Lisbeth McQuarrie
We… well, we’d survived, hadn’t we? That was the most important fact to impart… wasn’t it? So why, every time I tried to remind myself of that fact, did my mind dovetail and do strange things? It plucked up irrelevant details from the fight, cramming them in front of my face as if I hadn’t paid attention to what truly mattered. Like the way Winchester had smiled at me. Like the way his hand had so tenderly clasped mine. Like the way he looked at me – like the way he kept looking at me.
My stomach was fidgeting far too much by the time we made it back to the cemetery, by the time I spied Wintersmith with his arms crossed in front of his crypt. His look said it all. I had failed in my most important duty. I’d let Winchester know what I was.
And… honestly, it would take a long time for that fact to sink in.
My whole life, I had waited for someone to find out who I was. Someone alive, at least. I’d imagined it, sometimes on lonely, cold nights, when the wind had blown through the cracks in the floor, when its incessant moaning had reminded me of the dark destiny I’d come upon in this life.
I’d squeezed my eyes shut and regaled myself with the details of what it would be like to reveal my powers.
And honestly, it had been nothing like this. Nothing so raw, nothing so… real.
Our imaginations can prepare us for changes in our environment, but they can never guess every single detail, nor can they ever truly train our hearts for what will come next.
“Come, you unruly witch,” Wintersmith snapped.
Winchester was no longer holding my hand. I supposed there was no point. We were out of trouble. For now.
Though I imagined I’d be in a different kind of trouble when he found out the reason we were safe was that I had stolen his soul crystals and brought them here.
He seemed far too surprised by the fact that Wintersmith was a real ghost. Winchester continued to stare at him, mouth agape.
He leaned close to me. “What exactly is your relationship with him? He didn’t indenture you, did he?”
There was no time for fun. And likely, there would never be a chance to enjoy anything in my life ever again. I was cursed and ruined, and yet, I could still smile at that.
I arched an eyebrow, playing with Winchester. Why was he so scared about the fact that another wizard could’ve indentured me first? Would it undermine his own indenturing spell? Or was Winchester simply a possessive man?
I went to string him along, but Wintersmith grunted from his sarcophagus at the bottom of the stairs, “She’s not indentured to me. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to shackle myself onto her.”
My lips flattened. “Do you have any idea what I achieved today? Do you have any clue how hard it was, you despicable wizard?”
Winchester blinked like he’d been slapped. He forced himself close to my ear, “Lisbeth. Do you have any idea who that is? He’s the greatest wizard who’s ever lived. You should—”
“She should show me some respect, shouldn’t she?” Wintersmith cut in, laughing and likely slapping his leg.
Respect? The only thing I wanted to show him was my ire. He purposely made this mission hard for me at every single juncture.
Breaking away from Winchester, even as he grasped toward me, likely recognizing the dangerous look in my eyes, I strode down the steps, hands on my hips. I faced Wintersmith. “You have some explaining to do. Not only did you never tell me that Winchester was a dead practitioner, not only did you make me find out on my own, but you didn’t tell me about your ritual room. If you had, that horrible situation would not have unfolded as it had.”
“Lisbeth, you must be careful. There was never a wizard like him—” before Winchester could finish, Wintersmith lifted a hand.
He glowered at me from over the top of his silver beard. I’d never noticed this, but it resembled the moonlight over snow. An appropriate image? Somewhat. It wasn’t as cold as the real man. Nor as bleak.
“You may have prevented Winchester from being captured. But now our enemies hunt him without reprieve. And that is nothing to mention what they wish to do with you.”
With my hand still on my hips, I truculently rolled my eyes. “I don’t much care what they intend to do with me. They won’t capture me. Now, what’s the next stage of this harebrained plan? I saw that mural in your ritual room. It has something to do with those forbidden tomes. Winchester has one.” I gestured over at him.
He’d tucked the book into his pocket. Now his fingers froze. I could tell why. He was still a suspicious man at heart, wasn’t he? Could he really trust me and my strange troop of ghosts?
The answer? Why, the answer was a startling and quick one. Shoving a hand into his pocket, he drew out the book reverentially. He handed it over to Wintersmith.
Wintersmith jerked back and flapped his hands. “I don’t want to touch it. I did that enough in my real life. Always gave me the willies. You can hold it, because you, ultimately,” Wintersmith’s eyes glittered darkly, “will be responsible for it.”
“What do you mean?” Winchester found his voice.
So it wasn’t just me Wintersmith treated like this, then? Good. Rather than directly answer the question, Wintersmith crossed his arms and started to float in the air. He looked like a very angry sage. His prodigious beard flapped over his shoulder. He closed his eyes for a few short seconds, contemplating something that made him even angrier, then snapped them open. “Our only chance is to go on the offensive now. You can say goodbye to your old life, Wizard,” Wintersmith grunted at Winchester. “You won’t be seeing it again. I imagine by now your brother has already turned your house over. There will be no going back.”
I looked at Winchester, though not directly. I had to swivel my attention out of the corner of my eye, and if that sounded physiologically impossible, it was indeed a hard, very careful movement.
Everything he had done was to keep his old life. Now in one simple moment it crumbled out from underneath him. And in many ways, it was my fault. Though I wouldn’t admit that to Wintersmith, it was easy in front of Winchester.
But Winchester did not crumple. He glanced down at the floor. Emotion marked his brow and forced his lips lower. But then he looked at me, not Wintersmith. “My old life was a ruse. It could never last forever. I suppose,” he comfortably slipped his hands into his pockets as if he were discussing the weather, “it was always going to happen. And… I’m almost glad it did. Finding out the truth, it turns out, can be good for the soul.”
He continued to look at me, and his words… they could hardly be lost on me.
Finding out the truth was good for the soul?
He was speaking about us. The only two dead practitioners in all of the kingdom. No, wait. I turned to Wintersmith quickly, my dress flaring around my knees and drawing Winchester’s attention.
I could not let it distract me, even though it was, by nature, very distracting indeed. “What about the other dead practitioner? You said it wasn’t just us.”
“What the devil? Are you trying to tell me there’s another?” Winchester demanded, all sense of serenity gone.
“Yes, there’s another. No, they have not disappeared. And yes, they appear to be at the center of this mess. They must be under Bram’s thumb,” Wintersmith concluded. “Think about it,” he snapped arrogantly at the both of us. “You go up against deadly dark fiends that have been dragged from the earth. Zombies,” he shouted, “and God knows what else. What kind of practitioner do you think could bring them to life? What force do you believe one would require to animate them? Ordinary magic? Or magic just like yours?”
I blinked. How preciously stupid I’d been. Of course the forces we’d faced had been called by a practitioner just like us. While I could get over my lack of deductive skills quickly, it seemed Winchester could not.
He looked genuinely and powerfully disappointed in himself. His bottom lip wobbled. He finally brought it under control as he stiffened it. “So what happens now? We can’t stay here. That said, there seems to be some protective barrier—”
Wintersmith lifted a hand dismissively. “It’s your thousand spirit stones. Lisbeth here stole them for me. We need them. But she was ultimately the one to do the act.” He smiled and crossed his arms.
Excuse me? He demanded I steal the stones. He sent me there. And now he was trying to get me in even more trouble. For that is what Wintersmith was good for, apparently.
I rolled up one of my sleeves. To hell with it. It was time to show my justified anger.
Winchester would not let me. One of his hands silently descended on my shoulder. And he… looked at me. I did not know how many times Winchester had looked at me, and I wasn’t entirely sure one could even count it. For we can stare at things out of the corner of our eyes without it being noticeable. Only Winchester himself would understand how often he glanced my way. But all of that aside, what mattered most was the moment he made for us.
His silence did two things. It proved he wasn’t angry. But it also proved there might be space in the future for something else.
“I now understand the situation is far more complex than I ever appreciated. And I am now fully aware of the fact,” Winchester closed his eyes then opened them slowly, “that I can no longer stand by the sidelines. My brother must be taken down. What do you recommend, Wintersmith? How would you go about this?”
It must’ve been rather significant for Winchester to defer to someone like that. Even if it was Wintersmith. But I could tell you what was far more significant – at least to me. Winchester kept his hand on my shoulder. Was he trapping me in place? Was he confirming through touch I was still his indentured? Or was this something far more complex and yet something far simpler? Sometimes we touch what we want to touch. And that meant… why, I couldn’t think that through.
“Now that,” Wintersmith pointed toward Winchester, “is the difference between a wizard and a witch. You know something must be done, and you’re eager to do it.”
I ground my teeth together. “I have barely slept or eaten in days. All I have done is run around, saving ghosts and this city, and yet you still insult me?”
“A wizard would’ve done this by now,” Wintersmith promised.
“If that were the case, my good old man,” Winchester said, “we wouldn’t be in this situation. For presumably, many a wizard knows what is going on with this city, but none has risen to stop it.”
I paused. It took a few seconds to understand what he’d said. Then it took even longer to put those words together and appreciate what they meant. For Winchester… had risen to my defense. This wasn’t the same as taking a bodily blow for me. This wasn’t like whisking me out of danger. This was defending me in front of one of his kind. And he meant it.
Winchester crossed his arms. He stared down his nose at Wintersmith.
And Wintersmith clapped his hands together and hooted riotously as if this was the best thing he’d ever seen. “I suppose you’re right, you young wizard. And I suppose I ought to have been put in my place. Still, action demands that we move quickly. You must go to the Magical Academy. You must undermine it. I trust you know exactly how to do that. Destroy as many of the buildings as you can. Remove their stores. And critically, attack their library. Ensure they have as few resources as they can for the next stage of their plan.”
Winchester may have asked, but it was clear he didn’t wish to be told this. “Sacrilege. The Magical Academy—”
Wintersmith got a challenging look in his eyes. Never a good sign. Especially for his wizard body, because let me tell you, there was nothing stopping him from channeling his anger into his pupils and making them literally burn. “Finish your sentence, boy. Tell me, as best as you can, what the Magical Academy has become. Do not lie. Do not gloss it over. Give me the truth as you understand it.”
Winchester paused. I could see the war going on in his mind. He wanted to defend his institution.
He was a very proper wizard, and it was clear he loved his kind. But. But indeed. There are only so many egregious mistakes we can turn a blind eye to. Especially when those mistakes start dragging down the very kingdom we live within.
Wintersmith wasn’t the only one staring at Winchester in interest, waiting to find out how he would respond. Other ghosts had floated down the stairs. Sarah-Anne still stood to my side. And then there was me myself. And I imagined I was the one that mattered. For Winchester spent the most time staring at me.
He went to answer. From the automatic way his lips moved, I could tell he would defend his brethren.
I sighed. And Winchester closed his eyes. “I want to believe in the good side of magic. I want to believe in all of the knowledge that we have acquired and all of the good it should have done.”
“Should?” Wintersmith challenged.
Winchester finally opened one eye. “Should have done. I have turned a blind eye to most things in my life. I’ve cared more about hiding my secret from my brother. But I suppose I also cared about hiding it from my colleagues. For I understood they were not collegial. And they never would be if they discovered my secret. I lived a sham of a life. I wanted to believe in the glory of the Magical Academy, because it gave me something to aspire to. But it was a trap. It was one I wandered into.”
“And what do you intend to do with this trap?”
“Burn it to the ground, apparently,” Winchester answered. And then, slowly, one by one, he slid his eyes over to me.
Winchester hadn’t given me much. Technically, he’d given me the dress. And an indenturing agreement I had never asked for. But why did this feel like it was a present, all for me? Not for the city. Not for the future of this country, but for little old me?
“Well, what are you two waiting for? Head there right now. Heaven knows what they are up to. Leave that book here, though,” Wintersmith demanded. He grasped up the book unwillingly. Then he thrust it into his sarcophagus. The book was made of ordinary matter, and he was not. Ghosts usually couldn’t drag real things through material barriers with them. But there was no usually when it came to Wintersmith.
Winchester blinked back his surprise. Then he settled his gaze on me. “She’s quite injured. She’s been through too many fights—”
“Oh, don’t worry about her. She’ll never stop fighting, that one. You need her, too. Sorry to break that to you, but she is at the center of all of this mess.”
I looked away. Really? It wasn’t of course the comment that I was at the center of this mess. That was apparent. Why did Wintersmith continue to insult me?
I should’ve paused and waited to ask a different question. Why would Winchester continue to defend me?
“The Magical Academy can be a terribly dangerous place. I don’t want—” Winchester began.
I wasn’t about to waste time with Winchester like this. Not when we had such important things to do. I strode over and grasped his hand up. It seemed like a good idea at the time. It felt like something that would anchor his attention, dragging him off his worries and locking his focus where it ought to be. Forward, on the future. But there was a problem there. Because the only thing before him was me.
And his attention, his full, startling attention, settled on me like a hand around my heart. It did not want to squeeze. It wanted to cradle.
I had many strong statements I wished to say, but they died on my lips.
Wintersmith rolled his eyes. Sarah-Anne actually giggled into her hands.
It was Winchester who stiffened. “Lisbeth—”
“We don’t have time to waste. Lord knows what your brother is doing, but he’s likely tearing this town apart to get to you. We’ll start with the Magical Academy. Then we’ll move on to him.”
“But it will be dangerous.” His voice was unnervingly deep.
Or rather, I was allowing myself to be unsettled by the simplest of details: the look in his eyes, the proximity of his breath. I would have to pull myself together if I wanted to get through the Magical Academy.
But to do that, I’d have to accept one thing. We were now in this together.
When words failed me, I tried something else. I thrust a hand out. Winchester arched his eyebrow. “Lisbeth?” he asked in a deep voice.
“Take it,” I muttered. “And come on. The next stage of this journey awaits.”