Salem's Revenge Complete Boxed Set (64 page)

And just like that, with a single blow, the giant dies, blood pouring from his stomach the moment the red witch withdraws her claw-sword.

President Washington smiles and claps. Slowly. Tauntingly. “Impressive,” she says. “I had high hopes for Samsa. Oh well, I will have to find another brainless fool to replace him. Are you looking for a job?”

“My only job is to kill you,” the red witch says. For the first time, I almost like her.

The president sighs. “Very well. We’ll do this
your
way, although I suspect you’ll be less than happy with the results.”

In a split-second, the red Changeling growls and transforms into the monster I met in the middle of the battle. She leaps at the president, her claws firing out, her teeth bared and dripping with blood.
It’s over
, I think, the moment before the red witch’s body is flung back, her form once again flickering between the creature and her normal self, until she crumples against one of the heavy white pillars, where she comes to rest, unmoving, red hair spilling across her expressionless face.

That’s when I realize: The wizard isn’t casting protective spells over the witches fighting for President Washington; he’s casting protective spells around President Washington, making her untouchable.

Except, of course, for me. (I hope.)

Without thinking, I sprint up the steps, taking them three at a time with my long strides. The president doesn’t move to defend herself, overly confident in the abilities of her pet wizard.

The force of the invisible barrier pushing against me is like going toe to toe with a freight train, my body instantly feeling bruised and battered. But still I stagger forward, shoving back both mentally and physically against the very magic I was born to Resist. The president’s confident expression turns to wide-eyed surprise as I roar, throwing the barrier back toward her like a shockwave, knocking Charles Gordon aside even as I sweep her feet out from under her. I pounce like a cat on a mouse, bringing the tip of my sword to rest in the natural depression in her neck.

“Call them off,” I growl.

Her surprise morphs back into arrogance, her lips forming a sneer. “No,” she says.

“I’ll do it,” I say. I’ve killed so many magic-born already, what’s one more? Especially one like her who’s made it her goal to enslave the human race and rule the world. A quick movement of my right arm and it’ll all be over.

“No you won’t,” she says. My sword digging into her skin, drawing a trickle of blood, she tucks her knees beneath her and pushes up, all the way to standing. I should kill her, but I don’t. I don’t. She’s called my bluff and I know it. “Only I can save your father and remove his curse,” she says. “I’m willing to help you if you help me.”

“What do you want?” I ask. Am I really considering helping her? I don’t even really know my father, but that’s not his fault. It’s
hers
. She cursed him so he could never be close to me, never hold me as a baby, never hug me. Even coming to watch one of my football games would’ve been too near, his life draining away from him, causing him excruciating pain. And yet now she’s the only one who can save him.

She smiles a wicked smile and pushes the bloodstained tip of my blade away from her neck. She dabs at the wound with a finger and then licks the blood. “Help me destroy those who oppose me. The Necros, the Changelings, and the Claires. Only then will I remove your father’s curse.”

My heart, which has been jackhammering in my chest for what feels like hours, skips a beat. Xave is a Necro. Mr. Jackson, too. The red witch is a Changeling. And Trish is a Claire. Four people who have helped me in one way or another. Four people whose lives have changed mine for the better in many ways. If I stack their lives up against my father’s, which way will the scale fall? Does it even matter? Does saving one life matter if you have to condemn another? This was never a choice. Never an option.

“Never!” I shout, pushing her back with all of my strength, not killing her but sending her skidding across the White House entrance.

Regaining her feet, she says, “You fool!” and points a hand at my chest. I brace myself, ready to mentally combat whatever spell she’s about to cast. As if sensing my determination, she laughs. “Something you still don’t know about Generals is that we acquire the magical strength of any witches we kill,” she says. “And I have killed many.”

The spell comes in the form of a flying, see-through snake, which moves as gracefully as the wind. Gritting my teeth, I manage to stop it mere inches from my face, my power stronger than however many witches President Washington has killed. Sweat dribbles down my forehead and into my eyes, burning them. But still I fight on, even as I hear Laney shout, “Hold on, Rhett! I’m coming!”

Fatigue sets in, helped along by a healthy dose of fear as the snake’s tongue flicks in and out, its hiss as real as a slap in the face. My Resistance falters, just for a second, but it’s enough for the president. With a gleeful shriek, she punches the air, the snake’s head swiftly lashing out, just as I feel myself being tackled from behind by Laney, who falls atop me.

My cheek is on fire, like it’s been lacerated. I must’ve scraped it on the ground when Laney decided to play linebacker. No. That’s not it, because my entire body is burning. The image of the snake flashes before my eyes, and no matter how much I blink it remains, its beady eyes and fangs taunting me. I—I—

I can’t move.

The realization hits me as Laney tugs me to a kneeling position, her hands molding me like clay. Every movement is because of her. I can’t feel…anything. Not even the beating of my own heart, or my inhalations and exhalations. Nothing.

I try to speak but my lips won’t move. Have I been petrified? I remember the young girl I once saw petrified by a Destroyer—it was during one of Mr. Jackson’s “field trips.” We didn’t even try to help her, and the Destroyers made her body crumble like ancient, weathered stone. Is that what the president is going to do to me? Am I moments away from crumbling?

“What have you done to him?” Laney demands, her teeth clamped together. I can still see her. I can still see everything, but like the unoiled Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz, I can’t move a single joint or muscle. I can’t even blink.

“Ah, young love,” President Washington says. “So demanding, so fresh, so frail. I could kill him with nothing more than a thought, you know.”

Laney raises her arm and points the Glock at the president. “You’ll die well before you finish that thought,” she says.

The president chuckles to herself. “Sometimes I wish
you
were the Resistor. You’re tougher than your friend. I could use an ally like you.”

“Go to hell,” Laney says, verbalizing exactly what I was thinking.

“We’re already here,” the president says. “But no, I won’t kill Rhett. I need him alive. I need him to fight for me. A few simple spells will ensure his allegiance to me for as long as I need him.”

No. I can’t fight on her side. I can’t. I’d rather die.

As if providing a soundtrack for my dark thoughts, the screams and shouts and sounds of death and battle seem to rise up just then. I wonder who’s winning the fight, but I can’t turn my head to look.

“Like I said, you’ll die before you can cast your spell,” Laney says.

“Such spunk wasted,” the president says. “I need Rhett Carter, but alas, I have no need for you. Except as bait, that is.”

Two things happen at that exact moment: Laney fires her Glock and the president’s eyes flick past her. There’s a flash of bright purple light, blinding my unblinking eyes, and then all goes dark.

I can hear Laney screaming and the president laughing and people dying, but I can’t see a damn thing. The darkness begins to fade just as the ground starts shaking, rumbling. It’s weird because I can’t feel it, but I can see it, the jumbled images bouncing around like they’re being shaken by an overactive child.

Charles Gordon is there, and the president, too. I realize what happened. The president looked at the wizard, who was back on his feet. He must’ve fired a spell to protect his master from Laney’s magical bullets. And now…

The White House is shaking, crumbling, the pillars being torn in half, ripped apart like an old coat. A chasm opens up, the earth splitting and pulling apart. I’m right next to the edge, but I still can’t move. Can’t scramble away. Can only watch and hope and pray that gravity doesn’t decide to suck me in. And Laney: She’s struggling with two magic-born, who have managed to grab hold of her arms, holding them tightly behind her. They’re shoving her toward the chasm, which is now spouting fire and smoke like a volcano.

The gap in the earth continues to widen, pulling chunks of the White House into the infinitely deep hole, and eventually, with the sound of a hundred bombs going off, the entire presidential residence collapses in a maelstrom of dust and debris.

The White House is gone. I almost wish someone had pointed me in the other direction so I didn’t have to see it. And now I’m about to witness something else I’d rather not see. Laney’s death.

Laney!
I try to shout, but nothing comes out. And yet she looks at me, right at me, as if sensing my attempt at communication. Straining my mind, I try to thrust off the spell, but it’s too strong. Whatever ability I have to Resist magic, it’s not enough. I’m not nearly strong enough.

As I’m forced to stare on in horror, Laney offers a final halfhearted smile just before she’s shoved into the chasm.

Laney

D
ying isn’t nearly as epic an experience as everyone makes it out to be in the movies.

As I flail helplessly, my arms and legs wind-milling futilely, I wonder when my life will flash before my eyes. You know, the cool collage of everything I’m leaving behind, everything I’ve done, all the minute details of my life I didn’t even realize were trapped in my memory? Nuh-uh. I don’t get any of that.

Instead, smoke sears my eyes and chokes my lungs. Fire burns my skin. Blackness folds itself in on all sides.

And then I’m free of it, rising above it, as if I’m spreading invisible wings and flying away, off to some other life. But gosh I’ll miss them. Rhett and Trish and even Huckle and Bil Nez. Hex. Tears blur my vision. Wait. I’ve stopped rising. Did someone make a mistake and give me dysfunctional wings? That would be just my luck. An angel with broken wings.

I feel a tug on my left wrist. Another on my right. My eyes dance from side to side and the truth sinks in slowly. I’ve been strung up with magical cords, glowing bright white. Only two of the White House pillars remain standing, and they’re what I’m lashed to, dangling like a puppet on a string above the fiery, smoky chasm below. I force myself not to look directly down.

Instead I scan the battlefield, immediately spotting Hex and his bubble, my sister’s face pressed to the side, watching. Hex barks and she nods, as if conversing with him.

No
, I think. “No!” I shout. But she won’t be stopped. I’m the bait and she’s the big fish rising to grab me, playing right into President Washington’s evil hands. The bubble bursts and she floats across the White House lawn, barely noticing the scant few witches and warlocks and Reanimates that are still alive and fighting to the death. Her dress and hair are so white she appears angelic.

“No, Trish!” I shout again, but she presses a finger to her lips.

Trust me
, she says in my head. And though I want to argue with her, to tell her that I’m the big sister here, that she needs to run far, far away and let me do my job, like I always have, I don’t. Because I
do
trust her. Despite everything, I trust her with every cell in my body. Maybe I always have, even when I didn’t fully understand her.

On the ground below me, the president says, “Hello, Trish.”

~~~

Trish

This time will be different
, Trish tells herself.
I can save her. I can save my sister
.

“You remember me?” President Washington says, cocking her head in surprise. “Impossible.”

It was you
, Trish says, the truth pouring over her like the light of dawn.
You did something to my memory.

“Yes,” the president says. “But apparently my memory spell wasn’t very good if you remember.”

I won’t let you kill another person I love
, Trish says.

The witch raises an eyebrow. “You know I killed one of your Children and your earthly brother? Jasper was it?”

Yes
.

“But that’s all you know?”

Trish stares at her, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words, trying to probe into the witch’s mind.

“You
don’t
know?” the president says, her mind like a steel trap. “Maybe my spell wasn’t so ineffective after all.”

What?
Trish asks.

“I killed you, too,” the president says.

As if the floodgates in her mind have been opened, Trish remembers everything. Being too slow to save her loved ones. Being so distraught that she almost forgot who she was, that a deadly foe was standing before her. Watching as Washington, who was much younger back then, sent shards of broken glass flying across the room and into her flesh, ripping her apart from the inside out.

Murderer
, Trish says, anger roaring like a blowtorch through her veins.

“I only kill those who are too weak to deserve to live,” the witch says. “And now it’s your sister’s turn. You could probably save her, but then I would live on. I will kill
thousands
more. I will bring about the complete extinction of the human race. Or…”—the president’s eyes glitter maliciously—“…you could kill me with a single scream.” Trish opens her mouth, the prospect of watching the woman die too tempting to pass up. “But your sister will die.” Trish follows the president’s gaze to the magic ropes on either side, which are already coming uncoiled, as if connected to the president’s life force. “The choice is yours.”

Thousands will die. Extinction of the human race.
The thought shivers through her. Thousands have already died because she was too focused on protecting Jasper, so long ago. If she had killed the witch then, maybe none of this would’ve happened. She failed once—she can’t afford to again.

But her sister. Laney has been her earthly protector, her friend, her primary connection to this world. Can she really let her die when she has the power to save her? She shouldn’t care. Laney is but her earthly one-lifetime sister, but killing President Washington could save thousands of lives.

One of the threads snaps, making her sister’s body bounce dangerously, a tongue of flame licking at her feet. Her eyes meet Laney’s. There’s no fear in her sister’s expression. Only resistance. “Kill her,” Laney says, her jaw firm, her eyes steely. “There is no other choice.”

Trish knows Laney is right, but the thought of abandoning her sister is too much, sending shudders through her even as she opens her mouth to scream.

A giant hand flies up from her feet, clutching her jaw, clattering her teeth shut. Samsa, the Slammer, his body covered in blood from a gaping wound in his chest, smashes her mouth closed and squeezes it tighter than a metal vice.

She pushes her mind toward his, trying to take control of him, but he’s like a steel-trap, his defenses strong and without cracks or tears. He’s a warrior amongst Slammers, well-trained in the art of mind defense.

And he’s trying to crush her skull. It’s all she can do to force enough magical strength into her bones to prevent her immediate death.

In a moment when she should be frantic, struggling against the giant beneath her, a remarkable calm fills her. Even as she senses the end of Laney’s life, all the smoke and blood and tears and anger and death seem to fade away, giving her clarity of thought for the first time in her short life.

And, finally, she knows what she has to do.

She can only hope her next life will come swiftly, before Laney is dead and gone.

~~~

Rhett

There will be no second chance for Laney this time. Maybe for any of us. The ropes that are keeping her alive are twisting and snapping and fraying, the magic being sucked out of them by the president or Charles Gordon.

Trish is in the grip of the giant, who apparently wasn’t as easily killed by the red Changeling as I thought. And I can’t move, petrified like a statue, cursed only with the ability to watch as the world ends.

A dark shadow dances across the edge of my vision. Internally I flinch when the familiar voice hisses in my ear.

“Stuck, are we?” Flora whispers. “The powerful witch hunter can’t move?”

As if things couldn’t get any worse, now I’ve got the Shifter who wants to lick my toes purring and rubbing up against me.

I hope you rot in hell
, I try to say.

As if sensing my anger, or maybe fear, she says, “Don’t worry. I won’t bite off any of yowr toes. At least not just yet.”
How comforting.
“I’m here to help yow.”

Help me how?
I wonder, watching as Laney bounces again, her body dipping precariously close to the flames pouring from the tear in the earth. Beneath her, Trish’s face is turning red and puffing out, as if she desperately needs to take a breath and can’t because of Samsa’s hand over her mouth and nose. The tiny Claire’s eyes find mine and time seems to slow and then stop. Her eyes seem to grow bigger and bigger, like ever-expanding black holes, swirling with gray and white mist. I feel the faint sense of falling, and then everything goes black.

Time seems to stretch out before me, like a never ending nighttime highway. I can’t tell seconds from minutes, minutes from hours, hours from days. Life and death seem to blur together in a lightless vacuum. Trish’s voice rings out from above, echoing slightly, as if she’s speaking from a great distance or in a cave.

“I won’t be there for the end, but you will,” she says. If any of her childish innocence remains, it’s hidden behind a voice that’s as confident as a god’s.

I try to speak, to tell her I don’t understand why she’s telling me this, but it’s as if my mouth has been stitched shut. I can only listen.

“Watch and remember,” she says, her voice fading away.

A match is struck, a single glowing ember of clarity in an ocean of darkness. The tiny point of light becomes two and then four and then many more, sprouting up like stars in the night sky. That’s when I realize:

They’re not matches or stars, but torches, illuminating an approaching menace. An army of stalwart warriors, moving robotically with stiff arms and legs, swords and knives blood red under the glow of their lanterns. Somehow, perhaps because of Trish’s influence, I understand their one and only purpose.

To destroy.

With a cold suddenness I’m aware of men and women and children fleeing across a great unbroken expanse toward the lights. Toward the army. If they’re running toward an army, then surely they’re running from something even more fearsome.

Jaws snap. Teeth clash. Growls and barks and far more sinister animal sounds shatter the night, drawing shrieks and screams from the human prey.

I want to move, to draw my sword, to stand and fight for the thousands of souls, but my feet are as frozen as my lips. All I can do is watch. Watch and remember, as Trish instructed.

A panther bounds into view, leaping atop a straggling human—a child.

The moment she screams the darkness returns, swirling away in reverse, as if unwriting itself.

And as I return to reality, I know.

I know
.

Trish showed me the future. Although it felt like time had passed, I know it has not. Trish’s magic transcends time. She showed me everything I needed in an instant.

“You,” I say to Flora. “You’re evil.” I’m pointing out something I’ve known from the moment I met the Shifter, but it’s all I can say, all I can think. This witch gets so much pleasure from killing, from destroying.

“I want to tell yow the truth,” Flora says, lowering her purring voice even further. “About how President Washington made a quick stop at another house before she came to yowrs.” I get a sinking feeling in my gut, like it’s me who’s about to be pulled to the bottom of the pit and not Laney. Is this the truth or another of Flora’s lies? “About how she relished squeezing the life out of Beth. Pity she wasn’t able to kill Xavier, too, before the Necros arrived to save him.”

No. Anger burns deep inside me. Petrified like this, it doesn’t have an outlet. President Washington killed Beth. It all makes sense now. Kill Beth. Kill Xave. Kill my foster family. Kill me. She only got two out of four. Plus murdering my mother and cutting out my father’s tongue, not to mention the curse she gave him. It takes this surprising bit of truth from Flora for me to realize a broader truth. Something I should have realized much earlier.

President Washington’s vendetta against me and my family isn’t just business, a way to give her the power she desires. No, it runs much deeper than that. It’s personal.

I don’t have time to think about it though, because the ropes are on the verge of breaking and Laney is about to fall and my world is about to implode all over again and I can’t let it happen, I can’t, I have to force my mind against whatever spell I’m under and—

Flora licks my face. Her tongue is rough and wet, and then she’s gone, bolting through a gap in the White House rubble. Gone.

What. The. Hell. Was. That? I think, wiping the sliminess off my cheek. Blech.

Wait.
I wiped the sliminess off my cheek?
I moved! I’m free from the spell! And although I want to believe it was the strength of my will and that I was more powerful than the president, I know it was the witch-panther’s tongue that freed me. For whatever reason, Flora, the evil murderer, helped me.

There’s a twangy snapping sound, and even as I push to my feet and charge for Laney I know I’m too late.

She falls into the fiery chasm.

~~~

Laney

The breath leaves my lungs and I feel my stomach drop. My arms flail as I try to grab onto something, anything, but there’s nothing except the severed magical rope, which falls with me in a glowing tangle.

Everything is wrong.

And then I see Trish, her face masked by the giant’s monstrous hand. For a moment, time seems to stop as our eyes meet. I know mine are wide with fear and desperation, but hers are…