Beautiful Darkness
Page 89

"How does it work?"
"It's rather simple. A person need only touch the Arclight and the Incubus they wish to imprison and speak the Carmen, at the same moment. The Arclight will do the rest."
"Is the Carmen in the book?"
"No, it's much too powerful to be trusted to the written word. You must learn the Carmen from someone who knows it, and commit it to memory."
She lowered her voice as if she was afraid someone might be listening. Then she whispered the words that could condemn him to an eternity of misery.
"Comprehende, Liga, Cruci Fige.
Capture, Cage, and Crucify."
Arelia closed the lid of the box and handed it to Macon. "Be careful. In the Arc there is power, and in the power there is Night."
Macon kissed her forehead. "I promise."
He turned to leave, but his mother's voice called him back. "You'll need this." She scrawled several lines on a piece of parchment.
"What's this?"
"The only key to that door." She gestured to the box tucked under his arm. "The only way to get you back out."
I opened my eyes. I was on my back in the dirt, staring up at the stars. The Arclight was Macon's, as Marian had said. I didn't know where he was, the Otherworld or some kind of Caster heaven. I didn't know why he was showing me all this, but if I had learned anything tonight, I knew everything happened for a reason.
I had to figure out the reason before it was too late.
We were still standing in Bonaventure Cemetery, although now we were near the entrance. I didn't bother to tell Amma I wasn't coming back with her. She seemed to know.
"We better take off." I hugged Amma.
She grabbed my hands and gave them a squeeze, hard. "One step at a time, Ethan Wate. Your mamma may say this is somethin' you hafta do, but I'll be watchin' every step a the way." I knew how hard it was for her to let me go, instead of grounding me and sending me straight to my room, for the rest of my life.
Things were as bad as they seemed. This was proof.
Arelia stepped forward and pressed something into my hand, a small doll like the ones Amma made. It was a voodoo charm. "I had faith in your mother, and I have faith in you, Ethan. This is my way of saying good luck, because this isn't going to be easy."
"The right thing and the easy thing are never the same." I repeated the words my mother had said to me a hundred times. I was channeling her, in my own way.
Twyla touched my cheek with her bony finger. "Da truth in both da worlds. Have to lose to gain. We're not here long, cher." It was a warning, almost like she knew something I didn't. After what I'd seen tonight, I was sure she did.
Amma threw her skinny arms around me in one last bone-crushing hug. "I'm gonna make you some luck, my way," she whispered, and turned to Link. "Wesley Jefferson Lincoln, you best come back in one piece, or I'll tell your mamma what you were doin' in my basement when you were nine years old, you hear me?"
Link smiled at the familiar threat. "Yes, ma'am."
Amma didn't say anything to Liv -- just a quick nod in her direction. It was her way of showing where her loyalties lay. Now that I knew what Lena had done for me, I had no doubt about how Amma felt about her.
Amma cleared her throat. "The guards are gone, but Twyla can't hold them off forever. You'd best get on."
I pushed open the wrought iron gate, with Link and Liv behind me.
I'm coming, L. Whether you want me to or not.
6.19
Down Below
Nobody said a word as we walked along the edge of the road toward the park and the Savannah Doorwell. We decided not to risk going back to Aunt Caroline's, since Aunt Del would be there and wasn't likely to let us keep going without her. Beyond that, there didn't seem to be anything worth saying. Link tried to get his hair to stick up without the aid of industrial strength hair gel, and Liv checked her selenometer and scribbled in her tiny red notebook once or twice.
The same old things.
Only the same old things weren't the same this morning, in the gloomy darkness before dawn. My mind was reeling, and I stumbled more than a few times. This night was worse than a nightmare. I couldn't wake up. I didn't even have to shut my eyes to see the dream, Sarafine and the knife -- Lena crying out for me.
I had died.
I was dead, for who knows how long.
Minutes?
Hours?
If it wasn't for Lena, I would be lying in the dirt in His Garden of Perpetual Peace right now. The second sealed cedar box in our family plot.
Had I felt things? Seen things? Had it changed me? I touched the hard line of the scar beneath my shirt. Was it really my scar? Or was it the memory of something that happened to the other Ethan Wate, the one who didn't come back?
It was all a confusing blur, like the dreams Lena and I shared, or the difference between the two skies Liv had shown me, the night the Southern Star disappeared. Which part was real? Had I unconsciously known what Lena had done? Had I sensed it somewhere below everything else that had happened between us?
If she had known what she was choosing, would she have chosen differently?
I owed my life to her, but I didn't feel happy. All I felt was brokenness. The fear of dirt and nothingness and being alone. The loss of my mom and Macon and, in a way, Lena. And something else.
The crippling sadness and the incredible guilt of being the one who lived.
Forsyth Park was eerie at dawn. I had never seen it when it wasn't teeming with people. Without them, I almost didn't recognize the door to the Tunnels. No trolley bells, no sightseers. No miniature dogs or gardeners trimming azaleas. I thought of all the living, breathing people who would wander through the park today.