Chapter Two

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Alistair left shortly after our agreement, handing me a cell phone and instructing me to keep it on at all times. He had no reason to stick around after that, and I certainly didn’t want to be around him for any longer than I had to be. Besides, there was an urgent matter that required my immediate attention. No sooner had he left, and I’d made sure that he was gone, than I was by Ann’s side and placing the necklace on her. The thought had occurred to me, albeit briefly, that I didn’t really know that much about it other than what Alistair had told me, and he wasn’t the most reliable source of information. Still, he’d done something to Ann, and I couldn’t come up with a reason why he’d choose poison as his preferred lie. And if he genuinely needed something from me, keeping her alive was in his best interest. So a new piece of jewelry it was, then.

The effects were immediate. The moment the two ends of the gold rope touched behind her neck, they magically fused into a single solid hoop. Then the amulet, now resting on her chest, lost one of its petals as the color drained from it before it crumbled into dust. Something about that caused Ann to bolt upright, wide-eyed and gasping for air violently.

Okay, well at least it does something.

All in all, it was likely the best possible reaction I could have hoped for. I did my best to calm Ann down, but she was disoriented and profusely sweating. My best guess was that the amulet instantly broke her fever and magically stalled out the effects of the poison. There was little I could do for Ann other than making the sort of soft shushing noises I would make to calm down a startled horse. Our eyes met, and I offered her water, anticipating her needs. Ann hurriedly nodded her head in agreement, and by the time I returned with a fresh glass she already appeared to regain her senses.

“It... it happened again!” she stammered, her breaths still too rapid for my liking.

It was an astonishing claim, and one I wasn’t expecting. “You’ve been poisoned before?” I asked, trying to clear some of the shattered glass around the room.

My response visibly upset her, and she grabbed a fistful of the couch as she cried out, “I’ve been poisoned?”

I turned to face her at that. “Yes, but if that’s not what you’re referring to, then what exactly happened again?”

Ann was insistent. “That’s going to have to wait until you explain what the hell you mean about this poisoning business!”

“Well, precisely that,” I began. “You’ve been poisoned. Oh, and don’t remove that necklace; it’s keeping you alive at the moment.”

Her tiny fist clenched to her chest, and she raised the flower to about nose level, as far as the rope would allow. “Did you poison me?”

“Of course not!” I snapped. “I’m sorry about that, but no, it wasn’t me. I would never.”

“Yeah, I know, sorry.”

“Please, don’t apologize.” I nearly blushed at that. I just yelled at a dying friend, and she was apologizing to me. “Remember Alistair from my story? He was my—”

“Ex,” Ann finished for me.

I had planned to use the word lover, but I liked her word better. “Exactly. And he has poisoned you as a means of getting to me. Did I not get to the part where I mentioned that he was a manipulative sociopath willing to hurt whoever he has to in order to get what he wants?”

“You might have been working up to it before I almost died.” Her admission came with its share of grim sarcasm.

“There’s nothing to be done about it at the moment, I’m afraid,” I began. “I never expected him to... that’s not right; I always expect something from Alistair. He is vile. But I hadn’t anticipated him to find me so soon. It was stupid of me to think he would just leave me alone, that he wouldn’t do anything he could to hurt me.”

Ann’s look softened as she rose from the couch and crossed the length of the room to face me. “I know what this is, so I’m going to put a stop it before you let this eat you up even a second longer.” She spoke softly. “Knowing that I’ve been poisoned sucks, but you didn’t do this to me. You didn’t put me in danger or whatever other reason you’re going to convince yourself somehow makes this your fault. You’re not responsible for the actions of an abusive ex. Terrible people do terrible things, and one of the worst things they all invariably do is make their victims feel like it’s their fault for what they do. He did this to me, not you. I don’t know the full story, but I think I know enough. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”

I was stunned by her words. Not that I should have been. I’d seen flashes of greatness from Ann; it was just that her wisdom was precisely what I would tell someone else in a similar situation, and it was precisely the sort of thing I’d never be able to say to myself. She was right, of course, but I knew I wouldn’t simply stop feeling guilty on the strength of those words alone.

I met her expectant gaze, and by way of reply I opened up a palm to her. “Would you like to know?” I asked her. “The full story?”

Ann blinked at that, staring at my hand. “Are you sure?” she managed to ask.

Part of the power specific to Ann and those like her is that if a hand is offered freely to them, they can accept it, and with that comes the permission to know their story in an instant. Not all of it, but the important parts or the parts they’re willing to share. And it could work both ways: Ann could have shared her story with me in the same way if she so chose. Of course, I’ve learned the hard way that unknowingly offering your hand to someone with her power means nothing. A freely given hand means a freely given story, whether you know it or not.

“Yes,” I replied, withdrawing the hand, remembering the gravity of the situation. “When you are well, and this business is behind us, if you still want to know, I will share it with you. Completely.”

Ann understood and forced herself to look away. “Right, of course. I don’t know what it would do to me right now.”

I rested a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up into my eyes. “Thank you, my friend,” I told her with a smile. “You are right, of course. But for whatever Alistair is responsible for, you have my promise that I will make it right. Not because this is my fault, but because I want to see you alive. Now, what was it you were trying to say before? What was it that happened again?”

Ann began to look unwell again, though it had nothing to do with the poison in her veins. She fidgeted a moment, a look on her face suggesting that she was contemplating whether it was too late to take it back. “It’s going to sound crazy.” It came out as a half-hearted attempt to get out of saying what she had to say. I crossed my arms and waited. If Ann wanted to avoid the topic, she would have to do so without my help.

“Fine!” she exclaimed. “I saw the future, okay?”

That wasn’t what I was expecting, and I didn’t know that she understood how dangerous that statement was.

“You what?” I asked incredulously.

“I mean, probably. I think so. It’s weird, all right?”

Ann was visibly nervous, and I knew that reaction wasn’t going to make this any easier. I took a second to compose myself, and in a more measured tone, I tried to start over with her. “Why don’t we start from the beginning. You said this happened before?”

Ann sat back down on the couch and sighed heavily. “Yeah, a couple of times. One of them was before Christmas. With Elana.”

“What did you see?” I asked, sitting beside her.

“It’s not that easy to explain,” Ann began. “It’s sort of like watching three separate movies all at the same time. I think what I’m seeing are possibilities. They only happen while I’m asleep, so I just thought they were bad dreams, until...”

Ann trailed off at that, and in spite of myself, I prompted her to continue. “Until what?”

“Until Logan didn’t come back.” There was a sickness in Ann’s voice as she said it. “I had a vision, or I guess visions, and in each of them, one of them didn’t come back. I saw Elana, Olivia, and Logan go through that weird portal each time. I saw the goblins come at us. All of it was clear in my mind, but then it changed suddenly. There was a future where any one of them didn’t come back. And it happened exactly as I saw it in my dream.”

“I see.” My poor friend. This would be distressing enough for anyone to deal with, and with recent events as they were, I briefly considered not immediately telling her what I knew. That was a foolish thought, of course. Upsetting or no, she had to hear it, and now.

“Ann, who else have you told about this?” I asked.

She shook her head at the question. “No one. It’s crazy enough as it is, but I couldn’t tell Olivia that I saw a vision of her in tears, with Logan gone. I don’t think that she’d forgive me. I don’t think she should. If I’d told her, then maybe he would’ve—”

“No, stop that.” I chided her, not wanting her to finish that thought. “You didn’t know what you were then—what you are—and saying something might have only made things worse. You don’t know that you could have changed anything. Besides, you said it yourself. You thought it was a bad dream, yes?”

“I did,” she confirmed.

I put my hands on her shoulders, gentle as I could, so as not to upset her, but I turned her to face me as I met her uncertain gaze. “Ann, my friend, it is of the utmost importance that you don’t repeat any of this to anyone, do you understand? Not to Elana, not even to me unless you are certain we are alone. I need you to promise me.”

“I can do that,” Ann began shakily. “But why?”

“Because you are a Sibyl,” I said after taking a deep breath. “Amongst those who travel, every so often an extra gift is bestowed. Call it a secondary ability. The rarest of them all is what you possess. And that rarity will make you a target for the worst sorts. And there’s worse news, I’m afraid. This is only the beginning. Eventually, you will see more and more, and you will be burdened with sight and knowledge that is not for you. It could very well be that it will never be worse than this, just the occasional glimpse of the near future. But I’ve seen it go so much further than this. I knew a woman once who saw entire lifetimes, including her own.”

“What happened to her?” Ann asked.

“I’d rather not talk about her,” I admitted, realizing a moment too late how dangerously close I’d gotten to revealing something terrible.

“Is there anything I can do?” I was unsure if Ann meant for me or if the question was about her condition. I chose to believe it was the latter.

“There are those who might be able to help, people with direct knowledge of your ability,” I confirmed. “But going to them exposes your secret, and I’d rather not risk it. I will try to find you reading materials, but it may take some time. This is one of those topics that is closely watched and from unexpected angles. The good news is that I know early enough that I might be able to actually help.”

“That’s something, at least,” Ann replied. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” I said, hopeful that I could do as I said. “So, tell me. What did you see this time?”

“You, for starters. But it was vague, not like with Logan. In one vision, I saw you soaked in blood. Literally, head to toe. It was drying and sticky, and none of it was yours. It was unsettling. And in another, you were crying. You were distraught, inconsolable. Alone. I don’t know what you’d lost, but it looked like it had broken you. But there was one more outcome.”

My first options didn’t sound particularly appealing. “I hope the third involves kittens and birthday cake.”

“You were content,” Ann said hopefully. “I don’t know if that’s the right word, but something close to it. You were peaceful and bright. Victorious would be the wrong word, I think. You didn’t look like a conquering hero, just someone who was okay. Bruised and tired, sure, but you were okay. I think no matter what, you’re about to go through hell. I’m sorry.”

“No apologies necessary,” I assured her. “These are only possibilities. The future is not written in stone. We can determine our own fate.”

“Well, that’s great to hear, because I saw something else,” Ann remarked worriedly.

“Someone else?” I asked. “Alistair, perhaps? Someone we know?”

She shook her head at that and struggled to find her words. “In my dream,” she started slowly. “I saw my future. It... it was...” Ann trembled slightly, her eyes pressed shut. I rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, letting her get there in her own time. She looked at me, tears forming behind her glasses. “There was nothing in it. No paths, no mistaking it. There was nothing.”

* * *

The next day I set off towards Los Angeles. I’d received the call from Alistair earlier in the morning then was appropriate, but he offered a name, a place, a time, and little else. Which I considered a small wonder. I would take my bright spots where I could see them, and the less I had to hear from that smug bastard the better. Ann had wanted to go home and rest, but I insisted she stay put. Between the active security system, the protective charms, as rudimentary as they were, and the increased patrols, I couldn’t think of any place better suited. I didn’t leave her in a house; I’d left her in a fortress. Besides, I didn’t think Alistair would do anything to Ann, not while he still needed me. He’d already played that card and well. But in case there was something bigger at play, I didn’t want to risk not knowing exactly where she was until this whole affair was sorted.

There was a ridesharing app installed on the phone, either on purpose or Alistair had simply forgotten to take his credit card information off the device before handing it to me. Either way, this driver would be receiving a very generous tip at the end of it all. I had a wool cap pulled down around my ears, and I’d found a hooded sweater a full size too large for me to wear over a t-shirt and baggy jeans with deep pockets. My attire didn’t quite match the weather, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to arrive dressed for war. Still, the loose clothing afforded me more opportunities to smuggle various tools, and in better hiding spots than would be picked up by the average pat down.

The first two pieces of my instructions were clear enough. I was to meet Margaux Brouillard at two in the afternoon. That was easy enough. However, I was to meet her under the Coliseum. I had to ask twice to make sure I’d understood him correctly. Was there a specific tunnel or special area? Alistair abruptly told me to figure it out, which indicated to me that he didn’t know and wasn’t interested in admitting as much. So figuring it out was all that was left, and arriving an hour early seemed to me to be plenty of time. And if it wasn’t, well, perhaps he should have done his homework before sending me out.

There were no events scheduled for the day, so when I arrived, the driver seemed puzzled about our destination but kept any comments he may have had to himself. The parking lot was empty for the most part, not even a security guard that I could see, and when my driver pulled away, I was left to consider my options. Outside of just yelling Margaux’s name at the top of my lungs, the only real choice was to investigate the Coliseum itself, maybe find a way inside.

The Coliseum is a landmark in Los Angeles. It’s also been called historic, a monument, and full of character. All of which is to say that it is a decrepit old football field in an advanced state of disrepair. The structure itself is nearly a hundred years old and is shown the same care a puppy shows a nice pair of shoes. If it weren’t for college football and the occasional concert, this place would be apartment buildings and a parking structure. The building deserved better, but that was none of my business.

I approached the front entrance of the structure, a thirty-foot archway topped with the words “Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum” and joined by the Olympic Rings, flanked by two bronze plaques of men who were likely important to the founding of this playground in some way. I was able to see the empty field through the gate and the various arches. The security here was abysmal. A locked gate, maybe ten feet high, that I could have easily scaled if I found that to be easier than simply picking the lock and walking through. I should be surprised, but then again, this was a place that even its caretakers seemed to have no interest in preserving. As I’d understood it, a local university held those responsibilities. Maybe they simply hadn’t gotten around to it.

As I stood there contemplating my impending trespass, a stocky man with a bleach blonde buzz cut and a plain black suit that was so poor in quality it could have passed for costume appeared from behind one of the arches and met me at the gate, asking if I was that elf Alistair had sent. Lifting my cap to reveal an ear appeared to be a good enough answer, and after letting me through the gate and sloppily checking me for weapons—finding nothing, I might add—he announced my arrival over a radio. With the news that I was expected, he escorted me down through an old service walkway, leading into something more hidden, and down a long and winding staircase. I estimated that we were much further below the football field than earthquake safety guidelines would find comfortable.

My escort and I waited patiently in a tunnel, the sound of what I assumed was cheering coming from somewhere in the distance. Eventually, a much smaller man in a much more expensive suit joined us and dismissed the hired help.

“You must be Chalsarda,” he said with a crooked grin that I’d bet he found charming. “Not quite what I expected, but I appreciate you coming all the same.”

“I’m here for a two o’clock appointment with Margaux Brouillard,” I said dryly. “Are you here to see me to my appointment?”

“The interim director is indisposed at the moment, I’m afraid,” the man said, offering me a handshake. “Which makes me the appointment. Skip Santoro. Pleasure to meet you.”

I cautiously took the handshake, locking my thoughts as I did, just in case he’d been able and willing to take my memories, but from what I could tell it was just a handshake. A little sweaty perhaps, but otherwise not threatening. “I see. So then, Skip, what exactly is it that you do around here?”

“Around here?” he said with a chuckle. “For all intents and purposes, I’m the boss! But for today, I’m the guy giving you your assignment, and if you play your cards right, maybe the cure for what ails you.”

I took a moment to consider him now. I was a full head taller than him—stature wasn’t his strong suit—but he projected himself well. His black hair was slicked back with enough product that it bordered on offensive and it had just enough pomp to straddle the edge of cartoonish. Aside from that, he was immaculately well groomed, but between the gold cufflinks and the prominently displayed Rolex watch, it all became just a bit too flashy to be still considered in good taste. The stupid grin gave me the impression he was someone who liked to call women sweetheart whenever he had the chance.

“Listen, sweetheart,” Skip began.

Oh, bugger all.

“We can talk business later, but you’re a bit on the early side, and I have something I need to get to. Care to follow me?”

I kept my poker face and followed him through a guarded door which opened up into what seemed to be a private box, prime seating considering this was an arena beneath the Coliseum. The thunderous sounds of hundreds of cheering men and women filled my ears the moment the doors opened. Skip motioned for me to sit and took a seat beside me as I scanned the chaos below. Littering the ground, dozens of besuited men and women lay still or struggled to get to their feet. And one man stood in the center, bare chest heaving with labored breaths and a firm hand gripping a scythe. I recognized him at once.

This was Bres.

***