Chapter 20: Julian - Heart - Change

Julian
Heart

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I was slammed back into awareness, coughing and sputtering on the musty rug-covered floor. Miles was very much in the same situation beside me.

“Well?” Damen leaned back in his seat, his voice low with caution. “From that expression, it seems you did find something.”

I stumbled to my feet and pointed at him. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before!”

He slowly raised his eyebrow before responding, enunciating each word. “I did. You just never listened.”

“What was it? That was different from what I remember.” Miles slowly straightened as he regained his composure. He was watching me with an impassive expression, and I knew that while he might hold back for now, the questions would be coming later.

There was no use in hiding anymore.

I shivered. The second revelation of the day clawed at me. There was no mistaking that energy signature. “He was there…” I was barely able to whisper the words. I was still numb.

My own grandfather did this.

“Joe?” Damen wasn’t even pretending to be sensitive. “I told you that he was. Anyway, what’s about Bailey—”

“Bailey isn’t real!” I snapped, the numbness and horror fell away and was replaced by a deep, loathing anger.

But not toward Damen… this time.

“It was a puppet,” I told him. “A highly advanced one. They tricked you into activating it. That’s why—”

“Wait, wait.” Damen got to his feet, and in a rare display of awareness, he grabbed my arm, not-so-gently shoving me into a seat and tossing a red handkerchief into my palm. “Use that for your hand; I don’t want you bleeding all over the place. And you”—he looked at Miles, who was still looking rather green—“for God’s sake, eat something,” he ordered, pushing a rose-plated dish across the side table that separated the two of their seats.

Miles obeyed and ate the fist-sized chocolate chip cookie in two bites. He wiped the crumbs off his face with the back of his hand before snatching up another, but already, his skin was returning to its normal, pale complexion.

“Now,” Damen began graciously, stepping to the side and gesturing toward the teapot. “Would you like to—”

“Will you shut up?” Why the hell was Damen only considerate at the most random, inopportune moments? This was no time to worry about me. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, okay.” He stepped back and tugged at the bottom of his shirt, straightening his appearance. “Good. I just didn’t want you to throw up on my rug.”

I eyed the worn out, but perfectly suited to Damen’s inclination for antiquities, carpeting. “There’s blood on there.”

There were two teaspoon sized drops from where my wound had bled too much. I could have sworn I saw Damen’s eye twitch.

“No matter,” he said finally. “It gives it extra character, and nothing smells quite as bad as vomit.” He returned to his seat and crossed his ankle over his knee. “So, explain.”

“It was a puppet.” I sighed, squeezing my fist, which was almost assuredly causing the cut to bleed even more. “We can use enchantments over humanoid figures to create replicas of a living person. Obviously, these figures are not alive too—and we can modify bits and pieces that we’d like. But unless an autopsy is performed, no one would ever know.”

“But why?” Miles asked as he ate the last remaining cookie. His color was back to normal now. “What is the point? When would you use something like that? It felt similar to—”

I cut him off, fighting, but failing, to keep the annoyance from my voice. “We have our reasons. But this is far worse. However, there are times in our practice when it’s…” I thought back: espionage and blackmail were the most common reasons. “Necessary.”

Miles sat forward, authority ringing from his form as he responded. “What I felt in that room should never be necessary.”

“It’s not… anymore.” I could barely hold back my chill. “All aspects of that magic were banned ages ago, as you know. I don’t know how…”

“What is it doing?” Damen butted in, watching the two of us. Normally the onmyoji dominated conversation, but like today, sometimes he was still. For example, when he was still forming an opinion on something, or a topic was being discussed that he knew was out of his expertise.

“Puppets carry the essence of a person within them, making them an almost perfect replica. They are often used as a decoy,” I explained. “Think about it,” I hurried on before either Damen or Miles could interrupt, because I could tell from their lax, but readying, expressions that the questions were coming. “We necromancers deal with the dead, and need, preferably, a physical body in order to do our work. Can you not think of a single instance when we’d not want to alarm the public of their missing deceased? When we have questions after a case is closed. What do you think we’d do in such a situation?”

“Grave robbing?” Miles’s brows drew together, and his lips pressed in a stern line. “You switch out bodies? That I can overlook—sometimes. But you wouldn’t touch a body after it’s been buried, right? After the last rites had been performed?”

This was what I’d been expecting from the beginning. Witches, after all, respected ritual above all else. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he’s safe, and to get you what you need,” I answered, glancing at Damen.

No one needed clarification on who he was. Damen might have had my loyalty by power and association, but there was only one other person in the world for whom I’d be willing to break the rules of decency.

“Julian.” Damen’s voice was deeper now, threaded heavily with displeasure. “No one asked you to—”

“Stop being idealistic,” I said, glaring at the teapot. It still sat untouched over the ceramic warmer, and the flame flickered and leaned toward the onmyoji. “It’s better, on some level, than dealing with the screams of the living to get my answers.”

And that was what he’d asked, even if he never fully acknowledged it.

“Okay.” Damen hunched forward as he let out a slow, long breath. It seemed as though he’d aged ten years in a matter of seconds. “So how was Ba—the puppet different? What makes it so wrong?”

“There’s a way to infuse a puppet with a small piece of the soul of the person they’re imitating,” I told them, my skin prickling under their expectant stares. It wasn’t often when I’d held the full attention of the room. “It makes them an energetic decoy as well, not just physical. So, until the spell is broken, any supernatural connections to the real person will be dulled. And remember, Bailey was a boy; so it wasn’t an exact replica of Bianca either. To create something entirely unique, and to confuse our bond… This took an extraordinary amount of magic.”

Damen’s forehead wrinkled in consternation. “You said ‘spell’. This is why we didn’t realize Bianca was alive until she found us? How did it recognize her connection with us?”

It was a fair question, and one I’d been wondering for a while.

After all, even before we’d officially bonded, ever since she’d come into our lives, there’d been a part of me that was keenly aware of her presence. I might not be aware of her emotions without touching her, but a piece of my soul had been filled—remaining at ease while she lingered nearby.

It was that way for all of our quintet.

If someone was deathly hurt, or even dead, their distress and absence would be acutely felt. There’d be an emptiness and ache—the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

It was what life had been like before Bianca.

But we’d never been aware of the seasons of her life. If we had been, we would have known something was wrong anytime she’d been in danger.

“The spell was officially activated through you.” Even though it was true, I couldn’t be angry at the man. And I felt guilty at the breaking of his expression.

“Me…” He glanced between Miles and me, unsure. “How—”

“The puppet latched onto your energy signature when you touched it.” And what affected one of us, affected us all on some level. “You connected it to us. It worked for a while, but the puppet’s magic would have begun to wear off after some time and once Bianca was back within a certain distance.”

“So, it’s my fault then.” Damen put his hand over his face.

The witch leaned forward and touched Damen’s arm. “What do you mean?”

“If I hadn’t insisted on seeing it—touching it—we might have eventually known something wasn’t right.” Damen’s voice was low. “She was in pain and suffering, and we should have felt that. We could have found her sooner.”

Miles and I looked at each other.

This had to be controlled. One of Damen’s most annoying characteristics, but the one that’d saved us more times than we could count, was his optimism. Huo held the vision, created our long-term goals and gathered our following, all while Mu plotted and worked to make the onmyoji’s dreams a reality.

Damen dwelling in self-pity and regrets was not productive.

Depression did not suit him.

I couldn’t believe I was saying this, but he needed to let it out. Not all anger was bad.

“Do you want to go kill something?” I offered. I had a pretty good idea where we could begin. “I think Gregory might still be in his office.”

“We’re not killing Gregory!” Damen’s head snapped up, and his eyes blazed. The tealight flame grew higher, licking at the bottom of the delicate tea kettle.

I nodded, allowing his rage to wash over me.

We could all feel it. Something fundamental was shifting within us.

I could see it in Miles. The deep serenity and good humor always present in his presence had vanished, and his body remained tight, still and deadly. He was tethering on the edge, and it would only take one word to have the priest throw away his ethics and fully embrace the darker side of the craft.

I was thankful that, for now, his fury was not levelled in my direction.

And there was Damen, who was ready but not willing. Yet.

It was obvious that he wanted to rampage, his fist was closed tightly over the charm on his neck. But he was letting his sentimentalities—and possibly even from a desire to allow Bianca to have a glimpse of normalcy, at least for a while—hold him back.

I didn’t blame him.

My own grandfather had done this.

It might be time for us to remind everyone who we were, and why it was dangerous to mess with us. Not even blood relatives were immune.

It might be painful, but we’d done it before.

We’d always done whatever was necessary to keep order in the world.

It was high time others stopped thinking they could get away with controlling us.

“I think…” Damen began, speaking slowly as his words trailed off. He was rubbing his necklace between his thumb and forefinger as he stared down at his feet. I held my breath, waiting for his response. It felt like eons passed, and when he spoke next, his words held far more confidence. “I believe that something else is going on. We should wait.”

My caught breath escaped in a rush, and I leaned forward in my seat.

What did he mean ‘wait’? We’d been waiting since Bianca first came to us. We stood aside, not wanting to scare her away. But this…

Huo—and Damen, naturally—was possibly the least patient person I knew. It was only Mu who’d ever been able to have him willingly hold back.

“Death.”

A shiver passed through the air, and the word rang loud through the otherwise quiet room and echoed ominously in my ears.

“What do you mean?” It was Miles who responded to Damen’s statement.

Damen put his hands flat against his knees and sat forward in his seat, looking the two of us in the eyes once before he spoke. “I did a reading last night.” His words were heavy and weighted.

I wasn’t sure what the big deal was—Damen played with his tarot cards almost every day.

“On Mu,” he clarified. “On Bianca, and his purpose for being born as a woman. He deliberately did this, and I’m trying to figure out why. I feel that this is all connected. We shouldn’t act rashly right now.”

“Maybe he just wanted to try something different?” Miles offered. “Does being a woman have to mean anything?”

Damen and I glared at the witch.

“It doesn’t mean anything—not in the way you’re thinking,” I said, because I’d been thinking about this since my confrontation with Mu. “In case you’ve forgotten, Mu has always been androgynous. But he’s also not one to put himself in a vulnerable position without a plan. Not unless it’s for some self-sacrificing scheme he’d thought up on our behalf. Being born as a woman makes him vulnerable. He wouldn’t choose this without a reason. So, I agree with Damen.” I inclined my head toward the onmyoji. “He did this on purpose. I believe he was trying to trigger the prophecy—and who knows what else.”

Miles crossed his arms, slinking back into his seat in a pout. “I was just playing devil’s advocate. But yes, I agree too.”

“In my readings, Mu is usually The Empress.” Damen ignored Miles’s sulking as he reached into his shirt. “And sometimes, The High Priestess. But this time—for the first time ever—I pulled Death.”

The onmyoji pulled out a palm-sized deck—one of many in his collection. These particular ones were black and midnight blue with—from what I could make out from my seat—inlaid with golden images and lettering. He began to shuffle the cards as he spoke, “I asked what his intentions were toward us and pulled the Ten of Wands and The Sun.”

I glared at the cards, frowning. “So, basically, Bianca is going to sacrifice herself doing something really stupid, while thinking it’s going to make everyone happy.”

Damen stopped shuffling, watching me with wide eyes. “You’re learning!” He sounded pleased.

I scoffed. “No one could sit through lifetimes of endless lectures and not pick up a thing or two.”

“You’re wrong, though,” Damen smoothly replied, ignoring my jibe. “We are going to be happy—The Sun is a major arcana. The Ten of Wands—the part where she’d shoulder the burden—is a minor. It’d only be temporary.”

“But Death is a major arcana as well,” I said. “I don’t want her doing anything that has her shouldering any burden or painful transformations. I won’t be happy if that happens.”

“This is only a reading,” Miles said slowly. He’d crossed his arms, watching the two of us sternly. “About Mu’s intentions. Don’t forget, Bianca is a grown woman and can make her own decisions. Whatever it is that she ends up doing, you don’t have the right to intervene.”

“Screw you,” I spat at the witch. “You mind your own business with Bianca, and I’ll focus on mine.”

My pulse raced with lingering unease. Miles’s statement served as a reminder of the continual brokenness that lay between Bianca and me. While it was true that we’d bonded, there was still a rather large chasm that we’d needed to cross. Until then, our relationship wouldn’t be what it could.

“Speaking of Bianca, I wonder how their mission is going,” Miles mused, glancing at the clock. “Isn’t it getting kind of late?”

“It is.” Sometimes Gloria’s missions tended to last until the early hours, but it was now past two in the morning.

I pulled out my phone, vaguely aware of Damen and Miles doing the same; but there were no messages.

From Bianca, nor from Titus.

He hadn’t even responded to my earlier query about his own mission, and that was something that should have garnered some kind of reaction.

A sense of unease began to settle deep in my stomach, and the imposing sense of anxiety that’d been looming all evening became impossible to ignore.

“When did Titus say he was going to be back?” I asked.

“Titus?” Damen lowered his phone. “He didn’t say. He’d said he found a lead. We might not hear from him until tomorrow. You know how he gets when he’s focused.”

“Something’s wrong.” My hand began to shake, and my finger pressed the screen. Now that I was focused, this feeling was growing harder to ignore.

It’d been so long that I’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

“What could be wrong?” Damen shrugged, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “If she was with anyone else, I’d say you had reason for concern. But she’s with Gloria Protean. Even Gregory is scared of her. It’s a harmless mission, and between a wolf alpha and a hyena alpha, nothing is going to happen.”

A chill passed down my spine. How could I explain it? “No, I—”

I dropped my phone as I clutched at my chest, the sudden pain too difficult to ignore. The phone fell, face-down, onto the rug, but I hardly noticed—nor cared—if it broke.

Something was wrong.

This time it wasn’t a vague worry, but a certainty. My blood rushed to my head as an inescapable sadness and longing coursed through me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think of anything else, as only one thought—one purpose—drove me.

I had to get to Bianca.

The urgency grew—a painful need—with every erratic beat of my heart. Nothing else was important anymore—not even the growing panic and frantic movements of the men jumping to their feet beside me. I had to get to Bianca.

She was going to die if I didn’t.