CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
At first, there was nothing but darkness.
But then my insides began to twist, and it was as if I was being pulled in two. I yelped, but then the sensation suddenly gave way, and a bright light sliced through the darkness, nearly blinding me. Instinctively, I squeezed my eyes shut and raised a hand in front of my face. When I opened my eyes again, the light was gone and I was no longer standing in my bedroom.
A dense thicket of pine trees loomed over my head, and a symphony of crickets chirped around me.
“Whoa,” I muttered under my breath. “We’re definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”
Rubbing my abdomen with the palm of my hand, I glanced around to get my bearings. I was in an unfamiliar wooded area with the sun dipping slowly toward the horizon. I turned to find Josephine standing a few feet away. Her lovely face was cloaked in sadness, and her eyes were full of tears.
My stomach did a somersault. “What is it?” I asked. “Show me.”
Josephine said nothing, but slowly reached out her hand and pointed away from us, to where the sound of laughter wafted through the air.
With dread settling in the pit of my stomach like a heavy stone, I nodded and made my way through the trees toward the noise. Josephine followed beside me, silent tears dripping down her cheeks.
I picked my way carefully over the uneven ground until I stepped through a break in the trees and out into a wide meadow that appeared to be a campsite of sorts. There were forty or so large canvas tents arranged in rows with several campfires blazing between them.
People were milling about, moving between the tents, and two young girls nearby hung wet linens on a thick piece of rope that had been strung between two trees, their soft chatter muffled by the sound of the sheets whipping in the breeze. Both of the girls wore long skirts that were patched in several places, the fabric thin and faded. Their shirts looked homemade and were equally worn.
“Hello?” I called out, but there was no response. Neither of the girls acknowledged me. They kept casually chatting, hanging more of the bedclothes on the line.
They can’t see me.
I looked over at Josephine, who pointed again, this time toward the first row of tents. We kept walking.
At first glance, the camp had seemed unimpressive, but as I moved among the tents, two boys ran past me with a third trailing behind. The two boys in front were taunting the straggler and calling him slow.
“Come back here, you toadlickers!” the little boy shrieked at them. “I’ll show you slow!”
Then the little boy exploded out of his skin, leaving a large gazelle in its place. I gasped as the gazelle darted into the woods after the other boys.
I glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed the boy, but the people in the tent village continued on with business as usual, as if a little boy morphing into a large antelope was hardly out of the norm.
Several feet away, a group of women sat huddled together, knitting blankets. They looked quite normal except for the fact that, aside from holding balls of yarn, they weren’t actually doing anything. Their knitting needles hovered near their heads, carefully creating tiny loops, as though held by invisible hands.
If that wasn’t proof enough that this village wasn’t an ordinary one, there was a girl—she looked about twelve—sitting under the shade of a large oak tree. Her skin had a greenish tint to it. As I watched her, the young girl held out a long piece of dried-out ivy. Brown and brittle, it had clearly been dead a long time. Cradling the plant in her hand, the girl smiled and gently began to blow on the stalk. My mouth dropped open as the plant began to turn green and sprout tiny purple flowers.
Supernaturals, I realized. All different kinds. But what are they all doing here?
We came to a tent in the back, set apart from the others. Josephine was standing in front, tending to the fire. She was wearing a long blue dress, and the emerald amulet hung around her neck. Her long brown hair fell loose around her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled in the firelight. This Josephine radiated life.
The dread in my stomach grew heavier.
The living Josephine added several sticks of kindling to the fire and wiped her hands on the thick folds of her skirt. Turning back toward the tent, she walked through the opening flap without saying a word.
When she emerged again, she carried a cast-iron pot. Singing softly, she knelt down next to the fire and began slicing various vegetables from a basket sitting near the kindling. The amulet at her throat sparkled in the light from the flames.
I took a step closer to the young woman by the fire just as a shrill cry sounded in the back of her tent. It startled me, but Josephine just smiled, wiped her hands once more on her skirt, and walked through the flaps of the tent. When she returned, she was holding a tiny bundle wrapped in blankets. The bundle was wriggling and squirming in her arms.
“Oh my God,” I said. “It’s a baby.” I looked back at the other Josephine, whose solemn face was streaked with tears. “Yours and Henry’s.” She nodded.
Josephine was staring down at the tiny face completely enraptured and overjoyed, the way new mothers always look at their children. As she began to coo softly to the baby, a tiny hand reached for her face.
It was in that moment that the ground began to tremble. A pulse of energy shot through the camp and slammed against the walls of the invisible shield surrounding it—some kind of protection ward, I realized.
“No!” Josephine cried, staring at the magical shield disintegrating before her eyes. The air all at once filled with piercing cries. The baby began to wail, and Josephine clutched the amulet at her throat.
People ran in all directions—some toward the conflict and others away from it. Magical energy permeated the air until it was as thick as fog. A large plume of black smoke rose into the distance, and the ground rumbled again as another electrical pulse assaulted the remnants of the protection wards.
Josephine clutched the baby tighter to her chest with one arm, while the other she held in front of her, green lightning dancing around her fingertips.
A young woman with long blonde hair ran toward her, tears streaming down her face. “Jo!”
Josephine reached for her, wrapping an arm around the girl’s trembling shoulders. “Eliza!” she cried, struggling to juggle the infant in one arm and her hysterical friend in the other. “What has happened? Is it them? Have they found us?”
The younger woman nodded before slumping against Josephine’s shoulder, her entire body shaking from fear. She mumbled something under her breath. I couldn’t understand much of what she said, but the two words I did pick up stole my breath: “The Guard.”
Josephine instantly paled. “No,” she whispered against the young woman’s hair. “No!”
She stood still for a moment, as if in disbelief, but then a look of fierce resolve crossed her face and prompted her into action.
Grabbing the woman’s arm, Josephine yanked her upright and stared into her face. “Eliza, listen to me!” she barked, her eyes blazing. “It’s time. You have to take her and run.”
The young woman’s eyes grew wide. “You’re not coming?”
“I’ll hold them off as long as I can.” Josephine looked down at the child in her arms. “You have to get her to safety.”
“But you’re her mother,” the girl argued. “You can’t just . . . I don’t know—”
The rest of her sentence was cut off as Josephine placed the screaming infant in her arms.
“Please,” Josephine urged, staring at Eliza with wild eyes. “Please. I’m begging you.”
She hesitated for a moment, but as the terrible cacophony of sound rose around them, Eliza squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and nodded. “I’ll keep her safe. I promise.”
Josephine exhaled sharply in relief. “Thank you.” She squeezed Eliza’s shoulder in gratitude. Tears poured down her cheeks as she hastily bent over to kiss the child’s brow. Pulling the shawl from around her shoulders, she tucked it tightly around the child and nodded at Eliza. “Run east along the river,” she instructed the girl. “Find the others. I’ll try to hold them off as long as I can. And please, remember what I’ve told you. You have to tell her one day. Promise me?”
Eliza nodded, tears dripping down her cheeks. “I promise.” She turned to run.
“Wait!” Josephine reached out and caught her by the arm. “One more thing.” With trembling fingers, she reached up and unclasped the emerald amulet from around her neck and quickly fastened it around the baby’s tiny throat.
“Good-bye, my sweet daughter,” she choked out, as Eliza turned and ran toward the woods, the tiny bundle held tightly against her chest.
Tears poured from my own eyes as Josephine clutched her chest with one hand and let out a wail that ripped through my heart.
Another boom of energy ricocheted through the small village. Josephine sucked down a breath of air, her features twisting from anguish to determination. Yanking up her shirtsleeves, she planted her feet and flexed her fingers. The green lightning crackled between her fingertips like live wires.
Up ahead, a swarm of men dressed in black with dark linen masks covering their faces were wreaking havoc on the tent village. A few feet away, two of them terrorized an old man with a walking stick. The old man hobbled along, desperately shooting balls of fire at the men, but the guards merely laughed. One of the Guard waved his hand, and the old man sprawled to the dirt, his eyes frozen open forever.
I tasted bile.
The soldiers moved quickly through the village. A few Supernaturals attempted to fight them off, but were quickly subdued. Desperate to help, I raised my hands. Magic sparked between my fingers, but the other Josephine placed an icy hand on my shoulder.
“I have to help them!” I cried, but the look in her eyes was clear. There was nothing I could do. My heart sank to my feet.
Beside me, the living Josephine tensed. A tall figure in black strode toward her. A thin piece of black fabric covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes—full of hatred and disgust—were fixed upon Josephine.
“My lady,” the man boomed, “the Master thanks you kindly for your hospitality.” He bowed low at the waist, sweeping his free hand out in mockery. “But he’s done playing your little game. Give me the book, and we will show mercy. Refuse, and my men and I will slaughter every last man, woman, and child in this village.”
Josephine narrowed her eyes and took a calculated breath. “You’re a fool if you think I’ll believe such a lie.” Her voice was strong and clear. “The Master’s thirst for blood will never end, not until every last Supernatural who defies him is dead. He knows nothing of mercy.”
The guard laughed coldly. “How right you are.” He leaned forward, his murderous eyes blazing. “And what he has planned for you, little witch . . . well, that definitely isn’t mercy.”
Josephine snarled and threw her right hand out toward the soldier. A brilliant beam of emerald light shot from her palm and knocked the soldier to his knees.
The guardsman emitted a grunt, but leapt quickly back to his feet. “My, my, my, aren’t you the feisty one.” He sneered. “You don’t know a trap when you see one, do you?”
Six men suddenly appeared out of nowhere, encircling Josephine. Each bore the mark of the Master—the two interlocking triangles, made to form an M. They were chanting softly.
With a wail of pain, she clamped her hands on the sides of her head and fell to the ground, the lightning in her hands extinguished.
“No!” I yelled, rushing toward Josephine. “Stop it!” I cried, feeling utterly helpless as Josephine writhed in pain. The guardsman’s laughter echoed across the trees and mixed with Josephine’s anguished cries.
“Enough,” the man said. The effect of his quiet command was immediate. The other men stopped chanting and Josephine lay unmoving on the ground.
“Now,” the leader said, “tell me where the book is.”
Josephine did not move or speak.
“Come now,” the man said more loudly. “We mustn’t waste any more time.” Crossing the space between them, he grabbed Josephine by the arm and yanked her to her feet. “Where’s the book?” he roared.
With a visible effort, Josephine raised her head and met the man’s glare with a steady gaze. “Go to hell,” she hissed and spat into the man’s face.
He staggered backward, releasing her. She leapt away and pulled a small knife from the inner pocket of her long skirt.
Josephine lunged at the man, but another soldier grabbed her arm, yanking it behind her while the leader ripped the knife from her hand. She screamed, struggling against the man’s firm grip. They grappled back and forth until finally the man threw Josephine to the ground.
“Enough!” the man shouted, reaching up to yank the strip of cloth away from his face.
An identical cry of shock erupted from both my and Josephine’s lips.
Standing in front of us, his face twisted in unadulterated hatred, was Henry.
“Henry?” Josephine whispered, her eyes wide with tears, her face deathly pale. “I saw it with my own eyes. I held you in my arms. You were dead.” Her voice broke on the last syllable, and the mask of strength she had painted across her features crumbled in an instant.
Henry smiled cruelly and bowed in jest once more. “Compliments of the Master, my lady.”
Josephine cried out again, but managed to stagger back to her feet. “Oh, Henry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. It’s all my fault.”
“Oh, yes, dear one,” Henry jeered, “it is.”
But then he took a step closer, his face suddenly softening. He looked once more like the man he had once been. “But, Josephine, my love, I’m still here. You just have to give him the book. He promised to restore me to you.” He placed a tender hand against Josephine’s cheek. “Please, Jo. We’ve been apart for more than a year, and my heart cannot bear our separation any longer. Do this for us, Jo. Do it for me.”
He was gazing upon Josephine with such tenderness and love that my own heart felt it would break. Josephine carefully reached up and touched the hand against her cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry . . .”
Then, acting so quickly her movements were blurred, she spun around out of Henry’s grasp, her own knife back in the palm of her hand and against Henry’s throat.
She was nearly choking on her own tears, but she held the knife steady.
“Jo!” Henry cried out in surprise. “What are you doing?”
“Don’t call me that!” Josephine cried, hysterical. “You’re not my Henry. The Master killed him! I saw it! You’re some creature of black magic created to torment me! But it won’t work! I’ll kill you, I swear it, I will.”
The features of Henry’s face suddenly relaxed—any traces of the old Henry disappearing—and he laughed. There was nothing left but cold, calculating hatred. He gripped Josephine’s wrist and pushed the knife harder against his throat. Droplets of blood rolled down his neck. “Do it, then,” he growled.
Josephine’s hands were shaking. She was losing the fight.
“Hang on, Josephine!” I cried out, wishing there was more I could do to help. “Don’t let him win!”
“Give me the book,” Henry spat, gripping Josephine’s hand so hard she whimpered. “Give me the book or kill me for good. Those are your options.”
Josephine sagged as though her own body weight was pulling her down. “I can’t,” she whispered over and over. “I can’t.”
I wasn’t sure if she meant the book or Henry.
“I can’t . . . Oh, God, Henry, I can’t.”
For one brief moment, I saw again the familiar face of Henry fight its way to the surface before the mask of malice slammed back into place. Prying the knife from Josephine’s hand, he sneered down at her, his cold eyes unforgiving and expressionless. “Pity,” he whispered against her hair. “Such a pity.” And with that, he drove the knife into Josephine’s gut.
I screamed as Josephine crumpled to the ground, a blossom of crimson blood staining the fabric of her dress.
The air around me rippled, and the images in front of me grew distorted. The scene before me was fading away, and as the familiar twisting sensations claimed me, wrapping me in darkness, the last thing I heard was a cold, calculated laugh.
Then there was nothing but silence.