Charmfall (11 page)

“Could this be a trap?” I asked, my hands shaking with nerves and adrenaline. I squeezed my fingers around the bug to keep from dropping it.

“It’s not a trap,” Detroit said. “It’s an Enclave Two–style mission. You can do this.”

“You can do it,” Scout agreed, putting an arm around my shoulder. “Pop in, pop on, pop out. Get it done right and I’ll let you borrow my messenger bag, skull and all.”

I laughed nervously. “I don’t even like your messenger bag. It creeps me out.”

“Even better.” She slapped me on the butt like I was a quarterback who had to save the game at the last minute. Which I kind of was.

“All right,” Detroit said. “The coast isn’t going to get any clearer.
Go
.”

I took a step outside the tunnel, bathed in light and totally obvious, and it took me a moment to get my feet moving again.

But then I
hauled
. I ran to the steps and took them two at a time, then put an ear to the metal door. It was thick, and I couldn’t hear anything through it, so I couldn’t be sure there wasn’t a Reaper on the other side. But no sound was better than the sound of chatty Reapers, so I turned the knob.

Nothing happened. It was
locked
.

“Crap,” I muttered, and jiggled the handle again.

Nothing at all.

I glanced back at the Adepts, who all shrugged, their faces blank. If the door was locked and we didn’t have a key, this mission was dead on arrival.

One way or the other, I needed to make a decision.

I looked back at the door. It was metal and rusty, and pretty old looking. Maybe it wasn’t locked. . . . Maybe it was just stuck.

I stuffed the beetle into my pocket, put both hands on the doorknob, blew out a breath, and then turned it with every ounce of energy I had. It finally popped open.

I peeked into the sanctuary—the hallway was empty. I stepped inside and edged toward the wall, then crept in the direction of the door to the main room.

There were doors on both sides of the hall. On our last visit, those rooms had been empty except for some rusting equipment. Expecting to see the same thing, I peeked into one. But instead, the room held lab equipment, the kind of stuff we’d seen in the sanctuary Scout had imploded. And in the middle of the room were two ladies in white lab coats. They stood together, soda cans in hand, chatting happily—as if they weren’t part of a team that sucked the wispy souls out of teenagers to survive. Sometimes, I just didn’t understand adults.

I’d been so busy being angry that they were just standing there chatting that I forgot where I was and what I was doing. Both of them suddenly turned toward the door. I immediately ducked down, heart pounding, and squeezed my eyes closed. Had they seen me? Were they calling security?

But after a couple of seconds, no one burst into the hallway. It was still quiet and empty, and I took that as my cue to get on with my job and get back into the tunnels.

I ran to the end of the hall and peeked into the final door to confirm it was the room where Scout had been held. It was. The banner still hung at one end of the room, and the table where Scout had been buckled sat empty in front of it, waiting for a soul to steal. The Reapers had added more decorations now, so the room looked more like a throne room. Scary thought.

I pulled the beetle from my pocket and stuck it to the wall about five feet from the ground and a foot or so from the door. Standing back, it looked just like an ordinary bug. We might not get much use out of it before a Reaper decided to do a little pest control, but hopefully it would work for a little while. I pushed the button beneath the wings, and when the light popped on, I took off again, not even worrying about the sound of my footsteps in the hallway.

I hit the metal door at a sprint, pushed through it, bounded down the stairs, and popped back into the tunnel. Everybody wrapped me in a hug.

And for a moment, until the claustrophobia kicked in, it was pretty awesome.

“Okay,” Detroit said, when they finally let me go. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” She lifted her wrist to show her giant black watch. She pressed a couple of buttons on the side, and the screen blinked to life.

It showed a grainy black-and-white picture of the banner room. I closed my eyes in relief; the camera worked. Detroit adjusted the sound until it was just loud enough to hear, and we crowded around to watch.

The banner room was mostly empty, but Jeremiah’s tall, white-haired form was unmistakable. He wore a black suit, and his hands were behind his back. He stood in a circle with a few other men who were yelling at him.

“No,” one of them was saying, “we
don’t
trust your leadership. Why should we?”

“We have no magic,” said another. “And we’ve heard Adepts have no magic, either. We want to know who’s to blame for that.”

Jeremiah tipped his aristocratic nose in the air. “You believe I am to blame?”

“We believe we have questions,” said the first guy, “and we aren’t getting any answers. We’d like some now. Namely, how do we know you aren’t the one to blame?”

Jeremiah bared his teeth, and with lightning-quick moves, grabbed the man by the collar of his suit and pushed him until his back hit the wall. And then Jeremiah lifted him up until the guy’s feet dangled a foot in the air. The man scrambled to free himself, grasping at Jeremiah’s fingers.

For an old guy, Jeremiah was strong.

“Should we do something?” I wondered.

“It’s not our fight,” Jason whispered. “Besides—what could we do?”

“Do you have issues with my leadership?” Jeremiah asked him.

“I—I—I have issues with not having mag-mag-magic.”

“I have not caused this outbreak, but I will fix it, just as I have fixed every other problem we have encountered over the years. Now, Hamilton, do you have any doubts about me?”

“N-n-no, sir.”

Jeremiah dropped his hands and stepped back. The man fell to the ground and put a hand to his neck, rubbing his throat.

“What if Adepts are doing this?” he choked out. “What if this is part of their rebellion against us?”

Jeremiah dusted off his hands and walked a few feet away. “The vast majority of Adepts don’t have the power to pull this off. And it certainly isn’t their style to take power away from everyone.”

“The vast majority?” asked a trim man who stood beside Jeremiah—one who had watched him manhandle Hamilton without blinking or intervening.

Jeremiah glanced back at him. “The spellbinder has the strength to do this, although I doubt she has the will. In either event, the
Grimoire
is more important now than ever. We will obtain it. We will find the magic that reverses whatever is being done here, and we will correct it.” He looked at the man to his right. “All plans are in place?”

“Of course,” he said.

“In that case, we’re done here. I sincerely hope we don’t need to have this discussion again.” He gave everyone a harsh look, and when they murmured their good-byes, walked away.

Detroit turned off the camera, and for a second, we all stood there quietly.

I looked at Scout. Sebastian had been right again. “He thinks you turned off the power, and they’re coming for the
Grimoire
. They already have a plan.”

“I could do it,” she said confidently. “But I didn’t. And they
aren’t
getting my
Grimoire
.”

“But why do they think you did it?” Michael asked.

“Because she’s a spellbinder,” Detroit said, “not just a spellcaster. She can make spells
and
cast them, and the
Grimoire
is all that magical information together in one place. They think she has the key to fixing the blackout.”

“Which clearly she doesn’t,” I said. “Scout didn’t write the spell for it, and she didn’t cast the spell for it. But if the Adepts didn’t cause it, and Jeremiah’s crew didn’t cause it, who did, and
why
?” I said. “If they’ve turned off the Reapers’ magic and ours, what’s the reason?”

“Maybe they think magic is all bad,” Detroit said. “Maybe they want to eradicate it completely.”

“Maybe it’s worse,” I said, looking at the Adepts. “Maybe whoever did this wants to be able to pick and choose who gets to use magic and when they get to use it.”

“Someone with a lot of ego,” Scout quietly said. “Someone who wants a lot of control.”

“You heard those guys earlier,” I said. “Someone’s unhappy about Jeremiah, and rumors are floating around about who that is.”

Jason looked at me. “Is it wrong that I feel better knowing Jeremiah feels worse?”

“Amen to that,” Scout said. “Now let’s get out of here and take that little victory while we can.”

We were suddenly blinded by light.

“What are you doing in here?”

My heart nearly stopped. It was the Reapers we’d overheard earlier—now pointing flashlights in our faces and standing between us and the way out.

“We got lost,” Michael said. “School project.”

“Oh, yeah?” asked the older of the two men. “Doing what?”

I was surprised he even bothered to ask. I’d have thought the Reapers had our faces memorized. Scout’s at least. But maybe they weren’t in the loop. Maybe we just looked like obnoxious kids.

“We’re mapping the tunnels,” Scout said. She pulled the notebook from her bag and showed it to them. “For geography class.”

The guys looked at each other, obviously suspicious. The older one began slapping his giant, metal flashlight against his hand.

“Get Jeremiah,” he said, and the younger one pulled out a cell phone and started dialing.

My heart. They may not have magic, but they had a sanctuary full of Reapers and medical instruments and an abnormally strong Scion.

“Oh, God,” Scout said quietly. “We are so screwed.”

“We aren’t screwed,” Jason whispered. “I’m counting down. When I get to three, make a run for it. Go back to the Enclave, and don’t stop, whatever you hear.”

“I’m not leaving without you.” I wasn’t sure what these nonmagical Reapers could do to him, but I wasn’t going to leave him here alone to find out.

“I trusted you,” he said, eyes flashing chartreuse and turquoise. “This time, I need you to trust me. I’ll be fine. One, two,
three
.”

He said it loudly enough that we could all hear. We parted ways—Scout and me on one side of him, Detroit and Michael on the other. As we split, a different kind of light filled the tunnel. With a bone-chilling growl, a great silver wolf jumped between us into the air. He landed on the men, who hit the ground on their backs. We jumped around them as they cursed and began kicking and scrapping to get Jason off them.

We ran as fast as we could down the tunnel, and made it to the end of the next passageway before a wolfish yelp filled the air.

I froze in the middle of the passage. “I have to go back. He might be hurt.”

But Scout grabbed my hand and yanked me back down the hallway. “He let you do your part earlier. It’s his turn. He told you to run, so you run.”

“Scout—” I pleaded, but she shook her head.

It was hard to admit, but she was right. I had to trust him, even though it was one of the hardest things I’d ever done.

*  *  *

We made it back to the Enclave without anybody following, at least as far as we knew.

I’d hoped we’d walk into the Enclave to find Jason sitting at the table, but of course he wasn’t there.

We took seats at the table and told Daniel what we’d seen.

And then we waited.

After a while, when I couldn’t bear to sit any longer, I stood up and paced back and forth across the room, waiting for him to show up outside the door, all sorts of horrible scenarios running through my mind. When Scout had been kidnapped, we’d found her strapped down to a table. Was he in the same predicament? Did he make it back, or . . . When an hour passed, I stopped pacing and looked back at Daniel. “I can’t stay here anymore. I have to go find him.”

“He told you to stay here,” Scout said. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor against the wall, Michael beside her, his head on her shoulder, staring off into space. I wondered if he worried like I did. They were best friends, after all.

“Yeah, but they also told me not to go look for you.”

“True,” she said. She gave that a nod, then looked at Daniel. “What do you think?”

He checked his watch. “The tunnels are deep. He could have led them on a chase to get away.”

“Or he could be stuck in there right now,” Detroit said. “I’ll go with you if you want me to.”

I smiled at her. “Thanks,” I said, but unlike the last time I’d gone off on a rescue mission, I was now part of a team. I wasn’t going to go without an okay from the boss.

“He’s good at being a wolf, Lily,” Michael said. “And if we walk into his plan, and you put yourself in danger, he’s not going to like it. Give him five minutes more.”

“I don’t know what five minutes is going to do—” I began, but stopped when someone kicked open the door.

We all looked up. Nicu stood in the doorway, Jason at his side. He was back in human form, but he was pretty well scratched up, and he was leaning on Nicu for support.

Daniel and Michael rushed to the door and helped Jason to the table. I ran to him, pulled off my cardigan, and pressed it to a cut on his cheek. It was long and deep—deep enough to leave a scar.

“What happened?” Daniel asked.

“He was being chased by Jeremiah’s minions,” Nicu said, straightening his dark coat.

“They have a wolf,” Jason said, then let out a string of curses. “A
wolf
.”

“Not someone you knew?” Nicu asked.

“We don’t all know each other,” Jason grumbled, wincing as I touched the fabric gently to his face.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m trying not to hurt you. Worse, I mean.”

“It’s okay. Thanks for taking care of me.” The slightly goofy smile on his face brought tears to my eyes. He was hurt, and I did not care for that. If I’d had firespell, the Reapers would be in for a very, very bad night. And speaking of bad nights . . . “How did you two find each other?” I asked Nicu. He looked away, and that irritated me even more.