Elves Invasion

41

Yes, of course. Holy crap.” There was a thump as Juliet bumped into something in her haste, and the window closed. Ava could hear her sister scrambling down the steps as she raced to meet them. The coven trudged to the side door. Now that Ava wasn’t fueling them, the minor injuries they’d incurred and general fatigue from the fight were catching up with them.

“Get in, get in,” Juliet said urgently, holding open the door and waving them through. “Are you okay? What happened? How did you get here so fast?” Juliet asked in a rush.

Ava burst into tears and wrapped her arms around her sister’s neck. Juliet startled and then went with it.

“I’m guessing there’s a story here,” she said, smoothing Ava’s hair.

They went into the kitchen and sat down. Una and Breakfast took it in turns to explain what had happened. Ava tried to calm herself down, but the tears kept silently leaking from her eyes no matter how many times she brushed them away. A half dozen times she reached out for her sister’s hand and squeezed it to reassure herself.

Juliet handled the news of her death by deciding not to try to wrap her head around it just yet, and in turn brought the coven up to speed on what had been going on in this world since they had left.

“They’re calling it ‘The Black Magic Murders.’ It’s a media circus,” she said bitterly. Juliet remembered something and addressed Tristan. “No matter what you hear about your parents, don’t go home. They’ll turn you over.”

Tristan’s face went blank with confusion, and then pinched with an awkward apology. “Wrong Tristan,” he said.

“Where is he?” Juliet asked, looking at Ava. She pulled in a small gasp. “No. Not him, too?”

Ava nodded numbly. “He’s dead,” she said, just to make it real.

Juliet sat back in her chair as if she’d been slapped. She covered her mouth with a hand, her eyes far away. “I can’t—oh my God,” she mumbled. “I don’t believe it.”

“He’s dead,” Ava repeated, and for the first time she accepted it.

She put her head down on the table. It was the same table where she had sat down with Tristan a thousand times to eat, to play, to talk, and to argue. The memories swam up out of the wood—Tristan dealing cards, puffing on a bubble gum cigar. The two of them switching chairs to put together an impossible puzzle with a picture of a pile of red candy hearts on the front. Tristan eating a hot dog with grape jelly. Doing homework together. Doing nothing together. Ava let herself cry until she felt a hand on her back.

“It’s okay, Lillian,” Samantha said.

Ava raised her head and turned to bury it in her mother’s stomach. “It’s my fault,” she sobbed. “I’m the reason he’s dead. I’m the reason they’re all dead.”

“Oh no, sweetie,” her mother said. She tilted Ava’s head back and wiped away her tears. “You had no control over what happened to Tristan or your father.” She tittered anxiously, and Ava saw the mad light of a million other universes burn in her eyes. “That’s scarier, which is why most people choose to feel guilty rather than helpless when someone they love dies. But the truth is you had no control.”

Samantha smiled at Ava like what she had just said made it all better—and Ava had stopped crying, but it wasn’t because she was comforted. Far from it, actually.

Samantha pulled away and turned to Windyard. “You should tell her all of it,” she said. “What happened when she was unconscious in your tent? Tell her.”

“Tell me what?” Ava asked. Samantha wandered away, humming a few notes to herself. Ava turned to Windyard. “Tell me what?” she demanded.

Windyard’s face was blank. “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

“She’s worse,” Juliet interjected. She was watching Samantha tackle the stairs with a worried frown. “The cameras, the police, the pressure to keep the story straight when she can’t even remember which world she’s in more often than not. It’s too much.”

...

Ava really looked at Juliet. She’d lost weight and there were dark circles under her eyes. “Are you okay?” she asked. “How’s school?”

“What school? I dropped out to take care of Mom.” Juliet rubbed a hand over her face. “Not that I could have stayed anyway, with reporters ambushing me outside of every class.”

“I ruined your life,” Ava said, shaking her head.

Juliet mustered a smile. “Didn’t you hear Mom?”

“It’s not my fault?” Ava guessed.

“Exactly.” Juliet glanced around the table, noticing the state of everyone. “You all look like hell,” she said, earning a round of rueful laughs. She turned to Breakfast, who was cradling one arm in his other hand. “What happened to you, Breakfast?”

“I got shot,” he said, showing them a large red-purple-and-blue welt on his arm. “The bullet didn’t go through, though. It sort of bounced off. But, you know, hard.”

“Why didn’t you get out of the way?” Una asked angrily.

Breakfast rolled his eyes. “I’m fond of the color ouch.”

Tristan hiked up his shirt to show Breakfast a nasty welt on his ribs. “Mine’s better,” he said, and then grimaced at the pain and dropped his shirt.

“That’s incredible. You’re all bulletproof?” Juliet asked.

“Not usually,” Windyard replied. He looked at Ava, eyes narrowed. “What did you do to us?”

Ava cupped both her hands in front of her and wiggled her fingers. “It’s like a field thing, you know?”

“No,” Windyard said, shaking his head.

“I mean a force field,” Ava said, feeling silly.

“Like in that movie Star Wars you made me watch?” Windyard asked, confused.

“That’s the Force. A force field is more Star Trek,” Breakfast corrected. “Big difference.”

“You did it to us before,” Una said. “It kept the Workers from stinging us when we fought the Hive. I’d say you’re getting better at it, though, Lil.”