“The Power has extinguished.” When Gwen’s eyes opened, they were back to their previous soft green. Still looking pained, she visibly swallowed, sweat beading along her hairline. “Your possible futures lie in wait, subject to will and chance both. It is done.”
At the reminder of what their immediate futures held, silence descended over the room. Gwen slumped into her chair, and Sabrina poured her a fresh glass of ice water.
Eventually, Lorraine spoke again. “Hey, if all that stuff happens—Edie with her soap and Max with his glitter—at least that means they’ll survive what’s coming, right?” Her smile’s wattage had dimmed significantly, but she did her best. “That’s something.”
Gwen bit her lip, swallowing convulsively. “The visions…they aren’t certain. They’re only possible futures, contingent on variables and choices that aren’t yet set in stone.”
“In other words, we may not actually survive,” Edie said.
“I don’t know. I’m so sorry.” Her eyes shone with tears as she glanced around the table, and her hand hovered near her mouth. “The only prophecy that felt relatively certain was Kip’s. He’ll almost definitely stub his toe on a root in the dark and fall to the ground. What happens after that, I can’t say.”
“Yeah.” Kip grimaced. “Okay. Thanks anyway for trying.”
“I know my predictions aren’t the most…useful. I, um…” Gwen clamped that waiting hand over her mouth and gulped before lowering it again. “I told Sabrina and Starla I’d try, but it’s not…not really under my…”
Another gulp. Two. Then she lurched to her feet, stumbled, and almost fell as she tried to push through the crowd of Girl Explorers surrounding her, her face pasty and green-tinged.
Suddenly, Max’s arm vanished from around Edie and appeared at the oracle’s elbow. He half carried the other woman toward the hallway and into the nearest bathroom, where the two of them disappeared. The sound of miserable, repeated retching filled the house, then grew muffled as someone—probably Max—kicked the door shut behind them.
“I’ve got you,” Edie heard him say, his voice muffled but gentle. “It’s all right, little oracle.”
It wasn’t the same tone he used with her. There was no intimacy there. No heat. Just…kindness. Patience. Simple goodwill toward a woman who’d tried to help them and was evidently suffering for it.
Thatwas the vampire who’d been poised to serve his community on SERC.Thatwas the neighbor who’d watched out for her safety from the very beginning.
Thatwas the real Gaston Maxime Boucher. Or at least the Gaston Maxime Boucher he could be when he wasn’t so intent on distancing himself from the world.
Something anxious in Edie’s heart settled and warmed. She rubbed absently at her chest, welcoming her new certainty. Basking in the intensity and depth of her feelings for her impossible, irresistible vampire of a neighbor.
He could protest and deflect all he wanted from now on. He wouldn’t be able to convince her—even for a moment—that he truly meant her or anyone else harm, unless he considered that harm fully justified. Which was, obviously, a somewhat subjective determination. They’d have to tease out precisely what he considered just provocation, sooner rather than later.
But no matter what, she now believed his sense of right and wrong matched hers much more closely than she’d once imagined. Much more closely than he’d willingly admit. And if that was true, she didn’t need to fight falling in love with him. She didn’t need to fret. She could simply fling herself into the joyous maelstrom, headfirst and heedless.
After a brief pause and the sound of running water, poor Gwen’s gagging began anew. In the kitchen, there was a collective wince of sympathy.
“Does that always happen?” Lorraine asked Sabrina. “Every time she prophesizes?”
But the witch, staring at the closed bathroom door with a furrowed brow, didn’t answer.
21
Gwen eventually emerged from the bathroom, supported by Max’s steadying arm, pale but composed. After sipping at her water for a few minutes, she declared herself recovered, and they began making plans as a group.
Max slipped back to Edie’s side as soon as he could. “Everything okay?”
She simply smiled at him, then got up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. His brows rose in silent question, but she pointed toward Lorraine, who’d just begun outlining the troll cousins’ capabilities and vulnerabilities in battle.
We need to listen, Edie mouthed.
His eyes rolled to the ceiling in response, but he didn’t insist on further conversation. They stood side by side for a few minutes, her hand cradled in his, while everyone discussed what they were and weren’t capable of doing. And as soon as she began shifting on her feet, he left the room, only to return a minute later with an armless chair. He wedged it into the only free spot around the table, waited for her to sit, and stood at her back, a protective vampiric wall.
That chair turned out to be a lifesaver. For endless hours, they talked tactics and brainstormed strategies. Divvied up responsibilities and assigned tasks to be accomplished either before or during the battle. Gamed out possible tricks they could use to lure the zombies back toward the compound and either trap them behind a repaired wall or kill them.
The latter would be their preference. Not only because it was simpler, but also because—unlike the government—they had no desire to preserve the creatures for potential further use. Especially since the cynics within the group had various unpleasant theories as to what that official usage might entail.
Occasional stomping occurred, along with some shouting and sullen pouting. But by the time night fell, they had a rough plan in place for the coming day, assuming the zombies didn’t breach the final wall standing between them and the rest of humanity in the meantime.
“My guess? There’s a fifty-fifty chance we’ll be too late.” Lorraine pursed her lips, her broad brow creased. “But we have no choice. There’s no way we can get everything in place tonight, and we need the advantage of darkness when we fight.”
