by Ashia Monet
“You already helped with Katia,” Blythe interrupts. “And you didn’t even have to do that.”
Cordelia seems to understand that. “I said I would get us out of there and I meant it,” she says
Storm drums her nails against the back of Blythe’s seat. “So, the General of the Black Veins military thinks that Electric City is a deserted wasteland because that’s the state he left it in, but Whiteclaw talks like they got something waiting for us that we’re gonna have to prepare for?”
Daniel hangs onto her every word. “I-If it’s something to do with Learned Magic, I could figure it out.”
“I’ll see what I can find on the current stasis of Electric City,” Cordelia says.
Their plan, despite being in its infancy, sounds like it could be a good one. But Blythe is tired of plans. She is tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of this adventure. She doesn’t want to play more of the Trident Republic’s games. She wants her family.
“No,” Blythe interrupts. “None of you are doing anything. This is my problem. You shouldn’t have to help solve it. If I’m being used as a pawn, I don’t need to drag you guys into it too.”
Her words make the car feel cold. These are not the words Blythe is supposed to speak as their leader. But if the Guardians are stunned now, they’re about to be floored.
“I’ll make the plans. I’ll decide what we do. And if we get to Electric City, and things look bad, I want you guys to run,” Blythe says. “Run to Frost Glade and don’t look back.”
Cordelia gapes with disgust. Daniel’s eyes fly open. “Blythe…” he begins.
Blythe doesn’t let him finish. “I mean it. The only place you guys are supposed to go is Frost Glade. I messed that up for my own selfish reasons. You shouldn’t endanger your lives because the Trident Republic wants to ruin me. I got you guys to help me, not to be human sacrifices.”
“But we don’t have to leave you behind, either,” Antonio protests.
“I don’t know what they want from me,” Blythe argues. “But I know it’s not worth dragging all of you down with me.”
Daniel stares at his shoes, pressing his mouth into a confused and frustrated line. Storm clenches her jaw as she stares out of the window, while Cordelia’s mind moves a mile a minute as she studies the dashboard.
Antonio is the only one who can stand to look her in the eye. He is holding back how much her words hurt him, she can read it on his face. But he does not agree to her terms. None of them do.
Blythe doesn’t expect them to. She just wants them to know. This journey has always been hers, and this is a cross she must bear alone.
“We should stop for the night,” she says. “Get some sleep, head out in the morning. I’ll make a plan for Electric City tonight. Cordelia, you just find us a place to stay.”
Blythe splays her fingers out against the wheel. The easy procession of cars drifting down the highway is almost soothing, one after the other cruising a never-ending line.
Antonio glances out of the rear windshield with an inquisitive head tilt.
“Uh,” he begins. “Not to redirect the conversation, but I think there’s someone collapsed behind us.”
“What?” In the rearview mirror, a figure is sprawled face-down on the asphalt. “Oh my God! Did I hit them?! Jesus Christ, I killed somebody!”
Antonio is effortlessly calm. “I think we would have felt it if you hit them.”
“This car is so damn old, we would die if we hit somebody,” Storm says. “They probably came out of the Tempore.”
Antonio is already shimmying forward. “Open the door,” he tells her. “I’m gonna make sure they’re okay.”
They follow him out, lingering a couple steps behind as they study the mysterious body collapsed in the middle of the road.
“Don’t touch them,” Blythe calls. “We don’t know where they’ve been.”
Too late. Antonio is already kneeling at their side, gently shaking their arm. The body sways, limp.
“Are they…” Daniel’s voice trails off. “Are they dead?”
First comes a twist in Blythe’s chest, then comes black smoke, and finally there is Caspian, in all of his pale skinned, dark eye-bagged glory.
“No,” he answers. “Nowhere near it.”
“Oh thank God,” Blythe sighs. At least she hasn’t killed someone. “Wait a minute, where were you?”
Caspian speaks low, as if the words are only meant for her. “Had to leave as soon as I heard gunfire,” he says. “I couldn’t risk my life.”
He pauses, waiting for her to get it.
“I hope I’m as chill as you when I die,” Blythe replies.
Antonio’s mouth pinches with worry. He rolls the person onto their back—and a collective gasp bursts from everyone.
“Damn,” Storm whispers.
Bruises mar the boy’s rich copper skin and cuts leaking blood down his arms. His jeans are sliced and brown with dirt, his shirt torn. Somehow, despite all of this, he looks as if he is merely sleeping.
Thick black lashes curl against his high cheekbones, a fountain of dreadlocks stream down to his waist like inky tendrils across the grass, lips gently parted. Even in this state, he is like a painting, a living poem, a god.
“Who is this?” Cordelia whispers.
Antonio’s brow sets with determination, as if this boy is an average human being and not making Blythe wonder if he’s even completely human.
“Someone we have to help,” Antonio says.
The words snap Blythe back to reality. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Antonio, we don’t know who this is or what happened to him. Let’s just call an ambulance—”
“I can’t just leave him here!” Antonio interrupts. Blythe’s never seen him this adamant before. “He’s hurt, something obviously happened to him!”
“He isn’t dressed like a soldier, so I doubt he’s from the Black Veins,” Cordelia adds.
Daniel gasps. “The Trident Republic!” he yells, backing away.
“He isn’t wearing black,” Cordelia points out. “And I didn’t see a single teenagers in their ranks.”
Antonio’s head snaps up to them. “Who cares? Guys, he’s bleeding.”
“He won’t be for long,” Storm says.
She sinks to the boy’s level and, gently, raises his perfect arm by the wrist. It takes Blythe a moment to realize, but he has less wounds than he did a moment ago.
Two of the cuts erase before her very eyes, the flesh stitching back together and leaving flawless skin.
Antonio’s dark eyes stare hard at Storm. “Some of us aren’t okay with abandoning people.”
“Some of us need to shut our mouths before we lose ‘em,” Storm retorts.
“Guys,” Blythe interrupts. “He’s probably just a normal magician who was passing through the Tempore and got caught in the crossfire. He’ll wake up in a minute and everything will be fine. Let’s go.”
Antonio shakes his head. “How is he going to get back home? He can’t use the Tempore anymore. He’s probably stuck here, in the middle of some city he didn’t plan on being in, alone. And we’re going to leave him.”
Blythe looks down at this nameless fairytale prince, a fallen angel dropped straight from the heavens. They don’t have time to be good Samaritans. If she says so, they can get him to a hospital—though soon, he won’t even need one—and never see him again.
But how did he get here? And what will the system do if they get their hands on a lost and unprotected Black boy in the middle of the night? Can they really risk this?
And so Blythe sighs. Because everything’s already fucked as it is, isn’t it? Why not make it worse?
“Alright,” she relents. “Who’s carrying him to the car?”
The answer is Storm and Antonio, together, because Storm gets the boy’s arm across her shoulder, but he’s heavier than he looks, so Antonio has to help her. They sit the boy upright, though his body slumps against the door.
Antonio buckles him in. “Saf
ety first.”
“We only got three seatbelts back there and you wasted one on the boy who’s already dying?” Storm asks.
“I could’ve offered it to Caspian,” Antonio retorts.
“Honestly, I’m offended none of you have ever asked,” Caspian mutters.
Blythe’s gaze drifts to the end of the road as the conversations continues. She can see a suited man hidden in the shadows, the white plain of his face barely visible.
The Erasers’ presence has been almost constant these past few days. No matter where they go, or what they do, there always seems to be a figure. Simply watching.
Blythe swallows hard, stills her shaking hands, and pretends she doesn’t see them.
The boy doesn’t wake while they drive. Every eye in the car is focused on him; even Storm, who pretends to be on her phone, keeps glancing up.
Antonio is oblivious, fussing over the boy like a worried mother, making sure he doesn’t move whenever the car stops a bit abruptly.
Blythe steals occasional glances in the rearview mirror. His chest rises and falls with gentle breaths. The bloodstained rips in his clothes are the only proof that they found him injured, because the wounds beneath those holes have completely healed.
Something about the curve of his cheek, the hard line of his jaw, the soft color of his lips, is hypnotizing. And that terrifies Blythe. She needs to keep her eyes on the road, but the yearn to count the hairs on his head and never look away is mesmerizing.
This boy must carry intensely strong magic.
“Aren’t we missing the Guardian of the Body?” Blythe asks.
Cordelia snorts. “Isn’t it a tad too cliché for us to simply happen upon the one Guardian we couldn’t find?”
But Blythe’s words disrupt the haze that has fallen over the car, and one by one, they all seem to regain their senses.
Blythe even realizes Caspian is still with them, sitting on the floor of the backseat, knees against his chest, something resembling a joint in his hands. Blythe completely forgot about him.
Apparently, so did Daniel, because he quickly whispers to Storm, prompting her to say, “Yo Caspian, Daniel wants to know if he can have one of those plants you smoke.”
“I didn’t know Daniel did drugs,” Caspian says.
Daniel makes an eep noise and whispers some more.
“He says it’s not to smoke, it’s one of his ingredients,” Storm translates.
Caspian takes a long drag, releasing ghostly smoke into the air. At least the windows are rolled down.
“Daniel can ask me himself,” he says.
“Daniel says he’s afraid of ghosts. Oh wait. I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that part.”
“We can do an exchange. Give me something I want.”
Storm shrugs at Daniel. “It’s good bargain. What? You gotta have something. Trust me, he lives in a graveyard. Just give ‘m something simple.”
Daniel rummages through his bag and presses something into Storm’s hand.
“Uh,” she begins. “I don’t think this’ll get you much. These jawns like a dollar at the corner store. Where’d you even get these from?”
Daniel whispers.
“Oh, you did spend a dollar for them at the corner store.”
She hands them to Caspian anyway: two packets of Instant Ramen Noodles. Caspian stares at them.
“I…” Caspian begins in his monotone, emotionless voice. “…love ramen.”
In two puffs of smoke he has reappeared at Daniel’s side. Daniel shrieks, clamping a hand over his mouth. Caspian does not care.
“You can have two roots,” he says. “If you would’ve offered me the shrimp flavored kind, you would’ve gotten one.”
Storm recoils. “What’s wrong with shrimp?”
Caspian’s black eyes focus on her with a dark intensity. “Shrimp instant ramen is the greatest mistake man has ever made.” Then he’s gone, dissipated into black smoke.
Storm’s already laughing. “I like him!
Antonio pouts. “Now I’m hungry.”
“I can pull over into a fast food place or something,” Blythe offers.
Daniel seems to be in his own world in the backseat—but this time, it is for a good reason. Blythe smiles as she watches him. He finally has all of the things he needs to perform his ritual, this thing he has been working toward for so long.
When Blythe spots the iconic golden arches of McDonalds, she swings into the parking lot. Everyone gets out except for her; someone needs to stay here with the boy, and Antonio’s love for food seems to override his love of doting over injured strangers.
“He’ll be hungry when he wakes up,” Antonio points out.
Blythe snorts a laugh. “Nothing like some McDonald’s to bring someone back from the brink of death.”
Antonio snaps at her. “Exactly, bro.”
Blythe watches them all hurry inside, explaining fast food restaurants to Daniel as they go. Then she is alone with her thoughts, the Las Vegas crowd, and their unconscious kidnapped victim in the back.
“Can you grab my wallet out my bag?” Storm stares at her from outside the window.
Blythe startles. “Christ! Did you just skate out here super-fast?! What if someone saw you?”
“I still need my wallet to eat.”
“Isn’t Antonio paying for everyone?” Of course, Storm won’t allow someone to buy things for her.
“Bitch, if you don’t—”
“Alright, alright,” Grumbling like a frustrated mother, Blythe grabs Storm’s backpack from the backseat and pushes her way through the hoodies and Nike shorts—until her knuckles brushe a folded piece of paper.
Curiosity makes her open it. It is an old photo, worn white at the fold lines. A dark skinned woman smiles at the camera, holding a toddler on her lap; a toddler that looks a lot like Storm.
“I said my wallet,” Storm snaps.
Suddenly, the bag is gone. So is Storm.
It happens before Blythe can process that anything has happened at all. But guilt wastes no time burning in her cheeks.
Caspian materializes in the passenger seat. Neon lights spear through his form.
“I’m gonna have to apologize for that later,” Blythe mutters. She’s not sure why she looked at it. Storm is a secretive person, why did she even try it?
There’s a small scar in Caspian’s eyebrow, one that cuts through a small slice right beside his arch, where no hair will grow.
Blythe’s surprised she’s just noticed it. Then again, Caspian rarely lingers around like this. “How’d you get that scar?” She asks.
“Didn’t you just piss someone off by being too curious?”
“Yeah,” Blythe retorts. “But yours is on your face.”
“I cut myself on how edgy I am.”
Blythe stares at him. He stares back.
“Tough crowd,” he says.
Blythe does smile at that. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were being funny.”
His expression still doesn’t change—Blythe’s never seen happiness on him. “I just hit my head on a tombstone when I was younger. I was a reckless kid.” He pauses. “Speaking of. I’m sorry for stealing your stuff earlier.”
“Were you serious when you did that or was it a joke?”
“I do that to tourists to get cash. I used to steal from the locals but…” He squirms a bit. “That wasn’t fair.”
“So now you steal from a different group of people.”
Caspian shrugs. Blythe’s not about to make the same mistake twice, so she leaves it alone.
“Where’s the shard?” Caspian suddenly blurts.
“The Trident Republic’s shard?” Blythe asks, and he nods.
She’s not sure how Caspian found out about it, but one of the others probably mentioned it. “Cordelia put it in her bag when we left my van. Why?”
“It seemed important,” Caspian explains.
His hand goes to his right wrist. For a moment, Blythe thinks the thin, golden cha
in is a bracelet, but it is wrapped around multiple times, as if it is actually a necklace.
It’s a complete contrast to his baggy jeans with homemade rips, his oversized black t-shirt that has gone greyish from the wash. It looks expensive.
This time, when he dissipates, Blythe feels him leave entirely. A couple moments later, the Guardians return with greasy bags packed fat with food.
“I got you a burger, Blythe!” Antonio shouts, tossing a cardboard container into the front seat. Leave it to Antonio to make sure everyone’s fed.
Storm packs fries into her mouth. She, pointedly, isn’t acknowledging Blythe’s presence. Yikes.
Cordelia acts as their GPS, guiding them to a hotel that is not as gaudy as the Thorne, but good enough to offer them a suite with two bedrooms and a living space in-between.
“Your mom’s gonna kill you for spending all this money,” Blythe warns her.
“Surely she’ll understand if I tell her all of the other five-star hotels didn’t offer private, heated swimming pools,” Cordelia bats her eyelashes dramatically. “It’s our last night at a hotel. I had to empty my bank account.”
But Antonio is unamused. “This is great and all, but our new friend isn’t up yet and we’re not even supposed to be able to book a room so…how are we supposed to carry him through the lobby and into the elevator before anyone asks questions?”
“With a fuckton of luck,” Blythe answers.
It ends up being a very large production, with Cordelia distracting the front desk by throwing a temper tantrum about the pillows not being soft enough, while Daniel stands in the elevator doors, keeping them open for Storm and Antonio to quickly drag the boy inside.
Blythe’s job? Stand at the end of the hall, look bored on her phone and tell every passing visitor that the elevator is broken.
Despite all odds, it is a success.
Storm and Antonio lay the boy across the sofa in their suite, with his feet at one end and his hair spilling down the other.
“What are we gonna do with Rapunzel now?” Storm asks.
Antonio studies him. “Pillows,” he decides. “And blankets. Also new clothes.”
“You better be givin’ him your own clothes.”
“We don’t wear the same size. He’s bigger than me, Caspian’s dead and Daniel’s small.”
