Macon Ravenwood stood in the middle of the crypt, his overcoat twisting around him.
Amma was standing next to him, her good coat buttoned on the wrong buttons, clutching her pocketbook. I don’t know who was angrier.
“I’m sorry, Macon. You know the rules. They asked for help, and I am Bound to give it.”
Marian looked stricken.
Amma was all over Marian, like she had doused our house in gasoline. “The way I see it, you’re Bound to take care a Lila’s boy, and Macon’s niece. And I don’t see how what you’re doin’ does either.”
I waited for Macon to lay into Marian, too, but he didn’t say a word. Then I realized why.
He was shaking Lena. She had collapsed across the stone table in the center of the room.
Her arms were spread wide, her face down against the rough stone. She didn’t look conscious.
“Lena!” I pulled her into my arms, ignoring Macon, who was already next to her. Her eyes were still black, staring up at me.
“She’s not dead. She’s drifting. I believe I can reach her.” Macon was working quietly. I could see him twisting his ring. His eyes were strangely alight.
“Lena! Come back!” I pulled her limp body into my arms, leaning her against my chest.
Macon was mumbling. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could see Lena’s hair begin to stir in the now familiar, supernatural wind I’d come to think of as a Casting breeze.
“Not here, Macon. Your Casting won’t work here.” Marian was tearing through the pages of a dusty book, her voice unsteady.
“He’s not Castin’, Marian. He’s Travelin’. Even a Caster can’t do that. Where she’s gone, only Macon’s kind can go. Under.” Amma was trying to be reassuring, but she wasn’t very convincing.
I felt the cold settling over Lena’s empty body and knew Amma was right. Wherever
Lena was, it wasn’t in my arms. She was far away. I could feel it myself, and I was just a
Mortal.
“I told you, Macon. This is a neutral place. There is no Binding you can work in a room of earth.” Marian was pacing, clutching the book as if it made her feel like she was helping in some way. But there were no answers inside. She had said it herself. Casting couldn’t help us here.
I remembered the dreams, remembered pulling Lena through the mud. I wondered if this was the place where I lost her.
Macon spoke. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t seeing. It was like they were turned inward, to wherever Lena was. “Lena. Listen to me. She can’t hold you.”
She. I stared into Lena’s empty eyes.
Sarafine.
“You’re strong, Lena; break through. She knows I can’t help you here. She was waiting for you in the shadows. You have to do this yourself.”
Marian appeared with a glass of water. Macon poured it onto Lena’s face, into her mouth, but she didn’t move.
I couldn’t stand it anymore.
I grabbed her mouth and kissed her, hard. The water dribbled out of our mouths, like I was giving mouth-to-mouth to a drowning victim.
Wake up, L. You can’t leave me now. Not like this. I need you more than she does.
Lena’s eyelids fluttered.
Ethan. I’m tired.
She sputtered back to life, choking, spitting water across her jacket. I smiled in spite of everything, and she smiled back at me. If this was what the dreams were about, we had changed the way they ended. This time, I had held on. But in the back of my mind, I think I knew. This wasn’t the moment when she slipped out of my arms. It was only the beginning.
Even if that was true, I had saved her this time.
I reached down to pull her into my arms. I wanted to feel the familiar current between us.
Before I could wrap my arms around her, she jerked up and out of my arms. “Uncle
Macon!”
Macon stood across the room, propped against the crypt wall, barely able to support his own weight. He leaned his head back against the stone. He was sweating, breathing heavily, and his face was chalk white.
Lena ran and clung to him, a child worried for her father. “You shouldn’t have done that.
She could have killed you.” Whatever he was doing when he was Traveling, whatever that meant, the effort had cost him.
So this was Sarafine. This thing, whoever She was, was Lena’s mother.
If this was a trip to the library, I didn’t know if I was ready for what might happen in the next few months.
Or as of tomorrow morning, 74 days.
Lena sat, still dripping wet, wrapped in a blanket. She looked about five years old. I glanced at the old oaken door behind her, wondering if I could ever find my way out alone. Unlikely. We’d gone about thirty paces down one of the aisles, and then disappeared down a stairwell, through a series of small doors, into a cozy study that was apparently some sort of reading room. The passageway had seemed endless, with a door every few feet like some sort of underground hotel.
The moment Macon sat down, a silver tea service appeared in the center of the table, with exactly five cups and a platter of sweet breads. Maybe Kitchen was here, too.
I looked around. I had no idea where I was, but I knew one thing. I was somewhere in
Gatlin, yet somewhere further away from Gatlin than I’d ever been.
Either way, I was out of my league.
I tried to find a comfortable spot in an upholstered chair that looked like it could have belonged to Henry VIII. Actually, there was no way of knowing that it hadn’t. The tapestry on the wall also looked as if had come from an old castle, or Ravenwood. It was woven into the shape of a constellation, midnight blue and silver thread. Every time I looked at it, the moon appeared in a different stage.
Macon, Marian, and Amma sat across the table. Saying Lena and I were in trouble was putting the best possible spin on it. Macon was furious, his teacup rattling in front of him.
Amma was beyond that. “What makes you think you can take it upon yourself to decide when my boy is ready for the Underground? Lila would skin you herself, if she was here.
You’ve got some nerve, Marian Ashcroft.”