I had made it a few steps out of the bathroom when I froze. Ilyan was leaning against the kitchen counter speaking in Czech, his focus on the phone he had pressed against his ear. My jaw dropped, he looked so different. I had never seen his hair braided before. The long blonde strands were perfectly woven together in a golden weave that trailed down the back of his head to fall half way down his back. The absence of sheets of hair framing his face defined his facial features more. He looked more distinct, stronger somehow. His light hair contrasted starkly with his tight black polo shirt. For the first time he wasn’t wearing torn jeans, instead he had opted for dark washed skinny jeans. I cursed his style sense. He looked good.
Ilyan looked up at my entrance. His line of sight trailed to the precarious bun on top of my head before he laughed. I pulled the hair tie out, having forgotten the silly thing was still up there. He clicked his phone shut and moved toward me. I closed my mouth after realizing it was still hanging open.
“What?” he asked, his accent rolling around the word.
“You look...” I paused, unsure of what to say, or even how to phrase it. The only word that came to mind was sexy, and saying that aloud to Ilyan was wrong on a very deep level.
“Did I do it wrong?” Ilyan asked, alarmed. He jumped away from me and ran to the night stand where a magazine was folded. He unrolled it and flipped through it looking for a specific page. Having found what he was looking for, he rushed back over, shoving a picture right under my nose.
The magazine picture was a Louis Vuitton ad featuring a man dressed in exactly what Ilyan was wearing. I looked from the ad to Ilyan a few times in shock before I began to laugh. So much for style sense, Ilyan had just been copying ads he had found in fashion magazines. My laugh continued to grow as I snatched the magazine from him, flipping the pages until I found a similar ad, this time with a girl wearing what Ilyan had provided me.
“Vat?” Ilyan asked, his agitation accentuating his accent. He shifted his shirt, obviously worried he was doing something wrong.
“Nothing,” I managed through my laughter. “It’s nothing, I thought...”
“What?” Ilyan asked again, his face screwed up in alarmed confusion. I dampened my laughter and placed my hand on his arm.
“Have you really been taking style hints from magazines all this time?” Okay it was more than hints, it was downright plagiarism, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.
“Yes! How else do you expect me to fit in? Your clothing styles make no sense to me.” He shook his head and walked away from me, ignoring my returning laughter.
“Well, I am going to need new clothes; I can’t go outside in this.”
“Why not?” Ilyan rushed back to look at the magazine, obviously not understanding.
“Well they are tight, and have colors, and... and...” Ilyan hiked an eyebrow at me like I was crazy. “This hoodie has no fabric what-so-ever.”
I threw both the magazine and the offending hoodie at him. He caught the sweater and the magazine floated before him for a minute, before setting itself on the counter. His face broke into a wide smile, happy his clothes weren’t really the issue.
“Pants I will replace, the hoodie you are going to want to keep.”
“I can’t wear this out, Ilyan. There isn’t anything to it.” He laughed at me again, and I fumed a little bit.
“It’s one hundred and ten degrees out there today, Silnỳ. You wear any other hoodie and you’ll pass out from heat stroke.”
“One hundred and ten degrees?” It never got that hot back home, ever. I would be surprised if it even got to ninety in the summer. I cringed. That extra twenty degrees sounded miserable. I couldn’t go out without a hoodie, I couldn’t. I grumbled and grabbed the hoodie back from him, trying to ignore the way his face lit up, the joy behind his eyes.
Eight
The city of Santa Fe was full of life. From what I had seen from the confines of my tiny prison, I never would have thought that city streets could have so much energy.
Ilyan had walked me out of the apartment and into the boiling heat of the city, his hand wrapped firmly around mine. I felt his magic pulse through me as his shield protected me, keeping me hidden.
I had not been very happy with the idea of holding his hand, but the skin connection was needed to keep the shield in place. Besides, Ilyan had promised me it would only be for an hour, and then he would release me, taking the shield with him. I wasn’t strong enough to hold my own shield yet.
The idea of being unshielded in the middle of the city scared me. The thought of Ryland finding me – scratch that, hunting me – sent an uncomfortable mix of jitters and nerves through my already bristling stomach. I tried to settle it with the knowledge that Ilyan would be there. No matter how much this ‘Protector’ nonsense gave me the heebie-jeebies, I knew Ilyan would in fact protect me. And that made me feel more comfortable. Whether or not he would tell me why he was my Protector, I still felt safe with him being around.
Ilyan took me out of the apartment and onto the street below, a green taxi already waiting for us. He held my hand tightly as he helped me into the car, his body moving to sit right up against me, even though there was plenty of room in the backseat.
The car had barely begun to move before my nose was plastered against the window. I watched in wonder as the driver sped us downtown at Ilyan’s instruction. It had been three months since I had been outside. Three months since I had been able to feel the wind or the sun. I felt it briefly before we got in the cab, but now it was right outside the vehicle, taunting me. Without permission, I rolled down the window and stretched away from Ilyan to get as close to the hot breeze as possible.
I felt the warm air move into the car. It swirled around and made the air conditioned space uncomfortable, but I didn’t care. I could feel it. I could feel the energy in the wind and the pulse of the sun. My magic began to buzz at the sensation the wind gave me, the feeling of earth energy – or whatever it was – filling me up.
“Maybe sightseeing wasn’t such a good idea,” Ilyan laughed behind me. “Maybe I should have taken you into the mountains and let you roam free for a few hours.”
“You make it sound like I’m a caged animal, Ilyan.” I didn’t look away from the window. I leaned closer to the moving air, letting it pick up the strands of my black hair and move them around.
“If you get your head any further out that window, you are going to look like a dog. A caged dog.”
I could hear the chuckle behind his voice, the happiness infectious. I looked back at him briefly before leaning away from him, pulling his arm and torso with me as I stuck my head and shoulders out the window. The driver began to yell as I stretched my face to the sky, the sun and the wind warming my face. But I didn’t hear what he said, I didn’t care. I smiled at the way the sun warmed my nose, the shiver of energy flowing down my spine, the way my shoulders seized as if I had been tickled. Ilyan said something back to the driver a moment before his hand tugged me into the car, his arm wrapping me against him.
“You are going to upset our driver, Silnỳ.” Ilyan spoke against my temple, the latent smile evident in his voice.
“I didn’t even get to stick out my tongue.”
“Next time little puppy, next time.” Ilyan patted my head condescendingly and I laughed a bit, moving away from him with a joking snarl.
“Caged animal, remember,” I said. Ilyan smiled widely at me, his shoulders shaking as he held in a laugh.
“Yes, I remember.” His smile broadened as the car pulled to a stop, the driver announcing our arrival and the charge, which Ilyan promptly paid. “How would you like to be free?”
“You gonna let me fly?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.
“Not today.” Ilyan pulled me from the car, lifting our intertwined hands to eye level. He moved my hand close to him until his lips pressed against the back of my hand. His eyes met mine over the top of our hands, giving me that look I couldn’t quite understand.
My stomach flipped and I cringed away from him. I did not like the contact and I really did not like the way my body reacted because of it. I fought the need to pull my hand away, knowing I needed the connection, so instead I held on tighter and walked down the busy street, towing Ilyan after me.
After a few steps, I slowed to a stop. This part of Santa Fe was nothing like I would have expected it to be. Instead of tall glass skyscrapers, there were perfect rows of adobe buildings, each carefully built to replicate the old style of the Native Americans and Spanish Settlers. The burnt orange color of the buildings contrasted with the blue sky beautifully. The whole street was lined with adobe structures and at its head there was a large sandstone cathedral. It was a graceful box of ancient architecture with its elegant stone arches and circular stained glass windows. It was beautiful, even though it didn’t look complete without the tall stone towers that are common in cathedrals.
“Wow.” I said, a bit more awed than I intended, but the way the street was designed kind of deserved it.
“I take it you like it then?” Ilyan said and began leading me down the street, his hand tightly wound around mine.
“Honestly, I would like anything as long as it had moving air, but this has a unique charm. It’s kind of... unexpected.”
“Santa Fe has a long drawn out history. The buildings are designed this way as a reminder and a link to the past. It’s one of the reasons they don’t have a larger downtown.”
“I don’t think they need it,” I said. My eyes dragged over one of the buildings as we passed, its interior was an upbeat teen clothing store. The window was filled with graphic t-shirts and feather accessories – clothing that Wyn would wear. The contrast between the old and the new was somewhat silly, but it didn’t take away from the nostalgia of the architecture.
“Prague is mostly the same. There is the old town and the new town. The new never mixes with the old.”
“And is there a cathedral there as well?”
“A few,” Ilyan said. I could tell there was more to his answer, but part of me didn’t care at the moment. I wanted to focus on this city and my current freedom.
I let Ilyan take the lead, his embrace gently pulling me along as we walked by small boutiques and larger restaurants. I finally had to pull him to a stop when we came to a row of street vendors under the overhangs of the buildings. Each person had a blanket set in front of them with jewelry, watches, and other handmade objects laid out, each with a tiny paper price tag. I slowly walked by them, taking in the large amounts of turquoise and silver.
My feet stopped when I saw it. The simplicity of my need making my legs week.
A long board.
It wasn’t even for sale. It was simply someone’s possession, being used as a different way to showcase the intricate turquoise jewelry that lined its top. But still, I needed it.
Mine had been lost forever when Ilyan had picked up my broken body from behind that dumpster and brought me into this crazy world I now lived in. I missed it. I hadn’t longed for it in that deep pining way I had seen other teenagers do, I simply missed it. I missed what it represented. I missed the part of me that had disappeared when it had. I missed normal.
I kneeled down next to the street vendor’s blanket, Ilyan’s hand never leaving mine. I looked up at the old wizened woman, her legs covered with a beautifully woven blanket. She looked down at me happily.
“Which one do you like?” Ilyan’s voice was soft in my ear. It took me a second to grasp what he was talking about. He thought I was ogling the jewelry.
“I don’t wear jewelry, Ilyan,” I answered honestly, suddenly worried that he would buy me something.
“Which one?”
I scowled at him, unsurprised to find him smiling at me expectantly. I sighed before pointing absent mindedly at the board. Ilyan raised an eyebrow still trying to figure out which one I was talking about.
“I like the long board, Ilyan,” I clarified, looking away uncomfortably. “It reminds me of mine.”
“Sometimes I forget how much you have lost. People, loved ones, even objects. It’s all part of you.” Ilyan squeezed my hand, and I turned back to him as his fingers trailed over the jewelry lightly. They fluttered around the bracelets and necklaces before stopping on a small turquoise bracelet with stones flat against one another; it wasn’t jagged like the others.
Ilyan picked it up and held it in his hands, his eyes closed as if he was measuring something.
“Turquoise,” Ilyan began, “can draw out negativity. Did you know that?”
“No.” I was a little surly, but I didn’t like the idea of Ilyan buying me jewelry. And I had a bad feeling that was exactly what was going to happen.
“And this particular turquoise will help bring up feelings of love, and of family.” Ilyan looked up at the old woman who nodded her head in agreement, her beautiful face breaking into a smile.
“Your young man is right,” she said, her voice shaky and warm. I almost wanted to laugh right out at her comment. Ilyan was neither young nor mine. “That is Navajo turquoise, it will bind you to your family and to the ones you love.”
The old woman smiled knowingly at Ilyan, her face lighting up. I turned to bat her assumptions away but was stopped by Ilyan’s smile. My face instantly widening in surprise, Ilyan rarely smiled like that. I must have looked ridiculous, because Ilyan smiled happily at me.
“We’ll take it.” Ilyan held the bracelet underneath my wrist, his magic unclasping it and snaking it around me. I looked away nervously from his obvious use of magic to the old woman who was busy counting the money Ilyan had paid her with.
“Ilyan... I...” Ilyan pulled me away from the seller before I could argue more.
“I think it will help you, Joclyn. Trapped in rooms, hunted, people trying to betray you, running for your life,” he smiled, but it was sad, “I think you could use a little bit of a negativity release. With all that’s going on, you could use a stronger connection with those who care about you. It’s no long board, but I will replace what you have lost – as much of it as I can – when all this is over.” I could only nod at his words and the sincerity behind them.
I lifted my wrist up to look at the stones. They were pretty, but part of me wanted to take it off and give it back to the old woman. As much as I didn’t like the message of the stones, I could already feel my magic collecting around my wrist, seeping through the stones and then back into me. It did it of its own accord, whether I wanted it to or not. I smiled a bit before shrugging my hoodie sleeve over the bracelet, letting it disappear from view.
Ilyan continued to move down the street, his pace slow, but somehow more focused than it was before.
We reached the end of the street, the large cathedral now towering over us. Ilyan dragged me over to where another street vendor was selling empanadas, but my eyes never left the cathedral. The large church was raised up above the street level. Smoothly cut stone formed delicate arches that surrounded the beautiful stained glass window that sat directly above the door. It was breathtaking.
“The Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi,” Ilyan said as he placed a hot pastry in my free hand.
“It was built in the late 1860s. Back then, this city was made up of the Palace of the Governors and a handful of adobe homes. Seeing it like this makes me long for the old.”
I knew I shouldn’t be surprised, but I still was. Ilyan was being more open about his past than usual and it still disturbed me to be reminded of how old he was.
“So you lived here then?” I tried to keep my voice level.
“No, not here. But I did live in the church that was here before they built the cathedral. La Parroquia. It was more like a fortress than a church, but I still loved it.”
I turned and looked at him, his gaze never deviating from the large building in front of us. The picture of him in some religious get up did not fit in my eyes, but he had now mentioned living in a monastery when Ovailia was born, a church in France, a
nd a cathedral in New Mexico.
“You and churches, I am beginning to see a theme. I would not have pegged you for the religious type.” I had seen the look in his eyes when he faced a fight, I doubted he could live without that for long.
“I’m not.” His answer was firm. He turned his head a bit to look at me.
“Then why all the churches?”
Ilyan looked away from me. He wasn’t happy or sad, simply distant.
“Have you ever been around very pious people, Joclyn?” I almost laughed at the thought, but kept it inside. The tone of his voice was far too serious for laughter.
“We stopped going to church after my dad left. He always insisted we go together. After he was gone, my mom didn’t want to go anymore. So we didn’t.”
Ilyan smiled a bit. His expression was almost understanding.
“I don’t remember a lot,” I finished, wishing he would look away from me.
“Pious people, those who are truly religious, are amazing creatures. I am almost convinced they are humans at their best. Now, mind you, I have seen some terrible things happen in the name of a God. Wars, conquests, sacrifices. But on the whole, at its very base, religion makes people better.”
“So, you believe in God then?” I asked.
“I believe in something. I am not sure if it’s God though. The stories of where I come from differ from yours. There is no Adam and Eve in my past.”
I turned toward Ilyan, taking a bite of the pastry he had given me. I hadn’t heard this story before and I was content to hear him tell it from the beginning. I gestured my pastry hand toward him, prompting him to continue.
“My kind, the Skȓítek, guard the wells of magic. There is a place, deep inside the earth under Prague, where magic bubbles up in what can only be described as mud. We call these the wells of Imdalind.”
“Wait, what?” I asked, interrupting him. “That’s the name of Ryland’s family’s company.”
Eyes of Ember (Imdalind Series #2) Page 8
