Everfound

“It’s wise of you to come with me to the City of Souls,” Jix told her as they traveled toward the gulf shore. “It will place you at the right hand of the king.” When he spoke, he often stood a bit too close to her, practically whispering in her ear, the sly voice of temptation.

“His Excellency believes in the magic of oracles and of mystics. Right now he has a nasty little spirit who serves as the royal vizier, an advisor, interpreting the stars and giving prophecies—but you could take his place. He’s the one who told the king about you. He’s the one who wanted you captured because of the threat you posed.”

Mary crossed her arms smugly. “I pose no threat to spirits who have good intentions.”

“All the more reason to come to the City of Souls,” Jix said. “If your intentions are pure, things will only go well for you.”

Temptation. It was a tricky thing to grapple with, for it was hard to sort out one’s own personal motives. This kingdom was clearly greater than any Mary encountered in all her years in Everlost. To have access to such a powerful leader and thousands of Afterlights already collected and subdued could be a major step toward her goal. In time she could replace the king and establish her own benevolent rule of kindness and orderly law. But if she went, it would also be fear of the scar wraith driving her, and Mary Hightower had never allowed herself to be motivated by fear.

“You make a persuasive argument,” she told Jix, but never gave him a definitive answer. She knew it was in her best interest to keep her options open and to keep questionable spirits like Jix dangling at the end of her finger.

Jix, however, was no fool. He knew he was being strung along, but he also knew the longer she kept him on the line, the more she risked entangling herself.

He had not lied to her. If her intentions were pure, she most certainly would do well in the City of Souls, for the king, as arrogant as he was, had a soft spot for simple, honest intentions.

What Jix didn’t mention was the cost of unpure motives.

If Mary’s intentions were as dangerous as Jix suspected they were, the king would know, and deal with her swiftly and effectively. So, bringing her to the City of Souls would solve the problem of the Eastern Witch one way or another. And no matter what happened, Jix would be rewarded for bringing her there.

This girl was a powerful personality to be sure, but Jix couldn’t help but believe that the feline predator always had the advantage.

Many things became clear to Mary on the trek to Corpus Christi. Her new illumination began when she finally admitted to herself that her own success was entirely dependent on the cooperation of her skinjackers and their commitment to her cause. Which also meant that everything now depended on Milos. In spite of his previous failures, he was now her greatest asset. While Jill was capricious, Jix enigmatic, and Moose, damaged by the loss of Squirrel, Milos was the one she could trust. His devotion was almost embarrassing. He would wait on her hand and foot if she allowed it, but she knew it was best for all involved if he maintained some dignity.

“There are difficult decisions to be made,” Mary told Milos, as they reluctantly rested on the second night of their march. It was an overcast night. Rain pelted the living world tickling their insides, and the Greensouls claimed to be exhausted, refusing to believe they didn’t really need sleep. Their combined afterglow made them a target if the scar wraith was in pursuit, so Mary posted lookouts in all directions, and wandered through the resting horde, giving comfort and courage to those in need. Through all of it, Milos kept her company.

“What are your thoughts on the City of Souls, and this so-called king?” she asked Milos, as they did their rounds.

“I think the ruler of an ancient kingdom will treat you as a piece of furniture,” he answered, clearly having given it plenty of thought himself. “Bringing you there will serve only one person’s interests, yes?”

“Yes,” agreed Mary, knowing exactly to whom Milos was referring. “And Jix is hardly a ‘person,’ is he?”

She looked around to make sure Jix was not in earshot. He often turned up when one least expected him to, dimming his afterglow to make himself even more stealthy. “Jix already has the loyalty of those belligerent ‘Neon Nightmares.’ He may betray us if he’s given the chance.”

“He may,” Milos quietly responded. “But I have every faith in your ability to turn even betrayal to your advantage.”

Milos’s undying faith in her through these dark moments of doubt was just what Mary needed—and so she had no qualms about giving Milos what he needed as well, which was her affection. When he put his arms around her, she allowed it, and when he kissed her, she kissed him back with just the right amount of intensity she imagined a boy such as he would want.

“If only you could skinjack,” he would tell her. “In living flesh we could feel deeper, truer passion than this.”

But Mary was quick to respond. “There is no truer passion than passion of the soul.” Each time they were together, his afterglow would turn the lavender blush of love, but Mary’s would not.

“Someday Milos,” she told him. “Things are so complicated for me now, but someday . . .”

He accepted the promise of love, fully believing it would come—perhaps because Mary believed it might come too. Surely if he were to do all the things she hoped he would do for her, then she would love him with all her soul. And if not, he would, at the very least, have earned an eternity of heartfelt pretense.

Much later, when Milos had gone off to check in with the lookouts, Jix snuck up on Mary as she looked off into the night, stalking her as he always did.

“A fine night,” Jix said to her.

“Perhaps,” said Mary. “But the rain is a nuisance.”

“Rain gives life. The Mayans worship rain.”

“If you’re a skinjacker,” Mary pointed out, “then you are not Mayan. Wherever your body sleeps, it does so in a very modern world.”

“My ancestors were Mayan,” he told her. “The king has taught me to appreciate the old ways.”

“Yes, of course,” scoffed Mary. “Human sacrifice and bloodsport.”

Jix was not put off by her remarks. “There is none of that in the City of Souls. There can be no sacrifice, because no one dies, and while there are sports, there is no blood.”

Mary tried to imagine this “great city,” then realized she really didn’t want to. “Why aren’t you with Jill?”

“Every soul needs moments of solitude,” he answered. It got Mary wondering if perhaps their devotion to each other was just a matter of convenience. Perhaps they could be separated. They would both be much more effective skinjackers if their attentions were not focused on each other. Mary was still pondering this when Jix blindsided her with something she was not prepared to discuss.

“Una pregunta,” he said. “One question: Allie the Outcast told me you wish to end the living world. I want to know if it’s true.”

Mary looked into his invasive eyes, paralyzed for a long moment. She had not shared the full depth of her vision with anyone. But Allie, that horrid shrew, had skinjacked her and violated her mind, stealing her deepest thoughts. Mary knew she had to choose her words very carefully.

“I’m impressed that she would spread such a rumor,” said Mary, “that she would think me capable of such a remarkable feat.”

“I believe you could end the world,” Jix said, “with the right friends.” But there was no way of telling from his tone of voice how he felt about it.

“You have quite an imagination,” said Mary.

“Not really. But I see what I see.”

“And what do you see?”

“I see that you have absolute faith in the things you do. Sometimes the gods are pleased by an undying faith in one’s vision . . . and other times they are angered.”