Now I say it in my darkest hour, and offer the words to theuniverse in supplication. “Veritas vos liberabit.”
The truth will set you free.
Once the words are spoken, light fills my mind, but it’s theopposite of the hot fury I expected. Peace and assurance flow through me, likea blessing from the heavens. I open my ears to sound and the earth shakes, but thespinning grows less turbulent. More light fills me, beginning at my toes andmoving upward. Particle by particle. Cell by cell. Enough that it would notsurprise me to have rays shooting from my eyes. A voice comes out of my throat,but it isn’t mine. It belongs to the Lady, the ancient one. She must have heardmy call for aid. After all these years of labor and sacrifice, I am at lastreceiving help from above.
Terrifying, wondrous, the voice rends the air. “My wrath isstirred, James Scarlett. Release my servant or we shall do battle. Do you thinkyourself greater than I?”
My half-brother may have inherited some power from the goddess,but it has become polluted by his deeds. I feel her anger over this, her desirethat Scarlett be punished for abusing the gifts she gave him.The blazing light whichfills me is pure, not the warped illusion of truth Scarlett uses to deceive. Iwould be a fool not to capitalize upon this godsend. Down, down, down I fall.My feet land lightly on the railway platform, and Scarlett drops to earth amoment later. Veritas has left my body, but I feel her strength running throughme.
I wipe the blood from my ears and smile at my brother. “Youwill not touch Cordelia or Willard. The same goes for Kelly,Tom and Gabriel.”
A growl forms in his throat and Scarlett launches himselfforward. His hands clutch at my neck, but an awful burning-flesh smell driftsaround us, followed by wild shrieking. He releases me and stumbles back toexamine his wounds. Perhaps I am getting the hang of that new power of mine.Simple, really. The key is to touch evil people when one is righteouslyindignant.
As I am right now.
Lunging forward, I rake Scarlett’s face with my bare hand. Thecheek and eye-socket dissolve under my fingernails like honey in hot tea. Avision of his death flies through my mind as he screams again. I know thelocation, the method, and the perpetrator.
My half-brother is backing up. “What have you done, you stupidgirl? How could this happen?”
He falls off the platform to the train track below, and a bonein his leg shatters beneath him. Oh, ouch. From the sound of it, Scarlett has acompound fracture. Searching about the floor, I locate my sledgehammer near apile of debris and return to the edge of the platform. My foe still lieswhimpering on the tracks. With his defenses weakened, I smell the terror insidehim. He does not wish to go to the other side, to meet Sir Death. He knows the punishmentthat awaits him. Evil as he is, I almost pity my brother. Almost.
The sledgehammer feels solid in my hands. It would be so easyto finish Scarlett, but I shrink from it. Maybe it isn’t in my nature to kill,having represented the rights of the dead for so long. I am Veritas ofStonehenge, after all, not one of the Furies. Or it could be that I saw him diea moment ago in my mind, and it wasn’t here and now. And my old friend Deathdoes not lurk about the train station but reaps elsewhere. Who am I to defy thatold hussy Fate?
People begin to stir. I hear them talking of the terrifyingweather—the eclipse, earthquake, and tornado. A brave few venture out of thestation house. They find Scarlett, and his wounded henchmen, and call for help.The rake/cane is not where I left it under the bench, so I turn and walk away,hand brushing against the station wall for guidance. No one seems to notice theimpaired Grayson girl as she heads back toward High Street.
I drop the sledgehammer into some bushes near the cemetery, butmy shoe dislodges something small from the dirt as I turn away. I bend down andpick it up. It’s a smooth, flat stone, similar to a dollar coin. There are noheads nor tails on either side of it, but I flip the stone into the air likeit’s a silver dollar. Feels different than my lucky pebbles, more solid. Itcertainly wouldn’t represent the best day of my life like the pebbles did, theday when I learned I could escape.
Yet it might symbolize something else—the day I survived. WhenI learned I could stay and fight, and the heavens came to my defense.
While tucking my new lucky stone into the pocket of my skirt, Ichange my mind about the sledgehammer. I remove it from the bushes and hoist itover my shoulder. Could come in handy some day.
Lilacs scent the air as I walk toward my house on St. David’sStreet. The winds settle into a gentle breeze, promising that summer is not fardistant. I am not so optimistic I imagine Scarlett is gone for good. He’ll beback to settle the score, but I doubt the Lady Veritas will stop him then. Shehelped me this time and that, in and of itself, was a miracle. I’ll see to it myloved ones are protected. Have Mary Arden show me how to shield them,regardless of the price.
Hopefully, Tom will stay in California and have a long andhappy life there, his need for alcohol overcome. I imagine him as an old man, greatgrandchildren as far as the eye can see. He has a head of snowy hair and black,shining eyes. Wearing his cowboy duster, Tom rides out each day and surveys hiscattle ranch at the base of the Sierra Nevadas. The image makes me smile.
With Tom’s future decided, I focus on Noah Kelly. He must letme go,
