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She nodded, blushing, whispering, “Please, Chatter…call me Rhiannon. I am not your better. I would never think of myself as such.”
He smiled, then said, “I like to think you feel the same as I.”
Again, she nodded, grinning through her tears. Again, whispering, “I do. I have since…I can remember.”
“Then I promise you this: Whatever needs to be done, I will do my best to help you do. And I—and your cousin—will be here for you afterward. You need never be alone again, Rhiannon.”
And with that, we fell back into marching order and snuck through the woods the rest of the way. Heather was out there, and because we loved her, we were going to kill her.
Chapter 10
As we plowed through the snow, visions of Aunt Heather rushed through my mind. She’d always been the one to comfort me when my own mother had grown impatient with my tears. Until I was six, Heather and Rhiannon and the Veil House had been the stabilizing force in my world. And then Krystal dragged me away. I remember standing on the steps as she pulled me toward the car, screaming because I knew—absolutely knew—that once we climbed in that car and drove away, my life would dive into a pit of fear and uncertainty.
And I’d been right.
Phone calls and the occasional visit home had given me hope. But Myst had stripped all of that away when she captured Heather. We would not be facing my aunt but a monster assuming her form. We had to keep that in the forefront of our thoughts.
We crept past rock and trunk, through the snow, keeping low in the overgrowth, the crisp scent of ozone from the storm filling our lungs. I was cold and wet and my jeans felt glued to my calves and thighs. The only place I felt truly dry was inside my boots and beneath my jacket. I hunkered down as we approached another clearing—the opening to the path we’d been headed toward.
Peering out between the branches I could see Heather standing there, in a gossamer gown the color of twilight, embroidered through with threads of shimmering silver. She was waiting, silent as the grave, her long red hair blowing in the wind. Her lips were red as berries, and her eyes glowed black with the obsidian of the vampires. The handkerchief hem of her gown whipped gently in the breeze, her long sleeves fluttering as if light fingers were moving them.
Rhiannon crept up next to me. She stared at her mother, and her expression said everything her lips could not. Aching loss, loneliness, the pain of watching a loved one who has slipped into the shadows—it was all there, flooding her face. Mutely, she looked at me. I reached out, slowly, to stroke her cheek, and then touched my fingers to my lips and placed them on her own. She hung her head and I waited for her to give the go-ahead. She had to be the one making the decision.
After a moment, Rhia looked up and her expression had changed, a switch had flicked. Her face was a mask of fury, strong and determined. I looked around and found a broken stick on the ground. It would work for a stake.
Rhia did the same, arming herself with a broken twig off of a downed cedar. Grieve, Chatter, and Kaylin mirrored our actions and we were ready.
I have your back. Ulean whipped around me, stirring the air with her frenzy. Heather must not return to Myst.
I know, Ulean. I know. This is not easy. She was…is…my aunt.
She is your aunt no longer but one of Myst’s witches, one of her changelings. Remember—the form is deceiving. Heather will do what she must for Myst. She is owned heart and soul by the Queen of the Indigo Court and owes no other allegiance.
With Ulean playing at my back, I readied my fan in one hand, the stake in the other. At a single nod from Grieve, we charged through the last strip of woodland onto the path, aiming for Heather. Dying time again.
Heather had expected us to come in from the path, not from out of the woods, which gave us an advantage. I whipped my fan forward, whispering, “Strong gust.” The resulting wind knocked Heather off balance.
Chatter moved forward, Rhia beside him, but Heather was too quick—the transformation had given her incredible reflexes. She recovered from the breeze and whirled toward me, her hands weaving together a pattern that I knew was some sort of spell. The next moment I went flying back into the snowbank as a nearby piece of wood rose and hit me square in the midriff.
That’s right, she works with earth magic. Crap. I rose, shaking from the blow.
Yes, she does, but she’s weak when it comes to air, and fire can destroy her, even if the light cannot.
“Please, one last time I beg of you, stop this madness. Let us help you.” Rhiannon was screaming at Heather, tears racing down her face. Her heart was breaking and there was nothing we could do to stop it from shattering.
Heather faced Rhia, looking all too ripe and luscious. She licked her lips. “My daughter. My dear, deluded child. I give you a chance. Come with me, come to Myst and let her taste you, drink you deep, bring you into our world. Just think…you and I together again. Working side by side, together, forever. You have rediscovered your flame. Think of all we could do, you and I.” She held out her hand, the look on her face sure of success.
Rhiannon paused. For a moment she seemed to waver, but then Heather laughed, and her laughter was like an icicle through the heart. Rhia stepped back and held out her hands, dropping the stake on the ground.
She whispered, “Fire, burn through me,” and a spray of fire shot forth from her fingertips, surrounding Heather, lighting the gossamer gown aflame.
Heather screamed as the flames roared to life, feeding on the cloth. The next moment, she threw herself into a snowbank, extinguishing the burning material. When she rose, a murderous smile filled her eyes.
“I can play rough, too, my darling daughter.” Another whisper, and this time the forest shook, the ground beneath our feet shifting. I lost my balance and fell, as did Rhiannon. Kaylin went sprawling over a tree trunk. Chatter and Grieve caught hold of trees to keep themselves afoot.
Heather was intoning a dark chant, deep and ancient, and terrifyingly old, and the tree next to Rhia began to topple toward her. I screamed as Chatter rushed forward, grabbing her around the waist and rolling clear just as the tree landed where she’d been standing.
I unfurled my fan. “Tornado force.” With a wave of my hand, the fan let out a low howl as a funnel cloud appeared, ripping trees from the roots as it headed directly toward Heather. My aunt screamed as the twister bore down on her. She held up her hands.
