by Ashia Monet
“You can use Old Man Bill’s truck,” he says, and leads them to an old house with an even older car parked in front of it. Blythe recognizes the model: a Lincoln Continental.
“It runs fine, but he never uses it,” Caspian explains.
“Did you really try to sell Daniel weed earlier?” Cordelia asks.
“No. I don’t even have weed.”
“Aww,” Storm sighs.
“I have silver-root,” Caspian continues. “But that’s mine and not for sale.”
Daniel’s eyes light up. Blythe’s pretty sure he told her that’s the last plant he’s looking for.
From what Blythe knows about it, it’s a plant that magicians often smoke. It’s similar to weed, but Blythe’s never tried it before.
Before Daniel can speak to him, Caspian disappears in a puff of black smoke. The Lincoln unlocks with a click. All four doors swing open at once.
“Ard, you see how you just turned invisible and started throwing doors open and shit?” Storm yells. “That’s what we not about to do.”
She grumbles as she climbs into the driver’s seat. “Blythe and her dumb ass letting the Grudge’s emo cousin tag along with us like this is a game…”
“Thank you, Storm,” Blythe calls sweetly.
After a few moments of listening to her complain about ghosts while Blythe anxiously glances at the house and prays Old Man Bill doesn’t notice the group of teenagers jacking his car, the engine roars to life.
Trees are not strangers to Lavender Heights, which makes entering the Tempore a breeze. However, the town itself is not particularly caring of strangers, and it bids them no farewell when they discover a small grove and plunge through it.
“The Tempore looks worse every time we enter it,” Daniel mutters when their car stills.
The Tempore has not changed seasons. In fact, it looks as if it is barely capable of existing in anything other than damp nightfall. The grass lays shriveled, the trees curl like sick, gnarled hands.
Whatever the Trident Republic is doing, it has sucked the very energy out of its air. The Temper doesn’t look like it’ll be able to survive for much longer. One day, they might drive into a forest and crash into a random tree.
Blythe flicks on the headlights; they don’t do much against the darkness, but it’s all she can do.
“It looks like it’s dying,” Daniel continues.
“Hey, Caspian, you got anything to do with this?” Storm teases.
There is no response, probably because their resident ghost has deserted them again.
Antonio is squished between the two of them in the backseat, his face blank. Blythe hates seeing him like this. Antonio Torres is not supposed to be without a smile.
“Hey, Antonio,” she calls. “Can you talk to the compass so it’ll tell us where to go?”
“Okay,” he agrees. Cordelia hands it to him, and he holds it gingerly. “Hey, buddy. How are you today?”
“No, you just like, have to tell it where we’re going,” Blythe corrects.
Antonio brow wrinkles. “That’s so rude.” He looks back to the compass. “Don’t listen to her. I know you have feelings, I won’t just shout orders at you. Is there anything you want to vent about? I’m here to listen.”
Blythe takes it back. “Alright, he’s fired. Daniel, it’s your job now.”
With Daniel’s proper, specific direction, they are guided through the dying forest. They speak to each other in hushed voices, because there is something foreboding about the Tempore’s emptiness that keeps them from speaking normally.
It does not help that when they reach the seven trees, their situation takes a turn for the worst.
Blythe slows the car, her arms going rigid as she observes the people gathered in front of the exit, along with the randomly constructed one-story building off to the left.
It’s only when Blythe takes in their gold and white uniforms and thick boots that she realizes—this is a temporary military base.
“Holy shit,” she whispers.
They even have a checkpoint complete with a tall man eying their approaching car, waiting to speak with them.
Maybe Blythe deserves this for even daring to use the Tempore. She should have known the Black Veins would start regulating it eventually.
Daniel’s face is nearly pressed into the window. “Do we have to stop?”
“If we don’t want trouble, we do,” Blythe replies.
They pull to a stop in front of the man, who smiles politely as Blythe rolls down the window.
He is mustached and blonde, with a longsword at his hip and a charming glint in his eye. “Nice car you’ve got here, miss. Antique.”
Blythe returns his smile, but without teeth. “Thanks.”
Electric City is waiting right through those trees. She’ll be damned if she gets caught this close to the finish line.
“Sadly, the Tempore’s closed for civilian travel,” the man continues. “As you can see, it’s not exactly in the best condition. We’re going to have to ask you to leave and discontinue use of it for your safety.”
Blythe nods as if this is the utmost importance to her. “We’re on our way out, thanks.”
“Alright. Make sure you don’t…” The man glances into the backseat. Oh God. They’re going to get busted for piling way too many minors into a car that looks like it barely passed inspection twenty years ago.
But the look in the man’s eyes is far worse than that. It’s recognition. “Hold on a moment—”
“Oi, Valerian!” A soldier shouts to him.
Blythe’s heard that name before. Back when they’d just met Daniel and Katia got a phone call from a person she called Val.
If Katia and this man are at all connected, he could obliterate Blythe’s entire mission within seconds.
This is more than the worst-case scenario. This is the Bad End.
“Gotta blast,” Blythe says, and slams the gas.
They race toward the trees. Something snags them to a stop. Blythe stomps the gas into the floor. The wheels only spin in place.
In the sideview mirror, Valerian has fired some sort of harpoon; one end is embedded in their fender, and down the coiling metal rope is the other end, held tight in Valerian’s grip. The longsword holster at his hip is empty. Blythe didn’t expect his sword to double as a fucking projectile.
“Are you kidding me?!” Blythe yells.
They are so close. So close. To lose everything when she can see the exit in front of her windshield would be a fate too cruel.
Blythe kicks the gas pedal. The tires growl uselessly.
Valerian yanks the harpoon—the whole car drags backward.
“YOU’RE KIDDING ME!” Blythe screams.
Cordelia groans in frustration. “His mind is blocked like Katia’s, I can’t get into it!”
Vines leap from the ground and lasso Valerian’s wrists like handcuffs. The chain goes slack as his grip loosens.
It’s the opportunity Blythe needs. The needle of their speedometer climbs. But the car doesn’t move.
There is a sickening shredding sound as Valerian rips the vines from the ground with enough force to send the dirt flying.
The car rears backward again. Even as more vines swarm Valerian’s legs, he kicks free as if they are simply an annoyance.
He flashes them his Prince Charming smile. “Surely you don’t want to waste time like this, do you, Guardians?”
“Don’t worry,” Storm rolls down the windows, heaving her upper body out. “We got time.”
She throws an object that glints in the dim light on its way to Valerian’s head. A switchblade.
Valerian dodges with such swift, instinctual grace, it looks like a dance. The sharp end lands, en point, in the grass.
Storm hesitates a moment. She returns to her seat in an orange blur.
“You’re giving up?!” Blythe shrieks.
Her eyes bug. “Bitch, I only had one knife!”
Soldiers line up in front of the ca
r, shoulder to shoulder, brows heavy, daring Blythe to drive through them. Because they know she won’t. She can’t.
Blythe punches the steering wheel.
The car jerks backward with every sway of Valerian’s arms. Hurt and pain and anger shake through Blythe’s muscles.
She was so close. She was so goddamn close.
“We can still get out of this,” Cordelia whispers. “I’ll figure out what he wants and we can—”
“Cordelia, these are Black Veins’ soldiers,” Blythe interrupts. “We’re fucked.”
The car stops. Valerian returns to the window, his charming smile gone smug and amused.
“Guardians,” he says. “We’ve been looking for you.”
Valerian introduces himself as General Valerian Wilde of the Black Veins Imperial Army. He has over fifteen years of formal combat training, a whole fleet of soldiers at his beck and call, and Katia Darkholme on speed dial.
“Little young to be a general, aren’t you?” Blythe spits.
It doesn’t wipe the haughty look from Valerian’s face. “Top of my class, miss. I’ve been working hard.”
He escorts them into the base, a sterile building of white hallways and barren rooms. The place is crawling with soldiers and watchful eyes, powerful bodies and magicians who seem all too ready to set the Guardians back in place should they step even one foot out of line.
The furniture is temporary and the floor is too squeaky, especially in the room Valerian tells them to wait in. There are only two round tables and a few heavy fold-up chairs. The window only offers a view of the Tempore’s depressing, slow downfall.
Blythe can’t believe this is the place where her journey will be laid to rest.
“I believe this is yours,” Valerian holds Storm’s switchblade out, and she eyes him distrustfully as she snatches it, something that only amuses him even more.
“I sent word to Katia,” he says. “She said she’ll be here soon, but in the meantime, can I get you some refreshments? Tea or coffee, perhaps?”
“No,” Blythe grumbles.
Storm huffs. “Coffee.”
“I’ll take tea,” Cordelia says.
“M-Me too,” Daniel stammers.
“Do you have milk?” Antonio asks.
“Traitors,” Blythe grumbles.
Blythe keeps her arms crossed and her jaw clenched even as Valerian leaves. Cordelia heaves a sigh, sitting cross legged by the window while Antonio sulks into the back of the room, plopping down on the floor. Daniel seems too nervous to stray from the doorway.
Storm makes her spot on top of a table, spinning her switchblade. “Are we actually gon’ wait for Katia to get here?”
“If you’re dumb enough to try your luck against trained Black Veins soldiers, I guess not,” Blythe grumbles. “But none of us would even get five feet out of this room.”
A woman passes the doorway and locks eyes with Blythe, as if even conversing escape is forbidden.
Storm remains unbothered. “I’m fast enough to.”
“But what about us?” Blythe asks. “What about all our stuff? The car?”
“I’m not going with Katia. If y’all fuck up and get yourselves taken in, I’m out. This ain’t got nothing to do with me.”
Blythe grits her teeth. Sure, Storm made it very clear she was only joining them to find the Angelus, but Blythe thought—well, she thought that maybe things had changed, that maybe Storm liked them—liked her—enough to give a shit and stick around. But Blythe is obviously a fool.
“Don’t worry,” Blythe snaps. “We won’t stop you.”
“Y-You’re leaving?” Daniel stammers.
His shaking voice cuts through the tension like a knife. Storm doesn’t look at him. Or, perhaps, the more accurate word is can’t.
“Maybe,” she admits, with a forced edge.
Daniel stares down at his shoes. His social skills are not good enough to tell that Storm’s rough-and-tumble, uncaring attitude is a front.
The two of them have obviously bonded these past few days, but Storm can’t even be truthful with him, this harmless boy who simply wants to make friends.
Blythe almost wants Storm to go.
Valerian returns with a tray of drinks like a smiling housewife. He has to deliver the glass of milk all the way to the corner, where Antonio seems content to sit alone, quietly. Blythe almost forgot about him in the midst of her own hurricane of emotions.
She waits until Valerian leaves and then makes her way to sit down beside Antonio. “Hey,” she says.
“Hi.”
“If I ask you if you’re okay, you’ll just say you are, won’t you?” Blythe asks.
He gives her a guilty smile. “I am,” he insists.
“Well, shit’s not gonna get any worse and we’ll probably be stuck here for a while so…” she bumps her shoulder against his. “Wanna talk?”
Antonio stares at his cup. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help. Y’know, when we were in the car.”
“It’s okay,” Blythe says. “There’s nothing any of us could have done.”
“But at least everyone else tried,” Antonio says.
Blythe is quiet. She knows that feeling of powerlessness very well.
Antonio takes a breath. “I know I act really…carefree. But I always feel like everything is going to be okay. So, I tend not to read into things, and I don’t dwell on stuff, so I guess I seem stupid. Or maybe I am stupid.”
“Antonio,” Blythe almost gasps. “You are not stupid. Did we…did we make you feel like you were?”
“No, no. I mean, even with the whole Katia thing back at the hotel…the problem wasn’t that you didn’t tell me what was happening,” his eyes grow glassy. “It’s that I didn’t even think to ask.”
He slouches farther against the wall. “Storm was barely here for five minutes and she knew something was wrong. I’d been with you guys for a whole day and it never even occurred to me. I just…I trusted you. Because I’m stupid. Everyone in the world is smart enough to be skeptical, but I’m dumb enough to trust people. I could meet the worst person on the planet and still find something to like in them. And what idiot does that?”
The words spear into Blythe’s chest and crack her heart into pieces. Were these the thoughts consuming him for the past couple days? He was sitting on this?
“Antonio, being trusting does not make you stupid. You’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. And you’ve been right so far! We’re still here! We just got busted but we…we got here. We got so close to Electric City,” she pauses. “And Storm…Storm jumped off a motorcycle after I told her I didn’t know how to ride one. She isn’t a good role model.”
Antonio shakes his head. “But I don’t even offer anything. Everyone else does something. You’re our leader, Cordelia’s a hacker, Storm’s a superhero, Caspian’s a ghost. The other night, Daniel showed me his grimoire and told me about collecting his plants and studying Learned Magic with the plants he’s collecting.” His brows pinch. “I don’t do anything. I’m nothing.”
Blythe tries to think of a title for Antonio, but he doesn’t fit into one. Or at least, not a traditional one.
“You’re Support,” she decides.
Antonio frowns at her, his dark brown Bambi eyes worryingly devoid of hope. “What?”
“You play Overwatch and team strategy games like that, right?”
“I mean, yeah…”
“Okay, have you ever played on teams where everyone wants to play offense? The game starts and your whole time is fighting and taking damage. They’re fine until they’re steps away from the enemy’s base and their health bar is one shot away from getting them respawned. That’s the only time anyone ever thinks about how great it would be to have a healer on their team.
“I never told you this, but before you got here, me, Cordelia and Daniel couldn’t talk to each other. We traveled in silence for hours. It was awkward and we all lowkey hated each other, and sitting in that car, knowing I may never see my f
amily again, with two people who barely wanted to be there…it was painful.
“But everything changed as soon as we met you. You always know exactly what to say. The only reason why Daniel can stand to look us in the eye when he talks is because he had such a great time talking to you. And that night at the hotel when I was crying, you saved me, Antonio. I…I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come out there. Kindness is underrated. We’re all focused on being self-sufficient, on being ‘strong’—but people like you? People like you are the reason the world is a place worth living in. You’re not dumb. You’re kind. You help each of us. Without you, we’d go down from one hit when we’re inches away from the finish line. You’re the one that helps us get back up again. You’re Support.”
Antonio’s face is blank. The words sink in and he laughs; it is the high, mirthful laugh that Blythe is used to, and it brings a smile to her own face.
There are tears in his eyes. Happy tears. “You know what’s so funny?” he asks. “I always play as a healer.”
“See?” Blythe grins. “I know what I’m talking about!”
“You do!” Antonio agrees, and Blythe is filled with the overwhelming need to hug this soft, gentle boy, and so she does, and Antonio wraps his arms around her, tight, tight, tight, and they hold each other, smiling hard.
Blythe’s plans have been crushed into dust. But things could be worse. Blythe may not have her family, not yet, but at least she has people she can call friends.
Approaching footsteps steal Blythe’s attention. They grow louder and louder until they consume the entire room.
Blythe knows the sound of those heels. She pulls away from Antonio so she can face the doorway head-on, fully prepared to see the form that appears.
“If it wasn’t part of my job description to keep you safe,” Katia growls. “I would strangle you all myself.”
Katia hasn’t changed since Blythe last saw her, but frankly, Blythe could have done without seeing her again.
A twinge in Blythe’s chest tells her Caspian has appeared. His transparent form sits backward in a chair, across the table from Storm.
“Nice to meet you, too,” he replies. Storm snorts a laugh.
Katia’s hair whips over her shoulder as she turns to them. “Do I look like I’m fucking around?”
