CoS22

## Chapter 22

**Chapter 22** of **City of Spells** follows **Wesley**.

## **Full Version**

“YOU SAID YOU WANTED to talk, so talk,” he told Saxony. “I’ve got to help Tavia and the buskers move the magic so we can get out of this place before Ashwood sends another ambush.”

Saxony only stared at him, her eyes running up and down the length of Wesley’s arms, taking in his staves and his scars and the way they blended into his tattoo of Creije almost too perfectly. Like those parts of him had always been intertwined. A city of wonder and a boy of magic.

“You might want to sit down,” Saxony said.

“I’m fine standing.”

Wesley didn’t like the way she looked at him.

He didn’t trust how worried her eyes were.

Saxony had never looked worried for him before.

“Are you going to try to kill me again?” Wesley asked. “Because I thought we’d moved past that stage of our relationship, and fighting for my life is going to make me super late for packing.”

Saxony crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him. “You make everything so difficult,” she said. “Before, too, but especially now.”

Wesley didn’t know what had changed, but he knew he had a habit of pissing people off—especially Saxony—and so he just shrugged.

“I promised myself once that I’d do whatever it took to save the people I love,” Saxony said. “I think now that means going against everything I thought was right.”

“Are you talking about Karam?” Wesley asked.

It made sense that she’d be worried. It had been nearly a week since anyone had heard from his old bodyguard, and Wesley could only imagine what he’d be feeling if it were Tavia who was gone and him who was thinking the worst. Still, if Saxony was considering sending troops out to find Karam, then he needed to shut down that idea fast. They couldn’t afford to lose any more people.

“You might want to send out a search party for her, but that’s not the smart play.”

“I wasn’t talking about Karam,” Saxony said. “She’s a survivor and she’ll find her way back to me. I know she will.”

“Then Zekia?” Wesley asked. “If you’re doubting whether we can get her back, I’m telling you that I can get through to her.”

Whatever Zekia had done, it had been Wesley’s fault. At least partly. And it didn’t matter what the kid said to him, or even what she did to him, because Wesley knew what it was like to stand beside the Kingpin and feel infinite. To feel like his way was the only way to not get swallowed by the shadows of the realm.

He could save her, like he should’ve done all those years ago.

He could fix that mistake and give Saxony her family back.

“I’m not just talking about Zekia,” she said. “I’m talking about being honest with the people I care about. And that includes you.”

The shock must have shown on Wesley’s face, because Saxony’s eyes went suddenly wide and her entire face wrinkled.

“Not like that,” she said quickly. “That’s disturbing. I meant like family.”

Wesley found that thought equally disturbing.

“Just because we haven’t killed each other, it hardly makes us family,” he said.

Though really Wesley supposed that family, or friends, were the only people he didn’t kill. And Saxony, however irritating she chose to be, was a part of that.

Saxony didn’t say anything as she stepped a few paces closer to him, and it was only when they were near enough for Wesley to notice how many freckles she had that he took a sudden step back.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Saxony’s smile was sad.

“Being honest for once,” she said. “Malik.”

*Malik.*

Wesley had heard that name before. Somewhere, in the hollows of his mind, where only the darkest creatures lurked, it called to him.

Wesley took another step back.

“What did you just call me?”

“Malik,” she said again.

Wesley didn’t know why, but he winced.

“I thought my little brother was dead,” Saxony told him. “But he’s not. He’s here.”

She reached out for him, but Wesley jerked his shoulder back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But Saxony didn’t stop.

“Years ago, my amja performed a spell, sacrificing our mother’s life to send you away,” she said. “They were worried about some prophecy and they punished you for it.”

“Are you drunk?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “For everything. But it’s going to be okay now.”

It was a fool’s promise to make, but something about the way her voice smoothed out on the words made Wesley shift. The room felt small. Smaller than the cells he’d been locked up in with Zekia’s shadow demon.

“Malik,” she said. “You’re my b—”

Wesley didn’t wait to hear what she had to say before he pushed past her and all but leaped from the room. He didn’t stop until he was back out in the forest, taking in a gulping breath of the leafy winds.

But it didn’t make a difference and that name still called out to him.

*Malik.*

Tavia was on the forest floor, legs folded, a dozen charms spread by her bare toes. She looked wild and beautiful in the moonlight and Wesley wanted to call to her but he couldn’t find his voice.

He could only hear that name, over and over in his mind.

Unlocking something, awakening something that wanted to stay sleeping.

*Malik.*

Saxony yelled after him and when Wesley spun back to her suddenly, she was with her amja and her father.

“Wesley?” Tavia asked.

He could hear her footsteps behind him on the grass as she approached.

“What’s going on?”

Wesley shook his head and held out a hand to stop her from coming closer.

“Don’t be afraid of this,” Saxony said.

Wesley felt fire at his fingertips.

“I’m never afraid,” he said.

“Can someone explain to me what’s going on?” Tavia asked. “I’ve finally found Malik,” Saxony said.

“Your *brother*?”

“I’m not her brother,” Wesley snarled. “I have a family and they may not have loved me, but they were mine and they could still be out there.”

“They’re not,” Saxony’s amja said. “I promise you that they are gone.”

Wesley couldn’t stand the sound of the old woman’s voice in that moment. He hated that one by one they were trying to unravel his past. It might not have been perfect, but it was *his*. His childhood, his memories, and they had no right to try to change them.

“The Thornton Walcotts were murdered twelve years ago,” Saxony said. “Ashwood likes his buskers to be orphans.”

“Bullshit,” Wesley said. “He didn’t know I had a family when he took me in.”

“There’s not much that beast doesn’t know,” Saxony’s amja said. “And believe me when I tell you that the way your guardians were killed was nothing short of beastly.”

Wesley never had much love for his family, because they’d never had much love for him, and he was a big proponent in giving as good as you got. He barely remembered their faces, but the thought of them being dead, and not just by the magic sickness or some rogue accident, but by very deliberate hands, made him feel dirty.

Like Wesley was just a pawn, an object, passed from their hands to Ashwood’s.

“It’s lies,” Wesley said. “I would remember.”

“We took your memories with your magic,” Saxony’s amja said. “Look at your scars, my dear one.”

Wesley touched the skin under his cuff links. The burns he carried with him, hidden partly by the tattoos of his city and, now, his staves.

“They’re from my father,” he said.

“They’re from your magic,” Saxony said. “The fire you used to burn the tornado was the same fire I saw when our mother died.”

“*Our* mother?” Wesley said, like the thought was a curse.

And it was, wasn’t it?

What they were telling him was trying to erase all that he was. All he had worked to become.

“We could only quell your powers,” Saxony’s amja said. “Vea sacrificed her life to try to get rid of it, but your magic fought so hard to stay that in the end we could only hide it and pray that you’d never find it again.”

“Why would you do that?”

“There was a prophecy,” Saxony said. “A prediction that you’d bring about a war if you had magic. They got scared and they got stupid.”

“I’m trying to stop a war,” Wesley said. “I’m trying to help people.”

“I know that. That’s why I’m telling you this. I trust you.”

Wesley shook his head and stumbled back, right into Tavia. Her hands touched his shoulder, but for the first time ever the feel of her didn’t calm him. It didn’t erase the awful feeling in his heart.

“The Thornton Walcotts tried to keep you safe from magic,” Saxony’s amja said. “They feared your destiny just as we did.”

The Thornton Walcotts had done a lot of things to Wesley, but keeping him safe wasn’t one of them. He didn’t remember much and what he did remember he always pretended to forget, living his life as though it had only started when he became a busker.

It wasn’t a lie. The time before that hadn’t been a life at all.

His father had seen to it that the only things Wesley had or knew were the ones he had turned rotten before handing over.

Wesley never felt safe in that house. Feeling safe was dangerous, his father had always said, and he’d branded those lessons into Wesley’s mind and onto his body so that he’d never forget them. Saxony said his scars were from a fire and even if that were true, even if some of them weren’t from his father, he remembered all the ones that were.

He’d been so desperate to leave that he’d gone to Ashwood willingly, rather than waiting to be recruited like all the other buskers. And when the magic sickness swept Creije, Wesley hadn’t worried about the family he’d left behind.

He hadn’t mourned for their deaths.

He’d been grateful for them.

He’d grown up as a prisoner and his guards had never afforded him any kind of love. In the most twisted way, Dante Ashwood became the loving father Wesley never had.

And now they were telling him that all of that, every hateful thing in Wesley’s memories that he’d tried to scrape out, was because of some prophecy?

“Please.”

Saxony held out her hand for his and Wesley realized that she was crying. He wasn’t sure when she’d started, but she didn’t look like she’d ever stop.

“Please,” Saxony said again. “Let me help you.”

Wesley didn’t want her help.

He rarely accepted help from anyone, because that was a surefire way to show weakness, and weakness got people killed in this realm.

“If what you’re saying is true and you all think I’m such a monster,”Wesley said,”then maybe I should start acting like one.”

“As opposed to before when you were a saint?” Tavia asked.

Wesley glared at her.

Though a part of him wanted nothing more than to take her hand and run away from this place.

“You’re saying that my mother killed herself to keep me from the world,” Wesley said.

That was how much of a bastard he was.

That was how much his mother had hated him.

“She should have done a better job.”

Wesley’s hands shook by his sides, not with anger or frustration, but with magic. It hummed through him, rattling his bones and rising up to the surface of his skin so that a layer of shadow clung to him like morning mist.

He couldn’t control it.

He couldn’t stop it.

“Vea was trying to keep you safe,” Saxony’s amja said.

Her eyes were on his hands and Wesley wanted to shove them behind his back and hide the fact that he wasn’t in control. This was his *grandmother* and she was scared of him.

They all were.

“Vea loved you so much that she cursed our Kin,” Saxony’s amja said. “A child has not been born here since she performed that spell. Because of what we did and the magical laws we broke, the Many Gods may never bless us with another. Once you were gone, everything went wrong.”

“I didn’t go anywhere,” Wesley said. “You threw me out.”

Saxony’s amja sighed and the first thing Wesley thought was that nobody had ever sighed at him like that before. Like they were simultaneously disappointed in him and in themselves.

“Visions are a tricky thing,” she said. “They can even be self-fulfilling. Maybe we misunderstood it. Maybe we made a mistake, but we just wanted to protect you.”

“Or maybe I’m a lost cause,” Wesley said.

“Quit saying shit like that.”

Tavia’s face was stern as she stepped in front of him, and it was only then that the fire on Wesley’s skin quelled. She was too close and his magic was screaming in desperation.

It scared him, and Wesley had never been truly scared before.

Tavia stood barely a breath away, her eyes locking onto his.

It was odd, that Wesley’s family had feared him so much that even as a child they sent him away, that even now they looked at him with apprehension, and that Wesley himself had somehow come to fear what he was capable of.

But not Tavia.

She didn’t look like she was afraid of anything.

He should have kissed her that day he came back, with the rain soaking them both and her eyes open with possibility. She’d wanted him to, he knew it, and he hadn’t had the guts.

He hadn’t felt like he was worthy of it.

“I abandoned Zekia,” Wesley said. “Twice now.”

Tavia didn’t step away from him.

“I killed the old underboss to take his place. I did Ashwood’s dirty work for years.”

“I don’t care about who you were or what you did,” Tavia said. “I know who you are. And it doesn’t matter if you’re Saxony’s family, because you were my family first.”

She took Wesley’s hands from behind his back and the shadows inside him retreated, fading into the air like they feared hurting her.

His magic calmed.

“I’ve already lost so much,” Tavia said. “I couldn’t take it if I lost you too.”

Wesley blinked.

That was all it took.

Tavia was quick and he had forgotten just how much until her free hand went to her pocket and was suddenly in front of him, filled with magic dust.

Wesley blinked and she took that second to blow the dust in his face.

In a weird way, he felt proud that she’d gotten the upper hand—that the student had, in some way, become the master.

Tavia squeezed his hand tighter in hers and Wesley tried to pull away, because he knew he was about to keel over and he didn’t want to take her down with him. Still, Tavia kept her hold strong and her eyes piercing.

“Just relax,” she said.

Wesley did.

He closed his eyes and felt the night smile.

IT WAS dream dust Tavia had thrown. Wesley knew that much and he welcomed the thought of sleep. The waking world had become far more bizarre than the dream world could ever be.

When Wesley opened his eyes again, he was still in the Uncharted Forest, only Tavia and the others were gone and in their place there was a woman with firewood eyes and a smile to kill and soothe. She had Saxony’s freckles and the same pointed jaw as Zekia, and wore a green dress that flowed behind her like a cape.

“You’re finally home,” the woman said.

*Vea Akintola.*

His mother.

Wesley had a mother.

“My boy,” she said.

Wesley relished how different those words sounded in her voice. Ashwood loved to call him that when he was being his most terrible.

*My boy, I will make you the world.*

*My boy, you have never doubted me before.*

*My boy, be very, very careful.*

The words were possessive on his shadow lips, as though Wesley belonged to him. His favorite toy. His most treasured lapdog.

They were a claim.

But when Vea spoke them, with delicacy and a soft smile as warm as Creijen summer, Wesley felt newly cherished.

*My boy.*

A way of telling him that he wasn’t alone anymore.

“Is this real?” Wesley asked.

Vea nodded.

“How can I be sure?”

“Spiritcrafters can connect with the dead,” she said. “I was one, but I didn’t handle it so well. You’ve got a hold on your power in a way I never did. Then again, you were born with staves, so I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re a quick learner.”

“I’m not a Spiritcrafter. I’m an Intuitcrafter.”

“Magic works in strange ways,” Vea said. “Yes, every Crafter has a specialty. But sometimes, every so often, gifts are inherited. Sometimes, the rules get to be broken, just a little.”

“Either that, or I’m high on dream dust,” Wesley said.

Vea laughed and Wesley thought it was strange that he could miss a sound he’d never even heard until now.

“I think the Many Gods wanted us to talk,” Vea said. “We’re vessels for their will.”

Wesley grimaced.

A vessel was just a fancy word for a pawn and he had quite enough of being the product of someone else’s plans.

“I don’t believe in the Many Gods,” he said. “It’s just a good curse word to throw around.”

Vea shrugged, like she’d expected him to say that.

“You’ve grown so much since I last saw you. Are you happy with it?”

It was not the growing she meant, Wesley quickly realized, but who he had grown into. Wesley didn’t want to reply, a little because he thought Vea already knew the answer. But also because Wesley wasn’t sure whether or not *he* did.

Yes, Wesley was happy that he’d grown into someone who could protect himself, but that had only been possible because his family had abandoned him.

He was happy to have built himself a home, but now Ashwood had destroyed that.

He was happy to have shared a childhood alongside Tavia, but he didn’t know what their future would be.

Besides, Wesley was less concerned about himself and more curious about Vea and whether or not she was happy with all he had become. He’d never wanted to impress anyone before, Tavia aside, but he felt the urge more strongly than ever now.

Did Vea fear him, like the others?

Was she angry at all he had done?

“Are your sisters well?” Vea asked.

His sisters.

Wesley had sisters.

Zekia. *Saxony.*

He thought for a moment about that and about what might have happened if they’d grown up together. Saxony was older and Wesley might’ve tried desperately to impress her, while she taught him magic tricks and ruffled his hair like he was some kind of welcome annoyance.

And Zekia.

Many Gods, then there was Zekia.

Would Wesley have looked out for his baby sister and teased her and chided her and fought anyone who hurt her?

He didn’t have the chance to know, because that world didn’t exist and in this one Wesley had sisters, but he had betrayed them instead of protecting them.

One hated him.

The other was driven to madness because of him.

“They’re alive,” Wesley said. “I don’t know how they are. I’ve never asked.”

“That’s not very brotherly.”

“You’ll soon learn I’m not all that familial.”

Vea’s laugh was like a music box and Wesley wanted to bottle the sound and take it back with him to the real world for safekeeping. It was the saddest thing that Vea was dead and nobody would hear that laugh ever again.

“You’ve become a bit of a liar,” she said, the smile still light on her lips. “Luckily you’re still kind. Even if it’s deep down.”

She paused.

And then—

“Deep, *deep* down,” she said.

Wesley scoffed a laugh.

Vea held out a hand and he walked forward, so that her palm pressed against his cheek, cupping his face. This close, Wesley could see his eyes in her eyes and his curiosity in her furrowed brows.

“Promise me one thing,” Vea said. “Promise not to forget when you go back.”

Wesley put his hand over hers. “I won’t forget you.”

“Not me,” Vea said. “You.”

It was a strange request.

“I know who I am,” Wesley said.

Though he wasn’t sure if that was true anymore. He wasn’t sure if it had ever been true.

“Not who you are,” Vea said. “Remember who you could be. Remember that only you get to decide such things. You made a home and somehow you also made a family. You are not the sum of your past. You are the decisions in your future.”

She smiled at him one last time and then without warning the wind breezed by and she disappeared along with it.

Wesley sighed, closed his eyes, and let the world flood back.