Once A Witch Part 23

"Not until someone tells me exactly what is going on. Right now" She folds her arms across her chest and glares at both of us.

"Or he'll stay this way forever!"

"Actually," my grandmother interjects in a dry voice, "it does wear off after a week or two. As I have been so fortunate to discover."

"You can't still be mad about that," Aunt Beatrice insists.

"She doesn't have much time," my grandmother adds.

"Well, I do," Aunt Beatrice says. She swings the pocket watch from her fingers like a pendulum. I glare at my aunt.

"I used to like you," I mutter.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" Then I clench my back teeth while advancing on my aunt.

"If you don't release him, Aunt Beatrice, I swear you'll spend the next week of your life as a statue in your own stupid garden!"My aunt draws herself up, which would be impressive if she weren't considerably shorter than I am.

"Well!" she huffs before stomping over and knocking Gabriel on the head. With a long s.h.i.+ver Gabriel comes to life, looking around wildly before he sees me. I run across the gra.s.s, tripping in my heels, and thud straight into him.

"Umph!" he says into my hair.

"Warn me before you're going to do that again, okay?" But his arms fold me into him and I breathe in his warm skin.

"I'm glad you're okay," I whisper.

"Me, too. Um ... what just happened?"

"I'll explain later," I whisper back.

"And why did you touch that stupid thing again? Didn't you learn anything from the last century?"

"Well, you weren't exactly doing anything, Tam. We were standing there like idiots and that guy was about to-"

"Oh, shus.h.!.+" I say, putting my fingers over his mouth. He falls silent, but I get the impression that he's smiling at me.

"We can fight about this later. Now we've got to get out of here" Reluctantly, I disentangle myself and move back. Over my head Gabriel stares at Aunt Beatrice, who is delivering what looks like one hiss of a monologue into my grandmother's ear. I spare a glance for poor Uncle Roberto, still caught motionless with one hand over his heart, as if to stop the pocket watch from traveling out of his grasp.

"Wait for one second," I say to Gabriel, then walk back to the two women.

"Thank you," I say softly to my grandmother, who smiles. Aunt Beatrice is gaping at me, but I ignore heras I turn away. Then one last thought tugs at me, so I turn back.

"So why did you name me Tamsin?" I ask.

"You always promised to tell me later. Even though, technically, it's earlier." My grandmother's smile flickers, deepens.

"It's how you introduced yourself to me tonight. I just a.s.sumed that's what you wanted to be named."

TWENTY-THREE.

PALE LIGHT sifts through the curtains, filters across the flat gold carpet. My rose dress is tangled in the arms of Gabriel's suit jacket, and for one second I imagine our clothing rising up and waltzing together like we did last night. Last night, which happened seventy-something yearsago. We stumbled back to the present just before midnight, found a guest room where the sheets appeared to be relatively fresh, and fell onto the bed. After I had filled him in on what had happened while he was frozen, we both stared at the ceiling for a while. Finally, Gabriel pulled the white blankets up over our knees, releasing a cloud of dust in the process. After I had finished sneezing and hacking, I turned, curled into his arms, and we slept. Well, he did. I stayed awake most of the night, staring into a blackness that was occasionally punctured by light from the pa.s.sing cars.

"Tamsin," Gabriel says to me as we're sitting at Aunt Rennie's table, eating the pizza that he picked up. Or at least he's eating it. I'm too busy shredding my pizza crust into shards and then pulverizing the shards into crumbs.

"You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?"

"You mean intentionally?" With my fingertips I begin sweeping the crumbs into a pile in the center of my plate. But he doesn't even smile, just reaches across the table, his hand forcing my chin up until I meet his eyes.

"I don't know," I whisper. All last night I had watched him sleep, my fingers laced together so I wouldn't be tempted to touch his face and possibly wake him.

"I'll try not to," I say, attempting to lighten my tone. My cell phone rings, the word h.e.l.lCRATER flas.h.i.+ng onto the screen in stark black letters. I swallow against the sudden stab of pain in my throat. This morning, when I'd asked Gabriel to locate my parents, he had closed his eyes for barely a second and then said, "They're home" Relief had swept through me. But right now I don't have the energy to lie to my mother about why I'm back in the city. When at last the phone goes silent, Gabriel says, "Whatever you're thinking, you-"The house phone shatters the rest of what he was going to say. I jump, my elbow jarring my plate across the table. I glance at the yellow phone shrilling imperiously on thekitchen wall. It seems my mother won't be denied. On stiff legs I walk into the kitchen.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Tamsin" Clear as ice water, his voice pours into my head.

"Mr. Knight," I say. There's a low chuckle.

"I a.s.sume you have something for me?"

"Maybe," I hedge as Gabriel pushes back his chair with what I feel is an unnecessarily loud sc.r.a.pe. A measured pause, and then Alistair says, "Don't play games, Tamsin. You won't like the results." I swallow.

"How's my sister?" He ignores this.

"When?"

"Tonight," I say slowly, my eyes fixated on the ridiculously cheerful kitchen wallpaper. Red cherries and round pink strawberries dance in loose columns.

"Eleven forty-five."

"Where?"

"Let's meet at Grand Central Station. By the information kiosk" I reach one hand out to touch a cherry. It blurs and runs through my fingers. A small, sharp silence pokes at the connection between us and then I hear Alistair draw in a breath.

"Very well," he says, satisfaction br.i.m.m.i.n.g in his voice.

"Put my sister on," I say softly.

"Would it really do you any good?" he asks almost gently, and then the dial tone is buzzing in my ear. I slam down the receiver and then I slam it down a few more times. I start bas.h.i.+ng it against the cherries and strawberries, vaguely aware that Gabriel is trying to wrench it from my fingers. Finally, he squeezes my wrist until my hand opens and I drop the receiver for good, letting it crash against the tile floor.

"I'm okay," I say into Gabriel's shoulder, my words m.u.f.fled in his s.h.i.+rt. His hand cradles the back of my head.

"Yeah," he says, sounding entirely unconvinced. At a quarter to midnight, Grand Central is a very different place than in the daytime. Only a few people rush through the great marble hall, heading toward train platforms or following the signs marked subway. All the ticket booths are closed except for one, behind which a sleepy-looking woman eyes us briefly before going back to her magazine. My eyes wander upward and I let them rest for an instant on the beauty of the gold-worked constellations hanging in the blue domed ceiling.

Then I look back down at the four-sided bronze clock that presides over the Main Concourse, its stately faces like unblinking eyes that keep watch in each direction. As expected, the information kiosk is closed for the night. But still a girl waits there, wearing a torn and tattered black dress, her hair falling across her shoulders like a whisper. As I near her, I can't help but wince.

"Ro," I say softly, my hands reaching out for her. Purplish-yellow shadows cl.u.s.ter under her eyes and her lips are dry and cracked, even as they spread into a smile.

"Tamsin," she sighs, and at that Alistair steps out from behind the other side of the kiosk. Unlike my sister's, his skin is flushed and plump with health, his dark raincoat fitting crisply across his shoulders. In one hand he holds a small black traveling case. His eyes skip coldly over Gabriel before settling on me.

"Well?" he says, and my sister turns, reaching out one fluttering hand toward him. He brushes her off, as though she's no more than an insect who has blundered onto his sleeve.

"How do I know that you'll release her?" He smiles.

"Once I have the Domani, I won't need her anymore." I stare at my sister, willing her to acknowledge this, but she only hums a little, plays with a loose thread on her sleeve. It's then that I notice her feet are bare, streaked with dirt. I swallow a surge of anger.

"Or Agatha?" A smile slithers across his face.

"Your delicious little friend?" I consider throwing up right then and there, but Gabriel presses my fingers with his own.

"Easy," he murmurs.

"She was useful," Alistair says, giving a flick of his fingers.

"But she'll live" Then his gaze sharpens on me.

"If you give me what I want. Now."

"Fine," I say, taking a breath to steady my voice.

"But you should know one thing. You and I are nothing alike. Talent or no Talent.

You're not doing this for your family, whatever you might think. You're doing this for yourself. And that's the difference between you and me." Alistair stares at me for a second, his face blank, unreadable.

"How very touching," he says at last, biting the words off.

"Now, shall we proceed?" I nod. I don't have much bargaining power.

"Behind you," I say. Slowly, Alistair turns, studies the clock above our heads.

"Of course," he says softly.

"So many times I pa.s.sed by this. And it was here all along" Then he pivots neatly and in a sickeningly cheerful voice says, "Are you ready, my dear?" Rowena looks up from the thread on her sleeve, gives him a vacant smile.

"Open it," he says to me as he wraps one hand around my sister's arm, his knuckles suddenly bulging into hard white k.n.o.bs. My sister looks up at him, then gives a shrill little laugh.

"We're playing a game?" she asks. I swallow hard, turn back to the clock.

"Help me up," I whisper to Gabriel.

"Are you sure this is-"

"Yes," I say, although my teeth are chattering. He cups his palms, and before he can change his mind, I step intothem and hoist myself up onto the counter. The clock looms directly above my hand.

"Step back," I say to Gabriel, having no idea what might happen otherwise.

"You don't want to freeze again."

"Hey!" There's a startled shout from the ticket seller.

"Get down from there."

"Hurry," Alistair hisses. There is no time to rethink this. I arch upward, brush the clock with my fingertips. A shaft of light bursts forth from its domed center. Fixing firmly in my head the image of my grandmother young and healthy in 1939, I let her power sweep over me. Images scroll across the backs of my eyelids, almost too fast for me to follow. Four people standing in a square, their arms raised. A roiling ma.s.s of darkness hovers over their bowed heads and then a fist of fire stabs down toward a fifth person bound in chains. And then the images move at warp speed and blur into white, the white of my family's book's pages that are emptier than a field of freshly fallen snow. Tamsin, my grandmother's voice rings through my head. Don't let him take her. If he takes your sister, he will be unstoppable. How, though? I cry silently to her. Time. Only time and a great distance can break this spell. I open my eyes. A quick glance behind me shows that Gabriel is still alive. He meets my eyes and mouths, Okay? I nod, turning back to my sister.

"Ro?" I say, and she lifts her head slowly, her eyes still full of that chilling, unfocused look.

"Well done," Alistair says, and his voice is pure crystal. His mouth is open slightly as if he's panting.

"Now, Rowena. Now." And with horror I watch as my sister turns her still-perfect profile to me and gazes at the clock, which glimmers with a cold, cold light. In scrolling script, letters appear all around the curve of the clock face. Tall, golden letters that wriggle and vanish whenever I stare at them, making it impossible to read them. But Rowena has no such difficulty. Her voice rings out as if she is standing by our family's altar, singing thanks to the stars and elements.

"Fire in the East and Water for the South; Air for the North and Earth in the West.

All of these now Blood does bind. Yet only Time may keep what Blood has wrought." For one dreaming second nothing happens. And then with a soft whirring noise the clock hands begin to turn backward, faster and faster until they are traveling at warp speed. Lightning rips through the blue domed ceiling, stabs downward, and slams into the clock. Crack. Another bolt flares across the gold constellations and then chunks of plaster and stone begin to plummet down. The rain starts asecond later, instantly pinning my clothes to my skin.

Before my eyes, the clock is growing into monstrous proportions, wreathed in white fire, a fire that seems to be unquenchable despite the rain.

"Tamsin," Gabriel hisses into my ear, and then he sprints forward. The floor beneath my feet pitches and heaves and huge fissures begin to split through the marble tiles, revealing a churning maw of stone underneath. Fire, water, earth, I recite to myself. Air? As if on cue the wind starts, gusts and gusts of it, screaming through the Main Concourse, like a thousand voices fused together in one unearthly song. Darkness pours through the hallway, a darkness alleviated only by the occasional flash of lightning and by the clock still glowing with that cold white fire. Falling to my knees, I close my eyes, and with all of my might I will this to stop. Nothing happens. This is not something that I can just stop. This is no one's Talent, I realize suddenly. Instead, this is the power of the four elements, the source of all our Talents, something beyond any one person's control. I open my eyes and stare at the clock. It's opening. One face has now become a door that's swinging open. And all the while the hands are still spinning, spinning, unraveling the moments and years. Ten feet from the door, three figures seem locked in a strange kind of dance, arms and legs distorted by the clock's bright glare. Alistair is pulling my sister toward thedoor while Gabriel has latched on to her other arm. Rowena twists between them like a rag doll. Alistair's mouth is working and he seems to be saying something to my sister just as Gabriel's hold on her slips slightly.

"No!" I scream, scrambling to my feet just as the floor rumbles again. Leaping across the widening cracks in the marble, I stretch my arms toward my sister.

Another slab of ceiling tumbles down, shattering three inches to my left, the spray of debris cutting into my leg.

"Let me go," Rowena is crying, and I think she's talking to Gabriel, but thankfully her voice is lost under the rush of wind. Alistair tugs her again toward the clock door and the complete blackness that waits beyond.

"Rowena!" I scream again. Alistair's eyes-chips of ice- meet mine, and then he yanks hard on my sister's arm, so hard that I think he'll pull it straight from the socket. I hold up my hand, envisioning the comet of fire that will smash into his face. The blood starts to heat under my skin. But then my mother's words come looping back to me. Whatever you do to the spell caster reflects back onto the enspelled. Three times over. The floor pitches me forward again. I roll sideways, raise my palm, and aim as carefully as I can. I don't want to do this, I don't want to, I don't want to.

"I'm sorry, Ro," I whisper. A ripple of fire spreads along Rowena's arm, the one that Alistair holds in a death grip. My sister's eyes widen inpain. Screaming, she wrenches her body backward, away from Alistair, and his hold on her breaks.

Gabriel releases her hand briefly only to wrap his arms around her waist and tug her backward. As they tumble to the floor, lightning flickers across the ceiling again. A sizable chunk of blue stone spins through the air, smas.h.i.+ng into Gabriel's head. He tries to rise, but even from here I can see the dark seep of blood. Alistair spares me one glittering look, his mouth clamped in fury as the rain runs in rivulets down his face.

"Rowena!" he roars to my sister, and she looks up, tears staining her cheeks, her burned arm cradled tenderly in her lap.

"Rowena, through the door. Now!" Like a marionette my sister climbs to her feet, stepping across Gabriel's body. He half rolls and makes a feeble swipe for Rowena's hand, but she evades him. Her eyes are blank and lifeless, her face wax white. I swallow, remembering my grandmother's visions of Rowena's body blurring into nothingness. I step forward with my fingers outstretched, intending to freeze my sister. If she's frozen then she'll be a dead weight and hopefully Alistair won't be able to carry her through the door. But my arm is seized in midair. Alistair wrenches me backward as my sister runs past me.

"You won't get her that easily," he hisses into my ear, his words carrying over the wind and the rain. I twist desperately, watching asmy sister reaches the door.

With her hands reaching out in front of her, she takes one step, then another.

"Neither will you," I whisper. Then I raise my free hand, palm outward, and shoot a gust of flame to land directly in front of her feet. She shrieks and falls backward as the fire runs along the edge of the clock. Its bright orange glow flares briefly before it's subdued by the cold white light r.i.m.m.i.n.g the edges of the door. The floor s.h.i.+fts again and new fissures begin spreading across the marble like a crazed spider web. My sister slips, her arms flailing, and then falls through a particularly wide crack. And at the same moment the clock hands stop spinning backward. Slowly the door begins to swing closed. A terrible choice, my grandmother's voice eddies into my mind like an errant breeze. You have a terrible choice. With a snarl, Alistair throws me to the floor. Darting forward, he pauses at the edge of the precipice, leans down, and holds out one hand. I roll to my knees just as my sister lifts her right hand, tries to catch Alistair's fingers. I throw another gust of flame at them. Just in time she pulls her hand back. My sister's head bobs downward as if she's slipped farther.

"Rowena!" I scream, pulling myself upright. Cracks widen under my feet and I leap away just in time. I stumble forward, pinning my gaze to Rowena's left hand, willing herto hold on just a little longer. The closing clock door casts a shadow across Alistair's face. Twisting, he looks over his shoulder. The door is less than halfway ajar now. Then he looks back at my sister. It seems I'm not the only one who faces a terrible choice. With a roar, Alistair comes to his feet, and without a backward glance he throws himself through the narrow opening of the doorway. Moving forward, I crouch down at the ledge of the precipice. My sister's fingers are clamped to the edge of the floor, her mouth a white line of pain and terror. Her feet are wedged on either side of the chasm, but the gap is widening. Her right foot flails for purchase and kicks through empty air, and her fingers slip down a little farther. I throw one glance over my shoulder. Another two feet and the door will close. And now the enormity of my own choice comes cras.h.i.+ng down on me. Maybe I could stop all of this before it ever even happens. Save Rowena or follow Alistair to the time before the war between our families. Rowena sobs once, a harsh broken noise, and I turn back to her.