The Last Spell 42.2

The sharp intake of breath from Kaja gave Shane the delayed realization that the fight had fallen silent around him. Furiously blinking away tears, he lifted his head to see her standing beside Cyrin, her face unnaturally pale. A shadow shrouded Cyrin’s expression, but he caught a light of fear in their eyes.

Why fear? They’d given him the spell for this. Why did they look like that?

Shane tore his still-blurry gaze away to look back to Sparrow, whose breathing had become bated. His eyes were widened, and for the first time, he seemed at a complete loss for words. The silence only made his blood boil more.

“Please.” Sparrow’s first word came out strangled, as if Shane’s fingers were wrapped around his throat. He knew it wasn’t really Sparrow, that the spell was forcing him to bargain for his life, but he didn’t care. “You’ve won. Spare me from your anger. You were soft once— every clue of information that has come my way has said you were. I urge you to find it in you again.”

“Forget what you heard,” Shane hissed. “This is me. You made me this.”

“What would your father think? Your mother—”

“Keep their names out of your mouth.” Another tear streaked down his face.

“Do you know the wealth of power I have at my fingertips?” Sparrow’s voice was finally gaining the desperate edge Shane needed to hear. “I could offer you it all. The life you’ve always dreamed of. You could be feared, if that’s what you desire. Anything you want—”

“I want my family back!” Shane screamed. “That’s it! That’s all I’ve ever wanted!”

The sound of his voice tearing echoed back in the form of an inhuman howl. He couldn’t do this. The grief and anger were at war and the scales were tipping to one side.

Releasing Sparrow, Shane backed away, only making it a few feet on the floor before sinking forward. A choked sob escaped his chest as his shoulders shook. The stone slipped from his fingers.

He didn’t care when he heard Sparrow move. He might not have noticed at all if a protective hand hadn’t landed on his shoulder.

“Stay away from him.” Cyrin’s voice was dark with threat.

Sparrow let out a low chuckle. The sound was smug, but there was a bitter hollowness to it that wasn’t there before. “Is this who you trust, Shane?”

Shane wiped desperately at his eyes to look up, too weary to glare at Sparrow, who had risen to his feet. His throat was too tight to answer.

“You heard them,” Kaja snapped. “You’ve caused enough harm.”

“Have I?” Sparrow’s gaze flicked to Cyrin. “You’re still hiding, I see. This time, it’s behind half a story.”

Shane didn’t want to listen to anything Sparrow had to say anymore. He really didn’t want to. But the statement gave him pause, and he felt Cyrin’s hand still on his shoulder.

“What?” he whispered.

He hated the thin smile that spread over Sparrow’s face.

“You should know every crime of the century needs a criminal behind it,” Sparrow said. “Look no farther than Cyrin Bridger for your mastermind.”

Shane’s head had been a screaming mess of thoughts all day. He’d been working out how to make his bluff convincing, grappling with the reopened wounds of loss, processing Cyrin’s fate and miraculous recovery, and burning with vengeful purpose, all at once. It was a chorus he couldn’t tune out, pushing him on and on until he felt like he was going to lose his mind entirely.

Everything was silent now as a bitter, stony grimness sank over him. He didn’t need him to repeat it, didn’t need to be convinced. The news translated Cyrin’s mysterious guilt into something that should’ve made sense all along. It was all too easy to accept it, along with the return of steely resolve armoring his heart again.

So this was what betrayal did, then. It was the numbing cold shock of being pushed into icy waters and left to drown.

He heard the shudder of the next breath Cyrin took.

“Shane,” Cyrin said quietly. “He’s… he’s right. I promise I tried to tell you, I really did. I couldn’t get the words out when—”

“Get your hand off me.” Shane wasn’t afraid to say it as an order.

Cyrin instantly pulled back, the movement swift and sharp like a flinch. Slowly, Shane rose to his feet, turning his back to Sparrow to face them. He ignored the look of dread on Kaja’s face and the tears still in his own eyes. Cyrin’s expression was a mask of fear.

“How much did you do it for?” Shane asked quietly.

“I didn’t— I didn’t do it for the money.” Cyrin sounded sickened. “Shane, your parents weren’t a number or a sum—”

“I asked you, how much?” Shane snapped.

Cyrin faltered, dropping their gaze to the floor as guilt flooded their face.

“Twenty million,” they said faintly.

The spot on their belt next to their MagicBox looked empty. That didn’t mean there was nothing there.

Shane’s hand shot out, grabbing the hidden knife and pulling it loose. Cyrin took a step back, but Shane followed, ramming his shoulder into their chest and shoving as hard as he could. Even through the blinding rage, he couldn’t help but think, This is stupid. They’re a far better fighter than you. They could take the upper hand in a heartbeat and you’d be done for before you even realized it.

But Cyrin let it happen. He didn’t even resist. And now Shane was pinning them against a shelf, with the blade bared at their throat, with no clue how he’d gotten there.

“Shane!” Kaja shouted. “What’s wrong with you?”

Behind him, Sparrow bellowed a laugh. Shane gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on the knife.

“Would it have been thirty million if I was there?” he demanded.

Cyrin swallowed, holding his breath as he met Shane’s eyes pleadingly. “I don’t know. All I know is I didn’t want to do it for any price. I laughed in his face when he made the offer, but he kept coming back. I told him no three times.”

Shane held the blade closer to his neck, just under his chin. “And yet, you still said yes once.”

“He threatened my brother.” Cyrin’s voice cracked— just barely, but just enough that the sound remained trapped in Shane’s head. “I wasn’t going to test him. There was another person I was trying to save— someone I swore to protect. She’s sick, and she was going to die if her treatment wasn’t paid. They were just kids.”

His words were defensive, but something about the ache in his tone told Shane that these excuses weren’t made in hopes of forgiveness. He sounded well past believing in that.

Cyrin wasn’t pleading for mercy, or even his life. He was pleading for Shane not to hate him.

“I made a choice.” Cyrin’s voice had hushed to a whisper. “One that continues to hurt you, and one I struggle to live with. Whatever you want for me, Shane, I will welcome it. I’m sorry. You deserved so much better than what I put you through.”

Shane had forgotten he was crying until he felt the next breath get trapped in his throat, stifled by a sob. The knife wavered in his hand, inches away from what was either justice or cruelty.

The sound of a body hitting the floor behind him snapped him out of the haze.

Shane turned his head to see Kaja standing over an unconscious Sparrow, fist still raised. A wild look gleamed in her eyes as she raised her head, her gaze piercing right through Shane.

“Well?” she demanded. “Have you had enough yet?”

Shane bristled. “What do you mean, have I—”

“You’re too damn smart for this, Shane,” Kaja said bluntly. “Sparrow got you to misdirect your anger, and he was reveling in it. You would’ve seen the grin on his face if you weren’t too busy seeing red. If it wasn’t Cyrin, someone else would’ve done it, and the end result would be the same. That’s how assassins work.”

Shane could only stare as she looked down at Sparrow, her lip curling with disgust as she kicked at the fallen man’s side.

“Face it,” Kaja said. “You can choose how much you want to blame Cyrin for his agency or lack thereof in the situation, but he’s not your real enemy here. Take it from someone whose favorite solution often looks like a fist to the face— this? This isn’t justice.”

“Cyrin?”

The whisper was barely audible, coming from the direction of the library’s entrance. But the voice was clearly Mireya’s.

Shane unfroze, turning his head to see three familiar faces. Clarity, carrying what seemed to be some kind of oversized flamethrower. Dawn, her eyes wide and her jaw hanging open with shock. And Mireya, with bloody hands and golden sparks fizzling out in the air around her. The three of them were at a complete standstill just in front of the entrance, their faces a strange mix of relief and horror, and the realization hit Shane like a punch to the stomach.

He looked absolutely insane to them right now, didn’t he?

Maybe he was. Maybe Sparrow was right. Maybe he’d lost his mind a long time ago and he was just now realizing it.

But he didn’t want that. Saints, what did he want? What did he want that he could still have?

With a shiver, Shane turned back to Cyrin, who hadn’t moved a muscle. He felt the warmth of another tear stain his cheek.

“When this is over,” Shane breathed, “you’re not going anywhere. You’re staying with us until the two of us resolve this. Do you promise?”

Cyrin nodded tightly. “I swear on my mother’s grave.”

Slowly, unsure of whether he’d change his own mind or not, Shane stepped back and offered the knife to Cyrin. Cyrin took it without looking at Shane, sheathing it again, before raising his head to look at Mireya, Clarity, and Dawn. His shoulders were slumped low with what looked like shame.

Somehow, Shane hated to see it and felt it wasn’t enough at the same time. His already aching heart was being pulled in two very different directions.

He hoped he’d have the strength to hang in the balance.