Bound (36 page)

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Authors: Erica O'Rourke

BOOK: Bound
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Eventually, the compulsion to chant slowed, the words tapering off, the symbols’ movement less frenetic. Orla sighed, a mixture of awe and delight, while Pascal and Sabine examined the symbols. My legs started to give way, and Luc guided me to one of the Quartoren chairs.
“Thanks,” I rasped, rubbing at my throat.
“You changed the magic,” Dominic said accusingly. “Again.”
I shook my head. The lines were as strong and flexible as ever, the source steady and powerful. But I’d done enough talking. Dominic could wait.
Pascal, though, had already figured it out. “You reformed the table.”
I nodded.
“The Quartoren’s restored, then,” said Dominic. “About damn time.”
“Not restored,” Pascal said, catching my eye.
“Reformed.”
Orla’s brow furrowed delicately. “Like the table.”
Sabine was still inspecting the symbols. “Some of these don’t correspond to a specific House,” she said. “They’re directly from the source.”
“The source is alive,” I said. “For as long as the Arcs have existed, you’ve treated the magic as a power plant, not as a living being. That’s wrong. It wants to help you, but it needs a voice. The magic needed someone to protect it, because you’re pledged to protect your House.”
My own voice petered out, and I looked to Pascal to continue.
“It chose Maura. In reforming the table, the Quartoren has been reformed as well. The four Houses no longer compose the Quartoren Entire. Maura has taken up a seat as well.”
“She stepped aside,” Dominic protested. “She refused to serve as Matriarch. And now she creates her own position?”
“Didn’t you pay attention?” Luc asked. “She couldn’t represent a single House when she has ties to all of them. It would have tipped the balance. But now ...”
“Now her seat is not tied to a House, but to the magic itself,” said Sabine.
I looked at each of them in turn. “From here on out, the magic has a say in what you do. How things are run.”
“The magic—” Dominic began, but I shoved out of the chair and stood directly in front of him, arms folded across my chest.
“The magic speaks through me. You can either adjust or hand the reins off to Luc.”
Next to me, Luc flinched. “Prefer to wait, if it’s all the same to you.”
Dominic scowled. “What if something happens to you? What if the Seraphim re-form? You’re not immortal.”
I touched the spot on my shoulder where the bullet had struck me, saw blood still caked under my fingernails. “Definitely not immortal.”
“A succession,” put in Sabine. “Just as with any other seat. A ceremony, or a prophecy. A child.”
“We don’t need to worry about that,” I said quickly. “Not for a long time. And as for the Seraphim ... they needed Anton. He was the force behind them, and watching him self-destruct was the most effective way of ending them.
“It comes down to this. I don’t care what you call it—the Quartoren or Congress or the High Council of Mystical Woo-Woo—but the magic has a place now. And I’m its representative. From now on, whatever decisions you make take the will of the magic into account. That’s how we go forward, or we don’t go forward at all.”
One by one, the Quartoren nodded. Dominic and Orla with obvious reluctance, Pascal and Sabine out of sheer fascination. The new era had started.
C
HAPTER
47
N
othing fascinates people like death. The stream of visitors through our living room was constant, exhausting. I spent the next few days accepting condolences and casseroles, shielding my mom from too many questions, planning the funeral and my future. I spent the nights curled next to Luc on my narrow bed. When the nightmares came—and they did, because not even the magic could take away the things I’d seen—he was there, replacing them with soft words and gentle warmth and promises that daylight would come again.
The funeral was packed, but my mom and I stood apart from everyone else. She clutched my arm as the casket was lowered, as Father Armando spoke the words of the service, as a raw spring wind whipped around us. Luc and Marguerite stood nearby. Behind them, the Quartoren watched, faces solemn and respectful, and I nodded my thanks.
After the crowd dispersed, the last of them straggling down the drive, Jenny Kowalski stepped out from behind a nearby tree. I should have been surprised, but I’d watched her father’s funeral from a distance. It seemed fitting she should do the same.
“It sucks beyond belief, doesn’t it?” Her eyes were red-rimmed, and I knew her tears were for both of us. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” I said, meaning it. She understood in a way no one else had.
“Nick—” She jerked her head to where Nick Petros stood, a short distance down the road. “He says they’ve taken Marco Forelli into custody. That he won’t be able to get out this time. Your dad’s wiretaps, plus the records ... it’s everything they needed.”
“I’m glad.” I was trying to be, anyway. Trying to care. My dad had died because he was trying to protect me—not just from Billy’s gun, but from the life he’d left me exposed to, twelve years ago. Remembering that made the grief a little more manageable. Made it easier to put aside guilt and focus on helping my mom.
“What now?” she asked.
“Still figuring that out.” The heels of my shoes sank a little in the half-thawed ground, and I shifted. “How about you?”
“The usual. School. Track. I have another year before I graduate. I’ve got time.” She ran a hand over her ponytail. “Good luck, Mo.”
“You too.”
After she’d left, Luc returned. “Your mom went on ahead with the priest. I told her I’d see you home.”
“Do you think we should tell her?”
“About the Arcs?” He considered as we wandered through the cemetery. I didn’t take the path back to the gates. Instead, I turned toward the section where Verity was buried, Luc at my side. “Eventually. When she’s steadier. When you’ve decided what to do.”
I nodded, my footsteps slowing as we approached the gravestone with Verity’s name engraved on it. The white marble felt cold and still under my hands, such a misguided tribute for someone so vibrant and vital.
“Do you think she knew?” I asked him. “In the alley, do you think she knew she was passing along the magic to me?”
He studied the grave, the bright shoots of new daffodils and tulips beginning to push through the earth.
“I think she knew it was the right thing to do. She didn’t need to know why. She loved you, and that was all the reason she needed.”
C
HAPTER
48
O
ver my mother’s protests, I went back to school the following Monday.
“Everyone will talk,” she said. “And Father Armando said you could wait as long as you needed.”
“Everyone’s already talking.” In truth, what I needed was normalcy. The Quartoren hadn’t made many demands on my time. They’d need me for big issues, not the day-to-day routines of managing inter-House relations and rounding up the remaining Seraphim. I had sat at home for days, watching my mother fill out forms and write thank-you notes and do everything in her power to keep busy enough that she didn’t notice my father’s absence.
If there’d been a service for Billy, no one mentioned it to us. Morgan’s was shut down, work had halted on The Slice. It was as if we were waiting for someone to flip the switch and restore our regular life, but no one had yet.
The waiting was making me crazy. Normal, I decided, would be nice.
I realized my mistake as soon as I climbed onto the CTA bus that would take me to school. Colin had driven me all year. I missed the truck. Missed the smell of fresh coffee and sawdust and soap that had greeted me every morning for months, the familiar rumble of the engine. The bus had squeaky brakes and a pneumatic
whoosh
every time someone boarded, and the air smelled of sweaty vinyl and Lysol. I gripped the strap of my bag and swayed as we lumbered toward St. Brigid’s.
My feet dragged on the pavement after I got off, and I forced myself not to look for a flash of rust-spotted red. Instead I focused on the clusters of girls in the courtyard. Despite the chill that lingered, winter not quite ready to relinquish its grip, they all had bare legs under their uniforms, anticipating warm weather. Like if they dressed the part, the weather would follow. I understood the impulse. Act as if things were okay, and they might be.
A hush fell as I passed by. Lena must have been waiting, because she popped through the front doors and linked her arm with mine, staring down everyone in the courtyard as she did so.
“You should have told me you were coming back,” she said. “I would have picked you up.”
“Last-minute decision,” I said. “Have I missed much?”
“Nothing new here.” Lena had come to the funeral, and we’d talked a few times, but I hadn’t felt up to a long conversation. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m getting there. Three months to go, right? I can do three months.”
“Of course you can.” We trudged to my locker, and Jill McAllister stopped by.
“Sorry about your dad,” she said, tipping her head to the side, all faux sincerity. I fought the urge to smash her nose in with my textbook. “And NYU. I guess it wasn’t meant to be, huh?”
As if I cared about this stupid feud with Jill, after everything else. “What are you talking about?”
“They sent out the final acceptance letters,” she said.
“I know. I got in.”
She gaped. “You didn’t say anything.”
“Why would I tell you?” I fished a notebook out of my locker and slammed it, the noise making her jump. “I don’t need your permission. I don’t need your good opinion. The only thing I have ever needed from you was to get the hell out of my way. So do it.”
I stared at her until she caved, sidling across the hall, trying to act like it was her idea in the first place.
“Nice,” said Lena, hurrying after me. “You’re not going to New York, are you?”
“NYU was always what I’d planned on doing with Verity. I thought I owed that to her.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m going to do what I want. I owe her that, too.” Happiness. I owed her my happiness, and I wasn’t going to find it chasing after ghosts.
“Good,” she said. “Will you stay here?”
“I need a change of scenery.”
Lena paused, eyes troubled. “Speaking of new vistas ... I heard from Colin.”
“Tell me,” I said, heart contracting.
“He wanted me to tell you they’re good. They’re safe. It’s very quiet.”
I grabbed her arm. “He said that? Those exact words?”
“Yeah. He made me repeat it back to him, just to be sure.”
I let out a breath, steadied myself against the wall.
“He can’t contact me again, Mo. He shouldn’t have done it this time. It’s really risky for everyone involved.”
“Sure. Absolutely. Thanks for passing it along.” I could have asked more. Could have demanded to know where he was, or how to track him down. Lena would have told me, if I’d needed it. But we’d said good-bye. His message was a gift, meant to ease my conscience, and I took it gratefully.
C
HAPTER
49
C
onstance must have been lying in wait. I’d known she was hovering nearby all day, but it wasn’t until Lena and I had split up—her to Latin, me to Spanish—that she finally approached me.
“Mo ...” she said, eyes filling with tears, lower lip trembling. “I can explain.”
“You could,” I agreed. “But I don’t care.”
“I missed Verity so much. Anton told me that she could have run away, in the alley that night. She stayed to protect you.”
“She did,” I said bluntly. “She gave up her life to protect me. And when I made the Covenant, I risked mine to protect you.”
“I’m sorry,” she wailed. “I got ... confused. I couldn’t think straight and I didn’t know who to trust. And you wouldn’t tell me stuff. You kept secrets. About Evangeline, and Luc ... and I couldn’t trust you.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” I said. “You’re not sorry, Constance. You’re sorry you got caught. That you bet on the wrong team.”
Her eyes were ice blue, more like Evangeline’s than Verity’s. I marveled that I hadn’t seen it before. Her mouth twisted. “And you’re going to lord it over me, aren’t you? Make me beg for forgiveness, now that you’re on the Quartoren. Make me pay.”
“Nope,” I said, shifting the bag on my shoulder. “My duty to you was finished when the Covenant ended. You’re proficient with the magic. Niobe stayed on to help you as a favor, but you’ve had enough training. You’re on your own.”
“You can’t kick me out. Just because you’re on the Quartoren doesn’t mean you can banish me.”
“I don’t intend to. Fend for yourself, Constance. Orla can’t revoke your right to the House, although I imagine she’ll make your time there pretty unpleasant. But I don’t care. About your explanations or your excuses or your problems. We all make choices,” I said. “The trick is learning to live with them. Now it’s your turn.”
It hurt me to say it, to know that I was leaving Verity’s sister unprotected. But I’d carried her—and my guilt—as far as I could. Constance was on her own.
She stared at me, disbelief turning her face blank, then furious. And then she flounced off.
“Tough love?” Niobe asked from behind me.
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” I thought about the Arcs at the homeless shelter, wondered if Constance would end up like them.
“I think it is not your responsibility. You saved her from the magic, but you can’t save her from herself.” She sighed. “Sometimes people’s lives are finely balanced—she has a great deal of power, and she could wield it for good or ill. Or she could choose to leave us entirely. It’s up to her.”
“Not fate? Constance gets free will?” I didn’t bother to hide my skepticism.
“As free as any of us.”
“But you believe in fate.”
“And you do not. Yet here we both are, in lives completely different from what we’d expected, exactly as we should be. Leave Constance to figure out her destiny, and instead, enjoy your own.”

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