When I was in high school, and many of our kind were being murdered, one of the Storytellers on the Council told me a story about the origin of the Magicals. To make a long story short, we were brought into existence by a Creator named Rudshivar; he was brought into existence by the first Creator, Enlilkian, who was also the head honcho of the Elders, and they did not get along due to philosophical differences about the way the worlds should work. A war broke out amongst the Magicals and the Elders; in the end, another Creator drained the life essences of the Elders dry before they were entombed underground by a Quake. Somehow these beings escaped and have been draining my kind dry in an effort to ... well, we really don’t know why, but it’s assumed to replenish what has been stolen.
So many Magicals have died over the years. For a long time, we were all held hostage in fear by these monsters without a way to kill them. All we could do was either outrun them or try to defend ourselves against their attacks. I remember the first time they came after me—I was terrified. I’d never thought such ... evil, I guess, truly existed. But that was only the beginning; over the next few years, these things kept after me and my loved ones. According to the Guard, I’m a big catch for the Elders if they are, in fact, draining Magicals of their powers. So many resources and people were put into protecting me. Precious lives were lost in efforts to keep me safe. And that’s a heavy burden to bear, knowing teammates have perished or have been wounded in my name. The people and their sacrifices haunt me daily; they always will.
Somehow while I was hiding in Alaska, though, I figured out (with Will’s help) that I could will the Elders out of existence much like my ancestors could. The first Elder I did this to just so happened to be Cailleache, the mother of all the Elders and wife to Enlilkian.
I never learned the names of the others I took out over the last few months. I suppose it never mattered to me. They were killing my kind. People I loved were at risk. I did what I had to do.
And now ...
Now my gut tells me Enlilkian is somehow in Jens Belladonna’s body, like some twisted, terrifying horror movie about possession. And it’s truly, horribly ironic, because Belladonna loathed and believed me culpable of indescribable crimes. Jonah banished him from Annar after the former head of the Guard accused me of murder, but then he’d gone missing. Nobody had heard from him or seen him in months.
Nobody but me.
Back in that restaurant bathroom, Jens’ skin wasn’t right. It was flaky. Brittle. Like it was falling apart, or ... off, I guess. Like, maybe it was ... dead? Or dying? He couldn’t tell the difference between Jonah and Kellan, which okay, a lot of people can’t, but the head of the Guard should have been able to. He never called me by name, only by little Creator.
Because to Enlilkian, that’s what I would be. He’s the big guy. The first. The father of us all. And I’m just the latest in a long line of those who followed after him.
I keep these thoughts to myself for the rest of the day as I mull them over. I need to share my concerns with the twins, but right now I’m so beat it’s hard to keep my eyes open for longer than ten minutes at a stretch. It’s funny—I’ve been asleep for days, and here I am, wanting nothing more than to just turn myself over to a gentle dreamland. After my panic attack, neither Jonah nor Kellan pushed me any further with questioning and refused to let anybody else ask me anything either—not that they allowed anybody back into the room outside of Kate to even do so, but still. “We can discuss this tomorrow,” Jonah assured me. “Nothing has to be figured out tonight.”
But it does, starting as soon as possible.
So here we are, the three of us inside a guarded hospital room in the middle of Annar, watching a movie on the massive flat screen TV hanging on the wall in front of my bed and eating dinner. Well, they’re picking at their food; I’m not hungry in the slightest. Alongside being dog-tired, I’m furious. And frustrated. And, to be honest, very, very fearful. If I’m right about all of this, Enlilkian has figured out a way to inhabit the body of a powerful Magical, possibly even a dead one whose skin is decomposing. He was—and most likely still is—within Annar’s boundaries, despite the protective shields erected around our plane, ones I’ve personally helped fortify on a regular basis. He found me in a crowded restaurant and took me down with little to no effort.
I hate that it was so easy for him. I hate that all it took was crushing my bones and I shattered like a porcelain doll. I’d tried to fight back, but it was pointless. Every move I made, he smoothly countered. And it’s maddening, because I’ve fought through pain before. Hell, every single time I go up against an Elder, I walk away with cuts and broken bones. This time, something was different, though. This time, the pain was blinding to the point words and thoughts would not string together coherently enough to set my will or any of wishes into action.
He got into my head. And I think that’s the most terrifying thing of all.
“Chloe? Are you okay?”
I blink at the sweet touch of fingers against my cheek; a room bathed in hazy, filtered electronic light comes into focus. I force a smile onto my face, even though smiling is the last thing I want to do. I tell Jonah, “Yeah.”
It’s obvious he doesn’t believe me. “You were shaking.”