Page 57 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
“It’s all right.” Briar laughed. “Trust me, it’s good that you broke it. I don’t even want to know what Gentian would do with the staff at its max. It wields crystal magic—the polar opposite of void—and it’s a fearsome weapon.”
“What could the staff do? You know, before I broke it.”
“Many things—some I don’t even know of—but its principal power is the power of change. And, yes, that’s a very vague concept. Change can mean many things, and it doesn’t always work out exactly as the staff holder wishes it, so requests must be worded carefully.” He shrugged. “Some fae find joy in trickery, especially against their enemies. The staff was probablymadecomplicated—in case it fell into the wrong hands.”
“The phone thief called it a totem.” I stashed a handful of panties in the book bag. “What did that mean?”
“A totem is a personal object that embodies a fae. Everyone has one. Not all of them are magical, but all of them are significant. Harbingers take them to indicate a cursed host’s death. It satisfies some payment to the void used to conjure the curse.”
“If it’s so important to the curse, then why the hell didn’t Daddy hide it somewhere more secure than the dang curtain panel?” Would things have gone differently last night if the staff were stashed somewhere safer? “Was he planning to use it as a weapon against the bogeybats?”
By the Goddess, then whydidn’the?
“I’m sure he tried to use it before they attacked. He’d been trying to use it since we learned the bats were here on Earth. But as weak as he’s been lately—” Regretful, Briar clicked his tongue. “You need a certain level of stamina to wield a weapon like that, and your father just didn’t have it in him anymore.”
“Then why have it there at all?” As tired and emotional as I was, my frustration was on a hair-trigger. My hands shook as I demanded, “Whydidn’t someone take it somewhere else, so the bats couldn’t fucking find it?”
“Not that simple, Amy. Totems like that—heirlooms—they smell like their owner. And there were so many damn bogeybats. At least one of them would’ve followed the scent of the staff—would’ve killed the person who had it and taken it—whole and functional. And that would’ve been much worse than what ended up happening. Trust me.”
Says the man who’s been lying to me my whole life.
“Anyway, the curtain panel should’ve kept it safe. We’d had it specifically enchanted years ago to keep the staff secured—like a lockbox. Plus, we thought it would confuse any searching harbingers—having it disguised so close to him, where his scent was so concentrated.”
Guilt pierced me straight through the heart. If I hadn’t been there—like Daddy had wanted—then the staff might’ve stayed hidden. And maybe someone else could’ve used it to heal Daddy’s wounds.
“The curtain didn’t do its job very well.” I flinched at the memory of the bloodthirsty bat vaulting itself at my head, at the sound of the staff slamming to the floor. “It fell right out of the panel when the bogeybat crashed through the window.”
“Then something wasn’t fastened right. Maybe Rus didn’t say the incantation properly. Or maybe we should’ve checked the panel to ensure the spell had held all these years.” Exhaling, he shook his head, found my gaze again. “Either way, Amy—I know what you’re thinking—and it wouldn’t have prevented your dad’s death.”
I swallowed a fresh onslaught of tears.
“What happens if a harbinger doesn’t find someone’s totem?” I asked after I’d recomposed myself.
“The search continues until it’s found. Otherwise, the darkness will reclaim some of the caster’s powers as compensation. Sometimes, it’ll actually claim a harbinger.”
“And I’m guessing you don’t want to lose them.”
Briar shook his head. “Wouldn’t think so. Imagine the harbingers as military drones. They make it possible to do your dirty work while you’re far, far away, safe from immediate retaliation. Plus, it probably takes some effort to find good ones.”
“Oh, so the curse doesn’t provide harbingers.”
“No, a caster’s got to find them himself. Fae like Gentian, who cast curses like it’s their fucking job, collect them. Or, I should say they indenture them.”
Indenture? I didn’t like that antiquated word. “From where?”
Briar shrugged. “From the dregs of fae society. Don’t shed any tears for them, Amy. No caster wants a harbinger with a heart.”
I exhaled, forcing myself to continue packing.
Boots padded in the hallway. I turned to find a stout, pot-bellied Danann with a large, buzzed head bowed in my doorway. “Paragon Hawthorne—may we speak?”
I arched a brow at the strange address as Briar rose. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, then went with the living tank. To a distance out of my auditory range, I guessed.
I continued gathering essentials, pausing over my more sentimental belongings—photos of my friends, my Hinerz ketchup bank, the framed stubs from the last Bayview Boys concert Vi and I attended. I even paused over one of my old high school notebooks, which, ironically enough, contained the proper CPR procedures I’d failed to perform the night before.
Frowning, I committed my scribbles to memory—30 chest compressions, 2 breaths; 30 chest compressions, 2 breaths. That mantra now graven in my mind, I moved on from most of my life’s debris. But there were two things Icouldn’tleave behind.
The first was my iBloom Shimmy. I questioned the practicality of bringing it. Did the fae world even have electricity? If not, I’d at least get a few hours out of the tiny device before its battery died, perhaps a small modicum of comfort in my darker moments.
