by A. R. Kahler
“I . . .”
“I hope to see you there,” he said. He gave me a knowing look. “I’ve been talking to a few members of the arts faculty, and there’s been some dissent over your thesis. I thought it might be smart to prepare you for their critique tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. I closed my eyes and tried to keep myself from freaking out. My critique was tomorrow. How the hell had I forgotten that?
If the professors already hated it, tomorrow was going to be a bitch. Why did I even care? With everything else going on, I might not even make it to the critique.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll try to be there.”
“I’d like you to do a little better than try, Kaira. I know there’s a lot going on, but this is the culmination of your career here. I want to make sure you’re able to defend yourself properly tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” I said, because there didn’t seem to be much else to say. “Anyway, I guess I’ll see you later on tonight.”
“Looking forward to it,” he said. I turned to leave. “And Kaira?”
His words froze me. I knew that tone—it was like every cliffhanger in every drama ever. He was about to drop a bomb.
“Yes?”
“Be careful who you show that to. They’re still not sure what happened to Jane, and I’d hate for you to get involved in this mess.”
I swallowed hard and nodded.
It wasn’t until I was halfway down the hall that I realized what he’d been implying. He must have seen inside the studio. He knew I’d drawn her exactly as she’d been found. And I had a terrible feeling he knew what it entailed.
• • •
“Kaira!”
Chris’s voice cut across the commons. I paused outside my dorm and turned to see him jogging toward me. I’d spent the last hour and a half in the silversmithing studio for class, and my stomach was grumbling.
“What’s up?” I asked, walking toward him to close the space between us. I was acutely aware of the way he smiled when he neared, but the smile slipped after a second.
“Not much.” Clearly a lie. “Are you busy?”
“Not really.” Another lie, because if I didn’t eat soon I would become hangry, and that was not a place I wanted to be today.
“Cool. Wanna walk?”
“Sure.”
Without another word, he took my hand in his and started leading me toward the Writers’ House. The fact that I didn’t let go surprised me more than it should have.
After a few seconds of silence, he chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
He squeezed my hand. “This. You’re not immediately telling me to back off.”
I sighed dramatically. “What can I say? You’ve tired me out. I’ve given in to your animal appeal.”
“Really?”
“Something like that,” I admitted. “What’s up anyway?”
He bit his lip and tore his gaze away, looking out to the forest. Even though it was noon, the sky was heavy and gray, making dark shadows in the undergrowth.
“I wanted to talk . . . about last night.”
Of course. My stomach plunged to my feet.
“What about it?”
He sighed, squeezed my hand again. Stop enjoying that sensation.
“It . . . it looked familiar.”
He was too busy staring at the trees to notice the terrified look I shot at him. I had to carefully compose my face and voice before answering.
“What do you mean, ‘looked familiar’?”
He shook his head like he was fighting off some inner monologue—a tick I knew all too well—and glanced at me.
“I mean, it’s come up before. After my sister died.” He sighed and tilted his head back to the clouds and stared up like he wanted to scream or wake from a nightmare. “I can’t even believe I’m telling you this. You’ll think I’m crazy.”
“Doubtful.”
“Promise?”
“Mostly.”
He laughed without humor and looked everywhere but me. A clear sign this was killing him.
“After she died . . . I started having these nightmares. They were pretty much all the same, but I could never remember them entirely. The one thing I did remember was finding her in the sand, just after the tide. It was so. Fucking. Vivid. Her lying there with her hair in a halo and starfish and clams twined about her like constellations. It sounds beautiful when I say it like that but it was horrifying. Her face was so white, her lips so pale, staring up at the sky with pearls for eyes. And around her was this circle drawn in the sand, and no matter how many waves lapped against her, the circle stayed.
“The psychiatrists said it was just stress imagery. My subconscious’ way of finding resolution or some bullshit like that. That’s why I never told them about the rest.”
“The rest?” I asked. I hadn’t realized we’d stopped walking until then. He stood before me, still looking at the woods, both of my hands somehow now in his and the silence around us deeper than a tomb.
“I haven’t told anyone. How could I tell anyone? But this is all so insane. . . .” He looked at me. Tears welled and froze at the corners of his eyes. “The week before we went to the beach I was playing in the front yard. Just kicking the ball around. The ball flew out into the street and I ran after it because I was young and stupid and didn’t see the car. It didn’t see me either.”
He shuddered.
“I remember how it felt. When it hit me. It was like falling in a dream, that thud when you hit the bottom and then wake up. It struck me head-on. I felt the impact. And there was a shock, like I was hit with a lightning bolt, and then I was standing on the street like nothing had happened. The car didn’t even stop. Like it never happened. But I know it did. I felt it.” He pressed our hands to his heart. “I felt my chest explode from impact. And then I was fine.”
A tear fell down his cheek. I half expected it to turn into a snowflake as it caught in the stubble on his chin.
“I thought I’d made it up. Daydreams or something. Nearly forgot about it after my sister died. Until the nightmares. Every time. Every single fucking time, right before I woke up, I heard a voice. Your debt has nearly been paid it said. And I knew she died because of me. My sister died because I was supposed to live. And now it’s happening again.”
We stared at each other for a moment, letting the weight of his statement sink in. When he broke his gaze, the moment snapped, shattering to the ground like ice.
“What the hell is going on?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” I lied.
“Am I insane?”
“No.” I let go of his hand and rested my palm on his shoulder. He stiffened under the touch, then nuzzled my hand with his chin. It sent sparks racing across my skin, but now was definitely not the time for romance. Do I tell him? Do I tell him the truth about Brad?
He sighed and looked at me. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this. I barely know you and now you’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” I replied. “Actually . . . that actually makes you sound more sane.”
“Impossible.”
I didn’t want to go there. There was no way in hell I wanted to tell him about Brad and what happened after. But as we stood there in the snow, I felt like my life was at a terrible crossroads. I’d been doing all I could to avoid the gods ever since they gave me life in exchange for Brad’s. I thought I was an anomaly, some sort of freak. But here was Chris, standing before me looking naked and vulnerable, and I knew I couldn’t pass this off. Rule number one: Never ignore an omen.
“Do you mind if we keep walking?” I asked. He nodded.
I don’t know why I took his hand then. It felt fitting, a motion of solidarity rather than romance. There weren’t any sparks when our palms touched, and if he was taken aback by my sudden advance he didn’t show it. I think he felt it too, the importance of this. The strangeness. Whatever we were, we weren’t just two stupid teenagers fighting off a crus
h.
Guess it was time to figure out what that “something else” was.
“Remember when I told you I couldn’t date?” I asked. He nodded. “Well, I think it’s time you heard the full story.”
• • •
We made it down to the lake before stopping and staring out at the frozen expanse while I finished my story. I’d never told anyone about the suicide or the girl or Munin. Not even my mom. And yet the words came out easily around Chris. Not because I was exceptionally comfortable around him, but because, somehow, he’d experienced the same thing.
“What the hell is this debt?” he muttered when I finished.
“A life for a life,” I replied. “We were spared, so someone had to go in our place.”
“At least you got to choose yours.”
My anger was harsh and instantaneous, a flare I’d been holding back for years.
“Don’t you dare,” I hissed. “I didn’t want him to die. Not really. I was hurt and scared and stupid. Don’t you ever, ever accuse me of that.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just . . .” But before he could put his foot in his mouth again, he shook his head and whispered. “Never mind. I’m sorry. But whatever’s going on, we have to stop it.” He laughed. “This sounds so insane, you know that, right? We’re talking about gods here. Like, real-life mythical figures with magical powers meddling in human affairs. Killing people. It doesn’t make sense.”
“A few hundred years ago, it wouldn’t sound so insane.” I thought of Jonathan’s lessons on how gods and man used to walk side by side. And remembered I still had to meet with him at the stupid tutorial. How am I supposed to pretend everything’s normal after this?
“But this isn’t a few hundred years ago. This is now. In an art school. And our friends are paying whatever debt is out there. We need to stop it.”
I shuddered as, above us, the crows cawed out angrily.
“You don’t stop the gods,” I said gravely. “Neither of us asked to be saved. Neither of us asked for this. We aren’t special. We’re just lucky.”
Again, I knew it was a partial lie. I was being saved for something. To fight. But I wasn’t a fighter and neither was he.
“I don’t like that logic,” Chris said.
“I don’t have any other logic to give,” I said. “We’re not heroes, Chris. We’re kids. Whatever is going on is beyond us. We get involved, we get killed. It’s that simple.”
In the back of my mind, I knew this wasn’t over. Not yet. There wasn’t any settling in and waiting for it to pass. Dreams filtered back into my thoughts. The end times come. That’s what the girl had said. This wasn’t a series of deaths. This was the beginnings of a war. And if I gave over, if I became the violet-eyed girl’s vessel, I’d be on the front line. The crows above cawed again, and a new fear struck through me: Would Chris even be fighting on the same side as me? The girl kept mentioning the Aesir, and if Chris . . . I shook my head. No. No. No matter what, I wasn’t becoming embroiled in this—whatever war this was, it wasn’t mine. And it wasn’t his. This wasn’t our fight.
Chris stared at me for a while. I looked away. I couldn’t tell what sort of judgment he was passing. What I was suggesting was ludicrous. And yet . . .
“You’re not running away screaming,” I ventured, trying to make my voice light.
“Not yet,” he said. He grinned. Then it slipped. “This is . . . this is all a lot to process. I mean, a few weeks ago all I could think of was graduating and maybe getting your attention. Now there’s . . . all this. What do we do now?”
I shrugged.
“We stay the fuck out of it.” I glanced to the crows. “Nothing good comes from messing with the gods. Nothing. This isn’t a battle we can fight.”
“So, what? We just hope no one else gets hurt?”
“I don’t know if there’s anything else we can do,” I said. I hated myself for it. “These are gods, Chris. You can’t fight a god. And neither of us summoned them or whatever when we were saved. I think this might be out of our control.”
“Bullshit,” he whispered. “I know you don’t mean that. You’re not the type to just give in; it’s not fair to anyone.”
“Fair?” My voice was too loud, borderline hysterical, but I forced it back to submission. “Fair? What about this is fair, Chris? Our friends dying? You and I getting spared? I’ve spent every single day of my life thinking that I was alive not because I was special, but because I was willing to do something terrible to survive. How the hell is that fair?”
But he was right. We both knew he was right. I just hated that he was perceptive enough to notice.
“You know what I’m talking about,” he said quietly. “What if Ethan was next? Or Oliver? Or Elisa. Hell, what if it was you or me? None of us are safe, Kaira, even if it is out of our control.”
“We can’t do this, Chris. We can’t interfere; we have a debt. We’re here because we’re vessels. They keep mentioning a war and how we have to fight. But it’s not us doing the fighting. We were spared because the gods need bodies to inhabit if they’re going to battle each other. The moment we open up to them, the moment we let our guard down, bam. We’re no longer Chris and Kaira. We’re hosts. And I’m not ready to give up this life. Not just yet. And neither should you.”
“But if this is happening to others . . .” he began.
“It means there are more gods on the playing field. I don’t know what’s going on, Chris, but they’re preparing for a war. And I have a terrible feeling you and I aren’t the only ones who are being prepped as cannon fodder.”
I expected conversation to be stilted after that; I mean, it’s not like talking about gods taking over our bodies and killing our friends was an everyday conversation. But the moment we left the woods and headed into the cafeteria, we slipped back into our old modes. We barely talked, but if we did, it was about classwork. Since we’d missed most of lunch, the cafeteria was largely empty, and the table we normally shared with Ethan and the rest was abandoned. We ate fast and pretty much in silence, and not one part of me gave a shit about the rumors I knew would be circulating after we’d spent this much time together. Let people think we were dating; it clearly didn’t matter anymore.
And yet, every time I glanced at him I wondered if maybe those rumors wouldn’t be unfounded. I mean, we’d definitely rocketed past the whole teen-angst-romance thing. This wasn’t a crush. We were bound by something I couldn’t place, something I didn’t necessarily want to be a part of, and it didn’t matter that he was cute or intense or sensitive. He had a secret similar to mine, and that meant we would always be in the other’s orbit. For better or worse.
When we finally got up to leave, it felt like committing a crime. Like we shouldn’t be parting ways—we needed to stick together. Which was stupid, because I was just heading to class and would be seeing him after . . .
Shit.
“I can’t go to the movie tonight,” I said as we left the cafeteria.
“What? Why not?”
“I have a tutorial.” I couldn’t have sounded less excited if I tried.
“Skip it,” he said. “You’re a senior.”
“I can’t.” Which was true. And it had nothing to do with learning academics. Jonathan knew something about all of this, I was certain. If there was any way to figure out what was going on without actually losing myself in the process, it was through him. A part of me wanted to tell Chris about the sketch and Jonathan’s reaction, but I didn’t want him to get too hopeful. Not when lives were on the line. “I have to talk to Jonathan about my thesis tomorrow. Apparently some professors are upset over the subject matter.”
Which I knew was a lie. I mean, maybe they were upset, but I knew it wasn’t the real reason Jonathan insisted on me coming to meet with him. He wasn’t the only one used to telling half-truths through lies.
“Sucks,” Chris said. He looked to his feet, then to me. “What are we going to do now?”
It was a questio
n he’d already asked a dozen times, but I knew he wasn’t just talking about the deaths. He was asking about us.
“I don’t really know,” I said. “But we’re in this together. We’ll figure it out.”
Maybe not the most convincing of statements, but it was the best I could do under pressure.
“Thank you,” he said. “For, you know, not thinking I was crazy.”
“I don’t think I’d ever be in that position.”
“Yeah, but. It feels good. To have a friend who knows.”
I nodded. I hadn’t really allowed myself to notice it, but he was right. Now that I’d told him everything, I felt a little freer. A little less alone. Things weren’t any less crazy or confusing, but at least I wasn’t navigating them on my own.
• • •
I wasn’t certain how I was going to make it through the rest of the school year like this. I couldn’t focus at all in American Civ—not that this was a huge departure from normalcy, in all honesty—and spent the entire hour drawing ravens and circles in my notebook. How was I supposed to focus when every movement, every second, felt like careening toward the end? Even the world outside seemed to mirror my thought process. The sky was prematurely dark, clouds roiling like sulfuric soup. And everywhere, the crows. They perched on gutters and trees and car hoods, all watching, all waiting.
They were my protectors. I knew that, in the far corners of my soul. They were my watch. So why were they all here en masse? It made my skin crawl.
After class, I headed straight toward the painting studio to get work done. Or, well, the studio we were using while the other got . . . cleaned. I made sure to go through a different entrance to the arts building—I had zero desire to see my Tarot cards up in the hall. They were my one foray into the mystical world, the one safe zone I had between mundane and magical. Now, even they seemed like too much. I didn’t want to be reminded of the night everything had changed, the night Munin and the violet-eyed girl came in and fucked everything up for good.
The studio was smaller than most, down one of the side hallways in the sculpture wing. And it wasn’t empty. Ethan sat at one of the stools, staring down a still life that was eerily similar to the one we’d begun. They must have picked up the table and moved it down here in one go, though the lighting was a little off from the original setup.
