Blood and Salt

by Kim Liggett

Coronado drums his fingers against his breastplate, a rattlesnake waiting to strike. “You think you’ve found your vessel.”

  I feel my carefully arranged face crumble. How could he know that? I’ve been so cautious. Unless someone among my people has betrayed me.

  Coronado raises his chin. “Doing this will start a war you’ll never win. The Dark Spirit will devour your soul, leave you ravaged, alone . . . irredeemable.”

  “How touching.” I pace the edge of the circle, aching to charge. “Are you so concerned for me . . . for my soul?”

  “For my own.” I catch a real glimmer of fear in his eyes. With a flick of his finger, his men bring forth a girl who’s bound and gagged. My breath halts in my chest. He’s found her—the Larkin girl who is to walk the corn for the ritual tomorrow.

  Coronado pulls the sword from his sheath and steps behind her, pressing her trembling body against him.

  She looks at me pleadingly, letting out a stifled sob.

  Never taking his eyes off mine, Coronado eases his blade across her throat as if he’s pulling back the bow of the most beautiful instrument.

  She crumples to the ground in front of him, her blood painting the stalks.

  Coronado steps over her, wiping the blood from his blade on his trousers. “Let this be a lesson. Do not force me to kill them all.”

  • • •

  “Ashlyn,” someone whispered.

  I blinked hard and found myself grasping Dane’s arm—the entire community gathered around us.

  “She’s a conduit, all right,” someone said behind me.

  “Poor girl. It’s a miracle she’s lasted this long.”

  “She’s as crazy as a bedbug.”

  Rhys ran to my side, helping me to my feet, but the damage had been done. I saw it on Dane’s face. I saw it on everyone’s faces.

  I opened my mouth, struggling to come up with some kind of coherent excuse, when the smell of burning copper flared in my nostrils. Tommy staggered toward us and dropped to his knees, blood streaming from every orifice.

  “Just like Betsy Grimsby,” Rhys whispered.

  Instead of rushing to Tommy’s aid like they did with Betsy in the ballroom, the people of Quivira ran away, screaming, as if a bomb had been detonated.

  “Hey,” I yelled. “He needs help!” But no one stopped.

  Beth was trying to get to us, but the Grimsbys held her back. Dane was caught in the thick of it, helping an old man to his feet so he wouldn’t get trampled to death.

  I kneeled beside Tommy and shook him, but he didn’t respond. I’d never seen anything like it. I pushed him onto his back and started chest compressions.

  “Ash, don’t,” Rhys pleaded with me. “You shouldn’t touch him.”

  Ignoring him, I kept pumping. When I reached thirty, I tilted his head back and pinched his nose, but when I leaned over to blow, someone gripped me hard underneath my arms and yanked me away.

  “He’s already dead,” Dane said as he released me.

  “Ash . . .” My brother looked down at his feet, at Tommy’s blood inching toward him. His head lolled to the side right before his knees gave out from under him.

  “Not now,” I groaned as I rushed over to him, slapping my brother’s cheeks, but he was out cold. I tried to move him away from Tommy’s body . . . from the blood, but he was dead weight.

  Dane saw that I was struggling and helped me carry Rhys to the dandelion slope that led to the dam.

  When I looked up to thank him, I noticed him staring down at my knee. My healed knee. I quickly covered it with the shredded hem of my dress. I didn’t know how to even begin explaining that.

  Rhys’s eyes finally opened, his pupils looked like tiny drops of ink in a bed of moss. “Crow,” he whispered.

  I looked up to see a dozen or so black birds circling above.

  When I turned back to Dane, he was already gone, rushing to the sidelines to help calm the agitated crowd.

  The black silk ribbon slipped from my hair and took flight, curling onto the field.

  I knew it was crazy, but I had an inexplicable urge to run after it. I had to dig my fingers into the earth to stop myself.

  “Friends,” Spencer called out as he marched onto the field, standing next to Tommy’s body. He motioned for everyone to come closer. The people of Quivira moved in cautiously.

  After helping Rhys to his feet, we stood at the back of the gathering. I couldn’t stop from peeking through the crowd at Tommy’s body. His skin had a strange bluish tint, his eyes, sunken, his plump face, now gaunt—like every bit of blood had been wrung from his body.

  “We lost Tommy Mendoza today.” Spencer tilted his head thoughtfully, the perfect balance of reverence and authority. He reminded me of a politician—perfect hair, tan skin, easy smile, but there was something lurking underneath. Something rotting and foul—just like his scent.

  “It’s Coronado’s black magic,” a man with beady eyes and a scraggly blond beard called out.

  “You saw what he did to Tommy,” a frazzled woman cried. “Same thing happened to Betsy. His evil’s spreading. He’s picking us off one by one.”

  “Katia’s not here to defend us!” A stocky man took off his hat, exposing his sunburned face. “What if her spell is weakening?”

  “Enough,” Spencer yelled as he tossed a kerosene lantern onto Tommy’s body. A deep whoosh sent flames shooting toward the sky; the smell of burning hair and flesh hung heavy in the humid air.

  The crowd grew deathly still.

  “Have you lost sight? Lost faith?” Spencer tried to regain his composure as he paced around the burning body. “We’re on the cusp of eternal life, of everything our ancestors hoped for. The corn will hold; it will protect us. Katia and the vessels are safe. Nina and Thomas have given us a great gift. This isn’t a time for fear, but a time to rejoice.” Spencer seemed to make eye contact with every single person in the crowd, and they hung on his every word. “Go back to your lodge. Say a prayer. Be with your loved ones. Tomorrow evening we will reconvene on the eastern shore for the ceremonial bonfire where we will camp for the night.” He bowed his head. “And so it shall be . . .”

  As the community answered his call, I stared at Tommy’s scorched body—at the streams of blood soaking into the field, stretching toward us like gnarled fingers.

  25

  HONEY TRAP

  I SAT IN THE screened-in loft of the Larkin lodge, listening to the wind moving through the cornstalks, rustling the leaves like rasping breath.

  I glanced down at Beth and Rhys, who were lying on cushions on the floor, their hands nearly touching, which brought an unexpected smile to my face. A tiny ray of sunshine at the end of a day full of death.

  Suddenly, the breeze found me, making the candles flicker. I brought my hands to my throat, searching for the comfort of the black silk ribbon, but it was gone.

  A soft brushing sound broke through the whisper of the corn—like the distant flutter of a moth’s wings.

  I followed the sound down the ladder, through the living area to the front door. I cracked it open. The black silk ribbon blew in; it had been tied to the doorknob. I freed the silk and wrapped it around my wrist, tucking the ends directly under my pulse point. It felt warm, like someone had been holding it tightly. I knew that scent by heart. Strawberries, earth, musk, and sandalwood.

  Dane.

  Stepping outside, I closed the door behind me and stood at the foot of the walkway, staring out into the darkness. He didn’t make a sound, but I knew he was there.

  “Thank you,” I called into the void, not really expecting an answer.

  “You’re welcome.”

  A smile pulled at the corner of my mouth. Stepping off the cobblestones and onto the grass, I crept toward the sound of his voice. The grass was cool and damp beneath my bare feet. I stumbled into some kind
of ditch, tripping over what felt like tree roots.

  “Oh God.” I careened forward, and Dane caught my waist. “It’s so dark out here,” I said as I righted myself, but I still couldn’t see his face.

  “You’ll get used to it,” he murmured.

  I liked the way he said it, like maybe he was getting used to me, too. But I knew that kind of thinking was dangerous. Nothing more than a honey trap.

  “I could light a fire,” he said.

  I squinted in his direction, trying to make out his features. “You just go around making fires in people’s yards?”

  “Well, you’re standing in the fire pit.”

  My face warmed. “Of course I am.” I backed out of the pit to stand on the grass again. “Do you use a flint?”

  “I can, but that’s a little old-fashioned, don’t you think? I make my own matches. Trade them for things.” As he lit a match, I caught a glimpse of him. Firelight was kind to just about everyone, but what it did to Dane’s face was . . . criminal. His skin took on a gorgeous tawny hue, and his eyes became even more luminous and penetrating, twin flames reflecting in their dark pupils.

  As I lowered myself onto the ground near the fire pit, he surprised me by settling next to me, his arm resting only a few inches from mine. I felt raw energy ping between his body and mine; I had to will my arm not to inch closer.

  I stole a glance at his face. “Aren’t you worried we’ll be seen together?”

  “Henry’s drunk. Your brother and Beth are asleep. We’re alone.” He looked at me and I felt so light, like I could float away.

  I forced myself to sit up straight . . . stay grounded. “How did you know Beth was here?”

  He smiled. “I’ve never seen her take to anyone the way she’s taken to you and your brother. It’s nice. She’s been on her own for so long.”

  “Please tell me you know what the word hump means.”

  Dane cringed a little. “Yeah, some of the kids kind of messed with her after she fell.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  Dane shrugged, but I could tell that it bothered him, too.

  “What happened to her?”

  “Head injury. She’d been acting strange before the fall, running around telling all kinds of crazy stories.”

  “Like what?” I couldn’t help thinking about the scar running across her skull . . . that must’ve been one hell of a fall.

  “It doesn’t matter.” His jaw tensed. “She’s better now. She lost a little bit up here, but she always had more brains than everyone else to begin with, so I guess it evened out.”

  A long silence stretched out between us.

  “Strange how I found your ribbon in my pocket,” Dane said wryly.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Well, I didn’t put it there.”

  He looked at me skeptically, then readjusted one of the logs. The light caressed his arm, showing off the long muscles beneath the scar on his inner wrist. That inexplicable urge to touch him came over me again.

  I wanted to play it closer to the vest, but I couldn’t help myself. “It’s kind of hard to imagine you with a girl like Lauren.”

  “You can’t choose your family.”

  “I guess that’s one way to put it,” I said under my breath.

  He gave me a puzzled look.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” I looked out over the lake. “It’s just, incest is frowned upon where I come from.”

  “Wait, you think—no.” He laughed. “Lauren’s my half sister. We share a father. That’s it. We’re not together.”

  “Oh! I mean, oh?”

  “So, you’ve been imagining me,” he said with a smile.

  I wanted to ask him why he was suddenly being so nice to me. Why now, after he’d acted like such a jerk? But I didn’t want to ruin it.

  His gaze lingered. “Do you have someone waiting for you back home?”

  “What, like a boyfriend? No,” I answered, trying to kill the blush threatening to take over my cheeks.

  “Well, you’re not entirely without attachments, Ashlyn.” The way he said my name was so odd, so formal. “Do you know what the apple blossom flower symbolizes?”

  “Um . . . I know it’s used in the heart notes of a lot of perfumes.”

  “It means promise.” He stared at me so intensely I had to look away. The term bedroom eyes must’ve been coined especially for Dane. “Brennon was bred for your bloodline. His parents would be thrilled if you and Brennon were intended, a direct tie to Katia and Alonso—to the vessels.”

  My throat went dry. “I was just standing in for my mom.”

  “I understand. But do you feel anything for him?”

  I opened my mouth, trying to force some words out, but they wouldn’t come.

  “If you have to think about it—you don’t.” He looked down, trying to stifle a smile.

  “Brennon’s a nice guy.”

  “Ohhh.” He clutched his heart dramatically. “That’s the kiss of death, isn’t it? Being the nice guy.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll never fall into that trap.”

  “True.”

  I looked up at him, trying to decipher his meaning, but I got a little lost in his gaze.

  He cleared his throat. “Today, at the field—”

  “Yeah, I’m so sorry about your cousin—”

  “No. Not that. What did you see when you touched my arm?”

  My first instinct was to play dumb, but I was tired of pretending. He’d trusted me with his biggest secret—the least I could do was let him in on how crazy I was.

  “I saw Katia and Coronado in the corn. Coronado killed a Larkin girl right in front of Katia. Threatened to kill them all.”

  I held my breath, waiting for him to run off screaming, but he just looked at me curiously.

  He added a stray twig to the fire. “Did this start when you came to Quivira?”

  “No. I’ve seen things my entire life . . . the dead girl . . . always hanging by her ankles and always dripping blood from the cut on the palm of her hand. But it’s getting worse.”

  He nodded, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I’ve seen conduits do incredible things when they’re in their ancestors’ memories—terrible things, too. And you’re the first conduit born into the Larkin bloodline. Who knows what you’re capable of. It’s amazing you’re still—”

  “Sane?” I finished his sentence. “Believe me, that’s debatable.” I pulled my hair over one shoulder. It felt so good to talk to someone. Not just anyone . . . Dane.

  “How have you managed it?”

  I ran my hand over my collarbone, over the last tattoo. “My mother gave me protection marks to help stave off the symptoms, but I don’t think they’re working anymore.”

  “What kind of marks did she give you . . . where?”

  I ran my fingers up my arms and down my legs. “You can’t see them, but they cover my entire body.” I swore I could feel the warmth of his gaze on my skin. “The dead girl is Katia’s daughter, Marie. I see her all the time now. She looks just like me. Katia said I was tied to her, but didn’t explain how.”

  “So, you’ve spoken to Katia?”

  I took in a jittery breath. I couldn’t believe he was still sitting here, talking to me calmly about all this. I got the impression Dane was accustomed to weird.

  “I’m not sure if I actually talked to her or not. On the day my mother disappeared, I had a very real . . . vision . . . of Katia coming to see me. She cut the palm of my hand—but it didn’t leave a mark. I thought the cut would give me a scar like my mother’s, but it never came.”

  “Your mother’s scar,” Dane whispered, his brows pulling in tight.

  “Right here.” I ran my finger across the length of my left palm.

  He traced the imaginary line with his thumb—a
tingling warmth spread up my arm like wildfire.

  He pulled his hand away. “Why do you want to go into the corn?”

  Hope welled up inside of me. It seemed to come out of nowhere. “Marie wants me to find her. I think she’s trying to show me something. Maybe a way to save my parents. I need to see the sacred circle . . . and the chasm.”

  His spine stiffened. “You know about the chasm?”

  “I saw it through the memories.”

  He tore his eyes away from me, staring out over the dark water, a haunted look on his face. “You have no idea what you’re asking me to do.”

  I swallowed hard, thinking about what happened to Henry—and what could happen to Dane. I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to get involved. “I understand,” I said as I started to get up.

  “Wait.” He grabbed my hand. All I could think of was when he touched me at the junkyard and when I touched him today at the field and how much I wanted to feel that same touch all over me.

  “Please.” He tugged gently, and my body obeyed, settling next to him once again. “I just need to understand why I’d risk everything . . . for you.”

  “That’s easy.” I smirked, happy to lighten the mood. “You’re a reckless gambler.”

  “I’m the reckless gambler?” He laughed. “You never even had a chance. I had to let you win.”

  His smile was so warm, so perfect, that for a tiny moment, I forgot all my problems. I wondered if anyone else obsessed over that tiny dimple on his right cheek. I picked up a small stone from the edge of the fire pit and began drawing in the dirt—I needed to distract myself.

  “Interesting. You chose a rose quartz.”

  “Did I?” I turned it over in my hand.

  “See the light pink threads? Stones have meanings, just like flowers.”

  I turned my attention back to the dirt so I could stop staring at him.

  “What is that?” He leaned into me, his shoulder barely touching mine, as he studied my drawings.

  “It’s the symbol for fire ascending,” I said as I erased the triangular image from the dirt. “And this is the symbol for wet earth.” I etched the figure into the soft ground. “They’re similar. Just inverted. So, fire points up and earth points down. Common sense, really.”