What had gone wrong?
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
That was the only thought Tav could hold on to as they stared into the maelstrom overhead. This wasn’t the invisible passageway between worlds, a hole punched in the fabric of space and time. This was chaos — frayed edges, a tear that was spreading across the universe.
What happened to a world when its magical Heart was gone?
A hand on their arm. Cam’s mouth moving, the sounds lost to the tempest. Tav was dragged to their feet. The smell of perfume and rot was gone, replaced by the bitter herb of fear. It took a moment for them to realize it was their own. Cam was pointing, trying to shout, the stones dark in the rain and hail.
Eli.
A small figure hunched on the ground, as if slowly being crushed by the weight of the other world, torn apart by the warring magics outside and inside her. Somehow keeping it open, keeping them in place. As they watched, a spark burst from Eli’s spine and sputtered on the wet asphalt. When the ember died, Tav could see that it had bloomed into a single perfect rosebud.
Eli’s body was breaking. She couldn’t keep this up much longer. It was up to Tav. Drawing the obsidian blade, the other hand clutching their bike keys for luck, Tav walked into the storm.
Wind clawed at their face, and stabs of lightning on the apocalyptic skyline left white lights streaking across their vision. But they could still sense the magic. They could smell it. They could taste it. They breathed it in, and it filled their lungs like a new morning hatching over the horizon.
Tav stretched their arms out, and the wind whirled around each limb, carrying dust and starving leaves and the stinging bite of gravel to burn their forearms. Still, they walked toward the hole at the centre of everything.
They faced the chasm, and through the gaping mouth that had been the Vortex they could see the fiery stars of the other universe, could see the smoky green sky of the witches’ world, could almost taste the fossils underneath the Coven.
The other world called to them.
Somewhere deep in their bones, in the graceful arc of their spine, in the cells that pumped oxygen through a body that was also a universe, the magic spoke to them. Their heart beat a little faster; their pupils dilated as if with love; their palms turned unconsciously to face the void that was also a pathway to an alien world.
This was their birthright, if only they would reach out and claim it.
A spike of pain burst through the haze. They looked down, breaking eye contact with the void. They saw a long tooth protruding from their leg. The girl clutching the tooth yanked it out again, blood dripping from ravaged gums, from where she had ripped off her own crocodile tooth to use as a weapon. Tav clutched at the wound and their hand was grabbed by another hand, wet with sweat and blood, sticky as a child’s.
“You are the Healer,” said Eli.
“I hate that name,” said Tav, allowing Eli to press their entwined hands over the wound. Tav closed their eyes and felt the skin stitch itself back together. When they opened their eyes again, a single wisp of steam curled up from smooth skin.
“I can taste the Vortex,” they said.
“Spit it out,” said Eli, still too weak to stand.
They spat, and the berry-black liquid turned to crystallized salt on the cement, killing the weeds that had managed to survive generations of toxins and human feet.
“They’re coming!” Cam stepped in front of Tav, using his body as a shield, wielding the stone blade like it was an extension of his own body.
Shrieks in the distance.
The lightning strikes were coming closer. The lamppost marked with Eli’s blood was struck, and it emitted a hissing sound as steam poured over the square.
From under the lamppost a creature emerged. It was forged from metal and brass, its hinges squeaky from decades of neglected rust. An animal? A machine? Soon, three more creatures appeared from lightning strikes, circling the trio.
Tav swallowed, eyes darting from creature to creature, looking for an escape route. Looking for allies.
They were trapped.
Twenty
THE HEIR
Then —
When she was small, her mother had called for her. “I am going to teach you a lesson,” said the Witch Lord. Kite had been curious and unafraid. “I will teach you how to shed your skin and free your essence.”
And then she had torn the flesh from Kite’s body, until only a quivering bluegreen light remained.
“Now dress yourself,” commanded the Witch Lord.
Leaving her skin had been painful, but slipping back into her body was somehow worse, making her head spin and her stomach churn. Kite had dragged herself to the Children’s Lair and collapsed on the stone floor, hugging her knees to her chest and spitting up ash. Clytemnestra had the children take turns throwing buckets of seawater over her prone form. None of them spoke to her. They, too, knew that she was marked as the Heir. She was not truly one of them.
Now —
There were no books here.
Slowly, Kite’s body unravelled itself over her essence and her feet touched a stone floor. She had learned to master the sickness of transformation. The dizziness no longer made her crawl, and the nausea no longer emptied her body. She crouched on the floor, trembling.
“Beast,” she managed, choking on her words and the dirt in her lungs. “Beast.”
His soft fur against her damp arm; his tongue on her face, licking salt crystals from her cheekbones.
After a moment she stood. They followed the rumour down narrow pathways and twisting stairs of rotted roots, down into the depths of the earth.
