A sword. An ancient weapon stolen from the moon. Older than humanity. Older than Kite. A malicious creature, its memories long and deep and sharp.
A sword that would turn on its wielder.
No, it did not belong here.
Kite went down on all fours and crawled closer to the magnificent piece of weaponry. Unknown alloy. Alien magic. As she neared the curling, twisted metal spikes and gears that grew from the main blade, the sword spat out a handful of red sparks that smelled of stale blood. One landed on Kite’s damp hair, sizzled, and went out.
“Shhh, baby,” she crooned. “I won’t hurt you.”
Some things never wanted to be found. Kite could feel in the hum of the sword how much it longed to be lost, how much it missed the obscurity and comfort of the junkyard.
The best key hungered for its lock.
A sharp pain, but slight. Kite twisted to look up. The Warlord had a handful of bluegreen hair in her hand and was tugging cruelly. Black eyes, comets streaking across the surface. Stars like flames where pupils should have been. A single canine protruded past the small mouth, yellowed and curving to a wicked point. Clytemnestra was beautiful. Clytemnestra was a monster.
The witches stared at each other for a long moment. One royal, one royalty. Both strange, even among their own kind.
When Clytemnestra spoke, her words echoed as if she spoke with a thousand voices.
“You will build me an army that will tear the roots of the Coven from bedrock. You will bring back the discarded and unwanted. The old magic.” The paper hat caught fire. The flames danced around her head like the halo of a fallen angel. “It’s time for the lost things to be found.”
Without meaning to, Kite found herself bowing, pressing her forehead to stone.
Twenty-Seven
THE HEART
“Up for a ride?”
The helmet landed on Tav’s lap. They had fallen asleep on the sofa. When Eli had rematerialized, she had hovered over Tav for an awkward minute, wondering if she should get a blanket or not, wondering if she should wake them and ask why they were muttering and turning so fiercely. Wondering if she should hold them. In the end, she had done none of those things. She hadn’t wanted to draw attention to Tav’s vulnerability.
It’s what she would have wanted for herself.
“I thought you wanted to save the world today.” Sarcasm dripped from Tav’s tongue.
Eli shrugged. “We can do that later if we feel like it. You coming or not?” She held out an espresso shot. Cam had been teaching her how to use the machine. She didn’t tell Tav that she’d cried when she made coffee that morning.
Tav took the petite cup, tossed it back, winced at the taste, and then stood. “Fine. But I’m driving.” They didn’t change out of their dirty lounge pants and sweat-stained T-shirt. Eli hadn’t expected them to.
Eli felt a thrill when she climbed up behind Tav. She could see the anger, hurt, and despair swimming through Tav’s body. They were running out of hope.
She knew that feeling. Tav and Cam had been the ones to keep her going when she wanted to give up. Now it was Eli’s turn to help.
“Where?” Tav’s voice was thick and sharp as a bramble.
“Take a right.”
Eli directed Tav out of the city, away from the traffic lights and smells of grease and air freshener.
“I hope you aren’t taking me away from town to murder me,” Tav said.
“If I wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t see it coming.”
“That’s very reassuring.”
“You’re welcome.” Eli squeezed their thighs around Tav’s torso for a moment. She was excited to be in a body again. Every time she came back she revelled in the sense of touch.
The hot leather of the seat underneath her. The feeling of Tav’s shoulder blades and rib cage against her chest and arms. The soft fuzz on the back of Tav’s neck, purple fading to black. Eli wanted to stroke it. She wanted to drink in all the smells and sounds and touches that her human body gave to her, and nothing — not the threat of annihilation, not a grieving human — was going to ruin it for her today.
“Turn left up here,” she said.
“That isn’t a road.”
Eli leaned forward, her mouth hovering near Tav’s exposed neck, and whispered, “Trust me. Now.”
Tav turned sharply, the bike spraying gravel and dirt behind them.
Eli watched the pulse at Tav’s throat, the lively beat of a human heart.
“Stop,” she ordered. She watched Tav shiver slightly at the feeling of Eli’s breath on their neck.
She had done that. She had the power to make Tav tremble.
Trust me, she had said. And Tav had. Tav did.
Without the roar of the motorcycle, Eli could suddenly hear the fierce percussion of Tav’s heartbeat thundering in her ears, could hear both of their breathing like an ocean song. And something else — a hum in the distance. Eli smiled.
She climbed off the bike and offered Tav her hand, remembering the first time they had met: Eli had fallen from the sky, ejected from the Vortex too soon. Tav had pulled them up from the pavement.
Now, Eli watched her hand hang between them, bobbing slightly, like a flower in the breeze.
After a moment, Tav took it. Calloused palm and fingertips, with patches of softness, pressed against Eli’s skin.
The smile widened.
A low, dense forest. A small path — no more than a deer trail — wound through the branches and nettles. Hundreds of wildflowers wove between twigs and emerged from under stones: Queen Anne’s lace and chamomile, creeping bellflowers, blueweed, and cornflowers.
They left the bike, the helmets, the gravel behind. Eli led, and Tav followed. They ducked under thin branches and stepped over fallen logs, half-rotted, swarming with black ants like a net of lace.
After a few steps, Tav dropped Eli’s hand and wiped sweat onto their pants. When Eli reached for their hand again, Tav said, “Don’t.” Eli dropped her hand.
To Eli, every step felt like a gift. Tav was choosing to follow her.
Each step was a love letter.
She kept waiting for her heavy body to fade, for the intensity of colour and anticipation and nerves to recede like a tide slipping away from the shore. But it didn’t happen. This time, she miraculously stayed in the here and now. Impulsively, she kicked off her shoes, stripped off her socks, and went barefoot. She could feel Tav staring at her.
She met their gaze. “What?”
Tav shook their head, a slight frown wrinkling the skin on their forehead. “You’re just different, that’s all.”
Eli’s thumb brushed an edge of bone, and a haunting wail rang out from the blade. “Yes,” she agreed. “I am different.”
The woods thinned, opening up into a field that stretched to the edge of the horizon. Eli didn’t need to tell Tav that this was their destination.
A sea of purple.
An ocean.
A universe.
A field of allium flowers stretched to the horizon. To Eli, it looked like the land was running into the arms of the sky, and the sky was falling down to meet it. Purple and green bled into blue and pink, and it was one picture, one perfect moment, one monument to a planet that never belonged to humanity.
The humming was stronger now, a persistent sound that filled the air, that crowded Eli’s mind and ears and mouth and nostrils, that vibrated in her bones and thorns and granite.
An image surfaced in her mind’s eye: a girl with cruel eyes. A blade of wasps, ready to tear Eli apart. Panic tore through her body and she froze.
“Bees,” said Tav, looking around.
Thousands of bees were swarming the field of flowers, crawling and flying, tasting and drinking the sweet nectar.
Eli exhaled slowly. The assassin was gone, trapped somewhere in the City of Eyes. She was safe — or as safe as she could be in this body.
Barefoot, Eli walked into the purple sea, the heads of flowers brushing against the w
orn knees of her jeans. The buzzing intensified, drowning out her thoughts and fears, crescendoing and then decrescendoing like an orchestra. Ebbing and flowing like the tides, or the moon. Eli was drowning in purple, in the land that was also the sky, in the sky that was heavy and noisy and full. She was one small flower among many; one star among thousands; infinitesimally insignificant and beautiful.
Tav appeared beside her, a few feet away. Still following. Slower, more hesitantly, stepping clumsily on stems and petals. The smell of sweetness from the crushed plants followed their steps.
Eli led Tav deeper into the ocean of petals. The flowers swished against their legs and arms, waist-high, welcoming them with gentle touches. As they moved, Eli could see only flashes of skin through the pale green stalks and violet petals. Soon they were deep in the meadow, surrounded by flowers and bees.
“I used to come here, sometimes,” said Eli. “When I was going crazy, feeling trapped in my body, trapped by the witches and the City of Eyes, lonely in the City of Ghosts, feeling like nothing mattered. I would come out here and lie down in the flowers.”
“Thank you for bringing me here,” whispered Tav. Eli had to read their lips to understand what they were saying.
Eli reached down into the purple galaxy and emerged with a handful of petals. She threw the petals toward Tav, watching them fall in the space between them.
She waited.
Tav took a single, tentative step toward her.
Eli felt her breathing hasten and lulled her lungs into calm waves. Not yet.
Tav took another step.
Eli swallowed.
Tav was in front of her now, close enough to touch, the smell of gasoline and sweat mixing with honey and crushed grass. Eli’s eyes dropped to Tav’s mouth, to their full lower lip. She waited.
Then Tav’s mouth was against hers, and their hands were in her hair. Eli broke — hands reaching out to encircle Tav’s waist, to pull them close, to feel their entire body pressed against hers, to feel that heartbeat as if it were her own, to rub her face against Tav’s, to slide her hands up Tav’s back —
She pulled back, looking at Tav with their angry eyes and spiky purple hair, fiercer and sadder than the spiky purple plants. The universe of petals stretched out all around them.
“You belong here,” she said.
“We belong here,” said Tav, and then their mouth was against Eli’s again, needy and hot and wanting and asking, and the answer was yes, yes, yes.
THE HEALER
Last time had been fingers slipping under sleeves, sliding up her muscular arms. Last time, they had pressed their body against hers on the cold floor of the Children’s Lair, kissing her again and again. They had tasted the arch of her neck, flicked their tongue over her ear, gripped her sharp hips with shaking hands.
But they had stopped before it had gone further. Something had held them back. Maybe it was Cam asleep in the corner (although that had never stopped them before); maybe it was the electricity that crackled between their body and Eli’s. Maybe it was the way their entire body had trembled when Eli buried her face in the crook of their neck. They had never wanted someone the way they wanted Eli.
It scared the shit out of them.
This time, Eli took the lead. She pushed them down and straddled them, her thighs warm against Tav’s. The scent of honey and floral perfume from crushed flowers drifted around them. The hum of bees, and the softness of dozens of insects brushing against their ankles and knees.
Tav admired the curve of Eli’s biceps, and let their hands run over the hard muscle. She made Tav feel small and fragile, but in a good way. Tav’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment as they wondered what it would be like to fall asleep in her arms.
“Look at me,” said Eli.
Tav looked.
Eli pushed herself up to a sitting position. Eyes as yellow as the pollen in her hair. Collarbones sharp as blades. God, Tav wanted to touch them.
Slowly, Eli threaded her arm through one sleeve, and then the other. Hesitated. Then pulled her shirt over her head. Kept her fierce eyes on Tav.
Tav inhaled sharply, letting their eyes touch the freckle on her rib cage, the scar on her breast. She didn’t look like a creature made of glass and pearl. She looked human.
She looked soft.
“Now you,” said Eli.
A flicker of anxiety. The sun bright and hot on their face, like a spotlight. Tav wasn’t used to being nervous. They propped themselves up on their elbows. They could already feel the imprint of stems and leaves tattooing their forearms, the lines cutting through the ink petals and stamens and leaf spines.
“You’ll have to help me.”
“Okay.” Eli swallowed. Maybe she was nervous, too. She shifted slightly. Tav tried not to groan at her weight rubbing against them.
Tav leaned forward, tugging gracelessly on the back of their T-shirt. Warm hands on their shoulders. The feeling of soft cotton skimming their back and arms, quickly replaced with the gentle touch of air on naked skin. When they looked up, Eli was staring at them. Taking in their flat chest, the dark hairs circling wide nipples. The floral tattoos on their left arm. Where Eli was a wave, Tav was a line.
Eli leaned forward, her mouth inches from Tav’s. She moved to their ear, her breath tickling their neck. “You are so fucking beautiful.”
Tav reached for Eli. This time, they wouldn’t hold back.
THE HEART
Tav was narrow and lean. They had more chest hair than she had expected. She liked it. She liked the way they felt underneath her. Eli let her hands skim over the soft hairs, her fingertips grazing their chest. Tav groaned. Eli stroked their chest again, this time with her fingernails. Tav’s breathing was hard and fast, and their hands were skimming Eli’s hips and lower back.
“I want you,” she said, her mouth pressed against their ear. “I want you so badly.”
And then Tav’s hands were gripping her firmly, crushing her against them. Her bare chest touched Tav’s and they both gasped at the sensation. Soft and hard, smooth and rough, skin warmed by the sun and the pounding hearts underneath. Eli found herself starting to move against Tav, rubbing her body against theirs.
She wanted more.
She opened her mouth and bit Tav’s neck — gently, at first, and then harder. Tav was moaning, pushing back against her. Then they shifted so they could rub their thigh between Eli’s legs. Eli bit harder, grinding against them.
Tav’s hand grazing the edges of her jeans, fingers playing with the soft fabric of her underwear.
“I want you,” Eli said again.
“You can have me.” Tav’s hand on the button of Eli’s jeans. Their hand shook slightly, and they fumbled the button, missing the loop. “Sorry, I’ll just —”
“I can —”
“It’s okay —”
Eli’s hand bumped into Tav’s and they both laughed nervously.
“I can do it,” said Tav. “It’s hard to concentrate when you’re kissing my neck.”
Eli grinned. “I know.”
Button through the loop. The zipper opening. Fingers slipping into the dark brown hairs that curled over the edge of her underwear.
“Are you sure?” asked Tav, hesitating.
“Yes.” Eli fought the urge to shove Tav’s hand into her pants. “Are you?”
Tav nodded. “Yeah. Definitely. I think about this all the time.”
“Me, too.” Eli pressed her hand against Tav. “Do you … want me to do this?”
Tav swallowed. Their fingers played with Eli’s hair, tugging gently. Eli’s eyes half closed in pleasure. “Yeah. If you want.”
“I already told you.” Her eyes were still half-closed, and a lazy crocodile smile arched across her face. “I want you. I want to touch you. I want to taste you. I want —”
Tav kissed her, pressing their tongue into her mouth and swallowing her moan. And then Tav, small, wiry Tav, rolled the powerful witch-made girl over until they were on top, and Eli was staring
up at dark eyes and hair as purple as the petals around them.
Tav bent down and took Eli’s nipple into their mouth. Eli couldn’t stop herself, and as she opened her mouth to cry out, crocodile teeth grew from her jaws. Tav stopped and looked at her, their eyes wet and bright.
Then they slowly and deliberately licked the length of a wickedly sharp tooth.
Eli had never felt more alive.
Twenty-Eight
THE HEIR
Kite stared at the sword in wonder.
“From the moon war,” she told the Beast. “A legend.” She scratched behind his ears and he purred loudly.
“Well, you know what to do. Have a fun trip!” Clytemnestra turned a cartwheel in the air and vanished, leaving Kite and the Beast alone with the vengeful weapon.
Kite had always known that the wasteland and the junkyard were not myths. Stories were never just stories. Eli had survived the wastelands and brought back a dangerous weapon. And Clytemnestra wanted more.
More weapons. More allies. More anger and power from the bodies the Coven had deemed worthless.
The creatures lurking in the wasteland would not be happy to see the Heir. Clytemnestra knew this. But Kite was also proof of the Warlord’s power — the Heir Rising answered to her, followed her orders. The Coven was weak. The time to strike was now.
As a messenger, Kite was a symbol — proof that this was a time of regime change. A time of endings, and beginnings.
Out of habit, she reached out with her mind for the familiar tether of power that kept her tied to the Witch Lord. Again, she was surprised and exhilarated when she couldn’t feel the chains that had kept her bound for so long. She was still bound, her fate intertwined with her mother’s, with her root essence — but she had a little more freedom. A little more privacy. A little more choice.
The Boi of Feather and Steel Page 11
