Beautiful Darkness (Caster Chronicles 2)
Link shivered. “You tell me, sir.”
Macon extended his arm. “Go ahead, then. Be my guest.”
Link stuck out his hand tentatively, as if he was about to hold it over a candle on a birthday dare. His finger came within a millimeter of Macon’s ragged jacket and stopped.
Macon sighed, rolling his eyes, and tapped Link’s hand against his chest. “See? Flesh and blood. Something we have in common now, Mr. Lincoln.”
“Uncle Macon?” Ridley crept up to him, finally ready to face him. “Is it really you?”
He looked deep into her blue eyes. “You’ve lost your powers.”
She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. “So have you.”
“Some of them, yes, but I suspect I’ve gained others.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “It’s impossible to tell. I’m still in the midst of it.” He smiled. “Sort of like being a teenager. Twice.”
“But your eyes are green.”
Macon shook his head, flexing his hands. “True. My life as an Incubus is over, but the Transition is not complete. Although my eyes are those of a Light Caster, I can still feel Darkness within me. It has not been fully exorcised, yet.”
“I’m not Transitioning. I’m nothing, a Mortal.” She said the word like it was a curse, and the sadness in her voice was real. “I don’t have a place in the Order of Things anymore.”
“You’re alive.”
“I don’t feel like myself. I’m powerless.”
Macon weighed this in his mind, as if he was trying to determine her pr
esent state as much as she was. “You may be in the midst of a Transition of your own, unless this is one of my sister’s more impressive tricks.”
Ridley’s eyes lit up. “Does that mean my powers might come back?”
Macon studied her blue eyes. “I think Sarafine is too cruel for that. I only meant that you might not be fully Mortal yet. Darkness does not leave us as easily as we would hope.” Macon pulled her awkwardly to his chest, and she buried her face in his jacket, like a twelve-year-old. “It’s not easy to be Light when you’ve been Dark. It’s almost too much to ask of anyone.”
I tried to quiet the torrent of questions racing through my mind, and settled for the first. “How?”
Macon turned from Ridley, his green eyes burning into me with their newfound light. “Could you be more specific, Mr. Wate? How am I not resting in twenty-seven thousand distinct fragments of ash in an urn within the Ravenwood family vault? How am I not rotting under a lemon tree in the sodden prestige of His Garden of Perpetual Peace? How did I come to find myself imprisoned in a small crystalline ball in your grimy pocket?”
“Two,” I said without thinking.
“I beg your pardon?”
“There are two lemon trees over your grave.”
“How very generous. One would have sufficed.” Macon smiled tiredly, which was pretty remarkable, considering he’d spent four months in a supernatural prison the size of an egg. “Or are you perhaps wondering how is it that I died and you lived? Because I have to tell you, as far as hows go, that’s a story your neighbors on Cotton Bend would be talking about for a lifetime.”
“Except you didn’t, sir. Die, I mean.”
“You are correct, Mr. Wate. I am, and have always been, very much alive. In a manner of speaking.”
Liv stepped forward tentatively. Even though she would probably never become a Keeper now, there was still a Keeper inside her seeking answers. “Mr. Ravenwood, may I ask you a question, sir?”
Macon tilted his head slightly. “Who might you be, dear? I imagine it was your voice I heard calling me from the Arclight.”
Liv blushed. “It was, sir. My name is Olivia Durand, and I was training with Professor Ashcroft. Before…” Her voice dwindled.
“Before you Cast the Ob Lucem Libertas?”
Liv nodded, ashamed. Macon looked pained, then smiled at her. “Then you gave up a great deal to save me, Miss Olivia Durand. I am in your debt, and, as I always repay my debts, I would be honored to answer a question. At the very least.” Even after being trapped all those months, Macon was still a gentleman.