Page 91 of Foresyth Conservatory
Most importantly, I needed to start trusting myself.
“You need to protect Sequoia. I can take care of myself, I promise. And if I can’t do it alone, I’ll come find you,” I said.
He hesitated for a moment but then nodded, and the glint in his eyes nearly brought tears to my own. I softened, leaning closer to him, the dagger beneath my pillow forgotten. Aspen leaned forward as if to kiss me, but paused, his face just a breath from mine.
Finally, he pulled away, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. A proud smile broke on his lips. “Go then,” he said quietly. “Go finish your story.”
The Acolyte & The Alchemist: Part VIII
Elizabeth Svenski lay in the children’s hospital ward, counting the metal stars mounted on the ceiling. They twinkled faintly in the candlelight. Someone had put them there, she thought, appreciating the small, human act of kindness. She appreciated everything nowadays, now that her time in this world was dwindling.
Pain had become a passive part of her existence, a dull presence woven into her every breath. It gnawed at her bones, but she had learned not to flinch. Instead, she found solace in stories. She read until the words blurred and her body dragged her into dreamless sleep, her hands still curled around the pages. She had devoured nearly every book in the ward’s modest library.
“I’ve heard you’re a prodigious reader.”
Elizabeth lifted her head. A woman in a red cloak stood in the doorway, her silhouette backlit by the dim glow of the corridor.
This morning, Elizabeth was feeling lucid. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, carefully placing her latest book on the bedside table, and folded her hands in her lap.
“I read like I’m dying,” she said. “Because I am.”
The woman stepped inside, the heavy fabric of her cloak whispering against the tile.
Elizabeth tilted her head. “I used to worry I wouldn’t finish all the books I wanted before the time came.” A small, sardonic smile played on her lips. “Now I know I won’t.”
The woman did not reply right away. Instead, she moved toward the window, placing gloved fingers on the glass. Outside, the town of Enderly stretched beyond the hospital walls, veiled in the blue-grey light of early morning.
“And your family?” the woman asked at last.
“They’re gone.” Elizabeth’s voice did not waver. “Burned in a fire. I used to think I should have died with them. Prayed for it, even.” She exhaled slowly, tilting her head back toward the stars on the ceiling. “I suppose someone finally listened. Who are you anyway? A sister of the Holy Cross?”
Silence.
Then the woman turned, stepping closer to the bed.
“What would you say,” she asked, “to helping me with one final story?”
Elizabeth stilled, her heart sputtering. A small part of her thought that this might be Death, coming to claim her. But she would not show fear now. Not after she had endured the screams of her parents and younger siblings; her own was lost somewhere in her throat.
The candlelight flickered, and for the first time in a long while, something stirred in Elizabeth’s chest—something that wasn’t resignation. Her foolish heart might have even called it hope.
She sat up a little straighter.
“I’d say that depends on the story.”
The woman in red smiled.
Chapter 29: Intuition as the Guide
I delivered the pen along with the twenty-five cards imbued with magick to Leone. He removed his glasses, slid one tip into his mouth, and chewed on it for several minutes before saying anything. I had never seen him so visibly unsettled. Finally, he set his glasses on top of the closed book in front of him.
“You got the pen,” he said.
“I got the pen,” I replied.
“And the cards?” His eyes darted to the slim deck I had placed on the table. “What did you do to imbue them? Will it be enough?”
I gave him a sidelong glance, ignoring the flush in my cheeks. “Trust me, you don’t want to know what I had to do to imbue those.” I gave up my defenses, my vulnerability in the most raw, intimate reading of my life. I didn’t just give up, I gavein. “It’ll be enough.”
