Chapter Seven
Don’t Look Back in Anger
From the rooftop of Huntress Woods Mall, Mick watched two things: the flickering yellow lights of an emptying parking lot and the Rabbit sitting cold and motionless just yards from the employee entrance he and Eleanor had been at just a night ago. So far, it had been a long evening. By the time he’d carried Eleanor back to the trailhead, the sun was setting, and the Rabbit and Adelaide were long gone. It’d taken another hour for the sky to get dark enough for him to fly safely over Southwind, then another half an hour for the flight to the mall itself. And since landing, the two had been waiting for nine. Waiting and watching the Rabbit.
“You’re growling again,” Eleanor said.
“Huh?” He blinked at her, then shook his head. “Oh. Sorry.”
He probably should have been more disturbed by this—the normalcy of his situation, the fact that he was taking to his new form a little too quickly. Yet . . . perhaps it was a rare ray of optimism in what he would consider his darkest hour, but he wanted to believe everything would be fine.
Or . . . no, that wasn’t right. It was more that some things seemed inevitable to him. His form was one of those things.
The rest, though . . .
He sat with his back to the outer wall of the roof and took a deep breath. At the very least, there were some upsides to his predicament. Eleanor’s perfume, for example. He could smell it from a mile away—literally, even—and something about it was sweeter, deeper: not just strawberries and jasmine but her. And he could hear her heartbeat, the way it sped up when she was startled and the way it calmed now as they waited. And he felt stronger too; picking her up and carrying her was just as easy as picking up an empty pizza box, and he felt like he could protect her if need be.
But that was also what scared him. The prospect of having to protect her, and all these new sensations all at once.
Not to mention the fact that he knew he wasn’t done. Even now, he could feel the dull ache of his bones wanting to reshape themselves. Like his skeleton knew it should be something else, something much bigger than his skin and muscles were letting it be right then.
He sank a little bit at the thought of that.
“What time is it?” he mumbled.
For the umpteenth time, Eleanor checked her digital watch. The glow of its face lit hers in sickly green.
“Eight-fifty,” she replied.
She turned her wrist, plunging the space between them back into darkness. Mick’s eyes adjusted until she faded back into view, once more black and white. Her face turned to his, and he could see her eyes scanning his silhouette, searching for his gaze.
“Are you ready?” she asked quietly.
“Can I be?” he answered, before he could stop himself.
She smiled hesitantly, and that sent a spike of warmth through his heart. He wanted so badly for everything to be fine, if only so Eleanor would be safe.
But what could he do? When he tried to tell her that he’d take her home and that only he had to go, she told him what that tall, silent watcher had told her. “Remind him of who he is.” What did that even mean? And though he could protest and take Eleanor home anyway, he couldn’t shake the feeling she was right. Take her home, open himself up to losing the part of him that made him who he was, and then what? Terrorize Southwind? Hurt Eleanor in his blind rampage? There were a thousand bad ends here, and Eleanor seemed aware of that too.
Presently, she fixed her eyes on the rooftop access door. A friend would meet them at nine, sharp. That was all the watchers had said—not who or what would happen after. It could be a magical battle right then and there, for all they knew. Mick flexed his claws experimentally and let the sparks of a flame dance across his knuckles. Would he be ready for a fight? Could he fight? Oh, sure, in terms of strength, he certainly felt like he could, but the problem was logistics. Could he keep Eleanor safe and fight at the same time?
“Mick?” Eleanor said, making him jump in his skin. “Can we talk?”
He furrowed his eyebrows at her. “About?”
She pressed the heel of her right hand into her chin, the way she always did when she worried about something.
“I’m afraid of losing you,” she said, her voice just barely audible.
Oh. About that.
Well. How could he put this into words? That he was afraid of this too? Or at least, how could he put it in a way that didn’t feed Eleanor’s fears?
“You won’t,” he said. “I trust you. You’ll figure out whatever that wizard or whatever meant. I know it.”
“That’s not it,” Eleanor replied. “Or—it’s a little bit it, I suppose, but it’s more . . . it’s something I want to tell you, in case I don’t have a chance later.”
Mick slid a little closer to her. He had no idea where this was going, but wherever it was, it was important.
Eleanor hugged her knees, kept her eyes on the door, and just . . . spoke.
“Yesterday, you asked me about Etienne’s offer and why I turned it down. I told you it wasn’t the right time, but . . . I lied,” she said. “The truth is, I couldn’t leave. Every time I thought about it, I just—it hurt to think about.”
Despite himself, Mick cracked a lopsided grin. “But you hate this place.”
“I know!” Eleanor threw one of her hands in the air. “But these past two days, I . . . I figured it out. You’re practically the only good thing in this stupid town, and . . . I already feel like I’m losing you.”
“Because of the demon thing?”
She gave him a tired look. “Please take this seriously.”
He held his palms up to her in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry. You’re right. But Eleanor, listen. I get that uprooting yourself and moving to a new city is scary, but you’ll meet new friends. You’re smart, you’re charismatic, you’re—”
“That’s not the point.”
Mick hesitated. Not the point? He leaned forward to study her face. Did she . . . ?
“Before today, it was just that I didn’t want you to disappear,” she said. “I miss you, and I don’t want to forget about you. You’ve been there for me through things not even Etienne or Astrid have. Yes, I know I can make new friends; I have friends in Eldaven. But they’re not you. I can’t talk to them the way I talk to you. And . . .”
She trailed off then, but he got the idea. It was everything he was afraid it was. She stayed in Southwind because of him. She was throwing everything away because of him. There was literally nothing in Southwind for her . . . except him.
He dropped his hands onto her shoulders and pulled until she faced him.
“Eleanor? Listen to me,” he said. “Go live your life. Stop worrying about me. You will find so many people who are better for you than me if you haven’t already, and you will be happier building your life out there than here. Do not throw away your future for a guy you met when you were twelve. Do you understand me?”
At last, Eleanor looked him in the eye. Her expression was grave, indignant, almost defiant, though she looked like she was about to cry.
“Tell me why you threw away your future,” she said.
The question hit his heart like a dart hitting a balloon. Through uneven footing, he cocked his head and responded, “You know why.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
Mick hesitated, then planted his back against the concrete barrier again. “My family hasn’t been doing too well since my dad died. My mom says she’s moved on, but it’s getting harder for her to set foot in the restaurant, not easier, and we can’t pull in the numbers we used to by ourselves. At this rate, the Red Rooster will be closed by the new year. I have to be here to help. They’re my family.”
“Do you have to be here to help?”
“Eleanor, you don’t under—”
“If circumstances were different, and you could choose to go anywhere besides here, where would you go?”
“I’d—”
Mick stopped himself. He had an answer, but that answer was, “With you, in a heartbeat.” But he couldn’t say that. Not to her. Because, sure, he had a scholarship for music, but she was Eleanor de Lepaute, destined to change the world. Beautiful, smart, funny Eleanor de Lepaute, gifted with the potential to do anything, to go anywhere, to dance in circles he could only dream of.
He would hold her back in every situation. Did she know how many people had tried and failed to be the songwriter he wanted to be? To do the things he wanted to do? His father’s death and the fallout from that one heart attack didn’t just shake his family; it also shook him. It made him put away all those childish thoughts and dreams. At first, sure, he thought he was just postponing until things got better for his family, but . . . they never did.
And that was life. That was the difference between a de Lepaute and a Martin. The de Lepautes were born lucky and stayed lucky and talented all their lives. Martins had luck on a fluke. Mick’s scholarship was a fluke. He couldn’t help his family, he was too late for himself, and now, he was dragging Eleanor down with him.
“I know it’s hard seeing your family’s business struggling, but I think we both know you’ve done all you could.” She put her hands on his shoulders, gentler than he did to hers. “So go live your life.”
He shook his head and forced a smile. “It’s not that simple.”
“Why can’t it be?”
Because it just isn’t, he wanted to say. Because I have to be there, playing in the band as the Titanic sinks. Because I love you, but I’m a curse. Because I love you, but it would be a mistake to go with you. Because I want to go with you, and I want to see you rise like the star I know you can be, but I can’t do both. Because it’s not right for me to want these things while my family drowns. Because I haven’t done enough, because I’m still standing, because I need to drown myself until I’m sure there’s nothing left, and because it’s not fair for you to sink with me or to save me.
Because you’re you, and you deserve better.
Because I’m not good enough.
He said none of these things. He just squeezed her arm and smiled and said nothing at all.
And then the door opened, and Alistair leaned out. They eyed Mick and Eleanor warily for a second, then relaxed with a deep, long exhale.
“Oh, thank gods it’s you,” they said. “I was really hoping you weren’t with . . . well. Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”
They swung out and leaned against the door.
“Well, come along then,” they said. “I’ll fill you in on the plan as we go, but we have about thirty minutes to get into place.”
---
Shortly past nine, Alistair led them down the empty stairwells and corridors, down into the mall itself. Down, down, down they went, into claustrophobic concrete labyrinths flooded with artificial light. Now they were lit, Mick noticed. He couldn’t help but wonder how much of the night before had been conveniently arranged.
“How much did Kaedra and Yzara tell you?” Alistair asked, when they reached the landing of the last set of stairs.
“Enough,” Eleanor replied. “Somebody breaks into the mall to open portals, and it’s not you or us.”
“I’m assuming you thought it was us,” Mick added blandly, eyes on Alistair’s back.
“Not directly. I thought you were helping them,” Alistair responded with a shrug. “Can you blame me? You kids seem like a nice pair and all, but you did break into the mall last night and see things you weren’t supposed to.”
Point. Still, Mick couldn’t help but glare uneasily at Alistair. In the harsh light of the stairwell, Eleanor caught his glance.
“But we’re fine now, yes?” she asked quickly.
“Well, yes, of course!” Alistair replied. “Assuming you’re not about to back out and run.”
Mick scoffed. How could he at this point? If Alistair and the other watchers could stop or even reverse his transformation, he’d saw off his own arm for them. Assuming, of course, they were telling the truth about not being the ones who were throwing open portals.
Truth was, Mick wasn’t sure who to suspect here. For all he knew, they were all working together. But he didn’t have much choice. He couldn’t just go home. Not like this.
So he followed and willed himself to believe Alistair was one of the good guys.
“And we’re not,” Mick grumbled. “So what’s the plan?”
“Ball of sunshine, isn’t he?” Alistair muttered to Eleanor.
“He’s very sweet when he’s not turning into a monster,” Eleanor replied.
“Ah,” Alistair said. “Anyway, the plan is really simple. Should be a snap for your first time out as a guardian beast.”
Mick’s glare turned even more fiery, if that was possible. “First time? Hold on.” He reached out and grabbed Alistair by the arm. “The deal was that if I did this for you, you’d help me change back.”
“Teach you to do it,” Alistair replied evenly. “Whatever you do with that afterwards is up to you.” They paused, took in Mick’s expression, and waved a hand in the air. “Relax. If you never do anything with it, that’s up to you. You can go your entire life looking perfectly human, but if you ever want to dabble in magic now and then, you can.” They turned away from Mick. “Personally, I think it’s a great deal. You get to walk away from all of this after tonight. Most people don’t have that choice.”
“Do you?” Eleanor asked quietly.
Alistair grinned strangely at her. “I’ll tell you a little later, when we’re not preparing for a fight. But I don’t regret being able to help people in need, no. Not really, anyway.”
They opened a door and led Mick and Eleanor down one more corridor—this one a little more decorated, a little more hospitable. Bathrooms to their right. Paintings from local artists, all splotches and jagged lines, covering the left wall. Straight ahead, the path opened up to the mall itself. A Claire’s and Spencer’s sat side-by-side, waiting in dimly lit DayGlo glory.
“So the plan, as I was saying, is simple.” Alistair stopped at the mouth of the hallway. Their voice had dropped to a rough whisper. “You two go on ahead. The mage we’re looking for needs time to set up. They know they have until ten to do it, because we come in at ten every night to refresh the wards. And no, they’ve never tried to interrupt us, but as Kaedra should have hopefully told you, that could change any night now.”
Eleanor nodded, her face more serious than Mick had ever seen it. “What do we have to do?”
“We’re changing things up a little tonight, thanks to the two of you,” Alistair said. “Go in, wait for them, entice them out of the shadows, distract them enough to keep them in one place. If all goes well, we’ll be able to overwhelm them before their spell can take hold.”
Mick frowned. That was it? “And if all doesn’t go well?”
Alistair inhaled deeply. “Listen, Mick. You seem like a nice kid, so this is going to be hard to ask you to—”
“The knife,” Eleanor interrupted.
Both Mick and Alistair stared at her blankly.
“You taught me how to use it,” Eleanor explained, “which means you’ve used it before. Right?”
Mick’s eyes went wide. “I—wait. Eleanor, you can’t be serious. I haven’t killed anyone before. I just waved it around a lot.”
“No one said you had to kill anyone! Just . . . injure them enough to stop them. That’s all.”
“Are you listening to yourself right now? Are you—would you really be okay with watching me do that?” Mick hissed.
Eleanor shrugged, but she couldn’t look him in the eye. “Not really, but if it came to it, I would rather you do it than . . .”
She trailed off, hesitantly looking at him again. Mick sighed; he knew exactly where that sentence was going. She would rather watch him kill someone than die. Or be ripped apart by magic. Or be thrown into what was most likely some sort of hell dimension. Or who knew what else?
But could he do it? Actually kill someone? He nearly did a few hours ago, when Faelen’s magic had trapped Eleanor, but . . . frankly, that wasn’t him, either.
And that scared him.
Was this what Yzara meant?
“Eleanor.” Mick clenched his fists at his sides. Behind him, his tail switched against the floor, clicking, clapping against tiles. “If I did that . . .”
“I know, but that’s why I’m here,” she said softly. Her hand rose to his shoulder. “And anyway, there’s no certainty that it would come to that. Right, Alistair?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Alistair replied, twirling a hand in the air. “Ideally, we’d like this to wrap up as mess-free as possible. Using the full power of a guardian is a bit of an extreme in this case, we think.”
Mick lifted his eyes to meet Eleanor’s, then Alistair’s. Every part of him screamed that something was going to go wrong, yet . . . he had to trust them both.
“Okay,” he said at last. “I can do that.”
“You’ll be fine,” Alistair responded, slapping a hand onto Mick’s back, between his wings. “Any other questions?”
“Just one,” Eleanor replied. “Where will you be?”
Alistair eased back into their usual easy-going confidence. “Close. We’ll have to be if we want this to work. But we’ll give you space until we’re ready.”
Eleanor extended a hand. “All right then. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Of course,” Alistair responded, taking Eleanor’s hand. “Good luck, you two.”
And thus, they turned on their heel and made a beeline for one of the stopped escalators. Mick and Eleanor watched them disappear, then started for the courtyard.
The conversation between them died down, only instead of the familiar, companionable silence in which nothing had to be said between them, there was only this strange miasma of anxiety and tension. Though Eleanor tried her best to look determined and brave, Mick could hear her heart thunder in her chest, and he could see the subtle etches of worry in her eyes. He couldn’t blame her. It felt like every store they passed was a multicolored countdown to a disaster.
Mick wanted to believe Alistair when they said he’d be fine. He wanted to believe Eleanor when she said she would pull him out if he spiraled. But as the mouth of the spur they walked along grew closer and closer, as the mall opened up into that massive diamond, a cold stone of fear settled in the pit of Mick’s stomach. Could he do this? Protect Eleanor? Control himself? Get them both out without hurting anyone?
The thought of Eleanor torn apart by one of those creatures they’d encountered the night before, the thought of her being dragged into one of those portals . . . a thousand possibilities ravaged Mick’s mind. His throat turned rock hard as he imagined Eleanor on the floor of the mall in a pool of her own blood. He imagined standing over her, some twisted hellbeast, all teeth and claws and rage. And he shuddered and kept his gaze on the courtyard.
May it not come to that, he prayed. May it not come to that at all.
Before Mick and Eleanor, the courtyard dipped down into that familiar amphitheater. Together, they walked to its lip and peered down, down the steps, down the seats, down, down, down to the stage. That eerie, white light shone like a shuddering, alien star, hovering in mid-air above the stage, and before it stood a single person.
Mick had known since the forest. It was Eleanor, really—the look in her eyes when Kaedra said she knew who was behind everything. Oh, sure, he couldn’t put into words the specifics for how Eleanor arrived at her conclusion, but he understood, and he trusted her enough to know she was right.
So it didn’t surprise Eleanor to see who was on that stage, and therefore, it didn’t surprise Mick, either.
He just wished he’d known about seven hours ago.
“Adelaide,” he said, his voice loud and firm.
She flinched away from the portal and whirled around to face him. The portal behind her wreathed her head like an angel’s halo, and voices from somewhere beyond it sang, ethereal and distant.
Slip inside the eye of your mind. Don’t you know you might find a better place to play?
Adelaide smiled. She didn’t seem worried that just about anyone could have heard Mick.
“Hey, buddy!” she replied. “How’re you feeling?”
You said that you’d never been, but all the things that you’ve seen slowly fade away.
“What are you doing?” Eleanor asked.
Mick kept her in the corner of his eye as the two of them made their way down the stairs and quickly towards Adelaide. He flexed his claws, waiting.
So I start a revolution from my bed.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Adelaide said, her voice smooth and low and almost sing-song now.
‘Cause you said the brains I had went to my head.
“No,” Mick said. “Enlighten us.”
Adelaide peered at him, her grin turning absolutely sour. “Oh. Guess I left that part out, huh?”
Step outside, summertime’s in bloom.
“You didn’t tell us the whole story,” Eleanor said quietly.
“Bingo,” Adelaide said, almost apologetically.
Mick took his eyes off Adelaide fully. This part. This part he wasn’t expecting.
Stand up beside the fireplace.
“Last night, you told us a story about four people from the Faelenvale Paranormal Society who disappeared here,” Eleanor said, more to Mick than to Adelaide. “There were five. You and four others.”
Take that look from off your face.
And here, Adelaide’s grin wavered. “Got it in one. I knew you were sharp.”
Eleanor frowned at Adelaide, then glanced at the portal. “Did they . . . ?”
You ain’t ever gonna burn my heart out.
Adelaide nodded. “They did. Four of the best people I’ve ever known, straight through a portal one of us opened—not me, of course.” She cocked her head. “The idiot who did it didn’t know what he was doing.”
And so, Sally can wait.
“And you do?” Eleanor countered.
Something in Mick’s chest stirred. Not panic. Just . . . a strange sense that this was why he was there. He growled in warning, and Adelaide slowly shifted her focus from Eleanor to him.
She knows it’s too late as we’re walkin’ on by.
“More than you know,” Adelaide replied. “Sorry—I was hoping you’d be here. Those watchers make it real hard to reach through time and space. A guardian makes things so much easier.”
She lifted her hand, curled and poised.
Her soul slides away.
“No hard feelings,” she said, “but how about we get you into something more comfortable, yeah?”
But “Don’t look back in anger,” I heard you say.
She snapped her fingers, and instantly, music filled the mall, not from the portal but from seemingly every speaker in that building, all at once.
Queen. “Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy.”
And that was when Mick blacked out.