I sank to my knees as the colors transformed again. The blonde woman was lying in a pool of crimson blood, her eyes open and unblinking. A young girl with fiery red hair knelt beside her, tears streaming down her face. “Good-bye, Mama,” she whispered, ripping away the bracelet.
Another scene materialized. A woman with chestnut brown hair moved into view and transfigured the Grimoire into a ruby brooch. Her eyes—the same unmistakable pair of green eyes—were the confirmation of what I’d begun to suspect.
This is my family. All the Keepers who came before me.
In between scenes of the Keepers were horrific flashes of the Master and the Guard—of their hunt for the Keepers. Every single pair of green eyes—the green eyes I now possessed—closed in death at the Master’s hand.
The tragedy of my heritage rolled before me like a filmstrip, and my entire body shook from the kaleidoscope of emotions swirling inside me.
Then, at last, came an image that nearly stopped my heart.
It was my mother.
She was holding the Grimoire in her hand, her forehead scrunched as if she were thinking hard about something. Then with a little shrug and a half smile, she muttered an incantation and the book began to glow. When the light faded, the emerald amulet sat in her palm, pulsing as if it were happy to be in its original form again. A fresh batch of tears rolled down my cheeks.
The final face I saw was gaunt and severe. A tall member of the Guard with blood staining his uniform walked toward the Master, his face triumphant. In his hands was the amulet. “It is done, my lord,” he said. “The witch is dead.”
I crumpled in on myself, losing the tiny scrap of control I still clung to. Everything faded away as my sobs grew louder. My heart was utterly broken for the family who had tried so hard, yet ultimately failed to keep the Master from getting the book. They sacrificed so much, only to fail in the end. It shattered me.
I cried even harder as I thought of my mother. The mother I’d never gotten a chance to know. I didn’t fight it when the colors began to swirl away and the darkness enveloped me again.
“Lainey? Can you hear me?”
I flinched away from the sound—the image of Henry stabbing Josephine was burned into my eyelids. The faces of the other Keepers. My mother. I clenched my fists together and fought the urge to scream.
I became aware of a warm pressure on my arm, the voice from before murmuring in my ear. As my eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the sights around me, it took several minutes for my brain to register where I was.
The tall pine trees were gone, replaced by pale yellow walls and white linen curtains. The smell of gunpowder and smoke had vanished, leaving in its place the delicate scent of clean laundry. Josephine, Henry, and the Guard were nowhere to be seen, but a single face hovered over mine with wide eyes. Gareth. I was back at home in my bedroom.
“Gareth?” I whispered, relief flooding over me. Sitting up so fast it made me dizzy, I launched myself into Gareth’s arms.
“Lainey, are you okay?” he asked, holding me against his chest. The anxiety in his voice was clear. “What happened?”
I shook my head, not yet ready to relive the horrible moments in the tent village, nor the flashes in the dark room.
“I was so worried,” Gareth whispered against my hair. “One minute you’re talking to the wall, and the next minute you’re unresponsive on the floor.”
Taking a deep breath, I pulled myself out of Gareth’s embrace and brushed the hair out of my face. “I wasn’t talking to the wall. I was talking to her. To Josephine.”
Gareth’s eyebrows rose.
“She showed me the rest of the story, what happened to her,” I continued. “You were right. The Master hunted her down; he wanted the Grimoire.” I took a deep breath. “He . . . he killed her.” I felt a lump rising in my throat, and I gulped.
Gareth nodded solemnly. “Yes. But she protected it.”
My brain supplied me with the image of a tiny baby girl with rosy cheeks, clear eyes, and a large emerald amulet fastened around her neck. “Yes,” I agreed. “She kept it safe.”
Now that the shock of the whole ordeal was over, my body sagged with exhaustion. I wanted to curl up in my bed and lose myself in the oblivion of sleep, but seeing the Guard in action had ignited a spark of fury deep inside me, and Josephine’s words echoed in my ear: The Master’s thirst for blood will never end, not until every last Supernatural who defies him is dead. He knows nothing of mercy.
I thought of Lane and Josephine, of my mother, and finally of the card that meant death held gingerly between Serena’s shaking fingertips. I couldn’t go to sleep now if I tried. I had to do something.
Pushing myself off the bed, I walked over to where the bronze dagger lay on the carpet. Kneeling down, I reached out and grasped the hilt. Its weight in my hand was terrible, but also reassuring. It promised dreadful things to come, but that I might now have a chance to survive them. I turned back to Gareth. “Ready for that training session?”
“Now?” he questioned. “I thought you said—”
“Let’s go.” Without waiting to see if he was following me or not, I turned on my heels and headed downstairs toward Gareth’s study.
It’s my choice. A flame blazed within me, the warmth spreading throughout my entire body. I’m choosing my destiny.
Gripping the hilt of the dagger even tighter, I straightened my shoulders and kept walking. I wasn’t going to sit around and let my mother’s sacrifice be in vain.
I was choosing to fight.
When I drove to school the next morning, the sun was obnoxiously bright. It was entirely too cheerful, given my mood. Gareth had coached me well into the morning hours, and everything hurt.
First, he taught me the basics of self-defense and hand-to-hand combat. Then we’d moved to weaponry. The dagger wasn’t heavy, but after hours of holding it out and slashing it through the air, the muscles in my arm were cooked spaghetti. Not to mention that every other inch of my body felt like it had been beaten black and blue. Between the train tracks, the magical leap through time, and the combat training, I felt like I’d been mauled by a bear.
I arrived at school just as the first bell rang. I parked my car and attempted a mad dash across the parking lot, my muscles screaming in protest.
As I limped toward the door, though, laughter bubbled in my throat. In the last twenty-four hours, I’d come to terms with the fact that I was a witch, created a massive thunderstorm, and watched the Master’s Guard slaughter innocent people—yet here I was running like a normal teenager across campus just to avoid being tardy to English class.
I skidded down the hall and then stumbled to a stop. Ty was waiting at my locker, leaning against the wall with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. My heart started beating a little faster.
“Good morning. Nice of you to join us.”
I rolled my eyes. “I overslept.”
“I see,” he said, smirking. “Well, perhaps this will help?” He offered me the cup of coffee.
“Oh my God, thank you!” I took a large swig. “What are you doing, anyway? Aren’t you going to be late for class?”
“Late? Nah, it’s making an entrance.” Ty winked at me. “Besides, I wanted to check on you.”