by Ashia Monet
“Are you mad?” she yells. “I don’t know where this is coming from, o-or how to block it! I don’t know a thing about anything, this is—!”
Cordelia stops. She takes in a deep breath before she speaks again, lower. “I don’t understand magic, I don’t care to understand magic, and I’m certainly not going to put myself in danger because of some…off chance that I could do something.”
There must be some misunderstanding, because there is no way Cordelia is blatantly refusing to do anything to help them. “What…what are you talking about?” Blythe asks.
“Hacking is easy,” Cordelia says. “I can make myself untraceable while I work. The worst-case scenario is that I get doxxed, which I have heavily protected myself against. Whatever it is you want me to do? I have no way to protect myself. Stopping the Trident Republic through hacking could simply reveal my identity. What you’re asking me to do could kill me. I’ve weighed my options and I’m content with doing things my way.”
Blythe is speechless. “Are you…” Her thoughts are going so fast, she can’t even articulate them.
At least, not without coming for Cordelia’s entire life. But maybe that’s what this girl needs.
“Daniel, plug your ears,” Blythe orders. Daniel’s hands tremble as he clamps them over his ears.
Blythe summons all of her hatred for this selfish, spoiled girl, into her eyes. “You would rather let someone freely enter your mind—someone who could make us drive into a building, or make you stop breathing, or make you plunge a knife through your own chest—but not only your mind, the minds of you and six other innocent people, than to put forth the singular effort to try and save not only your life, but literally six other people’s?! Is that what you’re telling me?”
Cordelia is still shockingly pale, but her eyebrows shoot up. “Did I stutter?”
Her words ring and fade in the air.
“Do you remember one of the first things you ever said to me? I believed you, but you were wrong,” Blythe hisses. “Because this? This is the real difference between you and me.”
Eleven
The only sound in the van is the hum of the air conditioner.
The bumper is scraped and the hood is dented. Blythe shifted the part in her hair so her curls fall over the developing bruise on her forehead. Cordelia cleaned the spilled tea before it grew sticky in the heat.
Physically, they have recovered. Mentally, they are fucked, and it is not nice.
Cordelia controls the radio whenever she’s not on her phone. Daniel stares out the window, squinting at the city—or maybe at the thoughts in his head.
No one tries to interact with each other. How do you bounce back from the conversation they just had? What do you say?
They ignore each other for the entire drive.
Antonio Torres lives on a small beach, spotty with palm trees. Blythe thought the drive through San Diego was picturesque but the Torres property is like a scene from a California vacation ad: smooth sand, twinkling ocean, white house with a verandah high atop stilts.
Cordelia huffs. “This looks my family’s vacation house.”
It seems they express their stress in different ways: Blythe pretends she doesn’t have it, Daniel cries, and Cordelia makes everyone around her feel like pieces of shit.
“Can you at least try not to sound like an elitist asshole?” Blythe snaps.
Cordelia isn’t even phased. “My mum’s an artist, my dad’s a musician, and my older sister is a poet. None of them are very successful, but when my grandfather died he left us the estate and a large sum of money. I’m not lying, simply speaking from experience.”
“A hacker in a family of artists,” Blythe says. “Finding the black sheep in your family is way too easy.”
Cordelia smiles sweetly. “At least I know where I can find my family.”
Her hair tosses like a black curtain as she sashays toward the Torres’ house.
The beach suits her almost too perfectly, with her model’s figure and grace. Blythe hates her, but she has to admit, this scene would make a nice shot.
“I hope we meet someone twenty times richer than her so she’ll feel upstaged,” Blythe grumbles.
Daniel is making a face too, but his is directed toward the horizon.
“I’ve never seen the ocean before,” he whispers.
It’s a positive, pleasant distraction from Cordelia’s nastiness. Blythe follows his gaze. “Pretty, isn’t it?” She asks. “I used to live in Florida and we’d visit the beach all the time. But seeing it never gets old. Ironically, I never learned how to swim but…”
Daniel stares unblinking, unmoving, at the water.
“You alright?” Blythe asks.
“It’s…” Daniel’s mouth forms a small o. “It’s communicating with me.”
Blythe recoils—but Daniel is the Guardian of Nature. Of course he’d have a connection with the sea.
“Well, it doesn’t usually do that,” she says. “What’s it saying?”
A frown pinches Daniel’s face. “It’s stopped.”
The ocean seems unchanged to Blythe. Whatever it’s said to Daniel, it doesn’t seem to care whether or not he understood. The waves push and pull, as unbothered as ever.
Daniel shakes his head. “Nevermind,” he says. “Um, could I…could I talk to you?”
“About the ocean?”
“No, about…well, about—”
“HEY!” someone shouts.
From the other end of the beach comes a form, approaching at high speed. A boy runs with his arms waving in the air, as if to get their attention, but everyone is already watching him.
Cordelia drifts back to them. Blythe’s not surprised; Cordelia doesn’t feel bad for what she said, she just doesn’t want to be the first person to greet this overeager stranger.
The boy grins when he reaches them; he has a dimple poking in his cheek, and the kind of smile that makes you feel like the most important personal alive.
“Hey hey, I’m Antonio!” he shouts. “Did the Sages send you guys? Someone called us about that a couple days ago and I’ve been waiting ever since.”
He is the beach personified. From his skin, golden from the sun, to his fluffy blonde hair that reminds Blythe of a Studio Ghibli character. He’s pulled the front into a topknot, but the rest is long enough to hide his ears and brush his jaw.
“Uh,” Blythe stammers. First of all, Antonio’s smile is blindingly brilliant. Second of all, Blythe isn’t totally sure of how to answer him.
The Sages didn’t send them, not really, and they are not here to bring this boy to Frost Glade. But it’s a little soon to drop the “my family’s been kidnapped” bomb.
Blythe puts on a smile and prays for the best when she says, “Mostly!”
“Awesomeeeeee,” Antonio replies. “Gimme names, don’t be shy!”
“Oh, um, I-I’m Blythe, this is Daniel and Corde—”
“Cordelia,” the girl interrupts. “Who can introduce herself.”
Her annoyance goes completely unnoticed by Antonio, who smile remains as bright as ever. “Blythe, Daniel, and Cordelia,” he lists. “Got it. I’m good with names, I won’t forget. You guys are Guardians too, right? I’ve never met any other Guardians before, this is gonna be so cool! Wait, how long have you guys known each other—”
“ANTONIO!” Someone screams from inside the house. Daniel nearly jumps out of his skin, poor thing.
Antonio lets out a puff of air. “That’s my mom, hold on. MA! ESTOY AQUI!”
A woman saunters onto the verandah, orange maxi dress fluttering in the sea breeze. Her hair is pulled back, and her eyes are as dark as Antonio’s and as sharp as her jawline.
She leans against the railing, taking in her new guests. “Oh, hello,” she says. “I didn’t know you all were here. Breakfast’s inside, come in and help yourselves.”
“We’ll be there in a bit,” Antonio answers. “I’m just gonna show them my board and then—”
His mom
cuts him off. “Antonio. Focus.”
Antonio sighs dramatically. “Alright, alright,” he relents.
He turns his bright smile back to them as his mother disappears inside. “Sorry about that. I did make breakfast though, so you guys can come in and eat!”
Antonio makes life feel two-times faster than it ought to. Before Blythe can fully process what’s happening, something new captures her attention.
White feathers poke out from Antonio’s shoulders. They point skyward as two bones form, the feathers multiplying on top of them, layering, until they extend into a pair of huge, angelic wings, unfolding from Antonio’s back.
Wings.
Blythe stammers, “Wh….wait a minute.”
Cordelia blurts, “What the hell?”
Daniel screams. No words. Just raw power.
“Hm? Oh yeah, I can grow wings!” Antonio says.
He has wings. Two seconds ago, they were invisible—no, two seconds ago, they did not exist. Blythe has heard of magicians who can materialize new limbs, but she’s never seen someone do it right in front of her.
Antonio’s wings flap, sending the sand around his bare feet into a frenzy. His muscles tense and he is gone, a trail of sand in his wake.
Fifteen feet above their heads, Antonio glides on air, moving as if flying is as fluid and natural as breathing.
“You have wings!” Blythe repeats.
Above their heads, Antonio’s smile widens. “Heck yeah, I’m the Guardian of Animals, bro!”
Cordelia and Daniel are already halfway to the porch by the time Blythe even thinks about walking. She has to keep her jaw from dropping as she hurries after them.
“They’re seagull wings!” The moment Antonio lands on the porch, the wings sink effortlessly into his skin, leaving not a trace behind. “Don’t tell my mom I did that though,” he says when they catch up to him. “She panics when I fly.”
Antonio holds the door open for them, and they’re instantly greeted by his mother shouting, “Antonio, I don’t want to be sweeping up sand later!”
“Oh, don’t forget to wipe your feet.” Antonio, however, walks straight into the kitchen. He’s tracking sand.
The Torres’ home consists of one flat layout; the living room and kitchen are blended into one breezy, open space. It’s amazingly clean besides a few items—a denim jacket across the couch, worn sandals near the kitchen doorway, white feathers below a window—that look like Antonio’s.
A Puerto Rican flag hangs in the living room, and on the walls hang a huge assortment of pictures: Antonio with his huge smile and blonde hair, growing up with his family members, but a few of just Antonio and his mom.
The Alastair French show plays on the TV; his mom sits forward on the living room couch, eyes glued to it.
“E-Excuse me, Antonio?” Daniel’s walking slower than usual. “Y-You don’t have a dog, do you?”
“I used to have three!” Antonio chirps from the kitchen. “And a few cats, couple turtles, some birds—oh, and a ferret!” His eyes sparkle with excitement. “His name was Bill. He liked to hide in the rugs. Oh, and I had a snake and some mice, but not at the same time. What was the question?”
“Dogs,” Blythe reminds.
“Oh! No, not anymore, why?”
Daniel doesn’t elaborate.
Cordelia does it for him. “He’s terrified of dogs. Among multiple other things.”
“I-I’ve just never…seen them before…” Daniel’s defense is whispered, and of course, Cordelia ignores it.
“Don’t be scared, bro, it’s all good! No pets here, just breakfast!” Antonio promises. “I made it before I went surfing, so it might be a little cold, but we can pop it in the microwave.”
Blythe’s stomach is growling, but she’s not sure if she trusts Antonio’s cooking. He seems a little too…easily distracted to do well in the kitchen.
“Thanks,” she begins. “But we’re not—”
Antonio picks up a tray and whips off the lid. This time, Blythe can’t stop her jaw from going slack.
This boy with Studio Ghibli hair has made Studio Ghibli food.
“Nutella crepe cones filled with fresh berries and whipped cream, and bite sized omelet cups topped with basil on the side,” Antonio describes. “Half the cups have ham squares and the others have extra red peppers, just in case you’re not into meat.”
A light snow of powdered sugar adorns perfectly golden crepes, the Nutella melted into a thick, chocolate stream. The omelet cups are folded like small flowers, the eggs blooming with a warm yellow hue.
“I’ll take a plate,” Cordelia blurts.
“M-Me too,” Daniel stammers.
“Holy crap, you made this?!” Blythe screams. “With your own two hands?!”
Antonio laughs. “Well, I had bowls and spoons and stuff but yeah, I made it! I love cooking! And I…kinda ate most of it earlier. But here’s what’s left!”
The Guardian thank him and grab their plates while he leaves to gather his things from his room. They eat at the table in the center of the kitchen, quietly stuffing their mouths, each forkful tasting too good to be true.
A sigh comes from the living room before the TV clicks off. Antonio’s mother joins them with a small smile; her eyes look tired, but up close, she seems rather young, maybe only a little older than Katia.
“How’s it?” she asks.
“Delicious,” Blythe answers.
“Good. That boy knows his way around a kitchen,” She chuckles a bit. “I haven’t seen you all since you were babies, so you’ll have to tell me your names again.”
Ms. Torres speaks like she knew them before. But, then again, the process of becoming a Guardian was not forced on their families. Each set of parents had to agree, sign official paperwork, and meet certain criteria.
There were probably multiple meetings involving all seven families in the same room, maybe with the kids off playing while the adults talked practicalities.
The other Guardians’ families may have met Blythe when she was too small to remember.
“I’m Blythe,” she says. “This is Daniel and that’s Cordelia.”
Miraculously, Cordelia doesn’t interrupt. Maybe because they’re in front of an adult.
Ms. Torres studies Blythe. “You’re the Fultons’ girl, I remember you. Did your family ever move out of Frost Glade?”
Blythe hesitates. She can feel Cordelia’s gaze burning on her. Don’t mess this up. She cannot break down and tell this woman her family has been kidnapped and she’s actually here to convince her son to help her find them. She can’t.
“Yeah, when I was…really young,” she forces the words out and shoves a slice of crepe into her mouth to keep from continuing.
“Ah, I see,” Ms. Torres nods. “Maybe that’s for the best, considering how people are about Ether.”
Blythe starts at that. She swallows quickly. “What’s wrong with Ether?”
A shrug. Whatever Ms. Torres is about to say, it doesn’t particularly offend her. “Nothing at all. But since the Sage of Ether is the one who turned, people tend to be…simpleminded.”
Katia never mentioned which Sage became obsessed with power. She never said it was the Sage of Ether who killed hundreds in Frost Glade.
Blythe’s stomach twists. This doesn’t mean she is destined to become evil—of course it doesn’t—but the same Element that once ran through his veins now runs through hers.
And that is chilling.
“Your house is lovely,” Cordelia says, and the conversation moves on without Blythe.
It is for the best. Blythe is having trouble doing anything besides staring at her food. Her thoughts are a thick fog.
Maybe it is for the best that she can’t use her own magic. She is the Guardian of the Element that drove a man to insanity.
“Where’s Katia?” Ms. Torres suddenly asks.
Daniel coughs.
Cordelia doesn’t even flinch. “She’s not with us right now,” she says.
“So, you’re unsupervised,” Ms. Torres’ brow furrows further.
“For the moment. We had to travel separately, but we’re meeting back up with her at the next Guardian’s house.”
Cordelia’s lies come out confident and smooth. But Ms. Torres only makes a vague “mhm” noise, saying nothing more.
Cordelia’s voice enters Blythe’s mind instantly. She doesn’t believe us.
Ms. Torres rests her chin in her hand. Her gaze carries the weight of someone who has seen too much to be easily fooled—a suspicious wall that Antonio does not seem to share.
“And you’re the three who heard the…voices, correct?” she asks.
Blythe nods. “Yeah. Did Antonio not…?”
Sofia doesn’t even blink. “No.”
That explains his excitement. Not even the most optimistic person would be able to brush off an experience like that.
Antonio returns with a backpack, wearing flip flops as if he isn’t about to leave the beach.
“How’s the food?” he asks.
Cordelia turns her fake hospitable act on him. “Perfect. You’re an excellent cook.”
“Aw, thanks, that’s so sweet!” he says. “Whenever you guys are ready, we can…”
His gaze drifts over Blythe’s shoulder. And, for the first time since they arrived, Antonio’s smile disappears.
The largest window in the Torres house has a picturesque view of the beach—except a mass of clouds are rolling over the sun, taking all light along with them.
The kitchen falls into a grey despair as the waves crash against the sand, fitfully pulling back and forth.
It’s happening far too quickly to be natural.
Blythe’s skin perks with the hum of magical energy in the air. The palm trees bend against the wind. They move just like the trees outside of the Full Cup.
“Miss Sofia,” Blythe begins. “I think we should leave, like…now.”
Antonio’s gaze snaps to his mother. “What’s happening?”
Ms. Torres’ jaw clenches. “I don’t like any of this— Katia not being here, the voices you three supposedly heard, the war. I don’t want to send my son out into this.” She pauses. “But keeping him here would be no better.”
