Chapter 7: Astoria - Bound to Ruin

MONUMENT PARK, PROTECTED LAND, DELORNIA

The view from Monument Park allows me to see the wreckage from the weather within the human territories. Ominous storms billow over the Astrum Forest to tumble down the foothills to the harbor, colliding and warring as if magic itself is enraged. I’m sure the Archweaver is twisting the Weaver-War-induced turbulent weather to his advantage and declaring it an insult to the Tapestry to rise against him. After all, the first and second rules of magic demand that the Tapestry must be protected at all costs.

The last time weavers turned on each other on such a large scale was when the priesthood was purged and the history books didn’t bother mentioning how the helpless humans survived the resulting magical chaos. All they noted were the various wards that can protect the four weaver domains from it. Clearly, two thousand years hasn’t changed the Order’s view of the worth of human life.

I’m surprised that the clashes of magic throughout the forest are powerful enough to cause this large of a disturbance to the atmosphere. Perhaps Vincentius’ allies don’t know of his death yet.

What if I’d hallucinated the signet ring, and Vincentius is well and alive?

My stomach twists, and my hands tighten to stop the trembling. Lucas was right about one thing. Using this platform to reach the Bauer estate is a convenient, covert way to hide my visit. All I need to do is add the right sigil to the carved stone, and I’ll gain access through the Bauer wards. Once I sneak through, the chalk will dust away without a trace so no one could follow me. Then I’ll be able to know for sure what has happened with Vincentius. Then I can quietly make sure Valen is safe and quickly sneak out again.

And yet, I don’t reach for the chalk in my pocket. The fear of facing Valen surges so powerfully that I wrap my arms tightly around myself. I’m not ready yet. I just need a few more minutes. With a deep breath, I turn from the platform and walk away.

The misty, partially frozen grass crunches under my finely made boots as I trek up the large hill the park is built on. My thick wool coat keeps me warm, its tall collar flipped up to keep the magical storm’s icy wind from my face. Beneath it is a crisp button-up shirt that matches my black, well-fitted slacks. A red velvet vest with intricate embroidery fits my ribs like a glove, the onyx buttons glinting in the morning light.

I’ve made my hair short and smoothed it back, allowing a few strands to brush my brow. My green eyes glow with magic, the coal liner around them emphasizing their emerald hue, and I’ve stained my lips with rouge to accentuate their fullness.

It doesn’t feel like a mask that I hide behind, but an embodiment of my most authentic version of myself, both Aster and Astoria melded into one. The rightness of it keeps my chin up and my shoulders back.

Leaving my loft was the correct choice. I needed the air and freedom after six long months of fear and hiding. It reminds me that I’ve faced worse, done the impossible, and I’ve come out alive. Every time. The night before tried to strip that knowledge from me.

Corrupted or not, I will find a way through this. I will not succumb to fear and curl up in defeat to await a horrific end, either in a weaver oubliette or Magistrate prison. It’s not my style.

I step up onto the polished slate floor of the central monument and follow the bronze path to the center of the compass, where my great-grandmother stands in her marble form. The artist captured her so perfectly, I can almost see the green Androclaria eyes attempting to burn their way into this world. She points towards Havenport in her fierce, threatening way.

I take a slow breath, letting the unseasonably crisp air settle my rising nerves. There’s a kind of comfort in beholding the strength of a woman who fought a bloody war that nearly destroyed all weavers and won. She is considered one of the greatest Archweavers to ever rule, and her passing was felt deeply by all those who resided within the forest.

And she chose to save me. She created a fork within the Archweaver line in order to name a new Heir, even though her child was her successor in history. Someone as powerful and wise as Antonia choosing to change the Tapestry must mean something. My mother’s proclamations that I was destined for greatness must mean something. Aunt Viola’s belief that I would change the Order must mean something.

My breath trembles, and I swallow down the building pressure within my throat. I close my eyes and offer a desperate plea to the Tapestry. Please, let it not be a series of poor choices. Tears fill my lashes, and my lips press together to hold them back. Let me be worthy of their belief in me.

But nothing responds. Of course it wouldn’t. There is no communing with stone.

The fresh air is nice, but the detour is feeling like a giant waste of time. At least I didn’t give in and bring Lucas. He’s already seen me break enough. There’s no reason for him to continue witnessing my weakness.

My eyes open, and not a single tear falls. Rightness and determination settle over me as I make up my mind. I’m going to face Valen. He needs to know, and perhaps he could help me with my corruption. If not, then at least he can kill me before I hurt Lucas, and he can claim his new title and put his father to rest.

I behold Antonia’s statue one last time before leaving to travel to the Bauer estate. It really is a pity they didn’t chisel out Leon’s decapitated head. The creator of the magician tokens and mass murderer of my kind deserves nothing less than to be remembered in such a way.

The wind howls, kicking up my coat to whip around my legs. My jacket’s high collar tickles my chin, and I brace my body against the strong gust. Then it settles, and a man’s shadow is beside mine.

Like a rabbit frozen in place, I don’t move. My heart hammers in my ears, my eyes cold from the wind and unshed tears. Is my mind playing tricks on me again? Am I about to run through the statues chasing a phantom like I did the night before?

The shadow remains unmoving and, slowly, I turn my head to face my fear and stumble back. It’s not a phantom, but a real man. He is nearly unrecognizable if not for the eyes. The green eyes that mirror my own bear into me and that easy, effortless smile I’d recognize anywhere shines in his adult face.

“Hello, Tori. I’ve missed you.”

“Alasdair,” I gasp. This is not the withered, deranged creature I found hiding in the darkness of the Archweaver’s estate. My brother is robust, healthy, his bright blond hair glowing in the mist. His skin is flawless without a hint of stubble, his green eyes bright and aware. Though I am tall for a woman, Alasdair was always considered short for a man since we are the same height. But he makes up for it in muscle. His mother’s lineage is credited for that.

His strong, broad frame is covered in a lovely sable coat that complements his coloring, and his slacks and button-up shirt are clean and light colored. His top three buttons are undone to display his brawny chest and the absence of the binding collar that was once welded onto him.

I can’t seem to shake off my shock. I gape at him, ignoring the painful pounding of my racing heart. My skin prickles, and I can’t tell if it’s my instincts or the ghosts that haunt this land. I swallow and choke out a strained, “You’re looking… well.”

He shouldn’t be alive. When I attempted to break my curse, it said Alasdair’s soul was too mangled to save. Yet, here stands my brother, very much alive. Did my curse lie to me? No, it can’t. Magic doesn’t have the ability to lie. That’s a human flaw.

Alasdair hums and speaks in the same light, playful lilt he’s always had. “Yes, one good night can make quite the difference after being indisposed for seven years.” He laughs, and the unease within me grows. His curls dance on his brow when the wind blows. “My, you are off your game today. You used to be so much better at this.”

I inspect him slower this time, my eyes warming as they glow to gaze into his heart and soul. There sits the magnificence of an Archweaver Heir, four threads twisted together in a rope, but something drips within. A tarlike substance that oozes down the entwined threads.

He steps towards me, and I counter to keep him at the same distance. We circle each other slowly, Alasdair’s smile unwavering as he speaks. “I expected so much more from you. After all, you made something that no one has seen in generations, something new.”

Bile pushes against the back of my throat as a miasma wafts through the mist, turning the gentle dawn fog into a putrid smoke reeking of the sticky sweet scent of dark magic. It lingers in the back of my throat, and every instinct screams to run, but I mustn’t. If I did, he would have the advantage of the chase. Better to stand my ground and end this now.

I click my tongue. “My talent does know no bounds. Do I call you brother or is ‘creature’ more suitable?”

A cold sweat turns my skin clammy, and I withdraw my hands from my pockets. Fuck dueling standards. I will use every advantage in my arsenal to ensure I am the victor in whatever trap Alasdair has set for me here.

Alasdair hums again, his circling of me languid and relaxed. “Brother is still acceptable. Or perhaps even twin. We’re not only of similar blood as siblings, but of the same magic.”

I falter, and he’s a step closer to me. I don’t dare dart back. A tingling awareness crackles in the air as the pieces click together. “We’re both Heirs. Our Soul Threads are similar.”

“Oh, it’s more than that, dear sister. We are not simply similar. We are the same. Two Heirs corrupted by the same curse. If you looked upon yourself, you’d see the same darkness.”

My lip curls. “Now that’s a stretch. I’ve always been more attractive.”

He laughs, his head thrown back. “Oh, this is much more fun than being trapped in a decaying house. We should’ve done this years ago.” His gaze sweeps over me. “I’m surprised you finally left your shop alone. You and your little magician seemed quite close last night.”

I suck in breath, my eyes widening. Suddenly, the night’s events piece together in a whole new, terrifying way.

Fear chills me, but I sink my nails harder into my palms. I can’t be weak. Not now. Not when I’m facing my brother after all I’ve done. I allow myself a single breath before I roll my spine back to straight and set my shoulders back, my hip sliding to the side. I resist licking my lips before confidently drawling, “My, you have learned some new tricks now that you’re all grown up. That was quite the message you left me. Were you so desperate for my attention that you needed to make such a bloody mess in my shop?”

A low chuckle breaks his silence. “I’ve come to appreciate the dramatic flair. It makes things so much more interesting. I needed to dispose of the body, and your shop was such a convenient dumping ground. All I had to do was pick open your wards’ web to step through. It barely put up a fight with our blood and magic being as it is.”

“Answer me this, dear brother. Why kill Vincentius and leave his body in my shop?”

His eyes glint. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? Have you at least pieced together how your creation and brother became me?”

Frustration bubbles within me, but I hold my tongue.

Alasdair huffs. “Disappointing. The curse was far too weak from your attack to devour Alasdair’s soul, but Alasdair’s soul was so mangled, he could barely control this mortal body anymore. Both man and curse were doomed to a fate worse than death: nothingness. So they did what two desperate creatures would do. They made a deal.”

A shiver crawls up my spine. “What was the deal?”

“They fused together to become something new. A demon unto this mortal world, the likes of which has never been seen. I am so much more than I ever could’ve been otherwise, and I have you to thank for it. You see, I am Alasdair, and I am your creature. To put it simply…” His eyes turn the matte black of a corrupted weaver. His green irises burn through the darkness to glow like two thick rings. “I am both. There is no beginning nor end to what we were before. I am Alasdair anew.”

His irises no longer hold the familial similarity to mine now that the whites of his eyes are black. They call like the demons of the deep to lure unsuspecting prey to their clutches. A monster within a beautiful body.

My lips part, dread lowering my voice. “Why would Ali agree to such a thing?”

“It was the one choice to gain the thing he wanted more than anything else, after seven long years of unimaginable torture. He wanted to see you suffer.”

He moves forward, and I step back. My heart pounds. Alasdair—or whatever the hell he is now—continues to advance, and I have no choice but to retreat backwards to keep out of arm’s reach. Alasdair’s magic has always been physical. If he gets his arms around me, I am as good as dead.

I sneer at him, my chin tilting up. “What’s your plan here? Annoy me until I give up? Roll over and die? How unimaginative.”

The creature’s smile grows, those eyes widening until the circles of green are fully visible. His tone takes on a breathless edge. “Tori, Tori, Tori… I haven’t even begun my fun. It’s why Vincentius had to die. I couldn’t have his little uprising ruining things.”

I’m ready for his surge forward. Magic erupts from me, and the collision of our power is like a bomb going off. I scream as pain splinters through my insides; Alasdair’s hit is far more potent than I expected. My shield shatters, but I push through the agony. My hands curl into claws as I summon my magic. The flames of the phoenix surround me, the cry of a bird echoing through the park. Mighty wings beat, and my rippling gold and black fire dives for Alasdair.

He laughs, clapping his hands together. His magic is astounding. All four sources weave together in a swirling, multi-colored cyclone. My flames are sucked into it to be devoured and recycled. My two flames spin around Alasdair’s arm, his smile and eyes wide. He thrusts his arm towards me, and my own attack comes crackling back.

I throw myself to the side, dodging my flames, but the earth rises to meet me. “MotherFUCKER!” My magic crackles down my arms where the dirt is sucking me in and explodes it away to create a crater that I tumble into. Alasdair stands at the lip of the hollow, his head tilted and smile too wide.

Great, now I’m in a pit. This is going to shit fast.

Jinx’s voice hisses in my mind. Summon me and I will rip him to shreds.

NO! The pentagram needs you to stay there! I yell back before widening my stance for my next attack.

I whisper the counterspell and crack Alasdair’s control over the ground around me. I surge up, but something else lifts with me. Bones. The dead of the mass grave that the park is built upon clatter together as they claw their way to the surface. My face twists in horror. I’ve only read about magic like this. The lost, forbidden art of the Entropy weavers.

That asshole is using my own lost family’s line against me. I’m going to fucking kill him.

I whip my arm out in a roar of rage. The bones shatter, and I curl my hands into fists. I hurl the splinters at my brother before launching myself out of the pit.

The bone shards sail gracefully through Alasdair’s smiling face, and my heart jolts. An illusion. I don’t make it to the ground. The real Alasdair catches me in his waiting arms.

There’s no time to counter. Pain explodes through me, taking my senses and my air with it. My bones crush like I’m nothing more than a helpless insect. Jinx roars my name through our connection, and my magic surges to my aid, but Alasdair throws me like a broken doll he’s done playing with. My skull cracks against something solid, and my vision goes dark for a moment.

Returning to my senses is a hell I never wanted to experience. My arms are mangled, my ribs cracked. I’m a broken, crumpled heap at the feet of Antonia’s statue. I’m alive, not because I’m lucky, but because the creature wearing my brother’s body wants me alive.

Blood drips from my lips and my vision fades in and out. All I can manage is to focus on Alasdair’s leisurely stroll towards me. His voice forces its way into my skull and my mouth stretches in a silent scream.

“Oh, Tori. What a predicament you’ve made for yourself. Did you know that the child you grew up with never wanted to win those dueling tournaments you so easily dominated in? Oh yes. Your brother knew how much winning meant to you. He didn’t want you to hate him anymore. So he let himself be that idiot you loved to convince everyone he was.”

The creature throws his head back and laughs so hard that his steps stumble. He grips the statue of the Transformation Domain for support. He wipes at his eyes. “You are truly a wretched little thing. So cruel and heartless. You took someone who loved you, who was willing to do anything to make you love him, too, and created…” He sweeps his arm elegantly over himself. “Me. Your downfall.”

My heart pounds, and I try again and again to call my magic to heal myself. My concentration is shattered. I try to shake my head to focus, but my brain sloshes around my skull. The pain in my body, the pain from the creature’s words… They’re both too much for me to bear.

A faint tug in my heart has me gasping. No, Jinx!

Jinx snarls through our connection, He’s going to kill you! Let me through.

I pant and fight to piece each bone fragment within my right arm back in alignment without throwing up or passing out. If you come through, the pentagram will fall. I can do this.

“Don’t worry, little demon. I’m not going to kill her.”

The creature’s words jolt through me, and my eyes flare. How could he hear her? He crouches down before me and whispers, “Oh, Astoria. I’m going to make you watch as I tear your world apart. You wondered why I left Vincentius in your shop? It’s so you’d know the fate of all those you’ve ever loved, starting with your magician. You see, Vincentius didn’t die until I dropped him in your foyer. I kept him alive while I skinned him strip by strip. And when I do the same to your little magician, I’m going to make sure he knows this is because of you, so he too will curse your existence until I finally permit him to die. Then I’m going to drag Valen here and do the same to him.”

His fingers slide down my face. “I won’t let you die, Astoria. Not ever. You’ll live in an endless hell.” He leans forward until he’s inches from my face. “It’s what you deserve, and your suffering will be so… delicious.” A wet clicking sounds in his throat like when I faced the curse in my vault, the memory of its bony hand gripping mine with saliva dripping from its mouth shaking me.

The same fear of being slowly devoured alive chills me and it gives me enough strength to react. My magic surges, my eyes flashing, but he thrusts his hand out to punch my heart. I gape in soundless agony, my magic snuffing out from the blow. I fight to breathe in air, but it’s no use. Despair fills me, and my eyes spill over with tears.

Then there’s a cold burn inside my chest. Jinx, NO!

I scream as my chest rips open in a shower of blood and gore. A black, fanged beast explodes from my body, taking the last of my energy preserves as Jinx uses our tether to teleport from the shop to here. I’ve never exhausted this much of my magic before.

Jinx’s jaw closes around Alasdair, and he screeches as his blood sprays.

I crumple to the side, convulsing as my chest tries to knit itself back together. My vision is dulling, the pain unbearable. My heart hammers at an odd, too-fast rhythm that creates a hellish ache that seizes my lungs.

The fight between Jinx and Alasdair is wet, blood spraying everywhere as they grapple for control. Her pull on my magic threatens to dip into my life energy, but she stops right before it goes too far.

They roll out of sight, then silence falls.

Shuffling has my eyes fluttering, and I struggle to lift my head to see who it is. I flinch when it’s not Jinx, but Alasdair. He’s limping heavily, his right leg not working as it should. All his teeth show when he smiles, blood pouring all over him. His coat is gone, and his beige suit is stained a dark red and torn in parts to reveal rendered flesh.

The statue of Antonia melts. The white marble surrounds my limp body, drawing me up. A distant pained yowl is drowned out by Alasdair’s high-pitched, manic laughter. His head is thrown back, and his eyes glow in the black pits. A tear slips down my face.

Right before the stone swallows me whole, Jinx dives forward. Broken and bloody, she transforms one last time into her small cat form to collide against my grisly open chest. The marble entombs us both.

She should’ve killed me. It would’ve been far kinder.