But Charaxus doesn't rise to his childish bait.
I watch her move, her long legs lean, flexing; she's a predator, hunting a man who mirrors her, though there’s such a difference in their fighting styles.
I remember seeing Charaxus as a child, falling again and again beneath her father’s sword—and rising again and again.
As I watch Charix take a step back, wielding his sword like a club, I wonder what his early life was like. I only glimpsed it when I saw Charaxus’ past. I wonder how much training he underwent? I wonder how many privileges he enjoyed, simply for being the son his father wanted?
As I watch Charaxus stalk him over the stage, twisting the cheap katana in front in her hands, I know that I’m watching poetry in motion when I look at her.
And Charix can mimic, sure, but he's no match for Charaxus, not in hand-to-hand combat.
They both know it.
“Get her,” commands Charix then, lifting up his sword in a shielding gesture, the blade in front of his face. The men rush around Charaxus, ready to disarm her.
“No!” I shout, as Charix takes the shard from his underling. He peers down at the necklace, and then he glances up at Charaxus with a snarl.
“We’re leaving this pathetic world,” he says, glancing around at all of us with disdain, as if he doesn’t have the time of day for Earth. And the feeling is mutual. But as Charix’s men close in around Charaxus, I realize that this is the end. Charaxus is going back to Agrotera…with this asshole.
There are too many of them, only one of her. They'll surely kill her if I don’t do something to stop them.
Thunder rumbles, and lightning flickers overhead, a spider web of light. The sky been threatening rain all evening, and now the clouds are swollen with rain; they want to release a deluge…but they’re waiting.
I remember what Cecile told me earlier today—that storms and magic go hand in hand.
Charaxus stands on the stage, Charix’s goons surrounding her, and she looks at me. Her long black hair—already drying—is swept over her shoulder; her t-shirt and sweatpants are soggy, practically falling off of her long, lean body, the muscles in her stomach, in her arms, clearly visible as she lifts the katana, as she gazes over her shoulder at me, her bright blue eyes quiet, calm, resolute.
She’s beautiful. She’s amazing. She’s everything I've ever dreamed of—literally.
And I’ll be damned if I’m letting her get away.
Not like this.
Not by force.
No.
I press Sammie’s leash into Cecile’s hand, and then I’m climbing onto the stage. My heart is in my throat; I’m utterly defenseless. I have no weapons, and when Charaxus turns to see what I’m doing, there’s searing pain in her eyes. She was happy to know that I was safe, and now I’m not, because I've done something stupid: I’m on the stage with Charix and his men, and that means that horrible things could happen to me.
But I’m not going to stand by and do nothing. I can’t.
I’m not going to leave her to suffer alone.
Charix laughs at the sight of me. It’s not even a big laugh, only a small, amused chuckle. He knows I don’t pose any threat. But Charix’s men have stopped rushing Charaxus; they’ve turned, watching their leader, waiting for his command.
I step beside Charaxus, stand with her, glancing up at her.
“What are you doing? Why did you come up here?” she asks quietly, her katana still raised. “You could be hurt, Mara,” she tells me, and her voice is so tender that I reach out and rest my fingers on her arm, cherishing the heat of her skin.
I draw in a deep breath. “I won't lose you—not like this.” I offer her a small smile, taking another deep breath and lifting my chin. “You’re not alone.”
She stares at me, blue eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. “What…did you say?”
“You are not alone.” I curl my fingers around her arm. Love crests through me, like a wave rising up, covering the shore. I love her, and—in this moment—nothing else matters.
Just her.
Just us.
As I grip her arm, I feel it before I see it: this great pulse of love that moves through me… But what’s weird is that it’s not just love. It’s light, light like the light we experienced in the hospital, light like what happened at the lake, washing over the both of us. Light so bright that my eyes are dazzled; I use my free hand to try to shield my eyes. But the light is coming from everywhere, and even when I close my eyes, I see it.
“What’s happening?” I ask Charaxus, and I feel her hand on my forearm.
She draws me to her, places her chin on the top of my head, holding me close. The warmth of her body radiates through me, and as I wrap my arms around her waist, I hear another crack of thunder overhead.
The sky erupts.
One moment, the clouds are full, laden with water, black and brooding far, far overhead, blotting out the stars and moon. And the next, lightning seems to slash them open, pouring water down onto the world below. The stage lights flicker and go out as the power surges and then gets completely cut off; we’re all plunged into darkness.
But...there's still light, the light that spirals around Charaxus and me.
Light that’s emanating from the shard in Charix’s goon's hand.
Charaxus holds me close, and as the light spirals around us, I close my eyes tightly. I think about what happened in the hospital, how she asked me to lend her my energy. I don’t have any idea how this works, or even if that’s what is happening now…but it feels right to try, so that’s what I do. I concentrate hard on all of the places Charaxus is touching me, and I imagine my energy like light, pouring out of me and into her.
I imagine us blending together, merging.
Even though we don't have the shard in our hands, it begins to glow brighter. It ascends up into the air, a little like the star did when Charaxus created magic for me, and then it begins to twirl gently, bobbing up and down, as if it’s floating on a river.
Rain pours over us in buckets, the water oddly warm. But everything else seems to fade away as I stare up at Charaxus, meeting her intense gaze.
I feel whole as the light pulses around us. Not devoid of scars—because I will always have scars—and not devoid of pain…but filled entirely with love. My anger and my hardness gently washes away as Charaxus holds me close, as she bends her beautiful face to mine, as she tenderly brushes her mouth against my cheek.
I am filled with love, and through love, I'm made whole.
From somewhere far away—but what is actually close by—I hear a roar of rage. As if he's plodding through quicksand, Charix is trying to make his way across the stage to reach us. He has his sword raised over his head.
But, suddenly, he’s motionless.
The light strobes, and I feel more and more of my own energy feeding into Charaxus.
“Is this magic?” I whisper, looking around us at the rain, at the light that’s turning the raindrops into prisms.
“Yes,” Charaxus whispers back, and we watch as the shard moves through the air until it’s as high as Charaxus’ head, and then it spins much faster. “It’s…it’s happening. The shard is responding to us. To both of us,” Charaxus murmurs, peering down at me. “I’m going home.”
And she should sound relieved, euphoric. She is, after all, going home. Home is where everyone wants to go, to be. All roads lead there, and so much of our hearts belong where we hang our hats.
But as I stare up at her, I realize that things have shifted for me.
Because home is no longer a place.
It’s her.
She’s my home.
And she’s leaving.
“How will I…” I swallow my tears, and I grip her tightly, feeling her heartbeat beneath my fingertips, feeling the pulse in her skin and knowing I’m no longer the same.
It’s been twenty-four hours, this romance…but it was a lifetime in the making.
And I'm changed forever because of i
t.
“Please,” I whisper to her, as the shard drops a line of light to the ground, as the line begins to expand into a wide circle, as it begins to pull on Charix’s men, dragging them through the portal. “Please find me,” I tell her, tears streaming down my cheeks as I feel Charaxus’ feet edging across the wood, the portal pulling her away.
“I will find you,” she promises, her hand gripping me so tightly, her fingers strong, insistent, as she searches my gaze. “I am not lost…wherever I am. I must always come home,” she whispers, her voice catching. “I must always come home to you.”
“I love you,” I tell her, but Charix’s bellow of rage drowns out my words. He’s being pulled through the portal.
And so is Charaxus.
“I love you!” I tell her again, and I say it again and again and again as she’s drawn away from me, her fingers slipping through mine. She holds my gaze, doesn’t ever glance away, until she’s drawn through the ring of light.
They’re all gone.
Charaxus is gone.
The shard of glass stops glowing and falls to the stage floor with a dull clatter.
It’s just a broken bit of glass.
I drop to my knees, sobbing, as the rain pours over me.
Chapter 16: Not Lost
Cecile steps back from the painting and glances at me, one brow raised. “Is it straight, doll?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Why are you asking the lesbian?”
“Oh, right. Toby, is this straight enough—oh, what am I thinking?” Cecile laughs. Behind us, Toby snickers and draws Rod in for a kiss.
I press my hands to my small of my back and stretch. The Burchfield Penney museum is hosting my first art show, and a lot of volunteers showed up to help me hang my paintings. Tonight’s the grand opening, and I needed to hang the last few canvases, so, of course, everyone from the Ceres stepped up to assist me.
And, of course, there's pizza in store for all of us. They don’t call me the pizza queen for nothing.
Speaking of which… I gaze down at my phone before sliding it back into my jeans pocket. “I’ve got to go pick up the ‘za,” I tell everyone, and they nod, though Iris dances over, doing a pirouette in front of me in her purple-and-black tutu—which is, she informed me earlier, her painting-hanging uniform.
“Hey, before you peace out, where do you want the last canvas?” she asks.
I glance back at the only framed painting still leaning against a support column, and I take a deep breath.
It’s been months now, but it still feels so tender, this healing scar over my heart.
I haven't stopped believing in her. And I never will.
“That’s the focal piece,” I tell Iris, and I offer her a soft smile. “It’s what the whole show is based on: ‘She was the storm.’”
It’s the painting that I did of Charaxus when she was with me in my bedroom. She’s naked, holding a sword, and though that sounds like an '80s-era fantasy poster…it doesn’t look the way you might be imagining it.
Remember the storms, the electricity, the colors, the blues, the purples, all of it merging together into stars, galaxies, the subtle suggestion of the most perfect female form…
The painting is alive. And it’s what won me the art show.
Every time I see it, it makes my heart break just a little more.
“So the central wall, Iris—but it can wait until I come back. I’ll only be gone a few minutes,” I tell her, pocketing my car keys. I head toward the back door of the gallery, and when I hit the pavement, I draw in a deep breath, trying to ground and center myself. Trying to find…what? I’m not sure. Something to help me get through the night.
Most days, I’m okay. I keep up with my normal routine because I’m holding onto Charaxus’ promise. I’ve got to keep living, even if it feels impossibly hard.
I know she’s trying to find me. And I’m trying to find her, too.
I reach up, closing my fingers around the shard at my neck. I wear it every day, never, ever take it off. Sometimes I think I glimpse light shining from the surface of the glass, but it’s always explainable: just a reflection of overhead light, or the light of a star.
There was something electric inside of me while Charaxus and I were together. The magic we made was big, explosive. But without her, I can’t make the shard do anything.
All I can do is wait.
And I hate waiting.
I walk toward my car in the parking lot. The sun is setting behind Buff State’s planetarium, and it’s painting the sky with extraordinary jewel tones. As I lean against the side of my car, I bury my hands in my pockets. My fingers itch to paint that sky.
The Burchfield Penney is right beside Delaware Park, where the big showdown with Charix happened a few months ago. As I climb into my Beetle and turn on the engine, I have a sudden urge to drive by the park. Despite all of the traumatic things that went down there—the dead knight in the woods (whose body mysteriously vanished); the hostage situation and all of the police interviews I had to give—I still have only fond memories for that place. For that lake.
I grip the steering wheel and consider. It couldn't hurt just to drive by. It's autumn, so the rose garden is dead, but there might be one or two roses still in bloom, and, anyway, Hoyt Lake looks so beautiful at twilight…
It doesn’t take much to convince myself of the detour. Because I’m a ridiculous romantic, I park my car on Lincoln Parkway again, and I walk to the rose garden, because I want to see if there are any roses left.
Of course there aren’t. It’s been too cold lately. I run my finger across one of the dying leaves and sigh. Winter is coming up fast on autumn's heels.
I walk down the steps of the casino, toward the lakefront, my hands deep in my pockets. Everything is so still and quiet. When I reach the sidewalk in front of the water, I draw in a deep breath, inhaling, staring out at the water…
And I stop breathing.
Everything stops, actually: the blood in my veins, the birdcalls from overhead, the soft breeze that was drifting over my skin… It all stops, because the world itself stops spinning.
Rising out of the water like a dark-haired mermaid, skin as pale as snow…
She’s here.
She’s back.
Charaxus.
She ascends the steps leading out of the water like an armored goddess, lake water sluicing from beneath her armored plates. I fly toward her as if I have wings, my arms flung around her, and I kiss her fiercely, kiss her like I’ve been longing to kiss her all of these months…
I kiss her as if no time has passed at all.
She's holding me so tightly that I may be in danger of bruised ribs, but I love it, love the way she’s holding me, as if she’s never going to let go.
Not this time.
“You’ve got to stop appearing in water,” I tease her, breathless when we break apart. There are tears streaming down my face, and I’m really in no great emotional space to be joking, but I can’t help it. “I mean, your armor could have weighed you down, and then I’d have to rescue you again...”
“You’ll always rescue me,” she says, a soft smile curving her lips, “and I’ll always rescue you. That’s the way it was meant to be. We’ll save each other. And find each other. How have you been, beloved?” she asks me, and then she’s sinking to her knees, her arms around my middle as she buries her face between my breasts, inhaling me deeply. I’m wearing a t-shirt and jeans, really not sexy at all. I’ve been hanging artwork all day. But when she breathes me in, my heart rises inside of me, and I cup her cheeks with my hands, tilting her beautiful face up toward mine.
“I’ve been missing you,” I whisper to her, tears falling from my eyes. “What took you so long?”
“I had to come to you across worlds, beloved. I’m sorry for the delay.” There are tears in her eyes, too, as she stands, lifting me up by the waist, my legs sliding effortlessly over her hips, her hands on my ass as I kiss her again—fiercely.
There’s a storm flickering on the very edge of the horizon as my dark and stormy knight holds me against her, love and lust sparking from her eyes. Her cool hand slips beneath my t-shirt.
“Shouldn’t we go home for this?” I ask, grinning, dipping my head back and exposing my neck to her. She kisses it, licking it, her mouth like fire against me.
“I’m already home,” she growls, as my hands catch in her beautiful black hair.
There are a few stars twinkling overhead, but they’re soon swallowed up by the storm as Charaxus and I run for the trees in the woods, laughing until we find cover, divesting one another of armor, t-shirt, boots, sneakers.
We fall into the familiar, timeworn patterns of each other, reveling in our dream come true.
The End
Author’s Note
A question that every author gets asked at some point in their writing career is, “Are you anything like your characters?” The answer is different for every author, of course. Some say, “My characters are nothing like me,” while others admit, “There’s a little bit of me in every character I write.”
In my case, the latter is true.
Like me, Holly, the protagonist of A Knight to Remember, collects unicorns. Elizabeth from The Protector plays violin, like I do. Josie from Forever and a Knight lost someone close to her and wrestled with that pain; so did I.
And, like Mara in the book you just read, when I was eighteen, I became homeless for being gay.
Mara and I dealt with that pain differently, and the circumstances around our becoming homeless weren't the same, though some details that I endured were purposefully put into this story. I was told that I had to leave in a very short amount of time, and—like Mara—I struggled to figure out what I should possibly take with me. What, of my life, was precious enough to stuff into a duffel bag. I didn’t know where to go, where to sleep, where I was going to get food, and it was surreal, standing outside, gripping the strap of that duffel bag, not knowing.
Feeling so alone that my heart shattered.
My story is sadly, heartbreakingly, not unique. Up to forty percent of our homeless youth in America identify as being somewhere on the LGBTQ spectrum. Forty percent. That’s not just a number; that’s an epidemic.
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