“I still can’t believe this.”
“It was going to happen eventually.”
“Yes, Jensen. Eventually. Not now.”
“What did you want me to do? Risk letting her stay there with Scythe? He could have killed her.”
“What you should have done was made sure Scythe never approached her in the first place. You let your guard down.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Sadie. Next time, I just won’t answer when Thaddeus Loring calls. That’ll go over well, right?”
“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”
“I don’t appreciate you acting like this is all my fault.”
“You’re supposed to be protecting her, Jensen. Start acting like it.”
I’ve been awake for several minutes now, keeping my eyes closed as I listen to the two of them bickering. I recognize Jensen’s voice, but it isn’t until he says her name that I realize he’s arguing with Miss Hawthorne.
I have no idea what is going on.
“You know she’s awake,” Miss Hawthorne says. “I’m going to get us all some tea. You can explain the mess she’s been dumped into while I’m doing that.”
I hear the clicks of her high heels fading as she moves away from us. I sink farther down into the cushion I’m lying on as Jensen sits near my legs.
“Hey,” he whispers, grabbing the top of my toes.
My heart starts racing.
“You don’t have to pretend you’re still unconscious, Genevieve.”
I open my eyes. The expression on Jensen’s face is unreadable, but his clenched jaw and taut lips suggest he’s not in the best mood. I break away from his gaze and survey my surroundings. I’m lying on a white chaise longue in the middle of a huge, high-ceilinged room. There are several other pieces of expensive furniture meticulously arranged, as well as a large mahogany bookshelf covering the entirety of the wall across from me. To my side, the floor-to-ceiling windows look out onto a breathtaking landscape of flowers, shrubbery, and flowing creek. The crimson drapes are pulled back and tied by golden tassels, and the white-washed marble floor is illuminated even more so by the beams of light coming from the silver-encrusted chandeliers.
“We’re in Sadie’s home,” Jensen says. “And you’ve been out for about an hour. Maybe a little more.”
I look back at him, and the memory of the forest surges into my head. I can feel my breath quickening and my heart starting up in double-time. I retract my legs from him and pull them closer to my body.
He frowns. “You’re afraid of me now.” He sighs, shaking his head as he drops it to his chest. “Please don’t be afraid of me, Genevieve.”
I only look at him, not knowing what to say. His tensed posture melts away into a slumped defeat, and I can tell he’s genuinely hurt. I reach out and touch his shoulder with my fingertips.
“I’m not afraid of you, Jensen.” Which is a lie. “I’m just confused.”
He lifts his head and nods. “Yes, I can imagine.” He folds his arms and sighs, looking at me with his hypnotic, dark brown eyes. “May I try to explain what’s going on?”
What am I supposed to say? No, that’s okay. Shooting fire from your hands is no big deal. To each his own.
He moves closer to me, and I try not to look alarmed.
“Okay, so let’s start with the obvious.” Jensen inhales deeply. “I’m a mage.” He releases his breath. “A fire mage, to be more exact.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. You’re a mage. A fire mage.”
“Genevieve…I don’t think you understand what I’m saying—”
“No, I get it.” My voice is more high-pitched than usual. “My brother plays tons of video games, and I read all sorts of fantasy books, so I know exactly what a mage is. Shooting magic from your hands, conjuring spells, waving your magic wands. Pew, pew.”
“I think you’re in shock—”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Genevieve, please sit back down.”
I don’t remember standing up, but I’m aware now that I’m on my feet and halfway across the room, near the bookshelf. I move back over to the longue and lower myself onto its cushion, feeling exhaustion rush over my body.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, trying to control my shaky voice. “I’m sorry.”
He places his hand on top of mine. His warmth seeps deep into my skin.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he whispers. “Your reaction is natural.”
I take a deep breath. “So…you’re a mage.”
He nods slowly. “Sadie is, too. So is the boy you met in the woods.”
“Scythe.”
“Yeah.” He grimaces. “Scythe.”
Just keep cool, Genevieve. My mind begins working overtime. Nothing’s impossible.
“And I doubt you’re the only ones?” I say. “I mean, there are others?”
Again, Jensen nods.
“Is Scythe here, too?”
“No, he isn’t with us. He’s not on our side.”
On our side. “So he’s against you guys?”
“That’s probably the best way to put it, yes.”
“Against you for what?”
Jensen sighs. “It’s complicated to explain. But I’ll try,” he says, when he sees the glare I’m throwing at him. “We’re part of a magical group known as Formulists. Our history is complex and dates back a very long time. But certain individuals found that they had unique abilities. Some able to manifest fire. Or others, ice. There were even warriors whose skills were enhanced with different types of magic. Because these powers took on various forms, our namesake was established. It should come as no surprise that people who had these types of magical powers were considered dangerous by those who didn’t. The Formulists became the target of much hatred and violence during the Crusades in the eleventh century, ultimately ending in the majority of Formulists being murdered or executed. In order to save ourselves, a new world had to be discovered, one where we could live freely and harness our powers. Several members of the Formulists diligently worked on establishing a realm for safety. And in their pursuit, they opened a portal to another world, a rift that linked the physical and the magical together. They called it Banewind.”
“So people with magic existed on Earth before the discovery of your world?” I say.
Jensen shrugs. “We’re not exactly sure how they came to be. Maybe people from Banewind crossed over to Earth in more ancient times. But all we know is that Formulists were present here, surviving for centuries before finding Banewind and making that our new home.”
I let his words soak in.
“What are you thinking?” he says.
I shrug. “I’m just trying to convince myself that this is an actual conversation I’m having.”
Jensen laughs. “That may take more time than you think.”
“So you’re a fire mage. And I’m guessing Scythe is an ice mage, then?”
I remember the snowy spells Scythe was casting in the forest. And the ice I slipped on while walking Grendel. It starts to make more sense.
“Right.” Jensen nods. “Sadie is an ice mage, too.” He pauses. “She’s also my aunt.”
“And why exactly are you here?” I say.
Miss Hawthorne’s heels resonate through the mansion as she enters from an alcove at the opposite end of the room.
“I’ve got some delicious tea,” she sings, placing the silver tray down on the table in front of the chaise longue. “Genevieve, hot or iced?”
“Iced.”
I watch as she pours a cup full of steaming hot tea from a titanium kettle. Once full, she takes hold of the cup and the tea crackles and hisses as the porcelain frosts over.
“There.” She hands me the cup on a matching saucer. “One of the advantages of being an ice mage.” A look of horror washes over her face. “Oh! Wait a minute. You guys did talk about the mages, right?” She looks from me to Jensen.
“Jensen filled me in…and also just told me you’re his aunt.”
“Oh, excellent.” She relaxes as she grabs her own cup of tea and settles into a nearby loveseat. “And call me Sadie, please.”
I take a sip of tea. The cool liquid feels good running down my throat. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was.
“Thank you.” I motion the cup to her.
She bats her hand as if shooing away a fly.
“No trouble at all.” She blows on her own scalding hot tea and smooths out her dress. “So fill me in on what you two have been talking about.”
“He was just telling me about the Formulists,” I say. “You mentioned there are also warriors?”
“Yeah,” Jensen says. “There are physical powers and elemental powers. Mages, as well as some of the other types of Formulists, are able to manipulate things like fire, ice, shadows, earth, or water. The warriors use weapons to enhance their powers, including holy magic or dark magic.”
I think back to the numerous fantasy books I’ve read.
“Holy magic…like paladins?”
Jensen smiles. “Exactly.”
“Warriors with dark magic are known as Void Knights,” Sadie says. “As their power is said to come from Banewind’s ethereal void, or the Darkness. Before opening the portal to Banewind, dark magic didn’t exist here on Earth. Legend has it that a fierce deity known as Ic’thyl was unleashed when the rift between worlds was created. And it was his corrupting power that brought forth the Darkness into existence.”
“I’m trying to follow along.” I feel my eyebrows furrow. “But I still don’t understand why you guys are here if you have your own world.”
Jensen and Sadie glance at each other.
“What?” I lean forward in my seat. “What is it?”
“This next part is hard to explain.” Jensen sighs. “We, um…we came here to protect you, Genevieve.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Your mother was a paladin, Genevieve,” Sadie whispers. “So there is a chance that you are as well.”
“No…that…you’re joking, right?”
“It’s true. She was a paladin. But when she gave birth to you, she decided to permanently sever her ties from the Formulists’ world and concentrate on raising a family.” Sadie’s eyes are filled with sorrow. “As much as it pained us to do, we honored her wishes.”
“You’re lying,” I choke out, and my face feels hot and flushed. “That’s not possible.”
Sadie stands and walks over to a desk near the bookshelf. She removes a picture from it and brings it back over to me.
“Here.” She places the frame on my lap. “That’s two years before she met your father. We were best friends.”
I grab hold of the frame with shaking hands, and slowly bring it up to my face, allowing my vision to take in the faded picture. I recognize my mother, young and vivacious as she stands with her hip cocked next to Sadie, a huge smile spread across her face. Both women are wearing gorgeous white cloaks, and have their arms tossed over each other’s shoulders.
I drop the picture onto the table, and my teacup tumbles over the side, crashing onto the marble floor and erupting into several pieces.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, feeling as though my body has gone numb.
Sadie takes a cloth from the tray and soaks up the spilt tea while picking up the pieces. She lays them out in her hand, and I watch in awe as a blue light swirls around the porcelain, mending the pieces back together with frosted ice filling in the cracks.
“There.” She wads up the cloth and places it back onto the table. “Good as new.” She sets down the teacup and returns to her seat. “You weren’t supposed to discover any of this yet, Genevieve. We were going to tell you eventually, but not like this.”
“But you…you think that…you think that I’m a paladin?”
“Addisyn was not only a paladin,” Sadie says, “but she was what we call the Holy Guardian—a lineage of female paladins who fought against the Darkness and protected the royal Banewind family. The same family the land was named after. As such, it is possible that you are also a paladin, and maybe even the next Holy Guardian, as you are Addisyn’s only daughter.”
I pull apart each of her words, trying to dissect exactly what it is I’m hearing. My mother, the kind, compassionate woman who would sing me to sleep at night when I was a child. The woman who sat me on her lap as she read to me countless hours, introducing me to the magical worlds that existed between the pages of The Wind in the Willows or The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. The woman who bought me my first journal, who taught me that crying was not a weakness, but a sign of strong emotion. The woman who kissed my bruises and scared the monsters away from under my bed.
My mother, who had an entire life I knew nothing about.
“I don’t know what to say,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
I glance again at the picture lying on the table.
“I just…I can’t believe it.”
“Regardless of whether you believe it or not, you’re in danger,” Jensen says. “There is a group of Formulists known as the Voidweavers, who have attempted to destroy Banewind for many years now. They worship Ic’thyl, and their only goal is to see the Darkness rise to power. Your mother protected us from them. But unfortunately, they have returned.”
“Scythe is working with the Voidweavers, trying to capture you.” Sadie says. “Your mother destroyed their leader, the Void King, ten years ago. She gave her life to do so, but she saved our world. And yours as well.”
“But the Voidweavers believe that since you are her descendent,” Jensen says, “you could be a key to bringing him back. One of our allies, Mengurion Maldridge—a well-respected fire mage who has lived through decades of this war—warned us of their ploy. Unfortunately, he was captured by the Voidweavers weeks ago, and we haven’t heard from him since.”
“But we know that what Maldridge says is true,” Sadie says. “He is one of the wisest men I know. A father figure to many. He was a mentor to your mother and I. And he knows better than anyone the events that plague Banewind.” She pauses. “It was his warning that set us out to look for you. And so here we are.”
“So my mother…didn’t die in a car accident? She was killed by…the Void King?”
Their silence is enough of an answer for me.
“Your mother loved you so much, Genevieve,” Sadie says. “Her family was her top priority, her life’s joy.” Her eyes are glistening. “She walked away from Banewind in hopes to live out the rest of her days with you and your family. But when the Void King threatened the existence of life itself, she took up her mantle to return to Banewind and defeat him in order to save you…to save everyone.”
“And she did.” Jensen reaches over and squeezes my hand. “She was a hero.”
“And you’re positive they’re after me?” The goosebumps spread across my skin. “But why? I don’t have any powers.”
“Not that you know of,” Sadie says. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t. You haven’t been raised as a paladin.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.” I feel queasy, hot, and sweaty. “This is too much.”
“I agree.” Jensen looks at Sadie. “She’s heard enough today. I’m going to take her back home.” He smiles at me. “We’ll talk more about it soon. I promise.”
I nod mechanically as I stand from the couch. Jensen and Sadie walk behind me as we head to the front door.
“Does my father know about this?” I say, not sure if I’m ready to hear the answer.
“People keep secrets from each other, Genevieve,” says Sadie. “Sometimes it’s for the best.”
This isn’t an answer to my question, but I’m too exhausted to discuss it anymore.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sadie says, as we step outside. “Try to get some sleep.”
a
We sit in silence the entire ride home. I keep myself focused by looking out the window, watching as one after another, the streetlamps whiz by. My mind is numb, and I have so many thoughts rushing through my head from what I just learned that I don’t even have time to comprehend them.
When we finally pull into my driveway, I unbuckle my seatbelt, but sit frozen in Jensen’s red Jeep, unable to move any further.
“Genevieve,” he whispers. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I just…I don’t know.”
“That’s understandable.” His voice is calm and comforting. “Do you need anything from me right now?”
I shake my head. “I just need some time to digest this.” I open the door and hesitate before I step out. “Am I…am I safe?” The words choke in my throat. “I mean…well, am I?”
“Sadie and I will be keeping an eye on you. I promise. We won’t let anything happen.”
I step onto the driveway, my legs heavy like lead pipes.
“What do I do now?”
“Nothing. We can talk more about this in the morning. You can call me if you need anything.”
I nod, trying to hold back tears.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I start walking up the driveway.
“Hey, Genevieve.” He sticks his head out the driver’s window. “It’s going to be okay.”
I watch as his Jeep disappears down the street.
As I pass my car, I’m horrified to see my reflection in the mirror. I’m covered in soot from when I was in the forest.
I take off my pink sweater and stuff it in the bottom of the trash can so no one will see it. I walk around to the side of the house and turn on the hose, then dip my hands into the cold water and rub it over my arms until almost all of the grime has been removed. Once I feel presentable, I head through the side door.
“Nice of you to join us.”
I hear my dad’s voice from the family room, and turn and see him sitting with his laptop and several papers scattered around the coffee table. He doesn’t look happy.
Crap.
“Hi, Dad.” I try to sound energetic. “Sorry I’m home so late. I got tied up at a friend’s house, and I didn’t realize what time—”
“Don’t give me excuses, Jeannie. Do you know how irresponsible this was of you? Your brother has been home by himself for most of the evening, and he nearly burnt down the house trying to cook dinner.” He gestures to the sink, and I see a burnt frying pan as black as night, submerged in soapy water. “On top of that, there was apparently a fire in the forest earlier today. The fire trucks were just leaving the street as I got home. What if something had happened to him while he was by himself?”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, kicking my foot on the floor.
My dad takes off his glasses and sets them next to his laptop.
“It’s okay.” He sighs as his voice melts away into softness. “I shouldn’t be so hard on you. Truthfully, I don’t give you enough credit for everything you do around here for us.” A grin broadens across his face. “So one mess up isn’t going to hurt you too badly.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’m going to go shower and read a little.”
I have to get out of here before he notices my appearance and starts asking questions.
“Wait a minute, Jeannie. The neighbors called for you.”
Oh, crap. No! The dog. I forgot all about him, and I never got him back from the woods.
“Shoot! I’ll run over there right now. I’m sorry, Dad. I totally—”
“Whoa, whoa, honey.” He raises his brow. “You don’t have to go over there. Everything’s fine. They just wanted to thank you and your friend for taking care of Grendel today.” He chuckles. “And I’ll admit, even I was surprised to hear you’d do that for Daniel. I’m sure he promised you something in exchange, right?”
“Yeah, he’s going to wash my car. I don’t understand. What do you mean they wanted to thank me and my friend?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know all your friends, Jeannie. They just said to thank you and the boy in the blue tracksuit.” He smiles. “Is this a new boy…?”
“What? Oh, no. Katie and Floyd were with me.”
The boy in the blue tracksuit…
Scythe.
“Oh, okay.”
He puts on his glasses and goes back to reading his papers.
“There are leftovers in the refrigerator if you want them. I’m going to be hitting the hay soon myself.”
“Thanks,” I finally head into the foyer. “Night, Dad.”
As I head up the stairs, I still can’t shake the idea of Scythe returning the dog for me. I mean, he is trying to kill me, after all…right?
I can’t think straight anymore. I just need a long, hot shower. And my bed. But even after I wash off and climb under the covers, sleep evades me.
People keep secrets from each other. Sadie’s words jump into my head. Sometimes it’s for the best.
I get out of bed and put on my purple slippers, then slowly open the bedroom door. The hallway is dark, and the only noise I hear is the muffled snores of my father, coming from his room. I creep down the stairs, tiptoe to the basement door, and gingerly shut it behind me.
The storage room is filled to the brim with all sorts of knick-knacks collected through the years. The Christmas tree leans against the unfinished wall, where several boxes of ornaments are stacked precariously on top of one another. Bins of schoolwork from my elementary years are tucked away next to a broken treadmill, untouched since they were originally placed. I find the area where we keep our old family photos, too many containers to even count.
“Where is it?” I pull open different lids to find what I’m looking for. “Come on. I know you’re here somewhere.”
As I move one of the containers, I finally see what I’m searching for sitting behind it, labeled, Mom’s Stuff.
I take a deep breath and pull it from the shelf, then remove the lid. The stale plastic smell tickles my nostrils, and I sneeze. I sit on the floor and rummage through the items inside. There are several scrapbooks, half-completed, with various images of myself as a child.
“Oh, God.” I laugh, remembering the phase my mother went through when she was trying to catalogue every moment of our lives.
I see a picture of myself at Halloween, when I was no more than three or four years old, dressed up like Sherlock Holmes. I flip the page, and there I am in between my mother and father, holding a bright yellow Easter egg out for the camera.
I close the book and set it aside. As I dig through the box more, I find an unlabeled manila envelope. I open it, and my mother’s memorial card from the funeral home falls into my lap. Her face stares up at me, smiling. Like she had never really left.
I reach into the envelope and pull out a handful of pictures, all taken at her funeral.
Weird. Who takes photos at a funeral?
But that day is a distant memory, and even now I can still only remember bits and pieces of what happened.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” someone would say.
“How tragic. Victor DeWinter left alone to raise the children.”
“She was so young. It isn’t fair.”
I flip through the photos and stop to look at pictures from the cemetery—me holding my dad’s hand next to the mausoleum. Katie and her family. Me sitting on the couch at the funeral home, with a plate of food resting on my lap, and a boy next to me.
Wait. What?
I pull the photo closer, studying the boy in the picture. He’s smiling at the camera, with his head resting on my shoulder, eating a pastry. His brown eyes are so familiar. He might be ten years younger, but even so, I can recognize Jensen Saint Clair.
I scan the rest of the photos, my heart racing as I peruse the various images. More flowers, more people, more memorials.
I pull the photo I’m holding closer to me, and freeze.
“No way.”
My father is standing outside the hearse as several men, including Katie’s father, are lined up at my mother’s casket. But that isn’t what catches my attention.
To my dad’s left is a woman in a black dress, her hand resting against my father’s back, her profile visible as she stares out into the distance, a forlorn expression washed across her face.
There is no mistaking her.
No mistaking Sadie Hawthorne as she consoles my weeping father.