“And what does that make you?” I snicker, finally coaxing a futile swat from Cadence. “Gotcha.”
“The other one is here, I take it?” Maryam flutters elegant, bejewelled fingers vaguely in our direction. “Hello, darling. I do wish we’d had more time together. I understand my boy was quite smitten with you.”
Cadence pouts. “I hate it when you do that.”
“Yes, dear. I’m aware.” Maryam reaches over and digs manicured nails into Cadence’s sleeve until blood mars the fabric.
The girl wearing my body hardens her jaw and glares back, refusing to flinch.
A warm glow of pride flickers despite my best intentions—she’s stubborn, but oh is she strong.
“I heard that, stupid,” Cadence thinks smugly.
I blow a raspberry in her ear and follow it up with a series of inventive mouth noises despite not actually having a mouth. It works better when you don’t think too hard about it. And it’s one of the irritating activities that repetition makes worse for her and easier for me.
Maryam peers at Cadence. I freeze mid pop.
It’s as if she’s staring past Cadence to me. Which is impossible.
I pop my lips at her once in defiance. Her eyes narrow.
I shudder and hurriedly direct my noises back at Cadence—just in case.
“I’m going to change,” Cadence announces.
“No need.” Maryam licks one wet red nail and smiles.
“I don’t like you very much.” Cadence’s fists tremble at her sides, ever so slightly.
“Hurry back. We still have so much to do.”
Cadence turns on her heel, muttering, “I chose to work with you, stupid-head.”
“What was that, dear?” Lazy. Amused.
I almost feel sorry for Cadence. Almost. “‘Stupid-head?’ What are you, four?”
There’s no need for the dig. I’ve clearly already pushed her over the edge. But it’s hard to turn off the harassment once I get going.
“Like you could do better.” She stomps so hard her heel snags on the carpet. She barely manages to get her hands up in time to keep from face planting.
“Now who’s the clumsy one?”
“Whatever. At least you had time to get used to it. The last time I walked in my own skin my feet were half this size.” She waggles one foot to emphasize her point and has to scramble for balance again. “Uh. . . that sounded creepier than I meant.”
I snicker, but the truth is her complaint lands a little too close for comfort. She’s not the only one who lost years to this place. To Maryam.
“The difference is I’m a real person,” Cadence sneers, eavesdropping again. “I don’t know what you’re whining about. This was never your body to begin with. My parents were the ones who died. My life was the one ruined. You’re just in the way.”
I sigh heavily as if exasperated. I can’t let on how terrifying her words really are. Because if she is wrong, if I’m not some kind of mistake, some half-formed remnant or ghost, that means she is.
And while she might be the one with memories of our past, I’m not the one stuck in it. She can’t seem to move on—
“Save it,” she snaps, throwing open the door to her dressing room. “You know you can’t hide anything from me, right? I’m not stuck in the past. I’m just trying to fix it.”
“By working with a murderer?”
“By doing whatever it takes.” She strips off her bloodstained top and tosses it in the corner.
I look away, absurdly. Not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before, though the clusters of small, dark bruises and the long, pale scratches are new. “I spoke to Ash while you were sleeping. He reached Nine Peaks. Everyone made it. They’re doing well. Susan—Gran said to say hi.”
“Liar.” Her voice is muffled behind a fresh tangle of glittery fabric.
“Um, I don’t think it’s meant to go on like that . . .”
She struggles for a full ten count before hurling the offending item to the floor. “Whatever. Didn’t want to wear it anyway.”
I grant her a few moments to pick through the complicated, ornate garments in peace.
“Did Ash ask about me?” she says, nose buried in the closet.
“Of course.”
She knots her fists in fabric and rips everything within reach from the hangers, casting it down at her feet. “You’re a worse liar than he is.”
“He didn’t have to ask, okay? Of course I told him. You’re all we talk about. You, you, and only you. Happy?”
“He’s my friend, not yours.” She stamps a foot, fists clenched, face flushed.
I take a deep breath, absurdly reminded of a small child throwing a tantrum. “He’s worried about you. We both are.”
“Stop it. Leave me alone. I don’t want you.”
The tantrum is escalating—which would be great if I were trying to distract her right now instead of convince her to switch sides.
“I hate you. Just die already.” She flails, teary-eyed and red-faced, entirely ridiculous.
Somebody needs a nap. The fact that she’s wearing my face makes it all the more uncomfortable.
“Not yours! Mine!”
You’d think switching places would finally get her out of my head. No such luck, apparently. “Cadence—”
“Mine!”
“Yours,” I soothe. “You’re right. You are the original. You are the one with all the power. You’re the one Ash cares about, and Susan—Gran. Everyone.”
The insane thing is she’s the one I care about too. More than I should, after her betrayal. I think it’s force of habit keeping me from strangling her, as much as anything, but I just can’t shake it.
“Mine?” She peers suspiciously into the middle distance—not that she can see me any more than I was able to see her when our places were reversed.
“Which is why I need to talk to you.” Like adults, preferably. This kiddie behaviour is giving me the creeps. “You’re in charge. What you choose to do matters. So—so the Council of—I mean Susan—Gran, and Ash, they wanted me to pass a message to you.”
Cadence sniffs, rubbing a careless arm across the damp mess she made of her face. “Ash has a message for me?”
“And your gran. They miss you. They don’t like that you’re so far away. They want to see you.”
She nods. “’Course. But I’m busy—tell them to wait a bit.”
“That’s just it—they can’t wait. They need your help. There’s, um, monsters attacking Nine Peaks.”
She snorts, her childish tones flattening suddenly to adolescent derision. “What do you think I am, three? Ash did not tell you he needs me to save him from monsters.”
Oops.
“What’s that about monsters, dear?” Maryam lounges in the doorway, elegant and deadly.
Cadence plants hands on hips and glares. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Oh, don’t go cutting me out of the girl talk,” the mayor pouts, her head tilted just so. “Especially when it’s about boys. Especially mine.”
“Mine,” Cadence snaps back automatically—and then flushes.
“Hmm?” Maryam’s eyes glitter wickedly, but she wafts away in a cloud of cloying gilt chiffon without further comment.
I have to stop wasting time. Maryam isn’t likely to leave us alone together for long. “Fine, you’re not a kid. So here’s the truth: you screwed up. You made a stupid mistake way back when you were little and it cost you everything. Now you’re trying to fix it, and only making things worse. You can’t work with a monster to stop the monsters. You can’t bring mom and dad back from the dead. And bringing down that barrier is only going to put more lives at risk. You don’t have to give me back my—your—body. Keep it. Keep Ash, too. It’s your life—take it. Just run away before it’s too late.”
“If it’s my life—which it is—I don’t have to take it from you. I already have it, stupid. Besides, since when have you ever known what to do? If it weren’t for me, you’d still be mi
ndlessly plodding along like the brainless drone you are.”
I choke on a dozen different comebacks at once, giving Cadence time to wrestle her way into halfway decent attire and stalk out into the corridor. Thankfully, Maryam isn’t lurking around waiting for her.
“She doesn’t lurk,” Cadence huffs.
Does so—but . . . “Look. I don’t want to fight. But if you destroy that barrier, sure the Mara won’t be trapped here anymore. Instead, they’ll be able to go wherever they want. Eat whoever they want. If you keep working with Maryam, it’s only a matter of time before they kill everyone you care about. Susan. Grace. Lily. Ash. Come on, Cadence. You don’t really want Ash to die.”
She huffs. “You can’t trick me. The Mara are only dangerous because they’re trapped. I’m saving the city like mom and dad wanted, not destroying the world.”
This is where the conversation always breaks down. Every time. “Cady—”
But she takes off, dashing back to the audience room to plot destruction with her volatile new bestie. And there’s nothing for me to do but tag along and be as disruptive and distracting as I can manage until she’s too worn out to be any use to Maryam.
But if Ash doesn’t have a better strategy for me tonight, I’m afraid I’ll be the one to go mad long before Cadence breaks.
Chapter 3: Murder
“I don’t like it.” I turn my back on Ash and his marching band of uniformed woodland creatures. The chipmunks are particularly shrill. “And that is not helping.”
He dismisses the adorably fuzzy little musicians with a gesture, but the music still trips along in the background, as if a sufficiently jaunty tune can make this better. “Sorry. I just—I don’t know. I wanted it to sound less scary than it, uh, does. It’s not that bad—”
“Really? ’Cause it sounds like an assassination to me.”
“That’s hardly fair. I just said there could be some risk.”
“Of dying. ‘Risk of death’ means murder.”
“No, it means there’s some risk involved. This isn’t exactly well-charted territory. Things could turn out. Or, um, not.”
“I’m not killing a kid, Ash.”
“Technically, she’s our age. Practically an adult. Probably. Anyway, it wouldn’t be like that—”
“I’m not murdering Cadence. Period. Not even to save the world.”
“And I wouldn’t ask you to. I don’t want to see her hurt either. But we don’t exactly have a lot of options here.”
Lightning crackles. A tree bursts into flame. I watch it burn—until the anchor knot squirms under my touch, emitting an ominous rumbling. The forest doesn’t appreciate this show of temper. I nod a downpour into existence and watch it flatten fire and foliage alike.
Ash took his sweet time getting here tonight, too. I had been tossing around the idea of showing him what I’d been working on, but now . . . It’s not like it really matters. I mean, I’d even gone to the trouble of reproducing a patch of wasteland so I could test different ways of restoring it while I waited, never mind those improvements on Nine Peaks’ layout that the forest had nudged me toward, but now . . .
I blink, and the half-finished structures in the distance are gone as if they’d never been.
Ash shoves dripping hair out of his eyes and swirls up a clear dome to deflect the rain. “See why I didn’t want to bring it up?”
I cut a dark look in his direction. The rushing water has finally drowned out that gratingly cheery tune of his. “Explain properly this time.”
“They’re not even saying it’s what you should do. It’s just one option.”
“The only option they’re willing to share, at least.”
“That’s—”
Lightning strikes in quick succession, a ring of flames springing up in defiance of the downpour. “Seriously? What else are you hiding? How much worse could it get than murder?”
He makes a fist, suffocating the wildfire out of existence. “It’s not murder. No one is saying you have to do anything you don’t want to do. I mean, the council would really prefer you just hang out here and stop stirring up—”
“Not an option. Did you explain properly? Putting aside the elders’ willingness to sacrifice a whole city of innocents, if Cadence and Maryam bring down the barrier and set the Mara free, no one will be safe. You did mention that part, right?”
“They don’t see it that way. Grandfather said there’s no reason to believe your Mara are especially dangerous. If anything, the majority opinion is Cadence might be onto something. The Coles were sent to remove the barrier in the first place. She might even manage to save a few lives if left to her own devices. I’m not”—he holds his hands up to forestall my protest—“saying I agree. Just relaying the message. It was your gran who brought up the idea of taking back control from Cady and switching places again.”
“That was Susan’s idea?” I pace, shrugging the rain away.
Ash doodles a few sunset streaks across the watery-pale sky. I glare. He stops guiltily.
“You’re saying Cadence’s own grandmother suggested I risk her life?”
He shrugs. “Your gran didn’t put it like that. I would have brought her to explain, except the council has really cracked down on gate access since we all snuck down to the coast, and she’s supposed to be holed up getting over grief-induced insanity or something. Technically, I wasn’t even allowed to be talking to her.”
“Uh huh.”
“She didn’t seem insane, though. Sad, sure, but no more crazy than usual.”
“Murder seems pretty crazy. Not to mention, if it was that easy to switch places with Cadence, don’t you think I would’ve done it by now?”
“So you have tried? Can you use your powers at all like this? You know, on the other side? Maybe—”
“It doesn’t matter”—the forest’s gift squirms at the evasion—“I’m not doing anything that could put Cadence at risk.”
Ash chews his lip, peering at me. I turn to examine the misty clouds chasing each other in the distance.
“Cole, you know I—I care about both of you, right? I don’t want Cady hurt any more than you do. But if she brings down that barrier and it is as bad as you say . . . maybe it’s worth the risk, you know?” He digs a toe into the dirt, continues, “After what she did to you?”
I heat with sudden anger at the reminder of Cadence’s betrayal, at the way she used my desperation against me to steal back her body, but the flush cools before I can even muster a response. The sensation is almost alien, distant and unfamiliar, as if the fury is being stolen from me before it can fully ignite.
I look past the clouds, beyond the vast sea of unreality to the very edges of the dreamscape. To the place where my ghosts wait for me, drowning in their darkness. The tortured victims of the Mara: the ones I failed to save and the ones I never had a chance of saving. If it were within my power, is there anything I wouldn’t do to keep their ranks from swelling?
Every night I look into that void and count the names of those I desperately hope not to see tortured within. Ange never made it out of the city—it can’t be long now until she joins her lover Cass’s ruined shade in the darkness in-between. And when the barrier hemming in the Mara falls, how long until she’s reunited with her sister Amy in death? Her young niece, Lily? The thought of stubborn, fearless, pixie-faced Lily sucked dry by the Mara makes me almost physically ill.
This is the nightmare that lurks at the edge of the dreamscape, and I would do anything to keep it from becoming real. Anything—except trade one child’s life for another’s. And in my nightmares, Cadence doesn’t wear the gawky, spotty, nearly grown body I left behind, but a form not much bigger than Lily’s . . .
“Everything could go back to normal,” Ash lies. “You don’t know for a fact that anything bad would happen. You might just switch places again.”
Or I might wipe one or both of us from the face of all worlds at once. I know I should be angry at her, furious at her betrayal, but . . . “
I took the chance to grow from her once, without meaning to. I won’t take it away again, even if I could. Besides, I think I’m making progress getting through to her. It’s not like she’s evil, just stubborn and stuck in the past.”
“None of this is your fault, C.”
I blink. Then I swirl up a couple of straight-backed chairs with a scratched-up table. The legs sink into the damp earth when I sit, so I waft the whole setup a couple inches into the air and glare until Ash hoists himself into the opposite chair. “What else are you hiding?”
He drums his fingers against the top, studying me. “What do you know about the dome?”
I narrow my eyes at the change of topic. “It keeps the monsters in. Keeps everything else in too. Something about it is toxic to dreamwalkers. Not deadly, but damaging. And it burned when I touched it, crossing with Ravel. I didn’t have access to any magic at that time, so the barrier may or may not burn regular humans, too. That’s about it.”
He reaches across the table, palms up, hands open. “I hate that you keep getting hurt by all this.”
I shrug and pointedly cross my arms. It’s not like I love getting hurt either. Where’s he going with this?
“I want you to listen, okay? Just listen and don’t interrupt.” His eyes are wide and dark, his gaze too steady, too intent for me to meet for more then a moment at a time. “You do not have to go back there. You don’t have to do anything that hurts ever again. You can just stay here. With me. If you want to. Because I want you to. Stay here. With—with me. Wow,” he lets out a shaky breath, grimaces. “I sound kinda lame, huh? But for real, Cole. Or C. Or whatever. I’ll call you what you want, be happy with whatever you want to be, and do, and have me be. Just . . . just stay.”
He isn’t supposed to lay it all out there like that. Dancing around it is one thing—that, I can bear. But this—this is unfair. Cruel, even.
In another world, if I were another me, maybe I’d feel differently. That other me might want to reach back—and even know how. Maybe she would be able to find the right words to give back to him. Maybe she’d be able to make a different choice.
Burn the Skies Page 2
