Coexist? We were coexisting just fine a moment ago, weren’t we? My chest tightened at the betrayal.
“You have a profound way of ordering people about,” I told him, my throat thick with the decision I had to make.
He pulled back. “You were groomed to be a ridiculous, spoiled little girl . . . I was groomed to tell you what to do. It’s what we do best.”
“Perfect fit then, aren’t we?” I asked sarcastically.
“It’s a shame we can’t find out.” His drawl ran down my spine, the innuendo settling around us like sweltering, lazy air, reminding me of his rough hands on my skin.
I swallowed. “Weston?”
“What? Wait, I know this—you hate me?”
Watching Maxim talk to his men, I replied, “I do. I really do dislike you. I even have a list, in fact, but that wasn’t what I was going to say.”
“A list?”
“Mmhmm. Would you like to see it?”
He watched me, slightly amused. “I think I’ll leave it to my imagination.”
I shrugged. “Your loss.”
“Go on, get out what you were going to say, then. Maxim’s men will take you home and then wherever you need to go. You can find Mages for hire in Shelton,” he said, mentioning the nearby city where magic wasn’t banned. “I wouldn’t mention you are a Sister, though.”
The Court of Mages was only one of our foes.
“Oh, I can fast-travel myself,” I said absently, chewing my lip. Well, not completely the truth, but I wasn’t going to tell him my magic was defective. “I was going to say that I’m not leaving. And I am not ridiculous.”
He paused, looking down at me. “Yea, you are. As for you leaving . . . shall I carry you out? You love when I do that.”
I bit my lip. “Can I see one of your knives?”
He flicked his gaze to me, watching me as if I’d lost my marbles. But then with a thoughtful tick of his jaw, he reached behind him to the waistband of his pants, and pulled out a small blade, setting it in my palm. Why wouldn’t he? He didn’t fear me. There wasn’t anything I could do with this knife that he couldn’t stop beforehand.
He might have an idea of who I was, heard stories of where I came from, but he didn’t know what I really was—and I realized that the moment he set his blade in my hand.
Maxim finished talking to his men and came to stand by us, his gaze growing hesitant as he saw a blade in my hand, then looked to Weston as if he was mad. “Yes, give the knife to the pretty, scorned witch.”
“You never did answer my question,” I said, playing the sharp point of the blade across my fingertips.
Maxim raised a brow.
“How many princes does it take to catch one girl?”
They only looked at each other, as if from somewhere between kissing Weston by those crates and here near the edge of the dock, that I had in fact, lost my marbles somewhere on the wooden planks.
“Let me guess,” Weston said dryly, “more than two.”
“Wrong,” I whispered, pushing hard against one fingertip until it pierced skin. “Only one. But it’s not either of you two.”
Standing near a lantern, we all watched as the blood pooled on my skin, a small—not red—but black dot sitting on my fingertip. “Surely there isn’t an issue with my blood, do you think?” I asked, widening my eyes. Long ago, Weston had grimaced when he took my blood. He was tasting the Shadows; he just hadn’t been certain what it was.
“You shouldn’t give your knives to witches, Weston,” I said as I turned my hand so that the blood would roll off my skin. As if in slow motion, it fell from my finger, dripping into the dark water below.
There was nothing for a moment. A chilling stillness.
And then it all changed.
Hot energy seeped from my bones into my muscles, as if I were on fire from the inside.
A darkness pulsed in my chest, spreading throughout my body. Under my skin, to my eyes, leaving an awareness behind them. To the tips of my hair, blackening to the color of ash. I knew my irises were the same color. My body faded to a dark transparent hue, before solidifying again.
With an icy sensation, the fire minimized inside of me to something tolerable, but still there. Still burning, itching, blackening.
Everything settled then. The blackness inside me going eerily calm, quiet, waiting, watching.
Maxim stared at me with a look laced with disgust. Weston watched me with a calculating expression, before saying quietly, “And suddenly your name fits you better than it ever has.”
I regarded him, emotionless, quiet, so quiet. My body felt light as air, and maybe it was, because the breeze was passing through it in places. I could feel the ends of my hair blowing, could hear the newest wind coming before it reached us.
“What the fuck . . .” Maxim muttered, looking at me like I was a Red Forest creature. Rightfully so.
Weston shook his head, frustration darkening his features. He knew he couldn’t stop me. He would only have to reach forward to realize his hand would go right through me if I wished.
“I have your blood, Calamity,” he said simply, but I didn’t miss the threat behind it.
“That bond was broken.”
“I still have your blood,” he said. “You must have started anew. I didn’t.”
“Lovely.” A smile slowly pulled on my lips. “Care to bond again? I’ll try real hard to make it work this time. I swear not to stray.” I crossed my heart.
Weston wasn’t amused at my jesting. He watched me with a cunning look like he was close to figuring out a way to best me. Even the idea that he had my blood didn’t worry me; the hot, pulsing blood in my veins was too exhilarating, too calming. The burning now welcome, now me.
I walked a circle around them, playing with the knife in my hands. “Like I told you earlier, I have business here, and I’m going to stay until I finish it. Then I might decide to leave.”
“You’ll be leaving before then,” Weston said.
I laughed, softly, carefree and shook my head reproachfully. “No, I won’t.”
“You cannot stay.”
I walked up to him, chest to chest. “But who will make me?”
His jaw ticked, but he didn’t try to touch me. He knew what the result would be, and trying and failing would raise his ire too much.
“I suppose this means you can’t carry me out.” I looked to the ground, feigning contrition. “What a shame. I was so looking forward to it.”
He met my gaze with unwavering eyes. I was surprised he didn’t show a flicker of unsettlement at my appearance. My body was now completely tangible, but my irises, the tips of my hair, were the color of ashes. And I knew the look in my eye was wild, my steps more otherworldly, my voice darker.
I took my cuff out of the Untouchable’s hands—who did nothing but watch me with an unfriendly expression—and put it back on my wrist.
So many arrogant princes, was my last coherent thought.
I turned around, a darkness crawling from my stomach into my chest. “One prince, two prince, three . . .” I mumbled mirthfully as I walked away. Black shadows trailed me down the dock like a sea monster’s scaly back in the water.
The dark stretched into a thin pool in my mind, an invisible thread pulling me to the edge of a dock deep in the harbor. As if I’d imbibed too much, I swayed on the ledge, until in slow-motion, I teetered over the edge.
Splash.
It wasn’t water. Emerging my head from the darkness, black trickled down my face and shoulders.
There really was nothing like swimming in the dark.
I sank.
As if I were a sinking ship and the water was pulling me down, claiming me as its own. But there were no passengers’ screams. No fire and burning wood. No captain saving the day.
Only silence.
A silence you can only know once. The stillness of the dark water surrounding me. The quiet in my head.
The finality of it all.
Nothing scares at you
at that point.
It just is.
Until it isn’t.
My dreams haunted me all morning: of drowning on repeat, of blood dripping, the sounds of the soft splats hitting wooden floorboards like a form of torture.
The house was now empty, it seemed. It was too early for the working women to arrive, and the girls had already left for the festival. Even Agnes had gone to a meeting after breakfast, and the servants were given the day off to enjoy the festivities as well. I’d gotten quite the talk from Agnes about missing supper last night, but she only threatened, ‘One more time and I’ll alert the Superior Sisters,’ like she always did. I was only waiting for the day she would really do it.
I felt content sitting at the window seat, looking out, like my mind had been altered by a dark version of Midnight Oil. The quiet tick of the clock and the soft trickling of the fountain were the only sounds besides for the occasional shouts from the unloading at the harbor.
I’d only gone through this change once before. Somehow, out of sheer luck, I’d kept it hidden from the Sisterhood, because I’d found someone to help me through it.
The state only lasted days, unless more of my blood dripped, though I hoped it didn’t have to come to that. Because the longer I felt this way, this burning, this blackening, the harder it was not to free-fall into it, just give into this pull on my body from all directions. Last night I did, and I’d woken wet on a remote Symbian beach, having no recollection of what happened during that hour I was out. I could only hope all I’d done was go for a nightly swim.
I could hide it, pull the awareness into the deepest recesses so I appeared normal. Sometimes it wanted free rein, and occasionally I didn’t mind at all how I looked, but thankfully I’d checked the impulse.
I twirled my cuff in my hand, having found the reason Weston had taken it off my wrist last night. Etched in the metal on the inside were two letters: WW. I didn’t need to think hard about whose initials those were. He could track me with this cuff. He must have done it long ago—which meant he never had to take my blood. But the only reason he would take it off would be that he didn’t want to find me. Why would it matter unless he looked? I guessed maybe that was an itch too hard to scratch. My ego could only assume anyways.
A creak sounded through the room, and I turned to glance at the front door as someone walked into the foyer.
A dark smile rushed over me on the inside.
I knew I couldn’t go through this change again, that eventually, this dark pull on me would win, and I’d become a Shadow of myself. So why not take advantage of it and tie up my loose ends now?
The door shut behind the Titan. He wasn’t the one I preferred to see, but this would be interesting, nonetheless.
He hadn’t noticed where I watched him from, but his movements were short and slightly tense, aware that he wasn’t alone.
It was undeniable, even for me when I hadn’t known them, that Roldan and Weston were brothers. Same mouth. I could only imagine that their smiles would be almost identical; but I couldn’t know that for sure because I’d never seen Roldan smile. He was perpetually granite, while shockingly enough, Weston’s features were softer when he wished, usually when he was aiming for something nefarious.
Undoubtedly, I would have found Roldan attractive if it hadn’t been for the whole murder situation. In fact, I remember staring at him the first time I’d seen him and Weston telling me to close my mouth. But now I could see the lack of sympathy behind his eyes. The pretentious air in his stance. And I resented it all.
The good thing about this magic was that my palms burned continuously. I was so much stronger, so much more confident. It was utterly addictive. I might have, some of the time, had to shake unintelligible whispers out of my head, dreamt of death and blood, and had a fleeting paranoia that someone was watching me, but the power that came with it, sometimes made it feel worth it . . .
Roldan’s gaze swept the room, and when his eyes reached the window seat, I had already fast-traveled behind him. His shoulders tensed, having felt the shift in the air.
Lovely shoulders though, I noticed. My gaze was right between his shoulder-blades, and the hard lines of muscle were impressive. Must have come from all those stabbing motions as he killed innocent girls.
He noticed where I stood, but gave it a second before he turned around, his heavy gaze focusing on me. My appearance was normal, but the dark was unleashed inside me, rubbing against the sides of my chest, seeking a way out.
“Welcome to the Royal Affair. Are you here for our special?”
I wouldn’t show it, but internally a little tremor ran through me. I could almost feel a twinge of pain in my stomach as if reliving the moment, his cold eyes looking back at me. Blood dripping to the sand. So much of it. My lungs tightened.
“And what is this special?”
I was sucked back into the foyer, my lungs filling with air once again. I lifted a shoulder. “It wouldn’t be all that special if I told you, would it? I shall just have to show you.”
I didn’t know if he heard what I said, or he at least didn’t care, because he never responded. His eyes were searching me meticulously as if to find a flaw that would prove I was only a figment of his imagination.
When his gaze came back up to my face, I smiled. “What can I say? I’m hard to kill.”
I didn’t know where half the words I said found the thoughts to even conjure them, but at that point, I was glad for it—because I wasn’t as blasé about this situation as I seemed. My heart was fluttering at an uneven pace, and I could only hope he couldn’t hear it.
“You smell different.” The words were accusing, but the amusing and strange statement released the heavy weight on my chest.
I walked around him into the main room. “It’s common courtesy not to sniff the host, Roldan.”
“It’s common courtesy to stay dead once you’ve been killed, Calamity,” he replied, following me deeper into the room.
“Touché.” Arriving at the small end table, I turned and lifted a brow, silently asking if he’d like a drink.
He ran his tongue over his teeth, in an unsure way, but then nodded. I poured him spicea, Symbia’s traditional wine, only momentarily wishing I could poison him. It didn’t say in exact words that was frowned upon for a hostess to do in the Ladies Book of Etiquette.
He grabbed his cup from my outstretched hand as I poured my own, and took a seat on the chaise. I eyed him over my glass. He looked ridiculous on that dainty red chaise. He didn’t seem to care. He only stretched out, spread his legs, and leaned back against the seat.
The quiet tick of the clock somehow made the silence in the room much louder as I realized he wasn’t going to say anything yet, that he only planned to stare at me. I imagined this was a form of Titan intimidation. He’d come into my house and somehow taken over the place like he owned it. The realization sent that darkness heating, growing, and bending inside me.
“So, for what do I have the honor of my murderer’s visit?” I asked, sitting on the chaise across from him.
“Murdered implies dead. You are not.”
“I was,” I corrected. “And it was most uncomfortable.”
He watched me for a moment, his eyes narrowing in disbelief.
“Why are you here, Roldan? Let me guess: you’re upset about your ship? I did donate your silver to charity, you know. Or, your brother cried his woes to you that I wouldn’t leave the city and he sent you to kill me again? Please tell me he cried.”
His lips flattened as if he was troubled I’d even mention something such as a Titan crying. “I’m not even going to acknowledge that last part. As for your guesses, no. Neither.”
I bit my lip in thought. “I have a theory that after all that time of watching me, stalking me, you’ve realized that you are in love with me. Though, if that’s the reason you’re here, you’ll just have to get over it, just as I’ve told Archer.”
He paused, his eyes narrowing at his cousin’s name.
/> “He’s alive, isn’t he?” I asked with feigned concern. Oh, the Titan was alive, all right. I’d seen him the night before at the docks as I walked dripping wet from the beach to home. I could have fast-traveled, but there was something about this Shadowed side of me, that made even a walk so much more entertaining than usual.
We sat there, staring at each other for a moment. He never responded, but I thought if he even knew what I was talking about, then that was family business and I wasn’t invited.
I lifted a brow. “You don’t have uncontrollable amorous feelings for me, then?”
His face was stoic, apparently not even going to say he wouldn’t entertain that idea—he just wouldn’t.
I sighed. “Then my last thought is that you’re here to beg for my forgiveness to evade the fiery flames.”
“Yes, because imaginary flames terrify me,” he said dryly.
“Don’t say that in front of my grandmother . . .” I muttered, my eyes concerned for his well-being if he so much as questioned the Holy Book. “Then what, pray tell, brought you all the way here?”
He rested his arm on the back of the chaise. “Wanted to see if it was really you, myself.”
“Ah, the sniffing thing,” I mused, twirling the wine in my glass. “Do I add up then? Weston didn’t need to smell me to realize it was me.”
“Weston spent months with you, I did not.”
“Don’t lie, Roldan. You watched me from the bushes.”
Annoyance flickered in his eyes, and amusement bubbled inside me.
“How’s your daughter?” I asked.
His gaze hardened a bit. It was only a casual remark, but I bet when an enemy made ‘casual remarks’ they weren’t meant to be so.
“I heard you’re teaching her to be a heartless killer. Just. Like. You.” I ended on a sweet tone.
He lifted a shoulder indifferently. “Comes with the territory.”
I eyed him over my cup as I took a sip of wine. “Ah, yes. The Titan territory. Charming.”
A Girl in Black and White (Alyria Book 2) Page 13
