by Shana Abe
Abigail backed up hard, knocking into the stone wall. He set the pitchfork aside and placed both hands on her to soothe her, looking past her to the stable doors.
Lora stood uncertainly at the entrance, her arms and torso shrouded in a wrap, one foot cocked back behind her with her toes in the dirt, as if she meant to turn and bolt at the slightest sound.
So he didn’t say anything. Only looked at her, helpless, yearning.
Zula, Abigail’s foal, began to snort. She kicked at her stall door, once. Twice. Like a cue in a play, a pair of distant explosions echoed it.
“Those dreams I’ve had,” Lora said, beneath the increasing clamor of horse and bombs and door. “The ones where I come to you at—at night. Were they truly dreams?”
her time is coming, her time, the sacrifice. tell her.
Jesse turned his face away so she couldn’t see what lived within him. He gave Abigail a final rough pat, grabbed the pitchfork, and left and latched the stall.
“Come on,” he said, walking past her, tossing the fork behind the trough outside. “You can’t stay here. Come with me.”
The stars approved, a swelling chorus of sound that he could not have blocked from his ears any more than he could his own heartbeat.
destiny along this path. delight both dark and bright.
A concept so cerebral as destiny wasn’t what lit him to fire inside.
Delight, though. That was another matter entirely.
• • •
“I started to dissolve today. Into smoke or mist or something.”
We were walking away from the castle and the stable and Hastings’s view, enfolded nearly at once by the soft charcoal dark. I didn’t see the need for subtlety.
“Did you?”
If Jesse was surprised or appalled, none of it was revealed in his tone. He didn’t even glance at me, not that I could tell. His pace didn’t falter.
“Yes,” I said firmly. “Atop the roof of the castle. At the very edge. I was—I don’t know how to describe it. I was almost in a trance of sorts. I had climbed out to the edge of the battlement, but I didn’t even see it. In my mind, in my memory, I was back at the orphanage, back during this one night when I was much younger, and I …”
“You what?” he asked, still undisturbed.
“I jumped out the window there. From the top story. I jumped.” I heard the doubt in my own voice and hurried on. “And there was only the courtyard below me, not even a dirt one but one made of cobblestones. I’m sure it was real—but I never got in trouble for it. And I wasn’t hurt. I don’t even remember how I got back inside.”
“How do you know you almost went to smoke today?”
“Sophia saw it, though she thought it was an illusion. She stopped me just before I—” I shuddered despite myself. “Before I jumped again.”
“I see.”
I bit my lip. “I think it was real. That time at the orphanage. So I need to know if it was also real with you.”
We’d ended up next to a hedge pruned to resemble a loping hound. In a few weeks it would probably come into ferocious bud, but tonight it was skeletal, all bare branches and thorns.
Jesse was staring at me; I felt it, although I didn’t raise my gaze above his chest.
My dreams of him had been so … intimate. The thought that they might have been more than dreams both excited and mortified me.
I reached out and touched the nose of the hound, pressing the pad of my thumb into a thorn. Behind us, Iverson loomed, a monolith dividing the wind and clouds.
Jesse shoved his hands into his pockets. “What do you think, Lora?”
A flash of irritation took me. “I think that I asked you first. And I’d appreciate a straightforward answer, if you please.”
“Do you hear them? The bombs?”
“Yes, but—”
“Do you smell the burning?”
“What burning?”
“From the bombs,” he said patiently. “From the fires they’re starting in the towns.”
I started to shake my head. My lips began to form the word no, but then I hesitated. I became aware that I did smell something, something faint and horrid. Acrid chemicals. Singed meat.
The no strangled in my throat.
He nodded grimly, reading my face. “It’s not supposed to be like this, you coming into your gifts in stages. But, then again, you’re exceptional in every way, Lora Jones, so perhaps the regular rules don’t apply to you. I don’t know. And I don’t know if what happened to you at the orphanage was real, but from what I understand, when you transform fully—especially the first time—there is a price to pay.”
“What do you mean? What price?”
“Pain,” he confessed, on a hard exhale. “I’m sorry. There’s always a sacrifice for every gift. It’s … it’s rather a rule of the universe, really. You were granted a great gift, so your sacrifice will be great, as well. That ensures the balance of all.”
I recoiled from the hound, balling my hand into a fist against my stomach. “Well, what manner of pain? I mean, how much?”
“A great gift,” he emphasized, low.
“Oh.” I was abruptly short of breath. “Of course.”
Stupid, stupid—how stupid that I hadn’t thought of it before, that it would hurt. Obviously it would. And then I couldn’t stop imagining it: my body bloating, mutating, into something hideous and snakelike. Something grotesque. My skin stretching shiny thin, my bones cracking and shifting and reknitting. My teeth sharpening, my tongue splitting. My hands and feet twisting into claws—
“Stop,” Jesse said.
I stared up at him, almost panting with fear.
“Stop, beloved,” he said more gently, and took up my clenched fist with both hands. “I’ve upset you, and I shouldn’t have. I don’t want you to dread yourself. I don’t want you to dread what is to come. Like I said, you’re exceptional, so there may be nothing to worry about at all. But whatever happens, whatever you face, I’ll face it with you. Do you hear?”
“How can you say that? It nearly happened on the roof today. You can’t know—”
“I will be with you. We’re together now, and the universe knows I won’t let you make your sacrifice alone. Dragon protects star. Star adores dragon. An age-old axiom. Simple as that.”
I looked down at our hands, both of his curled over mine. I unclenched my fist. Blood from the thorn smeared my skin.
“The universe,” I muttered. “The same universe that has produced the kaiser and bedbugs and Chloe Pemington. How reassuring.”
With the same absolute concentration he might have shown for turning flowers into gold, Jesse Holms smoothed out my fingers between his, wiping away the blood. He turned my hand over and lifted it to his lips. His next words fell soft as velvet into the heart of my palm.
“Those nights, in the sweetest dark, we shared our dreams. That’s your answer. I was stitched into yours, and you were stitched into mine, and that was real, I promise you.” I felt his lips curve into a smile. The unbelievably sensual, ticklish scuff of his whiskers. “Very good dreams they were, too,” he added.
It was no use trying to cling to mortification or fear. He was holding my hand. He was smiling at me past the cup of my fingers, and although I couldn’t see it, the shape of it against my skin was beyond tantalizing, rough and masculine. I was a creature gone hot and cold and light-headed with pleasure. I wanted to snatch back my hand and I wanted him to go on touching me like this forever. I wanted to walk with him back to his cottage, to his bed, and to hell with the Germans and school and all the rest of the world.
But he looked up suddenly.
“They’re searching for you,” he said, releasing me at once, moving away.
They were. I heard my name being called by a variety of voices in a variety of tones, all of them still inside the castle, none of them sounding happy.
“Go on.” With a few quick steps, Jesse was less than a shadow, retreating into the black wall of the woods. “Do
n’t get into trouble. And, Lora?”
“Yes?”
There was hushed laughter in his voice. “Until we can see each other again, do us both a favor. Keep away from rooftops.”
• • •
“This kind of behavior will not be tolerated, Miss Jones.”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am.”
“Students are absolutely not allowed outside after sundown without proper escort.”
“I’m so terribly sorry.”
“It was incredibly irresponsible of you. I had to summon half the staff to help search for you. From their suppers, I might add.”
“I never meant to—I only nodded off in the gardens, I swear. I fell asleep.”
“So you’ve said already. Twice. Are you ill, Miss Jones?”
“No, ma’am.”
“A sound sleeper, is that it?”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean, I suppose so. I am sorry.”
“I really must think you have no notion of the world in the least, Miss Jones. A child like you should know better than to trust the night. There are dangers beyond these walls—yes, even out here. It is my responsibility to ensure that every girl here remains safe, remains healthy, remains untouched.…”
“Yes, ma’am. Are … are you all right, ma’am?”
“I am perfectly well, Miss Jones. A touch of the catarrh, perhaps. Ahem. The duke is holding a celebration Saturday next to honor the birthday of his son. It is an Idylling tradition, and the tenth- and eleventh-year girls are invited every year. I am tempted—sorely tempted—to exclude you as punishment.”
“Oh?”
“But as the duke has specifically requested your presence, and since this is, after all, your first offense, I shall not.”
“Oh.”
“Perhaps he wishes you to play again. We’ll see.”
“Oh.”
“That will be all for now, Miss Jones. Tomorrow we will discuss a proper punishment for your transgression. You may retire to your room now, as it seems you are in such critical need of slumber.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Good night.”
“Good night.”
• • •
I shall not wander the school grounds alone at night.
I shall not wander the school grounds alone at night.
I shall not wander the school grounds alone at night.
I shall not wander the school grounds alone at night.
I shall not wander the school grounds alone at night.
I shall not wander the school grounds alone at night.
I shall not wander the school grounds alone at night.
I shall not wander the school grounds alone at night.
x 100.
• • •
Days of rain. Days and days of rain, and nights, too.
It put the castle out of sorts. It forced everyone indoors all the time, not just the spun-sugar girls but the maids and menservants and teachers and everyone.
The only people I ever glimpsed mud-spattered from the weather were Hastings and Jesse, who drove the Iverson wagons on and off the island, because the food had to come from somewhere. Should the rains never cease and the fish flee and the sea rise to flood the earth, we’d have nothing but soggy herbs from the kitchen garden to sustain us. It was a tad too easy to imagine my fellow students resorting to cannibalism—they definitely appeared the type—but it seemed to me a dire prospect. I had no doubt most of my classmates would taste like vinegar.
Naturally, preparation for the duke’s party consumed them. Even the girls too young to attend gossiped and sighed over the notion of dancing in Armand’s arms, and bickered over which of them would make the best sweetheart. Sophia and her band of merrymakers, who were attending, pretended they had much better things to do than worry about one single, provincial little party, even if it was being hosted by a duke. But it was all they talked about, anyway, outside class.
Outside class, I sat alone and dreamed of anything but the party.
Outside class, I sat and dreamed of the coming night.
At night, every night, I was no longer alone. Whatever time we could spare, whether it was hours or just minutes, Jesse and I met in the grotto, and we practiced my Becoming.
That was how I had begun to think of it privately. Becoming, capitalized. I still wasn’t certain what I was Becoming. I tried to hold on to the image of a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. That seemed safe enough.
I’d never seen any picture of a dragon, however, that looked anything like a butterfly. Less wings; rather more teeth.
The small, sleepy hours of early Saturday morning found us seated, as we usually were, on the upper slope of the grotto’s embankment. We had blankets and food and water—no wine—and the soft, antiqued light of Jesse’s lantern bathing us in amber. I endeavored with my entire heart not to think of these stolen moments as anything romantic. Jesse was not courting me. He was not wooing me, certainly not as I’d heard boys usually did, sending girls posies or poems or buying them sweets or taking them to the theater. He didn’t attempt to kiss me even once.
We met like this because he was teaching me to Become. And yet every night I sat there opposite him on the blankets and looked at his attentive, handsome face and I thought, This is our wooing. This is our Becoming.
I’d had no luck with going to smoke again. During school I tried so hard to stay … as myself. But later on, down beneath the castle, when I did try to dissolve, it simply didn’t happen.
There were times when I felt ready to burst. My skin felt shrunken, my heart hammered in my chest. I was so close. I willed myself back to that moment at the brink of the roof; I willed the fiend back inside me; I willed the voice to come to life …
… and, nothing.
The tide came in. The tide went out. Nights alone with Jesse in this haunted, sparkling cave, and all I had to show for it were dark smudges under my eyes and a constant chill I couldn’t seem to shake, even during daylight.
I didn’t ever speak the words aloud, but it wasn’t going to happen, I knew. And I couldn’t blame it on the weather, or the stars, or my uncertain age. Deep down, what prevented the Becoming was purely me.
Because, deep down, I was afraid.
It was selfish and cowardly and low, I admit it. Certainly there were people beyond my cloistered world who were suffering far worse terrors than my own. The Tommies forced to live and die in mud trenches, for example, or the townsfolk trapped beneath the deadly zeppelins—I had smelled them burning; the most craven part of my soul thanked the heavens I could not hear the screams. But Jesse had said pain.
The pain of the war seemed far from me, but the promise of my own was as near as a sword dangling over my head.
And I was afraid. Sincerely.
“Let’s try something new,” he said now. We spoke in undertones, even though there was no real chance anyone above us would overhear. No matter how careful we were, however, the grotto took our words and sighed them back at us.
… new-new-new …
“Like what?” I asked.
“Anything else. Obviously, concentrating as you’ve been isn’t helpful. So let’s not think about the specifics of what we hope for. Smoke or anything like that.”
I sat back on my hands. “Fine with me.”
He had walked from the woods tonight, I could tell. The fresh, dark scent of the night still clung to him, and his boots were damp, with bits of grass and leaves flecking the leather.
Jesse reached down and peeled free a small, perfectly oval spring leaf from near his ankle, holding it up by its stem.
“I’ll tell you a story instead,” he said, gazing at the leaf.
“Tell me about the ghost. Who was she?”
“Ah, the ghost. Her name was Rose.”
“Was she one of the builders?”
He twirled the leaf between his fingers, back and forth. “No.”
“One of the students?” I shivered. “That’s it, isn’t it? She was a student.”
&n
bsp; “It’s not my story to tell you. I’m sorry. It belongs to someone else.”
“Don’t you know?”
“I do know. But I have in mind a different tale entirely.”
Without warning, his hand glowed bright. The little leaf was engulfed in a globe of brilliance; the cavern flamed to life, all the sparkles on the walls transformed into countless flashing suns. I lifted an arm to cover my eyes—then the light was gone.
When I looked at him again, Jesse was looking back at me, his jaw set and his face masked with shadows. The leaf was exactly as before but now, of course, solid gold. He offered it to me, unsmiling.
“Once upon an age—”
“Can you do that with anything?” I cut in.
“No.” Since I hadn’t taken the leaf, he placed it on the blanket between us. “Only living things. Nothing inanimate.”
“That’s why it’s flowers,” I said, realizing. “You transform flowers and plants, like the brooch and my cuff. But could you do it to—”
“Yes. But I won’t. Life is precious, Lora. All life is precious, even roses. Even frogs, or snails, or the lowest of crawling things. I have no desire to be the arbiter of life or death over others, despite this gift of alchemy. Perhaps because of it. Transmuting the living into gold destroys it, even as it preserves its physical shape.”
My mind raced. “What about a tree? Could you transmute a tree?”
“Yes.”
I sat up straighter. “You could be rich. You could be richer than the king, if you liked. My God, Jesse. You could have a whole forest of gold! You could have anything.”
… anything-anything-anything …
“Rich is a matter of perspective. I think my life is rich enough. And I have already”—he gave me a significant look—“nearly all that I want.”
“But you could also have a mansion. And servants of your own. A cook! And motorcars and chauffeurs and a telephone and—”
“I’m a country lad, Lora. I’m happy like this.”
I shook my head, exasperated. I was a city girl and had lived poor for as long as I could remember. Lived poor and hated it. It never would have occurred to me—or to anyone else from St. Giles, I’d wager—that someone with the means to escape the grind of poverty would simply choose not to do so.
