Kiss Kiss

by Various Authors

  “Okay, class. That’s enough for today.” Ms. Swift blows her whistle.

  Perpetua gives my arm one last jerk for good measure, then thrusts it away. My numb limb falls lifelessly to the ground. She steps over my body and struts away, leaving with an air of superiority. Stu blows me a secret kiss before he and Jessica leave the classroom arm in arm.

  “Are you all right?” Bishop rushes to my rescue and lifts me.

  “If you didn’t aggravate Perpetua, maybe she’d leave you alone,” Sam lectures, standing with her arms crossed, shaking her head.

  I give her a dirty look. Does she really think that being nice to Perpetua will make a difference?

  “I saw the way you prodded her in Physics,” she continues.

  “I’m not the one who’s delusional, Sam. She thinks I stole some stupid crystal of hers.”

  “Ms. Swift, I think you should have stopped the match. You shouldn’t have paired Sera with Perpetua. Sera didn’t have a chance,” Bishop explains to Ms. Swift when she approaches.

  I lean my head into Bishop’s shoulder and cling to his waist. Having my butt kicked is worth the price of allowing Bishop to feel like he still needs to protect me.

  Ms. Swift only glances between Bishop and me with a quizzical expression. But when she doesn’t respond to his complaint, an anxious flutter surges through my body. I hope she won’t contradict him and explain why she thinks I can handle Perpetua. I’m sure Professor Raunnebaum has filled her in on my extracurricular activities.

  “Ah, Sera—why don’t you stay and chat for a moment?” Ms. Swift asks.

  “Will you be okay?” Bishop tilts my face up toward his and searches my eyes.

  “Of course,” I say, still acting fragile. Nervousness flutters through my body. I lift on my tiptoes and give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you at the apartment.”

  Bishop and Sam leave, and I turn to Ms. Swift.

  “Sera, why don’t you tell me why you let Perpetua win?” She walks to the rack of weapons and selects a machete from the wall.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I lie.

  “I think you do.” She strolls to the middle of the room, twirling the large knife. The blade flashes every time it catches the light.

  “There’s no reason I can think of for you to throw a fight.” The machete flips, whirling in the air. She catches the hilt and begins to pace.

  “Why would you think I could beat a Protector? I’m just a Wand—”

  Ms. Swift hurls the machete. It flies across the room, racing toward my face.

  ::18::

  Closing In

  Without realizing it, I lift my hands to stop the machete. When I comprehend what I’ve done, the blade sits an inch from my nose, its death trail halted between the palms of my hands. I caught it. I caught the freakin’ thing! My eyes bulge, and I release the knife from shock. It drops to the floor in front of my feet with a loud clank.

  “Are you out of your mind?” I scream. My heart races.

  Ms. Swift walks forward and nonchalantly snatches the blade from the floor and twirls it again.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I expect you to come to the next class ready to show me your full potential, Miss Parrish.” She tosses the machete into the air again. Her movements are so fast, it appears as though there are three knives instead of one. “Do I make myself clear?” She fixes me with a pointed stare.

  Trembling, I nod my head and dart for the door before she can test whether I can save myself from being split in half by a machete a second time.

  I run out of the training room, through the gymnasium, and into the pitch-black tunnel toward Olde Town. Is she out of her mind? How did she know that I could even catch that thing? I could have died! My stomach churns, remembering the shining blade and my horrified eyes reflecting back at me.

  Turner’s silhouette appears in the light at the end of the tunnel. “What’s wrong?” he asks, assessing my fearful face.

  I don’t answer, I just keep moving. When I race past him, he grabs my arm and spins me back to face him.

  “What’s going on, Sera?”

  “Nothing!” I yank my arm away and keep walking. He follows as I stomp across the courtyard. Students turn to watch. I look around at their curious faces, and then my eyes meet Bishop’s. He stands at the raptor entrance gate with a furious look on his face. His fists drop to his side, and he races forward.

  “What did you do to her?” he yells across the courtyard, pointing at Turner. His jaw clenches. Anger visibly pulses through his body, turning his face red with emotion.

  “He didn’t do anything, Bishop.” I rush to him, pushing my palms into his chest to hold him back.

  “What’s going on, then?” He looks at me and back at Turner. “I can see you’re upset. I sensed fear in your emotions all the way across the building.”

  “It’s nothing.” I look at Turner who stares at me with his arms crossed, his mouth forced into a line. Bishop struggles to get around me, but I push back even harder. Another fight between the two will only make things worse.

  “What do we have here?” Terease appears. She glides between us, sucking in the tension like perfumed-laced air as it swirls around her face.

  Bishop stiffens, drops his arms over my shoulder, and pulls me closer.

  “It’s nothing, Terease,” I offer in the calmest voice I can muster.

  “A misunderstanding,” Turner suggests casually.

  Terease flings her silky black bob around and faces Bishop. “Is this true, Bishop?” She crosses her arms.

  His body tightens into a statue. He stares at Turner with revulsion. “A misunderstanding,” Bishop finally repeats through grinding teeth.

  I relax when he says the words, knowing there’s no reason for Terease to reprimand us.

  “Fine,” Terease relents, her red lips twist over the words. I can tell she hoped for a confrontation. For some reason, she enjoys the hostility between them. “I’ll be watching.” She shoots us a warning with her horrid obsidian eyes. We look away, not wanting to invite her into our minds.

  “Go!” she screams.

  The city, filled with students, has come to a complete halt to silently watch the turbulent exchange.

  Bishop and I turn to leave. When I glance back over my shoulder, Turner stands next to the obelisk with his arms crossed, staring at me.

  •

  I rush into the apartment, stomping toward my bedroom.

  “Hold on, Sera,” Bishop requests.

  “I already told you, Max, nothing happened!” I explode, using his first name because I know he hates it. He’s made me so angry, I can’t help it. The entire walk to the apartment consisted of Bishop attempting to coerce me into telling him that Turner did something to me. It’s as though he wants it to be true, a reason to hate his brother.

  Of course, my life would be made a million times easier if I could just tell Bishop the truth. Ms. Swift almost killed me with a machete. But she didn’t, because somehow, I saved myself. She knew I would. I’m a better fighter than you realize and possibly better than you. But that information will hurt him, and I can’t tell him yet. Can I tell him before Miss Swift’s next class on Friday? What will she do if I don’t practice to my full potential?

  “Sera, I’m sorry.” I turn to face him before I open my bedroom door. He walks across the room with his arms open. “I made a mistake. If you say that Turner had nothing to do with upsetting you, then I believe you.” He rubs the length of my arms and searches my eyes for an acceptance of his apology.

  “I promise,” I say. “He had nothing to do with anything.”

  “I believe you.” He leans in and wraps his long arms around my waist. “If there’s anything you want to talk about, I’ll be in my room.” He holds me at arm’s length. “Okay?”

  “I think I just want to be alone for a little while. I’ll meet you and Sam for dinner later.” I look around his shoulder. Sam peeks out of her bedroom door, assessin
g the situation. She shakes her head and retreats without saying a word.

  I disappear into my room and lean my back against the closed door, letting out a long exhale. Bishop hesitates on the other side, but finally, his footsteps move away.

  The long day, filled with so much drama, exhausts me. I drop onto my bed and let out a dramatic moan. I burrow into my pillow, then kick off my shoes and curl into a fetal position.

  I want to rest, but I can’t. My oath package sits nearby, taunting me to look inside.

  Well-worn leather encases the ancient-looking box. Gold rivets line the edges. A shining Society of Wanderers crest spreads across the front. A ribbon of Latin text reading Tempus Rerum Imperator floats above a gold obelisk, the sun, and its shining beams of light. A handless clock encircles the scene. I run my hands over the miniature gilt relief, taking the time to trace the edges of each rivet with my fingertip.

  I stare at the box for at least an hour before I finally open it. I place my thumb on the recognition pad. The latch releases with the touch of my finger, and then I lift the top. The hinges lock open and into place.

  There are many items inside, but the one I zero in on immediately is a cell phone. I haven’t owned one since I lost mine when I moved to Chicago. My other self used this phone in London, the day I wandered to see Bishop over the summer. I’m certain.

  As items from that day in London appear in my life—the outfit and the cell phone—I sense something closing in. But what it means, I’m not sure. I toss the phone into the box.

  Next, I pick up the neatly folded uniform. Holding it at a distance, I get a better look. The military-style suit is a fitted gray jacket with black piping, leather shoulder pads, and a metal emblem on the upper arm. Gray slacks, a black hooded cloak, and a pair of steel-toe boots rest inside the case. Obviously I’m expected to wear this on the day of oaths. The thought makes me nervous.

  I pick up the Society of Wanderers handbook and quickly flip through. Whatever it says, I don’t care. I drop it into the box and move on to the next item, a shiny gold credit card.

  My name is embossed in silver letters. When tilting the prismatic reflective surface perfectly with the light, my face appears in 3-D, hovering above the card. Through gossip, I’ve heard the credit card has no spending limit. As unsettling as this is, my mind immediately drifts to a pair of spiky heels I admired in a downtown store window. Knowing Gabe, they’re probably already in my new wardrobe. I just have to get on the floor in the closet and look.

  The last item is my Wandering compass. The leather strap is unique, embossed with the symbol of a Wanderer—feathered wings.

  I reach to close the top of the package, then stop. Instead, I lean in closer to look at a miniature oil painting mounted on the inside of the box within an ornate Victorian frame. Cracks spread along the surface, but their deep grooves don’t mar the beauty of the painting. In puffy clouds, angels swoop from the sky, standing on silver disks. An obelisk sits to one side in front of a beaming sun. Figures on the ground look as though they’re running. Running to wander, I suppose. I squint, looking to see their faces, but time has worn their expressions away.

  The announcement for dinner pulls me out of the painting. I roll out of bed and head for the mirror, pinch my cheeks, and then pull my hair into one low braid. In the closet, I find an outfit to wear, something nice enough for dinner, but also comfortable enough to secretly fight Hologram Turner later.

  When I walk out of the apartment, Bishop and Sam have already left. In the hall, some students are overloaded with shopping bags, rushing to their apartments from outings with their shiny new credit cards. Excitement, much like that of Christmas, buzzes through the school. The scene is no different when I reach the dining room.

  Quinn waves as he zooms past on a brand new long-board skateboard. Scarlett and Agnes appear with matching haircuts, dyed light pink. One hairdo is cropped with spikes; the other is rolled in soft curls like a 1940s pinup girl. Perpetua walks ahead in a new slutty outfit and the same spiky heels I had been dreaming about. Annoyed, I hang back until she takes her normal seat. Then I dart for mine.

  “Check it out.” Macey holds up her arm and jiggles a new stack of multicolored bangles around her wrist.

  “Sweet!” I act happy. Why shouldn’t I be?

  “So what have you bought so far?” She leans in with a smile.

  “Nothing.”

  She shoots me a look of horror.

  “Yet,” I quickly add. This seems to calm her.

  “We have to plan a shopping excursion, ASAP!” She reaches for her menu and points to an entrée for the waiter hovering behind her.

  “Sure. Yeah, whenever you want,” I agree as I point to lasagna on the menu.

  “Ser—ra,” Macey whines. “You should be excited. And you don’t sound like you’re excited. Can you please be excited?” Her words trail into a high pitch, her eyes pop wide, and her dark curls bounce.

  “I’m excited!” I throw my hands in the air to please her.

  She gives me another disapproving look. “I’ll get into it, eventually,” I promise. “It just seems so—”

  “What?” Sam asks, joining our conversation.

  “It seems—superfluous.” I sip my water.

  “That’s a big word for you, Sera,” Sam says. “Have you been hitting the S.A.T. books?” she asks with a laugh.

  I kick her leg underneath the table.

  “Will you ever grow up?” she yells.

  “You love me,” I insist with a smirk.

  She rolls her eyes as she always does when she disapproves, but instead of agitating the conversation further, her gaze falls behind me.

  I turn. Bishop strolls into the dining room with a shopping bag under his arm.

  “You’ve been shopping, too?” I ask him when he sits on the bench next to me, his back facing the table.

  “No, not really.” He smiles, handing over the bag.

  “What is it, then?” I ask, peeking in.

  “A present.” His beautiful eyes sparkle, smiling back. “Open it.”

  I pull out a box. Marbled sage and maroon swirls stretch across the wrapping paper. An emerald-green velvet ribbon encircles the width with a large loopy bow.

  “This is so beautiful, I don’t even want to open it.” I gaze at him, overwhelmed with his thoughtfulness.

  “Go ahead.” He nudges me playfully.

  My hand skims under the tape at the ends. The wrapping paper pops open. Carefully, I set the package on the dining table, reach into the open end, and slide out a hardbound book.

  The green crushed velvet cover seems to move with the light. My fingers sweep over the front. The fabric changes hues, from light to dark, with each pass of my hand. I flip the book open. The edges of each page are rough and unfinished, and the paper is thick and textured as though it’s handmade.

  On the first page, in large hand-printed calligraphy, says the words, “My Seraphina.”

  “You made this?” I ask in disbelief.

  “Keep flipping,” he urges.

  I slide my hand to the edge, folding my fingertips around the deckle-edged page and flip to a letter—the first love letter he ever wrote to me, the day after our first date, just one of his many beautiful, romantic letters. I carefully flip again and again. The entire book is filled with the love letters he’s written. I stop on the last one—the one stolen from me in London.

  “How?” I ask, confused.

  “I wrote duplicates of each one, knowing that I could give this to you for our first anniversary, but I can’t wait that long. So whatever today is will have to do.” His hand reaches for mine. “Do you like it?”

  “I absolutely adore it,” I say, but I don’t smile. The gift touches me deeply. I lean into his chest and slide my arms in and under his open blazer, locking my fingers tightly behind his back. The entire room disappears and in my mind, we’re alone. I’m huddled into Bishop’s strong arms and wrapped in our perfect relationship.

  ::19
::

  Selfish

  Guilt surges through me. After Bishop gave me the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received, I lied to him. I told him that I had plans with Aunt Mona, only so I could face off with Hologram Turner again.

  Staring into the classroom mirror, I search for the answer to why I’m so selfish. What’s wrong with me? My life is perfect in every way: perfect boyfriend, perfect school, perfect everything. Why do I need to have a mom too? I’ve gone sixteen years without her. Why can’t I just let Terease and the Society of Wanderers hunt Cece and the Underground by themselves? If capable, my mom will come and find me when she’s saved.

  I think she will.

  And that’s my problem, right there. If she’s capable, maybe she won’t come to find me. Maybe she doesn’t need me the way I need her. If she really has been alive all this time, why hasn’t she come looking for me? Given the opportunity, she may never look for me, and I’d lose her in time forever. Because maybe—she doesn’t care.

  The only way I’ll know for sure is to find her myself. If I can see her, face-to-face, I can ask her the things I’ve wondered about since I discovered she was still alive. Then, if she wants to, she can leave.

  But at least then I’ll know the truth. I need to do this for myself, to know my own truths. I need to be a better fighter, I need the rosary necklace, and I need to find her again.

  I stretch out as the hologram machine counts down. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Hologram number—thirty-seven—on.” The robotic voice announces. A fizzled haze of electricity appears, but something’s different. When Hologram Turner solidifies and turns, he’s dressed in a pair of slacks, a vest, and a long-sleeve shirt. Not an outfit for fighting.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, fisting my hands on my hips. “You’ve changed the hologram.”

  “I didn’t say you’d be fighting the same routine every time.” He struts forward. “I’ve seen how you’ve mastered the other holograms over time. I can’t allow you the upper hand, can I?” His eyebrows arch and his lips curl at one side.