THE MAGICIAN
"The Magician represents Man's will in union with the Divine achieving the knowledge and power to bring desired things into manifestation through conscious self-awareness."
—Eden Gray, The Complete Guide to the Tarot
"Divinatory Meaning: Will, mastery, organizational skills, creative talents. The ability to take the power from above and direct it through desire into manifestation.
Reversed: Indecision, weak will, ineptitude. The use of power for destructive ends."
—Joan Bunning, Learning the Tarot
—
DECEMBER 5TH 2039
12:47PM MST
NEDERLAND, COLORADO
「"I've got to fill the tank before I get anywhere," Eleazar laughs. His phone is mounted on the dashboard of his truck. When he drives over a bumpy patch of road the cheap plastic of the caddy rattles louder than the voice of the speaker on the other end. "When I get to—"」
Nothing.
「Siobhan rolls her eyes as she ties back her long, messy hair. Maggie glares at the side of her head, arms folded across her oversized, ratty shirt. Siobhan turns back toward the reflective surface of the shop window to survey her appearance. "Tonight's rain is the least of my damn worries! I can not—"」
Nothing.
「Bella's elderly mother coughs and wheezes into the side of her sleeve. The sound as she clears her throat is as concerning as it is grotesque. Her other hand waves to someone unseen across the room while she struggles to speak. "Turn the music up! This dust is going to send me to—"」
Nothing.
「"She will stop if you say," Kebi whispers, leaning forward until her chin comes to rest on a black-clad shoulder, "nothing I do can—"」
Nothing.
「Stefan, to Vladimir, "It wasn't until the glass broke through that they scattered like—"」
Nothing.
「Tanya sighs. "Oh, you're a real piece of work, you know th—"」
Nothing
「Zafrina: "Let me try it myself, there might—"」
Nothing.
「He struggles even though his arms are restrained and he can't see through the canvas to assess where he is. Every time he tries, in vain, to plant his feet against the ground, the men who drag him forward kick at his knees. His legs are bent at odd angles; judging by the noises he makes, the injuries must be impossibly painful. It doesn't stop him from trying to use a broken, disjointed leg to try and get a good shot in.
The bag over his head doesn't appear necessary. Peter absolutely knows which direction he's being dragged in; the fading sunlight is still warm against his left side. He doesn't heed their demands that he 'stop squirming' or to 'quit it'. "Fuck you," he speaks instead. He swiftly receives another blow to the side of the head for it.
Three newborn vampires. Dirt is smeared across each of their foreheads; the mud is thick and crumbling with dehydration and age.」
Then, nothing.
Alice did not see Charlotte. Could not find her. The next voices she focused on spoke just feet away from her.
"It's okay, it's alright—"
"Call Esme, tell her to go straight to the hospital. Tell her—"
"Hey. Hey, c'mon. There we go, now let's—"
"I only smell one unfamiliar scent. Whoever—"
"Alice?"
Alice looked up at the sound of her name. Edward moved to her side and placed a hand against her shoulder. "What did you see?" His eyes were wide as he plead for her to go back. To play what she'd already checked.
Alice couldn't focus enough for that. Edward snapped his fingers in front of her face and she startled. She hadn't noticed him get that close. The only thing she'd noticed was that the yelling had stopped. Finally, she looked around. Bella had whisked Renesmee off somewhere out of sight but Alice could hear crying coming from upstairs.
"Alice," Edward shook her shoulders. "Focus."
Peter is alive, she threw that thought toward Edward firmly and willed him to share the information with the rest of their family. Where was everyone? Edward was the only one she could see from where she was standing at the edge of the room, still turned toward the demolished front door.
Everyone else must have already passed her by.
Peter is alive, she repeated and then thrust the full vision at Edward. With that, another one came to her, unbidden.
「His knees are pressed firmly into the dirt. His legs appear to be whole again but his left hand is missing, ripped off at the wrist. The flesh around the wound is jagged and purple, slowly weeping venom and beginning to rot.
His elbows are wrenched back and a larger man is propped up on one knee behind him. The dirt is still smeared thick across this stranger's face, with patches beginning to fall away to reveal bare skin underneath it. He holds Peter in place. Peter, who still wears the brown hood. Peter, who moves so slow and with such subtlety that his captors don't appear to catch on to what he's doing; he clenches and unclenches his right hand, he shifts his weight from knee to knee.
He's waiting for his opportunity.
Another newborn, dark brows furrowed with frustration above their bright eyes, tinkers with a radio across from where they've placed Peter.
"Hurry," the third man speaks quietly. "Rufina will be here soon with the input."」
Again: nothing.
I can't see her, Alice couldn't say it, but suddenly it was the only thing she could think about. The only detail she could focus on. I can't see Charlotte. Alice couldn't say it, because she knew what that meant.
A note was buried inside the box beneath its terrifying contents. A vision of Rosalie holding and reading it flickered through Alice's head, and in an instant the words were pressed firmly into her mind.
Ten before two a fire blooms
Two before ten it lights again
Follow the light, bend the height
Love for the land costs a hand
The note was a riddle. Whoever sent it—and Alice didn't know and she could tell that Edward couldn't see anything helpful from her mind—was toying with them. There were two answers to the puzzle. Alice knew them both. What mattered wasn't the clue, but the knowledge that whoever sent this wished to split their numbers.
Her family didn't know that Alice already knew where to go. They would travel to Loveland to the north because that's where Peter was. They would not travel to the mountain pass of the same name in the east. Charlotte was already dead.
Twenty-two seconds after the sound of Jasper's feet hitting the ground echoed through the house, launching everyone into action, Alice finally spoke.
"Stop."
She had to yank her shoulders backward in order for Edward to finally release her, and she spun on her heel briskly. She batted Rosalie's hand away as she reached for the box—someone had moved it to the kitchen table—and quickly closed the four flaps, tucking them into each other swiftly until the box was properly closed. 'TICK TOCK' was scribbled in thick black ink across the top.
"There's a note at the bottom—" Rosalie insisted, frustrated by Alice's interruption.
"It's a trap." Alice's words were calm. "They are trying to trick us." Her eyes wandered around the kitchen, finally landing on where Emmett still gripped Jasper's elbow tightly. It seemed he'd tried to get Jasper to sit at the table, but Jasper still stood, looking at the box.
To anyone else, he might've looked shell-shocked. Stunned into silence. But only she—and Edward, of course—knew that Jasper was already planning their next course of action. Half a dozen of his plans flashed through her head as his analytical mind went into overdrive.
"Who is trying to trick us?" Rosalie demanded.
"I don't know," Alice confessed. Her words were still quiet as she stared at Jasper's face. He was staring at the box, his brow furrowed. Alice could see his lips barely moving as he tried to sort some equation out in his mind.
"What is Maria doing?" Edward was the one to ask, and suddenly three of Jasper's potential plans made sense.
"She's—" Alice paused and checked and then paused again, "not in Monterrey… I don't think. I don't see the mountains or the desert." The images Alice held and threw toward Edward were confirmation of that; the land Maria was traversing was strangely flat. "She has nine newborns with her. They're traveling."
"Close by?"
Alice hesitated, looked again. "It looks like Kansas. Maybe Missouri." She shook her head. "I don't think it's her."
"She's already up here! Who the fuck else would do this?" Rosalie's voice started to rise in pitch.
Everyone's eyes moved to Jasper, who still hadn't spoken yet. They waited two seconds before he spoke. "It's barely been two hours." His voice was even. Surprisingly steady. "There's still venom draining from their hands."
"That means they're close," Emmett, pleased that Jasper had finally spoken, released his elbow. He pulled Rosalie against his side. "We don't have time to waste."
It was a sick game. That was all Alice was certain of. A game she didn't want to play. There was an uncomfortable sense of failure that was building inside of her, knowing that watching the future hadn't prevented this. Watching the future hadn't protected Peter and Charlotte. This game hadn't been orchestrated by any of the people she'd been studying for the past few decades. If it had been Maria, Alice was certain she would have seen.
No. She couldn't do this. She couldn't be the one to say it.
Whoever had sent those hands wanted the Cullens to split up. They wanted half of them to travel north and half of them to travel east. They wanted to lure the Cullens into believing they could save both Peter and Charlotte. It was wholly untrue. Because if they traveled east they'd either find nothing, or Charlotte's ashes, if they were lucky.
If they went east, Peter might die, too. Whoever this was, Alice could not see. Whoever this was, Alice had never met them.
Alice's eyes flickered toward Jasper again and he finally looked up at her. Fear and guilt and anger were all at war behind his eyes. Alice did not know who could have done this. But she knew who might have.
Someone was trying to send Jasper a message, and there were already casualties.
Danger was a tangible thing.