Serpentine

by Cindy Pon

  “Oh, Kai Sen,” Zhen Ni said, and her voice broke. Her mistress was thinking of her, Skybright knew, but she was also remembering Lan. “She knows.”

  Kai Sen flashed her mistress a half smile that almost made Skybright knock the bronze bowl over. She stilled, too afraid to disturb the image, to break the enchantment that allowed her this small comfort.

  “Thank you for coming with me to see Lan. Skybright knew how much it meant to me. And it was like you were there in her stead.” Zhen Ni sighed, a sigh that seemed to tremor through her entire being. So her mistress and Lan had parted ways, probably for the final time. Skybright’s chest ached that she wasn’t there to console her. Zhen Ni looked small, exposed, in that vast forest, but Skybright knew that her spirit was strong.

  “You care for Lan,” he said in a quiet voice. “You love her. As I love Skybright.”

  Zhen Ni’s fingers clenched into fists. “How did you know?”

  “I have eyes. It was obvious.” Kai Sen arranged his knapsack and blanket so he could settle down for the night. His fingers grazed the pale skin of his neck again, a nervous gesture that was new. It made him appear uncertain and vulnerable. “Love is obvious.”

  Zhen Ni’s smile was tinged with sadness. “Do you think Lady Fei suspected?” She turned a jade bangle on her slender wrist—one that Skybright had seen on Lan. The only jewelry Lan had ever worn; Zhen Ni had gotten her keepsake.

  “No. She didn’t want to see it.”

  “And what do you think?” Her mistress posed the question to her feet, nestled beneath the blanket. “That I love another girl?”

  “I think … ” Kai Sen lay down and folded his hands behind his head, gazing into the night sky. “I think that we don’t choose who we fall in love with. It just happens.” He closed his eyes. “Like springtime. Or the phases of the moon.”

  Zhen Ni lay down as well, shifting on her side, the way she always liked to sleep. They were quiet for some time, each lost in thought. Finally, her mistress said, “Will you return to the monastery now?”

  Kai Sen dipped his chin to stare into the flames, and it felt as if he were looking directly at Skybright. “After all I’ve seen? I’m not certain the monastery is the place for me anymore. But I promised Abbot Wu I’d return to give him my answer, whether I would be his heir.”

  “I understand,” Zhen Ni murmured. “Nothing seems the same anymore, not after everything that’s happened … not now that Skybright’s gone.”

  The cords of Kai Sen’s neck drew taut, and he looked away from the fire. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance, one mournful note. “No,” he replied, his response barely audible. “Nothing is the same anymore—”

  The image wavered, then dissipated. Skybright was left staring into the still water, her drop of blood dissolving. She gasped, and reared back.

  “Did it work?” Stone asked.

  “You didn’t see?”

  “No. Only you are capable of capturing the vision. You peered into the bowl for just a moment.” The immortal was lying on his side a short distance from her, his head propped up casually in one hand. Any other time, she would have found the sight absurd; Skybright had never seen him so at ease.

  “What I saw lasted much longer than a moment.” Skybright glanced into the bowl again. Her blood had vanished, leaving clear water once more. “But was it true, this vision?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I want to see them again.” She squeezed the finger Stone had pricked over the bowl. But the tiny wound had already closed magically. “Give me something sharp,” she demanded, casting her serpent coil about for a jagged rock on the floor.

  Stone was a silver streak of motion; he crouched beside her before she could blink. He pulled her away from the bronze bowl, and it pinged a resonant tone before evaporating from sight. “I think you have bled enough for one day.”

  “No! I need to know that they’ll be all right.” She pounded her fists against the ground, unwilling to believe that she would never see them again, never laugh with Zhen Ni or feel Kai Sen’s arms wrapped around her. A sharp pang shot through her injured arm and she slammed it down again and again, even more violently than before, savoring the pain. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. This fury was better than the grief that threatened to overwhelm her. The rage was her own, but the sorrow and loss had been forced upon her.

  Stone caught her hand before she could strike a third time and kissed the inside of her wrist. All her senses leaped to that one spot where his lips met her flesh. “They will be safe, Skybright. I promise.” He drew her to him, and she leaned in, unable to resist.

  “Why should I believe anything you say?” It still shocked her—that she sounded like the monster that she was.

  “Because I have never lied to you,” Stone replied. “Unlike those mortals you care for so much.”

  She had been breathing in Stone’s deep earthen scent but shoved away from him then. “Yes, people do lie. Because they’re imperfect. They feel deeply and they care.” She realized a moment too late that she had referred to mortals as something separate from herself. Irritated, she slithered away from him, circling the hollowed trunk with unrestrained fervor. “And you were wrong, Stone.” Skybright turned her head to see him gazing intently at her. “Kai Sen is special.”

  The immortal’s expression didn’t change.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have said it.

  “Your mortal life is of the past, Skybright. Hold on to what memories you have, if it pleases you.” Stone shimmered from view and manifested again right in front of her. She glimpsed silver starlight in his fathomless eyes, and the glowing embers of hell. He touched her cheek for the briefest moment, then said, “For you will forget them soon enough. And what you can recall will only feel like a fleeting dream.”

  Skybright hated him then. Because she knew Stone spoke the truth. Just as he always did.

  But she would prove him wrong one day.

  She had an eternity to do so.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  When I started Serpentine, I knew that the major focus of this novel would be a strong sister friendship. So it isn’t surprising that I want to acknowledge many female friendships in my own life, women who have encouraged me, boosted me, cheered me on during the writing and selling of this novel. It has been a long journey and would have been a much lonelier and harder one if not for these friendships.

  Heartfelt thanks and fuzzy hugs to Malinda Lo, whom I most definitely consider a sister and best friend. Gratitude for the Mexico Retreat crew, especially Delia Sherman, Sarah Rees Brennan, and Holly Black, who took the time to read Serpentine then talk through both this novel and its sequel with me. Hugs to Cassie Clare for inviting me to these fabulous retreats and your support of my novels! You ladies are spectacular and amazing. Thank you to both Emily Kokie and Juliet Grames, who also critiqued this book and gave feedback and encouragement throughout my entire time as a published author.

  To Ellen Oh, Marie Lu, Kristin Cashore, Leah Cypess, Shveta Thakrar, Megan Whalen Turner, Cinda Williams Chima, and Kate Elliott, whose stories I love and whose friendships I hold dear. You have all raised my spirits and inspired me more than you can know.

  To Megan O’Sullivan (Raddest Fan Ever) of Main Street Books, who never fails to make me laugh in her enthusiasm for reading and boosting authors and spreading the love. To my favorite local indie, Mysterious Galaxy, and all the wonderful folk there, who have always supported me and greeted me with smiles. Eternal gratitude to the multitude of librarians who have encouraged me and supported my books since Silver Phoenix published in 2009. I have loved libraries since I was a kid, and I never thought there’d be a day when I’d be an author with books carried in them. Putting more diverse young adult novels onto library shelves is something I’m very passionate about and one of the reasons I keep writing!

  Thank you to my old college roommate, Dr. Natalie Grunkemeier, pathologist extraordinaire, who continues to answe
r my random and grotesque questions on injuries, death, and the human anatomy.

  Delicious pastries to my critique group: Kirsten, John, Tudy, Janice and Mark. My novels are so much better for the feedback you give me. Here’s to many more years writing and critiquing together!

  Many thanks to my agent Bill Contardi, who has been with me from the start. I couldn’t have asked for a better Partner in Crime. And to my editor and publisher, Georgia McBride, without whom this book would have had a much different journey. Thank you for your passion, humor, drive and innovation! It’s been a true pleasure to work with you and all the fine folk behind Month9Books.

  And finally, last but never least, to Sweet Pea and Munchkin, growing faster than I can believe, and every bit as goat headed as their mom. I feel so lucky to have somehow plucked you from the stars to have you in my life. And to M, my goat headed love, who supports me in all my artistic endeavors.

  San Diego, CA

  November 9, 2014

  Photo credit: Jen Kerker

  CINDY PON

  Cindy Pon is the author of Silver Phoenix (Greenwillow, 2009), which was named one of the Top Ten Fantasy and Science Fiction Books for Youth by the American Library Association’s Booklist, and one of 2009′s best Fantasy, Science Fiction and Horror by VOYA. The sequel to Silver Phoenix, titled Fury of the Phoenix, was released in April 2011. Her first published short story is featured in Diverse Energies, a multicultural YA dystopian anthology from Tu Books (October 2012). She is the co-founder of Diversity in YA with Malinda Lo and on the advisory board of We Need Diverse Books. Cindy is also a Chinese brush painting student of over a decade.

  Social Links:

  Website : http://cindypon.com

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Cindy-Pon/44479388541

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/cindypon

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  READ THE ARTISANS CHAPTER ONE

  The Before

  The winter of two thousand nine brought influenza, taking twenty-seven souls from Colleton County, South Carolina. The good people of Sales Hollow deposited their corpses in the ground. The following spring, Hurricane Isaac hit the coast, and the earth gave them back.

  Scandal covered the news. It seemed the proprietors of Coffee Funeral Home took money from several grieving families to cremate their loved ones, including my late mother, Ida Elizabeth Weathersby. They buried the bodies in their own backyard. Granted, the Coffee family plantation consisted of sixty acres. Still, the urn filled with pasty white sand was a poor substitute for my mother’s actual remains, and the undoing of my stepfather, Ben.

  While the sheriff handcuffed Wade, Jerry, and Thomas Coffee and led them away, the deceased, who had resided up until that point in shallow graves behind the crumbling Coffee family tennis courts, were identified through their dental records.

  Some things you never see coming. Like Ben’s attempt to smuggle a gun into the courthouse at the Coffee brothers’ arraignment, his subsequent arrest, release, and emotional breakdown.

  Other things are glaringly obvious. Like the crippling pain of someone you care for. Dreams wither and waste away much the same as an apple core curls under the hot southern sun.

  What sacrifice is too great when you love someone?

  I decided there was none—the day I gave my freedom away.

  The Middle

  Chapter One

  Sweat drips from my temple as I push a needle through my friend’s torn flesh. Years of sewing custom clothing enable me to make tiny sutures in his skin, close the three-inch gash in his shoulder. I hope it won’t leave another scar.

  Dane sits on the closed toilet seat in my bathroom. The space is too tight, the air between us close and cloying. I toss my head, shaking damp hair away from my eyes. Blood trickles down his bicep as I pierce him again. Today makes the third time I’ve sewn him up. He doesn’t complain about the pain. I don’t ask what pissed his father off this time.

  Dane Adams introduced himself in my English Literature class a year ago when he first moved to Sales Hollow from Nashville. He missed the drama concerning the Coffee brothers, my mother’s corpse, and Ben’s trial. After Ben got out of the psyche ward, my name became synonymous with social pariah. People don’t look me in the eye anymore. Pity, guilt, fear … whatever the reason, I make them uncomfortable.

  Dane doesn’t treat me that way.

  Angry and incessant buzzing breaks my concentration. I scowl at the window where a fly is trapped between the screen and the world outside. I can’t set him free. The windows are painted shut. Refocusing on my task, I complete two more stitches, tie them off, and cut the thread. Not bad. I tape gauze loosely over the angry wound and straighten. He grabs my fingers, giving them a tender squeeze.

  Sorrow mixed with gratitude shines from his dark brown eyes. I clear the knot from my throat. “All fixed up, bro.”

  I take a step back allowing Dane to stand. The guy dwarfs the little space. He leans around me, lifting a white cotton tee from its place on the sink countertop.

  “Wait, you’ll tear your stitches.” I help him stretch the fabric over his head and cover his impressive torso.

  When he showed up earlier, he was wearing the new, camel-colored leather jacket I made him. Double lapel over a red button up paired with dark stonewashed jeans and boots. Sharp. He can’t afford to pay me for the clothes I make him. I wouldn’t take his money if he could. The dumb guy spent ten minutes hanging out, bleeding, until finally admitting he needed stitching up.

  I glance at my wrist for the hundredth time. The watch is my own design, fashioned from discarded parts into a silver, steampunk beetle. The wings slide to reveal a clock face. Two forty-five AM.

  “How long has he been gone?”

  The ‘he’ referred to is my stepfather Ben. I raise my eyes to find Dane studying me. He lifts an eyebrow, waiting. My shrug is my only answer.

  A heavy breath leaks out as my friend leans against the wall. “You should have called me when he went missing.”

  Hoping to avoid an interrogation, I head out of the bathroom and into the storage area of our leather repair shop. The lease doesn’t cover our living here, of course, but since we lost our apartment two months ago, we had no place else to go.

  Dane follows and I face him. “It’s not your job to protect us all the time. You’ve got your own problems. I can handle this.”

  “As if.” He snorts. “Don’t I always find him? You need me. Besides, I’m scary as hell.”

  I can’t help my smile. He is scary as hell. Severe facial bone structure makes him look perpetually pissed off. He’s tall and skinny but in a wiry, muscular sort of way. The boy can bend metal pipes with his bare hands. I’ve seen him.

  Our rent is overdue. I glance at the fabric piled on the work counter. Resentment sprouts like weeds in my chest. “I have a clothing order to finish …”

  “I know you’re broke, but can you sew while you’re worried about him?” Dane tosses his long, rust-colored dreads over his shoulder revealing the fresh bruise on his neck.

  Anger burns a hole in my gut, but there’s nothing I can do to help him. Or anyone else it seems. “I can’t always drop everything and go looking for Ben!” I slink to my sleeping bag on the floor. I don’t know why I’m yelling. The people I’m angry at aren’t in the room to hear. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Rae. I get it.” He scratches his chin. “Leave him be for one night. He’ll turn up.”

  What I haven’t told him is that I’ve already been looking.

  All night long, I searched Ben’s usual haunts—the liquor stores, card games, and bars he frequents—with no sign. Jacob, who owns the pawnshop Ben visits, said the hot game in town was one held near the docks at Maddox Industries, a textile warehouse district turned seedy clubs and bars. The name Maddox is like a shadow over our town, drawing a collective shudder. Everyone has heard the rumors: money, crime … bodi
es in the river.

  Surely Ben knows better.

  I meet Dane’s gaze. “I’m lucky to have you looking out for me.”

  He grins. “Yes you are. Should we go find Ben?”

  “Do you mind if we just chill here for a while first?” The truth is, between school, work, my earlier search, and treating Dane’s wound, I’m exhausted.

  “Whatever you need.”

  Gratitude pours out in the form of a sigh. I lean my head back against the concrete block wall to rest. Edgar, my twenty-five pound Maine Coon, climbs around in my lap and lies down. He’s too big to fit, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

  Shirt and shoes discarded, Dane flops on top of Ben’s sleeping bag a few feet away. His long dreads spill across his brown, tatted shoulders. From this angle, he looks like the monster from the movie Predator. The thought makes me smile.

  He’s snoring in minutes. I’ve lost count how many nights he’s slept over. Though his father owns a physical house, the fact he prefers our storeroom floor says everything about his home life. The unforgiving linoleum digs into my tailbone through my thin sleeping bag, and I shift, exacting a complaint from Edgar, whose weight puts my legs to sleep.

  My cat purrs, his whiskers vibrating with the contented sound as I stroke his black fur. I wish I were as unconcerned, but honestly, I’m too keyed up over Ben’s prolonged absence to think of much else. Anytime he’s missing longer than forty-eight hours, bad things happen. A grueling night of searching turned up nothing, so we wait here. School starts in a few hours, but I won’t sleep.