by Vicki Keire
Forewarned, I didn’t even stumble this time when Ethan opened his arms and released me into our living room. I ran straight for my closet, kicking off my boots and stripping off my t-shirt quickly. My fingers were on the top button of my jeans, ready to inch them down, when Ethan appeared in my doorway with a face like tightly leashed violence and a hastily scrawled note. Logan’s writing.
“What?” I managed to ask, frozen with my fingers at my waist.
“He left already. With Amberlyn. When I asked him to wait.” Ethan sounded like frozen thunder.
“Uhh.” I’m kind of getting dressed here, I thought at him, but telepathy didn’t seem to be one of his abilities. “You said the demon wasn’t after him. Let me get dressed and we’ll go catch up.” I indicated my shirtless state. “Or you could go on without me.”
He did not look pleased. “You have two minutes.”
“No way!” Men! “I need ten.”
“You don’t need ten.” His smile was not entirely pleasant. “I’m very fast.”
I stood up straight in nothing but my bra and jeans and put my hands on my hips. I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t know if I can make myself mad enough to burn you or stun you or whatever the hell I did before, but if you push me on this I swear I will try. If you intend to stay here and play human here’s lesson number one: No one can make a woman hurry up and get dressed. No one. Not God, not the president, and certainly not you. I need ten minutes, but I will try to hurry.” I took a deep, calming breath that had the added bonus of focusing Ethan’s attention below my neck. “And here’s rule number two, just so you know: no matter how much time is involved in the preparation, always tell a woman she looks nice when she’s through. Always. Or else next time, she’ll take longer.”
I kicked a pile of clothes out of the way and slammed the door in his face.
Chapter Thirteen:
Half Dark
I wanted to look nice for him. It was as simple as that, a desire as old as time. Looking back, I wonder if that was one of those crossroads moments. If I had just let Ethan speed dress me, or just stumbled into any old pair of jeans and whatever spare hoodie happened to be hanging on the hook by the door, would those few extra minutes have changed anything?
Did fate or whimsy guide me that night? I wonder still.
I closed my eyes and slipped my hand into the deepest recesses of my closet where my dresses lived, relying on my heightened sense of touch to choose what I would wear for Ethan. Since meeting him, everything tactile had become so much more pleasurable. I thought of his porous skin, like a living statue’s, and wondered if he experienced the world in the same way. Were my senses heightened because of some deeply slumbering thing in my blood, called to waking? Was the Nephilim in me waking up? Was that why his presence caused such sensory overload?
In the double darkness of closed eyes and darkened closet I touched velvet; cotton so loosely woven it was almost sheer; stiff smooth satin; fine wale corduroy; denim worn sand-smooth with age and washing. And then I had it. My fingers closed on heavy satin, and I smiled at the memory of it. I didn’t need light to see it. I remembered.
A heavy, nearly ankle length silver satin wrap skirt. The ribbons were long enough to tie around the waist several times and still dangle into the generous folds of the skirt. Next to it hung a matching shirt with a scooped neckline and three-quarter length sleeves that belled slightly. I had worn it only once before, at my high school graduation. Logan and Mr. Mason had come, since my parents couldn’t. I stood in front of the fountain in Blind Springs Park and twirled for the camera, the skirt flowing around me like a Spanish dancer’s, catching the multi-hued lights within its folds like a prism. Logan stood tall and strong and misty-eyed, seeing me all grown up. It was the first time anyone ever told me my eyes looked silver in the lights of the fountain.
Ethan was the first to tell me my eyes actually were silver.
In the end, I liked the contradiction that stared back at me from my full-length mirror. Neck to knee silver satin covered with a slightly battered black leather jacket that was beginning to feel like a second skin. Silver ballet flats peeked out from beneath the hem of my skirt. I didn’t have time to do anything to my hair except brush it and slap on some lip-gloss. “I like it,” I told my reflection. “Ladylike. Sexy.” I bounced a bit on the balls of my feet and fisted my hands in my jacket pockets. “Trouble, but with style.”
“Ten minutes,” Ethan said softly from my doorway. I spun, my skirt whirling like a circle of light around me.
I flushed because he had seen me talking to a mirror. “That really was pretty fast, considering,” I said defensively.
When next I blinked, his hand was between his jacket and the heavy satin of my skirt. “You look very nice,” he said softly, so softly, into my ear. “I say that because I want to, not because you told me to.” He slipped a tear shaped crystal pendant on a black velvet ribbon around my neck.
“Where did you get this?” I traced the facets of the crystal absently, twisting to see it hanging around my neck in the mirror.
“From the same source who told me you and Amberlyn routinely take one and a half hours getting ready for dates on weekends.” He frowned. “You must tell me about these dates of yours, Caspia. I am not sure I like it.”
“You should check your sources,” I said dryly, slipping my arms around his waist. “I haven’t been out on a date since Logan got sick. And who knows where my mother kept her jewelry?”
He brightened slightly. “Ah. Of course. Cats have an odd sense of time.”
I took several full, deep breaths to make sure he wasn’t teasing.
He wasn’t.
“Cats,” I repeated.
He nodded, completely serious. “Abigail,” he said as explanation. “She also said I should dress up a bit.” He’d slipped into one of Logan’s gray cashmere sweaters. I drooped against his chest, reveling in the soft warm solidness of him while I tried to shut off my brain.
“Abigail,” I repeated. I felt the familiar weight of his hand cup the back of my neck. On the streets below us, my friends and neighbors strolled around the square, enjoying the Winter Festival just as they had every single year I could remember. But this year, I knew some of them weren’t quite what they seemed. And some of them knew I wasn’t quite what I seemed, and neither was the tall strange man who talked to cats and rubbed my back as if I were one, too. I arched against his hand. “I don’t know if I can handle this, Ethan.”
“You handled mad Dark Nephilim and mysterious demon stalkers, discovering your own Nephilim blood and awakening abilities just fine.”
I shook my head against him. “But cats. That’s too much, somehow. It’s just… wrong. Bad enough they can think and reason. But if they can communicate? Next they’ll want things. Special treatment, a voice in government. Where does it end?”
He laughed softly. “I don't think they're interested in trading down.” I groaned into his shoulder. “Fine, then. No more about cats. Let’s go find your brother.”
I squared my shoulders and managed to smile. “Yes. My brother.”
He tucked my arm over his and kissed the top of my head. “You look beautiful. If we’re attacked, you’ll be the prettiest fighter around.”
"Umm,” I said, uneasiness warring with an absurd urge to laugh hysterically. “Thank you. I think.”
***
How to describe Whitfield as dusk crept in from the mountains, and my tiny little city held its breath as it changed from light to dark? I wrapped my hands around Ethan’s forearm and dragged him down the stairs behind me. I had only ever seen him in darkness or daylight, never at that borderline moment when everything around me seemed to hang, suspended, holding its breath as the sky darkened but the city sprang to light.
It was never fully dark or light in Whitfield, but always somewhere in between. The park with its year-round fairy lights and businesses open late into the night held the darkness at bay, even as those same storefronts offered shelter and deep awnings
as shade against the sun. And, of course, there was always the park, with its stately Southern Oaks and pines, creating pockets of cool and damp dark when the rest of the town hummed with the business of the day. Whitfield never slept, never stopped breathing, and if I tried to explain in some way that made sense, the words tangled on my tongue until I sounded hopelessly naïve.
I felt Ethan’s warm skin through his borrowed sweater. I knew he didn’t feel that way. He knew what Whitfield was. He had, in fact, known it much longer than me. What I had only intuited as a hometown I loved was something deeper and older. It was sanctuary for secrets, both Light and Dark, and none of us knew the full extent of them yet. In a way, I was headed out to meet my hometown for the first time ever. Or at least, for the first time as it really was: odd and beautiful and full of secrets of which I could only see the very surface.
I fingered my mother’s necklace as I stopped to adjust my skirt. I was worried, as always, about Logan. I imagined him, lost in the gathering crowd, pale but smiling, watching for me as I clung to Ethan’s arm. He liked Ethan. He liked to see me with someone strong and good, someone who would and did take care of me. I could let it irritate me if I wanted it to. It was possessive and big brotherly of him, but it was also kind of sweet. So there was that. Logan. I sighed. I supposed I would always worry about Logan. Maybe it was just in my nature.
Ethan pulled me up against him. “Ok?” he asked, and I couldn’t help but smile up at him. I didn’t want to tell him that the whole town would, in its own discreet way, be checking him out. He had pretty much moved in with us, and everyone would want to know who he was. I frowned a little. That was another thing I was worried about. What would the town think of him? Especially knowing, as I now did, that he was far from human, and that some of my lifelong friends and neighbors were supernaturals, too? He caught my frown and matched it with his own, so I erased it from my face quickly and squeezed his hand. It didn’t matter what the town thought. It mattered slightly what Logan thought, but the only real opinion that counted was mine.
Mine, and Ethan’s. I wanted him to like my town. It shocked me, the force of my wanting. Despite all the strange revelations of the past few days, the way my hometown beat inside me like a centering heart had not changed. It was a part of me. As I stood on the threshold of half dark, watching my little town’s merchants, citizens, and mysteries spread out across the square and all four of its closed-off streets, I felt a wistful kind of yearning twist inside me. The old Whitfield was gone, the one I had thought was nothing but a boring, sleepy Southern town from which I must hide my secrets at all costs or live outcast as a freak. Gripping Ethan’s fingers loosely, I knew I stood poised to meet the new Whitfield for the first time. Not as a freak, but as a rather boring specimen of an extraordinary population. Ethan tugged on me gently.
“Come on, Caspia. Logan knows we’re coming.”
I nodded and followed him out into the bustling square. Every shop in Whitfield had doors thrown wide open, with every light blazing. Some had long tables set up along the sidewalk, piled high with their stock. Tall torches blazed against the deepening night, firmly secured against the ground with concrete cinderblocks laid across heavy wrought iron bases. The torches caught the gold highlights in Ethan’s dark hair as he wove through the crowds, pulling me along behind him. He seemed so confident, to know exactly where he was going. I, on the other hand, felt strangely shy, casting quick sidelong looks at tables of food and jewelry before looking back at Ethan’s squared shoulders. I trotted a little until I was almost flush against his back; he was walking quickly, covering twice as much ground as I would if left to my own devices.
“Do you know where he is? It’s almost like you have some kind of tracking device on him, or something.” I spoke loudly over his shoulder, hoping my words would hit his ear. The square was anything but quiet tonight. “I mean, is he ok? You’re going so fast. I really want to show you the Festival. It only happens once a year.” I hoped I didn’t sound too petulant, but his single-mindedness was starting to both alarm and irritate me.
“You didn’t read the note.” We suddenly stood facing each other, one of his hands in its familiar place against the curve of my spine in that impossibly fast way of his. People parted around us, barely slowing. Now and then an acquaintance called out a greeting; I smiled and waved back. In my hands I discovered a crumpled white piece of paper with my brother’s familiar scrawl. “I showed it to you earlier. When we first got back to your apartment and found your brother gone.” His eyes, his voice, the way he held me, as if to shield me against crowds of people whom I’d known my entire life, all seemed to convey disappointment. I shook the note at him, suddenly angry.
“You shoved this note in my face while I was half-dressed minutes after returning me from a surprise trip to some other…” I struggled for a way to describe the Realms in public. “Other place,” I finished lamely. “It was really quite shocking. I’m still not over it.” One of my regular customers from the coffee shop bumped into us; she murmured apologies, flashed us smiles and looks of frank appraisal, and hurried on. I smiled fiercely back and hissed at Ethan through my teeth, brandishing the note between us. “So he went to dinner. With Amberlyn. What could be safer? We know she’s not going to hurt him. She’s been in love with him since the seventh grade.”
His hold got a little stronger and his eyes a little narrower. “Caspia. I’ve explained. There are forces of Darkness…”
Right there on Main Street, with crowds of neighbors, co-workers, and acquaintances swirling around us, I shut him up the only way I knew how. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and kissed him, very publicly and very hard. Whistles and applause broke out in patches around us, some of them very personal, but I did my best to ignore them. “You said I was the target,” I whispered, pressing my lips against his ear. Someone called encouragement in French. Amelie. Two other familiar voices wondered aloud if I would be keeping him; I couldn’t place them, but I would, and god help them then. “I’m armored up. You’re with me, and I don’t plan to lose you. So we’ll go find Logan. And then will you please come to the Festival with me?”
When I eased back, I could have sworn he was blushing. But perhaps it was just the torchlight, playing with the shadows beneath his cheekbones. “I think I must. Since you seem to have drawn all attention within several hundred feet directly to us.”
I smiled, feeling the warm flush of embarrassment and joy spreading up my neck and face. “Several hundred feet is just the starting point. By the time we crash Logan and Amberlyn’s dinner date, the entire Festival will have heard that you carried me off into the bushes and that the wedding’s next Saturday.” He blanched, and I added quickly, “Kidding! Really. But if you do want…” I stepped neatly out of the circle of his arms and began walking quickly towards the city’s only Italian restaurant. I took a deep breath and felt his fingers twine lightly with mine. “That is, if you plan to… to stay… with me, or us, I mean, here in Whitfield…” he squeezed my fingers, and I suddenly found it easier to breathe. “Then you really should meet the town.” I gestured to the lighted park, the brightly lit stores spilling onto the streets with people and merchandise, the tables of vendors, and knots of people gathered here and there. “This is the perfect time. Love me, love my town,” I tried to joke.
“I want to stay.” His voice was so soft I could have pretended to imagine it. “With you. You know that.”
Our twined fingers suddenly felt like knotted ribbons. “I know that. And for now, I know it doesn’t complicate things. Your… mission.” The tangled mess that was our linked hands tightened convulsively as one or the both of us clutched tightly. “But… after.” After your mission. After you bring my brother’s soul safely to the realms of Light. I couldn’t say it out loud. I spent several long minutes willing the breath back into my lungs so I could say what I needed to. “What then? If you stay with me then, you’ll have turned your back on your purpose, Ethan. You’ll have truly Fallen. You’
ll be Nephilim, no turning back.”
“Such dark thoughts for a Winter’s Festival,” he said gently. We stood outside Whitfield’s best and only Italian Restaurant, looking in through the glass to white linen tables where Logan sat with Amberlyn, having a swordfight with breadsticks and laughing like little kids. Ethan’s lips formed words along my jaw line, just beneath my ear, making me shiver as I leaned into him. “I will stay. If you will have me. If you will not, it does not matter. I joined the ranks of the Fallen the first time I found you crying in an herb shop.”
I watched as Logan leaned in close to Amberlyn, her spiral copper curls skimming the shoulder of what he laughingly called his dress sweats. Her hand convulsed around the breadstick. His pale slim fingers stilled them, curling over tanned skin and breadstick alike. Waiters in long white linen aprons carried steaming platters of food around them. People drank dark red wine, talking and laughing over meals pungent with garlic, basil, and tomato sauce. I knew strong odors tended to make my brother nauseous, but he didn’t seem to care about that now. His whole world had narrowed to no one but my best friend. He brushed back the curtain of her hair with his free hand and pulled her close. She didn’t put up much resistance; she’d spent the years since seventh grade in love with my brother, to varying degrees of seriousness. Her golden green eyes focused on him like the last flicker of light in a dark world. I couldn’t see his expression, but the set of his shoulders, the planes and angles of his hands spoke volumes. I knew without speaking or wholly seeing, in that way siblings have, that he held something all at once priceless and fragile. He held Amberlyn the way he hovered over me when I’d been hospitalized with meningitis. He pulled her to him the way he’d gathered a wet and limp Abigail to the bare skin underneath his shirt, sheltering her from the dark wet night when she’d been run over and we were afraid she wouldn’t make it to the vet. He curved around Amberlyn as he did the things he loved that might leave him soon, the fragile things hovering close to death. Only I knew that he was afraid he’d be leaving her soon, not the other way around.
