Steadfast

With one sweaty hand, he reached out and found the sharp corner of the wood. Mateo drew his arm back, then swung it as hard as he could.

Crack! He sucked in a sharp breath, but with pain came clarity. By smashing his forearm against the dresser, he’d earned himself a throbbing, red mark that would soon be an ugly bruise, but that didn’t matter. The only important thing was making sense of the visions he was seeing, so that he could help protect Nadia.

Panting, Mateo leaned back against the wall. Another dream surrounded him already, but the combination of Nadia’s spell and the ache from his arm allowed him to watch it as if from the outside—like he was watching a movie.

Elizabeth lifted her hands high, and it was as though the enormous waves behind her rippled and crashed at her command. Yet he could sense the energy emanating from her, feel it curling and growing like the tendrils of vines, until they snaked around the throats of every sick person, stealing breath and life—

And Nadia was there, powerless to stop her.

Mateo emerged from the dream with a gasp. The storm, Nadia’s presence at the lighthouse: His dreams might be showing him the future, but it was the very near future. Maybe not even hours ahead—maybe only minutes.

If he could reach Nadia before Elizabeth cast that spell, maybe it would give her a chance to prepare and save the people at the hospital. It might save Nadia, too.

Where was his stupid phone? He swore as he realized his father had moved it, trying only to help his son to rest while he went to inspect the restaurant for quake-related damage. Mateo managed to get to his feet and start going through the house. Chances were Dad had put it in the kitchen, right by the door. . . .

As he walked into the kitchen, someone rang the bell. Mateo went to answer it, figuring the only person who would come here now had to be Verlaine.

Instead he opened the door to see Gage.

In that first second, Mateo thought the strange reddish haze around Gage was only a remnant of the dream visions. After that, though, it hit him: that was his Steadfast power revealing magic at work.

But that first second was all it took.

Gage’s amiable expression melted from his face, and the guy who tackled Mateo to the floor—he wasn’t Gage any longer. Mateo landed hard on his back, but he managed to get his arms up just in time to keep Gage from wrapping his hands around Mateo’s throat.

They fought there on the kitchen floor. Gage never spoke; Mateo never bothered. In movies, fights always had guys on their feet, trading ninja kicks and manful blows. In reality, it usually came down to this: wrestling, gouging, shoving, never quite knowing what was going on. He pulled his punches as much as he could, because he knew Gage wasn’t himself and he didn’t want to mess the guy up. But whatever had Gage in its grip wasn’t playing by the same rules.

Mateo could think only of Nadia, in so much more danger, and he couldn’t even get to his damned phone to warn her.

Then Gage slammed him down so hard that Mateo couldn’t breathe. It felt like his ribs might have cracked, or broken.

He didn’t want to hurt Gage—but what if that was the only way he could get out of this alive?

Gage grabbed the toaster and held it over Mateo’s head, obviously preparing to use it to bash Mateo’s head in. He tried to roll out of the way, holding one hand up to block as he thought, No, no, no—

The red light around Gage pulsed, flickered, went out. And Mateo knew—just knew—that something from within him, something about his outstretched hand, had done this.

Gage froze. For a long moment he just stood there. At first Mateo could only stare up at him, and then he thought, This might be a good time to dodge.

As he scrambled back, Gage said, “What were we just doing?”

“Uh—I—” Mateo couldn’t find words. Had he actually broken the spell on Gage by himself? Had he performed some kind of magic?

Shaking his head as though to clear it, Gage stared down at the toaster in his hands. “Were we making toast?”

“Yeah. You came by to check on me, and we wanted some toast. That’s it.” Mateo scrambled to his feet. To hell with the phone: He was getting in the boat and going to Nadia, now. If he had even a fraction of magical power, he was going to use it to help her. “Hey, can you hold down the fort here for a second? If my dad comes back home, tell him I’m fine. I’ll be right back. Okay?”

Gage, clearly somewhat confused but determined to get through it, put down the toaster and went to get the bread. “Sure thing.”

Mateo ran from the house, desperate to reach Nadia in time.

Nadia shouted so that her voice would carry over the howling wind: “You can’t hurt them any longer! You’ve lost your pain, so you’ve lost your bridge.”

Elizabeth only shook her head in what looked like fond exasperation. “You never understood the magic to begin with.”

“The bridge is built on pain. I know that’s why you hurt all those people and put them in the hospital.” It worked; it has to have worked; Elizabeth just hasn’t realized it yet—

“Yes, the bridge for the One Beneath is built on pain,” Elizabeth said. She stepped closer, so that they were nearly within arm’s reach of each other. “The better the pain, the better the bridge. Physical pain is nothing, really. Just a habit of the body.”

Hearing her say that so carelessly after seeing the torment Uncle Gary and Riley and Mrs. Purdhy had been put through enraged Nadia almost past endurance. But then her mind focused in more sharply on what Elizabeth had said. Realization began to dawn, and Nadia saw it reflected in Elizabeth’s knowing smile.