“What do I care if a few lowly citizens lose their lives while we get the kinks figured out?”
“Do you hear yourself?”
He can tell it’s the wrong thing to say. She breathes heavily through her nose and grips his chin again, dragging his face toward hers so she can look at him directly. “I’ll get you some test subjects. You have two more days, and I expect some positive results, Warwick. Or your tongue won’t be the only thing I burn off.”
She shoves his face back and struts away, not looking at him once until the door closes behind her and he’s alone once more.
He meets the beaker’s shameless stare. “She’s a real piece of work, isn’t she?”
The beaker doesn’t respond.
I sneak down to Zeke’s room where his sleeping bag still rests on the floor beside the cot. Looking both ways, I slip Jomeini’s cards out from beneath the pillow.
Her adamant refusal to help Gwynn perplexes me. I would have thought Jomeini would understand more than most. Her friends didn’t give up on her, even when she was taken captive. Wouldn’t she want me to do the same for my own friend?
I flip through them, trying to find some connection. Three cards. One with vines on it. One with flowers. One with symbols. Flowers grow on vines, and symbols… no, if they were connected they would have been drawn together. Flowers. Vines. Symbols. Symbols are used for spells, aren’t they? Ugh, this is getting me nowhere.
“What am I supposed to do with you?” I ask them. Nattie said my ideas didn’t always come from me, that I need to trust those ideas. Did she mean the one word that now has our whole house on edge?
“Dreamwalking,” I say the word aloud, staring at the card. Vines twine and tangle along the small, square parchment. I hold my breath, closing my eyes and opening them again, willing the cards to work. To show me something. Anything.
The vines begin to move. The hand-drawn sketch shifts as though scratching an itch, sliding back into its original place and stilling once more.
“No,” I say, shaking it. Blinking hard once, twice. “Come back!” I saw it. I’m almost sure I saw it.
A knock comes at the door, and Talon peeks his head in. I hurry to stuff the cards beneath the pillow, blood pulsing as though I’ve been caught stealing. I haven’t told him about these. I’m not sure if I will, not just yet.
“You ready for this?” he asks.
“No,” I say, rising. “But I never will be. So I guess we’d better get moving.”
***
Jomeini stares at the trees through the window outside. A dull ache throbs at the back of her head, and this tightness in her throat closes in so hard she gasps for breath.
How can they be considering this? Didn’t they see what Gwynn Hawkes did to that siren? Don't they understand when a person is that far gone there is no chance of return? She tried talking to Craven several times, about why he took her, about why he should feel sorry for what he was depriving her of. But there was no sympathy in him. He held no care for anyone but himself, and Gwynn Hawkes is no different.
Jomeini can understand why Ambry won’t listen to her. She’s wrong—always wrong. She’s a failure. She failed to See for Craven. She failed to escape from him, even after all the cruel things he did. She failed to help Shasa—and now with Ambry, the tears she shed have caused so many problems. What good are her visions when everything falls apart like this?
And now Ambry plans on trying to connect with the one person who frightens Jomeini more than anyone else.
Grandfather sits at the desk. The book he took from Craven’s splays open, and his hand scribbles furiously in that small journal he’s been carrying around. The hole in her chest opens, releasing a long, invisible hand. Look at me, Baba. See me. He should know—he should sense how much she’s hurting. But still he scribbles. She might as well not be here at all.
Jomeini fingers the leaves of the basilnit plant in its pot in the window. Plants are everywhere in this safehouse, it seems—another factor that should make Jomeini soar over the moon. She’s spent some time with Ayso talking about them, about the specific properties extracted and used in their wares. Jomeini opens her mouth, ready to tell Grandfather how just this morning Ayso explained how to extract magic from the pollen while still allowing the plant to grow and produce more.
But the downward tilt of his nose. His distracted glance. Solomus sniffs and scratches at a spot beneath his ear. He won’t care to talk.
She turns to leave the room, the same pain and emptiness that’s been eating at her for years hardening into a peach pit in her chest, taking over her heart.
“Jo?”
She pauses with one hand on the doorknob, a breath escaping. Now, she thinks. I must speak now.
“Did you come for me or the book, Baba?”
Solomus’s furry brows gather. He lowers the thick volume to the desk. “What?”
“You’ve done nothing but stare at that book since we got here. Making notes on it. Memorizing it for all I know.”
Solomus closes the cover now. A signal he’s finally ready to talk. She takes the opportunity, crossing the room to him.
“I’m trying to help Miss Csille.”
“I gave her all she needs to break that spell, Baba.”
Solomus shakes his head, his aged fingers resting on the desk’s edge. “There’s more to it, Jo. More to this vision of yours.”
Her insides twist, and anger billows in her, taking form along her arms. She grits her jaw, forcing the fire to drown. “Don’t you think I know about the vision I had?”
“Do you?” he asks. “Do you know what is in Miss Csille’s character that made you visualize her in the first place? I’m afraid this goes much deeper than we can imagine. I’m trying to find a way to contact the ruddy Firsts, but according to Ambry, they won’t visit me.”
“Baba, let this go. I—” Jomeini’s voice breaks. She can’t believe she has to say it. Can’t he see how she’s aching for his attention, for anyone’s attention? She understands the war, the impending arrival of an army and the importance of the tears she shed. But right now she’s a girl, not the maiden wizard. And no one seems to care.
That isn’t true. Talon tried. Even Shasa and Ayso did. But she doesn’t need them right now.
“I—” Her voice breaks. “I need you,” she finishes.
Solomus pushes past her, giving her a soft pat on the back. “As soon as I figure this out, I’m all yours. I promise, my girl. But we’re running out of time, and if what Ambry said about Nattie Wilde was true—”
“I’m right here!” she cries. Flames alight down her arms, coiling like a possessive cat slinking along a hallway. She collects the energy into a ball in her hands, forcing it to remain there, to stop from lashing out at him the way she did with Craven. It was uncontrollable then. Unpredictable. She hadn’t felt magic in so long, she hadn’t known how to stop it.
Solomus stares at her as if she only just appeared and hasn’t been standing there talking to him the whole time.
“What is happening to me?” Jomeini asks. “I can’t shake this. It happened even before you abandoned me, but with Craven, with the things he did to me, it’s getting worse. Even when I try to do good, to help, I make things worse. You saw what happened with the sirens. And now Ambry is going to help her when she should be figuring out my cards. And you…”
She can’t form the words. The throbbing need, that if only he would care, he could fix her. Put her back to being the girl she was before.
“She shouldn’t be doing this, Baba. And you know it.”
“Oh, Jo. I’m sorry.” He hobbles over, pulling her to his chest despite the flames, which fade at his touch.
She cried once. The tears came unbidden, taking over everything because she felt everything in that moment. This is so opposite from that everything; it’s so nothing it hurts. The hug doesn’t make her feel better. She waits for something to sink in. To nullify this empty plummeting in her chest, but her grandfather’s distra
cted presence only makes it worse.
She pushes him away.
He holds her tighter.
“Jo—”
Her eyes close. His arms shake slightly—a result of his age, no doubt. But they’re warm and encompassing nonetheless. Slowly she melts, a cube of wax reacting to the ever-present wick.
“This anger you feel is normal for someone who has survived what you have. But you can beat it. You must find a way, Jomeini.”
The pain of it all adds up. The mysterious letter he received, calling him away from her. Baba left her without an explanation, and the next day she was taken by Craven, stabbed with his claw, subjugated to his will. She was forced to live in his crawlspace for months, threatened for not Seeing, practically starved. Months turned to years, hidden away from the rest of the world. She was ignored, misused, beaten for speaking out of turn. The loneliness wells within her.
Solomus’s head presses against her hair. “I’m so sorry,” he says.
The words drip down her, leaking their way into her soul. They sift through, touching those unseen wounds, soothing like a balm. His presence, his attention, his affection all combine together. One by one, the loosened parts of her edge closer together. Closer to healing.
She isn’t sure how long he holds her for. His hands rub her back, pat her hair. And she clings to him, soaking him in.
Eventually, he pulls away. “I’m here for you,” he says with a sad smile.
Throat tight, she nods. “If you care so much about Ambry, you need to talk to her. She shouldn’t do this.”
He presses his lips together. “Maybe you should be the one to say it.”
“I’ve tried. She won’t listen. But she might listen to you.”
His head hangs down, gray strands of hair tipping over his shoulders. “I’ll try,” he says.
Ayso knocks on the inside of the doorframe, thick-rimmed glasses hanging from her studious nose.
“Jomeini? Ready?”
He gives her shoulders a squeeze, and he winks the way he used to do during lessons when she knew he purposefully stepped back so she could have a chance at something.
“It will be okay,” he tells her. “But yes, I’ll talk to Miss Csille.”
Ayso pauses at the door. “Sir?” she says to Solomus. “We’ll need you as well.”
“Of course,” he says. One foot shuffles after the other on his way to the door.
***
Ren sits on his cot, fingers drumming on his knees. He agreed to this. He agreed to invade his sister’s mind. To invade Gwynn’s mind.
He can’t help thinking of the night he kissed her. He opens his aud, staring at those lost conversations. On a daily basis they were ordinary enough. Small conversations with one-word responses so he could keep tabs on Ambry.
But that night. That night she had her dream and became a different person. The small glimpses he had of the real Gwynn—sometimes flashes in her gaze, sometimes from things she would say—had become a permanent scene. He could practically hear her excitement through the message.
Angels, Ren, I can’t get over it! My heart is so alive. It beats and pulses and swells and all I hear is your name, Ren. Your name pounds through my veins like you’ve been a part of my emotions all along. You’re in my blood and in my throat and my lungs—you’re everywhere. Do you feel this too? For me? Is this real? Or am I just going crazy?
Ren closes the aud, not wanting to see his reply, though he knows it by heart.
I’ll tell you when I see you, he replied.
Tell me now, please!
How he hesitated. How he sorted through his words.
You’re killing me here. Tell me! Please, say you love me.
And then he gave in. Gwynn, I have loved you since we were children. Since before we Torrented, since before Clarke came to your home and destroyed your happiness. I haven’t known how much—not until my involvement with the Vault, but… He paused, unsure how to express the commotion going on in his chest… my love for you runs deep.
A long pause.
How deep? she asked.
Bones and even beyond the stream of magic keeping me alive this moment. I love you deeper than souls and whatever particles make them. Meet me tonight, Gwynn. Come to Black Vault with me.
You mean that? she asked.
Why don’t you come find out?
Wow, did he really let Shasa read that? He had nothing to hide from her, then. He had to be open with her, the way she was with him. Not many people are as open as Shasa Elmscar is, and Ren finds it refreshing like a spray of cool water in the hot summer. Thinking of Gwynn’s messages only rubs that in more.
What would have happened if Gwynn didn't open herself to him in those messages? She had no one else to talk to—Ambry was out of the question. She had no magic and couldn’t use an aud. It wasn’t like Gwynn could go to her mother. Or Clarke, the axrat who abused her for years.
Gwynn came to him out of necessity. And he mistakenly believed she really did care for him, the way he did for her. She asked him if it had been real, but now he isn’t so sure. She was high on life that night, sorting through emotions coursing through her so fast she couldn’t keep up.
But new emotions can be confusing, especially to someone who hadn’t felt them in so long. How could she tell the difference between excitement and love?
Shasa, on the other hand. Shasa has Talon. She has the wizard, Ayso, and the others at Black Vault. Of all people for her to be open with, why would she be open with him, Ren, the brother of her hated enemy? Was he nothing more than a convenient pair of ears?
Ren tucks his aud back into his pocket and sighs.
Dreaming is so ordinary. Like a kiss or a hug, it’s something that so many people do. And yet with kisses and hugs, each one varies depending on the person being kissed or embraced. Dreams are like that. Each one is different. Cosmic, encompassing, vast as the human race.
And Ren will be entering mine.
Angels, why did we think this was a good idea? I should be looking over my cards. Something was happening—that card started to move. But this is important too. I can’t sit here while Gwynn and Tyrus have my tears.
This will work.
Talon’s lean form leads the way up the stairs to the main level of the safe house and down the hall. As if he can sense me looking at him, he peers over his shoulder.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he says in that sultry voice of his. A voice I try not to think too much of and fail miserably. The hall is dark, and it’s just the two of us, packed in as he turns, directing the heat of his body at me. He lets out a sigh. “But you will.”
“She’s my friend, Talon. I come for people I care about.”
“Like you came for me.” His eyes snag me, capturing my voice.
“I’d do it again, if that’s what it took.”
His lashes nearly brush his cheeks. “And I for you.”
We shouldn’t be talking like this. My throat is a capsule, catching my breath.
“If anything happens to you…” he says, his hands rolling into fists.
I rest a hand on his arm, painfully aware of his muscles and the way his heat transfers to me at the touch. “It won’t. I’ll be sleeping, that’s it.”
He inhales, his hand sliding to my elbow. “I don’t like this, Ambry. I don’t have a good feeling about it.”
If we stand here looking into each other’s eyes any longer we’ll be embracing soon, which we definitely can’t do. I swallow and step back. “It will be fine.”
Someone clears his throat, and I turn. Solomus lingers in the doorway across from the one I intended on entering. His hair is pulled back, away from his face.
“Miss Csille? Might we have that word?”
I glance at Talon, who shrugs, before turning back to him. “You mean now?”
One hand still on the jamb, Solomus offers the other to me, inviting me to enter the darkened room with him. “I have some concerns I’d like to discuss with you befo
re we do this.”
With an uncertain nod, I join him. He flicks on the light to reveal an actual bed instead of a pair of cots, and closes the door.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, folding my arms. This feels strange. Everyone is in that other room, waiting for me. It’s not really the ideal time to talk.
“I’d like to continue our discussion, actually.”
“I’m not sure now is the best—”
“Now is perfect,” says the wizard, resting on the edge of the bed. “Ambry, why did Nattie come to see you? Can you tell me?”
Is there any reason to keep it from him? I push aside the urgency pressing on me. Maybe he could help. Maybe he knows something that Nattie wasn’t able to tell me.
“The first time I ever met her, she said the tears were cried for me. She said I’m the one destined to use them to break your spell.”
Solomus’s bushy, graying eyebrows raise. “Did she now?”
“Jomeini gave me her cards, sir. The cards that went with her vision. She told me what she Saw, and that I need to study her cards and determine what it means for me. And Nattie came to remind me just how important those cards are.”
The wizard brushes his chin with two fingers. “I see.”
“And she said that what I have to do has something to do with Angel’s Basin.”
This shocks him more than anything else. “In Feihria?”
“Nattie told me there was still hope, that there were always chinks of light to be found while the fledgling bird made its way from its shell. I know that metaphor applies to me somehow. I’m just not sure I see it yet.”
“Ambry, Angel’s Basin is where the races were formed in the first place.”
“So I’ve heard,” I say, the opposite of light building inside. Hopelessness settles over me like a shroud.
Solomus opens his mouth, only to close it when a knock comes on the door. “Ambry?” Ayso calls from the hall. “You in there? We’re ready for you.”
“We should probably go,” I say with a sigh.
Solomus takes my hand in his. His skin is warm and too smooth. “Are you sure this is the course you should be following?”
Such a Daring Endeavor Page 25
