Page 9

"Probably."

"Definitely," Otis added.

Mona just huffed out a low, sympathetic boof and started backing toward the tree line with the other three.

Smart dogs.

"Four months," I said.

"I know."

"FOUR MONTHS, Zelda."

"I know."

"You heard Creepy McUnderworld whisper my great-to-the-umpteenth-power-grandmother's name in your ear, and you decided that it wasn't worth mentioning?"

She had the decency to flinch, at least. "It wasn't like that. Not exactly." She dragged a mud-streaked hand through those red curls, and for once she didn't seem to notice she was ruining them. "When we were climbing out of that chamber under Hoopingarner House, I heard a voice. Female. Old — ancient old, the kind of old that makes your teeth hurt. It whispered Margaret, and when I turned around, there wasn't a single soul there."

"And?"

"And I didn't know what it was, Martha. I didn't know if it was the chamber, or residual Magic, or something bleeding through from Aideen's ancestral memories, or if I was just rattled after everything that happened down there. I didn't have an answer, so I didn't have anything worth scaring you."

There it was. The real reason, sitting right out in the open where I could finally look at it.

"You had just found out you might be the Magical cork keeping the apocalypse in the bottle," Zelda pressed on, quieter now. "Kai had a concussion. Barney was missing. You were postponing your wedding. I thought you had enough."

I went very, very still.

"You thought."

The words came out flat. Final. Because that — right there — was the exact problem, and it had nothing to do with one whispered name in a dark chamber.

"Everybody thinks they know what I can handle."

Zelda opened her mouth, but I kept going, because once it started coming out, I couldn't have stopped it if I'd tried.

"Fate decides what I am. Prophecy decides what I'm supposed to do about it. Barney's stupid, old books decide when I get answers." I threw a hand toward the swamp, toward the spot where Swamp Barbie had exploded into silt. "The bitch Below apparently decides when I get married. And now my best friend decides what I need to know?"

The humor drained clean out of my voice on the last part, and I let it.

"Don't do that to me, Zel."

Zelda didn't argue. Didn't get defensive. Didn't make a speech about how sorry she was or how hard the last four months had been for all of us.

"You're right," she said simply. "I screwed up. I won't do it again."

"Good." I sniffed, wiped mud off my chin with the back of my wrist, and added, "I'm still kicking you in the shin later."

"Fair."

And just like that, the worst of it drained out of me. We were going to be fine — that was the whole deal with Zelda and me — but I'd needed her to hear it, and she'd needed to actually listen, and now we both had.

Kai, apparently deciding it was safe to rejoin the land of the living, cleared his throat. "As riveting as this is, can we address why Zelda's Magic worked, and ours didn't?"

Fair point. Excellent point, actually.

His hadn't. Mine hadn't. Zelda had shown up and blown Swamp Barbie into next Tuesday without so much as breaking a sweat on those ridiculous new sandals.