Splinter (Reliquary Series Book 2)

by Sarah Fine

  “I can help,” Quentin said, taking a step closer to me.

  I turned my face away from all of them. “No.”

  He held out his hand in front of me, another small vial full of clear liquid sitting on his palm. “For whenever you need it or want it.”

  “Thanks, but no.” I began to shuffle down the hall, my whole body shaking. I couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

  Letisha helped me back into bed and I focused on breathing, once again getting lost in a haze of nightmare and memory. I woke to the sound of arguing. The door to my bedroom was mostly closed, but I recognized Ben’s and Asa’s voices immediately.

  “I know you don’t like it,” Asa said. “But if you love her—if you really love her—you’re gonna let me help her in whatever form that takes.”

  “It’s like you want me to write you a blank check,” Ben replied.

  “If that’s how you want to think about it.”

  “And how do I know you’re not just helping yourself?”

  “Mattie is dying,” Asa said, his voice dropping to a savage whisper. “And I’m the one who’s gonna keep that from happening.”

  “Brindle has people who can—”

  “Brindle and his people see her as a fucking alligator handbag, Ben. They want what she’s got inside. And I want . . .”

  “What? What were you going to say?”

  “Nothing.”

  There was a thump, like one of them had hit the wall, and all my muscles went rigid. “Why can’t you just be honest, Asa?”

  “Get your fucking hands off me.”

  “She’s not yours,” Ben said quietly.

  “I know that.”

  “Yeah? That’s not what you said when you were about to pull that magic out of her.”

  “I wasn’t talking about Mattie.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s complicated. But I know full well Mattie doesn’t belong to me and never will. I also know she’ll never belong to you.”

  “She does belong to me, though. She’s my—”

  “What the fuck, Ben? She belongs to herself. Nobody else gets to decide. But right now, she’s sick, and she’s hurting, and she’s weak. She’s gonna break if she’s not handled the right way.”

  “Because of me.” Ben sounded like he was fighting back tears, and the sorrow of it had the same effect on me.

  “Because of both of us. So both of us are responsible for fixing it. Just let me help her. When this is all over, I’ll go my own way and you guys can work out whatever shit’s between you. But for now, I’m her anchor, and anything you do to interfere with that connection hurts her. And I’m not going to let you hurt her anymore. Stay. Out. Of. My. Way.”

  After a long, fraught moment of quiet, the door swung open quickly and I clamped my eyes shut. Soft footsteps coming toward me contrasted with heavy stomping ones headed up the hall. “Stop playing dead,” Asa said. “I know you were listening to every word.”

  I opened my eyes and stared at his pant legs, all those pockets. His fingers dipped into one over his thigh, and he set a clear vial on the bedside table. I stared at it, recognizing it from earlier. My cheeks grew hot. “Not really up for putting on another show for you right now,” I muttered.

  “What the actual fuck, Mattie.”

  “I don’t want Quentin’s magic.”

  “Because of what happened in the camper? You want me to apologize or something? Listen, you need the relief. There’s no reason for you to be hurting this much.”

  “I’d rather be hurting than out of control.”

  Asa’s brow furrowed. “Quentin’s magic doesn’t—”

  “I hate all of it. I can’t defend myself. Everybody just does things to me.” My sobs were convulsing my entire body, magnifying the pain. “And even when I try to take control, I . . .” I flailed my arm between the two of us.

  “That was different.”

  “How? I’ve never done anything like that, Asa. It wasn’t me.”

  “It was. You just don’t want to own it, because it scares you.”

  “You’re darn right it scares me! It’s freaking humiliating! And if Ben knew—”

  “Fuck Ben.”

  “Asa, for God’s sake. This whole thing is out of control.”

  “You’re wrong, honey. But until you pull your head out of the sand, you’re not gonna be able to see it.”

  “Get out,” I whispered.

  “No.” He sat down on the floor next to the bed. “There are a few things you need to understand.”

  I bowed my head and covered my face with my hands. “You’re making this harder.”

  “You’re making this harder, Mattie. I know you’ve been through hell. And I know a lot of it has been forced on you. You’ve been violated in too many ways, and I don’t blame you for being scared, or for wanting control.”

  I exhaled a shaky breath, still unable to open my eyes. But the razor edge of his voice had dulled, and it allowed my heart to slow a bit.

  “But you can’t always be in control,” he continued. “Sometimes you have to hand it over. And that’s okay. Better than okay.”

  “I can’t. Not anymore. People slipping things into my drinks and tying me down and telling me what to do—”

  “Do you understand the difference between those things and how you and I work together?”

  “Is there a difference? In both cases I’m tied up and taking orders,” I said bitterly.

  “They couldn’t be more different, Mattie. Ben took your control when he forced that magic into you. Arkady took your control when he slipped the Ekstazo juice into your drink and made it impossible for you to resist his influence. They stole something from you. It made you feel powerless and weak.”

  They had. And it had happened over and over. I pulled my knees even tighter to my chest.

  “Look at me,” Asa said. “I’m gonna sit here until you do.”

  I obeyed. His gaze was so intense that I felt something inside me give.

  “When we’re together,” he said, “you give me control. You let me be in charge. You might surrender, but this isn’t war, baby. You’re not admitting defeat—you’re offering a gift. And every time I take over, I understand how absolutely fucking sacred that trust is. It’s the opposite of weakness.”

  I blinked at him, and a tear slipped across my cheek. He smoothed his thumb over it, then let his fingers slide into my hair. I closed my eyes and leaned forward, and our foreheads touched. “Sometimes it’s almost as scary,” I whispered.

  “I know,” he murmured. “Good thing you’re brave as hell and stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  His fingers tightened in my curls. “It would be a lot easier on me if I didn’t.” He scooped the vial from the bedside table and pressed it into my palm. “Use this. You need to rest. You need to eat. You need to be ready for what’s coming.”

  I pulled away from his sweaty face. “Hey. I talked to Arkady about Theresa. If you want—”

  “Tell me everything.”

  “Okay.” And I did, eager to offer him something, anything, after what he’d just given to me. I told him that she was American, and how she had met Volodya when he caught her stealing a relic. I told him how she had run away from him—and when.

  “My mom and dad got married in February of 1983,” Asa said slowly. “Later, after she was gone, he would talk about her while he was drunk. They knew each other as kids. He’d always had a crush on her, but she dropped out and took off when they were in high school. Then, a few years later, she showed up at some New Year’s party he was at, like something out of a dream. They reconnected like she’d never been gone. Only two months later, it was a shotgun wedding. She had me in August.”

  I did the mental math, a tingling sense of possibility rolling across my skin. “That would mean she got pregnant in the fall of—”

  “No, it doesn’t. I was born early. My dad always said maybe that explained wh
at was wrong with me. ‘Didn’t have enough time to cook.’”

  I’d never heard of that phrase being used in such a cruel way. “Do you remember her?”

  “Yeah. Not much, though.”

  “Do you want to tell me?” The stark line of his shoulders had hunched, and he’d drawn his knees up. I knew that position so well—when you’re hurting, you try to protect your most vulnerable spots.

  “I was kind of an anxious kid. Had a lot of nightmares. Nothing specific, really. I was just always waking up with this feeling of . . . I don’t know. Dread. My dad would shout at me when I went into their room, but Mom would take me back to my bed. She’d stay there with me for a while.”

  “It’s nice that she comforted you.”

  “But she didn’t.” His voice was hushed and I strained to hear. “She’d ask me what I felt, and when I told her it was like bugs crawling across my skin, or like sandpaper rubbed all over me, or like someone was poking me right in my brain with a sharp stick, she didn’t say it wasn’t real. She told me I had to be brave. She told me I had to learn to keep my fear inside.”

  “You were just a baby.”

  “I remember that I just wanted her to tell me it was okay,” he whispered. “She never said it was okay.”

  “Asa . . .”

  He rubbed his hands over his face and let them drop into his lap. “She was right, though. It was never okay. At least she told me the truth.”

  “Do you remember when she left?”

  “At first it was quiet, my dad just making a bunch of phone calls, smoking cigarette after cigarette. But then . . . I don’t know if she called him or if he found a note or whatever, but after that it was things smashed against the wall and me hiding with Ben in the closet.”

  “Ben doesn’t remember her.”

  “He was barely walking when she left.”

  “Theresa showed up in Thailand with the Sensilo relic in 1987. Does that match?”

  “My mom disappeared on August 13, 1987,” he said in a dead voice. “The day after my fourth birthday. There were still balloons taped to the wall.”

  I winced. “I’m so sorry.”

  “The Theresa that Arkady told you about had to be her. It all fits. My dad had no juice. Ben doesn’t, either. But she—she had to have been a sensor. Fucking look at me.” He raised his arms and let them flop back into his lap. “But she knew I was like her.” He let out a choked noise. “She knew. And she left me there.”

  “Maybe she didn’t know, though. Maybe she only—”

  “She could have sensed it, Mattie. Think about it. She might have known before I was even born.”

  God, what a heavy burden to bear, to know your child was going to suffer in this world because of something you’d passed down to him. “You don’t know why she left.”

  “I don’t care.” The tension had returned to his body. “She knew what I was, and she left me. Maybe Dad knew, too, because he blamed me,” Asa said, his voice trembling. “He was all I had, and he fucking hated me.”

  “I’m so sorry, Asa.” I hated myself for bringing this up. I hated that Asa was hurting. And more than that, I hated that I couldn’t do anything for him. Maybe that was why my hand closed over his shoulder. I was desperate to give him just a tiny bit of comfort.

  He wrenched out of my grasp and rose to his feet. His eyes were red. He wasn’t crying, but the look on his face was so terrible, so drenched with pain, that it was almost worse. “Don’t touch me.”

  “I’m sorry. You held my hand earlier and—”

  “That was different.”

  “How?”

  “We’re different, Mattie.”

  “What about Eve? You told Ben she was yours. Is any part of you hers? Could she touch you? Could she reach you?”

  “You really don’t get it.”

  “We’re both human, Asa. Don’t pretend you don’t need anyone else.”

  “I can’t,” he said, his voice rising. “And especially not you.” He took a few steps backward, headed for the door. “I’m gonna go try to arrange this transaction with Brindle. I’ll let you know when everything’s set up.”

  “Asa, please—”

  “I’ll talk to you later.” He stalked down the hall, letting the door swing shut behind him.

  I sank back into the bed, shaking with sadness and frustration. How freaking hard could it be to accept a darn hug every once in a while? Asa had acted as if my touch were poisonous, even though he’d been touching me just a few minutes before. “Stupid control freak,” I whispered, replaying everything he’d said.

  As I did, a dim, dark understanding penetrated all my angry thoughts, my helpless frustration at not being able to do something for him.

  We’re different. That was true in so many ways, but the one that mattered most stared me hard in the face, merciless and bleak. I had people in my life who loved me. I knew I was loved. I had been loved so well by my parents, in fact, that I took it for granted.

  Asa didn’t. He couldn’t. And because of that, he’d learned that relying on himself was the only safe option. Accepting comfort felt dangerous to him. And needing someone?

  I can’t, he’d said. And especially not you.

  I sniffled. He was right.

  Because when this was over, we were going our separate ways, off to live our separate lives.

  Worlds apart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Several hours later, having availed myself of Quentin’s magic, taken a shower, and changed into some clothes Betsy had picked up for me, I was bundled in a blanket on a chaise down by the lake. The carnies were having a barbecue on the shore. Because I was feeling almost no pain, I could see that Betsy and Roberta had put up a glamour complete with signs saying the campsite was closed until June. We had the place to ourselves.

  The sun was setting, and Quentin had rolled his truck close enough that we could listen to the local country station. Jimmy brought me a plate of corn on the cob and grilled chicken, and then pulled up a chair beside me. “How’s our little wounded bird?”

  “Feeling pretty darn good at the moment, thanks to Quentin.”

  Quentin turned and winked before returning to some argument with Letisha about fatalism. She was gesturing at him with a corncob.

  “I’ve never seen a group of people who are so different fit together so well.”

  “That’s the beauty of it,” said Jimmy, looking a bit wistful. “I hope we can rebuild. We’ve been a haven for naturals for decades. My father led the carnival before I did. I’d hate to think this is the end.”

  “Where will you go next?”

  “Somewhere far from here.”

  “I’m sorry we brought all this chaos to your doorstep.”

  “I can’t say I’m happy about it. But you’re one of us. So is Asa. It would have been wrong to turn you away.” He took a huge bite out of his corncob, leaving little yellow bits embedded in his bushy gray beard.

  “You said your dad led the carnival. Does that mean you’ve always been a part of it? Did you ever live in the—”

  “The real world? The normal world?”

  I chuckled. “I guess.”

  “What’s real and normal for others is oppressive and destructive for some of us. I gave it a try in my twenties. Rebelled. Went off to get a normal job. It wasn’t hard—I got the first position I applied for with a simple handshake.”

  “I bet you did.”

  He gave me a mischievous smile. “You would think people like me and Quentin would have no problem getting along. But it doesn’t always feel right when you’ve gotta wonder if someone likes you because of you, or if they just like you because you accidentally gave them a jolt of your magic. Here, you don’t wonder. People know you’re doing it and accept it. They tell you to knock it off if they don’t like it. There’s a sense of trust and an expectation of honesty. And we all work together to create this beautiful thing . . .”

  “So you don’t have to hide what you are. You can be up
front about it, and people accept you.”

  “That’s it. For the sensors like Letisha, we understand when she needs time to herself. We don’t think she’s moody or get down on her for withdrawing. For the Knedas like Betsy and Roberta, they don’t have to apologize for being what they are. Instead, we appreciate their creativity. We all respect each other.”

  “Do you have any Strikon?”

  He picked a bit of corn out of his teeth. “We find they don’t seek us out near as often as others do. Also not sure what role they’d play.”

  “Might be helpful at closing time,” said Vernon from over by the grill. “Give everyone a headache and send ’em home!”

  We all laughed, except for Quentin. “I think my way is better,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at Letisha.

  “How many babies do you think owe their post-carnival conception to good ol’ Quentin here?” asked Betsy, slapping him on the behind as she walked by.

  “Enough to drive repeat business for generations to come,” said Roberta with a sly smile. She had her hair in a braid that hung down to midthigh, and she twirled it girlishly while cocking her hip.

  “You want me to take that for you?” Ben asked about an hour later, as the sun was setting and the carnies were gathered around a bonfire they’d built. He gestured at my empty plate. “It’s great that you’re finally eating.”

  “Where have you been?”

  He sat down in Jimmy’s vacated chair. “I just wanted to give you some space.”

  “Because Asa told you to?”

  “Maybe.” He gave me a nervous smile. “I know I’ve apologized a lot, but I want to do it again.”

  “There’s no need, Ben.”

  “About Asa.”

  I looked over at him. His fair hair was tousled, boyish. He was sporting two days’ worth of stubble and wearing his Ohio State T-shirt and a pair of jeans, along with some flip-flops. Suddenly the simple familiarity of him, of seeing him dressed like this on Saturday afternoons as he tooled around the house, hit me so hard that I could barely breathe. “What about him?” I murmured.

  “I don’t know if I can ever fix stuff between me and my brother. But I know I was wrong about him.”