by J. C. Welker
Well, if that isn’t a euphemism. This time, Rebel didn’t stop it. She brought Anjeline’s fingers to her lips and kissed her knuckles. Then she pressed another kiss to the bronze cuff, just to see the heat flare up Anjeline’s neck, but she felt tingles flare up her own neck. Far more than a tingle. No. It came from something else entirely.
Anjeline appeared to feel it, too, but wasn’t as happy about it. Her quiet intake of air didn’t go unnoticed, like she was trying to keep her emotions from leaping out. “Jinn aren’t supposed to feel like this.”
“For a human?”
“It’s dangerous.”
Rebel understood—or, at least, she realized how dangerous such emotions could be. For both of them. “Even if it feels like magic?”
Heat blossomed as Anjeline released a little laugh, letting those emotions leak over her face, pulling at her lips. “Mine may be restrained, but I can still offer you a bit of my energy. Like what the pill does for you.”
She was so close Rebel inhaled her scent. It rested sweetly on Rebel’s lips, as though she could taste it, and her tongue suddenly felt too big for her mouth. “Does your magic taste like your scent?”
Anjeline bit her lip. “Come closer and you can have it.”
Her voice was an aphrodisiac. As satisfying as the nectar Rebel had consumed. Please, heart, don’t pass out now. She shivered, and as commanded, shifted close enough that Anjeline’s aura of warmth engulfed her. It pulled her in, and she felt herself being tugged toward those lips, as powerless as a ball of matter being drawn toward the sun.
The kiss reshaped her.
Liquid magic slipped through her lips, flooding her with light, with Anjeline’s energy. It caressed her like a lover, nuzzling lines of pleasure over her skin, gathering in the dips and curves of her limbs. And for a moment, what difference there was between jinni and human merged together. Gleaming sparkles appeared, and as the kiss deepened, Rebel felt something burn. A flame flavoring the stars.
It slid into her veins like wildfire.
Her world tinted brighter. It revived every cell, every vessel of blood, warming, softening, and pumping. Like Anjeline was drawing something out of her. The broken pieces of her heart fluttered, as if they were joining together in a perfect whole, as if she’d been born for this. Just this moment. And what remained was only them, and this, lips to lips, her pulse beating in a wonderful rhythm, pulling at the knot of longing, calming her heart.
Before she could take any more heat, Anjeline was pulling away. But Rebel could still feel her lips, the residue of magic she would be feeling for days afterward. As though Anjeline’s name had been branded into Rebel’s skin.
“Better?” Anjeline’s irises were fairly glowing.
All Rebel could manage was a nod, feeling faint, which had nothing to do with her ailment. “I’ve never kissed a shooting star, but I imagine it would feel a lot like kissing you.”
Anjeline gave a half smile like a rare gemstone, with lips parted, gaze unguarded. If she was stunning when irritated, when smiling, she could’ve stolen someone’s soul, and Rebel would’ve been grateful for it. It was starting to become the best half smile of her entire life.
“Fingersmith,” she whispered. “You stole my heart, you know?”
“Do you want me to give it back?”
“Keep it. You can owe me.”
Those words were stitches, keeping the pieces of Rebel’s heart together.
Even if it was for a moment, she believed it could be healed. That for so long the love that had abandoned her might at last be a friend to achieving her wish. If she could just hold on to Anjeline, burrow into her neck, she imagined every dark spot in her would melt away. And yet, she wanted to stop the warmth unfolding, crowding her with trembling longing. Because she knew once this journey came to an end, once she broke Anjeline’s binding, once her heart was healed, Anjeline would leave, returning to another realm, and she would again be alone.
Her heart might be made anew, but it would still be broken.
Chapter Thirty-One
Anjeline’s lips still buzzed with the feeling of that kiss. That aura. She glanced sideways at Rebel, sensing her pulse beating steadily, but the tension between them remained. Pesky fireflies illuminated the way as they trailed behind Lady Danu, swaying in a billow of silk through the Sun Court and up the spiraling tower of stairs. At last, the time had come. They were being led to their fate.
Or rather, Fates.
The winding climb turned dizzying, rising in a narrow corkscrew of stairs, until it seemed they might find themselves in the mist of clouds. A temple in the sky. The Fates’ domain in the palace was set in secret. No one entered but at their doom. They proceeded by rows of doors, each carved with a bulbous face, while Rebel remained quiet. But her steel gaze kept focusing on Anjeline, a protectiveness in them she knew well. Anjeline wanted to ask her what she was thinking, what she wished, what she feared, but she knew the answer to the latter. Afraid the Fates would deem her heart unworthy.
She leaned in and whispered, “Stop fretting.”
“Stop reading my mind,” Rebel whispered back. Lips brushed against Anjeline’s ear with every word, and her heat surfaced. “Are there any rules of conduct I should know before meeting these…Fates?”
Anjeline eyed her. “Just don’t touch anything.”
Lady Danu glanced over her shoulder at them. “The Fates put everyone on edge. As they should. They have a direct link to the Divine.”
“Doesn’t mean they can gift us with answers,” Anjeline said and felt a brush of fingers against her own. Rebel tried smiling, the kind that comes through in the wake of worry. Anjeline remembered tracing the delicate lines of her face, the sensation of those lips. The kiss had been more than a transfer of energy, this Anjeline knew.
She had never been so seduced by another’s power. She’d been trained to withstand human manipulation, but not this. Against this feeling, she had no defense. Rebel had breathed her back to life, as if fueling a dying fire. All traces of the wall’s surrounding her had crumbled, fading like the last threads of night before dawn, feeling something she never thought she’d feel. But she couldn’t do anything about it.
She was still Jinn, and Rebel human. A forbidden rule, Madrath would say. Her insistence upon treating Rebel as a friend, as an equal, would be their undoing. The sooner she accepted that, the better, because she knew where this road led, and she couldn’t allow it. Whatever was happening between them—had happened—they could go no further.
At last, they reached the peak of the corkscrew stairs arriving at a wrought-iron door. The Fates’ temple. Countless carvings covered the entrance, full-bodied women at the corners, young and elderly faces engraved, depicting scenes from birth to death. Two silver hands protruded from the door, and in its center, a sculpted serpent curled in a circle.
Lady Danu waved a finger before it and the serpent’s eyes blinked. “Place your hand in the circle,” she told Rebel. “If it deems your heart worthy, you’ll be allowed entrance.”
“And if doesn’t?” Rebel asked, as if ready to dislike anything about to happen.
“It will,” Anjeline said without doubt. “You fulfill whatever you set your stubborn head to do.”
Rebel turned determined eyes on her, then leaned in and pressed lips to Anjeline’s in a chaste kiss. “In case,” she breathed, “I don’t get a chance to do that again.”
“Oh…” A warm wave rushed through Anjeline, the caress of skin on skin too much, and she pulled back. The action seemed to upset Rebel, her eyes turning downcast. She hadn’t meant to upset her. It was impossible to deny the energy crackling between them. But she couldn’t escape the unsettling notion that if Rebel cared for her, it would seal her own terrible fate. That they were on this torturous journey when the real obstacle should be healing a human’s heart. She shouldn’t be making eyes at Rebel or feeling like this. It was dangerous.
And in the end, it would only bring pain.
Once Rebel placed her palm in the circle, the sculpted serpent came alive. Her shoulders stiffened as it curled around her hand and slithered up her forearm, coming face-to-face with her. It peered into her eyes. Observing. Searching. Its tail rattled, and its mouth opened, revealing iron fangs, ready to strike if it deemed her unfit. Rebel’s jaw tightened. Her gaze determined. She looked powerful, she looked brave, and she looked broken, all at once. But Anjeline felt the heart beating in that chest and knew without a shadow of a doubt.
For an awful moment, the serpent’s face froze in front of Rebel’s. She blinked. Then its head bowed in submission, its tongue flicked out, kissing Rebel’s nose, and it slithered back to the door, coiling into a circle.
Anjeline smiled. She passed.
“Now, you must ask the Fates what you seek.” Lady Danu nodded.
Rebel took a breath. “Then what?”
“Then wait until they meet your eyes.”
…
With that, the door unsealed and Rebel crossed the threshold.
Lady Danu guided them into the mouth of a sweeping temple where unlit suspended candles lined the walls. It seemed impossible that they were still within the Sun Court, but this place seemed to defy reality. With each of Rebel’s steps into the temple, the ivory floor rippled, creating footprints in the milkiness that disappeared behind them, as though they were stepping into clouds.
Her satchel warmed against her back, radiating from the vase, putting her more on edge. She nudged her fingers against warmer ones. But Anjeline breathed past her, shoulders slightly bumping, and she felt her heart thunder in her chest. Since last night, Anjeline’s gestures were melting from hot to cold. Jinn aren’t supposed to feel like this. This journey had brought up more questions than answers, the greatest one being Anjeline. But she suspected the real test now were the Fates themselves. A prickle of foreboding worked up her neck as she wondered what they might do.
Bolts of silk were scattered about the temple, golden and glowing.
On every length of fabric, a plethora of images were embroidered, revealing stories, lives of people from birth to death. Among the silk, three figures sat in blood-red robes. One held a spindle, one held a measuring rod, and one held cutting shears.
“The Sisters of Fate.” The Lady gestured to the figures. “Clotho spins the thread of life. Lachesis draws the lots of how long one lives. And Atropos, the inevitable, chooses how someone passes by cutting the life thread with her shears.”
The Fates.
Thick robes rose into hoods around the Fates’ heads. Nothing appeared to be beneath them but a glint of light. Woven motifs adorned their garments with swirls and symbols moving about, giving the impression of human hair. The Fates moved noiselessly, their robes sliding over the floor, their feet never seeming to touch it. As they neared, the unlit candles birthed into flames without even a flick of a hand. In unison, the hoods turned toward Rebel and Anjeline.
“This be the jinni and the human?”
Three voices echoed, bouncing off the walls and reverberating back at them in stifling force. One was low and soft, one more monotone, and one demanding and harsh, sending a wave of panic through Rebel.
Anjeline stayed beside her, so when she moved close, their shoulders touched. The unspoken understanding was more comforting than words. “Calm down,” she told Rebel, then answered, “We are they.”
The Fates slipped their hoods back upon their shoulders.
And Rebel felt as if she’d been hit by a squall of wind. She fought the urge to gasp. Their faces were a blank mask of silver skin stretched over a skull, completely devoid of mouths. Nor hair. Flesh, metallic and thick, covered their bodies, and their enormous eyes shined like mirrors. Eyes as old as the beginning of time. However, Rebel realized, their eyes were not literally meant to see—but to show. The future maybe? For in their vision were images of rolling clouds, reflecting the sky, then it changed, showing an embellished vase.
Lady Danu looked to Rebel. “Ask them what it is you seek.”
She swallowed. “We seek freedom for—”
Laughter sounded, the noise rumbling through her every pore. “It is not mere freedom you seek.” The Fates’ voices carried. “The human seeks a new heart, and you, Daughter of the Scorching Winds, seek to fill the wish?”
Anjeline drew herself up to speak. “I seek freedom from my imprisonment.”
“Freedom is an illusion. ’Tis not free. It comes with a price.”
Confused, Rebel glanced back in question at the Lady. “They cut the life threads of mortals with a pair of gardening shears, and that’s the answer they’re going with? The most cliché line in history?”
Lady Danu said simply, “Pay attention.”
In a surge of robes and thread, the Fates came to stand in front of Rebel, their eyes reflecting her face as if they saw some unusual creature. Fingers extended, pointing at her pendant, barely visible above her shirt. “Who gifted you that?”
“My…mother,” Rebel said.
“Mother?”
“Mother?”
“Mother?”
Their voices paralleled each other, then hands were grabbing at Rebel’s wrist. She lurched back, swatting at them. “Stop it.”
The Fates paused. “Why have you come, if you do not want our help?”
“We do want your help,” Anjeline said.
“But you don’t have to get all grabby.” Rebel rubbed her wrists. “Don’t you have manners?”
Titters reflected in a pettish echo. “Oh, we like her.”
Anjeline gave her a nod as if to say: let them. Giving in, Rebel extended her arm toward the Fates. Gray, almost translucent fingers took her hand in theirs, flipping her palms over, examining and trailing the lines like a cardiograph. She found herself imagining the Fates hundreds, thousands of years ago, all the way to the beginning of time. Weavers of life. Cutters of souls. Shapers of hearts.
“Ah, yes.” The voices crooned. “Remember, we do, when the Divine called to weave your thread of life. Such an enchanting soul…”
Six glassy eyes remained on Rebel, and she watched herself appear in them—but as a child—big eyes and soiled cheeks, sitting on the roof of the Institute, alone as always.
“Someone’s hidden secrets in your heart,” the Fates voiced. “You’re in pain.”
Well, they got that part right.
“A battle is inside you, tearing you apart. Constantly cracked. Constantly bruised. Like midnight sky, when stars gleam at their brightest. Your problem be not physical, but magical.”
“Magical?” The words seeped into Rebel’s mind, trying to decipher the meaning. Anjeline merely blinked, looking stumped, as well. Images came faster in the Fates’ shimmering eyes, no longer reflections of her but of smoke and gold.
The Sisters held out their arms toward Anjeline, and she let them take her hand to examine. “Most powerful child of the Divine’s fire, sought out by many. Your vigilance proves worthy. You grow weary of your prison.”
Anjeline’s face tightened, again holding back the seething emotions within. “How must I obtain freedom?”
Crystal orbs glanced from Rebel and back to Anjeline. “Both locked, both imprisoned. An impossible task, Wishmaker. On purpose, you’ve refused to feel. Now it’s become your curse…”
“Be clear, Sisters!” Anjeline yanked her hand away. “How many lives have you threaded together, and you gift us with no answers? What good are you?”
The temple flushed with heat.
An aura of smoke emerged around Anjeline’s shoulders, her eyes flaring like lit fuses. There was something ancient and overwhelming in her gaze, and it seemed, even standing before the Fates, though she was bound, she held a power even they did not.
“Wishmaker…” The Fates didn’t appear offended, but their vision turned darker. “Your imprisonment was made by forbidden magic. The Divine lets us see what we are allowed, only. You must ask the right questions.”
Silence crept in.
&nbs
p; Rebel drew near, but Anjeline remained folded into herself. She could see it in her eyes, grasping for her comfort zone, wanting to come closer, yet wouldn’t. She let her have her distance but couldn’t help but want to reach forward and be engulfed by warmth. Couldn’t help but want to kiss her again. Kiss her until the pang in her chest disappeared. Until she was filled with that magic.
Magic.
Freedom is not free. Something clicked in Rebel’s mind, and she remembered, coming back to the marks on the vessel. The right question. “The magician branded a cryptic symbol on the vessel,” she voiced. “What magical offering is it?”
The grayish heads turned toward her, and she was certain if the Fates possessed mouths, they would be grinning. “Clever, you are. Though you read wrong. It is not as simple as giving an offering to free her…but a sacrifice.”
Anjeline’s head snapped up. “Sacrifice?”
An ominous feeling crept over Rebel. “What kind of sacrifice?”
“It must come from you who guards the Wishmaker. Sacrifice too little and her bonds grow stronger. Sacrifice the wrong thing and you’ll lose her forever.”
Rebel inhaled, feeling as though she were scrabbling for breath among answers sliding away from her. “What must it be?” she asked again.
“We know not the cost. The binding on the Wishmaker is stronger than us. Magic we cannot touch. It is unclear, obscured by the one who bound her.”
A hiss came from Anjeline as she said the name, “Nero.”
Thirty fingers flexed in an unclear gesture, and the Fates’ voices doubled all around them. “Dark magic ’tis a hopeless night. One drop, one drop, taints a million hearts of light…”
A sound spun in the air like wind building up.
Billows of silk swirled around the Fates’ feet in an unseen force. They blinked rapidly as if they were seeing something unfold. “Take heed, for what you seek is seeking you.” Their warning echoed and Rebel put a hand on her satchel, feeling Anjeline’s rising heat. Three voices snickered. “Tell us, are you brave, little Fingersmith? Strong enough to surrender to your fate?”
Rebel canted her head. “I believe in making my own fate.”
