Page 75 of Up in Smoke

In the late afternoon, we returned to the cellar where we’d left the women, hauling the full wagon down the steps before he went to work feeding them and doing what he could to prepare them for the days on the road. Considering their circumstances, they’d emerged from captivity in relatively good health, but I had no idea how we’d make it to the South and back in three weeks while maintaining their pace.

We would do what we could, and that would have to be enough.

While I would have assumed the women would want to wait a day, they swore there would be no storms in the early evening and wanted to make as much distance as possible from Tulsa and the man who had ruined their lives and stolen their voices. As I couldn’t think of a single reason to deny them their wish to leave, I cooperated, although I kept an eye on the sky.

My wariness offended them all, except Sandro, who mitigated most of their offense by reminding them I had more time alone in the Alley outside of the safety of Tulsa or Asylum than most—and that my wariness had kept me alive for years. They still shot glares my way at my frequent checks, but I refused to let their annoyance change my habits.

After we sent them to safety, I wanted to make sure we stayed alive, and I lacked their magic.

I braced for days of living hell and decided I’d stay quiet and follow Sandro’s lead.

The sooner we helped them escape the Alley, the better.

One way or another, with help from Sandro, I would make certain Mansfield fell—and that he did as little harm as possible in the meantime. If we could.

Tuesday, July 7, 2043

Texarkana, Texas.

The Boundary.

I’d sorely misjudgedthe women. Taking determination to the extreme, every minute they could walk, they did, and only the storms dictated when we stopped to take a break. As such, within a week, we reached the Boundary, crossed through, and met Ryleigh on the other side. The Voodoo queen regarded the scryer women with narrowed eyes.

“Ryleigh,” I greeted, stepping to the woman and deciding I would claim a hug rather than wait for her to take the initiative.

She relaxed, kissed my cheeks, and checked me over head to toe. “You’re looking better. Good. Your pet’s email had us scrambling to make the appropriate preparations. While I may not be as skilled as the scryers of the Alley, we can see things when the magic wishes for us to, and we saw some of the horrors that have befallen your companions. To think he would stoop so low as to cut out their tongues to preserve his secrets. Well, he may have a foothold in the Alley, but we queens have something he does not.”

“The backing of your magic?” I guessed.

“Precisely. I believe we have figured out what he intends to do, what he was using the scryers for, and how he was using the choirs. The choirs have been dispatched or are on the run, so the weather should be returning to its natural state, but it will take time. There are many echoes of their workings, for they have been singing their dark songs for a long time.”

I nodded, aware of what Frankie had witnessed years ago, indicating the choirs had been working for far longer than I cared to think about. “What are his intentions?”

“He wishes to open death’s door and use that dark magic to bring down the boundaries—all of them. He does not understand what he does.”

I blinked, and after a few moments of thought on the consequences of his actions and the number of lives he’d end, I flattened my ears. I had no idea what she meant by death’s door, but it didn’t sound good for anybody who wanted to survive. “He wants to use what to do what?”

“Death’s door is the point in time when the body is about to die and the soul prepares to begin its journey to its next destination. You know how the spirits linger in New Orleans. There are practitioners who specialize in holding death’s door open for as long as possible to harvest the magic of life and death. The kinder practitioners bring their victims back from the brink. The darker practitioners harvest the death magic to its fullest extent. Consider it a branch of necromancy, except the practitioners have no interest in manipulating corpses. They seek the raw power of death. It’s that magic we believe Mansfield wishes to access and use for his personal gain. He views the boundaries as an aberration, something that is blocking everyone from reaching their true potential. By destroying the boundaries, he can take advantage of the chaos making use of allies to secure a foothold in other quadrants.”

I nodded, aware of the power the spirits possessed and my ongoing fear of what they’d do if they ever decided to make use of that power. While I had no way of proving it, I suspected when New Orleans pulsed, the spirits had as much to do with the surging magic as the city herself. “I know about the lingering spirits,” I replied.

The rest of Ryleigh’s proclamation worried me.

“Essentially, he wishes to create a pulse and transform the Alley into something like New Orleans, but his ultimate goal is to bring down the boundaries and make a power play in the resulting chaos. He does not understand what powers he attempts to harness. He wrongly believes those within Asylum will be protected from his scheming.”

What an idiot. “And Sandro?”

Sandro snorted. “He probably hopes I will stay allied with him and will have full access to all of my magic at one time. In reality, I’ll probably just fall over dead from the conflicting energies if he succeeds. The boundaries are where the various magic types meld in a chaotic mess. You, on the other hand, would probably thrive. You are resilient. I’m sensitive.”

Ryleigh nodded. “Most quadrant mages will probably die during the onslaught of magic. You might survive, Sandro—you are resilient, although not as resilient as Jade. You would likely enter a coma if his plans even skirt fruition. The energy would come straight to you.”

I scowled. “What do you mean by that?”

“You are able to win the cooperation of magic. Your pet attracts it. His very presence captures magic’s attention. He doesn’t have to call for it; it seeks him out. In some ways, you’re the same, but the magic views you as something to protect. Your pet is a curiosity, and he’s adept enough to control the energies constantly surrounding him. It’s even possible the magic will preserve him should death’s door be opened, but only because of his importance to you.”

I eyed Sandro with interest. “Did we bring your leash?”

Laughing, he shook his head. “I was too worried about making sure we had enough supplies for everyone on the trip here.”