Dark Star

by Bethany Frenette

  And then, before I could answer, he was gone.

  ***

  During the next few weeks, I settled into routine. School was busier than usual, but since it was my only opportunity to see my friends, I didn’t complain. Not that I was particularly happy with them. Some of Gideon’s friends from the baseball team began invading our lunch table—even though it was several months before practice started—and they refused to talk about anything that didn’t involve sports. Tink had a new boyfriend, an exchange student from Brazil she kept pretending to not understand. She started ditching us to make out with him in the orchestra hall.

  “I don’t get how you have so much success with boys,” I told her during Chemistry, one of the few times I managed to see her.

  “You don’t let them talk,” she said. “If they start, you just kiss them until they shut up.” Unless, of course, they were terrible kissers. Poor Greg.

  “You are truly the most dysfunctional person I’ve ever met,” Gideon said.

  She retaliated by dumping shimmer powder on him.

  My sessions with Esther continued. She taught me about the Kin, about abilities and social structure, about communications with Kin in other areas. There weren’t many of us, so connection was important. She spoke of duty and the hidden role the Kin played in the management of cities.

  Elspeth sat in on some of the sessions, though she spent most of the time interrupting her grandmother, or dozing off in an armchair whenever the talk grew too dull. She was a Guardian, I’d learned, and something of a prodigy: she’d been called a year ago, and though she was still a few months shy of sixteen, she was active in Kin policy whenever she could be. But despite Esther’s talk about the burden of being a Guardian, the weight they carried, Elspeth was anything but serious and subdued; she was everything sweet and sunny. If my ability to detect auras had extended beyond Gideon, I was certain hers would be bubblegum pink.

  Iris was different.

  Because they were so close in age—born only sixteen months apart—I’d expected Iris and Elspeth to be best friends. But, while it was apparent they cared for one another, they didn’t spend much time together. I guessed it had to do with the gap between their personalities. Where Elspeth was outgoing (and admittedly rather loud), involved in a variety of school activities, and enthusiastic about the Kin, Iris was much more reserved, keeping mostly to herself. Not to mention, Elspeth was a Guardian, and Iris wasn’t. It couldn’t be easy having your younger sister constantly in the spotlight. I didn’t question them about it.

  There were other matters troubling me.

  Three weeks after my attack at the Drought and Deluge, another girl went missing.

  16

  The missing girl’s name was Tricia Morrow.

  The TV stations flashed her school photo, and her warm smile beamed out in black and white on the front page of every paper. Her mother was shown teary-eyed, pleading. Tricia loved ballet, she said. She dreamed of being a veterinarian. She was only sixteen.

  The details on Tricia’s disappearance were few. Like Kelly Stevens, she’d vanished at dusk, without word or witness. There was no blood trail, no sign to follow, no hint of where she’d gone; she’d simply been swallowed up into the cooling night. But, unlike when Kelly disappeared, the news didn’t spread immediately. Tricia had reportedly been unhappy at home. The police had thought her just another runaway, until her coat was found discarded in an alley, dirty and torn, two weeks later.

  Though the police had yet to establish a definitive link, the similarities between Tricia and Kelly were enough to cause whispers and concern. At school, teachers cautioned us not to go out alone at night, to keep our phones with us, to keep our friends close.

  Since Mom was unwilling to discuss Guardian matters with me, I asked Esther about it during our session that Monday.

  “She’s dead,” she said flatly, taking her customary seat, appearing entirely serene. “If they bled her, she’s dead.”

  Her matter-of-fact declaration rattled me, but I tried not to show it. Instead, I said, “I’m alive. They bled me.” I felt a burn at the back of my ankles.

  She gave me a cool glance. “You were lucky. Others have not been so fortunate.”

  Aside from her certainty that Tricia Morrow was dead, she wasn’t willing to spend much time on the subject. “The Guardians are doing all they can,” she assured me, giving me another calm, even look. “We must trust in their abilities. Presently, I’m more concerned with your education. You are here to further your knowledge of the Kin, and we have a great deal left to cover.”

  I decided to ask Elspeth instead.

  Elspeth’s favorite subject was the Kin, and she was never hesitant to discuss it with me. She was the one who told me the sort of everyday things that Esther didn’t deem important—like the fact that the Kin ran H&H, the security company my mother worked for, and that, when he wasn’t busy torturing high school students, Ryan Alvarez led the Cities’ Guardians.

  “Tricia went to my school,” Elspeth said, seated at the edge of her bed. It was the first time I’d seen her frown, and she did it with her entire face, turning that sweet, cheerful demeanor solemn. “We didn’t know she was Kin—it must not be a close connection.”

  “When I first asked about it, Esther said the bleedings are happening for a reason,” I said. I sat on the floor, in the small space of carpet not buried by Elspeth’s belongings. “That the Harrowers are searching for something. A . . . Remnant, I think. She called it a piece of our past.”

  Elspeth shook her head. “It’s not something, it’s someone. The Remnant is Kin—someone born with the abilities of the Old Race.”

  That only confused me more. “I thought all our abilities came from the Old Race.”

  “This is something specific,” she said. Then she was silent a moment, chewing her lower lip. “Look—you know about the Circles, right? The Old Race left them behind as shields, spread across the original passages, where the fabric is thin. But Harrowers can still pass through in places where the barriers are weakest, and they can’t cross over anywhere else.”

  Esther had mentioned this already; Harrowers couldn’t travel up from Beneath just anywhere. That was also the reason Kin stayed near the Circles: protecting them and keeping the Harrower threat contained.

  I nodded, waiting for Elspeth to continue.

  “A Remnant is born with the power to—Grandmother calls it the ability to manipulate the fabric between realms. They can open more passages, just like the Old Race could. Anywhere. Everywhere. In places not shielded by the Circles.”

  “No wonder the demons want it,” I said. My tone was light, but my insides had gone very cold. I sat back, hugging my arms.

  “Some think it might be even worse than we know. They think a really powerful Remnant could open the Beneath entirely— across the entire world. Forever. Maybe even create a passage through time. I don’t think that’s possible, but if Harrowers could cross anywhere they wanted . . . we couldn’t fight that.” Elspeth wasn’t paying attention to me. Though she sat facing me, her eyes were distant and vague. “That’s why the last Harrowing happened. This demon—Verrick—he’d Seen that something was about to happen. The birth of a Kin-blooded girl who carries the powers of old. Or something like that. The Harrowing ended when Verrick was killed, but I guess other demons are still after this Remnant. They don’t know who she is or exactly when she was born, so they’re searching. They’ll know when they find her. And if they do, they’ll use her to open more passages.”

  “Which could mean another Harrowing,” I said, swallowing tightly.

  “Not just any Harrowing,” Elspeth whispered. She was looking at me again, and the fear in those warm brown eyes chilled me even more. “The worst we’ve ever seen.”

  17

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  I looked at the assortment of bowls and baking products Leon had set out on the table. There didn’t seem to be any order or particular ar
rangement to them, and there wasn’t a recipe in sight.

  “If you don’t want to help, stay out of the kitchen.” Leon hooked a thumb over his shoulder and pointed at the door. I remained where I was.

  I wasn’t feeling very charitable toward him. I was still angry about his behavior during my demon-defense lesson, and for the past couple of weeks I’d done my best to avoid him—especially since he didn’t appear inclined to apologize to me. When I did see him, he’d been polite but unrepentant. That only served to aggravate me more. Tonight I’d called an informal truce between us for the occasion of my mother’s birthday, not that he seemed to notice, or care.

  “It’s not really me baking her a cake if you do all the work,” I said, opening the lid of the frosting I’d bought and dipping my finger into it. I might be useless when it came to baking, but frosting, at least, I understood.

  In addition to Mom’s fortieth birthday, the end of November had brought with it cooler days, longer nights, and the year’s first major snowfall. It was only 10 p.m., but I could already see the lace edge of ice creeping up the kitchen window. I hoped my mom had remembered to wear one of her fleece-lined hoodies, even if the cold didn’t bother her.

  Mom had insisted we not throw her a party. Since she hated surprises and didn’t exactly have any friends, I’d agreed not to. But I did plan on celebrating, regardless of demons, bleedings, potential annihilation, and whatever else was going on out in the Cities. Barring any catastrophes—human, Harrower, or otherwise— Mom had promised to stop home around midnight. Which meant Leon and I had two hours to bake the cake and finish decorating.

  “You’re doing this without a recipe?” I asked.

  Leon ignored me and set to work, measuring out flour and dumping it into one of the mixing bowls. His sleeves were rolled up, but he’d declined to wear the heart-dappled apron I’d made in eighth grade. “Watching doesn’t actually qualify as helping,” he said, reaching for the baking soda. “In case you were wondering.”

  “I’m supervising.” I took my frosting and retreated to the counter, where I continued to watch him.

  “I already made icing. I told you not to buy any.”

  “Oops,” I said, taking another scoop. “Looks like I messed up again. Guess I’ll have to eat this.”

  He glanced toward me, giving a pointed look to the two containers I had set beside me. I’d bought two flavors. Pink and vanilla. “All of it?” he asked.

  “Maybe if you’re nice, I’ll share.” I leaned back against the counter, disturbing the paper streamers I’d taped to the cupboards. Leon worked in silence, his hands moving between bags and mixing bowls. I glowered at him. “But considering you’ve already met your niceness quota for the year, I wouldn’t bet on it. And you can’t have any sprinkles.”

  “There goes my reason for living.”

  “I thought that was to make me miserable,” I muttered, giving him a sour look. “Still nursing that grudge, I see.”

  I left my position at the counter, padding across the linoleum to the table. “You don’t think I might deserve an apology?”

  He snorted. “You deserve something.”

  “For being curious? For wanting to know how to defend myself?” He opened his mouth to respond, but I waved a hand and rushed on. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can’t fight demons. I’m not some big badass Guardian with amazing superpowers. But that doesn’t mean I should be kept in the dark about everything. There’s a lot more going on than you guys are saying.”

  Leon was silent a long moment. He’d paused in his work, his hands upon his mixing bowl, but he wasn’t looking at me. Finally, he said, “That’s not my call.”

  “Does that mean you don’t agree with Mom?” I asked, with a touch of surprise.

  “It means that whether I agree or not is irrelevant.”

  I sighed. “This is why you’re only the sidekick, you know.” When that didn’t get a reaction, I added, “And you’re still a dirty cheater.”

  He glanced up long enough to give me his very best condescending look. “You tried to prove something. You failed. Get over it.”

  And then he went back to measuring things.

  I narrowed my eyes, watching him. There was that ease of motion again, that quiet confidence. He was always so sure of himself. And so tidy, with his nice, crisp, white shirt.

  Entirely too tidy.

  My gaze flicked to the table. Moving leisurely forward, I dragged my fingers across the tablecloth and reached for the bag of flour. “Again, you are absolutely right,” I announced. Then I grabbed a handful of flour, pressed it into a ball with my fist, and flung it straight at him.

  Most of it disintegrated before it hit him, but when he looked at me, he had a nice layer of white dusting him.

  His frown made a floury wrinkle on his forehead. “Uh, what are you doing?”

  “Getting over it.” I gave him a bright smile and aimed another handful at him.

  He saw this one coming, and managed to teleport away before it hit him. Half a second later, he returned, looking at me with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “Are you throwing a tantrum?”

  “I’m expressing my feelings.” I flung a third handful of flour at him. “With cake mix.”

  This time, when he teleported, he grabbed the bag of flour and took it with him. He reappeared behind me and poured it directly over my head.

  I gasped, seeing white. Through the sudden haze in my vision, I saw Leon back on the other side of the table. He only had that thin layer of flour on him. I was covered in it.

  Hiding my face with one hand, I cringed sideways. Toward the sugar. “Did you have to get my eyes?”

  He was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry—”

  I grabbed the bag of sugar and flung its contents toward him.

  He was quick, but not quick enough. Sugar hit him in the shoulder, sliding down his shirt, and when he teleported behind me to make a grab for the bag, I wriggled away from him and dashed across the kitchen.

  Unfortunately, Leon had decided to fight back in earnest. When I blinked, he was in front of me. I turned to flee, but not before he’d added half a box of baking soda to the flour he’d dumped on my head.

  Worried he might launch another attack, I ducked beneath the table, taking the remaining flour with me. I moved quickly, dropping both hands into the bag, then rose and lobbed it at him. One handful landed on his collar; the other caught the side of his head. I darted away, searching for more ammo.

  “This is not how you make a birthday cake,” Leon complained, as a stream of salt caught him in the chest. “What exactly are you trying to express here? Lunacy?”

  We faced each other across the room, the table between us. His blue eyes were dark and intent. He stood watching my movements, his gaze wary, like he’d entered a war zone, not a brightly lit kitchen with peeling floral wallpaper and too many fridge magnets. I almost laughed. Only Leon could manage to look serious while covered in baking ingredients.

  “Did I ruin your nice clean outfit?” I taunted, my hands closing around the nearly empty bag of flour. “Should’ve worn that apron.”

  He snorted again. “You’re right. Knowing your temper, I should’ve predicted this outcome.”

  Like he was really one to talk about tempers. That earned him another handful of flour. “I forgot. Saint Leon never loses his cool.”

  “Admit it,” he said, tossing more baking soda in my direction. “You’re just pissed that I kicked your ass.”

  I rolled my eyes, grabbing a mixing bowl and holding it in front of me as a shield. “I wouldn’t call your cheating an ass-kicking. If you hadn’t teleported, I’d have won.”

  “You keep telling yourself that,” he said. He leaned forward, pulled the bowl out of my hands, spun it once on his finger, then let it slide to the table.

  “I don’t have to,” I replied, my hand groping toward the nearest bag. “I was there.”

  He didn’t even bother to dodge the flour I tossed at him. It cau
ght his jaw, giving him a white dusting of stubble. With a smile, he said, “I was going easy on you.”

  “Really? Was that before or after I knocked you off your feet?”

  “I don’t seem to recall going down alone.”

  “Yeah, but as you keep telling me, you’re a Guardian. I’m just some kid who knows a few tricks.”

  “If you really want a rematch,” he said, “you know where I live.” Then he sent the rest of the sugar onto my blouse.

  I searched about frantically for any sort of ammunition. The kitchen was a mess, and most of the baking ingredients already scattered about the room. The cake pans had somehow ended up on the floor. There was very little left to throw. My hand shot toward the vanilla. I unscrewed the cap and aimed it toward him.

  He ended up with a streak down his shirt and a frown on his face. But I wasn’t done yet. I’d spotted the big guns.

  “This is the rematch,” I said. “And I’m about to win.” I made a dash for the counter where I’d left the frosting. Both containers: pink, vanilla, and all of the sprinkles. I’d nearly reached them when Leon once again teleported behind me.

  Just as I’d anticipated.

  I dug into the frosting, grabbing handfuls of both flavors, and whirled around—catching him square in the chest.

  I sighed happily. “Sweet, sweet victory,” I said, smearing the frosting down his shirt. “Literally.”

  He glanced down at the mess I’d made of him, gobs of frosting leaving a pink-and-white trail down his ribs. Then he looked at me, raising a single eyebrow. “Feel better?”

  I nodded, not bothering to hide my grin. “That was pret-ty satisfying, I’ve gotta admit.”

  He didn’t retaliate. He didn’t scold. He didn’t even try to Hungry Puppy me. Instead, he let out a little sigh and said, “Are we even now, or are you planning to stick me in the oven next?”

  It wasn’t I’m sorry, but it wasn’t bad, as far as apologies went.

  “We’re even,” I said. “Almost.” And then I reached up to drag frosting through that dark curly hair of his.