Chapter Two
“Arise…Arise…ARISE!”
My alarm clock sounded different than usual. Either that or waking me up in a booming voice was my dad’s idea of a hilarious joke. Give me five more minutes and I’d roll out of bed and tell him—
I gasped awake, my eyes snapping open. I lay on an unforgivingly hard floor in…was it a cave? A tunnel? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that it was nearly pitch black and frigid. Wonderful.
I’d just started picking myself off the ground when torches flared to life along the walls, startling me. It was a cave. Thick with roots dug deep into the walls and fang-like stalactites sprouting from the ceiling. The damp cold air tightened my lungs—
My lungs.
I looked down. Oh yeah, I was breathing. And those knife wounds…
I pulled back the sliced parts of my shirt where the guy had stabbed me. My skin was healed and unmarked. That hadn’t been a dream. I could vividly remember the attack. The fair. The boy. Iris making her escape.
I relaxed a bit at that. Iris had escaped. She’d probably gone to the police and they’d taken her to safety while I…
Was somewhere. And apparently still alive. My wounds were miraculously healed, though something still felt off. Something other than everything. Though I could breathe and feel and see, it still felt as though something inside me was missing.
That, and I realized I wasn’t alone.
I whirled around to face the back of the cave. Only, it was no longer a cave but a wide, ancient hall. Instead of torches, the immense clay columns on either side were lit by bowls of fire. On the walls beyond the pillars I could see intricate markings, almost like the hieroglyphics I’d read about in school. Flowers bloomed over the drawings, sinking their thick vines deep into the earthen walls. Chrysanthemum and lantana, lilies and something that had to be oleander.
But none of my surroundings held my attention—or made me worried. That honor belonged to a panel of shrouded figures at the head of the hall. I squinted but could only make out their vague shapes. Whoever they were, they’d better have an explanation for the weirdness going on.
“Where am I?” I asked.
“She’s awakened!” one of the figures said.
“At last,” said another.
“A manner most unorthodox,” said a third.
“But it did work; you can’t deny the results.”
“But is she worthy? Was it worth it for her?”
“You saw what she did.”
“Luck, nothing more. I don’t believe she’s worth our time—”
“Hey!” I said, breaking into their group therapy session. “I’m right here. What’s awakened? What did you do to me?”
I took a step toward the panel. The instant I did my stomach lurched. I blinked and found myself exactly back where I’d started. An uncomfortable, unsettling idea I’d ignored up to this point was taking shape. This wasn’t possible. None of this was possible. And yet…
“Look how unprepared she is!” The panel had started up again. “The others—”
“All had their own challenges to overcome.”
“Challenges? Ha! This is insurmountable.”
“She is the first, she must be the one.”
The one? I frowned up at them. I couldn’t explain what was going on, but I was already sick of being left in the dark. “Someone needs to tell me what’s—”
“The Thirteenth one shall be the key,” the figure in the center said. “The remedy to Outcasts’ strife. She is the one. Unorthodox or not, uncertain or not, there will be no more debate.”
Some of the other figures grumbled at this. I was still rolling the central figure’s slam poetry around in my mind. Thirteenth what?
The central figure stood and immediately vanished.
“You probably have many questions.”
I’m not ashamed to admit that I let out a squeak of alarm. That’s what happens when somebody suddenly appears beside you without warning. Almost like it was…
“You have no idea,” I said when I finally managed to get my throat to work. “And I hope you’re going to answer them.”
The woman smiled, crinkling her already crinkled face. If I thought witches were real (not that I did, though I was beginning to question everything I thought I knew), then she’d have been the witchiest witch who’d ever witched. Long, crooked nose, complete with warts? Check. Slightly greenish tint to her skin? Check. Flowing, unflattering black dress? Check. The only things that didn’t fit the stereotype were that she carried no broomstick, and the kindly smile she was giving me.
“I’m not going to answer your questions,” the witch said. “You’ll learn in time. It is the Sisterhood of the Chosen’s job to weigh worth and pass judgement, but we will not affect your path after that. That is for you alone.”
“You can’t even tell me what’s happening?”
“I cannot.”
“And you won’t tell me—”
“I will not.”
I tried to resist putting my head in my hands. But witch lady wasn’t done. She stepped close and lowered her voice, as though she didn’t want the others to hear.
“In your blood runs centuries of power. In your blood runs hope. Don’t fail.”
“Don’t fail what?” I hissed, now far past annoyance and red-lining it toward exasperation. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
The witch reached out a hand. “Lead.”
I started to back up, but the witch’s finger touched right over my heart. I gasped as my heart thudded hard, like an engine coughing to life after being dead for years. It seemed to jump as she pressed again.
“Stop!” I gasped. “Whatever you’re doing, stop!”
“I can’t,” the witch said. “I’m giving you a second chance.”
The next heartbeat was the hardest yet. The black that’d swallowed me before swept over my eyes, and almost immediately fled again.
I was in a new place, open and brightly lit, lying on a soft bed. My heart wasn’t beating painfully, but its normal, consistent rhythm. I sighed. This I could make sense of. I was in the hospital. I’d survived the attack and they’d brought me here. That dream of witches and ancient, epically intoned, prophecy-sounding words were just that: a dream.
I let out a long breath.
Right as the boy from the fair appeared over me, fury in his eyes.