Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

Anora and the Witch

When Thane said we would be in contact, I thought that meant I wouldn’t hear from him for a couple days. Instead, I get a text near midnight. The buzz of my phone startles me, and I sit, staring at the message. It’s simple. I’m here. I contemplate whether I should meet him, claim I was asleep come Friday, though if he’s parked close to my house, chances are he can see the light on in my room and me in the window.

I spent the evening googling a combination of words I’d learned today: Eurydice, the Order, death-speaker. I came up with nothing useful. Seems like these people do a good job of keeping their world a secret. When that produced no answers, I started a list of reasons why I’m not the Eurydice and a list of reasons I could be the Eurydice. So far, the list of reasons I could be the Eurydice outnumber the other six to one—one being a measly it’s just impossible.

The other list includes the thread, turning souls into coins, seeing the dead, unexplained ass-kicking abilities, weird scythe-wielding boys stalking me…

I imagine the list will get longer too. I feel an odd mix of relief and fear, knowing what I am has a name, that others know it, that they want me. I tell myself I should be freaking out more. I should have spent the evening packing all my things, enacting my escape plan, with the weight of the Eurydice, the Order, and Influence driving me.

And then I think of the priorities. I can’t leave until I know who killed Lily, until my coin is in my possession once again. I can’t let this happen to anyone else. Plus, Mom is still locked in her room, and there’s no way I could leave without her. Our relationship is complicated, and sometimes it seems like I’m more the parent than she is, but we’ve always had each other.

My phone dings again, reminding me I have a message I’ve ignored. I shrug into my jacket before climbing out my bedroom window and wriggling down the trellis. The thread pricks my palm, poised and ready for what comes out with the dark. The streetlights flicker, and the wind picks up. It’s like a scene from a horror movie, foreshadowing the appearance of the killer.

I walk a little way down the street to where Thane’s black Charger waits, headlights off, and slip into the passenger seat.

“What took you so long?” he asks.

“I was making a decision.”

“To trust me?”

“I don’t trust you, but you’ve given me answers. This might give me more.”

“I bet you trust Savior.” The words, strung together as they are, should sound jealous, but Thane doesn’t say them with venom. His tone is almost passive, like he intended to keep the comment inside his head. “It’s how he looks. All bright-eyed and cheerful. People trust him.”

“Actually, I trust him less than I trust you.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re mad at him.”

“I’m pretty sure I know when I don’t trust someone.”

“Well, at least that’s one thing you’ve gotten right.” Thane observes me for a moment and then starts his car. He waits until we are turned around to switch on the lights.

“Where are we going?”

“Not far.”

I’m not a fan of Thane’s indirect answers, but I’m also not interested in talking any more for fear of being questioned, so I sit quietly, unable to relax in the slick leather seat. The only sound in the cab is from air blowing through the vents. It hits me in one continuous stream, freezing patches of skin. Any other time, I might reach up to close the vent or turn it away from me, but the chill blast gives me something to train my thoughts on rather than the scenario that might play out if we fail to find Lily’s soul before it’s exchanged with someone else’s.

Thane isn’t lying when he says we aren’t going far. He pulls left onto Main and drives about half a mile out of town before turning down a slim, makeshift road crowded with trees and brush. I’m not prepared for the fact that it leads to a cemetery. My body’s already reacting to the energy suck straight ahead. It’s like my soul wants to come out of my body, and my heart throbs sickly in my chest. I hate cemeteries.

“What are we doing here?”

“We have an appointment.”

“In the cemetery?” My voice sounds shrill in my ears.

Thane gets out of the car, and I scramble after him. If there’s one thing I hate more than graveyards, it’s being alone in them.

I hurry to catch up with him. “You never said who we were meeting here!”

“We’re meeting a witch,” he says.

“A witch?” I try not to let my voice rise, but I’m not successful. Thane looks amused. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Obviously because of the way you just reacted.”

“How is a witch supposed to help us find Lily?”

“They are just as connected with the dead as you are and even more capable of finding a soul. Besides, she’s the only witch I trust, so we’re going to use her.”

“What’s this witch’s name?”

“A name won’t help your prejudices,” he says.

“I’m not…prejudiced!”

Thane gives me the side-eye.

“Okay, I guess I am a little prejudiced, but you can’t blame me. The only witches I’ve ever seen are in movies.”

A small smile graces his lips. “Trust me, this witch wouldn’t waste time with threats and flying monkeys. She would have poisoned you within seconds of seeing you.”

“That’s not magic. That’s murder.”

“Who said there is a difference?”

“If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a miserable job.”

“We’ve established that I’m not the warm and fuzzy type. If you want this sugarcoated, you’ll have to talk to Shy.”

“I think we already established that I don’t trust Shy.”

Another ghost of a smile. It touches parts of his face I’ve never noticed before: smile lines under his eyes, a dimple on his right cheek—a phantom of who Thane used to be. I want to approach that subject, ask him how things changed once his mom was gone, ask him if he’s helping me because he’s hoping to bring her back, but my gaze has slipped from him to the graveyard.

For someone who can see the dead, graveyards are like walking through a creepy wax museum. Bodies freckle the landscape, frozen in states of death and time, and they’re all lost—suicides and the murdered, those who faced death suddenly or unexpectedly. They come in all forms: men and women, the old and the young, but the thing I can never quite come to terms with are the children—little girls with braided hair and white dresses, boys with smooth hair and small suits. It makes the push and pull of the energy they stir harder to bear.

Thane must notice because he grabs my arm, pulling me toward him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I breathe.

He slides his hand down my arm, wrapping his fingers around mine, and leads me through the graves.

At the back of the cemetery near the tree line sits a mausoleum. The marble structure resembles a house with a tall, steepled roof, and two windows flank a door with an image of a cross entangled in iron vines.

Thane approaches the mausoleum, digs his phone out of his pocket, and shines the light on the door. After studying the lock, he withdraws a thin silver spike from the pocket of his jacket and jams it into the keyhole.

Pretty sure this counts as desecration.

“What are you doing?”

“Picking a lock.”

“Is this something you do on a regular basis?”

“Not a regular basis,” he says none too confidently as the lock clicks. After pocketing his phone and the piece of silver, he pulls the door open, and we enter the mausoleum.

I expect a room of statues and crypts. Instead, the inside looks like a hotel lobby. There is a red rug that runs the length of the hall and two couches at the center, flanked by a set of side tables with wrought-iron lamps. At the very end, rising like a headstone, is a stained-glass window. Moonlight streams through, casting a kaleidoscope of colors over marble walls, highlighting the names of the dead.

“I thought this was a mausoleum.” My voice sounds ragged in the quiet of the hall.

“It is.”

“Why does it look so…relaxing?”

Thane gives me a look I can’t quite place until he speaks—it’s understanding, born from experience.

“It’s hard to let go. Having a place to come and visit makes things…easier over time.”

Thane isn’t looking at me as he speaks. He’s staring at the walls of names, but I’m reminded his coldness was built from grief.

“Come on.”

We continue through the mausoleum, passing several more private corridors. The sense of loss here weighs on my shoulders, made heavier by the light, which only seems to illuminate us from the waist down. I find myself clutching Poppa’s coin through my shirt.

Finally, we come to the back of the mausoleum where the hall splits into a T, and both sides plunge into darkness. Thane takes a turn to the right, but I pause, falling back as the air from the void caresses my skin. Thane must sense my hesitation, because he turns, reaching out to clasp my hand. His fingers are just as cold as the air. He says nothing as he digs his phone out again, using the light to descend.

The steps spiral, and the walls around us narrow, as if they’re closing in, making my chest feel tight and my breath shallow. Thankfully, the descent to even ground is quick, but the darkness continues, thick and heavy, pressing against my eyes. Thane pulls me forward without pause. Now and then, the light from his phone illuminates smooth concrete walls.

“Are we…underground?” I ask.

“Yes. This is a tunnel—one of many. There is a network of them under Rayon.”

I pause a moment and then ask, “How do you know about them?”

“Like everyone else… I inherited the information.”

“Well, where did they come from? What are they for?”

“I guess they were built when the town was built,” he says. “There are a lot of theories. The most popular is that they were used as a way for important men to sneak back and forth between the local bar and brothel, but more than likely, they were used to smuggle alcohol during Prohibition.”

We continue on. At first, I can tell when the tunnel curves and when we change direction, but over time, in the silence and the darkness, I lose my way. Relief washes over me when I finally spot a light at the end of tunnel—literally. It provides no illumination and is more like a beacon, signaling refuge in a storm.

As we near the light, I realize it’s an elevator. Thane clicks the button, and the doors open with a ding. Inside there are a few options for floors, ranging from a negative one to five. Thane chooses negative one as our destination.

“What’s on the other floors?”

“People you’d never want to meet.”

When the doors open, we’re at the end of a long hall. The walls are white, stained and scuffed. The air smells sterile, like a hospital, but with a tinge of blood lingering. It puts me on edge and makes me feel tainted. I glance at Thane, who doesn’t seem to notice, because his eyes are on the figure of a man with dark, stringy hair and a messy, curling beard. His shirt is tinged yellow, like he’d shut himself in a room of cigarette smoke for months.

Gross.

“We’re here to see Samael,” Thane says.

The man looks us up and down. There’s something strange about his eyes—there is no gleam or glassiness. For a moment, I don’t think he’s going to let us pass, but then he says, “She has a client. You’ll have to wait.”

“We’ll wait.”

The man inclines his head and turns. We follow.

We are led to a set of chairs at the end of the hallway.

“Coffee’s around the corner,” he says, pointing with his thumb, then whirls around, making his way back down the hallway. It isn’t until he’s out of sight that Thane lets go of my hand and takes a seat. It was nice having him to hold on to, like a strange truce between us, one borne out of grief and solace.

“What’s up with that guy?” I ask, signaling down the hall.

“He practices death magic,” Thane says. “Consequence of using? It takes from you—your mind, your health, your youth. Whatever it wants.”

I swallow a thickness building in my throat and then sit down. There’s a small table beside me covered in magazines: Witches & Pagans, Spirituality & Health, and Psychology Today.

“Well, this is weird.”

“It’s a business,” Thane says. “We’re here on business. What did you expect?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe a yellow brick road and an emerald castle. You think Samael melts in the rain?”

“I’d advise you to test that theory if I didn’t think she’d also curse your ass.”

The door beside Thane opens, and a man stumbles out as if he’s been pushed. He’s balding and wears a gray windbreaker. He stands for a moment, blinking, before a woman follows him out.

“Sa’id!” Her voice is sharp—a command.

The man who let us in comes out of his room.

“Show the man out.”

“Wait! H-how do I know it will work?” The man spins on her.

The woman narrows her eyes, and then the man’s phone rings. “That call is very important,” she advises. “You had better answer it.”

Sa’id has the man by his arm. As they turn, he answers his phone and begins to sob. What did he ask of Samael?

The woman turns to us, eyes rimmed in kohl. She has long, black hair and wears a layered skirt and a loose-fitting shirt. Bangles on her wrists clash together as she moves, and several gold rings sparkle on fingers firmly planted on her hips.

“What happened to him?” I ask.

If she thinks it’s inappropriate, she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even blink.

“He asked for revenge on his cheating wife,” Samael explains. Then she twists and enters the room.

Thane and I exchange a look before rising to our feet and following. Behind us, the man lets out a guttural sob. “This isn’t what I meant!”

Samael closes the door behind us, muffling his cries.

She walks around us and takes a moment to light incense. The smell makes my head spin, a mix of sage and jasmine. After, she positions herself on a bed of pillows in the corner of the room.

“Sit.” Samael directs us to pillows on the floor, and I do as she instructs. “You will not sit?” she asks Thane.

“I prefer to stand.”

She shrugs, dragging her eyes back to me. Her berry lips pull back into a smile, and yet there’s something cold about her. Maybe it’s her heavily lined eyes, studying me like a difficult spell.

“What can I do for you?”

I open my mouth to answer, but Thane takes the lead. “We’re looking for a soul.”

Samael’s lips part, and she nods once in understanding. She holds out her hand, and Thane drops money into it before I can register what she’s asking for. She reaches for a glass bowl and pours various substances inside—powders and liquids. I wonder how often people come to her for this sort of thing.

“Do you have an item of theirs? Something they wore, perhaps?”

Thane steps forward. “It’s not something she wore…but it was a gift from her.”

He drops a necklace into Samael’s palm, and a heavy weight settles in my chest. I wonder when Lily had given it to him—was it before or after the falling-out with Shy?

Thane doesn’t look at me as he returns to his spot behind me. Samael drops the necklace into the mixture and lights the contents on fire.

I gasp as dark red flames erupt from the bowl. “What are you doing?”

“She gave a part of herself to the boy when she gave him the necklace. If I can resurrect that part of her, perhaps she will tell us where she is.”

“But…I thought resurrection was illegal.”

Samael looks at me, part in challenge, part in annoyance, and answers, “It is.”

I sit in silence, sorry I interrupted her, and watch the flames. A single form rises from the fire—beautiful, like a doll with long limbs and graceful steps.

“She felt safe when she died,” Samael says at last. “Relieved.”

“Relief?” Thane echoes her.

“Yes. She felt like something had been made right.”

A second image materializes. This form is outlined in bright orange, but the middle is darker. The two flames embrace, twining together in a crackle of spark and smoke, and when they part, the bright, doll-like flame has waned so thin, it flickers until it is nothing more than a thin rivulet of vapor.

“The last thing she felt was shock.”

The other flame remains, and a high-pitched whistle fills the air. Samael retrieves a pitcher of water, dousing the fire, filling the air with the smell of sulfur. I cover my nose with the sleeve of my jacket.

The witch reaches into the sludge, retrieving Thane’s necklace, and drops it into the center of a cloth. As she starts to massage away the evidence of her spell, she speaks.

“The girl you seek is at the train yard.”

Thane and I exchange a look. I’m not familiar enough with Rayon to know where the train yard is located, and now I’m curious. Why would Lily go there?

“Are you aware of your responsibility once you do find her?” Samael asks.

“Very much,” Thane says evenly, almost angrily, but I still don’t understand. What’s his responsibility?

Samael doesn’t look convinced and says, “She must be returned to Spirit.”

“I said I understood,” Thane snaps.

But Samael isn’t looking at him. She’s looking at me.

“How does she return to Spirit?” I ask.

“You must summon the Adamantine Gates. That is the only way lost souls can find their way home.”

A hand presses against my shoulder, and I jump, looking up at Thane.

“Let’s go,” he says.

He helps me to my feet, and I sway, dizzy and unstable. Thane steadies me, but before we leave the office, Samael says, “They always come back wrong, Thane. Always.”

We leave the witch’s office.

Once we’re in the elevator, I take deep breaths in an attempt to clear my swimming head. I slide to the floor, and Thane crouches before me.

“You all right?”

“I think so.”

“Just keep taking deep breaths.”

“What did she do?”

“It’s the incense. She uses it to confuse you in hopes you’ll give away something she wants.”

I glare at him. “You didn’t stop her?”

“Have you ever tried to tell a witch not to do something in her own shop?”

My stomach sours. Sometimes I wish Thane would sugarcoat things. After a few more breaths, the smell of sage and jasmine is replaced by Thane’s musk and stale water.

“Thane,” I say after a long pause. “I don’t know how to open the gates.”

Admitting that feels like admitting to Thane that I am the Eurydice, even though he already knows.

“I know.”

“Then what do we do when we find my coin?”

At first, I don’t think he’ll respond, but after a moment, he says matter-of-factly, “You learn.”