by Jodi Meadows
“That wasn’t an answer.” Maybe it was, but I needed to hear the words.
He drew a sharp breath as he scooped up the masks. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since we met. Never out of pity. Only because I think you’re amazing and beautiful. You make me happy.”
I hugged myself, blinking away tears and bitterness. “It’s hard to believe that.”
“Never doubt it.” He cupped his hand over my cheek, sharing faint warmth. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“You can make it up to me.” I wanted to touch him, but in spite of the ease of dancing, and the way he stood close now, it still felt off-limits. The masks were gone. “And you don’t have to care what anyone else thinks. Much.”
“I have to care what the Council thinks. Technically, you’re still—” He glanced toward the center of Heart, templelight shining on his face. “They won’t understand.”
About a five-thousand-year-old teenager and a nosoul? I didn’t understand it, either, but that didn’t change what I wanted. “I’m doing everything they’ve ordered. We’ll worry about them if they complain.”
He faced me again, but it was too dark to see the subtleties of his expression. “Earlier you said, ‘Let’s go home.’ You’ve never called it home before.” There was a pause where I could have responded, but I left it filled only with starlight and misted breath. “Do you”—he shifted his weight—“want this relationship? You and me?”
“Do you remember what I told you in the cabin before I knew who you were? How I’d always felt about Dossam?” I was dizzy with hope and cold and need.
“Not like I could forget.” He stepped closer, blocking the wind. “I was so nervous after. I was afraid you’d be disappointed when you found out I’m just me.”
“I liked you before that. The piano was extra.” I waited, breath heavy in my chest, until finally I whispered, “You didn’t say whether you wanted this.”
He slid his fingers through my hair, arranging it over my shoulders. “Do you remember when I kissed you? I felt like a starving man given a feast.”
If we weren’t in the middle of a dark street, I’d ask him to refresh my memory, but I couldn’t feel my nose and fingertips anymore, so I echoed, “Not like I could forget.”
His hands drifted down my arms. “Well then. Good. I’m relieved.”
“As if I’d have said no.” I turned up my face and gasped again when he brushed a kiss across my mouth. So casual, like this was how life would be from now on. Sam would kiss me. I’d kiss him. “Let’s go before I freeze. I didn’t plan for a meandering walk home.”
“Home, then.” Sam threaded his fingers with mine. His fingers were cold, too. “I regret I didn’t wear a jacket, or I’d give it to you.”
“I still have my wings. It wouldn’t fit.”
“I’d carry them for you.”
“They’re attached to the dress. It was the only way I could get them to stay.”
He squeezed my hand, tone mischievous. “In that case, I’d be especially happy to carry the wings.”
“Sam!”
“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen you without clothes.”
“Sam!” The blush warmed me as I searched for something to tease him about in return, but just as I remembered a few of his embarrassing missteps during dance practice, a blue light flashed across the street. I blinked away stars.
Sam dropped to the ground and choked on a wordless shout. “Ana.” He clutched his left arm, face twisted with agony. “Ana, run.”
Another dagger of light cut across the night, and the cobblestone just in front of my toes sizzled.
Someone was trying to kill us.
Chapter 23
Thunderstorm
I LUNGED FOR Sam. Either our attacker had bad aim, or they weren’t really trying to kill us, just make us think they were. Still, I didn’t want even a gr“ We need to run.” I tugged on his right arm; he kept his palm clamped over the left, which undoubtedly meant bad things, but another spear of light stabbed my wing and there was no time to fret over him. The burning silk smelled like ash. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”
His expression twisted, but he hauled himself up with a grunt. “It’s okay,” he said. “Not even bleeding.”
Shadows concealed our attacker, but it looked as though the shots had come from between two fir trees near the intersection. That was behind us, so they must have followed us from the masquerade. The same person who’d followed me the other night?
I freed my knife from my hair. I’d loathed it before, but they’d shot Sam. They’d get a hole in them if I had a chance.
Our footsteps pounded on the cobblestones as we ran. My stupid wings caught air and slowed me, so when I had both hands free, I clutched the wire frame and stabbed my knife through the silk, cutting gashes. I did the same to the other wing.
I led Sam along the left edge of the street, where starlight wouldn’t silhouette us and moonlight wouldn’t shine. If I’d been more confident, I’d have cut through yards, but my sense of direction was even worse in the dark. I wouldn’t recognize whatever street we came to.
The attacker continued shooting, bright bursts to our right. I glanced over my shoulder, but our pursuer hid in the shadows across the street, somewhere behind us.
“This road!” Sam cried. We turned left, onto another tree-lined street. I took a fistful of his shirt and, as soon as we were around the corner, dragged him into the brush. Pine needles rustled, and the sudden shift must have twinged his arm because he cursed, but we took cover behind a bush and kept as still as possible.
Mindful of my knife and his injury, I put my arms around him and drew him close. His heart sped beneath my hand, and his breath hissed in quiet gasps. I petted his cheek while we waited for our attacker to run past, but the street remained empty.
My fingers stiffened around the knife handle as I began to shiver again, both with fear and adrenaline. By Sam’s ear, I whispered, “I’m going to look.”
“Don’t.” He clutched my waist. “You’ll get hurt.”
“You already are. We have to get to safety.” I slipped from his grasp, easy when I was covered in silk. “I’m just going to check if they’re gone.”
He shook his head but didn’t try to stop me again.
Before I left, I bent the wires of my wings closer to my body, out of my way. Shredded silk dripped from ruined wings.
I tiptoed onto the road, straining my ears for noises that didn’t belong, but the thud of my own heartbeat was distracting. Couldn’t ignore it, either, or the rustle of evergreen boughs.
Wood snapped. I searched for the source, but shadows dusted the street like charcoal. One shadow moved, darker than the others.
I froze, stupidly obvious in my silly dress and tattered wings. Moonlight leaked across the street; I could half feel it on my skin, like a breath no warmer than the night. “Who’s there?”
Behind me, Sam let out a string of curses.
“There’s no harm in asking,” I muttered. “They’ve already shot at us.”
I shouldn’t have spoken. A targeting light came from the shadow that had moved, and hit my left wing. Wire melted. I yelped and started running, shoes pounding on the cobblestones. Crashing sounds in the bushes signaled Sam coming after me, but when I looked, a new person emerged.
A large figure barreled onto the street, easily catching up to me. I pushed myself harder, but I was cold and tired. He grabbed my wing and jerked me around. I stared at a white mask that covered his entire face.
I struggled in the direction I’d left Sam, but my attacker seized my arm and threw me to the ground. Stinging raced through my elbow and thigh; my knife, which of course I’d forgotten about, skittered away. Warmth oozed as I scrambled to my feet.
He shoved me again.
I crawled toward my knife, just two steps away. Before I could reach it, my attacker plucked me off the ground and hurled me in the opposite direction. I screamed as limbs banged against stone. Blackn
ess gripped me as I rolled onto my back, groaning at sharp fires everywhere.
Something dull hit my ribs. His shoe. I let out two weak oofs, and footsteps retreated. A pair of them, perhaps, but I couldn’t look to see. My whole body rang with numbness, cold, and heat from forming bruises.
I had to find Sam. My arms shook as I lifted myself to my elbows. Pain flared where the skin had scraped off, but it drove me all the way to sitting to avoid more stinging. “Sam?” I sounded like a frog as I lurched to my feet.
The knife was where I’d dropped it. I stumbled, retrieved it in case our attackers returned, and shambled toward the bush. My whole body felt like a bruise.
Sam was prone on the dead grass. I dropped to my knees, sheathed my knife, and touched his throat. His pulse beat steadily beneath my questing fingers. “Wake up.” I cupped his cheek; his skin was cold.
He moaned and opened his eyes, but couldn’t seem to focus. “Someone hit me.”
“Let’s go. They might come back.”
“Are you okay?” He sat up and swayed. “I don’t think I am.”
“You’ll live.” We helped each other limp toward safety. If our attackers had returned, they could have killed us both and we couldn’t have done much about it.
It seemed like it took hours to get back to the house, and the streets of Heart were such that you could wander that long without ever meeting anyone until the market field, so there was no one to help us. Not even Stef, who lived next door. Though since we didn’t know who attacked us, it was probably better that we didn’t see anyone.
Sam flicked on the lights as we staggered inside. We winced at the brightness, but that pain was minor compared to everything else.
“You look awful.” Before I remembered, I leaned on the wall for balance while I kicked off my shoes. The white stone, the same that ran around the city and doorless temple, chose that moment to pulse like a heartbeat. I recoiled and tripped over my half-off shoes, then landed on my butt next to a piano leg. My tailbone ached. “Ow.”
“So do you.” Dirt and blood streaked his face, and his sleeve hung open to reveal a nasty burn on his arm, blistered and red in the middle and black around the edges. He saw where my gaze landed, and grimaced. “It will heal.”
“We should call someone. A medic. The Council.” I dragged myself to my feet. “They need to know, right?”
He nodded. “I’ll call Sine while I check that the house is empty. Stay here.”
“Nope. Going with you.” One advantage of our condition: He couldn’t stop me. “Why Sine, not Meuric?”
“I trust Sine.” He drew a ragged breath and braced himself on the wall as he headed for the stairs. The shelves groaned protest, but they held until he reached the banister. His ascent was slow — the blow to the head must have disoriented him worse than he let on — so I went behind, ready to catch him should he lose his balance. Well, I could soften his landing when we hit the floor. Maybe.
After he made a quick call and we checked all the rooms, I followed him into his washroom.
“She said she’ll look for a medic to send over,” he said, “but it’s late and people are still hard to contact after the rededication.”
“At this point, I’d rather just take every painkiller in the house and go to sleep.”
He gave me a weak smile. “Yeah.”
While he reached behind the curtain and turned on the spray, I fished out a handful of pills for him and filled a glass of water. He took them without complaint; I took a handful myself.
“Are you going to stay in here while I shower?”
“Oh, no.” I glanced at his arm. “We should put something on that. The water will hurt.”
“Right.” He slouched on the edge of the tub and didn’t complain when I helped him pull off his shirt, careful of the blisters. I placed gauze over his burn, then wrapped it in a waterproof bandage and moved to leave. “Hey.”
I waited at the door where steam billowed out.
He met my eyes, suddenly focused. “Don’t go far.” When I nodded, he closed the door halfway, enough that I couldn’t see him, but I could see his shadow in the steamy mirror while he undressed and then vanished behind the shower curtain.
After he finished, he helped me clean and bandage my scrapes before I headed into the other room for my turn. Hot water soaked through my muscles, easing some of the strain from hours of dancing, and getting thrown around the street. Some, but not nearly enough.
Nightgown-clad, I emerged to find him asleep on my bed. My painkillers had kicked in while I squeezed water from my hair, so I hoped that meant his had, too. I sat next to him. “Wake up, sleepy.”
“I am awake.”
“Prove it.”
He opened his eyes and managed a smirk. “See?”
I touched his chin. “No one mentioned that you get beat up after the masquerade. Seems counter to all the romance.”
Sam pushed himself vertical and sat next to me. Our socked feet hung off the edge of the bed. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“You had a plan?” From where we sat, my butterfly dress was visible on the washroom floor, bent and shredded wings and all. Cheeks hot, I remembered what he’d suggested just before someone shot him.
His eyes found the dress, too. “I was teasing about that. Unless you were looking forward to it. Then I meant every word.”
“Ask me tomorrow.” The painkillers had numbed the aches across my body, but my mind felt ready to explode from today. “Do you know who attacked us?”
Sam shook his head, then groaned and rested his face in his palms. “I think this is going to hurt for days. No, I don’t know. I have suspicions, but I didn’t see anyone. Did you?”
“I think there were two. One shooting, who I didn’t see, and then a big man with a mask covering his entire face.”
“That could describe a lot of people.”
“He probably knocked you out so you wouldn’t be able to identify him.” Sam might have figured it out, based on other physical clues and who was currently what age and which gender. I was the only one in the world who wouldn’t be able to even guess. A thousand emotions I thought I’d moved past came rushing back.
“Other than scrapes and bruises, you’re unhurt?”
“Sure.” But the whole situation infuriated me. There was Sam with his experience and the way he kept alternating between friendly and more than friendly; I’d been attacked somewhere I should have felt safe — creepy white stone walls notwithstanding — and then I was constantly reminded that I was the only nosoul in existence. The only person who didn’t see the beginning of Heart, or know everyone, or have something to contribute.
The butterfly costume had been the real me. Like me, it hadn’t lasted long. Wouldn’t be there in the morning.
I marched into the washroom and scooped up the silk and wire shreds. Futilely, I yanked at it as though I could rip it in two, but it was too strong, even destroyed.
With a wordless shriek, I flung it across the washroom, picked it up and threw it again. Wire clattered across stone and wood, but no matter how many times I hurled the costume remnants, I didn’t feel better. It was too light, too easy, but there was nothing heavier I could throw, nothing that was mine, anyway.
Everything here was Sam’s.
Costume included.
“Ana?”
“What?” I yelled, and spun to face him.
He stood in the washroom doorway, wearing confusion and something I couldn’t identify. Pain? His head hurt. My fit probably made things worse.
I swallowed back tears. “Sorry. Maybe, since we don’t know who did a bad job of trying to kill us, we should just go to bed.” That would be better than subjecting either of us to this, and if I accidentally cried, only my pillow would witness it.
His gaze traveled from me to the costume, and the line between his eyes said he’d figured out why I was so angry. “I want to tell you something.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” I wanted to scre
am and kick things, but I couldn’t do that if he tried to make me feel better.
No, I wanted to be back at the masquerade, so close I could hear his heart beating over the music. I wanted that moment when there was no question who he was and I had a brave impulse — and I kissed him. I wanted him to need me like that again.
“I want to feel real.” The words escaped before I realized, and I’d have fled the washroom in horror if he hadn’t been standing in the doorway. Instead, I turned away, leaned on the counter, and squeezed my eyes shut. Warmth trickled out.
His good arm circled my waist. “You feel real to me.” When he tugged me toward him, I went. I didn’t know what else to do. “I can’t imagine what’s going on inside you now.”
“Everything.” I mumbled into his nightshirt. “There’s a thunderstorm inside me, swirling everything around.”
He kissed the top of my head and didn’t let go.
“Can’t you make it stop?” My throat ached with struggling not to cry more. I hated this, halfway hated him, except how I wanted him as much as I wanted music.
“I’d give anything to make things right for you.” He caressed my cheek, my hair, my back. Everywhere he touched, the angry fires cooled. I wished he’d touch my heart. “But I can’t. I can help, but the hard work is all up to you. If you don’t feel real, no one else can do it for you. I promise, though, you’ve always felt real to me. From the moment I saw you jump off the cliff.”
“Sometimes I still feel like I’m jumping off the cliff.”
He nodded and kissed my head again. “Can I tell you something?”
If he felt that strongly about it, I had little choice. “Okay.”
“Come out of the washroom.” He nudged me toward the door. “It won’t make your thunderstorm stop, but maybe it will help. Proof you’re real to me. Important.”
I looked up and sought his haggard face, his eyes. How could I be important? I was an afterthought, five thousand years later. A mistake, because Ciana was gone. I was the dissonant note on the end of a masterpiece symphony. I was the brushstroke that ruined the painting.
