A Matter of Heart (58 page)

She attempted to fix it, but
cautioned that it felt like a cancerous growth. “I can’t get rid of it
entirely,” she’d fretted. “I’ve never felt one like this before. You need to go
see Kate Blackthorn. You need a Shaman on the Council.”

I’m
glad it’s bad, because it’s like well-deserved punishment. So I’m left with a
partially fixed ulcer that bleeds and cramps and reminds me all day, every
second, that the stress in my life is going nowhere. Jonah’s not speaking to
me, even though I see him, and Kellan’s not seeing me, even though we talk, and
I feel like the walls are closing in on me.

Paavo called to tell me that
Kellan confirmed my whereabouts and the case against me is, once again, closed.
Jens is still missing, ironically from the same Elvin plane that three Guard
went missing from earlier in the year, and the Guard is in such a tizzy that
Karl tells us everyone is afraid to even breathe.

“There are a lot of
accusations going on,” he says to Jonah, who I should point out, is freely
speaking to our friends but still not to me. “And people are getting nervous.
How is it that four Guard have gone missing in one year?”

“Jens Belladonna is no
longer part of the Guard,” Jonah tersely reminds Karl.

“You know what I mean. The other
ones, well—a lot of people thought it might’ve been because they weren’t
experienced or powerful. Jens was, though. Jens may’ve been an ass, but he was
very strong.”

“Do you know what he’d been
up to?” Jonah asks, motioning to the waitress to bring more coffee. We’re out
at lunch with Karl and Moira, and if either of our friends has noticed that
Jonah hasn’t said one word to me, they haven’t indicated it.

“Elders recon,” Karl says,
sipping his espresso. “At least, that’s what I heard. Was taking matters into
his own hands.”

Jonah doesn’t say anything.

“I overheard Battletracker
saying he found a journal Jens was keeping. He mentioned the possibility of
finding the hive.”

“Hive?” I ask. Emily, who
I’ve been bouncing on my lap, tugs at one of my loose strands of hair. This
earns her a kiss, of course.

“Their home base,” Moira
says, tugging my hair out of her daughter’s strong yet chubby fingers. “We
figure they’ve got to be regrouping at a hive of sorts. It seems more and more
like there is a leader issuing commands and there’s soldiers carrying out the
orders.”

“Why the Elvin plane?” I
ask.

“Sightings, mostly,” Karl
admits. “There’s been a pattern—sightings on Elvin soil usually occur shortly
after attacks on other planes. There aren’t always attacks during these
sightings, either, and they’re not always Magical sightings. Non-Magical
publications and news sources have been reporting them on the Elvin plane.”

“Interesting,” Jonah says,
setting his coffee down. “And sloppy. Up until now, they’ve been very careful
about concealing their presence pre and post attacks.”

“The only times I can
remember them blatantly risking detection was when they gunned for Chloe,”
Moira says. She hands me a spoon for Emily to play with. “I remember how tough
it was for the Guard to go into the area and wipe out the public’s
recollections of strange, black shifting masses afterwards.”

“And,” Karl adds, “if you
think about it, they weren’t careful when they were attacking the cave Chloe
and Kellan were trapped in. Remember, when we got there, they’d been slamming
it straight for days.”

I tense at the mention of
Kellan’s name. But if Jonah is tense, he’s not letting our friends see that,
either. “Well,” he says, “like Moira pointed out, it was during an effort to
get to Chloe. Normally, though, they’re pretty careful. Think about how quiet
the one was that we trapped in California. Have you had any success tracking
the hive? I haven’t gotten a report from you guys in two weeks.”

The smile Emily gives me
warms my entire being. I wish I could bottle toddler love. I could use it
whenever I feel my worst, which is all too often lately. Emily doesn’t judge.
To her, I’m just Auntie Chloe, not Heartbreaker At Large.

“We currently have three
Trackers on the Elvin plane looking,” Karl says. “And we’ve got a few
Intellectuals working on some map configurations based on the sightings.
Personally,” he says, leaning in closer and lowering his voice, “I have my
suspicions that the Guard disappearances are due to the Elders, and we just
haven’t found the bodies yet.”

“This is old news,” Moira
says grimly. “Everyone who has a brain in their heads knows this. Chloe, I hope
you believe that no one other than Jens, and now Paavo, ever thought you were
capable of—”

“I know,” I tell her,
putting my hand over hers and squeezing. Emily bends in my arms so she can add
a hand, too. “But thanks anyways.”

“Most of the murders and
attacks have been targeted towards powerful Magicals,” Karl says. “It’s rare
that anyone of a lesser skill will be singled out. Cora, no offense, was merely
a tool to get to you, Chloe. She was an anomaly.” He drums his fingers against
the table but stops when the table trembles below us. Moira rolls her eyes.
Emily claps her hands and squeals. “What we’re not sure about yet is what the Elders
are doing with the people they attack and kill,” Karl continues. “Simply taking
out the competition? For revenge? Or are they capable of doing something with a
Magical?”

“Like what?” I ask.

“We’re not sure,” Moira
says. “But the big theory lately has the Elders capable of collecting the life
force or energies of their victims.”

“Which leads one to assume,”
Jonah adds, “that they’re targeting specific Magicals. For specific skills.”

“Exactly,” Karl says,
leaning back in his chair.

No
one has to look at me to let me know exactly why I’d be such a prize to capture
and kill.

Over the next week, there’s
a spat of Elder attacks on various planes, with one murder. Both Kellan and
Jonah are sent out on missions, leading me into fretful frenzies over the
possibility of them being targeted. Their power levels are the same, despite
Kellan being Guard and Jonah Council. And if the Elders want power, they’d get
it in spades when it comes to the two most powerful Emotionals alive.

I overhear Jonah arguing
with Paavo one night in his side of the apartments about the need for me to
stay in Annar. Paavo wants me out on a mission, just in case. “She’s a
Destroyer!”

“She’s also our only
Creator,” Jonah snaps in returns. “And I’d bet if you petitioned the Council
for her presence on the missions, after what happened to her last time, they’ll
laugh you out of chambers.”

“We could use her. You’re
only saying no because she’s your fiancée!”

“Maybe if there were two
Creators,” Jonah counters, “it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but as there is
only one, whether or not she’s my fiancée, she’s considered to be one of the
top priorities of the Council. Unless it’s absolutely necessary for her
abilities, and frankly, I’m not convinced right now that it is, Chloe stays in
Annar.”

“Dammit, Whitecomb,” Paavo
hollers, “don’t you understand—”

“I do! Of course I do! I’m
out there on missions, too, in case you haven’t noticed! But there are many
Emotionals right now. There’s only
one
Creator. If I fall, someone else
will take my place. There’s nobody to take hers. Are you really willing to risk
a Council without a Creator? Don’t you remember what happened before when that
was the case?”

I press closer to the
doorway separating our two apartments so I can hear better. I have no idea what
Jonah’s referring to; as far as I know, there’s always been at least one
Creator around.

“I know,” Paavo concedes.
“It’s just, well, we could really use her.”

“I
guess you’re stuck using the rest of us,” Jonah shoots back. “So go and do your
job and figure out a way to effectively use what you’ve got.”

Of course I go to see
Etienne and Maccon.

“There’s only been one
recorded instance in which our society has been without a Creator,” my
Storyteller friend muses over his addictive Elvin tea. “And it was a very ugly,
dark time.”

“How so?” I ask.

“I tell you this as a
friend,” Etienne says, getting up to close his office door. Mac pours us fresh
cups. “And also because you’re first tier Council and you have the rights and
clearance to demand such information. But you need to know it’s not for common
knowledge.”

“Of course,” I assure him.
By now, I’m dying of curiosity.

Etienne sits back down.
“This was roughly six hundred years ago, which, if you remember from your
studies, was during what was called the Dark Ages on many of the planes.
Non-Magical histories all detail exactly why they believe civilizations
descended into such unenlightenment, as well as various stages of squalor and
chaos, but the truth is, there was no Creator living. The Council was without,
the planes were without, and civilizations suffered for it.”

“Why was there no Creator?”

“He’d died,” Etienne says,
stroking his chin thoughtfully. “And the records as to why are very unclear.
Even I, as a Storyteller, couldn’t tell you the exact reason. There are
innuendos it was murder, but there are also accounts of sickness.”

“What about the Elders?”

“The Elders weren’t up and
running at that point,” Mac says.

“And sickness?” I ask. We
don’t tend to get sick often, at least, not by infectious diseases.

“There are still some
diseases that may strike a Magical and can prove to be fatal if a Shaman isn’t
nearby to counter it.”

“But, if someone is on the
Council, you’d think that access to healthcare—”

“Yes, peach. One would
assume that. Thus the previous clarification that these are all rumors about
Ulreath Twistershield’s death.”

“He was a Goblin,” I say,
surprised. Goblins are tough and smart, exceedingly difficult to catch off
guard.

Mac grins at my obvious
compliment.

“Yes, and quite a powerful
Creator to boot,” Etienne says. “His death was devastating for the Council and
the different planes. It took well over a hundred years for another Creator to
be born. Nature abhors a vacuum, plum.”

“So, all the chaos was due
to the lack of existence rather than a lack of presence?”

He cocks his head at me.
“What’s the difference?”

“I’m asking if things went
badly because he was dead or simply not present in Council meetings.”

Mac laughs. “Oh, don’t we
all wish we could miss those meetings.”

Etienne flicks a piece of
tea biscuit at his friend. “To answer your question, it was because he was
dead. I don’t think it matters if a Magical is present here in Annar to work
their wares or if they’re in some remote cave pretending to be a hermit. It’s
the actual life that Fate cares for, not their location.”

Interesting. I think of our
previous conversations about evil Creators. “Was this Ulreath a good guy?”

“He was,” Mac says. “Very
wise, very strong, very well liked. He’s like a rock star for Magical Goblin
kids. Which is part of the mystery as to why he died at the age of fifty.”

“Fifty!” I gasp. Unheard of
for a Magical.

“Exactly,”
Etienne says grimly. “Which is why, pumpkin, when the Council says stay, you
need to stay. We’re not risking you.”

Stay.

Stay, of course, is a tough
thing to do when all I do lately is imagine running.

I haven’t daydreamed about
truly escaping in two years now, not since Jonah came back into my life. But I
do now, especially when the pain in my stomach intensifies to the point I throw
up blood, or when I see either Jonah or Kellan in abject misery over something
I’ve done, said, or even simply because I exist and they’re cursed to love me.

It’s not to say I want to
leave them, because that’d be a lie. Imagining life without either man is so
painful it knocks the breath out of my chest every time. But, I’m also coming
to a point where I doubt there’s any viable solution to our problems.

It’s now been two weeks
since I’ve gotten back from Hawaii. Two weeks of Jonah in angry pain. Two weeks
of Kellan being forced into isolated pain, not just from me, but from his twin.
Two weeks of me wondering, yet again, why I’m forced to love two people with
everything that makes me me.

And so I’m wondering about
what Etienne has said to me and what it might mean if I leave. It’s not like
I’ve done anything earth shattering during my tenure in the Council. I’ve built
portals, ruined a few deserted cities, stuff like that. Killed innocent people
when I didn’t even know I was doing it, if Belladonna is to be believed. Please
gods, let him have been lying to me. In the end, for all my bluster about
needing to know, I’ve been too scared to confirm any of his accusations, even
though I’m fairly certain he was right. I guess everyone was right—sometimes,
for sanity’s sake, ignorance is best. In any case, there’s nothing that seems
to corroborate everyone’s battle cry of, “The Creator is necessary!” So, I’m
thinking Etienne may have a point. My presence in the worlds should be enough
to keep things afloat.