Unbound (29 page)

I heard the faint, metallic echo of Nicola Pallas’ song from the speaker, and then he was returning my phone. He stared at me for a moment longer, brows furrowed like he was struggling to remember, then shrugged. “Thanks, Mister Vainio. The EMTs will be around to check you over. I’m sorry about your home.”

I returned the phone to my pocket and watched as my roof caved in, sending geysers of sparks into the sky. As water gradually turned the earth to swamp. As smoke and ash smothered everything in gray.

Five hours I waited, while Lena hid within her trees. The closest oaks had been singed, but they had survived. The fire crew inspected the wreckage, soaking every potential hot spot.

It was a long time to think. Meridiana’s offer might have been genuine, but she knew the Porters couldn’t go along with it. There had to be another reason for her so-called truce. To warn us about the Ghost Army going free if we destroyed the sphere? She could have carved that warning into Lena’s tree.

A second fire truck had arrived at some point during the night, this one out of Tamarack. I hadn’t even noticed. One of the EMTs had me sign a form officially refusing a ride to the hospital. I signed left-handed, keeping my right arm as still as I could. They had splinted two of the fingers and bandaged a cut on my leg.

The chief returned a while later to go through a well-rehearsed but sympathetic checklist of things to do and not to do. Call my insurance company. Don’t go into the wreckage. Call if I remembered anything about how the fire might have started.

I nodded and thanked him and spoke whatever words would send them away the soonest. Once the last truck finally left, Lena emerged from the oaks to join me. She looked unreal, untouched by the gray and black that had leached the color from the rest of the world.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

I dug out my phone. The battery was almost dead, but we were still connected to Nicola. I put her on speaker and asked, “Did we get Meridiana’s e-reader?”

“We have a snapshot of its contents, and we’ll be able to see any time she downloads something new.”

“Good. We’ll be back soon.” I hung up. Lena had to help me to my feet. My limbs had stiffened, and I could feel each punch and kick my neighbors had landed. “I need one thing before we go.”

Most of the house was a sinkhole, the wreckage having collapsed into the basement. But the garage was built on solid ground, having been added on when I was in elementary school. Lena was strong enough to pry the worst of the debris aside, using blackened timbers as enormous levers.

Beneath it all sat the car I had stolen from Ponce de Leon years ago, a black Triumph convertible, four decades old and laced with magical enchantments that had protected it from the flames. The exterior was filthy, but the damage hadn’t touched the inside. I opened the door, shifted it into neutral, and released the parking brake. Together, we rolled the car down the driveway and into the street.

I fetched Smudge from the Jeep and brought him back to the Triumph. I sat down in the driver’s seat and gasped. At a minimum, a couple of my ribs were out of place, if not broken. Half of my face felt heavy and swollen. My lower lip was cut, and blood oozed every time I spoke.

I closed my eyes. “On second thought, maybe you should drive.”

Dear Isaac,

I saw the newscast out of Copper River. You’re really one of them, aren’t you? One of those book-wizards, the Porters.

I remember the weirdness before you went away to college. I thought I was imagining things. Where would my brother get a stack of real gold coins? And that pet spider of yours, the one you kept insisting was some kind of mutant tarantula?

You lied to me.

I can’t blame you for that. I know we didn’t exactly get along in those days. And you needed to keep your secrets, I get it. The Porters probably had rules and oaths and all that.

But we grew up. You graduated and got your job at the library. I married Angie and had kids. You and I stopped fighting over stupid stuff.

And then the accident happened. Lexi was five years old. Do you know what it’s like trying to explain to your five-year-old daughter that if we don’t let the doctors cut off her leg, the infection will kill her? Or to know that even the amputation might not save her?

She’s had four surgeries to try to repair the damage from the crash. To pin her pelvis back together. To ease the pressure on her brain. Depending on the results of her next MRI, we may have to go back for number five before the end of the summer.

I never said how much it meant to us that you flew out here after the accident. That you watched Lexi’s brother and brought us badly-cooked meals and did everything you could to help.

Only you didn’t, did you? You didn’t do
everything
.

Maybe you had good reasons. Maybe your precious secret was more important than your niece. Well, the secret’s out now, and Lexi deserves better. She deserves the chance to be a kid, and she shouldn’t have to go through life like this because some drunk blew through a stop sign.

People tell Angie and me how strong we are to take care of Lexi. How she’s such a special girl, and we’re amazing parents. How God never gives anyone more than they can handle.

This has nothing to do with God. This is about a
fifty-two-year-old woman who was too wasted to drive, and a brother who chose not to use his magic to help his niece.

I haven’t said anything about this to Angie or the kids, but I can’t hide it from them forever. Sooner or later, they’re going to see the story. They’re going to know what you are.

I don’t imagine you can go back in time and stop the accident, but there’s got to be something you can do. Lexi is in pain every day. Her hips, her back, her knee . . . some days it takes hours for her to fall asleep, even with her meds.

Isaac, if you don’t help that little girl, I swear to Christ I’ll never forgive you.

Your brother,

Toby

I
HAD GROWN UP
in that house. It could be rebuilt, but so much of what it held was gone forever.

Old novels, many of which had been autographed and personalized by authors now dead. The crooked tile floor my parents had installed in the bathroom more than ten years ago. Memories of helping to haul ruined carpet and old boxes out of the basement one spring after the sump pump failed, and later launching paper boats into the three inches of standing water from the bottom step.

The loss hurt, but not as much as the way the crowd had turned on me. It was like something from
Lord of the Flies
, primitive savagery summoned to the fore by fear. I had known many of them for most of my life. Played with them as kids.

I glanced in the rearview mirror and wished I hadn’t. Dirt
and blood crusted the side of my swollen, bruised face. A bloody gash crossed my forehead. I hadn’t even felt that one.

“You know she’s probably following us,” Lena said. “Hoping we’ll lead her to the sphere.”

I hadn’t even thought of that. I was more tired than I thought. I rested my head against the window and watched the grassy dunes and the lake beyond. Clouds obscured the moon and stars, and the waves were all but invisible in the blackness.

My phone buzzed. I glanced at the text message. “Nidhi says they’re ready to destroy the sphere, but they won’t do it until we have a way to contain the Ghost Army. She also said the Porters saw the footage of us and Meridiana. They’re preparing a press release of their own.”

Meridiana wanted to build an empire of the dead, and the Porters were worried about public relations.

“We should take the scenic route,” I said. Paradoxically, we were probably safer right now than we had been in weeks. If Meridiana was hoping we’d lead her to the sphere, she couldn’t exactly kill us. She could damn well wait as long as it took for us . . .

I sat up, barely noticing the pain in my side.

“What is it?”

“Meridiana didn’t have to meet with us in person. What did she gain by dragging us out to Copper River and burning down my house?”

“Beyond stopping the Porters from killing her, trying to tail us back to the sphere, and beating you half to death?”

“She was stalling.” Meridiana was jerking us around like puppets. I checked the time. The sun would be coming up soon. “Several hours to drive here. Longer to wait with the fire department.”

“Why? What is she waiting for?”

“Hell if I know.” As long as we held the sphere, we had the better hand. The moment we figured out how to neutralize the Ghost Army, Meridiana was done. Logically, she should be putting all of her energy into getting the sphere back, not
wasting time manipulating the people of Copper River or tormenting an individual librarian. Unless she had another way of nullifying our advantage.

Lena pursed her lips. “When Master Sarna taught me stick fighting, he said that nine times out of ten, the one who wins the fight will be the one who acts instead of reacts.”

“Did he have any advice on what action to take when you were outnumbered and outgunned?”

“Run away. Failing that, figure out who presents the biggest threat and focus your attack on her. Take that one down, and the rest might decide to leave you alone.”

“I like it.” More importantly, I was pretty sure I knew where to start.

We were halfway back to the fort when Lena adjusted the door mirror and said, “There seems to be an angel following us.”

The Triumph was enchanted to prevent magical spying, but it wouldn’t help against a flying minion. We had kept the top up, so I had to roll down the window to spot him. He didn’t appear to have any trouble keeping up, despite the fact that we were averaging ninety-five on the highway.

“Who do you think he used to be?” Lena asked.

“Meridiana called him Binion.” I sat back and grimaced. Twisting like that had aggravated the throbbing in my side. “There was a libriomancer by that name who lived out west. I didn’t know him personally. From what I’ve read, he was a bit of an asshole. Way too full of himself and his own power. But that doesn’t mean he deserved this.”

She switched gears and pushed the needle past a hundred. I opened the glove box. From the back, behind a box of Band Aids and an old tire gauge that doubled as a wand for jumping dead batteries, I pulled out a miniature disco ball the size of a golf ball.

“Should I ask?”

“Nope. Merge with that line of cars up ahead.” I hung the disco ball on the rearview mirror. It began to rotate back and forth. “You might want to shield your eyes.”

The tiny square mirrors brightened. Beams of light stabbed out in all directions. The light passed through us with no effect, but every vehicle it touched changed appearance, taking on the compact, glossy black body of a 1973 TR-6 convertible. Which was, I suspected, particularly distressing for the parents in the minivan, whose three screaming children now appeared to be riding in the open trunk.

A second burst of light rendered the kids invisible. Duplicates of Lena and me appeared in our vehicular doppelgangers.

Cars screeched and swerved. Horns blared. Several convertibles pulled over to the side of the road. Others continued on. I heard one driver—he sounded like a teenager, though it was hard to tell, since he looked exactly like Lena—screaming excitedly about his new sports car.

“Ponce de Leon used this trick years ago when the Porters were after him,” I said. “The write-up was funny as hell. One of the vehicles he hit with his illusion was hauling cattle. The field agent wasted five minutes trying to interrogate a cow.”

Our pursuer circled overhead, clearly uncertain. Even if Binion had been tracking us by our magic, spells now clung to every one of the dozen or so vehicles on this stretch of the road. He swooped lower, arms outstretched. One of the cars reverted to its proper appearance as he stripped the illusion away. We followed two more Triumphs off the next exit ramp, driving slowly and casually, like we had no idea what had just happened.

A half mile down the road, I peered out the window and searched for Binion. He was staying with the cars on the highway, probably assuming we had chosen that route for a reason, and would therefore keep going after tossing out our magical distraction. One by one he tore their magic away, but he
couldn’t catch them all. I held out my fist toward Lena, who grinned and bumped it with her own.

Damn, I missed being able to do this stuff on my own.

I texted Nidhi to let her know we were in the clear, then tried to find a position that would let me rest. I closed my eyes, but every time I began to drift off, pain jolted me from half-formed dreams of Gerbert d’Aurillac’s armillary sphere and the smell of smoke.

“
Paeniteo
,” I whispered.

“What’s that?”

“One of the words from the poem d’Aurillac used to hide Meridiana away. It means repent.” I thought about the connection I had shared with Gerbert, and his guilt for not recognizing Meridiana’s evil sooner.

He felt responsible for the damage she had caused, the pain she had inflicted through her lies. He had known how dangerous she was. But he also pitied her. She was without mercy, but Gerbert d’Aurillac wasn’t. He could be flawed and vengeful and petty, but he strove to do better. He had also been close to Anna’s family. He even loved her, in his way.

I couldn’t be certain, but my gut—or else the lingering memories from Gerbert’s mind—told me I was on the right track. “
That’s
why he gave Meridiana the ability to speak from her prison. He wanted her to be able to repent. He could ask her if she atoned for her sins, and she was forced to answer honestly. I’d bet that if she were ever able to answer yes, it would free her.”

How long had he waited and prayed before realizing Meridiana would never feel guilt for her actions? What he had intended as a chance for redemption had only added to her never-ending torment. Meridiana could have freed herself at any time, if only she had been able to lie, something she had done so effortlessly in life.

I shifted in my seat, and fresh pains pierced my body.

“What is it?”

“Maybe I should have gone to the hospital after all.” I
breathed through clenched teeth. I couldn’t fully inhale. On the right side, my lung felt like someone was jabbing it with a jagged stick. I pulled up my shirt to see that much of the skin over my ribs had turned purple.

Lena swore and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. I dug my fingers into the seat as we zipped through traffic. I hoped Ponce de Leon’s magic would protect us from the police, and Lena’s reflexes would keep us from smashing into cars and trucks that might as well have been parked.

By the time we reached Fort Michilimackinac, I could no longer focus on anything but the pain. I needed help just getting out of the car.

Nicola was waiting for us in the parking lot. The moment her song reached my ears, the pain eased somewhat, enough for me to walk without gasping.

She didn’t bother buying tickets this time. Her song turned every eye away as we passed through the gift shop. My ribs ground together with each step.

Ponce de Leon and Bi Wei met us on the other side of the gate. I sagged to the ground and closed my eyes as they used their magic to begin repairing damage. A man dressed like a British soldier approached, asking if I was all right.

“Low blood sugar,” said Ponce de Leon. “He’ll be fine.” He waited for the man to leave, then added, “We all heard your confrontation with Meridiana. That was an interesting strategy, Isaac. Walking
toward
the angry mob. I take it American schools don’t teach self-preservation?”

“I was out sick that day.” I worked my jaw back and forth, then touched my forehead. The swelling was gone, and there was only a dull ache as I rubbed away the dried blood, all that remained of the scabbed cut.

“I’m sorry about your home,” said Nicola.

“Thanks.” I gasped as my ribs moved beneath my skin. When I could speak again, I asked, “Any progress on the sphere?”

“Gutenberg’s plan will work,” said Bi Wei. She and Lena
helped me to my feet. “He locked most religious texts, but we’ve torn through his locks before. We can apply them to Meridiana and bring her to an end.”

The students of Bi Sheng could open any text in the archive, but they couldn’t restore my magic. At least not
directly
 . . .

I set that idea aside for the moment. “If we kill Meridiana, we unleash the Ghost Army. We have to find another way to contain or destroy them first, and we don’t have much time. I think she’s been stalling. With her prison restored to the world, she might have found another way out.”

“Right now, Meridiana’s power is limited,” said Ponce de Leon. “And still she was able to use Jeneta to kill a five-hundred-year-old libriomancer. If she escapes and regains her full strength, she could be unstoppable. If she’s stalling, that’s all the more reason to act now.”

“Not yet.” I wondered if anyone else noticed the hitch in his voice when he spoke of Gutenberg’s death, or the way he avoided his name? “You fought her ghosts one at a time, with help. If we destroy the sphere, how much destruction will they cause while we hunt them down? And once it comes out that the Porters were responsible for releasing the Ghost Army, we’ll turn the whole world against us.”

“Does that matter, Isaac?” Ponce de Leon’s words were flat, as if to relax his hold on his emotions would unleash them all in a single catastrophic eruption. “Those forced to make impossible choices are rarely loved. If it’s approval and reputation you care about, then you have no place here.”

I thought back to the blows crashing into my body, to my friends doing their best to break me. “This isn’t about reputation. It’s about turning every one of us into a target for angry, frightened people.”

“People like us have always been targets,” he said. “You’ve lived in an era of unprecedented safety and security. Locked away in your magical tower with your books and your research.”

“When I wasn’t out fighting madmen or trying to stop a magical war, you mean?” I shot back.

Nidhi cleared her throat. “Yelling at one another probably isn’t the best way to deal with your grief and exhaustion. Isaac, if you don’t like the plan, focus on finding a better one.”