Chapter 38 When Magic Is No More

Chapter 38 When Magic Is No More
Maya's POV
Thomas was seated in Elena's museum with chains around his wrists. He looked at the woman he had loved 800 years ago like she was a stranger.
And I couldn't draw.

"Just try one more time," Dante murmured softly as he held up another blank canvas. We were in the living room at 3 AM because I wouldn't go to sleep. Not while Victoria's threat was hanging over us like a sword. Not when someone I cared about had to die in two days.
I took up my brush. The bristles on the brush rattled against the palette because my hand trembled so much.
"I can't." The words came out wrong. "Dante, I can't get my magic to work anymore."
He put down the canvas and took my hands. "Let me see what's going on."
I closed my eyes and tried to feel the warm, golden feeling that typically came over me when I painted. The enchantment that had always been there, reliable as breathing.
Nothing.
Just cold, empty quiet where my gift used to live.

"It's gone," I muttered. "Ever since Victoria showed up with Thomas, ever since she said someone has to die—my magic just stopped. Everything I try to paint comes out technically perfect but completely dead. Like my soul isn't in it anymore."
"That's because you're terrified," Dante responded. "Your magic is emotional. It responds to what you're feeling. And right now, you're drowning in fear."
"What if the Council's scrutiny broke me?" I took my hands away, pacing. "What if knowing they're watching, judging, waiting for me to mess up—what if that pressure killed my gift?"

"Maya—"
"Or worse, what if I'm broken because I can't choose?" My voice cracked. "Victoria wants us to pick who dies. You, me, Elena, or Thomas. And I can't even think about it without wanting to throw up. What kind of person can't choose between the people she loves?"
"A normal one," Dante stated firmly. "A human one."

"I'm not supposed to be just human anymore!" I grabbed another canvas, pushing paint onto it urgently. "I have magic. I'm supposed to be strong enough to handle this. Instead, I'm useless. Can't paint, can't plan, can't even think straight."
I scraped my brush across the canvas in violent strokes. Red. Black. Gray. The colors that matched the disarray in my thoughts.
When I stepped back, I'd created a technically flawless storm scenario. Perfect perspective. Ideal composition. Beautiful lighting.
And absolutely, entirely lifeless.
"See?" I threw the brush down. "It's garbage. Soulless garbage. My magic is dead."
Dante viewed the painting attentively. Then he said something that made me freeze.

"It's not dead. It's just telling the truth."

"What?"

"Look at it, Maya. Really look." He pointed to the storm. "This painting is exactly how you feel right now. Technically controlled because you're trying so hard to hold it together. But emotionally empty because you're not letting yourself actually feel anything. You're so scared of breaking that you've shut down completely."
I stared at the canvas. He was right. The storm looked magnificent but felt hollow—just like me.
"You're not broken," Dante continued. "You're scared. There's a difference."

"How is there a difference? I can't access my magic—"

"Because you're trying to control it instead of trusting it." He stepped closer. "Ever since the Council showed up, you've been painting what you think you should paint instead of what you feel. You're so worried about proving your magic is safe and controllable that you've strangled all the life out of it."
Tears burnt my eyes. "What if I let go and it's too much? What if my real feelings are too dark, too dangerous—"
"Then we handle it," Dante stated simply. "But Maya, your magic has never hurt anyone. Even at its wildest, all it's ever done is show the truth about love. Trust that."
Before I could react, Elena stormed through our front door with Thomas stumbling behind her, still bound.
"We have a problem," Elena announced. "Thomas remembers everything from his death. Including who killed him."
Thomas's face was pallid. "It wasn't natural causes. I was murdered. By a Cupid who said she needed my death to power a spell."
My blood went cold. "Victoria?"
"No." Thomas looked directly at Elena. "She said her name was Evangeline. She looked just like you, Elena. Same eyes. Same voice. She said she was your sister."

Elena became white as snow. "That's impossible. Evangeline died two thousand years ago. She—" She stopped, knowledge dawning. "Unless she didn't die. Unless she's been alive this whole time, and Victoria brought her back the same way she brought back Thomas."
"Why would Victoria resurrect your dead sister?" I questioned.

"Because Evangeline was the first Cupid to ever successfully wear the Crown of Unmaking," Elena replied bitterly. "She used it to erase an entire civilization from existence. The Council hunted her for centuries before supposedly destroying her."

Dante's phone buzzed. Message from Victoria: "Tick tock. 48 hours until the vault opens. Have you chosen who dies yet? PS—Elena, your sister says hello. She's very eager to see you again. In fact, she insists on helping with the heist. Isn't family reunion wonderful?"
"This is a trap," I remarked. "Victoria's manipulating all of us. Thomas's resurrection, Evangeline's return, the impossible choice—it's all designed to tear us apart."
"Of course it is," Elena acknowledged. "But we still need the Crown to save your family. And now we need to figure out Victoria's real game before—"
Thomas yelled.
The chains surrounding his wrists suddenly blazed red-hot. His body convulsed, and when he looked up, his eyes were completely dark.

"Message from Evangeline," he said in a voice that wasn't his own. "Little sister, I've been waiting 800 years to punish you for abandoning our love. Now I'm going to destroy everything you care about, starting with this town. The Crown opens dimensional rifts, remember? I'm going to use it to unleash something that will consume Rosewood Falls completely. Unless, of course, you give me what I really want."
"What do you want?" Elena questioned.

Thomas smiled with Evangeline's cruelty. "Your immortality. Your power. Your life. Come to the vault tomorrow night. Alone. Trade yourself for the town's survival. Or watch everyone you've protected for 800 years die screaming."
The black disappeared from Thomas's sight. He collapsed, unconscious.
Elena's hands were shaking. "She's serious. Evangeline will destroy this entire town."
"Then we stop her," Dante responded.
"We can't. She's worn the Crown before. She knows how to use it without being corrupted. She's—" Elena's voice trembled. "She's everything I was too scared to become. Powerful and ruthless and completely willing to sacrifice anything for what she wants."
My magic immediately burst to life inside me.
Not the lovely warmth I was used to. This was intense and hot and absolutely intimidating. My hands moved before I could think, seizing a canvas, mixing paint with frenzied speed.
The image that came out of me wasn't regulated or safe or technically perfect.
It was raw. Violent. True.
It depicted Elena standing at the vault's entrance. But she wasn't alone.
Behind her loomed a figure in shadow—someone who looked precisely like her but twisted, perverted, wrong.
And beneath each of them, the painting showed Rosewood Falls ripping apart, dimensional rifts shredding the town to bits.
"What does it mean?" Dante muttered.
I glanced at what I'd constructed, my heart thumping. "It means tomorrow night, one of the Elena sisters dies. But I can't tell which one survives."
The art transformed before our eyes.
Now it showed three possible endings, all overlaid on the same canvas:
Elena dead. Evangeline victorious.
Evangeline dead. Elena alone.
Both sisters dead. The town demolished.
"Your magic is showing us the futures," Elena gasped. "Maya, which one is real?"
"All of them," I muttered. "They're all possible. And we have less than 48 hours to figure out which one we're heading toward."
Thomas woke up screaming. "She's coming. My God, she's already here. Evangeline is IN Rosewood Falls."
And that's when every light in town went out at once.