon after your honeymoon? Could you not have staggered this out a bit?”

I stared at Ari. “When are you due?”

She shook her head. “I’m not—”

“Five months, three weeks, one day and twenty hours from now.” Grimm glared at Ari as well.

“You said you and Wyatt didn’t . . .” I kept my eyes on her as she blushed.

Ari’s face remained white as a sheet, and her mouth flopped open and shut. “There was this one time, in the hotel.”

Grimm choked. “She told me the same thing. Arianna, are any of these locations jogging a memory? The book closet at
my
Agency? Mrs. Pendlebrook’s couch? And why don’t you tell Marissa how it was that her desk came to be in your office? Marissa, trust me, you don’t want that desk back.”

The desk didn’t bother me. I could always buy a new one, assuming Grimm was right about me coming back to work for him. And if he was wrong, it wouldn’t matter. But what sent a pang of jealousy through me was the thought of Ari as a mother. Being Aunt Marissa would never be the same as loving a child of my own.

“Marissa,” said Grimm. “You have a soul now. I would appreciate it if you take appropriate precautions, so I don’t have both of my senior agents out on maternity leave. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a double wedding ceremony to plan.” Grimm started to fade out, then snapped back in. “Mrs. Pendlebrook demands an appropriate occasion for her son, and, Marissa, try to act surprised. Your fiancé is a loving man, but he should not be allowed to pick out dresses, menus, or, probably, his own clothing.”

I sat in stunned silence, drinking what remained of Ari’s beer, since she would be on a water-only diet for a while. Ari switched sides of the table to slump beside me. “What do you think? You and me? The Witch Queen and her handmaiden?”

I considered all the possibilities. I’d dreamed of “happily ever after” all my life, but not how I would reach it, or who I’d be when I got there. I had a man I loved, and who loved me back. A best friend who was more like a sister, and one day, the possibility of a family all my own. Maybe happily ever after wasn’t a destination or a situation. Maybe it was a decision, made every day. So I made one. “I prefer the term
agent
.”