by Apollo Blake
And sometimes, it’s only to find the power to burn the world to cinders warming your hands, to find Incubi and Reapers and Sylphs lording over the night, walking among the city in secret.
It’s to find that magik is real, and you plan on making it your bitch.
“We should go,” Riley said. She watched Penn and Jackson conversing near one of the cars, frowning.
Hunter agreed. “There’s still work to be done.”
“Oh,” I said. “You have no idea.”
I took his hand and felt power surge through our touch, each of us holding on as tightly as we could when we turned to face the new world.
THIRTY-FOUR
OUT OF MY HANDS
In the two weeks that followed Crayton’s death, I spent most of my time alone in Riley’s back shed, painting into the wee hours before I dragged myself to her parents’ sofa and dropped into sleep like death for hours, my hands cradling my face as I slept, stained with blue and gold paint, the colours following me into my dreams.
I painted snakes and shadows, dark eyes and empty hands, blood and glass biting flesh, magik bleeding into the night sky.
I painted it into making sense and then I painted it all away.
I told Hunter I needed space, told Riley I wanted to try and go back to normal, or a better version of normal, for at least a while. I told myself I was better—but I wasn’t better enough to do some things.
I couldn’t forgive my mother. I’d been driven to near death that night, and it had put a lot of things into perspective. They say time heals all wounds, but it also gives your scars time to settle, gives you time to run your smooth fingertips over severed skin again and again trying to think your way out of the memories of how you got them.
My mother had lost everything. But I’d lost things too, and I didn’t use it to destroy the people around me. I could feel the ache of every hit I’d ever endured at her hands and all the nights I’d spent raking my mind over razor blades and ropes and pills, trying to work up the courage to end it all because she’d shown me that love was a dangerous thing.
I ignored her calls, and then threw my phone away altogether. Clarity would come with distance.
I’d decided to live. To let people in. To stop running.
I’d decided to stop hating myself so much I got trapped believing that everyone would leave me. I’d decided to stop believing the lie that I couldn’t survive it, even if they did.
And there were other things to focus on. The future. The bond. We could never break it, now. We’d take it, and each other, to our graves with us someday.
All of that bullshit.
I’d decided, for clarity, that when there were spirits imbuing your friends with deadly elemental powers, mystic bonds chaining you to handsome sorcerers, hunting beasts made of pure shadow come to life, that you couldn’t worry about the little shit. The human stuff—heartbreak, depression, grief—still seemed terrifying. But it wasn’t the worst thing out there, by far.
And I couldn’t keep holding onto fear. I needed room for other things to grow in my life.
I wanted magik—I wanted it in ways I couldn’t explain. Once you’d felt this, you couldn’t not crave it, need it, feel as if it was all that was keeping you alive, in some moments. And all that was trying to kill you. Nothing comes without a catch. But I knew there was no way I would be able to turn my back on it. Bond or no, this was who I was. It was who I wanted to be. A Charmer. A fighter. I always was a problem child, you know.
And today, today I’d agreed to meet with Hunter and talk about our future. We had no second chances, no set amount of time. All of this could be taken at any moment. I wanted to spend some of it with him before then.
I wasn’t ready to lose, but I wasn’t ready to stop playing the game, either. Sometimes I still wish I was, but maybe the fact that I’m not is a failsafe, something written into my code to keep me from crashing, my own wishes be damned.
“It’s freezing out here,” Hunter said, leaning over the metal bench I sat on.
I hadn’t heard him sneak up behind me, but I wasn’t surprised, either. There was no way he could scare me anymore—it would be like scaring myself. He felt like an extension of me, like a limb I’d been trying to walk without. Now that he was here, I felt complete. I don’t mean that in a cheesy, he’s the only one for me kind of way, either: I’m being entirely literal. It was like a physical thing. You know the reason you can’t tickle yourself is because of touch-knowledge? Your brain knows where your hand is going to go, what it’s going to do, before you do it—all of those nerves are faster than you, even when you don’t realize it. But I think before Hunter, before the bond, my touch-knowledge wasn’t complete. Like something was blocking the transmission of that knowledge from my nerves to my brain, and so every moment, every new feeling and emotion and sight was a shock, a blow that shook my foundation. And now that the link between us had formed, that block had been scrambled into non-existence, and the blows of the world were more like a caress now.
My abilities felt stronger and clearer, and so did my mind. The powers I’d been given came to bend to my will easier and easier each day. I was beginning to master them, and their range was increasing.
Even my senses felt better, my vision better, my touch more refined, my sense of smell sharpened. My hearing had also improved, though it hadn’t alerted his presence to me just now, as he crept up behind me. He was good at creeping along without being noticed, this one.
It was kind of troubling, to be honest. Not just because of how long I’d tried to stop exactly these flowery, stupid feelings from developing, but because I wanted to complete myself. And now I’d learned that I truly couldn’t. With the bond in place, I would forever feel like a part of me was missing, unless we were together. It wasn’t fair.
Another reason I’d asked him to keep his distance for a while.
Even if it weren’t too late to break the bond now, I wouldn’t. Couldn’t, really. Not if it meant weakening myself, letting go of this new strength.
Everything has a price.
“I like the cold,” I said. Even though my nose and cheeks were red and numb and my eyes stung in the sharp temperature, I hadn’t thought about moving once in the last twenty minutes. “It’s refreshing.”
“Gross.”
“You’re gross.”
“Is that what you think?” he asked. “Well, how scandalous.”
“Did you just say scandalous? What are you, eighty?”
Hunter laughed and nudged my arm. “Is that what turns you on, older men?”
“I’m more into near-death experiences and leather.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Over the edge of the boardwalk, the waves tossed on endlessly beneath a wall of thick fog. It was dark, and maybe dreary, but it was beautiful. After being unable to open my eyes at Crayton’s, I appreciated any view, however dismal. I’d developed a fear since that night of going blind.
I panicked sometimes, when I closed my eyes, and had to reopen them to remind myself where I was, when I was. Couldn’t sleep sometimes, for fear of being in the dark for too long.
Feeling my emotions flicker through the bond, the towering boy at my side crossed his arms. I sensed his mood turn more serious in response.
“I’ve moved into the house,” he told me. Didn’t have to say which one. He leapt over the back of the bench and sat beside me so our sides brushed.
“Why?”
He shrugged. “My father hadn’t changed his will since I ran away—everything passed to me. Beats a hotel room, and it’s better than living with my grandmother.”
This, I’d kept updated on through Penn and Jackson: Jackson’s cleanup crew had staged a scene for the human authorities, creating false trails that connected Crayton to local criminals and making it look like some sort of drug deal gone bad. Hunter, the estranged, now orphaned son, had inherited everything of Crayton’s, including his properties.
“I’m having an art show,”
I said, changing the subject. I’d had enough of his father’s trouble to last a lifetime. “You should come. Here.”
I dug in my pocket and handed him one of the posters for the gala—it was a small auction in a neutral space that I’d put together with a few other budding artists. My first time trying to make money with my art. I was still living off of my talent for now, operating out of Riley’s kitchen, but someday soon I’d have to find another job, something that wouldn’t risk my own exposure—or else the Reapers would come calling.
Lucie aside (Hunter had called her a rogue) the reapers worked as some form of magikal police force—but they’d let Crayton go unchecked because of his absorption, unwilling to risk the threat.
Everybody was glad he was dead. It was kind of depressing, honestly.
“A show?” Hunter smoothed out the poster, ran his fingers over the glossy surface. “Incredible,” he whispered.
“What?”
“All I’ve done in the past two weeks is stare into space and try not to crumble, and you’re already building a new career for yourself.”
“Maybe that’s enough, though. You’ve been through a lot.”
He frowned at me. “You’ve been through more. You almost died.”
“And you lost your father.”
He looked away, biting his cheek. “I lost my father years ago. This was just burying the body. You, you had to bury an entire world. A life. I guess I understand why you’d want to avoid me.”
“Not avoid.” I reached out and grasped his hand, winding my fingers through his and squeezing until he looked back at me. The warmth was soothing. “I needed time to think. But we’re bonded now, Hunter. Having you in my life. . .it’s out of my hands.”
“Is it?”
Yes. I was done letting things scare me away. Done not taking risks.
You could only deny the truth so long before it slapped you in the face. I already said this wasn’t a love story, that I wasn’t looking to get saved. And I haven’t been. I might be more broken than ever before, actually.
But for the first time I was willing to try and get better.
“You can leave if you want to,” Hunter said. “Bond or not, I won’t stop you.”
I laughed at him. I couldn’t help it. “Because I so I needed your permission. It’s not the bond, you idiot. It’s you.”
His face dragged down in confusion, and I leaned over to peck him on the lips. I couldn’t help it. The distance between us, the fact that his stubble wasn’t brushing my jaw, that his hands weren’t tight on my hips, was a torture of its own. I didn’t want to stare at him through that empty space anymore—I had to touch him to let a bit of the pressure escape.
“I would be here without the bond.” I said. “Maybe not in this freaky, ancient magik capacity, but I would be here. I’m not in love with you, Hunter. I don’t believe that we’re soulmates or that our meeting was written in the stars. We met because you showed up at the right place at the wrong time and got me sucked into your messy, bullshit life. There’s no destiny or fate or mystical connection for me.
“I just like you. I like how you talk about stupid old dime novels. I like your idiot, puppy dog eyes and your annoying stubble, and I maybe think it’s hot as hell when you stab monsters and stuff. I’m here because of me, not because of some shitty old magikal breeding device or love spell or whatever it is locking us together, but because I want to be here. Got it?”
Hunter stared at me for a second, his eyes devouring me like he was sure I was about the vanish. Finally, finally, he spoke, lips barely moving. “Got it.”
“Do you?”
“I got that you like me,” he said. “Which I like. Also, you.”
“Hmmm.”
“And I get that you have some issues—”
I snorted. “I have more issues than you can count in a lifetime. I thrive on them.”
He shrugged. “I know this. And here I am, ready to deal with all your drama. I figure that’s only fair, since you’ve been dealing with mine since the second we met.”
I couldn’t hide the way the tension drained from my shoulders. Hunter nudged me with his arm, but said nothing.
“Good.” I stood up, wincing at the sunlight reflected off the prismatic snow. “I like you, too. Sometimes. Now let’s go get coffee. It is freezing out here.”
Hunter chuckled. “You’re such a romantic.”
His hand caught mine, and here’s what I was thinking: nothing.
Nothing but how warm his hand was and how captivating his lips were, the way I wanted to touch him. Nothing but here and now.
It was the most perfect thing I’d ever known, this nothing we’d made with each other.
I had stopped running. Now it was time to start living.
Hunter got up and followed me, each step crunching snow and cracking ice beneath our feet. Boy and bond close at my heels, I walked into our shared future without fear.
About the author:
Apollo Blake is the indie author alias of Jinx King, a writer, blogger, and student, living and studying in New Brunswick, Canada. Jinx is a caffeine addict, a paranormal romance enthusiast, and, possibly, a paranormal enthusiast. He’s also the founder of the blog Diverse Tomes, dedicated to exploring and encouraging diversity in teen-oriented media. He can usually be found ranting on Twitter or pulling his hair out over school assignments instead of writing.
Other Works:
Novels: Blood of Midnight, Shadows of Ourselves, Dreamwalker (2016), Dreamkiller (2016), Maelstrom (2017), Whispers We Let Die (2017), Tears of Sunrise (2017).
Novellas: Rage, Frenzy, Dreamseeker.
Collections & Anthologies: Souls of Salt & Seawater, Things We Saw At Midnight, The Lilac Jones Adventures, Rage & Frenzy, Lies We Learn To Love; Poems About Boys Kissing Boys (2016).
Series Orders:
The Charmers Series: Shadows of Ourselves, Whispers We Let Die (2017)
The Maelstrom Arrangement: Rage & Frenzy, Maelstrom (2017)
The Evernight Falling Saga: Blood of Midnight, Scars of Dusk (short story), Tears of Sunrise (2017)
The Dreamworld Duet: Dreamseeker (novella), Dreamwalker, Dreamkiller
