Brimstone (67 page)

Flame sped across the floor, encircling the witch in a fiery prison. Her clothes began to steam, then her hair, then her breath, fogging like a winter day. Juliana seemed to deflate, then collapsed to the parquet. The steam around her rose into the air and the flame followed it, entwining the trails of vapor and banishing them with angry, defeated hisses.

Hammering at the door. The firemen were trying to get in. Justin crossed the circle to Holly, lifting her limp body into his arms. “Can everyone else get out okay?”

“What about Victoria?” Jenna asked.

“Let the firemen move her,” I said. “Juliana, too.” Her body now a heap on the floor, she looked smaller.

They ran for the door. I ran for the grimoire, not trusting
luck
to destroy it. My hands closed on it, then I snatched them back with a yelp of pain. The thing was burning cold. Grabbing the tablecloth, I scattered the altar paraphernalia and wrapped the book enough to grasp it. Then I turned and saw Juliana—not lying where she ought to be, but standing between me and the door.

“You little bitch.” She had the bronze knife in her hand. Her eyes were feverish with madness. She hadn’t just looked into the abyss; she’d invited it in to set up house. And now she was hollowed out, nothing left but instinct and old patterns.

“Give me the book.” She raised the knife, which suddenly seemed huge.

I lifted the heavy tome as a shield, not interested in heroics or victory, only in survival. “Let’s get out of here, Juliana. The firemen are coming.”

She slashed and I jumped back, staying out of reach of the blade. The fire was spreading, purifying and consuming. I tried again to reason with an unreasoning shell of a woman. “There’s a gas leak, Juliana—” She hacked at me, and I skittered back to where the fallen oil lamp had spilled, and I held the book over the flames. “Put down the knife, or I’ll drop—”

The blade sliced across my arm and the book tumbled from my fingers.

It didn’t even hurt at first. I watched, shocked, as bright red blood welled, dripped down my skin, fell to the floor. A lot of blood. Enough to make a little pool.

I sensed more than saw her come at me again. Dodging, I slipped on the blood and crashed to the ground, hitting my head hard enough to make my vision blur. Crawling across the floor, leaving great smears of blood, I searched for something to defend myself.

My hand closed on cold iron. The crowbar. As Juliana bent and grabbed my injured arm and dug in her nails, I swung.

I swung with all my strength. I swung like a major leaguer.

I swung like someone who wanted desperately to live through the next five minutes.

The impact knocked the metal bar from my weakening fingers. It didn’t matter. Juliana collapsed on top of me, pinning my legs. I couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not.

Neither did I want to know. The woman—witch, demon, whatever—had tried to kill me. And as I lay in a growing puddle of my own blood, it occurred to me that maybe she had succeeded.

I
woke up in the hospital.

On the plus side, I wasn’t dead.

On the minus side, I had no idea how I got there, what day it was, or why an army of dwarves had taken pickaxes to the inside of my skull. I was also attached to an IV in one arm, which was scary, and the other was swathed in bandages and pain, which was worse.

A soft snore made me turn my head. Justin was stretched in a recliner, sleeping with a book on his chest. He was cute asleep. I hadn’t thought I’d ever find that out.

“Are you awake?” a nurse in Christmas-colored scrubs whispered from the doorway.

“Yes.” My mouth felt like that same army of dwarves had marched through it in their dirty socks. She must be a good nurse, because she anticipated this, and held a cup of water with a straw to my parched lips.

“Is that your boyfriend?” she asked in a teasing tone.

“Yeah. At least, I think so.”

“Yes, I am,” said a groggy voice from the chair. Justin sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I am,” he confirmed.

That was nice. That was nicer than all the luck in the world.

He rose and came by the bed. “Your dad was here earlier, while you were getting the transfusion.”

“I got a transfusion?” Alarmed, I looked at the nurse, who made a soothing noise and patted my blanket-covered knee.

“You’re fine. You just lost a lot of blood.” She lifted my splinted arm and looked critically at my fingernails. “Can you wiggle your fingers? It may hurt.”

It hurt like the devil himself was crawling out of my wrist. But I did it.

“Excellent!”

“Do I get a cookie?”

“No, but you can have a Vicodin.”

“Bring it on.”

When she left Justin continued to hover, finally taking my IV hand and holding it as if I might shatter.

“I’m not going to, you know.”

“What?” he asked, understandably confused.

“Break.”

He let out a long, slow breath. “I thought you had. When the fireman carried you out of the house, covered in blood … 
Dammit, Maggie, I thought you were right behind me. I never would have left you. I never should—”

“Hey.” I squeezed his hand as hard as I could with a needle stuck in me. “I know you’re a white knight. Now get over yourself.”

He looked surprised, maybe a little offended, and finally amused. “Yeah. Okay.”

We stayed that way for a while, holding hands, just … 
being
. And then I had to ask. “Juliana. Is she …?”

“She’s here in the hospital.”

“Alive, then?” I didn’t feel relieved yet.

“Psych ward.”

My heart squeezed and it got hard to breathe. “Because of the crowbar? Did I …?” God. Had I broken her brain?

“No,” he assured me firmly. “She woke up from that and started raving. She’s under restraints and observation. Probably will be for a long time.”

“And Victoria?” I asked, tentative for a different reason. I’d always suspected her, always knew she wanted to use me. But it was a twisted kind of self-interest; she thought she could make things good for everyone, no losers, as long as everyone followed the rules.

“Her neck and spine were fractured. She’ll live. That’s all they’re saying for the moment.”

I closed my eyes, a new kind of pain subsuming all the physical misery. “I feel like I failed at saving them, too.”

Gently, his hand stroked my hair. “I know. But you can’t save everybody.”

“You saved me.” Lisa spoke from the doorway, tentatively, her coat over her arm. “I’m pretty grateful for that.”

“Hey! Come in here.” I tried to push myself up, with no success.

She edged into the room. “Are they giving you any decent drugs?”

“Soon, I hope.”

Still unsure, she glanced from Justin to me. “Should I come back later?”

“No.” He grabbed his book from the chair. “Sit down if you want. I can leave you guys alone.”

“Please don’t,” she said politely.

I figured this could go on for hours, so I interrupted, giving her a narrow-eyed stare. “Did you blow off your exams to come help me?”

“Can I get you a Coke or something? You want some water?”

“Don’t dodge the question!”

She ducked her head and stared at the floor so long, I thought she wasn’t going to answer. Finally, she shrugged. “A’s are overrated anyway.”

“Oh, Lisa.”

“It’s no big deal. A couple of incompletes. I can make them up.”

“But your scholarship,” I said, sorrow and gratitude mixed in my voice. “Your GPA.”

She raised her eyes and despite her guard, I could read the raw emotion there. Something fundamental had altered in the last few days. Her soul was still wounded, but it was as if a nasty, dirty field dressing had been ripped off, exposing the injury to clean, healing air.

“It’s not just that I owe you for saving my life last spring,”
she began. “Though I do. But after everything, you trusted me again, when I thought I’d never even be able to trust myself.” She looked across the bed at Justin, who was trying to pretend he wasn’t in the room. “And you did, too, Sir Galahad. Though you don’t have to like it. It means …”

She trailed off, and after a beat, Justin supplied the answer. “Redemption.”

“Atonement,” she corrected, though I suspected they were both right. “A chance, anyway. Even if it takes the rest of my life.” She glanced at me, deliberately shifting her mood. “Which might not be that long, if I have to keep saving your butt.”

“Saving
my
butt?” I protested. “Whose idea was that invocation?”

“Who was locked in the closet when I got there?”

Justin cleared his throat. “Personally, I think pulling the fire alarm was an inspired idea. Even if the house burned down anyway.”

I looked at him in surprise. “The whole house?”

He nodded. “To the ground. The prevailing theory on the news is that Juliana Hughes did a Mrs. Rochester on the place.”

“Oh my God.” I sat up, ignoring the ice pick between my eyes and the fire in my hand. “I need a newspaper. And my laptop. I don’t believe this. I was
right there
, and I
still
got scooped for the story.
Again!
”

Justin laughed and shook his head, but he handed me a copy of the
Avalon Sentinel
all the same. No wonder I love him.

T
here’s this principle in witchcraft—at least the New Agey, rainbows-and-light kind—that everything you do has the potential to come back on you three times as bad. Payback’s a witch, I guess.

Kirby got caught cheating, and was expelled from the university with only nine credits left to complete her degree. Alexa, Jenna’s roommate, lost her slot in medical school and her boyfriend dumped her for a plastic surgery resident.

Jenna’s boyfriend also dumped her, but not before making her an STD statistic. She told me about it over coffee at
Froth and Java after everyone had gotten back from winter break. Those that were coming back, anyway.

“At least it could be cured by antibiotics,” she said. “It could have been much worse.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t.” What can I say?
G
and
E
aren’t always absolute. I hope I never see them that way.

She cupped her mug between her hands. “We—the SAXis—knew we were lucky, and special. And I followed the rules. Heck, I only had two hookups until I met David, who was a Gamma Phi Ep. I figured, who was getting hurt?”

“Do I need to answer that?” Just because I don’t judge doesn’t mean I let people delude themselves.

“No.” She shook her head. “Poor Devon. Have you heard from her? Do they think her hearing will come back?”

“No. It’s permanent nerve damage from the meningitis.”

The doctors had thought it weird that her illness had been delayed so long after the incubation period. But they’d dismissed it as a coincidence or a fluke, which is what rational people did when confronted with the irrational.

“Poor Devon.” Jenna repeated it softly, guiltily. “She was so out of her league. Over her head before she knew what was going on.”

Maybe that was why she was only deaf and not dead like Cole. Though I doubt she saw that as a good thing right now.

The alums, having had more use of the Sigma power, were taking harder hits. One movie-star trip to rehab made barely a blip on the national radar, but I checked it off my list, along with a couple of CEO firings and insider trading scandals.

The wintertime bustle of Froth and Java continued, heedless of life changing events. Jenna and I said we’d get
together for lunch, and we might, but I wasn’t really expecting her to call. It takes a lot of history together before the investment in a friendship outweighs seeing in the other person the constant reminders of your bad decisions.

Lisa and I, for instance, would never have the same relationship that we did before. But now I had hope that
different
didn’t mean
worse
. We had to stay friends. Who else could I call and say, “I think my calculus teacher might be an agent of the devil.” (Not really. But his idea of homework was pretty infernal.)

After Jenna left, I sat back, looking through the window at Congressman Abbott’s office across the downtown street. Victoria was in a wheelchair, with only partial use of one hand. Speculation said Abbott would finish the last year of his term and return to private law practice, ostensibly to take care of her, though possibly because his campaign contributions didn’t bear scrutiny. Funny how the universe can set itself right when otherworldly forces aren’t skewing the balance.

Juliana now lived in an expensive sanatorium, which is what they call a funny farm when its residents are rich and high-toned. Since Juliana had been declared non compos mentis, Holly now had control of all the Baker-Russell-Hattendorf-Hughes financial resources, which meant that not only was Juliana in a padded cell, Holly held the checkbook that kept her at the Riverview Sanatorium instead of the Illinois State Hospital.

The door to the shop opened and Justin came in, bundled against the January chill. He sat down and unwrapped; I slid my mocha across the table to him. “Mmm,” he said appreciatively, warming his hands on the paper cup. “Toasty.”

“How’d your meeting go?”

“Well, my thesis subject was approved. Apparently your dad told the committee I wasn’t crazy.”

“That was nice of him.”

“It was.” He grinned at me, and I grinned back. We had to stick together, those of us who saw past disbelief.

“How’s Lisa?” he asked, following my train of thought with his usual accuracy. “Settled back in at Georgetown?”

“Yep.” I retrieved my drink.

“Are you guys really planning a road trip for spring break?”

“Probably. Worried?”

“Not about you two. God help any evil thing in your way.” He rose and grabbed my coat from the back of my chair, holding it out for me. “Ready?”

“Yep.” I slipped my arms in and reached for the mocha. The pain reminded me to switch the cup to my left hand before I dropped it. Mostly I had trouble grasping things. The physical therapist said I might always have weakness in that hand. I guess there goes my promising career as a concert violinist.