The Golden Tower (Magisterium #5)(52)

Everything was going wrong.

Anastasia took a step toward Call, her eyes flashing. A gray blur flew between them — it was Havoc, who clamped his jaws down on Anastasia’s wrist. She screamed and dropped the matches. Alex sent another bolt of chaos flying at Havoc, but the wolf leaped out of the way and the black fire smashed into the wall of the tower. More stone crumbled.

“You’re making me ruin my tower!” Alex shouted at Call. “You always ruin everything!”

Call couldn’t deny it. More than being a Makar, that was pretty much his superpower.

Kimiya had the matches again. In shaking hands, she pulled one out and struck it. It caught alight and then Ravan was there, flaring to life.

She looked at her sisters and a wicked smile grew on her face.

“Get ready,” Call said, under his breath.

Ready, said Aaron.

“What are you doing?” Alex shouted as the Devoured rushed toward him.

It was like the world was collapsing in on itself. Every element colliding with chaos — the force of air, the burning heat of fire, the relentlessness of water, the powerful weight of earth. They fell on Alex with the destructive power of a thousand tornadoes ripping across fields, a thousand volcanoes erupting with a force that blackened the sky, a thousand earthquakes buckling and tearing cities apart, and a thousand floods carrying away whole towns in a froth of churning, tearing water. They were human, but not human; Call shielded his face with his hand as they savagely tore the chaos that surrounded Alex, as they were ripping off bits with their hands, oily patches of nothingness that dissolved entirely in the air.

Alex howled a great shriek of agony that sent a bolt of fear through Call. What if they killed him? What if they destroyed his body?

That wasn’t the plan.

Automotones reared back his head and bellowed, then snapped his jaws toward Jasper. Jasper spun on his heel and flung fire at Automotones, blast after blast of flame that sent the metal monster reeling backward, his plates and gears glowing red with heat.

Good to see Jasper finally got the hang of fire, said Aaron.

Automotones staggered toward them again. The black fire of chaos had died down outside, and the mages were rushing at the tower, slamming at the closed doors below. The tower shook.

Alex was still screaming. He tipped his head back with a howl and darkness erupted from his eyes — two long trails of blackness that shot up into the air. Kimiya was screaming her head off. Tamara was on her feet, making a shield of air to protect her.

Alex turned his head to the side. He was surrounded by the Devoured on all sides. Black tears leaked from his eyes. He held out a hand. “Mother,” he croaked. “Mother.”

Anastasia staggered back from him, her face a mask of horror. Alex’s face worked, and one last bolt of chaos shot from his hand. It was weak — Call could feel its weakness — but strong enough. It hit Anastasia in the chest, lifting her off her feet and dropping her to the ground, a black hole seared across the front of her chest.

Alex went limp.

Now, said Aaron.

Call called on everything he’d ever learned about the soul tap and sent his concentration spinning toward Alex. He could see Alex’s soul, the glow and light of it, no longer blackened with chaos. He felt it, almost as though he held it in his hands, pulsing and sparking, wrapped around with cords of hate, ambition, and pain. Call could see the kid who had liked being popular, who liked being Master Rufus’s assistant, but who never felt like it was enough. He saw the kid who had crafted elaborate illusions out of movies, weaving in his friends and himself, always himself — as the winner, the victor, the person who got everything in the end. Call saw the part of Alex that had felt bereft when his father died, abandoned to a woman with her own agenda, her own obsession. He saw his ambition grow and bloom and twist. Saw his hatred of Call, his resentment, his desire to be the winner. Call saw all of that, saw Alex’s soul, whole and human and flawed.

With all his strength, Call braced himself — and tried to push it out of Alex’s body.

He felt a terrible echo in the deed. The body he lived in was stolen, and now he was stealing another. But even weak, Alex was a Makar and he fought back. He pushed, too, straining against Call’s consciousness, forcing Call’s physical body to his knees.

You will never defeat me, Alex’s voice declared, echoing in Call’s head. For a moment, Call felt uprooted, adrift. What if because he wasn’t born into his body, it was harder to stay in? What if he couldn’t hold on, even as Aaron left him behind? Panic started to bloom in his chest. The weight of Alex pushing back shoved him flat against the ground, his elbows braced, shoulders straining.

I can’t do this, he thought. I can’t.

Maybe one of us couldn’t, but both of us will, came Aaron’s voice, sure and strong. He joined his thoughts to Call’s and together they surged back at Alex, thrusting him loose from the bright lines that moored his soul to his body, pushing him out. Pushing him out into nothing.

The cords that bound Alex’s soul to his body frayed and snapped and he was gone, without even a scream or a cry. Call didn’t know where souls went — he guessed that no one did — but he was sure it was someplace far beyond the void.

Aaron, Call thought. Aaron, you have to go.

It was as if he could feel Aaron’s soul taking a shaking, hesitant breath. Call reached for Aaron one last time — for his counterweight, for the soul that was the most familiar in the world to him. It was as if his hands were brushing over Aaron’s soul, holding it for a moment, and letting it free.