The Witch with No Name

“She’s okay,” Ivy rushed on, but I could hear the heartache in her. “She’s never wanted her soul before, but after seeing others find them . . .” Ivy’s words trailed off, and I pressed the phone to my ear, heart aching. “Rachel, she wants her soul so badly. She knows it will kill her, but she wants it. She’s hurting. I’ve never seen her in pain like this before.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. Lucy’s doll was half under the couch, and I pulled it out, propping it carefully in the crook of the couch. “Maybe . . .” But there was no maybe. If she got her soul, she would suffer until she brought her soul, body, and mind back in balance—that is, until she committed suncide and died for good.

Ivy was silent, thinking. “It should settle down in the morning, right?”

Or turn really, really bad. I clicked off the table lamp, wanting the muffling gray of shadow. “I, ah, don’t have my phone anymore either,” I said, reluctant to hang up but having nothing more to say. “Just call Trent to get hold of me.” Unnoticed until now, the faint glow of the downstairs bounced against the ceiling to light everything in a soothing haze.

“Trent’s number. Got it. Call me before you get on the roads. I’ll let you know where it’s safe to meet.”

This was bad. “Ivy . . .”

“Stay there,” she said, voice hard. “I mean it. We’re fine.”

She was down to three-word sentences. Great.

“Yeah, we’re fine, Rache,” Jenks said, almost shouting into the phone. “Take a night off from saving the world for once, huh? We got this!”

My fingers were cramping, they were so tight on the phone. “Tell my mom bye for me. I’ll be up before sunrise if you need me.”

“Me too,” Ivy said softly. “Bye.”

“Talk to you then.” I didn’t hang up, and there was a telling hesitation as both of us sat there saying nothing, just . . . silent.

“Well, hang up already!” Jenks said, and I sighed when the phone clicked off. Guilt tugged at me as I set the phone down. Guilt, but what could I do? I had a lot of things I was capable of, but until I had a direction, a place to aim my frustration at, it would be for naught. I wasn’t good at waiting, and now I had nothing to do until sunrise.

The doll looked lonely, and I pulled her onto my lap, holding her to my middle as if she were real. The undead with their souls were going to suncide. Every last one of them. I couldn’t stop it. As soon as enough of the vampire masters were dead, the real battle between the elves and the demons would begin.

The soft sounds of Jon singing to Ray filtered out into the soothing gray, and the occasional clatter from downstairs gave evidence of Quen’s business. The shower had been off awhile, and I wondered how much Trent had heard. Hugging the doll, I looked over the familiar shapes and shadows of Trent’s life and wondered if I could fit in here—if I dared to try to belong to something not of my making. Or if I would just blow it all to hell.

Trent’s silhouette eased into the doorway, backlit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. The sight of him drying his hair almost made me cry. I wanted to belong to this so badly, but I was afraid I’d bring only more heartache. Look what I’d done to Ivy. To Jenks.

“I overheard you talking to Ivy. She’s okay?”

I nodded. “She was with David all this time. Cormel only had her phone.” He had lied, twisted me into coming to him, played upon my emotions because he didn’t have any.

Trent was silent, then, “You want to go home?”

My head dropped to my fingers, clenched around the doll. His voice was low, holding emotion for me—about me—because of me. “No,” I whispered as I set the doll in her corner.

He didn’t move, looking lost as he stood there in his robe. “I wasn’t thinking about anything other than preparing for tomorrow,” he said, his voice moving up and down like music. “I can take you home. You have other people who need you. Jenks, Ivy, Bis.”

My shoulders hunched as I felt as if I’d been punched in the gut. I wanted to be here. I wanted to be there. Fear threatened to swamp me just thinking about what I’d do if something happened to Trent. He always seemed so in control, so capable. Unfortunately his confident past was starting to get him in trouble in his shaky present. A mere six months ago, Cormel would never have dared to restrain Trent.

Trent tossed the towel to a chair. “Rachel?”

My head snapped up as the door to the nursery softly opened. Jon came out, moving like a shadow or a thought soon forgotten. His long face held no expression as he took in me sitting on the couch and Trent in the doorway. “Excuse me, Sa’han,” he said as the door shut behind him. “I’ll help Quen oversee the horses being brought in.”

Trent scrubbed his scalp with his fingers, looking so much like I wanted him to be that it hurt. “Thank you.”