The Wishing Heart

by J. C. Welker

  “Did you mean what you said—me being brave?” Rebel asked.

  The corners of Anjeline’s lips curled. “You are clever, and you have a gift for disasters.” The melody changed, but she didn’t break away to another partner. Her arresting eyes lingered from Rebel’s gaze to her mouth. “It’s been several days,” she added. “I’m waiting.”

  Rebel tensed, hopeful. “For?”

  “For you to explain your heart to me.” Anjeline rested a hand over Rebel’s chest, over the space where the gentle organ pulsed out of beat to the music.

  Rebel knew what she meant, though it sounded, if possible, she sought another answer entirely. And by Anjeline’s expression, she appeared to love the result her words had. How the things Rebel kept guarded seemed uncontrollable, at best, around her, and at worst, she acted like an eager pup. So she went with her only response. “My heart doesn’t understand rhythm any more than my feet do.”

  As they twirled, to give example to her words, her feet fumbled.

  Anjeline didn’t laugh. “It’s more than that. It’s sick.”

  “I’ve had it forever.” Rebel didn’t want to see the worry on her face if she spoke it, knowing it could alter their search.

  “But you chose not to tell me from the beginning?”

  “I assumed it might…change your pact with me.”

  “Assuming’s unfair.” Anjeline looked hurt. “Those pills help you?”

  Rebel nodded, then chastised herself for becoming so consumed with this place, with Anjeline, that she’d forgotten. Her pill supply had run dry. In the last few days, she’d taken too many, and now they were spent. Anjeline’s expression shifted on the cusp of voicing something, but the music altered. They kept one another from being jostled by other dancers, nowhere to go but with the tide.

  At last, they reached the main chamber and the pool.

  Others were already partaking of the sacred wine, one after the other, citing the ritual. Piran was there and bowed to them, offering two cups. “Repeat after me,” he said. “It is not flesh and blood, but heart that makes us true…”

  After repeating the words, Rebel intertwined her arm with Anjeline’s and raised the cup, offering her the first sip. Then she sipped from Anjeline’s. The sweet liquid warmed her throat, tasting of hope, and life. Her insides relaxed as the wine relieved the broken pieces from grating together. She met Anjeline’s eyes, taking in the feeling, and saw an expression of longing cross Anjeline’s face. She opened her mouth to speak just as a hand grasped her elbow.

  Lady Danu smiled before them, swathed in a crimson gown that left little to the imagination. “Honor me a dance?” she asked Rebel. “To twirl with a Jinn charmer.”

  She felt her other arm being squeezed. But Anjeline removed her hand, her face resolute, and gave a nod, letting Lady Danu step in. As the music altered again, they were swept up into the mass of dancers. A slow buzz was working in Rebel now, the sacred wine coursing through her stomach, slowly seeping into her blood. Lady Danu’s hand touched her arm where a warmer one had been, but Rebel’s focus kept darting about, trying to catch glimpses of gold.

  “Worried?” Lady Danu voiced, drawing Rebel’s gaze to her. “Soon we will consult the Fates in your quest.”

  “Will they have answers for Anjeline?”

  “The Fates are puissant. They see things beyond us. Beyond time itself. But you must be honest with them.”

  Rebel squinted. “You think I won’t be?”

  “Honest when it comes to your heart.”

  Ah, she understood, or at least she thought she did, based on the things Anjeline had spoken of. The consequences of a selfish one. Her gaze darted throughout the ballroom hall, seeking out gold. Anjeline was dancing with Piran, his wings beating in time to the melody, surely engulfed in her heat.

  Lady Danu saw whom she could not bear to look away from. “It must be very lonely being bound to a vessel.” Her voice caught Rebel’s attention again and knowledge lingered in her eyes. “No one looks at someone like that unless they desire more than a wish.”

  Rebel grinned sheepishly, the wine catching up to her. True. She was smitten. Nursing feelings so hard they could stop and rewind her heart on command. Even with the knowledge of magical mobsters hunting her down, she felt outlandishly happy. Because of a Wishmaker. Not a human, she reminded herself. Anjeline was a fantasy, so far out of her realm she should stop thinking about her as anything other than that, and yet, the sensation when her magic had flowed along Rebel’s body wouldn’t let her.

  She shook her buzzing head. “It doesn’t matter. Anjeline wasn’t born of this world.”

  Lady Danu nodded. “And?”

  “She’s a jinni. I am a human.”

  “And?”

  “You don’t see the problem?”

  “Love isn’t a problem. It’s a cure.” Lady Danu’s gaze seemed to look through her, seeing secrets. “Love creates a magic of its own, more powerful than any wish. It devours you. Like fire. To be devoured is true power.”

  Love?

  For such a small word, the feeling it produced in Rebel could have powered a small city. She was skillful at many things, a silver tongue, a master of locks few could hope to pick as fast as she. But there was one skill she’d never been able to master: the art of love.

  How could she, when she’d never been loved, never been taught how? Love was a foreign concept, because she’d spent seventeen years of her life listening to her own cries for it where it didn’t exist. After all, Rebel was a lost girl—alone and unwanted—but she wished to be wanted. And she had felt it the moment Anjeline emerged, the bond springing up between them so powerfully she’d never stopped to question if it was possible.

  Maybe, her heart whispered, because it is possible.

  The crowd picked up as those words seeped deep into Rebel’s chest, along with the wine. Her thoughts churned against the procession around her, so consumed by them she didn’t hear the melody alter, didn’t see what partner Lady Danu handed her off to until a comforting humming filled her.

  “This time I caught you,” a voice nudged her ear.

  Rebel felt dissolved at the touch. Warmth trickled up her spine. She didn’t have to look to know it was her preferred dance partner. She turned and her sight collided into those wonderful shining eyes. “Back for my dancing feet?”

  “For something.” Anjeline reached up, dragging a thumb over Rebel’s cheek. She didn’t seem to be teasing her this time, just simply wanting to touch, to feel skin, the shape of bones. Like she needed the comforting feeling to know Rebel was right there, under her fingertips. Then just as quickly, she drew her hand away as if it pained her.

  The wild music picked up and again they were pulled into the tide. Swirling and swirling. The full force of the sacred wine now began buzzing in Rebel’s veins. As it reached her heart and fled into each chamber, something happened. Things around her became more magnified. Colors turned electric.

  Others twirled and drank, a few consumed in locking lips, but Rebel’s world shrank to the feeling of hot feathers. Her fingers brushed over the ones on Anjeline’s spine, and it sent a shiver up her own. Mindless to stop herself, she put her nose in the silken hair cascading over Anjeline’s shoulder and inhaled. “You smell candied,” she whispered.

  Anjeline’s head tipped back and she laughed, her expression pure bliss. Rebel’s heart nearly stopped as she gazed at the neck thrown back, the curve of chin and lips parted as if begging her to feel how heavenly they were. Her heat radiated in Rebel’s chest, igniting an ember within. She felt every inch between them, and wondered if Anjeline felt it, too. Being in this hidden place, full of the impossible, with her, it felt almost like…home.

  Faster and faster they twirled.

  As their breathing quickened, Anjeline hugged closer. A buzz pushed up through Rebel’s neck, making her sway, shrouded in warmth as the wine played with her ticker. She felt fevered. The thundering of her blood. Her rising heat. Her longing. None of whi
ch was on account of dancing, but because of the fiery girl in front of her. The Wishmaker.

  Love creates a magic of its own.

  Oh, how Rebel wished it did. She became aware of the rushing in her ears. It was as if her blood couldn’t handle this new heat, the cadence within her. A pain lanced through her chest. Her heartbeat thrummed so loudly the spinning world around her seemed to go deaf.

  She saw a shooting star, just as her head hit the floor.

  Chapter Thirty

  Heat.

  So sultry and consuming.

  She wanted nothing more than to be swathed in the fire, in the tiny feathers, have them caress her arms, her skin, and her cheek. Wanted to stroke those fiery runes and the lips of the one they belonged to. But they were too pure—too blazing for the shadows inside of her. Like a light she couldn’t keep. Couldn’t have. Just touching them filled her with a longing so intense a dark pain erupted in her chest.

  Her heart splintered as tongues of blackness consumed it.

  Every breath she took turned into gloom and smoke. She was dying. The darkness choking her. Burning out her only light.

  And her heart burned with it.

  Rebel jolted, inhaling over the painful throb.

  She tried sitting up, but the dream clung to her like cobwebs, plastering her sweat-soaked hair to her forehead. Fingers slipped to her shoulders, where they led her to lie back down on a bed, and she felt lips press to her temple. Above her, a face was lovingly lit by the moonlight trickling in from the window. “Anjeline…” she croaked.

  “Dreaming about me again, are you?” Anjeline said softly. She looked tousled, her eyes moist, and her gown had been replaced with the Prussian blue sweater.

  Rebel blinked up at her, coming to focus on the painted ceiling. A mural depicted something out of one of her books, a battle scene, shades of gold and emerald painted in streaks as figures fought against other gnarled beings. She glanced around the room, furnished in stone and marble, carved with ivy leaves and adoring rabbits, and realized they were still in the Sun Court. “How did I get here?” she asked.

  Anjeline pressed a cool cloth to her head. “You passed out.”

  “From dancing?” As she tried sitting up, the room began to spin. She focused on not passing out again, since it would certainly damage her pride.

  “The wine was too much for your heart,” Anjeline said.

  A pointed wing tip nudged her shoulder. “Nearly caused a ruckus, you did,” Piran said and tapped Rebel’s head, holding out a cup for her.

  “Drink it. It will soothe.” Anjeline kneeled closer, supporting her head.

  Not needing to be coaxed, Rebel grabbed the cup, suddenly feeling thirsty, and gulped down the sugary liquid it held. It slid down her throat, warming her from the inside out. A buzz worked over her, arising from her head and ending in her belly.

  Anjeline cast a glance over her. “You need to rest for a while.”

  “As if I have a while.” Rebel wiped her mouth.

  Judging by the way Anjeline was staring, the blackout must have looked as horrible as it felt. “Your heart’s getting worse,” she said, now understanding. Concern poured from her eyes and spilled into her voice. “When were you going to tell me?”

  “You mean, that blackout didn’t do it?” Rebel quipped, which was the wrong thing to say after a blackout. Anjeline’s face twisted, unamused. The few inches separating their bodies radiated with her heat, and Rebel’s heart began tapping against her breastbone like a worked-up puppy.

  Colorful eyes traveled between them, and Piran shifted just enough for his leathery wing to flick out, smacking the cup from her hand, spilling it down her shirt.

  “Well…” Rebel cringed. “That’s embarrassing.”

  “Oh, my,” he said. “So sorry.”

  Anjeline sent a sizzling scowl his way and dabbed the cloth on Rebel’s shirt, but it did little good. The drink soaked the silk, clinging to her as tightly as her trousers. Rebel sighed, and in one clean sweep, yanked the top off, leaving herself bare with just a silk thread of what could pass for an undergarment. Anjeline’s hand went still, and for a moment, her eyes went roaming. Rebel might have turned a deeper shade, but her heart gave up trying to push any blood to her cheeks.

  Piran stood, looking pleased with himself. “I’ll alert Lady Danu you’re mindful now. She was concerned, what with the Wishmaker blazing over you, being down for the count.”

  She peered up at Anjeline. “You what?”

  “You should have seen her. She turned into a mad dog, accusing the Lady of drugging you.” Piran waved his hand, a mischievous smile on his lips, before he sliced out of the room, leaving his words hanging between them.

  “I…may have gotten a little emotional.” Anjeline averted her gaze and poured a concoction of herbs and sparkling powder in the cup. “I didn’t know how to help you. Your pills have been spent. Even Lady Danu’s magic has its limits.” She shook her head and awareness passed over her face. “This’s the reason you braved a pack of lycanthropes? You’re relying on a wish to heal your heart?”

  Rebel took a breath before answering, not wanting Anjeline to think any less of her. “I was starting to believe maybe there was no healing for my heart. Then I discovered a vase…worth enough for an operation. Except things took a turn for the magical and I met you.” She met her gaze. “You make me feel cured.”

  Shining eyes had turned damp and stormy. “I can’t heal you.” Anjeline’s voice wavered. “Not with my bonds suppressing…”

  “I know.” Rebel laid a hand over hers.

  “You should have told me before. We could have been looking for a way to fix your heart first.”

  “Doubtful. You were awfully grumpy.”

  Anjeline’s lips slanted upward. “Bite your tongue.”

  Rebel could barely pry her focus from those lips as she felt fingers trace over her pendant. Anjeline’s touch moved lower and lower. With every inch, it was like a leaping spark inside Rebel, wanting to grab those fingers and bring them to her lips.

  As if reading her mind, Anjeline glanced at her hand pressed to Rebel’s chest. “We’re both caged birds, one of a heart, and one of a vessel,” she said. “I’d almost lost hope of getting free. Until a girl in the night came and stole more than a vase.” Her eyes said it all.

  Rebel was startled at what she saw—a thousand emotions, all directed at her. She had long ago concluded her heart’s only function would be to keep her alive, but with one look from those odd eyes, her heart decided it had a different function entirely. Anjeline was warmth. Light. Zest. All the things she’d been wishing for in her life.

  But in its wake, a spark of fear surfaced.

  “Everything I’ve wanted is cursed with being taken from me,” she voiced. “My pendant is the one thing I’ve never lost. The one thing that’s survived.”

  Anjeline understood. “And you think the wish is going to be taken from you?”

  Her heart twitched, singing its secrets. “Maybe…I’m not worthy of a wish.”

  Rebel, who had been wishing all her life, began desiring them less and less. All the wishes she’d once held on to with desperate fingers during lonesome nights—for a haven for herself among a cruel world, for a home, for a cured heart—weren’t enough. Not when they kept such a beautiful creature in a cage. She’d been hurtling toward her wish with such single-minded desperation, she never realized the reason she could obtain it was due to someone else’s pain.

  The goddess with a broken smile.

  Now, she wanted something no wish could grant, to free Anjeline. The desire to do so was greater than anything else, but with it, she wanted to keep Anjeline here, with her. Like a stolen treasure. So what, Rebel wondered, did that make her? Nothing more than a criminal. Any better than Nero? Over the years, she never let anyone get close for this reason, afraid they might see her dark spots, use them against her. She’d come on this journey to escape her life, to gain her wish, but what she found was a reflection o
f herself in Anjeline. Wounded and tainted by the darkness of others. Of herself.

  “You were the light,” she confessed. “And I needed a little light, because without it, there’s an awful lot of darkness in my life, in me.”

  Anjeline’s worried gaze trailed over her, like a stroke of a finger. “No one has ever told you the things you believe about yourself aren’t true? If anyone’s worthy, it’s you, Rebel.”

  She shook her head. “I’m a criminal.”

  For a beat, Anjeline’s face went still, as if she worked hard to guard against a surge of emotion. “I know what it means to be ashamed of what you’ve done, what you think you’ve become,” she nearly whispered. “But you’re not the Fingersmith with a heart. You’re a gentle soul who’s stolen so you could survive it. That first night…the way you held the vase, protecting it, talking to it like you were waiting for me to talk back.”

  “I was, in a way.” Rebel smiled.

  “You have a bird in your heart and a lion in your head.” Anjeline’s features softened and her hand came to nestle in the gape of Rebel’s chest. “I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and fix it so you know there’s nothing but light inside. You’re the one thing in this world that makes sense to me.”

  A steamy tear dripped down Anjeline’s cheek, and it was as if she were watching a flame fall from those eyes. She’d almost lost hope that anyone would, or could, ever see her for who she was. But Anjeline stared at her now, seeing beyond the fortress she’d built, and every inch of her body buzzed as those words rang true.

  After a moment, Anjeline’s brows turned into twin quirks. “Your heart…” She moved her hand, like she could literally feel Rebel’s organ and was deciphering something. “It feels as if something’s being blocked. Needing to be released.”