This is the thirty-second part of an ongoing serial. Here are Parts One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty-One, Twenty-Two, Twenty-Three, Twenty-Four, Twenty-Five, Twenty-Six, Twenty-Seven, Twenty-Eight, Twenty-Nine, Thirty and Thirty-One.
“You’re…”
Necristo forgot that he was meant to be dying. Here, at last, was someone he recognized. The face was worn and hard, with almost no hair left, and the taut young muscles had stretched out like evening shadows, long and faint across the wrinkled arms.
“You’re Matilda’s cousin,” he said at last, weakly. “Matthias.”
The man stared down at him, hatred smoldering in his eyes. It was good, that hatred. It made him feel like there was someone at last who felt something for him.
“I didn’t come here to save you,” he said. “I want to watch you die, so hurry up. I have a niece to take care of.”
“You came at a good time, then,” smiled Necristo. “I wronged you greatly, Matthias. Consider this penance.”
A hand seized him by the collar and tugged him up with surprising strength.
“Why did you take her?” hissed the other man. “Why Mattie?”
“I wanted a companion, Matthias. I wanted someone who wasn’t a creation of mine, someone who wouldn’t be swayed by my every whim. You Gentilberries have a terrifying number of sorceresses, do you know that?”
Matthias groaned like a wounded bull and slammed him against the wall. Necristo smiled. The pain was like a thousand bells ringing in his head.
“You knew that she didn’t have the gift!” he howled. “Why didn’t you tell her? Why did you turn her against me?”
“I didn’t know, and neither did she,” said Necristo. “She wanted to stay here. Not because she loved me, but because she was afraid to go back. It was why she turned you away. She told me that much, Matthias.”
“You-”
“She cried for weeks afterwards. By the time she changed her mind and stole my sorcery to get home, her fate was sealed. You’re right. She didn’t have the gift after all. But she could have asked me, you know.”
Why was he relating these things so calmly, so clearly? He felt like his heart was going to break. If he still had a heart. If there was anything in him left to break.
“My mother may have had a hand in her death. I’m sorry. I never found the courage to confront her. I believe Matilda did love you.”
“You heartless bastard!” screamed Matthias, shoving him to the floor.
Necristo smiled again. The corners of his lips quirked like dead fishes.
“Isn’t that right?” he mused. “I’ve lost my heart, Matthias. I thought I could save it by giving half of it to someone. Save that someone, even. But it seems the whole thing is gone now. I don’t even know when I forgot it in the first place. Was it when I started taking them?”
Matthias stood over him, eyes swimming with the same pain as his own. The first time Necristo had seen him, he had been so determined, so eager. He had announced his presence with a rift through the front door, not knowing the extent of a sorcerer’s power…
But now he was old and worn, and the love of his life was dead. And Necristo was the same as the day they’d met, with no life, no love, and a looming death.
There was one thing to look forward to, at least.
“I’ve hurt you all, I know,” said Necristo. “Killed my… your Mattie. I’ve done… so many things. Omitted so much. Lied…”
Neither spoke. The weight of years had fallen in between them, the corpse of a girl long-gone. It was refreshing, in a way. They had both known her so well that there was no longer any need to voice their hatred.
“So, after all that,” said Matthias quietly. “After all that, you don’t even care about Anne.”
The name was like a sledgehammer to the face. Necristo reeled, scrabbling for purchase with his hands and feet like he was falling up the corridor. The carpet hissed, melted, and crawled away like ants.
“Anne?”
The name was like a nail in his forehead. He couldn’t recall for the life of him who it belonged to, but there was a terrible ache in his breast at the mere sound of it, like his ribs were blossoming through his skin.
“Who…” he stammered. “Who’s Anne?”
This wasn’t right. He couldn’t feel anymore. He had no heart. It wasn’t as if…
Matthias pursed his lips, rubbed his knuckles white, then cursed violently. It was like the crash of thunder before the spring rain, when the air pants heavy with musk and perfumed sweat, shakes in expectant agony.
“The girl who’s fighting for your life and Mattie’s! The other Mattie’s!”
“I can’t remember,” said Necristo, eyes wide open. “I can’t remember. Oh, gods, I can’t…”
Tears began to fall from his rabbit-red eyes, as thin and weak as rice-gruel. His dried black blood shone wet with them.
“And the stupid filly loves you,” said Matthias in disgust. “Get up. Be a man for once in your life.”
When Necristo refused to rise, Matthias grabbed him by his shoulders, pulled him up again, and shook him like a child.
“If you’re going to die,” bellowed Matthias, “at least die where she can see you, you milksop coward! You owe us that much!”
And with that, he pushed Necristo through the disintegrating door, grabbed his wrist as they sailed into the Space Between, and wove the spell for opening.