When they reached the top of the staircase, they were surrounded by an inky purple sky.
“Where are we?”
“A beautiful night for stargazing,” said Circinae.
The top stair was a simple platform suspended in the sky. Beneath them, the stairs vanished, and they were just two people standing in the air.
Eli couldn’t even see the City of Eyes anymore, although she knew it was somewhere far, far below her. Before her, in the dark galaxy, a blue-and-white orb glittering with lights and life.
“Look at the City of Ghosts,” said Circinae quietly, “and tell me what you see.”
Eli did. She stared for a long moment at the human world, her half-adopted home, her birthright, her atonement for stubbornly existing.
And then she gasped.
The Earth was dying.
Thirty-Five
There were hundreds — no, thousands of cracks in the world, and from each chasm a pulsing, glittering black light was flowing from the Earth to the witches’ world.
Eli knew what she was witnessing, but she couldn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand.
“Its essence,” she said. “It’s … bleeding.”
“This is what happened to the moon,” said Circinae. “The Coven got greedy and stole all of its magic. Everything died. It’s just an empty rock now. That’s why we moved here.”
Horror filled Eli’s body, coursing through her veins like poison. “We’re predators,” she whispered, “eating worlds.”
Circinae shook her head. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Our world can’t exist alone, but it can exist in harmony with other worlds — by sharing magic, by combining organic and inorganic materials, by adapting and evolving and changing. By dying. But the Coven learned how to live forever. They devour a world, drinking its essence, and then move on to another. But vengeance and hurt are sticky, and they follow us — they follow our magic. Sometimes the dead refuse to be left behind.”
“Ghosts,” breathed Eli.
“Yes. The City of Eyes has enchantments strong enough to keep them out. But Earth doesn’t. That’s what ghosts are — traces of the dead Moon people. Lost souls and spells and sorrow. We made the ghosts.”
Eli’s head was spinning. “And now the Coven is killing the Earth.”
“They already have another galaxy in mind once they’ve destroyed this one. Your humans call it Andromeda.”
“We have to stop them!”
“We can’t.” Circinae rolled a sugar cube around in her hand, fingertips glittering with the crystals. “It’s too late, Eli. I’ve tried to keep you safe. Don’t you understand? I’ve been trying to prove that your kind are still useful. I’m tired of watching my daughters being murdered.” A tear slid down her face, leaving a streak of ash on her cheek.
Circinae will kill me, Eli had said.
It wouldn’t be the first time, Kite had said.
Is that what Kite had discovered? That the Coven’s past was littered with the bodies of dead daughters, broken or deficient tools? Did Kite know what the Witch Lord was doing to the world?
“I won’t be useful in the new galaxy, you mean. They will need new tools — better daughters.”
“I’m sorry, Eli.”
“It’s not too late.” She turned to look at her mother. “We can stop them.”
Another ashy tear slipped down Circinae’s face. “No, daughter. We can’t. They’re already here.”
Eli stepped away from her. “You called them.”
“I had no choice.”
“You’re a murderer.”
“I’m your mother.”
“You’re not my mother, witch.” Eli pointed the truth blade at her. “I will renounce you. I will erase you. I will undo you.”
“Your blades won’t work on me. I created you.” But she didn’t sound sure.
“It’s not for you.” Eli spun the blade so the handle was facing Circinae and the tip was pressed against her own chest.
Circinae stepped forward, the sugar on her nails hardening and growing, until long talons reached for her daughter. “Stop this. You are still useful. They might let you live. I could make modifications for the new planets, I could remake you, I could —”
Eli’s harsh voice cut through Circinae’s protest. “I erase you, I undo you. I undo you, I erase you. I erase you, I undo you.”
“I was inducted into the third ring, Eli. They’ve been watching through my eyes for weeks! I didn’t know at first. They knew the second you arrived — I couldn’t stop them!”
Eli traded her frost knife for bone. “If I’m made from your body, does your body bleed when mine does? Does this hurt you?” She carved a red line into her forearm and drew a sharp intake of breath at the pain.
“Eli, stop!”
“Blood for blood. Bone for bone. I have no mother. I have no body. I am no one. I am nothing.” Drops of blood fell and sizzled on the platform. The knife glowed red.
She would keep her secrets in her blades and throw them into the abyss.
She would not betray her friends again.
She would not give anything more to the Coven. She would not be their tool.
She drew another blade.
Bird talons wrapped around Eli’s wrist. “I order you to stop!”
But Circinae had made her daughter well, and Eli could not be stopped. Hanging precariously between worlds, Circinae’s magic was already stretched to its limit, and here, in between things, Eli was at her strongest. Eli wrenched herself free from Circinae’s grasp and tore one of her talons off.
The sounds of Circinae keening in pain accompanied Eli’s chant.
It was an aria of regret.
More cuts, more blood on the knives. Eli fell to her knees, weak from blood loss, and in her final act of consciousness, she threw her blades into the galaxy.
Maybe they would find their way to the wastelands and be buried forever.
Maybe they would fall to Earth and mark her human grave.
Maybe they would hang forever in the space in between.
“Eli!” Circinae grabbed her the moment she collapsed. The last thought Eli had before she lost consciousness was that she hoped her friends had escaped.
When the wings of the Coven arrived, Eli was awake, sitting on a platform in the sky, staring blankly at a dying world. Her hands were empty.
“You will come with us,” said a voice magnified by power and history. It echoed through the universe and rattled her rib cage.
She looked up at the figure who stood before her, one hand staunching the flow of blood from her arm. Under Eli’s skin, a thin vein of quartz glittered in the starlight.
Dark red armour like dried blood. The wings of an albatross. The smell of newly dug graves in soft wet soil. Reflected in the armour, Eli could see the eyes of all the unfortunate souls he had collected.
Beside the creature, a woman with bird talons for hands was weeping soundlessly, the black drops leaving watercolour streaks in the air.
A note of sacred power was regurgitated from his throat as he laid claim to the girl in the sky. “Eli.”
Names have power.
Names ensnare us in a web of futures and pasts, in secrets and promises, in debts we spend our entire lives trying to pay.