by S. L. Stacy
“What girl?” I ask absently.
“Carly, I think her name is.” My fidgeting hand goes still at the mention of her name, my grip on the pencil tightening. “That girl has a power I didn’t expect. One I’d never come across before. She was able to stop the battle until their back up arrived.”
“That’s impressive.” Eric pauses in his pacing long enough to throw me a dark look. “I mean…infuriating,” I correct myself. “Then what happened?”
He shrugs. “How the hell should I know? When I realized we were losing, I grabbed Anna and got us out of there.”
“So you just left them there. Your soldiers.” Anger courses through me, but I manage to keep it contained, my tone cool and even as I add, “That seems rather harsh, leaving them at the mercy of the guardians. Even for you.”
“They’re expendable,” Eric insists with a wave of his hand. Inside of me, hot, uncontrollable anger continues to swell. “But they’re fine. Brian informed me later that the Elders and guardians were able to settle everything peacefully. By ‘freeing’ the army from my control.” He gives an amused chuckle. “They’ll come back. And the ones that don’t…well, we won’t need them, anyway.”
Sitting back down on the couch, Eric continues, “One thing that does truly worry me is that the Gammas seem to be in possession of Godslayer.”
“Godslayer?” I repeat, all innocence. “As in, the sword Godslayer?”
“That’s the one. Carly had it. I wonder when she came across it. And where. I’ve been looking for it for ages. How did a silly coed manage to find it before I did?”
The pencil in my hand snaps. I look up with a start, wondering if he heard it, but Eric has his fingers steepled and is staring thoughtfully into space. I maintain a white-knuckled grip on it, the jagged edges of both halves digging into my palms. “Like you said. Don’t underestimate her. Don’t underestimate any of them.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he sighs, settling back.
“Well, now that I know the Gammas have the sword, the rumors I’ve been hearing make a lot more sense.” I broach the subject carefully, casually.
Eric cocks an eyebrow. “What rumors?”
Our gazes meet. I almost want to look away, afraid he’ll see the truth lurking somewhere behind Jasper’s blue eyes, but I maintain eye contact as I say, “The twins, Apate and Dolos. They’re dead.”
I’m almost certainly imagining the glimmer of sadness I see in Eric’s dark eyes. “I didn’t know that,” he admits, shifting uncomfortably. “Dolos didn’t turn up at the battle, but I figured he was just too afraid to show his face. He always was a coward.”
The pencil starts to crumble. Small droplets of blood and bits of graphite powder the chair arm. I slide an arm over it, wiping them away. “He’s not—he wasn’t a coward.”
“Oh, I know the three of you were besties,” he says caustically. “I am saddened by this news. Apate was sometimes more trouble than she was worth, but they proved useful for a time. Ah, well.” He frowns, sighing. “I guess with the twins dead, and you rebelling against me, I’m just going to have to find new employees.”
I want to tell him I think he means “puppets,” but I’m trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. “I guess I’ll take that as my cue to go. Have a nice life.” I stand, shoving my hands, along with the bloody, broken pieces of the pencil, into my pockets, and saunter toward the door.
“Godslayer will be mine,” Eric says to my back. “And when it is, I’m going to hack that stupid smirk right off of your face.”
I turn around slowly. “Sounds like a threat.”
“It is a threat.” His gaze cuts into me, as thorough and final as a sword to the gut. “You know too much. You always were fickle…undependable. I should have disposed of you a long time ago.
“And if you ever show up here again”—he comes toward me, his steps slow and methodical, voice dripping with hatred—“unless it’s to get down on your knees, to beg me to take you back in, I will fucking end you.”
“Well.” I don’t have to fake the disbelief in my voice. Sure, I knew Eric was evil, but even I didn’t think he was evil enough to threaten to kill his own son. “At least I know what kind of person you really are now.”
“Get out,” he growls, pointing at the door.
I do what he says, not lingering a moment longer.
***
I keep my head bowed as I navigate the streets of downtown Shadesburg, at first wondering why I seem to be attracting so many double-takes from strangers, mostly women, as they pass me. It’s quite a confidence boost, until I remember they’re still seeing Jasper. I forgo the disguise for another, less attention-grabbing one, giving myself a head of sandy blonde hair and light brown eyes. An unmemorable face.
A sudden gust of wind raises goosebumps on my neck. I pop my jacket collar, rounding the corner onto Clement Drive, passing shop after shop—selling everything from overpriced clothing, to antique jewelry, to specialty teas and desserts—until I find the one I’m looking for. Like the others, it has a green and white awning and a glass storefront, showcasing a display of sample merchandise. A gold tree is painted on the window, the words “The Wishing Tree” written in cursive in an arc above it.
To one side of the door, a young woman leans against the brick building, arms folded, ankles crossed. Passersby see a girl with a brown ponytail, pale blue eyes, a smattering of freckles on a small, upturned nose. I can see deeper, to the girl with long, black hair and bright green eyes underneath. Eyes that widen with recognition as they settle on me.
“Took you long enough.” Apate uncrosses her arms and pushes off of the wall, meeting me halfway. “Where have you been? I’ve been here for days, waiting for you.”
“It’s only been a few,” I insist, hugging her tightly. “There were some things I had to take care of first.”
“Hmpf.” Pulling out of the hug, she punches me in the arm. “You could have told me about your diabolical plan from the beginning. So I didn’t have to go around thinking my own brother had betrayed me.”
“You were a cat,” I remind her. We start walking back in the direction I’d come, against the waves of shoppers hurrying down the sidewalk, packages in tow.
“I was cognizant.”
I shake my head. “It was better that no one knew. Not even you. And it wasn’t much of a plan. I sort of made it up as I went along.
“At first, I was just trying to convince Eric I was really on his side by making it as hard as possible for Carly to get the ingredients for the antidote. I knew she’d figure it out in the end—she’s smart—but I wanted to make it look like I’d at least tried my best. Then, maybe we’d redeem ourselves. He’d have mercy on us. Things got more interesting when Carly found the sword. I adapted the plan accordingly.”
My sister loops an arm through mine, black boots clicking on the sidewalk as she matches my stride. “How did you know the sword was a fake?”
“I didn’t, at first.”
“How’d you figure it out, though?” Realization flickers across her face. “Oh. When you tried to kill that boy. Carly’s ex. You made her believe it’d worked, but it didn’t.”
“Not…exactly,” I answer slowly, lowering my gaze to the sidewalk. It glitters where the sunlight touches it, reminding me vaguely of sandy white, Olympian beaches. “I knew before that.”
“But how could you…” My sister comes to a sudden stop, jerking me around to face her. “You tried to kill yourself. Didn’t you?” In her eyes, I see a faint glimmer of hope, a plea for me to tell her she’s wrong. She already knows she’s not.
I give a slight nod. There’s a blur of black painted fingernails against white skin, and then the sting of a hand across my face.
“How could you do that?” she sobs, lowering her hand. “To yourself? To me? How could you even consider leaving me all alone?”
“Settle down.” I grab her wrist, yanking her forward, away from the curious eyes of strangers who have paused to stare
at us. “You’re making a scene. And I didn’t leave you, did I? It didn’t work.”
“But you tried. You wanted to.”
“No. I didn’t want to leave you, Apate. But I had a moment of…despair. I couldn’t go on hurting Carly, even if it was just an act. I didn’t think I could live with myself when it was all over. But, mostly, I wanted to be rid of Eric. For good. It’s like you said. We’ll only be free of him when we’re dead.
“So, I stabbed myself. I plunged that sword into my gut, good and deep. But nothing happened. The wound clotted and healed, just like a wound from any other weapon. And that’s when I realized.” I pause, catching Apate’s still rage-filled gaze. “We wouldn’t actually have to die to be free of Eric. We would just have to make him—and everybody else—believe we were dead.”
“Everybody else,” she repeats, expression softening. “Including Carly.”
I look away. “Especially Carly. If she really believed she’d killed me, so would the council. Then we’d have them off our backs, too. I hate what I had to do to pull it off. The things I had to say to her. And I’m sure she hates me for it, too.” I heave a sigh, raking a hand through my hair. “But it had to be done. It’s probably for the best that she hates me. At least this way, I can be sure she’s not wasting any part of herself, however small, on missing me or holding out hope that we’ll see each other again one day. Because we won’t. We can’t stay here, Apate.”
“Believe me, I know.” A pause, and then my sister continues, “I don’t think she could ever hate you that much, Dolos. She might not love you anymore, but she doesn’t hate you.”
I sigh, thinking back to what Carly made me promise the first time she encountered my alter ego here, outside that dingy occult store.
“If we’re going to do this, you have to promise me something: No tricks this time. No more illusions or lies. Promise me, Dolos.”
“I promise you the danger, this time, is very, very real.”
I’d said it like that because I wasn’t sure I could keep such a promise, although I mostly had, except when I made her think I’d killed Alec. But I hadn’t lied to her when I told her that my alter ego had completely taken over. He had.
Because I’d let him.
He could do what I couldn’t bring myself to do: give her the push over the edge she needed to kill him. Me. Us. I knew I could trust him to do it, and her to do the right thing, although I don’t like to think about what might have happened if I was wrong about her. I also wasn’t lying when I’d told her I was too weak to fight him.
Another chill brushes my neck, more from my own anxiety than the wind. I don’t have to worry about that anymore. About him. The sword may not have been the real Godslayer, but there was still magic in it. When it pierced me, it destroyed the prince, but spared me. I was free of his control now, too. He used to be a crutch, a persona I would turn to when I felt weak and inadequate. When I hated myself.
Now, I’m just grateful to be alive. I have my sister at my side. And, somewhere, Carly is safe and happy. There’s nothing more I could hope for.
I don’t need him anymore.
Apate and I have been walking in silence. I finally break it, responding to her previous comment. “Oh, she hates me, alright.” I tell her about the rose I’d left on the Gamma Lambda Phi’s doorstep, about how Carly had picked it up and then, unceremoniously, discarded it.
“That was stupid,” she says, giving me an exasperated look. “After all the trouble we went through to fake our own deaths, you leave her a flower? That she’d know was from you?”
“I just wanted her to know that I…I…” I groan. “I don’t know. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but does it really matter? She either didn’t realize it was from me, or did but didn’t want it. She threw it away! She hates me. I know it.”
“God, you are so dramatic. Even when you were pretending to die, you were all”—she clutches her stomach, staggering around, making choking noises between words—“‘C-Carly, I should have t-told you before, th-that I…’” She trails off, tongue lolling out of her mouth, and closes her eyes. A second later, they open again, and she straightens back up. “You should have just told her that you loved her.”
I was about to, but I had stopped myself. It would have just left her with more regret, more despair.
We round a corner, entering the financial district. “When do you think Eric will find out we’re ‘dead’?” Apate wonders.
“He already knows.” She shoots me a look, eyebrows raised. “Because I told him. Don’t worry,” I assure her before she can yell at me. “He thought I was Jasper.”
“You went as Jasper? Another stellar move.”
“I didn’t know who else he’d trust enough to invite up to his apartment.”
“He doesn’t trust Jasper.”
“Well, he’s still Eric’s son. And, coming from Jasper, Eric really seemed to believe we’re dead.”
“That’s good,” she agrees. “Was he sad at all?”
“A little,” I tell her, recalling the flicker of sadness I thought I saw in his eyes. “For like a second.”
“I guess that’s better than nothing.”
More walking, more silence. “I wonder where the real sword is,” my sister says after a while. “Who took it and left the fake one. And why.” I shrug. “You realize, at some point, someone—probably one of the Gammas—is going to use that sword and realize it’s a fake?”
“I know,” I say, nodding. “But, by the time that happens, we’ll be long gone—”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Apate exclaims, cutting me off. Before I can react, she grabs my arm, pulling me closer to the buildings.
“What’s wrong?” I yank my arm free, massaging it with my other hand. My sister still doesn’t know her own strength.
She points off in the distance. “Look.”
A group of three girls is walking in our direction, purses and shopping bags in hand. One of them is short, tan and blonde, wearing jeans and a pink jacket. The one in the middle has brown hair and sunglasses on, the words “Thurston Engineering” printed on her gray sweatshirt. The third is—
“Carly,” I blurt. I take a step toward them. Apate tugs me back.
“She won’t know it’s us,” she reminds me. “Try to keep it that way.” I nod. We watch in silence as they walk by, heads glancing toward us in that automatic way people do when they sense something in their peripheral vision. They look at us, then quickly away again, eyes lingering for barely a second.
I walk out into the middle of the sidewalk, watching their retreating forms. Apate joins me, placing a reassuring hand at my elbow.
Suddenly, Carly comes to a stop, turning to face us. The wind ruffles her hair, the curls blowing wildly around her face. There’s a faint, pinkish stain on her cheeks from the cold, her rosy lips slightly parted as she stares at us, head tilted to one side. I want to run up to her and smooth her hair back with my fingers, to press my lips to hers. I imagine the warmth of her body rushing into me, the little gasp she would make against my mouth. Then another gasp when I ran my fingers down the gentle curve from her waist to her hips. The thought makes me hard.
She catches my gaze. Holds it. Bites her lower lip as she racks her brain for an explanation as to why she’s stopped to stare at a stranger.
“Carly.” Her friends have stopped further up ahead, the blonde one shouting her name. “Come on. Let’s go!”
“Sorry! Coming.” Carly turns, severing the connection between us, like a piece of thread being cut. She runs to catch up with them.
Apate takes my hand in hers, giving it a squeeze. “We should go, too.” Nodding dazedly, I let her lead me in the opposite direction.
“I have cash now, you know,” she says, letting go of my hand. She indicates the brown suede purse slung over her shoulder.
“Oh? How did you manage that?” My own voice sounds distant to me. I can’t erase that final image of Carly from my head. Her wild, gold-ting
ed hair flying around her face. Those red lips and mesmerizing eyes, as blue as the sky above us. My heart aches for her. Everything aches for her.
“I stole it.”
Apate’s admission manages to poke a hole through my daydream. I narrow my eyes at her.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she snaps. “I stole it from rich people. They won’t miss it. The point is, we have money now. We can do whatever we want, go wherever we want. As long as it’s a long way from here.”
“Alright.” I put an arm around her back, pulling her into me. “Where do you want to go?”
Rectify
Chapter 1
“I eat boys up, you better run”
Saturday, 8:11 a.m.
Jimmy’s bed
The best part of waking up is straddling five-foot-eleven, one hundred and sixty-something pounds, and seven inches of hard, golden, glorious man.
What can I say? I’m not really a coffee person. Sex is my caffeine.
I lean over, quietly, carefully wrapping a length of rope around Jimmy’s wrists, binding them together above his head. He flinches in his sleep but doesn’t wake up. As he stirs, the rope slithers and tightens. Burns pop up on his tan, slightly calloused skin. I love that about him, I realize, running a finger along the prickly stubble of his jaw. That he’s imperfect, a little rough around the edges. So different from the almost disgustingly perfect, flawless Olympian men I’m used to.
Not that I love him or anything. I love these things about him. Just so we’re clear.
I press my lips to Jimmy’s ear, my black-as-midnight hair trailing over the smooth, lean muscle of his chest. “Rise and shine, handsome.” I flick my tongue across his earlobe before pulling up.
