Ever After

turning to catch my words.

“No.” He swiveled his head without changing his flight, one red eye finding me, his deep words seeming to reach me despite the wind ripping past us. “We fly as the arrow, but I’m not sure where Loveland Castle is. Normally I’d follow the resonance of the line there, but it’s so discordant right now, it’s hard to locate. I had one of the kids at the basilica look up directions online for me.”

“Sorry,” I said, then grimaced, thinking I needed to stop saying that.

A lumpy shape loomed out of the thin moonlight and dark trees, a ribbon of light trailing beside it where the river was. “There!” I said pointing, and Etude nodded, his ears going flat to his skull when he shifted smoothly to put it directly ahead. The second gargoyle grimaced, looking pained as his wing beats became short and choppy. I couldn’t feel the line yet, but clearly they could.

Sorry, I thought, then quashed it.

The river-damp air was cool, and we lost altitude when we left the warm ribbon of the expressway. We circled in the faint starlight. The castle was dark and empty, and the memory of burning into reality here burst against my thoughts with a hint of easily mastered panic. I’d been trying to keep Al from abducting a coven member. That hadn’t turned out so well, either.

“Circle once!” Quen shouted, letting go of the gargoyle’s shoulder long enough to make a circular motion with his finger. “I’ll see if there’s any magic down there apart from the line!”

Guilt hit me square on, and I looked down with my second sight. Sure, Quen had a stake in this, but he also had a little girl. And a dead love to revenge, I added, resolving to let it go. It would be my strength and his skill that would win or lose it.

My skin prickled at a wave of wild magic, and Etude shuddered, his skin rippling to make me clutch at him. “We’re clear!” Quen shouted over the wind. “There’s no one down there!”

The gargoyles shifted their wings simultaneously, their quick descent making my eyes widen. My arms went around Etude’s neck, and I tried to make his center of gravity as near to normal as possible. His balance shifted, and I gasped as his wings made several strong back beats and he landed. Quen touched the ground an instant later. We were right on the gravelly garden path, or at least I was. Quen was about three feet up past the retaining wall, on the upper garden level.

“That line is ungodly awful,” Etude said as I slid off his back, my knees rubbery. The air felt very still after the chill wind of flight, and I followed Etude’s pained gaze to my line. That purple sludge was still there, almost glowing in the dark.

“Thank you for getting us here,” I said, wiggling my toes to make sure I hadn’t lost my magnetic chalk. Quen’s gargoyle, looking beaten, was shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, his ears pinned back and his tail wrapped around his feet. Etude was handling it better, but clearly was still uncomfortable. “I’m going to fix the lines as soon as I can,” I said, and Etude’s ears pricked, an odd rumbling snuffling coming from him. I hoped it was laughter.

My knees were still shaking, and I carefully worked the cramps out. “Go,” I said, smiling at him. “Both of you. And tell those back at the church they might want to leave. I’m going to dump all the imbalance there in a few minutes.”

Etude leaned toward his friend, low elephant rumbles coming from them. Then the gargoyle who had brought Quen nodded, and with a powerful thrust of his back legs, he pushed off and found the air under his wings. Etude, though, remained. “I’m staying,” he said, his red eyes narrowing as he looked at the line. “I want to help my son.” Wincing, he turned to me. “I might wait at the castle, though, until needed. Burn my scrollwork, that line is awful.”

I gave his thick, huge hand a squeeze of thanks. My guilt over having lost Bis grew, but Etude only smiled a black-toothed grin at me, haunches bunching as he made the short flight to land atop the highest point, his wings curving in around him until he looked like a natural part of the roof. That is, until his eyes caught the faint starlight and glowed a savage blood red.

Wild wisps of hair had escaped my braid, and I smoothed them as Quen jumped to my level, his shoes scuffing the gravel. My knees were still shaky, but I didn’t think it was because of the flight here anymore. Elven magic was our best bet to keep Ku’Sox off us. I felt like a battery and I didn’t like it. “Ready?” I said as I brought out the rings.

“It’s making my wisdom teeth vibrate,” Quen said as he eyed the line, his wince hard to see in the shadow- light. But he turned to me when the rings clinked, and suddenly the confidence I’d felt in the church vanished. It was more than the fear of Ku’Sox. It was the fear of letting Quen use me like a familiar.

“Perhaps . . .” he said slowly, seeing my reluctance, and I took a fast breath, shoving the smaller worn and dented ring on my finger. I felt nothing from it, and breath held, I extended the ring to him. I trusted Quen. If he betrayed me, Al would kill him.

“Thank you, Quen, for standing with me,” I said, and then sucked in my breath as he put the ring on his finger and everything changed.

“Oh God,” I whimpered, knees giving way, and Quen reached for me. I jerked out of his reach, stumbling several steps away as I found my balance by myself. His hand touched my shoulder, and I lashed out, driving him away. “Just give me a second!” I shouted, panicked but determined to make this work. My breathing came in short pants as I heard him back up, and only then could I straighten out of my crouch.

“Just give me a second . . .” I said again, still not able to look at him. He was there in my thoughts, and not in a good way. I could sense nothing of his emotions, just a theoretical fingertip on my chi, ready to rip what he wanted from it. And I couldn’t stop him. It wasn’t like Al’s rings at all, where both parties had equal access. These were slavers, and I swallowed hard, trying to get used to it.

The ring around my finger glinted. Al had endured this for how long? Slowly I straightened.

“Are you okay?”

My stomach hurt. Nodding, I looked up to the dark skies. “Let’s do it.”

“Trent was right about you,” Quen said, clearly uncomfortable as our strengths became one and our will his alone. “You are . . . strong.”

Swell. Eyes down, I wavered, my heart seeming to stutter. Wanting to see the line better, I opened my second sight. Quen’s aura shimmered, becoming oppressively clear.

“That is incredible,” Quen said as he reached for the retaining wall, a haunted look in his eyes. I wasn’t feeling so good, though, and either seeing my fear in my face or reading it in his mind, Quen pushed from the wall. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his hand gripping my arms to steady me in the dark.

It was getting easier to tolerate his touch, and I nodded, head still down. “Yes,” I said, spinning the ring on my finger to try to make it feel right. “I can’t feel the line. Is there any way you can ease up on your grip?”

“Ah, sorry. How’s that?” he said, and I blinked as suddenly the discordant jangle of a hundred imbalances in the line hit me.

“That’s better,” I said, wincing. Now I could really see. The purple line was extruding a bone-chilling cold, even as the event horizon pulled in energy, the atoms and molecules screaming as they were ripped apart. Even the purple of Ku’Sox’s aura shredded to a pale red under its influence. Turning, I looked up at the castle.

“Ready?” I shouted and got a raised wingtip and a rumble in return. “I think that’s a yes,” I muttered, placing my feet and facing the line squarely. “If this doesn’t get Ku’Sox’s attention, I don’t know what will.”

I winced, one eye screwed shut as I pulled the line into my awareness fully and blocked everything else out. The multitude of the imbalances screamed at me, and I tried to gather them up, but they slipped through my thoughts like butterflies. “It’s not working,” I said, eyes opening up to find Quen hovering close and worried.

“Ah, it might be because of the rings,” he said. “We’re linked, and I’m not doing anything. I know the general idea, but . . .”

“Oh.” Feeling foolish, I faced him, then awkwardly reached out and took his hand. His fingers in mine felt funny, but as I held on, a warm feeling suffused me as his awareness surrounded mine. He didn’t mean to be domineering, but he hadn’t had much practice sharing.

His breath quickened as he tapped into the line, and together we hesitated, taking in the discordant jangle. Bubble the line, I thought, getting no response, then becoming concerned when I wasn’t able to do it myself. Either he had a wall up, or the rings only worked one way.

“Quen, can you lighten up? I’m having a hard time holding on to anything,” I said, spinning the ring on my