Epilogue

Sweat dripped into Rebel’s eyes and she pushed back her hair, leaving a streak of blood across her cheek. Ignoring her bandaged palm, she attacked the stone floor beneath her with urgency, drawing the circle and runes in gold, and at its center, drops of crimson.

On this clear night, stars glimmered through the windows, reflecting off the marbled motif of the Prague monastery. But she wasn’t impressed, too focused on the tiny threads of magic dancing along her fingertips as she drew. Her pendant dangled around her neck, winking in the shuddering light of the room’s candles, her chest feeling much lighter. Her gaze remained on her task, pleased to see the symbols came easily to her as she applied what she’d learned to the circle, tracing the runes under a watchful eye.

“Make sure each one is solid, dear. Not even a crack.”

Rebel flashed a tired smile up at the woman guiding her, who’d taught her so much in the last three days. Clear, silver eyes met hers, and she was still a little struck by the similarities between them. Hair as dark as obsidian spread across the magician’s shoulders like a shawl, her sculpted cheekbones and nose merely an older reflection of Rebel’s. As though the picture in her pendant had come to life and now stood before her in a ruby cloak. A wish come true. Renata LaFay. Her mother. That shadowy figure who had protected the vessel. Who had come for her.

Word of the battle had spread in ripples throughout the heart of the Sun Court and into the extremities of the Moon Court. And now here they were, days later, in Prague.

“Is it supposed to take this long?” a voice piped up in the corner. As Jaxon watched her, he cleaned one of his fingernails with his dagger, flicking debris at the figure beside him. Piran’s leathery wings, magically restored now, save for the long scar down the side, snapped him back in the face. “Cheeky feyrie,” he quipped.

“Muddy fox.” Piran gave him a charmed smile.

Rebel wiped her forehead. “If you want it to go faster, then shut your gobs.”

“Patience.” A narrow stare from Renata instantly reduced them both to silence. “If she hurries, she will fail, and failure is painful.” She looked to Rebel. “Take a breath. No one has learned to summon so quickly before.”

“That’s because she wants her sweetheart back.” Jaxon winked.

Warmth flushed Rebel’s neck, but she ignored him and checked the lines of the circle, looking for minute breaks or flaws in the sacred runes while Reneta offered encouraging looks when needed. In the past few days, she’d soaked up all the knowledge she could from her mother—celestial incantations, the art of runes—and went through the appropriate rites of purification before summoning could take place.

At last, Rebel sat back on her heels. “Done.”

Renata observed the circle in approval. “Now for the candles’ placement.”

As guided, Rebel arranged the three candles around the circle in order: white to her left, red, then black to her right. Once she stood, she exhaled and her fingertips buzzed with that feeling. Her own magic.

Renata eyed her. Though they had merely come face-to-face, her mother seemed to have a sixth sense with Rebel, as a mother should. “How’s your heart?”

“Heart is…perfect.” She savored the words and breathed easy, her heart sturdier. Her wounds, inside and out, healed. “It’s the magic I’m getting used to.”

“A power I would’ve versed you in if I’d found you sooner.” Renata’s gaze softened, glistening from regret of the years lost between them. Rebel felt it echo in her chest. “Though I’m still baffled how you were able to bypass my wards on the safe. But then, your magic knew how to be used, even if you didn’t. When I recovered the Wishmaker from Nero…”

At his name, Rebel winced with a stab of painful memory. Shielding her from him had been the most important thing to her mother. She thought on how her magic with Anjeline’s had imprisoned their enemy in stone, imprisoned her…father. His heart may have been blackened, but guilt still reared its head. To think of all the things he’d never be.

“The man I once knew died long ago,” Renata added. “He hadn’t always been the magician you saw. He’d been loving once, more than he wanted vengeance. When I recovered the vessel from his possession, it decreased his power just enough.”

“Then I went and pinched the vessel from you, Mom.” The word was foreign to Rebel, yet it felt like warm milk in her mouth, and Renata smiled. Even though they seemed like strangers, Rebel found that she liked this woman. Her mother. The magician who had hidden her away in order to save her.

Her mother placed a kiss to her forehead. “Now, the last step,” Renata said. “The incantation.” She helped Rebel slip off her jacket and draped the sacred summoning robe over her shoulders, necessary for every magician.

Drawing to the edge of the circle, Rebel took a great breath, tipped her head back, and recited the ancient words of invocation. The melodic language slipped from her lips. “In the name of my Lord… I will the gate of the Jinn world to reveal itself unto me!”

The candles flared to life.

“I summon,” she called, “Anjeline the Wishmaker.”

A slight breeze came from the conjuring circle. Otherwise, all was still. The candles flickered. The empty circle remained empty, and Rebel had a horrid thought.

“What if she can’t…”

“Madrath can’t keep her,” Renata said. “She’s restored. She’ll come.”

Rebel persisted, repeating the sacred words faster, calling her deeply. It had been an excruciating seventy-two hours since that night. After Anjeline had been released from the vessel, it hadn’t taken long before she was drawn back to the Other realm, her essence demanding to be restored from her imprisonment. No telling what other punishment would come from Madrath. Rebel had spent her spare waking hours absorbing everything on summoning, not able to wait, counting the minutes until she could have Anjeline back.

At last, a gust of heat filled the circle.

A swirling vapor emerged, settling to the floor, and something moved within the billow. A tendril took the shape of a hand, and the smoke twisted upward, becoming solidified. There she stood. Gold runes flaring, sultriness clinging to her black feathers trailing up her arms and down her spine. The vision caused Rebel’s pulse to hum with a quickening of blood. Her heartbeat thumped and skipped, but now for entirely different reasons.

“Well,” Anjeline said in a honeyed voice, “took you long enough.”

“Three days is a record,” Rebel breathed. “Oh, treasure of my heart.”

A glorious smile emerged, and then Anjeline was pushing her hand through the invisible threads of the circle, absent of protective runes. No need for them, as Rebel hadn’t wanted to keep her inside. And as Anjeline reached, she grabbed the lapels of Rebel’s robe, tugging her within the circle, and crashed their lips together.

Rebel felt the grin curving her mouth. Arms wrapped around her, and she shivered at the warm body pressed against her own, conjuring so many feelings that she wondered if perhaps she had been the one enraptured. Hot lips moved to her ear and whispered, “Rebel…” She never realized how much she loved the sound of her name until it came from Anjeline. “Faddi,” she said, drawing closer against Rebel and resting a hand on her chest, feeling the steady rhythm now. “I feel it, your magic.”

“Here I thought that was hormones.” A humming sensation filled Rebel all the way to her toes as her fingers ghosted over Anjeline’s warm skin.

Anjeline leaned into her touch and placed a kiss to her bandaged palm. “You sacrificed your wish for me, at the expense of your life. Don’t ever do that again.” The affection shining in those eyes made Rebel’s insides feel all sorts of wonderful things.

“Well, I did steal your heart. I owed you,” she said softly.

What had become the worst and best month of her life started out much as a normal thievery act should—with stealing and a wish. But it had ended with her rebirth. Anjeline had brought back her life. Love had created a magic of its own.

When Anjeline pulled back, a flush spread across her face as she met the amused expressions of the others. “Magician LaFay,” she greeted.

Renata bowed. “Wishmaker.”

“Jinni,” Jaxon and Piran mused in unison.

Anjeline nodded then observed the surrounding monastery, appearing to detect their exact location. “Prague?” She tipped her head in contemplation at Rebel. “You have on your sly face. The Fingersmith didn’t spill blood to have me back just to woo me, did she?”

Rebel bit her lip. “Mostly for that.”

“Besides my daughter’s need for you, we require your help.” Renata came closer, her face strained, but her soft eyes rested on their joined hands. “Something’s happened to the magus archives. The ring of Solomon has gone missing…”

“More like stolen,” Rebel added.

“It’s suspected Magician Strahov’s son has possession of it.”

The possibilities of that news played across Anjeline’s face. Her eyes smoldered and smoke extended around her. “With the ring, he could command any Jinn he desired,” she said.

“Which is why,” said Rebel, “we’ve been requested to steal it back.”

At that, Anjeline’s rare half smile emerged. “At least now you’re thieving from magicians instead of libraries.” Again, she pressed a hand to Rebel’s chest, feeling the rhythm purr faster with her touch. Rebel took a deep breath of the scent of her, of magic.

Of home.

“So.” Jaxon grinned. “Who’s up for a heist?”

Did you love this Entangled Teen book? Check out more of our titles here!

Don’t miss another book by J.C. Welker. Sign up for the Entangled Teen newsletter here!