It was a ridiculous accusation, but it was the second time someone dear to her had been snatched away violently and shamefully. My own mother had done everything she could to help her, but Mrs. Malcolm had just taken too much. Except for the moments when she needed to provide for her daughter and only remaining family member, Mrs. Malcolm was a husk of her former self.
Until right now.
“My son,” my friend’s mother repeated, staring at the mysterious, dark-haired woman. Words began spilling out as she trembled all over. “You know my son. Please. Please tell me where I can find my son. Tell me if he is safe. Tell me if he is hurting. Please.”
The woman called Guineve turned her face toward us, her countenance brightening again. She shot one more dark look at Chris.
“Stay right here for now,” she commanded, eyes hardening again for a moment. “Do not move or otherwise anger me.
“Forgive me,” the white-clad woman said respectfully, stepping around Chris as she walked toward the rest of us. “I will be a better host. You are all tired, confused, and likely afraid. I assure you that our dear Wes Malcolm is safe and whole—I daresay in far better shape than any of you have ever seen him—despite the efforts of others,” she suddenly snapped, turning her eyes back to Chris. “I just told you not to anger me,” she said as she swung her hand toward him. He was a good half-dozen feet away from her, but there was a loud thwack, and he jerked as if he had been slapped across his now-reddening face. “Consider this mercy your final warning. Do not distract me again.”
Chris’ reddened and confused face very clearly mouthed the words what the hell did I do now, but the next half-second, he ducked his head and began glaring at the ground.
“Now, come, please,” the dark-haired woman said with a bright, sweet smile. “I will walk you all to a comfortable place with refreshments, and will explain what I can.”
“I like her,” I heard Christina whisper behind me, and as I turned, I saw hopeful expressions of agreement on Rachel’s and Mrs. Malcolm’s faces.
It was understandable. Chris Rhodes wasn’t popular with any of us, and even if we didn’t understand the exact source of this woman’s anger, the fact that she was this mad at Chris suggested that she knew him at least as well as any of us.
Then I shook my head. The woman was friendly to us, for now, though the fact that she had just air-slapped a fool in front of me ranked up there with hearing mists talk.
We should go with her, I decided, and I turned to help Dad carry Mother. He was snapping back into focus as well, and he gave me a nod to show he was keeping up to speed.
“Please,” the mysterious woman repeated as she walked closer to us, holding out her hands. “Lady Brown, a woman of your caliber should have all the accommodations due to her rank. Will you allow me to help carry you? I promise to make the ride as comfortable as possible.”
“Oh, honey,” my mother said in her sweet voice, fighting through her own daze as her manners took over, “you don’t have to worry none about me. Both of my men do that too much as it is. And my name is Veronica, not anything fancy.”
“On the contrary, Lady Veronica,” the woman in the misty gown argued, even as she lowered her eyes respectfully. “Yourself, your husband, and your son have not been recognized nearly enough for your merits. Please wait one moment.”
With that, she weaved her hands through the air, and a floating, high-backed chair shaped itself out of the mist right before my disbelieving eyes and floated in front of my father and mother. As they both stared at it in cautious shock, a similar carriage wrapped itself around the unconscious scientist on the floor.
“I swear by every truth that this object will support your weight in great comfort,” the strange magic-wielding woman said formally. “Will you do me the honor of resting in it, Lady Veronica Brown?”
Dad took a small step back, gripping my mother tighter.
“Baby, it’s okay,” Mom told Dad, putting her hand on his arm. “Either this is a dream, she doesn’t mean us any harm, or there is nothing we can do anyway. Let’s just accommodate her and hope something starts making sense.”
“Here,” I said, walking over and touching the white chair-cloud. “It’s solid…and warm,” I said, surprised. “I’ll help you put her down, Dad.”
The two of us gently lowered my mother into the floating, surprisingly sturdy chair. The thing actually moved to help us, which was all kinds of eerie and convenient.
“Oh, my,” my mother said, marveling at the trippy-floating mist chair. “This is really nice, actually. Honey, if this isn’t a dream, do you think we can get one of these to take home?”
My father looked at her, and I could tell that he had no idea what to tell her.
But then she began floating forward, and we all moved to follow her.
Except for Mrs. Malcolm.
Wes’ mother had frozen at some point. I didn’t blame her, considering the fact that my own mother was floating through the air right now. But as I looked at her, I realized her face had recognition on it, not confusion.
“You,” she said to the mysterious magic supermodel. “You’re real.”
The dark-haired woman slowed down, and turned to look at Wes’ mother.
“You’re real,” Mrs. Malcolm said, walking forward. “I remember now. He told me about you.” The blonde woman turned her head, looking all around her. “He told me about all of this… he told me about everything… this is all real…”
“Who told you what?” Rachel demanded, turning her head to look at her mother. But then her own eyes widened.
“Daddy,” she said softly. “Daddy told us about all of this…”
Mother and daughter turned to look at each other. They desperately searched each other’s eyes, looking for either sense or just more crazy.
“John Malcolm told you the truth, then,” the mysterious woman said sadly. “I will do what I can to help you make sense of this all. But until then, please come with me.”
Wes’ Perspective
I cracked back into awareness of the world around me. Voices were rejoicing, surprised at the clear skies and the clean seas and the bodies they now had again.
Something horrible had been undone. Something that bitter minds on Earth would have insisted would last forever, instead of being undone by power, hope, and a number of small things that tipped the balance away from the nightmare’s favor. On Earth, such evil was viewed as overwhelming and permanent, and science, faith, and law did not have an answer for it.
But they did, the mad king’s quiet voice said in my mind.
All is not lost.
Failure is not permanent.
Greater things are yet to come.
And glory answers glory.
The last sentence made my body shudder, as my mind encountered a new universal law. Glory answers glory.
It had been a forgotten thing for me. I had long known that my failures had impacted much more than myself, and some nights, I still reflected on what had happened to those I loved when I had not succeeded in conquering some challenge or personal failing sooner. But I had never reflected on what my own victories meant for others. I had even begun to brush off what I had done for the Woadlands and Avalon, instead thinking of all the people I could have saved if I had acted faster.