“No John F. Kennedy in this world, I take it?” she guessed. “Culture shock really sucks.”
“I think she needs a break,” Tristan said.
“I think you’re right,” Rowan replied.
“What I need is fresh air,” Lily said sullenly. “I want to go up to the roof.” She looked at Rowan pleadingly.
He only allowed her to go up to the roof every few days, and always at random times. While his rooftop terrace was covered by one of his superstrong wards of protection, Rowan constantly worried that his ward would falter for a moment, and one of Gideon’s goons, who were always watching his apartment, would get a glimpse of Lily and recognize her.
“Please. I just want to sit outside for half an hour,” Lily begged.
“Fine,” Rowan said, albeit reluctantly. “But wear a hat. And change out of that dress and into some wearhyde so you don’t look so much like a witch.”
Lily practically ran to her room, unlacing her dress on the way. Covering up wasn’t exactly what she had in mind when she wanted so desperately to soak up what was left of the waning autumn light, but it was still better than nothing.
They had been training her for three weeks straight, and in that time she’d nearly perfected the water-purifying potion, a food-preserving charm, and a spray that cleaned soiled bodies, clothes, and hair with only one squirt of fine mist. “Kitchen magic” still drained Lily to exhaustion, and from what Rowan intimated, it probably always would. Small magic, while necessary, was definitely the grunt work of the magical realm, and it was the bulk of what Lily was learning.
She slept a lot, which served three purposes. Mostly, she needed the rest, but sleeping also killed a lot of time while Alaric tried to locate the shaman, whom Lily was desperate to finally meet. The sooner she started learning how to spirit walk, the sooner she stood a chance of figuring out a way to get home.
Lastly, sleeping a lot kept Lily from spending downtime with Rowan. She didn’t want to watch him reading, or cooking, or sitting at the table talking with Tristan and Caleb. She didn’t want to enjoy the way his voice sounded or how capably his hands managed to do the fiddliest little tasks. She didn’t want to admire him or fool herself into thinking that there was something more between them than there was.
He seemed to be avoiding her as well. Despite the fact that he’d made such a big deal about being allowed access into her mind whenever he wanted, he hadn’t once asked her questions about her loyalty. In fact, apart from when they needed to touch each other’s minds during a ritual, they hadn’t even shared mindspeak. Lily didn’t want to miss sharing mindspeak with him, but she did. She remembered touching Rowan’s stone for the first time. She’d never felt that close to anyone. And now that this closeness was gone, she’d never felt so alone.
The longer she and Rowan went without talking to each other, the more Lily wanted to be near him. She started to miss him, even though she saw him every day. The craving for any kind of intimacy with him drove her to sneak into the spare bedroom he’d been using one morning when he was out.
As soon as she walked in, she could tell the room had belonged to someone other than Rowan. It was a large room, but the bed was small and narrow, as if the owner had never adjusted to having so much space. The coverlet over the bed was a faded handmade ikat quilt of many colors. Lily trailed her hand over the dresser, lightly touching the trinkets neatly placed on top—a pair of glasses, a hand-carved comb, and a plain gold ring that Lily was certain was a wedding band. They were old items, scuffed, worn, and heavy with the memories of an entire life. A lost life.
There were no handy photographs announcing whose room this had been, but Lily didn’t need them. She knew the room must have belonged to Rowan’s father, but she didn’t know how or why his father had died. Lily ached to ask Rowan about it, to exchange confidences with him again like they had in the cabin.
The longing for Rowan that was building in her and the energy it took to push it down was exhausting and made her intense workload harder to bear. When Lily wasn’t sleeping, playing cards with Tristan, or making potions to supply Alaric’s never-ending list of needs for the rebels, Rowan had also insisted that she learn camouflage magic. This type of magic would make her seemingly disappear in low light, as Rowan had when they’d been in the woods.
One of the camouflage spells she learned was how to cast a glamour, which worked on the same energy field principles as ordinary camouflage but didn’t make her blend into the background. Instead, it shifted the way light hit her face, subtly altering the way she looked. Since Lily had learned how to cast a glamour, she’d been harassing Rowan and Tristan to let her leave the apartment and take a walk outside in the fresh air, which, considering they had her working double shifts and the fire was burning day and night, was getting harder to come by.
“You coming or not?” asked Tristan’s voice outside the bedroom door.
“Yeah,” Lily said, rushing to join him.
When they crossed through the living area, Rowan was sitting on one of the sofas, reading. Lily caught a glimpse of the book cover as she and Tristan passed on their way to the stairs.
“Was that a geometry book he was reading?” she asked when they got to the roof.
“Uh-huh,” Tristan replied.
“Why? Rowan’s way past geometry. I know he knows calculus.”
“Yes and no,” Tristan said, dodging an explanation. Lily stared at him with a cocked eyebrow until he continued. “You’ve noticed that your memory is crystal clear now that you have willstones, right?” Lily nodded. “That’s because willstones are like extra memory space—not infinite, but really big. When Rowan smashed his first stone to get away from Lillian he lost a lot. It’s not that he doesn’t understand geometry anymore.”
“But he doesn’t have it memorized anymore,” Lily finished for him. She thought about it for a bit, imagining what it would be like to make that kind of sacrifice, and desperately trying not to feel everything that touched Rowan as deeply as she did. Sometimes Lily thought that if someone were to pinch Rowan, she’d be the one to say ouch. “So that’s why he’s always reading.”
“Trying to get back to where he was. He’s been at it for months.” Tristan shivered, then flipped a cushion on one of the two pieces of deck furniture before sitting.
This area wasn’t really for recreation. Most of the roof was covered in potted plants, long dead now that the year was so deep into autumn. All of the roofs, terraces, and windowsills in this city functioned as growing space for edible plants. People grew what vegetables they could for themselves, and the best apartments—like Rowan’s—had rooftop gardens. Few farms existed outside the walls of Salem, and those that did were surrounded by high walls and used mostly as pasture for horses and oxen or for luxury meat sources like cows, chickens, and pigs. They were called luxury meats because they came from entire animals that had lived and breathed, and not been grown one part at a time down in the Stacks.
Tristan had explained the Stacks to Lily, and since then they had occupied a particularly eerie place in her psyche. The Stacks were subterranean caves where the witches grew wearhyde on something they called skinlooms. If that wasn’t creepy enough, it was also where they grew cuts of all kinds of meat, like chicken breast without the chicken, and pork loin without the pig, inside things called wombcombs. Wombcombs were shaped like giant honeycombs, but inside the hexagonal cells they grew either cuts of meat or the tame Woven who still protected the city.
Even the thought of the Stacks gave Lily the creeps, and if she hadn’t been vegan before coming to this world, she was pretty sure she would have converted once she got here. Tristan and Rowan had both worked in the Stacks alongside Lillian, and Tristan’s description of the place had not made the thought of eating meat appealing in any way. However, he had stressed how important the Stacks were for the survival of the city. Rowan had told her that the Coven barely broke even on the Stacks.
The Coven purposely tried to keep all of the basi
c needs services that they offered relatively inexpensive and accessible to all citizens. The Coven owned most of the greentowers and greenhouses in the city. They paid the farmers who worked them good wages, and they kept the price of food low, as they kept the price of wearhyde low. Hungry and cold people riot, which was something the Coven had learned to avoid at all costs inside a walled city that was surrounded by bloodthirsty monsters.
Most importantly of all, clean water and basic health care were completely free to all citizens. The last thing the Coven wanted was an outbreak of cholera or a crippling infectious disease inside such a closed space. Food, clothes, and health care: This was how the Coven had won the love of the people.
It was a system that kept the peace, refined over two centuries of confinement inside the thirteen walled cities, but of course there were still malcontents and rabble-rousers. This is where the Coven really showed their power. They had the right to banish anyone who disturbed the peace, and banishment meant a loss of citizenship from all thirteen cities. If you crossed any one of the thirteen Covens who ruled the Thirteen Cities, you found yourself outside the walls with the Woven.
Of the banished, only the useful, the honest, and the strong were invited to join Outlander tribes. Once solidly Native American, after two hundred years of assimilating all the different races banished from the cities, the Outlanders weren’t any one particular race anymore, but a blend that was unknown in Lily’s world. Only the lucky among the banished made it into a tribe, while the vast majority got mangled by the Woven on their first night outside the wall. Fear kept the people from rioting. Fear, affordable food, clothes, and health care seemed to be enough for the general populace to tolerate Lillian’s hangings.
“Come here,” Tristan said behind her, his voice rough. “I’m cold.”
Lily turned to see him sitting again and noticed that his breath was a smoky cloud around him. Frost was settling into the dark corners where the falling sun failed to shine. She went to Tristan, sinking down next to him into the cushions of the patio furniture. He picked up her hand and turned it over, exposing the underside of her wrist.
“May I?” he asked quietly.
After a moment, Lily nodded and Tristan laid the tips of his fingers against the pulse point on her wrist. He sighed deeply and leaned back, his eyes closed, and Lily felt her perpetual fever cool a little as he took some of her heat. She hadn’t claimed him so they couldn’t share mindspeak or memories, but there was something intimate about warming another person with your body. Feeding them with your heat.
“What does this feel like for you?” Lily asked. To her it felt like stepping into a cool pool on a hot day. It was refreshing, but there was something so rapturous about the look on Tristan’s face that it made Lily think there was more sensation in receiving than in the giving. Lily couldn’t help but remember how Rowan had looked when he’d taken some of her heat in the cabin. How his head had tipped forward and his eyes had closed with pleasure.
“Like drinking sunshine, I guess,” Tristan answered. He turned and opened his sparkling eyes to look at her. “I can think of a few things that feel better. But not many.”
Lily watched Tristan’s face. His lips fell apart expectantly and his breath deepened. She’d seen this look on his face before, and she wished she felt something more.
Lily pulled away from Tristan, purposely ruining the mood, and looked out over the city. Her eyes skipped around, trying to take in everything that this huge walled city encompassed, all six miles long and three miles wide of it, and in some places, hundreds of stories high. Something strange caught her eye.
“Is that building over there empty?” Lily asked. She pointed to an elegant seven-story brownstone a few streets over that seemed to be shuttered. Real estate was the single biggest commodity inside the limited walls of Salem, and Lily couldn’t recall ever seeing a tenantless window, let alone a whole empty building before. Tristan stood from his seat and joined Lily at the balcony wall.
“Oh,” Tristan said, following her line of sight. “That’s the technical college Lillian started.”
Lily looked at him, surprised. “She can afford to leave it empty?”
Tristan smirked. “Oh yeah. The Coven is the biggest landowner in Salem, and they don’t have to pay taxes. Real estate is where they make their real fortune. They have lots of buildings that they can just sit on. Lillian took that one over when she outmuscled everyone else in the Coven and became the Salem Witch when Olga, the last Witch, died.”
“How did she do that?” Lily interjected. “Wasn’t she only sixteen?”
Tristan shrugged. “Didn’t matter how old she was. The Coven chooses their leader in a simple way—the strongest rules until someone stronger comes along and knocks her off the throne. And no one has ever been stronger than Lillian. Especially not with Rowan as her head mechanic.” A dark look crossed Tristan’s face at the mention of Rowan.
“Go on,” she urged. “Why did Lillian take over that building?”
“She was going to change the world, she said,” Tristan continued quietly. “Lillian turned it into a school where promising non-magical youngsters—mostly Outlanders—were given full scholarship to study all of the Coven’s writings on natural phenomena and apply those theories inside the newest and shiniest laboratories.”
Lily let the words sink in. “She fully funded a college for scientists?”
“She did. Lillian started out as the most liberal Salem Witch in history. And then she changed.” Tristan’s face fell suddenly, and his blue eyes filled with sadness. “They were the first people she rounded up, you know. The people in her own college. The kids she sent to work camps. The older ones she hanged.”
Lily stared at the dark windows, and imagined the horror of that last day of school. She could nearly hear the sound of marching boots and screams echoing through the now vacant rooms.
Tristan stood, ending the conversation. “Come on. He’ll throw a fit if you stay out here any longer.”
* * *
The fire was high, the cauldron bubbled and steamed, and the sun blazed through all of the windows and skylights in Rowan’s apartment. The great room was already swelteringly hot when Lily joined Tristan and Rowan on the black square of silk in front of the hearth.
“It’s a sauna in here,” Lily complained. She flapped her hands, trying to wave a breeze into the robe Rowan had told her to wear to this afternoon’s ritual instead of the silk slip. “What are we making today? Deep-fried witch?”
Rowan and Tristan smiled at her joke, but neither of them laughed. Their eyes were hazy and their breathing slow. Their willstones heaved with sluggish light, indicating that they were in a half trance. Lily had seen Rowan and Tristan in a trance-like state before. Every day at dawn, they did a series of exercises that Lily insisted was a form of yoga, even though they’d never heard the word. At the end of their exercises, they both sat cross-legged and meditated deeply. But this was different. They’d never put themselves in a trance for a ritual before.
Today, they were both wearing white shorts, and sweat slicked their nearly naked bodies. Lily wished she could focus on Tristan alone, but her eyes always seemed to wander back to Rowan. In front of his folded legs was a small wooden bowl, filled with a bright red paste, and next to it, a paintbrush. Tristan sat behind Rowan and to his right. In front of him was a long strip of gauze folded into a large pile.
“What are we making today?” Lily repeated, seriously this time.
“We’re moving away from small magic and into the second level. Healing magic,” Rowan replied, his hazy eyes focusing on Lily. “Sachem needs anti-infection tabs. There’s been an outbreak of fever and lots of Outlander children are dying.”
“Okay,” Lily said with a firm nod. “What do I do?”
“Take off your robe and lie down in front of me,” Rowan said.
Lily balked. She was only wearing panties under the robe. After a bit of hemming and hawing, she met Rowan’s level gaze and sig
hed.
“Well, it is for the children,” she said, and shimmied shyly out of her robe, covering as much of herself as she could with her hands. Rowan couldn’t seem to help himself and cracked a smile, which helped to ease some of Lily’s nerves. She lowered herself to the floor and stretched herself out in front of him, arms still draped over her breasts.
Even though it was unbearably hot in front of the fire, Lily’s skin puckered with goose bumps. She could feel Rowan’s breath falling on her from above. His gaze felt like touch, skimming over her like the downy edge of a bird’s wing, over her belly, her breasts, and her thighs. Gently, he lifted one arm and then the other, and lay them by her sides, then picked up the wooden bowl and the paintbrush and positioned himself at her feet. Tristan stood and went to the fire, throwing a large cord of wood onto the flames. The fire roared. Lily’s willstones echoed the power of the fire, and the rose stone flashed with a bright light. Lily felt herself fill with heat.
“Boil out the fever. Sweat out the sickness. Burn out the rot,” Rowan chanted. He dipped his brush into the wooden bowl and began painting runes onto Lily’s skin.
Lily’s body flamed and roared like the fire. The cool touch of the brush made her shiver. The paint sizzled when it hit her feverish skin. Every stroke of Rowan’s brush sent cooling waves through her, and her sweating body rose up to meet the touch of the bristles. She could feel the paint oozing into her system, mixing with her sweat and changing. Growing strong.
Tristan followed behind Rowan, winding Lily’s painted flesh with the strip of gauze as if he were wrapping an injury. Sweat and paint and magic soaked into the wrappings, becoming medicine. Rowan painted all the way around one leg up to the thigh and stopped. Then he painted the other and stopped. The wrappings were removed and hung by the fire. Tristan lit a bundle of sage, flamed it out, and let the clarifying smoke waft up into the growing web of damp, red-blotted gauze. Rowan painted her arms in the same spiraling manner, with Tristan following in his wake with yard after yard of gauze. They stopped only to hang the saturated wrappings in front of the fire and to stoke the flames. Rowan eased Lily up to a sitting position and began painting her back. She could feel his breath on her drenched neck, could feel the paintbrush sliding and sizzling across her skin. More gauze was pressed into the design Rowan had drawn on her back, and then he laid her down again.
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