Shadowland (The Immortals #3)(26)
Rayne looks at me, rolling her eyes and heaving a sigh. “Just get us back to Summerland,” she says, arms crossing her chest. “That’s all we want. Nothing short of that will do.”
I nod, refusing to let her get to me when I say, “Understood. But if I’m going to help you, I’ll need you to answer some questions.”
They look at each other, Rayne’s gaze signaling a silent: No way, as Romy turns, nodding at me as she says, “Okay.”
And even though I’m not quite sure how to phrase it, it’s something I’ve been wondering for a while now, so I just dive in. “I’m sorry if this off ends you, but I need to know—are you guys dead?” I hold my breath, fully expecting them to be mad, or at the very least insulted—pretty much any reaction but the laughter I get. Watching as they fall all over themselves, Rayne doubled over, slapping her knee, as Romy rolls off the futon, practically convulsing. “Well, you can’t blame me for asking.” I frown, definitely the one who’s insulted. “I mean, we did meet in Summerland where plenty of dead people hang out. Not to mention how you’re both unnaturally pale.”
Rayne leans against the wall, fully recovered from her laughing fit and smirking at me. “So we’re pale. Big deal.” She glances at her sister, then back at me. “It’s not like you’re exactly rockin’ a tan. And yet, you don’t see us assuming you’re a member of the dearly departed.”
I wince, knowing it’s true, but still. “Yeah, well, you had an unfair advantage. Thanks to Riley you knew all about me long before we met. You knew exactly who I am and what I am, and if I have any hope of helping you, then I’m gonna have to know a few things too. So as much as you may resent it, as much as you may want to resist, the only way we’re gonna get anywhere is if you tell me your story.”
“Never,” Rayne says, staring at her sister, warning her not to rebel.
But Romy ignores her and turns right to me. “We’re not dead. Not even close. We’re more like—refugees. Refugees from the past, if you will.”
I glance between them, thinking all I have to do is lower my guard, focus my quantum remote, and touch them for their entire life story to be revealed, but figuring I should at least try to get their version first.
“A long time ago,” she starts, peering at her disapproving sister before taking a deep breath and forging ahead. “A very long time ago, in fact, we were facing a—” She squinches her brow, searching for just the right word, nodding at me when she says, “Well, let’s just say we were about to become victims of a terribly dark event, one of the most shameful times in our history, but we escaped by fleeing to Summerland. And then, well, I guess we lost track of time and we’ve been there ever since. Or at least until last week when we came to help you.”
Rayne groans, dropping to the floor and burying her face in her hands, but Romy just ignores her, still looking at me when she says, “But now our worst fear has come true. Our magick is gone, we’ve nowhere to go, and no idea how to survive in this place.”
“What sort of persecution did you flee?” I ask, watching her closely, searching for clues. “And how long ago is very long ago? Just what are we dealing with here?” Wondering if their history stretches as far back as Damen’s, or if they belong to a more recent past.
They gaze at each other, communicating a wordless agreement that shuts me right out. So I move toward Romy, grasping her hand so quickly she has no time to react. Immediately pulled into her mind—her world—seeing the story unfold as though I’m right there. Standing on the sidelines, an unnoticed observer, fully immersed in the chaos and fear of that day, witness to images so horrible I’m tempted to turn away.
Watching as an angry mob swarms their home, voices raised—torches high—their aunt barring the door as best she can, making the portal and urging the twins toward the safety of Summerland.
Just about to step through the portal and join them when the door gives way and the twins disappear. Separated from everything they once knew, having no idea what became of their aunt until a visit to the Great Halls of Learning showed them the torturous trial of false accusations she was forced to endure. Refusing to confess to any kind of sorcery, having taken the Wiccan Rede of “An it harm none, do what ye will,” and knowing she’d done nothing wrong, she rebuffed her oppressor and held her head high—all the way to the gallows where she was brutally hung.
I stagger back, fingers seeking the amulet just under my tee, something about their aunt’s gaze so eerily familiar, leaving me shaky, unsettled, reminding myself that I’m safe, they’re safe—that things like that don’t happen these days.
“So now you know.” Romy shrugs as Rayne shakes her head. “Our whole story. Everything about us. Do you blame us for choosing to hide?”
I glance between them, unsure what to say. “I—” I clear my throat and start over. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” I glance at Rayne, seeing how she refuses to look at me, then over at Romy who solemnly bows her head. “I had no idea you guys escaped the Salem Witch Trials.”
“Not exactly,” Rayne says, before Romy chimes in.
“What she means is we were never tried. Our aunt stood accused. One day she was revered as the most sought-after midwife, and the next, she was rounded up and taken away.” She sucks in her breath, eyes welling up as though it were yesterday.