Shifting Life

50. Too little, too late

Jacklyn felt her stomach churn. She pressed her hand over her mouth like if that would help with the nausea. Eventually, she broke out of the daze and stumbled away from the ruined pentagram. She took a long step over a slumped Svartalf body with only half a face. She pulled a chair from the still neatly stacked ones by the door. She carried it back to the carved circle in the center of the room. Small steps, small actions were all she could deal with right now.

It was her fault.

Leading the smoke creatures here. The bloody mayhem that followed. The Visionary sealing the fate of the man she loved.

All her fault.

There was no doubt. She was the Herald of Doom.

Jacklyn straddled the chair and looked at what remained of the small mound of ash at the center of what had been the pentagram.

Slowly the rest of her physical senses returned. The bitter taste in her mouth. The stench of blood and guts. The humidity sticking to her skin like a wet blanket. The volume of background noise increased, turning into something she recognized, first as sounds, then as words with meaning. Words spoken by voices she knew.

Jacklyn fought to keep her mind blank. As long as her mind was offline she couldn't take in the enormity of her mistake, or the pain of realizing that Matt was lost forever.

Don't think.

Don't move.

Don't breathe.

The pitiful mound of ash on the floor grew blurry.

Her eyes welled up. Jacklyn knew there was no stopping it. The stillness was only a short period of grace, the shock wave of grief already shattering everything in its way. She steeled herself for the wail making its way up her throat.

"Tell the Beast I can bring the Venetian back," said the Visionary.

"I don't work for you anymore."

Craven's voice.

Jacklyn grasped the opportunity to stave off heartbreak for another moment. She glanced sideways, all ears.

They stood close, almost forming a group, but Craven's crossed arms, Gabriel's knotted brow and Veronica's tightly pursed lips told different story.

"That's not your decision to make, Mr. Craven. I have something of yours, remember?" There was a hard edge to the Visionary's voice.

"Not anymore. The Venetian stole it and now the White Lady has it."

"It's true," said Veronica. "I have the Iron Heart."

The Visionary took a step back, sending a glare Veronica's way.

"The rules are set," he said. "Craven swore an oath to me. Breaking it has consequences."

Craven shrugged.

The Visionary spoke ancient words. A blue halo formed around Craven. It glowed in blue ribbons of ever darker Northern Lights.

The spell changed pace, the words coming shorter, harder and faster. The airy blue ribbons began to sparkle as they turned into liquid crystal, still floating, moving. Craven was barely visible inside the crystal cocoon taking form.

The Visionary finished the spell, sweat shining on his forehead. He muttered the last words and let his raised fist sink. The old man in the yellow robe stood tall. He looked around with a triumphant glint in his eyes, breast heaving from the effort. The supreme ruler of the premises.