The Eighth Day (10 page)

“Evangeline,” she said suddenly.

Had she made that up? He didn't think so. If she was going to invent a name, wouldn't it be something ordinary, like Jessica or Caitlyn? “Nice to meet you, Evangeline,” he said. “I'm Jax.”

“I know. I got your note.” She smiled again. “And your kobold.”

My what?

The sound of a motorcycle engine rose over their conversation.

She dropped the bag of chips and was out of the chair before Jax could say a word. By the time he'd stood up, she was gone. The kitchen door of Mrs. Unger's house slammed shut.

“Darn it, Riley.” Jax flung himself back into the chair.

Seconds later, Riley coasted into the yard, brought his
motorcycle to a stop, and cut the engine. Jax drank his soda while Riley dismounted and removed his helmet. “What're you doing?” Riley asked.

“Having soda and chips.”

“Who with?” Riley looked at the second chair and the second soda. Then he looked up at the Unger house. “No. Way.”

Jax shrugged and reached for the abandoned bag of chips. He was having a hard time suppressing his grin. “I can introduce you, if you like,” he bragged.

Riley looked back and forth between Jax and the Unger house, his mouth hanging open. Then his gaze settled on Jax. “No.” He tossed his helmet at the second lawn chair. It hit the back and tipped the chair over. “She doesn't want to meet me. I'm her jailer.”

While Jax choked on a mouthful of chips, Riley turned on his heel and disappeared into the house.

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JAX FOLLOWED HIM
inside, clutching his soda in one hand and the bag of chips in the other. “What do you mean,
jailer
?”

Riley slammed the kitchen cabinet doors open and closed. “Why don't we ever have any food in this house?” he growled.

“Who is she?” Jax asked.

“I told you to not to bother her.” Riley's eyes dropped to the chips. “Gimme that.” He grabbed the bag and dug for a handful.

“I wasn't bothering her. I got home from my bike ride and ran into her outside.” Actually, she'd run into him, but Jax would've eaten dirt before admitting she'd knocked him down. “You need to tell me. Even
she
said she didn't know why you left me so clueless.”

“She said that?”

“More or less. Who is she? Why is she there?”

“What else did she say?” Riley looked hurt.

“Not a lot. You came back and interrupted us.”

Riley answered Jax's second question first. “She's hiding there.”

“But you said
jailer
. You're keeping her in Grunsday or keeping her in that house?”

“She can't get out of Grunsday,” Riley said, his voice weary. “As for the house, I'm supposed to keep her there, but I doubt she wants to leave anyway.”

“How do you know?”

“My father talked to the Kin who put her there. A long time ago. You've figured that out, haven't you? That she's older than she looks? I mean—” Riley corrected himself. “She's barely old enough to drive, but she was born over a century ago.”

“Okay.” Jax tried to piece everything together. “All of Grunsday is a prison, but Evangeline is a prisoner in her own home, too?”

“Is that her name?” Riley asked in a quiet voice. “Evangeline?”

“How can you guys live next door to one another and not know each other's names?”

“We knew each other's family names,” Riley said gruffly. “That was enough.”

“Then what's hers?”

Riley paused, and at first Jax thought he wasn't going to answer. But then he said, “Emrys is her family name.”

Merlin Emrys
. “Holy crap! You mean she's—”

“A direct descendant of Merlin, yes. She's
important
, and a lot of people—Transitioners and Kin—would love to get their hands on her. And not for good reasons, either.”

“But I thought we—Transitioners—were the good guys. You know, we made the Eighth Day Spell to capture the bad guys . . .” Wasn't that what Mr. Crandall had said?

“No,” Riley said forcefully. “I
told
you. These days, most Transitioners use the extra day for their own selfish purposes. It
used to be
that honor and chivalry mattered. But the world changed, Jax. Now it's all about power and greed.” Riley crossed his arms over his chest. “Not to me, though. I've got a job to do, and I plan on doing it the way my father would have. It's my business to make sure the Emrys girl stays hidden and safe—the business you were supposed to stay out of. Now, get your honor blade. I'm taking you to Melinda's.”

Jax didn't budge. “How long have you lived in this house?”

Riley frowned. “Since I was your age, maybe a little older. Why?”

“Who did you live with?”

“No one.”

“A thirteen-year-old can't live in a house with no adults.”

“Come on, inquisitor. Figure it out. What d'you think happened to any teacher or neighbor who wanted to know
where my parents were?”

Jax clenched his jaw, remembering how Riley had compelled him to get a tattoo, to sleep, to sit down, and shut up. “The same thing that happened to anyone who questioned your right to be my guardian?”

“You got it.”

“Did you cause Naomi's husband to lose his job?”

Riley flinched. “No! What kind of person do you think I am?”

“But you ordered her not to care what happened to me.”

“I did not.” Riley dropped his eyes. “But I commanded her to let you come with me. I made her misremember how old I was and made the case worker believe you were happy and adjusting. I ordered a court clerk to delete that hearing from their schedule.” He glanced up at Jax again. “If it's any consolation, Naomi was really stubborn about it. I had to keep calling her to renew my commands.” When Jax stared at him, aghast, Riley actually looked ashamed. “I'll fix it. When it's time for you to go back, I promise I'll fix it.”

Yeah, by making people do things they don't want to do and think things they don't want to think
. “What happened to your family?” Jax tried to conjure the inquisition talent he was supposed to have.

“Your newbie magic won't work on me, squirt.”

“Why not? It worked on A.J.”

“Because I'm ready for you.” Riley took a huge breath. “But I'll answer if you think you can stand to hear it. They were killed. My parents, my sister, my aunts and uncles and cousins. All of 'em.”

Jax's stomach turned over. “Like my dad?”

“Yes, they were murdered, just like your dad.”

There was a long silence in the kitchen. Riley stood there, pale, but as emotionless as a block of wood. Jax didn't want to show his own weakness, but he had to grab the kitchen counter just to keep himself standing. “By the same people?” he asked finally. “Who? Why?”

“Not the same people. And in either case, the less you know, the safer you are. You want to know who the good guys are?
I am
. Just assume all Transitioners and Kin are dangerous, unless I clear 'em for you.” Riley cleared his throat. “Now, go get your blade for the lesson.” Then he did something he'd never done before. He took Jax by the shoulder and gave him a solid, brotherly squeeze.

Jax pulled away and ran upstairs, where he barfed up chips and soda in the toilet.

It took ten minutes before he could stand up. He didn't want to meet Melinda. He wanted to hide in his room from Grunsday and the bloodthirsty people who inhabited it. But he had a feeling that skipping this lesson would not be allowed, and the sooner he learned what they wanted him to learn, the sooner he could leave.

When he went downstairs with his father's dagger,
Riley handed him a spare helmet without comment about the long delay.

It was a short ride to the center of town. Riley parked in front of a duplex house and led Jax up the steps to the left-hand door. The porch was littered with toys—tricycles and dump trucks and a pretend stove with plastic food. A woman opened the screen door at their approach.

“Hey, Melinda,” Riley said, motioning Jax ahead of him. “This is Jax.”

“Nice to meet you.” She was tall, perhaps in her early thirties, with dark caramel skin and smiling light-brown eyes. She lifted her left hand in what looked like a wave, but Jax knew she was showing him her mark. “My name's Melinda Farrow, but that's my married name. I'm a Llewelyn by birth and talent. Come in.”

She led them through a living room, also cluttered with toys, and into her kitchen. The curtains were pulled back to let in the pink sunlight, and there was a strange cast to the hanging light above her kitchen table. Jax realized there was no electricity in the house, and the bulb was only giving off the afterimage of light.

“I have lunch ready.” Melinda waved her hand at a platter of deli meat and cheese. “I figured you'd be hungry. Dig in. I'm not opening the refrigerator to put this back.”

Riley didn't hesitate. He took a paper plate and started making himself a sandwich. “Not that I'm complaining, but you know I could get you a generator.”

Melinda shook her head. “You'd have to change the outside wiring, and I could never explain it to Scott. I have a hard enough time hiding the radio.” She turned to Jax. “My husband doesn't know. Any of it.”

“Your kids are getting older,” murmured Riley. “You're going to have to tell him sometime.”

“We've discussed this before, and it's not your business,” Melinda replied in a matching murmur, then turned to Jax. “Speaking of the radio, you gave me a scare last week.”

“Melinda is a sensitive,” Riley said. “My first line of defense. If anyone with talent comes within a five-mile radius of us, Melinda knows it. Last week, you took your bike out of town on Grunsday morning, didn't you?”

“Yeah. I rode up to the highway and back.”

“When you came back into town, Melinda sensed it. She didn't know who you were, and she raised an alarm. I was just heading out to look for intruders when I bumped into you coming in.”

“I picture it as a net over the town,” Melinda explained. “If talent comes in, I sense it.” She looked at Riley. “But I didn't detect him going out. I'm sorry. That's a flaw I've never managed to fix. I wish I were stronger for you . . .”

Riley shook his head. “Melinda, stop that. You do good work.”

Meanwhile, Jax frowned, remembering how he'd crashed into Riley in the doorway last week. “You were in the house the whole time?”

“Sound asleep in bed. Didn't you check?”

No, he hadn't checked. Riley hadn't been in the house the week before. At that point, Jax still thought he was entirely alone on the day between Wednesday and Thursday.

By this time, Riley had made three sandwiches and piled them on top of one another. Now he placed a second paper plate on top and picked up the whole bundle. “I'm gonna take these and go.”

Melinda sighed. “On your motorcycle? Let me get you a bag.”

Riley turned to Jax. “Melinda'll take good care of you. She finished my training.”

Because he lost his parents when he was no older than me
.

It suddenly dawned on Jax that he had more in common with Riley than he'd realized. And if Riley had been living on his own since he was orphaned, it explained why he hadn't bothered to cook for Jax or do his laundry or take care of him at all, really. No one had taken care of Riley in a long time. Jax looked at his guardian with new eyes.

“You okay?” Riley asked, scrutinizing him right back.

Jax glanced around the cozy kitchen, at the lunch platter—not quite decimated by Riley's assault—and Melinda. She was the least scary person Jax had met since this all started, up to and including Evangeline and her pepper spray. “Yeah, I'm okay.”

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AFTER JAX HAD EATEN
his fill, Melinda cleared the food from the table. “May I see your mark?” she asked, as if it were an honor, and he held out his hand.

She took it in both of hers. “Your mark is placed on your left wrist over the pulse point leading to your heart.” Her index finger traced lightly up the inside of his arm. “It names what you are and enhances your potential for magic. This is a tradition so old, we've forgotten its origins.”

“Older than Grunsday?” Jax asked.

“Much older. And Grunsday is a silly name Arnie Crandall made up for something we should respect. Making fun of the eighth day is dangerous; it encourages a sloppy disregard for powerful magic.”

Jax raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“You're an inquisitor. Riley tells me you've already discovered this. Do you understand what you did?”

He cringed. The term
inquisitor
summoned images of people being stretched to death on the rack. “I asked questions, and people answered. But I don't know why, or how I did it.”

Melinda released his arm. “Once you started transitioning to the eighth day, you picked up your potential for magic.”

“Riley said I got it from my dad.”

“You inherited the ability to cross into the other timeline and the nature of your talent from your dad. But if you never transitioned, you would never have picked up the magical potential to implement it. You would've been a Normal, like your mother. Even the children of two Transitioners occasionally fail to transition and develop any talent.”

Jax nodded cautiously. “So, no eighth day, no talent.”

“It's a side effect of our ancestors casting the Eighth Day Spell and giving themselves the ability to transition in and out of it. Our magic is bound to the day, so to speak.”