Raging Rival Hearts

by Olivia Wildenstein

  Besides the rustling of nearby leaves, there was no sound. Finally, I lifted my gaze. What I saw through that windowpane iced the fire in my veins.

  22

  The Stone

  I clawed at the window, banged on it, trying to get the hunter to startle awake. He was wearing jeans and nothing else. His skin, usually dark, was the hue of molten wax. What the hell had happened to him?

  Kajika! I screamed into our bond. Kajika!

  The hunter was sprawled on stained, crumpled bedsheets. Hunters bled like humans but healed like faeries. His pallor told me he wasn’t healing from whatever wound he’d incurred. Had he been attacked? Had one of the Daneelies returned to finish him off? Pete or Quinn, maybe? I stopped banging on the glass, stopped breathing, and listened for another presence.

  If someone was here, they were being exceptionally quiet. I pumped my fingers to fill them with dust and then stared around me for a rock to crack the glass, but then thought better than to shatter a window and invite the brutal chill of autumn.

  I loped around the house to the front door and twisted the knob. When it didn’t give, I summoned my fire and heated the lock until it melted, pooling along the grains of wood. I drew the door wide and stepped in, scanning the dark foyer for a sign of life. When no one leaped at me, I headed toward the gaping bedroom door. My boot skidded over the hardwood floor, and I windmilled my arms, catching myself on a chest of drawers that was so rough, a splinter snaked underneath my skin. Smoke leaked from the puncture wound. I hissed as I pinched the tiny stick and flicked it onto the floor where it landed in what had made me slip.

  I crouched and sniffed. Blood.

  I rushed to Kajika’s side.

  Kajika? I palmed his face.

  He was as hot as a skillet. Even though the W on the top of his hand still flickered—a sign of life—I hunted his wrist for a pulse. It tickled the tips of my fingertips, but the beats were so sluggish it did little to appease me. Carefully, I probed his chest for the source of blood.

  Although his waist was reddened, there was no cut. At least none that I could see. I tried to roll him onto his stomach to have a view of his back when my thumb grazed a lump on the inside of his forearm. A lump that had been patched with thick stitches. Rivulets of blood thinned by a yellowish liquid oozed around the thread, widening the puddle beneath the hunter.

  I was no doctor, but whatever had been sewn beneath his skin was infecting his body. I was about to pad out to the kitchen when I spotted a pair of nail clippers on his nightstand, along with the needle and thread that had been used. Anger rammed into me like the dust bull a jouster had long ago created during a Middle-Month celebration.

  I would gas whoever did this. Wita pricked my fingertips. I pushed it back as I snatched the nail clippers. Carefully, I snipped the thread and tugged it out. The wound gaped like an open mouth, and blood gushed out, splashing over my hands and splattering my coat, ejecting the trapped lump. I prodded the skin around the torn flesh for more lumps, but was met only with taut sinews and elastic muscle.

  Before my very eyes, Kajika’s skin zippered shut, confirming that what had poisoned him was gone, that his body could now start healing. Even though Seelies and Unseelies weren’t “allergic” to the same things, I didn’t dare touch the blood-slickened clump with my bare fingers. I created a net with dust and then scooped up the thing and carried it into the bathroom. I dumped it into the sink, where it clattered like a rock. My dust funneled back into my palm as I twisted the faucet handle. Water streamed out and rinsed away the blood, revealing a cloudy-white surface veined with neon oranges and electric blues.

  Confusion tamped down my earlier anger as I took in what that had poisoned the hunter—opal. I waited until the water ran clear before reaching down and picking it up. How had it gotten under his skin? Had someone—a vengeful Seelie or a bitter Daneelie—figured out that opal had a hostile effect beneath flesh? I didn’t even know this, and I’d been versed in all thing Unseelie and hunter-related.

  A gust of something foul stained the air and turned my stomach. I held the opal farther from my nose, thinking it to be the source, but it didn’t lessen the smell. I jolted my gaze toward the doorway beyond which the hunter lay. I parted my lips and breathed in only through my mouth as I returned to the room.

  I pressed a fist against my mouth as I approached his motionless figure. I placed the stone in the waistband of his briefs so it came into contact with his skin, and as suddenly as it had breezed through the house, the smell dissipated.

  I straightened up and gazed down upon Kajika, hating that a stone had to come between us, and yet thankful for its existence. I sighed as I went about cleaning up the mess. I started with burning the blood underneath the sole of my shoes so I wouldn’t leave gory footprints in my wake, and then I explored the house, opening doors and cupboards until I located what I was looking for—a mop and a bucket. I filled the bucket with water, squirted soap into it, and then grabbed the mop. I returned to the bedroom and mopped, the coarse strings of yarn squishing wetly as they soaked up the hunter’s blood. I rinsed and repeated the motion throughout his entire bedroom, and then I retraced my steps into the bathroom, swirling the mop.

  When the water dried, curly white streaks remained. Had I mopped wrong? Was I not supposed to put water on wood? Or was it the soap I’d used? I’d never mopped anything in my life…had never ironed or dusted. Everything had been done for me when I lived in Neverra, and since I’d moved to Rowan, I’d used fire.

  If I’d managed to fly earlier, I would’ve conjured up flames to clean Kajika’s house, but I hadn’t managed to fly. I was running out of time. And now with the portals closed—

  I shook my head to dispel the macabre thoughts.

  I emptied the pink water into the toilet and then returned both the mop and bucket to the closet. I grabbed a dishtowel and saturated it with water and soap, and then I stole a dry one from the pile in the closet and treaded back to Kajika. I gently rubbed his skin, smearing the blood at first, but then the wet cotton absorbed the red smudges. I patted him dry, then rested my palm against his forehead.

  The fever had dropped. I pressed my palm against his bare chest, and the steady vibrations of his heart drummed into my hand. My fingertips met the edge of one of his tattoos. I traced the pattern with my index, sensing the captive wita palpitate. Was it my mother’s, or had my mother’s been one of the ones released in the Daneelie camp?

  Sensing Kajika wouldn’t appreciate my exploration, I pulled my hand away and went to deposit the soiled dishtowels in a corner of his bathroom. In the mirror over the sink, I caught sight of my coat. I conjured up a minute amount of fire and burned away the blood splatter.

  And now on to the bed…

  I heaved open the dresser drawers. They squeaked as they slid out. In the first two, underwear, socks, and t-shirts were arranged in neat, monochromatic rows. There wasn’t a hint of color in the hunter’s wardrobe.

  The last drawer enclosed what I was looking for—fresh sheets. I removed a stack and set it on top, then untucked the sheet underneath Kajika and struggled to roll him over, but it was like trying to dislodge a boulder wedged in sand. I tried to shimmy the sheets from underneath the hunter, but the attempt was useless. All I managed was to crease the soiled sheets.

  I walked to the other side of the bed and crawled, kneeling beside him, hoping the new angle would give me more leverage over his body. I slid my hands underneath his waist, attempting to roll him over again, but my second try was just as pathetic as the first. I didn’t even manage to lift his body an inch.

  Warmed by the effort, I took off my coat and flung it at the desk chair. Even though I could hear my brother yelling at me not to waste my fire, I summoned it into my fingers and directed it onto the spillage. The red stain lifted from the stone-colored sheets like a wave retracting from sand.

  So much blood had leaked from the hunter’s arm that it took almost a minute to burn it all away. I curled my fingers and turne
d to get off the bed, but my vision dotted and then the room swam out of focus.

  When I opened my eyes next, I was staring at the low timber rafters of Kajika’s ceiling. Darkness lapped at the corners of my eyes and then swept me under again.

  23

  Fixed

  Five points of heat radiated around my navel. I dipped my head down to see what was causing this sensation and froze when I saw a large, dark hand resting lightly on my stomach. I jerked my gaze around the room, trying to remember where I was. A sliver of moonlight shone on a small desk and a wooden dresser. Above my head, a motionless fan was nailed to timber rafters.

  Oh, skies, I was in Kajika’s room…in his bed. What he must think…

  I tried to roll away from the hunter, but the hand flattened against my skin and rolled me toward him instead.

  His dark eyes were wide open, and they were staring straight at me.

  My breathing hitched. I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep in your bed. Your brand flickered.

  His thumb stroked my spine and raised goose bumps.

  Kajika, someone tried to poison you!

  His thumb stilled.

  They sewed opal beneath your skin, and…and it was infecting you. I—I took it out.

  He removed his hand from my skin and touched the spot on his forearm that was completely healed. “Where is it?” His voice sounded hoarse, as though it too had been affected by the opal.

  In your waistband.

  He fished it out and clutched it so tight I expected it to drip through his white-knuckled fingers like grains of sand.

  I sat up and pulled my knees against myself to reduce the space my body illicitly occupied. Did you see who did it?

  The muscles in his broad shoulders twitched, and then his eyes slid shut, the few black lashes spared by the duct tape grazing his cheek. He, too, rolled up, each abdominal muscle shifting beneath his dark skin. He flung his long legs off the bed and sat there with his curved back to me.

  “No.” His whispered word skated over my skin.

  I reached out to touch his hunched shoulder. When my palm connected with his warm skin, he turned as stiff as one of the quartz spheres that used to adorn the palace turrets. We’ll find who did this to you, and we’ll make them pay.

  He hung his head.

  For a moment, we sat there bathed in dusk and silence, but then an insistent vibration cut through the stillness.

  Realizing where the sound was coming from, I crawled off the bed and hurried to my coat for my phone. Sure enough, the screen was lit with a dozen messages. Two from Faith, all the others from Cat.

  Where are you? The last one read, I’m worried.

  I texted her immediately to ask about the lock, leaving out the answer to where I was.

  “Is everything all right?”

  I snapped my head up toward the hunter, and my forehead bumped into his collarbone. I jerked back, surprised by his proximity. I hadn’t even heard him approach. My senses were so dull I wanted to scream.

  “Is everything all right?” he repeated hoarsely.

  I shook my head. At least it hadn’t been. Maybe it was now. Maybe—

  My phone pulsated, and I jolted my gaze to the lit screen, to Cat’s two-letter answer: No.

  A chill steeped my body.

  “What is wrong?”

  Where are you? I texted.

  Home.

  On my way.

  The hard lines of the hunter’s face fragmented before piecing together again. They found the lock to the portals yesterday. Was it yesterday or had more time elapsed?

  His pupils churned. “They found it?”

  I bit my lip and nodded. And if it hadn’t been for me, his family could’ve been given stamps; they could’ve come back to him.

  I wasn’t sure if he heard my thoughts, but a muscle pinched in his broad shoulders.

  “And?”

  I stared down at my thick black socks. And they tried to change the lock to match my stamp. A tear tracked down my cheek. I scrubbed it off.

  “It did not work?”

  I hoped he didn’t think that was the reason for my crying. I listened to his steady heartbeats, to the slow chug-chug of blood through his veins. I was probably imagining it. You can’t hear blood move.

  How I wished I could have blood, too. If only my mother had thought to deliver me on Earth… I grew angry at her.

  Kajika gripped my chin and forced me to look at him. “What happened, Lily?”

  It didn’t allow me in, and now it’s locked. My lungs shuddered. Cat tried to get in, but it wouldn’t let her in either. And Ace…he’s… And your family… I was unable to finish a single thought.

  Even though his face was distorted by my falling tears, his gaze wasn’t. There was so much anger in his eyes, and it was all my damn fault. I ripped my chin from his grasp and grabbed my coat, poking my arms through the holes blindly. And then I sought out my boots and slipped them on too, stumbling.

  I should’ve just killed myself, because now my slow death was hurting people.

  Kajika wound his fingers around my bicep and twirled me toward him. “Where are you going?”

  To see Cat. She needs me.

  Did she need me? What she probably needed was for me to go away for good…

  “Lily, this is not your fault. They would have had to alter the lock to let my family back through those portals.”

  No they wouldn’t! They just needed to find the lock to apply the stamp to your people’s skin because Gregor couldn’t engrave it like he can to Seelie skin. Besides, Ace wouldn’t have gone back to Neverra without Cat if it wasn’t for me. They wouldn’t have fought if it wasn’t for me.

  “Why did they fight?”

  My cheeks flamed. I have to go.

  “Why did they fight?”

  I don’t want to talk about it.

  “Lily…”

  It’s pointless. I snatched my arm out of his hand and stalked outside. The brisk air was a welcome balm against my overheated face. I began the long walk back toward Cat’s house. I didn’t even attempt to fly.

  A branch snapped behind me. I whirled and scanned the darkness, my dust at the ready.

  A shape as dark as the night itself detached itself from the obscurity. “It is just me.”

  I curled my fingers into my palms, my nails imprinting crescents into my skin. Kajika, please…I want to be alone right now.

  He stopped. A gentle wind blew his black bangs into his eyes. “I will leave you alone once you are safe with Catori.”

  I’d scaled cliffs and traversed a desert alone; I’d double-crossed my father and Gregor; I’d shattered a bond to bring change into my world, but I’d done these things when I believed myself invincible.

  I no longer possessed the luxury to think like this, so I let him follow me all the way back to the graveyard.

  24

  Nails

  Without glancing at Kajika, afraid of what I would see on his face—the disappointment of not getting his family back—I entered the glowing house, unzipped my boots, and hung up my coat.

  Cat and Derek were sitting in the kitchen at a table set for three. Only Derek was eating. Cat had a plate full of macaroni and cheese in front of her. Although she held her fork, she didn’t scrape any food off her plate. She simply stared at the mound of pasta, her eyes swollen and rimmed with emotion. I wondered if Derek still thought her tears were due to a dress.

  My stomach felt like an elaborate origami, all twisted and bent, yet the creamy scent of cheese made it growl. After I took a seat, Derek touched the back of my hand.

  “You had a good day, honey?”

  I pressed my lips into a smile, not wanting to burden this incredibly kind man with my intractable heartache.

  “Where were you?” Cat asked, her voice as raw as her expression.

  I signed, At the bakery.

  “With Faith? How’s little Remo?” Derek asked.

  Both Cat and her father had become so fl
uent in my silent language that it made my heart squeeze.

  Great, I signed, then pointed to Cat. Did you see him?

  She shook her head.

  “Cat was with her wedding planner all day,” Derek said.

  She studied her distorted reflection in her fork.

  “I was just telling her that if the wedding’s going to cause her so much stress, she should postpone it.”

  “I might have to,” she whispered, spearing a lone macaroni and pushing it between her lips.

  “Where’s Ace anyway? Shouldn’t he be going to all these meetings with you?”

  She choked on her measly mouthful. After gulping down water, she croaked, “He’s busy with work.”

  Derek cocked an eyebrow. “Well, tell him to take time off work. Better yet”—he slid his napkin on the table and rose—“I’ll call him.” He took his phone from the kitchen counter and dialed Ace’s number.

  Both Cat and I knew he’d be met with an answering machine because phones didn’t work in Neverra.

  “Ace? Hey, it’s Derek.”

  Cat’s fork clattered against the plate, and her gaze whipped toward me, pulsing with so much hope that I prayed Derek wasn’t in the middle of leaving a message.

  “She’s under a lot of stress…yes. Exactly.” Derek was nodding. “It should be unlocked, son.”

  The front door snicked open. Cat shot up so fast her chair skidded backward, tipping and clattering against the tiles.

  “Cat? Lily?”

  Like oxygen, my brother’s voice inflated my body. I pressed my palms into the table and rose onto unsteady feet.

  Cat dashed toward the living room so fast that her form blurred. Derek blinked before looking at his empty bottle of beer. His rational mind was probably telling him alcohol was playing tricks on his eyesight.

  Soft sobbing echoed from the living room.

  Derek let out a long sigh as he righted Cat’s chair. “Now I get it.” He looked my way, a knowing smile curving his lips. “Those two had a fight, didn’t they? That’s why she was acting so strange.”