“Andreas was furious, every time I came home empty-handed. I always made some lame excuse—too many people, bad light, etc. The final time is what ended it. He told me to kill the boy and be done with it. When I returned, blades clean, his rage erupted. He screamed and cursed. Told me I was worthless. I was an assassin who could not kill. Most of all, he repeated that I was betraying my parents, betraying their memory.
“He pinned me against the wall, with a wave of his hand. I could feel a black cord growing around my neck, and I—I knew it was him. I don't know how it happened, but there was a flash of blue light and his hand went limp. He cradled it as I ran, circling through the rooms in the house.
“He followed me, continuing his calls. As I ducked behind a dresser, I made a decision. I slid a single blade from my boot and, as I rose, I sent it sailing through the air. The point landed true and deep in Andreas's chest, going through his heart.
“I didn’t regret my decision, I don’t regret my decision. But I could not watch him die, his limp body twitching. As I did when I was eight, I fled the house, taking to the streets. I lived off of scraps and slept in back alleys.
“I haven’t killed since. I’ve only survived. When Demetri and Sorem found me, they knew my name. They said ‘Lacria we’re not going to hurt you.’ I hadn’t heard my name spoken aloud for two years. That was the day I came here, kicking and screaming all the way.” Her voice cracks at the end of her sentence.
Terrance sits down, in awe of the girl beside him. Lacria buries her face in the folds of her bed sheets, unable to even look in Terrance's direction. He moves over to the bed and tentatively places an arm around her shoulders. She tenses slightly at his touch but doesn't move away.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice muffled by the fabric.
“Don’t be.”
Lacria lifts her tear-streaked face to look up into Terrance’s green eyes and smiles, happy to have finally told someone her story.
They sit in silence for a while, breathing together, but eventually Lacria begins to unfurl herself. Terrance hastily retracts his arm as she swings her legs off the bed. Two petite, slipper-clad feet meet the floor softly. She stretches her arms, making her joints crack.
“I feel like I can breathe better now,” she says, feeling more rested than she has in ages. “I do wish I could open the window or something. This room is so stuffy.”
“Have you even left this room since you got here, Lacria?”
“No,” she says sheepishly.
“How would you like to get some fresh air?”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? How do we even get out? I wasn’t exactly escorted through a front door. They brought me in through a portal.”
Terrance smiles. “There’s one useful thing I learned from Callida’s snooping.”
“Callida?”
“Tell you later.” He motions for her to move off the bed. Taking a deep breath, he raises his finger and sends a bolt of green light at the window, shattering the glass. Lacria gives him a judgmental look as he leans out the “open” window.
Terrance scans the landscape before spotting something useful. There are vines growing on the roof. Perfect. In his mind's eye, he sees the vine growing longer and longer till it reaches the ground below. He opens his eyes and the vine has grown. So, Sorem wasn’t wrong about that technique. Well what do you know?
Lacria has joined him by the windowsill, looking in disbelief at the makeshift rope. “You expect me to climb down on that?”
“Would you rather stay in your room?” She sticks her tongue out at him but allows him to help her over the railing. “You better be right behind me.”
“Of course.” Soon the two of them have disappeared into the night, the creeper becoming slack once more.
Under the light of the moo, Lacria appears to loosen up, her tense demeanor relaxing. She smiles at Terrance’s stories. She even laughs on occasion. Terrance tries to hide how happy it makes him. He simply smiles back, and they continue along.
After walking for a while, they come to a grove of olive trees. Terrance runs his hands along one of the gnarled branches, feeling its energy. These trees must be hundreds of years old. He breaks from his reverie to see Lacria staring at him.
“You have a gift with plants?”
“Well … yes, but it’s not as lame as you make it out to be!”
She raises an eyebrow. “Okay then.” A shadow passes over her face. “Do you hear that?”
Terrance listens hard. “It sounds like running water.” They pad over to the right edge of the grove and discover a large pool of water, growing steadily.
“Where’s all this water coming from?” Terrance asks.
“I’m so very glad you asked!” a biting voice calls from the trees.
“Lacria, I really hope that was you.”
“Terrance, I’m right behind you—how could my voice be all the way over there?” There’s an obvious note of fear in her voice as she backs up against Terrance. He can feel her willowy form trembling through the fibers of his shirt. “That voice is familiar,” she whispers.
A gaggle of dark figures emerge from the trees. None of them look entirely human.
Terrance thinks wildly. Trees, trees, what can I do with trees? Somebody help me. He closes his eyes and imagines the branches swinging round like lassos. There is a loud screech. He opens his eyes to see the trees waking up, their limbs flailing randomly.
Using all of his willpower, Terrance guides the branches like a conductor of nature, making boughs strike out at their unknown attackers. However, Terrance begins to tire. He cannot see everywhere at once, and the assailants surge forth in even greater numbers. Some even get close enough that he can breathe their air. It smells of rotting fish, blood, and devil’s spawn. Hot and horrid.
Lacria has regained her composure and joins the fray, but does not use magic. She reaches into slits in her clothing, out of which she pulls knives—dozens and dozens of knives—which she proceeds to throw with lightning accuracy. There are squeals when the blades make their mark, but they only slow the attackers down.
“This was a good idea, was it?”
“Not now, Lacria!” Terrance says, as there is a great shower of gold and snowy orbs. They descend like sprites, surrounding the creatures and burning them away. Terrance cringes as a nearby beast appears to melt beneath the touch of an ivory sphere.
The creatures’ horrendous yowls fill the night air, and Terrance and Lacria both move to cover their ears. They each feel a pair of strong hands grabbing their arms as their surroundings disappear, only to rematerialize in the sanctuary foyer. But they are not alone. They are being stared at by six pairs of neutral eyes and two pairs of angry ones.
“We spend all of these decades maintaining this beautiful sanctuary, only for you to go traipsing around outside as soon as we turn our backs. There’s a reason we need a sanctuary in the first place!” Sorem’s yelling has reached fever pitch at this point, and Terrance and Lacria don’t know how much more of this they can take.
“My sister is right for once,” Demetri adds. “You two are to clean this place from top to bottom until we say otherwise.” Lacria sends Terrance a look while he does his best to ignore it, cradling his head in his hands.
“Let me get this straight,” Callida says to Sorem. “You woke all of us up in the middle of the night, or shall I say morning, so you could yell at these two for going on a secret date? Terrance’s cheeks redden further while Lacria pretends not to hear her. “Assholes.” With that, Callida exits up the stairs, a dumbstruck crowd staring up after her.
26
don’t swordfight and text
Anima winces as she tumbles against the hardwood floor.
“Again, Anima?” Armifer asks. “That’s like the third time this session.” Anima, sits for a moment, panting hard.
“I’m working on it,” she says through ragged breaths.
“Doesn’t look like it,” he says, smirking as she strugg
les to stand up.
“I SAID I’M WORKING ON IT!” she hollers, only to fall to the floor once more. Armifer snickers, as he hears something clatter to the floor.
“You even brought your phone with you to practice?” he asks, gesturing at a blue lacquered iPhone case poking out from underneath her collapsed torso.
“Armifer, shut up,” Anima says as she slips the phone back into her pocket. It connects with something metallic, and a bright pink flash explodes out of Anima's pocket, showering the room with sparks. The rest of the mahi fall to the floor as the light spreads through the room, illuminating the stone walls with a magenta glow.
Anima’s phone has since shot out of her pocket and now sits on the central dais, still shimmering faintly. Anima tries to approach the phone, but then it begins rattling eerily. She decides to back off and begins scooting away until she is pressed up against one of the sword racks. “Just breathe, Anima,” she whispers to herself. “Just breathe.” Unsurprisingly, that does nothing to help the situation, and the phone continues to rattle until it makes small leaps off the wooden floor. Callida has the presence of mind to duck out of the room and get help, but the rest of them stay there, paralyzed as the phone begins to leak a purple mist.
It wafts out of the phone speakers and the headphone jack. It oozes out of the edges of the screen, coalescing in a misty puddle. The mist grows and soon a very human form begins to emerge. The form isn’t clear. It keeps changing size, shape, and even the color flickers on occasion. Then it starts speaking.
At first, the voice is garbled and barely audible. Then it begins to sound like a woman’s voice, then a man’s, then maybe a woman’s again. Anima notices the form change with its voice and realizes that it’s a person, continuously changing. One moment she sees a white man in a pinstripe suit, the next, a caramel-skinned woman in a sky-blue dress. The appearance never lasts for more than a second.
Then the voice begins forming words. They sound strange and distorted because of the constant change, but they are clear enough.
“How. May. I. Help. You.”
“Well, you could just stop,” Nuntios mutters.
“Sorry. I. Didn’t. Catch. That.” Anima stops for a minute. Wait, is that ….
“I said could you just stop!” Nuntios hollers across the room.
“Did. You. Mean. What. Is. A. Justsota?”
Nuntios just shakes his head.
“How can you be joking around at a time like this?” Lacria hisses.
“Well, what were you gonna do? Quiver in the corner?”
Lacria tosses her hair back angrily. She opens her mouth to talk, but the voice stops her once more.
“Could. You. Repeat. That.”
“Shut up!” Anima groans.
“Shut. Up. Is. Not. In. The. User. Agreement. Here. Are. Some. Questions. You. Can. Ask. Me.”
“Oh, my god,” Terrance says, “I know who it is.” Everyone looks at him.
“Who?” Anima demands.
Terrance gives her a horrified look. “Siri.”
Everyone’s eyes flicker back and forth between Terrance and the woman on the dais.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Anima calls from against the rack, barely taking her eyes off the ever-changing mass on the dais. She sounds nonchalant enough, but her shaking form betrays her.
“Tell that to Siri,” Armifer says pointedly, gesturing towards the swirling assemblage.
“Why don’t we just try something,” Ámpelos says, “or we’ll never leave.” He turns to face the constantly changing mass. “Siri, read my emails.”
The mass instantly stops changing and re-emerges as a fair-skinned woman in a simple gray dress.
“You have twenty un-read emails from [email protected] and fifty unread emails from [email protected].” The woman holds her hands neatly in front of her after she finishes her sentence. Anima’s face goes white.
“Siri, please delete all emails,” she says shakily. Siri frowns slightly.
“I’m sorry, but—”
“Yo, Siri,” Nuntios says. “Can you look up pictures from 2008 of Lady Gaga?” Armifer gives a questioning look. “What?” Nuntios says. “I had a girlfriend who was into that kinda stuff.”
“You had a girlfriend?” Armifer asks, a bit more sharply than he intended.
“A while back, yeah. Why do you ask?”
Armifer opens his mouth to ask further but is interrupted by a metallic voice.
“Searching, 2008 Lady Gaga.” Siri takes a step back and, just on the stretch of dais in front of her, a kneeling figure slowly begins to materialize.
She wears a form-fitting black jumpsuit (which is completely soaked) and a sequined mask. Holding a microphone in front of her mouth, she stays frozen, not moving a muscle, and the kids begin to get anxious.
“That’s Lady Gaga,” Anima says slowly.
“Mmm,” Lacria says, nodding in mild horror.
“And she’s just … there.”
“That’s right,” Lacria whispers.
“Why isn’t she moving?” Anima whispers harshly. Nuntios gets an idea.
“Siri, show me videos of Lady Gaga in 2008.” The woman smiles.
“Searching videos of Lady Gaga in 2008,” Siri declares. Soon the stationary Gaga begins to move and the opening notes of “Poker Face” begin to play. Nuntios begins to nod appreciatively as she begins to sing and starts the first dance number.
Lacria just sighs loudly. “You need help,” she says wearily. Everyone else is just confused. Anima is mortified, and Armifer feels a slight roiling in his stomach. “We could do something useful,’ Lacria suggests as the music swells, and the main dance number starts. “Is anyone listening?” Nuntios shakes his head slightly as he begins tapping his foot to the beat. Lacria lets out a long breath. “Siri stop!” she shouts. Instantly, Lada Gaga and the backup dancers freeze and Siri steps forward.
“Yes?” she asks crisply.
“Look up ‘how to defeat nameless evil,’ ” Lacria demands.
Siri gives her a sad and confused look. “Sorry, no results found.” A dead silence falls in the room.
“That is quite enough,” Demetri calls angrily from the door. With a flick of his wrist, a golden haze envelops Lady Gaga and her crew and then they vanish. The light passes around Siri until she becomes a purple mist once more and starts being reabsorbed into the phone.
Anima feels a sense of guilt when she sees the last of the lavender fog disappear. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to use her phone without thinking of the pale woman in the gray dress. A firm hand snaps her out of her thoughts.
“What were you thinking?” Demetri says, clearly seething.
Anima puts on an innocent face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Anima says sweetly.
Demetri gives her a stern look. Seeing that Anima is not about to give up the charade, he snaps his fingers. A red and white arrow flies out of Anima’s pocket and into Demetri’s outstretched hand.
“I think you do, oddly enough,” Demetri says sourly. “I told you, you can’t carry these talismans around.”
“But it’s my arrow!” Anima protests.
Demetri throws his hands up exasperatedly. “You still can’t be carrying it around!” he exclaims. “It’s part of a powerful magical amulet that was forged in the stellarion itself!” Anima gives him a confused look. “You know, the stellarion—the source of all magical energy.” Demetri pauses. “If you mix that with any other source of power—”
Anima’s phone crackles and spits a few sparks.
“s—that happens.” He turns to the rest of them. “So don't let that give you any bright ideas.” Anima opens her mouth to protest, but Demetri stops her. “That magical energy now powers your phone. You have no idea what could happen!”
“Maybe that’s the point!” Anima snaps. “We have no idea what could happen with any of this!” Demetri huffs and stalks out.
“What’s his deal?” Luna asks.<
br />
“Not a big Gaga fan,” Nuntios says solemnly.
27
a tragedy involving bread
The streets of this sleepy little French town are fairly quiet in the morning. The occasional clack of shop doors opening and closing, and the various jingles and jangles of shipments moving in can be heard. You can also hear the usual grumblings of the farmers as they make their way towards the market.
It’s time to start the day. Erus rises gracefully, his steps almost catlike as he makes his way downstairs towards the bakery. There is no sense of grogginess about him. He is alert and planning, his movements fluid like water. Methodically, he begins pulling back the drapes, firing up the ovens, and shining display cases. He works in silence, falling into a rhythm.
Mémé and Mére will be up within the hour. It must be ready for them. Soon the store is alive with the clatter of plates, the scent of baking bread, and the twinkling of flickering fluorescents. Chairs are placed around tables; counters are given a final polish. At last, he flips the finger-worn sign to OUVERT. He moves to stand behind the counter. Erus looks over the empty tables and chairs like a kingdom full of subjects, his mild detachment an overarching aura.
The first customer has not yet arrived when Erus’s mother comes in through the back door. Her dark chestnut hair is swept up into an elegant bun. Her apron is freshly ironed. Her face, however, looks stretched thin. The cracks of aging are just beginning to show. It is masked deftly with her shining eyes and wide smile, but Erus can see it regardless.
“Good morning, Mére,” Erus says. He moves forward to kiss his mother on the cheek.
“Did you remember to put the first round of pastries in the cases?” she asks wearily.
“Yes, Mére.”
“And Méme is sick today, so you’ll have to take care of your brother and sister as well as help me.”
The Rise of the Fourteen Page 15
