Storm (18 page)

“That mauve one?”

I open my mouth then pause. I’ve never mentioned any of this before. “You know about that?”

“Carter may have mentioned it.”

Carter…wait. “You talk to Carter?”

“Only once. He called me yesterday and asked me if you’d mentioned anyone named Lia. That’s the mauve demon’s name, right?”

I can’t believe Carter’s been talking to Ric about me. About me. And trying to find out information about the demon. Nerves liquefy to red hot anger. That’s not his place to talk to my best friend for information. Ric doesn’t have information, but that’s not the point. Carter doesn’t trust me.

In my silence, Ric says, “Are you hanging out with a demon? What’s going on there?”

“Nothing,” I snap. I can’t believe I almost told him about this. I won’t now that I know he could turn around and tell Carter.

“Penelope, you can tell me if you’re in trouble.”

“I already said I couldn’t,” I yell into the phone.

Ric’s voice gets higher, more frantic. “So, you are in trouble?”

“No,” I snap. “God. Just forget it.”

He cusses at me and that pisses me off even more. “What’s going on? Carter and I love you. Your Gran said that you—”

“You’ve been talking to Gran too?”

He must hear the annoyance in my voice because his tone softens. “A couple times. We’re all worried about you.”

Everyone has been talking about me to each other behind my back. They’re all plotting against me. “Don’t be. I’m fine. You know what? I’m amazing.”

“You don’t sound fine or amazing.”

I hit him where I know it will cause the most pain. I want him to feel how I do right now. “You aren’t even here, Ric. You don’t know anything about me.”

His words rush out on the line. “You’re right. I’m sorry that I was injured on your patrol, and my partner died and I had to leave against my will. How selfish of me, Penelope. You’ve been my best friend forever, so sue me for being worried. At least you have people who worry about you. Where have you been the last month? You haven’t called to ask how I’m doing, how I’m coping. You’ve been playing with demons.”

“Screw you. You know nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“I shouldn’t have called.”

And then I hang up.

I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone checking up on me. I’ll do what I planned to do and save my sister and then the Statics. I don’t need anyone to tell me it’s right or wrong. I have to undo this, or no one else will.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Carter

Two days until the Observance. Beyond my duties with my father, I’ve spent all my time reading books. My eyes are heavy as I turn the page.

A sage foretold of Taliel’s chosen. It is said that the gift will be given during the Observance between midnight and dawn. During this time, a singular witch will be born. This sole witch will have enough power to eliminate the void or the essence
forever. The control of this witch, the side to which the being pledges loyalty, will receive the prize, for the other side will cease to be. The eternal struggle between good and evil would be no more. This witch alone will be able to choose which side, good or evil, essence or void, will remain. The other will be destroyed.

Shit.

I straighten up in my chair. This is the jackpot. I’ve read pieces of pieces, but nothing like this.

This sole witch will not yet be made by the eighteenth year, and will be able to access both sides of the magic. This witch shall be willing and have used both sides of the magics before. When chosen, the witch will be at the center source for either side, void or essence, and from there use the opposite magic and ritual to destroy the other side, as only one can exist at a time within a source without complication.

I look up and Poncho is standing across from me, eyes on me. “If this is true, then it happens in two days.” Penelope. She’s this. She can use both sides. She has before, anyway, all she’d have to do is choose.

How has the Triad kept this a secret? “I’ve never heard about any of this before.”

Because the Triad, since our creation, only tells half-truths and keeps things buried. They cover up situations, lie instead of fix them. I’m the perfect example.

My mind flashes through all the warnings that my dad ever gave me about halflings.
Dangerous. Deadly. Abominations. Feared.
The way there’d be a kid in my classes who was there one day and gone the next. When I was younger, Dad would tell me they moved. After I learned what I was, he told me that they were killed. All those halflings. That they were a threat, and he never told me why. I never asked, either. I couldn’t.

“This is why they get rid of halflings, isn’t it?” I ask.

Poncho nods. “Every Triad, past and present, has been aware of this legend. Current leaders may not remember the full story, but it’s why Enforcer testing is mandatory. The reason it was created to begin with.”

“They were looking for the most powerful witch,” I say.

It makes sense now. They’ve been adamant for decades about everyone being tested for the role of Enforcer. It’s the perfect way to discover halflings. They’re controlled by the fear of this sole witch. If someone existed with that much power, then it could destroy the whole world we’ve built. The Triad looks for halflings, gets rid of them so they can’t threaten life, and continues to exist. Fear keeps us all alive, and it keeps the Triad blind in their prejudice.

Poncho nods. “The leaders of the past were adamant about responding to this threat, and they pulled out the strongest witches as Enforcers, a way to search for warning signs that one may be more than a normal witch.”

I cross my arms. “Surely the current Triad is aware of this threat, too.”

Poncho crinkles his eyes and his brow furrows. “When you wait centuries for a thing that never happens, it often gets forgotten. If such a witch were to exist, the power would shift. A choice for demons or for witches that would rid the threat of the other forever. There would no longer be a war.”

And this is why they’re acting weird. They don’t want to react poorly to the Statics, because what if one of them ends up being this gift? So, they mark them, keep them from becoming powerful. And Penelope—it’s the same thing. If she can’t access the void, then she can’t be the threat to end the witches.

“It’s Penelope,” I say. I look at Poncho. All the warnings from Vassago make sense now.

CHECK. REMAIN. DAGGER. MAUVE. OBSERVANCE. QUEEN.

The mauve demon is using her. She’s the gift, the queen Lucifer was looking for—she’s the sole witch who can destroy the other side.

Magic is a balance.

If the void is destroyed and there are no demons, there’d be no need for witches. We were only created because of the demons. But they were here first. If we didn’t have magic, if they succeed in destroying the essence, then they’d be the most powerful beings again. The earth would be their playground. That can’t happen.

This is why I’m in a checkmate: I have to save her or lose her.

I grab my bag. I have to go find Penelope. I have to tell her. I pause and look at Poncho. “This choice will destroy all witches if she chooses the void?” Poncho nods. “And all demons, if she goes the other way?”

Poncho nods. “Anyone with a connection to the void.”

The void…“Even halflings?”

“Even so.” He says.

That includes Pen. And me.

…

Pen is using the void, and she’s changing because of it. Even though her essence is bound by the mark, the void isn’t affected. The demon said as much. If Pen really is the one who should be able to access both sides, the gift from Taliel to Lucifer, then I need to figure out how to stop her and the threat she poses to witches and demons everywhere. She can’t know she’s a threat to everything, can she? Would Pen still do this if she knew it would wipe out a whole race? She wouldn’t. I have to believe she wouldn’t.

I walk past some tourists pointing at the Washington Monument. I can’t find Pen. She’d never be here, but she’s not anywhere else, either. Not at St. Elmo’s. Or home. Her car isn’t parked at any of the trails, so she’s not on a run. She’s not at the mall. She’s not getting ice cream or pizza, and she’s not on the hill. She wouldn’t be here, either, but demons are sometimes. If she’s not answering any of my calls then my only hope is to find the mauve demon.

The light on my demon tracker blinks a steady blue pulse. Vassago is nearby. He’s not the one I thought I’d find, but maybe that’s better.

There are people everywhere. Tourists and locals who came to spend the summer in the city. A mist of rain starts to fall, but no one seems deterred by it. The weather has been unpredictable all month. I weave through the crowds at the Washington Monument toward the Smithsonian, but the blinking stops. Wrong way.

I follow the tracker in the other direction, past the monuments, until I’m standing near a perfect rectangle of water. The Reflecting Pool. At one end is the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial is at the other end. I stuff the tracker in my pocket and walk toward the steps of the Memorial.

Why is Vassago hanging out here?

The steps of the Memorial are full of people taking pictures. It’s always busy over here, everyone wanting to see this place. I came here a lot as a kid with my dad. It was before I knew I was supposed to hate him, before he took me sailing when I was ten and told me I was a halfling, and that it was a secret I had to protect for always.

I push past the people and in toward the statue of Lincoln. The room is always quieter than I imagine it will be, everyone taking in what this spot represents. I glance around them all and seek out Vassago. I don’t see him, so like everyone else, I read the words carved into the wall of the Gettysburg Address.

There’s a shuffle behind me and I look over my shoulder. I recognize his long, dirty beard first, and then he nods toward the exit. I follow him out and around the side of the Memorial to see a large plaid blanket and a Scrabble.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter. I’m sick of this. For weeks it feels like everything in my life is a puzzle.

Vassago points to the blanket and then sits down on one side. “I thought it would keep us warmer,” he says, patting the blanket.

“You said a storm was coming,” I say. “What’s going on?”

He looks pointedly at me. “Sit.”

I’m obviously not getting answers any other way, so I take a seat on the blanket. Vassago starts unpacking the board and grabs the little bag of letters.

“You knew Penelope would be involved in whatever is happening, didn’t you?”

He shakes his head. “I did.”

I blink. He really answered my question. “You answered. You never do that directly.”

“You never ask questions I can answer properly.”

“I ask you questions all the time.”

Vassago smirks. “I am only to give guidance when the proper questions are asked. To get the answer, you must ask the right questions.”

“Why? What makes that the rule?”

“It is what I am. A servant of all, an unbiased party who knows what others do not until they seek the answer.”

“You’re a sage.”

Sages were popular centuries ago. Witches often sought them out to find direction for the future or get information. Even in history, they could only answer directly if the right question was asked. They aren’t allowed to freely share knowledge. The sphinx was their creation, the riddler of Greek mythology. Now it all makes sense. I clear my throat. “The mauve demon is involved with her,” I frown, poking at the memory. “She’s changing. Angrier, distrusting, desperate, and it’s not because she was marked, but because of the void.”

Vassago simply looks at me. “You go first,” he says, passing the bag of letters.

I shake my head. “You this time.”

With a nod, Vassago draws some of the letters. He stares at the board for a moment and then places the words down. INDEED.

I stare at the word. That was convenient.

“One hundred and four points,” Vassago says.

The void is changing Penelope. The magic is making her someone so unlike herself. Why? And even more importantly, how do I stop it? I look at my letters and play VOID off his D. “How do I stop this?”

Vassago pulls some new letters out of the bag. I don’t take my eyes off him. “I’ve always enjoyed the Observance. It’s an important time for witches and demons and Nons.”

UNABLE, he plays off the E in his first word.

“I can’t stop it,” I say. I thought I’d at least get a clue about how to prevent all of this. “The demons want Pen to destroy witches. And I could somehow convince her to destroy the void, then demons die, but witches can’t exist without demons. Magic is a balance. What do I do?”

“The answer is already one you have been given.”

I close my eyes and exhale. I can’t do this. I can’t sit here and try to figure out his answers to riddles to solve a puzzle. I thought I liked puzzles, but I don’t.

“Your turn, Mr. Prescott.” I open my eyes and stare at him. That voice was Poncho’s, not Vassago’s. I shake my head. There’s no way that’s possible. My mind is playing tricks on me.

“Poncho?” I whisper, even though this is crazy.

“Vassago at the moment,” he says.

What the hell? “You’re both people?” Whoever-this-is gives me a quick nod. I tighten one of my hands into a fist. “How?”

“Your turn.”

“You have to tell me something.”

But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t blink. I’m supposed to accept that Poncho and Vassago are the same person?

“There is not an explanation for every mystery in the universe. Sometimes there is, but having it will prevent you from believing on your own.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?” Again, nothing. It’s like staring at a wall. This is frustrating. I throw the word DEMON on the board off the N.

“When she does the Restitution, what will happen to her?”

Vassago puts the word BALANCE on the board. “A balance of magic. Magic is a scale. If she is going to harness the void, then she must give up good. To give is to take, and to take is to give. A life for a life, or a magic for a magic.”

“The mauve demon is involved,” I say. I put DEAL on the board. Poncho nods. Penelope made a deal. She made a deal with a demon. “If I can’t stop it, then how do I save Penelope?”

Vassago considers this for a moment. “I told you that answer last time.”

Balloon

The story from my childhood. Red balloon, blue balloon. I changed the color, but he said I couldn’t change this, couldn’t stop it. That doesn’t make sense. I put FATE on the board.

“Why is this happening to Penelope? Of all the halflings in the world, why her?”

Mark

“Because she’s marked?”

“There is more than one way to have a mark. Some are literal, some visual, while others exist internally. Others are fated.”

I play YAMS because I have nothing else. Only his words matter anyway.

“What marked her? What made them want her?”

Vassago cracks his neck. “There are forces at play that are larger than you and Miss Grey. It all goes back to the beginning, to Taliel and Lucifer’s desire to have more.”

Prophecy

I play TURN. But I let his words sink in. The desire for more. The gift and the sole witch. “She’s only doing to this for her sister and the Statics. Is there another way to save them?”

RESET

I can reset it. “What do I need to do it?”

“Only two more days until the Observance. What is your favorite part? I enjoy the feast and the festival of lights.”

I play THREE.

“What do I need to reset everything?”

“It’s a momentous day for witches and demons.”

He plays DAGGER. Again. His words matter, and this one has been used in both of our games. The dagger is the ultimate weapon against both sides. I need to get it.

“Where is Penelope right now?” I ask.

Vassago is staring again, unable or unwilling to answer. “For the win,” he says.

I draw out the remaining letters and lay out THANKS on the board, then stand to leave as Vassago gives me a nod. I have to find Pen and get the dagger if I have any chance of saving her from all of this.