Chapter 1: Lenora

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If anyone had told me six months ago that I would be working with a trio of elder spirits and a rogue Soulkeeper to take down a vile soul stealing plot and save a magickal tree, I would have laughed until my breath deserted me.

But here we are.

Working with Lazlo was less exciting than I originally expected. He was methodical and reserved when it came to finding and punishing those responsible for the poison killing the Great Tree. I thought it would be more justice wielding, more…righteous, but Lazlo, although in the right, was not a righteous creature. He was a vengeful one.

We had one Soulkeeper left to bind. I watched Cyrus sleep, surprised to find him unguarded, and turned startled eyes to Ellory hovering beside me. This was the keeper who controlled the illusion spell that kept us—the Atua, spirits like me—blind to the truth.

A truth my eyes were opened to when Fleur and I unknowingly agreed with Lazlo’s bargain. He needed Fleur’s help, and he wasn’t afraid to use my desire to live again to get it. I had been livid, betrayed, and, well, ashamed that my thirst for living allowed him to take Fleur, if only for a day. We should have asked more questions. We should have considered it more thoroughly—I should have known a Soulkeeper wasn’t to be trusted. It wasn’t the first time the Soulkeepers had lied to get what they wanted, or the first time they had meddled in my life. My light flickered softly as I remembered my death, and the carefully planned coma I had intended—and the Soulkeepers’ manipulation for their own gain.

They wanted the magickal relic I had discovered while I was alive—the flute relic that held my brother imprisoned in his own mind—and I gave it to them. But my ghostly cohorts had plans of their own, and stole it back, which lead the Soulkeepers to seek another relic—a time altering pocket watch, endowing the spirit of the man who killed my parents and imprisoned my brother, Dugal Griffin with the magick to procure it. They didn’t care how he got it, or how many he killed along the way as long as the Amaranthine Sheath, the magickal boundary maintaining the ten realms, was never rebuilt.

Gods. It all sounded so convoluted and unreal, and I couldn’t help my aura from rippling at the sordid details. This was my life now… no, this was my death.

I didn’t know what to expect when I returned to the Inbetween three months ago. Knowing I had been, like the rest of the Atua, spellbound, stymied my urge to return. The Tree that had fostered and cared for me since my death was an illusion, created to keep its condition from the spirits it cared for. To maintain what was perceived as normal.

The Tree was dying.

When I drifted through the glowing portal, I half expected to be greeted by the same bygone splendor as before—the plush Lobby with its tall drape-covered windows clad in geometric prints, low hanging disk chandeliers that always reminded me of spaceships, and deluxe club chairs circling the room—but the spell Lazlo had used to bring me back to life for twenty-four hours had broken the hold the illusion had on me and the Tree I left was not the Tree I returned to.

Fleur had tried to warn me, but her words were stifled compared to the splintered and bloody decay that awaited me.

 Fear flickered my light—fear of what would happen once Cyrus was finally bound.

Lazlo’s scowl deepened as he shed his Guardian’s light for his true form. Watching the Entomali shift was gruesome, and it didn’t get easier with time. Like a molting snake, Lazlo rose from his Atua spirit form, his body hardening into green scales, his head elongating and widening as his bright amber eyes grew large. Oliver told me once that the Entomali were basically insects, evolved into a humanoid form, and at the time I couldn’t picture it, but now, staring at the creature before me, I realized he looked like a chubby grasshopper, and swallowed back the urge to smile.

Lazlo held a small amber encrusted trilobite in one hand. The relic from Entomal, the one Fleur had allowed him to keep under Ellory’s watchful gaze. He held the relic over Cyrus’s forehead, but the Soulkeeper didn’t move. What was Lazlo waiting for? My light rippled with irritation, eager to be done finally.

Cyrus woke with a start, his large eyes fixed on Lazlo, a tired smile crooked his small mouth. “I was wondering when you’d get to me.”

“I didn’t expect you to be a part of this, Cy.” Lazlo’s voice caught on his name.

I should have expected that Lazlo had friendships with the council members. He was once one of them too, but this admission startled me.

“I did what I had to do—just like you did.”

“That was a long time ago.” Lazlo’s mouth hardened into a line. “I regret my part in the Tree’s decay. I regret my brother had to die before I could see that he was right. There were other ways, I know that now. I will fix this.”

Cyrus kept his eyes on Lazlo as he shifted, sitting up with as much grace as his spindly legs would allow. “And how do you plan to do that?”

Lazlo’s scowl deepened. He moved the relic closer to Cyrus’s forehead. “I’m returning the Tree to the old ways.”

“Hardly a bandage. You’ll need more.”

“You needn’t worry about that.”

Cyrus’s gaze flicker to where Ellory and I hovered, waiting silently. “I didn’t expect an audience,” he said.

“Accountability, at all that. You could say I have an entourage now.”

Cyrus scoffed. “You always did like a show.” He inhaled deeply and looked up at Lazlo. “Alright, then, do what you’ve come to do.”

Lazlo shook his head. “I waited as long as I could, my friend.”

“I know, and I thank you for that.” Cyrus turned from him and closed his eyes.

As he pressed the relic to Cyrus’s head, Lazlo closed his eyes. I had watched him cast this spell a dozen times, each Soulkeeper pleading desperately until the very end. A few fought, but Lazlo was quick to contain them. Aside from Lazlo’s confrontation with his father, he only had need of our Atua magick once, with a particularly irritating Soulkeeper called Alder. Ellory and I gladly provided aid—watching the smug look on Alder’s face fade to nothing was satisfying, to say the least. But none of the bindings were like this. Even the few remaining members of Lazlo’s family had received a disimpassioned end. I wondered who Cyrus was to Lazlo.

My aura feathered pink with the swell of my phantom heart as I listened to the now familiar chant. The Tree’s crimson sap swirled as the relic siphoned a splinter of its infection into the Soulkeeper who had a hand in creating it. Cyrus shuttered, his large amber eyes blinking once before closing as his olive skin darkened with the Tree’s blood, and his body stilled.

Air whooshed around me like a great sigh, and the light darkened from bright amber to crimson. I blinked, covering my face from the sweet smell of decay that swirled around us. The illusion spell was gone.

And the Tree, dear Gods…

I thought I was free from the spell, but the extent of Cyrus’s illusion had clearly stretched beyond the Atua. Beside me, Ellory’s light flared with surprise, believing she had bested the illusion decades ago. My gaze swung from one scarlet veined branch to another, shock stilling my light. The bark, once vivid and lush, was now pitted and peeling, its lifeblood crusted rotting flesh. Was this bloated and waning creature truly the Great Tree? I reached out, my faded fingers desperate to somehow heal the corrosion on the limb beside me, but Ellory’s light flared.

Do not touch it.

Why not? What is it?

Blood. Our blood. It is poison to us.

I pulled my fingers away, tucking them back into my light. Fleur told me, but…

It is hard to understand the level of deterioration my kin has caused. Cyrus’s illusion encompassed everything… Lazlo paused, shifting back to his Guardian form. He looked around us, his indigo light darkening. This is worse than I expected—He shook his head. I’ve bound them, but I fear it isn’t enough.

It isn’t. Ellory confirmed, folding her arms over her chest and staring at him. But it is a first step.

If Cyrus was the last, then…what do we do now?  I wondered. My eyes fixed on the rotten limbs curling around us. A brittle frond fluttered down between us.

Lazlo turned, leading us out of Cyrus’s chamber and down a crumbling branch to the Lobby. Cyrus was right. This is hardly a bandage. And with his spell is gone, there will be many, he rolled his eyes, many questions. We will need to keep the Atua calm and instate the new mandates as quickly as possible. The spirits will need to know there is hope and a renewal for each of them. He turned to Ellory. Can I count on you and the other Guardians to pacify and maintain the Atua?

Ellory nodded. Hamza and the others are stationed throughout the canopy, prepared to ease the Atua as we speak.

Good. Lazlo’s eyes crinkled. I only hope that will keep us until Fleur finds the last three relics.