“So there’s one Oracle,” I said, flinging a hand out toward David. “And now there’s one Paladin.” I pointed at myself. “How many Mages are there?”
“Two, usually,” Saylor answered, fiddling with the edge of a placemat. “The Ephors—those are the men who took charge of the Oracle—believed in keeping things traditional. Since there were two original Paladins, two original Mages, they’ve always tried to maintain that balance. You said the bathroom was spotless after the fight with Christopher and Dr. DuPont, right?”
When David and I both nodded, Saylor said, “That was alchemy.” Then she frowned. “Incredibly dangerous alchemy, though. That spell is a sort of temporal shift. It returns the setting to what it looked like before the trauma. Cara never would’ve tried something like that.”
When David and I both asked, “Who?” Saylor waved a hand. “The other Mage when I was with the Ephors. She was old then, though, and that was nearly twenty years ago. They must have someone new.”
David, who had been worrying at one of his fingernails, dropped his hand. “A temporal shift. Why doesn’t that make the people that got killed . . . undead?”
Saylor turned her glass over and over in her hand. “I told you, our powers are very limited. Control over the human body and soul . . . that’s very far beyond us. Fixing a gate or a broken section of tile in a bathroom is one thing. Erasing something as permanent as death is . . .” She broke off, pushing her glass away. “In any case, the main purpose of the Mage is to serve as a kind of . . . battery, I suppose, to the Oracle. That’s what happened tonight. When the three of us joined hands, you finally got the burst of power you needed.”
And we’d seen David’s vision, too. Except even now, it was fading from my mind, like trying to remember a dream. What had David said?
I glanced over at him and saw that he also appeared to be deep in thought. But before I could ask any more questions, Saylor stood up.
“Which leads us to now. And to you. Both of you. Eighteen years ago, we were living in Greece. That’s where the Ephors keep the Oracle, Paladin, and Mage. We’d had the same Oracle for . . . oh, years. Since before I was called. And when she died, she gave us one last prophecy. That the next Oracle born would be a boy. So they ordered Christopher to kill him. You,” she said to David.
I took a sip of my lemonade. The ice had melted, and it tasted bitter now, but my mouth was so dry I didn’t care.
“When an Oracle dies, she always gives the place and time where the new one will be born. Christopher and I were sent to get you.”
For the first time, shame washed over Saylor’s face. “Alchemy.” She fumbled in her pocket, bringing out a small blue jar of lip balm. “This is a salve. A potion that lets the Mage do minor mind control spells. I compelled your mother to hand you to me. She did it with a smile.”
I thought the back of the chair might crack under David’s hands, but he didn’t say anything.
“We were halfway back to Greece when I realized I couldn’t do it,” Saylor continued, tears in her voice. “Christopher couldn’t, either. We’d made a vow to protect the Oracle, no matter what. And so we . . . we stole you.”
She stood up again, brushing at her slacks. “Mages don’t have particularly powerful magic, so we try to steal it whenever we can find it. Back in the 1800s, there was a witch who lived in this town. I don’t know why, but for whatever reason, she threw up wards all over the place. Makes it hard for anyone to get in if they mean to do harm. So it seemed like the perfect hiding spot.”
Saylor busied herself with some of the knick-knacks on the sideboard, picking up a porcelain shepherdess and putting it down beside a Swarovski hedgehog. “And of course, I made sure I got on every committee I could, the more excuse to put up extra protection symbols. I even put one on you,” she said, pointing to David’s arm. Startled, he pushed up the sleeve of his T-shirt, and sure enough, there was a tiny scar on his arm, almost like a birthmark, in that same shape of a figure eight on its side.
“But then,” Saylor said, “I guess you figured that out. Still, they worked. Oh, the first year, there was a man the Ephors sent who got through, but Christopher sorted that out, and I put up that ugly statue in the park. After that, there were no more incidents until recently.”
My brain actually ached. I didn’t know that was possible.
I rolled my neck, hoping that might help. “So why now, then? Why after nearly eighteen years are all your spells and wards not working?”
Saylor gave a rueful smile. “They were only ever a Band-Aid. The closer we get to Cotillion, the weaker they’ll become.” David’s head shot up. “Cotillion?”
“Night of the swans,” I said, suddenly remembering. “That’s what you said when you had your little—” I waved my hand— “fit.”
“Vision,” Saylor corrected while David shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortable.
“What’s happening the night of Cotillion?” It was stupid, I know, but as soon as I said it, a weight seemed to settle in my chest. Cotillion. The night I’d been looking forward to for so long, and now even it was part of this insanity?
Saylor went to take another sip of her drink, but it was empty. I didn’t drink alcohol, but I felt her pain as she frowned at the ice cubes in her glass. I could use a drink, too. “Before the last Oracle died, she not only gave us the location of the new Oracle, she also named a specific night when the new Oracle would be tested. At the end of this test, the Oracle would either be the most powerful Oracle yet, or . . . or he would be dead.”
That word—dead—seemed to hang in the air around us. David dropped into a chair, his hands clutching the knees of his pants as he slumped forward.
Saylor reached out, to touch him, I think, but her hand only hovered a few inches in front of him before she drew it back. Clearing her throat, she continued, “So that’s why I took over Cotillion and moved it to that night.”
“Why not cancel it altogether?” I shifted in my seat. “Take David out of the country that night or something.”
But Saylor just shook her head. “Certain events, they’re like fixed points in time. Destined. This is one of them. David has to go through this test, whatever it is, and nothing can stop it. All we can do is . . . be prepared.”
“So what does all this mean?” I finally asked. My voice sounded dry and unused, and my mind was racing, trying to process all of this. Magic, and Greece, and stolen babies . . . it was like my life had suddenly turned into a really bad soap opera.
“It means that you’ve been given a sacred duty,” Saylor said. Her voice sounded different, and there was hardly a trace of Southern accent in it at all. “From this day forward, you will be tasked with protecting the Oracle at all costs. He’ll be your sole focus until the day you, like Christopher, have to lay down your life for him.”
Saylor reached for my hand, and I gave it to her without thinking. “So, Harper Jane Price. Are you ready to accept your destiny?”
Chapter 16
I withdrew my hand. “No, thank you.”
Saylor and David both stared.
“I appreciate your offer very much,” I continued. “But I’m
afraid I have to refuse.” Saylor rose to her feet, an expression somewhere between anger and disbelief spreading across her face. “I’m not inviting you to a garden party, Harper. I’m asking you to accept the role destiny has handed you. I’m asking you to use the powers you’ve been given.”
But I was already shaking my head. “No. No, this is not my destiny.” Heart hammering, I could feel blood rushing to my face and I knew that my chest and neck must be splotchy. “I have my own life, and things . . . things I want to do. I can’t follow him—” I flung my arm out at David—“and keep him safe forever. What am I supposed to do about college? Or—or getting married and having kids and—”
Breaking off, I took a deep breath and held up my hand. “You know what, no. Forget it. It doesn’t matter, because I’m not going to be a Paladin.”
Saylor rolled her lips inward, eyes narrowing. It was an expression I’d seen on her face dozens of times, usually when Mary Beth was screwing up at Cotillion practice. “It’s not something you get to decide,” she said. “You already are a Paladin. The moment Christopher passed his powers on to you, you accepted this responsibility.”
“But I didn’t,” I fired back. My throat was tight, and I could feel the tears pricking my eyes. Great, splotchy and I was about to be snotty. “This was done to me. I didn’t choose this. And so now, I’m choosing not to do it.”
I looked down at David who was still sitting on the floor, watching me. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I obviously don’t want you to die. I mean, I know I’ve said that I did a few times, but I didn’t really mean it. And it was only when you were being especially provoking, so—”
“Harper.” I turned back to Saylor. “No,” I said again, but she continued like I hadn’t spoken.
“This isn’t something you can walk away from.” Saylor’s back was ramrod straight, shoulders tense under the bright coral of her jacket. “Do you know how important Oracles are? Wars have been fought over them. And now the Ephors are coming after David again, and I don’t know what they want to do with him.”
“You can do magic!” I shouted back and despite all of it, there was some tiny part of me still horrified I’d shouted at Saylor Stark. But I shoved that down and kept going. “You can make wards to protect him, and—and make things disappear. You don’t need me.”
Walking forward, Saylor gripped my arms, tight enough to hurt. “We do,” she insisted, giving me a little shake. “There have to be three, Harper. Three people, working together. The Oracle, the Paladin, and the Mage. One part of that missing . . .”