The Triad of Finity (14 page)

His companion was a woman in a pink dress with a wide, ruffled skirt. A parasol umbrella hid her face despite the dark of night. She was as tall as Illisius, and Oliver felt a cold certainty that he knew who she was.

“I left the Orani a wake-up call,” said Emalie. Oliver watched her as she watched Illisius stroll down the street. It was that serious gaze that she sometimes got, eyes wide, seeming at once fearless and yet so completely aware of the grave danger she faced. It reminded him of right before the darkling ball, just before the Merchynt Sylvix had drained her blood. And though she wasn’t in a gown like she had been that night, Oliver thought she looked just as beautiful now, painfully so, especially because he was hundreds of years away from her, and had no idea what was about to happen to her.

A low sound grew from below, the beating of horse hooves. Eight horses galloped fiercely into view, charging up Main Street and pulling up in a line. The Orani women dismounted. Their white robes had been traded for jeans, long leather coats and cowboy hats. They looked like lawmen.

Emalie huffed. “Mom’s not with them. She’s probably looking for me. Ugh! I told her not to worry.”

Illisius and his companion stopped in the middle of the street.

“Go back where you came from, demons!” Oliver heard Selene call toward them.

Illisius didn’t speak. He extended his hand. Beside him, the parasol lowered.

“Tsk tsk,” said Dead Désirée. “Who’s calling who a demon, Orani?”

“Oh no,” said Oliver.

Désirée extended her hand, same as Illisius. Lines of bright energy began to stream in from all directions, forces gathering at their palms, then erupting as beams of white fire that hurtled toward the Orani. The fire branched, aiming at each woman. The Orani struck defensive poses, creating arcing shields of shimmering light, but the firepower surged like floodwater, and they were pushed back and scattered.

Wind whipped down the hills toward the battle, gushing around Emalie and through Oliver and Dean.

“We only require the girl,” said Illisius. “She’s bound to come to me, anyway, so why make this any harder than it has to be?”

“This is going to be something,” said Emalie, but instead of watching she stuck a stick into her fire, stoking the blaze. Then she picked up the small white doll and tossed it in.

“In payment,” she muttered to herself.

Oliver watched the doll burn, its clothing and fabric charring to black, its bead eyes melting. He wondered what Emalie was paying for, and what she was paying with. Was this more days of happiness, to be stolen from her later in life?

“Emalie what are you doing?” Dean asked worriedly.

“Emalie,” Oliver added, glancing below to where Illisius and Désirée were advancing. “You need to get out of here.”

“I’m sure you guys are thinking that I need to get out of here,” said Emalie. Oliver thought, despite her set jaw, that he heard a waver in her voice, and saw her eyes trembling. “Well, that’s the plan,” she said.

“Emalie!” a voice called from somewhere behind them in the forest.

Emalie’s head whirled. “Crap!” She cursed to herself. “That’s Mom. Why doesn’t she ever listen to me? I have to hurry.” She picked up the silk box.

The wind increased, whistling between the gravestones. The disruption of forces was causing an atmospheric disturbance; large clouds billowed into existence overhead, their bellies reflecting the flashes of the fight. Thunder rumbled. Townspeople began emerging from the saloon and opening windows in other buildings, only to be blown backward.

Emalie opened the small box and reached inside. Her fingers emerged clutching a plum-sized creature: a black, crusty beetle with a fiery, iridescent red back. Its sharp legs flailed. She held it up in front of her face.

Oliver knew what it was, and suddenly, with cold horror, he knew her plan. “Emalie no!” He instinctively swatted at her hand, but of course his slipped right through.

Emalie turned to him and Dean. “You’re not going to like this, but just trust me. And Oliver, when the time comes, you need to remember these words:
Now, it’s your turn.”

“What do you mean?” Oliver called. And then he saw her hand moving—“No!”

Emalie shoved the beetle into her mouth. She crunched down on it, wincing, then gulped it down. “Ugh,” she muttered, “That was terr—”

Her eyes suddenly rolled back in her head. In the glow of battle light from below, Oliver saw her skin seem to crystallize, the blood draining from her cheeks. Her mouth stuck open, her breath dying in her throat, and she fell back to the grass.

“Emalie!” Dean cried.

But the world of the letter was already fading around them.

“No!” Oliver protested again.

And then the fire-filled night in Arcana swirled away, dissolving in a white blur, and Oliver and Dean found themselves back in the stone chamber, breathless.

“Did she just—” Dean began, but didn’t finish.

Oliver just stared at him as if to say,
yes
. “That was a Reaper beetle. They’re full of lethal toxin. She … probably thought it was the only way to avoid the prophecy. …” But even as the words were coming out, it just didn’t sound much like Emalie. It was too simple. Then a thought occurred to him, and he felt himself sway on his feet.

“What?” Dean asked.

But Oliver didn’t answer. He dropped the letter to the floor, and looked at the long, coffin-sized table before them. He’d already noticed that the padlock on its front was still there, but now he saw that it was unlatched.

He pulled off the lock, hurling it across the room, and hauled open the heavy lid.

Inside was the still body of Emalie.

Chapter 12

Arrivals and Departures

“Is she dead?” asked Dean.

Oliver looked at her. Emalie. Right here beneath them. Still dressed in the clothes they’d seen in the letter. If Oliver understood correctly, Emalie was only three months older than when she’d left for Arcana. And she looked the same, really, except …

Her lips were blue, her eyelids a bruised purple. There was a thin film of dust across her face, almost like powder.

“She’s been lying here for over two hundred years,” said Dean, “hasn’t she?”

Oliver nodded. “She must have paid Aeonian Services to take her away that night, right after the letter ended.” Oliver felt a burst of relief. “So, Illisius didn’t get her, otherwise she wouldn’t be here.”

Dean stared down at her. “But she’s dead.”

Oliver considered the bluish tinges, the pale color of her skin. It definitely looked lifeless. He bent over and aimed his sensitive vampire ear at her heart. Nothing. “But,” he said, “she’s not dead, otherwise that blue color would be gone. The blood would’ve evaporated. And even if this box was airtight, there would still be necrosis, bacteria, mold—”

“You mean she’d look like me,” said Dean.

“Worse, probably,” said Oliver. “So, it’s probably some kind of eternal sleep type enchantment. Her body’s in something like Staesys, where everything is slowed down to the point where it’s imperceptible.”

“You mean she’s hibernating?”

“Basically. The question is how to wake her up.” Oliver glanced around the edges of the box. Maybe there was a potion, or an incantation to read, some instruction for who to contact. … But there was nothing in the box other than Emalie and her bag, which was clutched tight under her crossed arms. He thought about checking her pockets but he didn’t want to touch her while she was like this. “There’s got to be something.” He started looking around the corners of the room.

“That’s some fairy-tale stuff,” said Dean absently. “Sleeping Beauty and all that.”

Oliver stopped in his tracks. A nervous spike drove into his gut. “Oh no.” He returned to the coffin.

“What?” Dean asked.

Oliver gripped the stone edge of the box with both hands. “Fairy-tale stuff,” he said blankly. He felt like his head had detached from his body, like he was unsticking from gravity.

“So?”

“So, she said to remember those words:
Now it’s my turn.
”

“Your turn to what?” Dean asked. “I don’t—” his eyes widened. “Oh.”

Oliver looked up at him nervously.

Dean burst out laughing. “If that’s how she made the enchantment, she might be the most evil of all of us!”

“Great,” Oliver said weakly. It made sense. And while it made him tight and uncomfortable like he was in wrong-sized skin made of sandpaper, it was also kind of amazing because it meant that …

Dean sighed loudly. “Hello! End of the world is Tuesday, lover boy. Get on with it.”

“Right,” said Oliver. He looked at Emalie’s pale, blue-tinted face. At her sleeping eyes. At her lips …

And he leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn’t warm. Her lips were cold, but still somewhat soft, maybe like kissing a vinyl patio chair, or something else outdoors that was slightly damp and mostly smooth, but yet also smelled just a touch like mildew and death. He pressed his lips against hers, and though he still felt that weightless loss of balance, like his anchor had lifted and he was floating on a sea, he also felt disappointed. This thing he’d been thinking about for two years, that he’d imagined a million ways … it wasn’t supposed to go like this. Technically, this was his first kiss, after all, and—

Suddenly a hand clamped on the back of Oliver’s neck. His eyes popped open and there were Emalie’s wide, dark irises, pupils huge, staring at him, her fingers digging into his skin—

“Gah!” Oliver pulled away as Emalie bolted up. Her mouth was open, her eyes bugging, arms flailing in stiff motions like she was made of metal with rusted joints. Her face contorted and she grabbed at her throat. Her mouth opened but there was no sound.

“She can’t breathe!” Dean rushed behind her, threw his arms around her waist and pulled in quick thrusts.

Emalie convulsed, her face turning bright red, her eyes watering. Dean pulled again. She made a hacking sound and something shot from her mouth, hitting Oliver in the face with a splat. The crushed shell of the Reaper beetle fell to the floor.

Emalie hauled in a gallon of air, her body heaving, then she gasped and coughed viciously. Her legs began to twitch, her hands rubbing around her neck as if something heavy had just been removed.

“Emalie,” said Dean. He patted her back. “Hey, cuz. Welcome back.”

Emalie blinked hard, then looked up. She turned and saw Dean, then she looked at Oliver. She nodded slowly. “Whoa,” she said hoarsely. She gazed around at the stone room. “It worked.” She looked back to Oliver. “You figured out what to do.”

Then she smiled. Dead for two hundred years, but her devilish nature was alive and well.

Oliver looked away. “Yeah.”

“Nice touch,” said Dean sarcastically.

“Ooh,” Emalie was trying to swing her legs over the side of the coffin, but winced.

“Here,” said Dean. He hoisted her out and placed her on her feet.

Emalie wobbled for a second before gaining her footing. She brushed the centuries of dust off her clothes. “Thanks,” she said to Dean, and for just a second her gaze fell on Dean’s ruined skin. “It’s not going well, is it?”

“No,” said Dean. “But it’s better now that you’re back. And I’ll be okay.”

“It’s good. …” Oliver began, but then paused. He wanted her to know how glad he was to see her, how much he’d missed her, but he wanted to say it just right—

Emalie laughed. “Don’t hurt yourself,” she said. “I’m glad to be back, too.” She threw out her arms and wrapped them both in a quick, tight hug. “I missed you both.”

Oliver felt like his words were still lost, but Dean said, “We missed you, too.”

Emalie pulled away. “Blech.” She hacked and made a sick face. “I eat bugs far too often with you guys.” She turned and grabbed her shoulder bag from the coffin. “Okay, first things first: I brought souvenirs!”

She rooted in her bag and removed a necklace, which she handed to Dean. “New Hindrian charm for you, to resist Lythia’s orders.” She searched around more. “And for Oliver, we have …” She pulled out a small glass jar that seemed to be filled with soil. “Here it is. We need to get that ankle thingy off you.”

Oliver looked at the jar. “How?”

“Pull up your jeans and I’ll show ya.” She winked at him and knelt down. Oliver did as he was told. Emalie unscrewed the top of the jar and dug her fingers inside. “Heeeeere we are.” She pulled out a small, black flatworm. She held it by its end as it squirmed. “Okay, don’t make any sudden movements. …” She knelt down and held the worm directly above the ankle sensor.

“What is it with this sensor and slimy things?” Dean wondered aloud.

Oliver just watched. “You know what you’re doing, right?”

“In theory,” said Emalie. She pulled a small dagger from her bag and sliced the worm open. Black juice bubbled out, the drops falling, and as soon as they hit the metal, it began to hiss and make a small black cloud. “Don’t let it touch you,” she warned.

“Right,” said Oliver. It already had touched him and the pain was unreal, but he saw that the worm’s juices were dissolving the ankle bracelet. A moment later he was able to flick it free. Only a little bit of his flesh was tattooed and smoking from the process.

“Thanks,” said Oliver.

“Don’t mention it,” said Emalie. She reached into her bag again and removed a diamond-shaped mirror with a jade border. “I have this, too. I borrowed it from my mom, in case we need to contact the Architects.”

“Nice,” said Dean.

“Now,” said Emalie, “time to get to work.”

Oliver just watched as Emalie rummaged through her bag again. Here she was, finally back, and it was business as usual. Oliver didn’t know what he’d expected, but he felt a little frustrated by it.

There will be plenty of time to catch up after we save the world
, Emalie suddenly said inside his head.

Oliver flinched. Her thought felt like an electric charge through his mind.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. You guys are doing your telepathy thing, aren’t you?”

“Sorry,” Emalie said to Dean. She glanced at Oliver. “It’s … okay, right? I mean, I could stay out. …”

“No, it’s fine,” said Oliver, and he thought that it was. Having Emalie’s voice in his head, and the knowledge that she was hearing his thoughts: actually it was the least alone he’d felt in a long time.