Prologue: Helena
The sickness was returning. Helena could feel it in her bones. She knew her body was finally dying. Her magic could no longer bring her back to perfect health and eradicate the infuriatingly persistent disease—even with the amplification from the soul crystal she wore around her neck. It was no longer enough. Nothing would be.
As much as she wanted to continue fighting, garnering help from the headmistress, Helena was also tired. Very tired. She had lived a long life—more than ordinary people would only dream of—and had seen much in her 350-plus years.
How much the world has changed in that time.
But even with such a fortunate lifespan, her time on Earth felt short. This was where she’d spent nearly all her life, only stepping through to other worlds on rare and desperate occasions. Her duty was here—to Earth where she was bound—and the instabilities that would inevitably show up here. Other seamstresses in other worlds would be bound to them and sew up their own tears in the universal fabric. Even though they were separated by great space and time, they were all working together, sharing one primary life purpose: to fix the rips to maintain the separation between worlds, dimensions, and time.
As Helena hobbled down a quiet sidewalk on the south side of downtown Los Angeles, she knew this would be her last mission. It was time to pass on her gifts and let death finally guide her into a new world, one she had not yet had the privilege of peeking into. A succession plan was already in place, one brought forth by the headmistress outside the democracy of the GBMA—the Global Bureau of Magical Affairs. It was time to retire her needle. She’d be commended for her outstanding service to her given planet and her efforts in the ongoing war that had threatened the general population—the non-magical majority—for the past fifty years.
The recurring sickness was not the only reason Helena was tired of fighting. She was tired of the war and no longer wanted any part of it. She understood the threat it had on the magicals, but maybe they were underestimating the response of the non-magicals. Maybe they deserved to see and experience the world in a new light. Maybe they deserved enlightenment. Maybe they could handle what the universe really supplied.
The hue from the city lights blocked out all the overhead stars. The lights alone created separation from the rest of the universe. Helena turned at an intersection and continued down a mostly deserted sidewalk. There were no open storefronts at this late hour, most of them boarded up for the night. She had to sidestep erected tents and makeshift shacks for the homeless as she approached her destination.
And there it was, straight ahead, a slight shimmer of jagged blue light bisecting the air about four feet above the pavement of the cracked sidewalk. Any normal person would not be able to see the growing tear threatening to open a doorway or portal to somewhere else, oblivious to a new and alien world only a step away. However, to Helena, the tear shone like a beacon in the night, having beckoned her from the solace of the Academy.
What she didn’t know was whether this was a natural or deliberate tear, so even in her weakened state, she needed to be on guard. With the headmistress out of the country on business, there was no one else to delegate this task to.
Helena gazed around the quiet street and didn’t see any immediate cause for alarm. The tear seemed relatively small, so she didn’t believe anyone had yet used it to enter or leave from this world. This was why her duties as a seamstress were so imperative, as well as time sensitive.
Standing before the shimmering slice in the atmosphere, Helena called forth her special gift—which took much more effort than she remembered. It was harder to straighten her fingers, though she pushed through the necessary pain.
She felt the cool metal of the needle just beneath her skin, and it soon pushed through the tip of her forefinger. She grabbed the protruding edge of the needle and pulled the remaining tool from her flesh. Thin red thread was wrapped around the eyelet of the needle and continued to extend from the fingertip.
Helena reached forth with the needle and thread and stabbed the air around the atmospheric tear, starting at one end, and began to dutifully mend the universal fabric. She would sew the tear out of existence, making sure to keep the stitches small to prevent it from reopening.
But before she could even reach the quarter point, a glowing blade reached through the opening and slashed at the last of her visible stitches, then sliced further into the open air. It started at the diagonal of the original tear, then pivoted downward.
Helena stumbled backward with a gasp as a figure of a man appeared behind the shimmering opening. Her foot caught on the edge of a tent and she spilled into the street.
“Hey, you! Get the hell away from my house!” a gruff voice yelled from inside the tent, though the man made no move to unzip the door.
As she hit the unforgiving ground, Helena felt bones cracking like brittle twigs. She couldn’t hold in a cry from the pain, especially since she knew she didn’t have the energy left to heal herself. She gripped the needle tight, feeling the universal power still flowing through it—power that also flowed through her, but not enough left to fix her ailing body.
The familiar-looking man peered through the opening, his lips set in a firm line, then he stepped into the new forbidden world. Two more men followed him through the tear between planes.
“Hello again, Helena,” the man said, though his lips didn’t move. They couldn’t because they were sewn shut with red thread—the same red thread hanging from the eyelet of her needle. The man’s voice was playful and sinister, and simply reverberated in her head.
She’d done this and more to the monster of a man with the barbarian’s beard and shaved head looming over her, but she couldn’t recall a name. It was no longer just her body that was failing her. It had spread to her mind.
Helena knew she needed to close the doorway that was now wide open, but she didn’t have the strength and energy to fight these three serious and capable-looking men. If she attempted to fight, she would lose. And the crystals around their necks—similar to her own—proved what they were capable of. Her soul was far too valuable to be captured by these men and used against the world she’d protected for centuries.
The familiar man said something to his associates that she wasn’t privileged to hear as he stepped down from the sidewalk. He stopped several paces from where she lay.
All three men wore black leather gloves. The man on the left with the thick mustache flexed his hands and deep orange light began to pour from the tops of his gloves.
Helena felt invisible hands clamp around her shoulders, holding her down, as if her broken hip wasn’t enough. She knew it wasn’t long ago when she could have broken his hold without much effort, but today she might have been a toddler trying to break the grip of an adult. Instead, she used the last of her strength to let her attackers know she would never cower.
“Today’s your lucky day,” she said. “Because on any other day, I’d have your souls with a snap of my fingers. But also know, even now, I won’t allow you to have mine—or my needle.” Helena closed her eyes and pictured her room in Spellcrest Academy, where she’d left a vanilla candle burning—her beacon in the ethereal fog.
All she needed was the energy for one last jump.
“Hold her!” someone yelled, but the voice already sounded faint and far away.
Helena didn’t have to reopen her eyes to know she’d slipped through their fingers, but she felt the sharp sting of a blade being driven into her stomach before she could fully escape. It stole precious energy she couldn’t afford to lose. All she could hope for was that she had enough energy left to make it home.
Chapter 1
I punched in the code to deactivate the house alarm, then retyped it and headed for the front door, which would give me exactly fifteen seconds to make it outside and lock the door behind me. It was a quarter past midnight, making it long past lights out. With my shoes in one hand, I carefully stepped across the laminate flooring, when the entryway light burst to life.
“Shit,” I squealed and pulled back my outstretched hand from the doorknob. Busted.
I spun around, expecting to see the disapproving glare of Ms. Shepard, our group home caretaker of the past six months. However, I let out a sigh of relief at the welcomed sight of my fourteen-year-old brother, Finley. He was a tall and gangly kid with dirty blond hair like mine and a spattering of freckles across his face.
“What are you doing, Sis?” he asked, still standing on the stairs. “You heard what Ms. Shepard said. No more warnings.”
“She’s not gonna kick us out,” I said.
“You’re off to see Ben again, aren’t you?”
“Yes; he needs me.” I heard the beep of the alarm and knew I’d have to punch in the code again.
“How did you even get the code again so fast?”
“I have my ways,” I said with a smirk. “Now, go back to bed. I’ll be back in a few hours. Everything will be fine.”
“I like it here,” Finley said, which stabbed me in the heart, obviously referring to our previous home. The couple who ran it were abusive assholes who thought they were untouchable. They certainly cursed the day they welcomed me into their home. I burned that godawful place to the ground—metaphorically speaking, of course. I’d been known to fight dirty, but I was no pyro.
“He was there for me when no one else was,” I said. “And he’s helped me out since we’ve been here. I need to be there for him. But don’t worry. I’m not gonna screw this up for us. You know I love you more than anything.” I felt a ping from my cell in my back pocket. “Go back to bed. The longer we talk out here with the lights on, the more likely we’ll wake the others.”
With a growing pout, Finley agreed, flipped off the light, and moped up the stairs in darkness.
Not waiting for any more surprises, I returned to the alarm console and escaped into the night. Even at this late hour, the air was as stifling as it was being locked in for the night.
Our first foster parents had taken us on vacation to Disneyworld once and I remembered how sticky and smelly it was, not that I complained at the time. It was the first and last vacation we’d been on since our parents died.
I was seven when it happened, and Finley was a few months shy of four. We didn’t have any other family willing to take us in, so we became wards of the state. I didn’t learn about what happened to them for several years, which had been an unfortunate mugging gone terribly wrong. And whoever had been responsible was never caught and brought to justice, not things you wanted to try to explain to a seven-year-old. I got that now, though I hadn’t been so understanding back then.
I strolled past rows of historic homes and apartment complexes, only a few blocks from Hollywood Boulevard. I certainly couldn’t complain about the location of our current group home, especially since I was close to Ben again.
We lived in the same group home—several group homes ago—and he quickly became like an older brother to Finley and me. However, he was five years older than I was and left after a year of us living together. We kept in contact, which paid off in full once Finley and I were transferred here. Ben got me a job at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant he worked at to pay the rent and introduced me to a lot of cool people in the Hollywood scene. With my new connections, I was able to get into quite a few bars and clubs even though I was only seventeen. It helped that I didn’t necessarily look my age.
Even though Ben still worked at the restaurant, his dream was to be able to support himself fulltime as a DJ. He worked the local clubs and even did a few festivals, but it was hard on him. Like all of us in the system, he’d been through a lot and his current lifestyle was not exactly conducive to someone with a substance abuse problem. Add to the mix that some tramp had just ripped his heart out and we were staring another relapse in the face. This wasn’t the first time I’d picked him up off the floor, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t done the same for me.
I could see the lights and bustle of Hollywood Boulevard a few four-way stop signs away. But before I reached the next intersection, my eyes were drawn to a dark heap on the front lawn of the historic home on the corner.
Without thinking about it, my gait slowed as I tried to figure out what I was seeing. I’d witnessed plenty of transients sleeping on sidewalks and bus benches, but not typically in the middle of people’s front lawns. I stopped and stared at the still figure. My next thought was that it was someone passed out drunk. But as I inched up into the burnt grass, the picture before me became clearer. This was no typical transient or drunkard, but the body of an elderly woman lying on the ground.
I glanced up at the house, which was completely dark. A car came to the intersection but rolled through the stop sign and continued toward the Hollywood lights. There was no one else around.
I approached the woman and finally saw the slight rise and fall of shallow breathing.
Thank God she’s alive.
“Do you need any help?” I asked, leaning down beside her. What a stupid question!
The woman opened her eyes, then her mouth like she wanted to say something, but no sound escaped her lips. And still, she didn’t move.
“Okay, I’m calling 9-1-1,” I said, knowing I had to do something, grabbing my phone from my back pocket. Ben needed me emotionally, but I couldn’t simply walk away and leave this woman here. There was a new text from Ben, but I clicked over to the call screen and dialed.
An emergency operator answered on the second ring and gave her obligatory intro. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
The woman lying next to me placed a hand on my leg, startling me to the point where I nearly dropped the phone. “No…” she said, weakly. “No… paramedics.”
“Hello? If you’re not able to speak, it’s okay.” The voice came loud and clear over the speaker. “Don’t worry. I will dispatch emergency personnel right away.”
After getting over my initial shock, I took the woman’s hand in my own. “I’m here,” I said frantically into the phone. “I found an elderly woman on the ground, and she definitely needs help.”
“Ma’am, please remain calm. Paramedics will arrive shortly. We have your location from your phone. What is your name?”
“Maeve,” I said. “Maeve Rhodes.”
“Maeve, can you provide any information regarding the woman’s condition? Is she someone you know?”
“No; I’ve never seen her before.” I looked the woman over again, and for the first time, noticed what looked like blood on her midsection, with a dark puddle spilling into the grass. “Oh my God, you’re bleeding. What happened?” I asked her, leaving the phone up so the 9-1-1 operator could hear too. “What’s your name?”
The old woman struggled to pull a necklace out from under her blouse. “Help me… get this off,” she said with the desperation of someone already seeing ghosts.
I set the phone in the grass and did as she asked since it seemed important, assisting to lift the delicate chain over her head. A pendant of a long crystal hung from the chain… and it sparkled even in the darkness as if the life and light were coming from inside the gemstone.
“Put it on… hide it… and show no one until you’ve shown it to Headmistress Christi,” the woman instructed. Her eyes pleaded with me to grant her dying wish. “This is extremely vital. Show no one else. Do you understand me?”
“Who are you?” I asked as I slipped the necklace over my neck and tucked the crystal under my shirt. It was oddly warm against my skin.
“Maeve, are you still there? You said the woman was bleeding. How much blood has she lost?” the 9-1-1 operator asked.
As I reached to pick up the phone, the old woman grabbed my hand with incredible strength—instantly immobilizing me and forcing my hand open.
“I’m sorry, but I’m out of time,” the woman said.
“Hey, let go of me!” I cried out, trying to pull my arm away, but the arm she held refused to move and was now strangely out of my control.
“Maeve? Is everything alright?”
“I bestow my gifts upon you.” The woman looked like she was coming back to life right before my eyes. With a stoic expression, she revealed some type of needle in her other hand.
In horror, I watched her bring the tip of the needle to my immobilized forefinger, not hesitating to push it into my flesh.
I screamed out, but still couldn’t move—helpless to endure the assault.
I’m still in control. I’m still in control. I’m in control…
But I was no longer in control. I watched as the woman removed her grip from the needle, yet it continued to burrow into my flesh under some freaky magical power.
“Maeve. Maeve, emergency personnel are nearly there. Everything will be okay,” the operator said, but her confident voice sounded muted now.
The woman let go of my hand, somehow relinquishing control of my arm, which now burned with a white-hot fire, traveling up into my shoulder and spreading into my chest and throughout my body. The eyelet of the needle disappeared into my forefinger, but now a strand of red thread was continuing to flow into my skin. I grabbed at the thread in a feeble attempt to pull the needle out, but the thread easily slipped through my fingers. In moments, it too was gone—absorbed into my body like the needle.
As the fire spread, I felt my consciousness slipping. The voice on the phone had become a distant murmur and the old woman beside me a fading dream. I may have heard the faint sound of sirens, signaling rescue was nearly here—but it may just have been wishful thinking.
Something was happening to me that I couldn’t stop. Something was happening…
Chapter 2
“Are you Maeve Rhodes?” a faceless male voice asked, pushing through the blackness.
Who’s asking? It was my obligatory response. Evidently, I was still lost in my head and hadn’t said the words aloud.
I opened my eyes to flashing lights and an encircling team of uniformed men. The bedlam of activity was jarring, and it took me a moment to remember where I was.
“Miss Rhodes, do you know where you are?” one of the men asked. He had babyface features, making him look not much older than me. “Do you remember calling 9-1-1?”
“Yes,” I finally croaked out. “I’m only a few blocks from home and there was a woman who needed help. I called on her behalf.”
“Can you describe this woman?” another paramedic kneeling beside me asked.
“What are you talking about? Aren’t you already helping her?” I asked. Then I remembered what she’d done to me just before I lost consciousness, how she’d miraculously come back from the brink of death and assaulted me. And here I was trying to help her. That bitch.
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