“Poor non-magicals,” Stavros said. “Look at them, with so little life inside. But it's curious. They still stand. Did you do something to build resistance to the magical world within them, Miss Crown? Or is there something hidden within them—something dormant, that produced you? Perhaps we will run a few experiments.”
My heart stopped for a moment. I looked at Helen, whose eyes briefly narrowed.
“They went into cardiac arrest twice in the Depot,” Helen said. “Non-magicals are frail, though these two are slightly hardier than some I've tested.” She sliced my father’s cheek with her fingernail.
I pulled against my restraints, bringing Stavros’s eyes back to me. He smiled. “We could still make a deal, my dear. You must realize you have lost. Badly. Things can be easy.”
“I thought you didn't need my consent.”
“Naught but for purposes of time. So much wasted already.”
I stared at my parents. They stared eerily back for a long moment before my mother reached toward me. “Ren.”
“Don't worry. I'll get you out of this,” I said.
Stavros laughed benevolently. “Out of their magic-null meat sacks? Undoubtedly.” He looked them over with disdain. “Non-magicals. Their null stench is nauseating. How can anything be so...dull?”
“Don't you dare hurt them.”
Stavros smiled. “I'm not going to,” he said. “You are.” He shoved my mother at me.
Chapter Thirty-two: Golden Circles
I kept contact with my mother's eyes, with my father's gaze, switching between, last looks.
My mother's fingers smoothed down the hair at the side of my face, her fingers pulling around my ear, leaving a piece of her behind. I felt the touch and closed my eyes at the feeling of home and magic seeping within my earlobe. I held tightly, not letting it go.
Stavros clapped his hands together. “A fine victory. A fine gathering. All of you nullified and trussed like First Layer turkeys about to be baked.”
Kaine tapped his fingers against his chest. I watched the way they tapped. “They shouldn't all be here in one place,” he said, sneering.
“Agreed,” Helen said briskly.
“Now, now, it's a day for celebrating,” Stavros said benevolently. “And none of them can do an ounce of magic.” He motioned, and indeed, we were pretty dead in the water. We had known this is what would happen if we were ever trapped here.
He walked toward Constantine. “I think we'll start with you.”
“Thank you,” I said abruptly.
Stavros's eyes narrowed, though his mouth was still amused. “Young love already withering? For what, dear girl?”
“No. Thank you for bringing us together.” I let the feeling of home seep down to my core.
“Bringing you together? You give me credit for the formation of your group?”
“Not a chance.” I took a breath and let it loose, forcing myself to smile. “Thank you for bringing us all here.”
A hard smile on my face, I let the magic release. My cuffs burst apart. I watched realization wash across Stavros’s features. But I already had his world in my hand.
“Kill her parents,” he said to Helen Price, scrambling backward. “Oler, use the device.”
Oler Mussolgranz swiped a cufflink from my father. “Better, I think, for you to die first,” he said as he picked up the dropped sword and shoved it through Stavros's chest.
Stavros stared down at the steel, then stumbled.
Mussolgranz fell to his knees, the magic around him starting to swirl. He laughed, high-pitched and hysterical, his eyes on Stavros and the blade, his hands shaking. “Felled by an Awakened object. Felled by my hand. Felled by that which I never anticipated when I set her upon her path.”
Stavros choked, blood sputtering from his mouth. A painted hand reached from a portrait and pulled him inside in a last bid at protection. I could see him try to get to another painting. He was trying to heal himself, but the sword wasn't letting him. The paint in the portrait started to sear around the edges.
“An interesting object,” my mother said, walking forward and removing her remaining earring. My father removed his second cufflink. “An Awakening object, made to fight monsters. An apt goal.”
My mother's features abruptly sharpened from their normal soft curves. And my father grew an additional two inches, tattoos blooming everywhere along his exposed skin. Magic burst from both, like a constricting net suddenly cut free.
Ganix Greyskull gently took the first cufflink from Mussolgranz—along with a tattoo—and put it into the hand of the assistant who had dropped the sword. The tattoo slithered back onto the assistant’s wrist. “Thank you, William. The permission magic worked exactly as expected, though I must say that I thought I would be doing the stabbing.”
He crouched down and pressed his forehead to the side of Mussolgranz's head.
Stavros jolted—the first truly surprised expression I had ever seen from the man. He looked back at my mother, who was no longer a brunette, but a cold, familiar blonde. “Trickery. Family tragedy. How banal,” he said.
Lucille Stevens, formerly Lucille Stavros, watched the portrait calmly. “Funny, isn’t it, how hubris can unmake a man?”
“I felt you dying. I can still feel it.”
“Such lovely talents at Excelsine these days. One wonders if Alexander Dare is ever truly on campus with a friend who can feign it for him like the one who is lying next to my half-dead corpse. And you'll have gotten your reports, of course, from mages who were fed it by little birds wielding big pens instead of swords. All led by two of my most troublesome and brilliant charges.”
“What have you done?”
She smiled. “Taught my students well.” She stabbed the stem of the earring she hadn't put into my earlobe into the canvas and Stavros gritted his teeth in pain. Stevens left it sticking out of the canvas, nullifying the magic within. “You took him. Them. From me,” she said, just as absurdly calm.
“You never did learn to curb your feelings. Broken.”
Lucille Stevens, one of the most composed people I had ever met, tilted her head. “You overestimate your own liberation.”
“I overestimate my enemies'.” A bolt of magic shot toward her from another portrait, cutting and deadly. But with his abilities neutered and my hold on the painted world, it was without the force it would have once held.
Greyskull reached up and palmed the spell.
“Ah, the doctor,” Stavros spit. “With his vow. I'm surprised you didn't bring dear Rafi.”
“I didn't need to,” Greyskull said, tattoos flashing.
Mussolgranz lifted his head. “Enton, dear boy, patience is rewarded.” Gold light twinkled around Mussolgranz's frame, and his features bled and turned dark and gold. Raphael's eyes closed in deep relief—like a profound wound had started to clot.
“Kaine!” Stavros's voice went a pitch higher.
Kaine’s eyes bled ultramarine blue. Shadows flew from him, up, around, dancing happily in the air, then settled in his reformed hand. Axer's hand.
“Helen!”