Planeswalker

by Chloe Adler

  Arch appears in front of me, his hand outstretched, and I take it, unused to seeing him or any of the men so dressed up. They’re all wearing white tuxes, which fit each man perfectly. But Arch’s is a little different, almost a light cream with darker satin lapels. I look at his feet and bite back a giggle. A fancy, dressed-up giant with cream-colored wing tips. It works.

  He walks me into the atrium, kisses the back of my hand and lets go to take his place among the men. I’m unused to seeing him be so . . . nice and it lights up my insides. Is he happy to see me or is it the wedding that’s washed away his sandpaper exterior?

  “Amaya.” Candy shuffles toward me on six-inch silver heels that match her hair and clasps my hands. Jules lifts her train, walking behind her. The fairy’s eyes glisten and dance. She leans into me. “Thank you.”

  I sway back before I can stop myself, unable to trust the kindness she’s shown me since our tumultuous beginning. We have come a very long way since I wanted to rip her silver tresses out of her head one hair at a time. Behind her, Jules narrows her eyes at me. She may as well throw grenades. Guess theory number two was correct. It’s surreal, my best friend acting like my enemy and my previous enemy acting like my best friend. “For what?”

  “For what? For my husband!”

  I huff. “It’s the least I could do after you saved my life.” She’s right, though. She was cruel and I still stuck my neck out for her, but didn’t she do the same for me? Yes, yes she did.

  “That doesn’t count. You saved mine as well.” She closes the distance between us and kisses my cheek. It feels like an electric shock and I jerk.

  She giggles, covering her mouth. “Sorry, I’m brimming with energy.” She turns to walk back to her place under an archway made of vines and steepled in white flowers.

  Yep, Candy wanted a white wedding. Not just for the bride, but for everyone, so we’re all wearing her apparent favorite color. Even me in the white silk sheath and Jules too, who I haven’t seen in anything but black since . . . ever.

  Jules approaches me and holds out her fist for some dap. I hesitate. She doesn’t smile. “We good?” Her voice isn’t mean but it’s not kind either. I know Jules. She’s doing this so we can get through the ceremony without incident, but we’re not really good. The tight set of her jaw, the light missing in her eyes, the terse sound of her voice . . . she may be able to pull a judge’s wig of wool over someone else’s eyes but not mine. I want to take that wig, throw it underfoot and stomp on it just to make a scene. But I can’t. Not here and not now.

  “We good.” I bump my fist against hers.

  She drops her hand and spins to walk away from me. If we were actually good, she’d have linked arms with me but nope, she leaves me staring after her retreating behind.

  I follow, seething with anger. This is my house, she’s the guest, so why do I have to follow her? I bring my thumb up but pull it back down before I can start chewing, clasping my hands together instead.

  Everyone stands—there are no chairs before the archway—and I move next to Arch. Candy waits at the front with Vasily at her side. He must be giving her away. My hand moves to my chest, rubbing away the ache the loving visual instills in my heart. But . . . why are they waiting under the archway?

  A moment later, Forrest, sitting at a white baby grand piano I hadn’t noticed before, starts playing the wedding march. Sabin appears and I do a double take. “They’ve got it backward,” I whisper to Arch.

  “We tried to explain that to Candy but this is how she wanted it. She said there was no way she was going to wait out of sight until it was her turn to walk down the aisle.” He shrugs.

  Good for her. “I kinda like it.” Even though she has to marry someone to be free, at least she’s doing it on her own terms. And for love. Her face lights up when Sabin walks down the center aisle in a silver tuxedo, flanked with the flowers and shrubs. His long hair, which grew back remarkably fast, as did Candy’s, sweeps below the collar of his shirt.

  When he reaches his beloved he stretches out his hand and takes hers, kissing her palm and then repeats the action on her other hand. “I love you, Harlesque.” He smiles down at her, all pearly whites.

  She cups his boyish face, looks into his deep blue eyes and kisses him.

  I exchange a glance with Arch, who shrugs. “Makin’ up their own rules, I guess,” I mutter.

  He proffers a smile that lights up his rugged face, a smile I’ve never seen before on him, and my breath catches in my throat.

  Forrest finishes playing the march and walks over to me. He holds out his hand and I glance at Arch before taking it. He’s focused on the couple and I slip my hand into Forrest’s marble white one.

  Bodhi begins the nuptials. “Do you, Harlesque of Tara, known on Earth as Candy, take Sabin to be your fae wedded husband? To fly next to him always, lighten his pain with kisses and follow him throughout the realms of both Earth and Tara for long as you wish to do so?”

  Candy looks up at Sabin through her silvery lashes. “I do.”

  “And do you, Sabin of Tara, take Harlesque of Tara as your fae wedded wife? To defer to in all matters, fly through both realms and always remain at her side for as long she will have you?”

  I peek at Arch who mouths, Candy wrote them.

  Well good for her. She’s not being too careful after being enslaved for practically her entire life. I approve of the loophole.

  “I do.” Sabin takes her hand. Bodhi hands him an open silver box and Sabin removes a glittering ring and places it on her finger.

  She squeals and throws her arms around him before Bodhi can tell them to kiss. They’re making out and it’s adorable.

  “I now proclaim you husband and wife—both on Earth and on Tara.”

  Sabin picks her up and spins her around.

  Forrest lets go of my hand and steps forward. He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket. “I wrote this poem for the two of you.” Then he clears his throat and reads.

  * * *

  when i look at your want

  i see only your have

  time goes by

  the two of you nestled in your oneness

  complete within

  abandon all thought

  * * *

  release, relinquish, relish.

  real-time, now, only

  is all.

  * * *

  hope

  trust

  beauty

  love

  * * *

  side by side

  infinite desire.

  * * *

  Everyone claps. Sabin lifts his bride and carries her around, circling the atrium. My heart does a little flip and plummets, my insides turning to goo. I wish Forrest would write something like that for me.

  As if. Get a grip, Amaya.

  Chapter Twelve

  Candy and Sabin didn’t want a reception. They opted to sow their nuptial bliss in her bedroom instead. Their bedroom, for now. They both want to go back to Tara, but with Azotar the fachan still scooting around in his moving monolith, it’s not safe.

  “That was a beautiful poem.” I sidle up to Forrest. “Your poetry lights me up.”

  “From one artist to another, your singing lights me up.” He smiles and winds an arm around my waist. It does? My pulse races, tapping out a rhythmic staccato. I sway as though I’ve forgotten how to stand on my own and he pulls me in for a half hug. The kisses he rains down on the top of my head pour shivers down my spine.

  I peek at Vasily, Bodhi and Arch, but they don’t seem to notice. Either everyone’s fine with Forrest flirting or—I turn all of the other options over. Maybe they all share girls regularly. Nope, that doesn’t sit right. Maybe they all need me to get their magic back. That could be true, but it’s more than that. Maybe they all genuinely like me? If only I’d be so lucky but what makes me special, other than my ability to get into Tara? Nothing really.

  “Hey, ho.” Jules appears on my other side. “I’m gonna blow.” Normally her quip w
ould be laughable but today I can’t help but take it as a jab. Because here I am, in yet another man’s embrace. I can almost hear her thoughts—oh I see, three aren’t enough for you.

  I bristle, my hands clenching. Better not to let on. I force a fake smile. “Thank you for coming.” Forrest loosens his grip to let me go but I wrap my own arm around him, digging my hand into his hip. I raise my nose at my best friend. It’s easy to look down on her tiny frame but I hate doing it, even through my anger.

  Jules looks between me and Forrest, her jaw tight. “Yeah, right. Later, skank.” She turns and leaves without another word.

  As soon as she’s gone Forrest gently removes his arm, cocking his head. “Was she intentionally being cruel or calling you a derogatory name for humor’s sake?”

  I sigh. “It’s a method of communication we established a long time ago.” I don’t add that this time around I’m pretty sure she was doing it to hurt me.

  “Why?” He purses his lips.

  “It started from a recurrent conversation we used to have. Jules pointed out that I get to say the n word because I’m black. Our Jewish friends got to tell Jewish jokes, but if anyone else did, their heads were bitten off. It grew from that. We wanted something that was all our own, a way of relating that would offend most people but if we embraced it and made it ours, we could pull the negative charge out of the words. Since we’re women, we went with ‘ho’ and the like.”

  “Surely it causes other people to react . . .”

  “Badly? That it does. But it’s our secret code.”

  “How so?”

  “It helps us figure out guys. The ones who reprimand us for expressing ourselves are obvious dicks.”

  “And is that a fair assessment? Does it work?”

  “One hundred percent of the time.”

  “Hmmm.” He scratches his nonexistent beard. “And what about other girls? What is their reaction?”

  “Most love it, laugh along with us. It’s only the guys who feign offense, as if they can tell a woman what to say.”

  He chuckles. “Not every guy.”

  “No, not every guy.” I turn to face him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pulling him in for a hug.

  Vasily approaches and I smell his intoxicating scent before I see him. “I don’t mean to interrupt.”

  I leap back but Forrest merely smiles.

  “Are you sure you should go into work tonight? You died this morning. Call in sick?” Vasily reaches for my hand.

  His fingers twine through mine, clutching protectively. “I’d like to go to work. It’ll help take my mind off what happened.” And let me pretend I’m just a normal girl, living a normal life, I don’t add.

  He squeezes without letting go. “I’m anxious to see if we can return to Tara but after your ordeal, it can wait.” He pulls my hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it.

  “I want to help you get back to Tara.” I need to help him, prove that I’m more than just someone to worry about, someone to watch over and a mooch on top of that. “I’ll pretend to be sick later and call in tomorrow for a day off . . . unless someone drinks from me and then I’ll have tomorrow off anyway.”

  His hand tightens on mine. “After this morning . . .” He stutters to a halt. The fairy king at a loss for words? What could possibly—

  Oh hell. I’m such an idiot. I was so upset yesterday about Vasily feeding from someone at Ichor I put my life at risk to prevent it. And now today I’m off to feed a stranger. Vasily has every right to demand I stay home. But what the hell else am I supposed to do for money?

  I squeeze his hand back and bring it to my lips for a kiss. “I work at a vampire blood bank. I need this job. How long can I go without letting someone drink from me? What if I stay downstairs and only let them have my wrist?”

  His eyes soften. “I won’t tell you not to but I will let you know it makes me uncomfortable. These are vampires who can’t always control themselves, but if you’re sure it’s what you want?” He waits for me to nod. “I’ll keep my phone next to me. Promise to call me if you need me. I’ll come for you, no matter the time. But you must promise.”

  “Thank you. I promise.” I take his other hand and squeeze hard, my gaze going a little misty. Vasily is so much better than me, even in this.

  “Amaya.” His voice is deep, husky and his eyes shine. “If anything ever happened to you—”

  “Shhh.” Did I really just shush the king of the fairies?

  Chapter Thirteen

  A couple of hours later Vasily drives me to my house and parks. It’s so dark, and I forgot to leave a light on the last time I was here. When was the last time I was here? It seems like another lifetime ago, as though this house is nothing more than a shell, a storage space for all my parents’ things. Then again, we didn’t live here together long enough to make the same memories we made in our old house, so no wonder I’ve been feeling disconnected for so long. No aroma of Mom’s baked bread and cookies. No smile from Dad whenever he came home from work and wrapped his arms around Mom’s back as she knelt in her garden. No nights with the two of them playing their instruments together in the living room, in front of a warm hearth that rarely needed to be lit in Southern California but was lit anyway. No soft glow of the fire lighting up their eyes as they gazed at each other.

  When I turn to look at Vasily, he’s silent, unmoving, staring at me. “What is it?”

  I brush my hair out of my face. “Nothing. Memories. It’s fine.”

  “You have a home, Amaya. With the five of us. For as long as you want. Forever.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and his lips are upon me, his warm hands framing my face. I lose myself to him for a few minutes, pressing my mouth into his, a deep need satiated. Emotions and unwanted thoughts wash over me. Even if I’ve always been an unspoken burden on my parents, it doesn’t mean that’s what I am to these men too. Does it?

  He slides out of the car to open the door for me, kissing my cheek before I turn away so he won’t see my moist eyes, the doubt in them.

  “Amaya.” He holds on to me and I glance back. “If you need a ride home from the vectum, call or text any of us, at any time.”

  “I will.”

  He squeezes my shoulders. “And if anyone tries anything you’re not comfortable with, you get your phone from Cheryl and call me.”

  I look away.

  “Promise?”

  I look back. “Yes, of course.” Just the thought of what happened there on my first night curdles my stomach.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he growls, leaning in to nip my ear. “Now, go show them who’s boss.” He pats my ass as I walk away.

  Unreal. He’s the one who’s boss, not me. I turn at the door and wave. He’s standing outside his imposing Lincoln, waiting for me to enter. A gentleman to his core.

  Once upstairs in my room, I grab a clean pair of jeans, a Henley and my black leather jacket out of my closet. I don’t bother picking anything different since we wear costumes at Ichor. But I do take a long, hot shower. At least we still have hot water. I’m glad I convinced Vasily to drop me here instead of at the vectum. It’s early enough for me to walk there and I need some fresh air.

  On my way out I grab my phone, keys and wallet, stuffing them into my jacket pockets. I open the door and practically slam into Bob. Has he been waiting for me? Creepy.

  “What the hell do you want?” I slam the door behind me and force my way past him, leaping down the steps two at a time.

  “Wait right there,” he calls out and I stop practically midleap.

  Where was I going? Why am I running away from Bob?

  He walks down the steps slowly, a blue halo around his head. He doesn’t stop until he’s in front of my face. Close, so close. My stomach roils but I don’t understand why. I can’t move, my feet are rooted to the sidewalk like a tree, but I don’t want to move. Why would I?

  “You’re a very pretty girl, Amaya Reynolds.” His breath is rancid, like dead fis
h, but I don’t recoil.

  “Thank you,” I say but I’m not sure why I say it.

  “Why don’t we go back into the house?” The blue light around him pulsates.

  “Yes, of course.”

  He turns and walks up the stairs and the minute he does I come to my senses. What the hell? Disgusting Bob? I turn and run down the street as fast as I can, cutting through the neighbor’s yard and hopping a fence. I weave through the shortcuts I’ve traveled many times over the past year. The ones I hope Bob doesn’t know, since he’s never had to live in this part of town. He merely subjugates others here.

  After a few minutes I finally stop and turn to look but he’s not following. That man couldn’t run half a block without being winded but my rational mind wouldn’t have ever let him get that close to my face, and yet I did. My shortcut lets out on Discovery Highway and I run through the gate that marks the beach access and down onto the sand. If I weren’t on my way to work, I’d jump in the ocean to cleanse myself of his nastiness. What the hell happened back there?

  My entire body is shaking and I close my eyes and do what calms me the most. I sing. The words to one of my favorite arias just bubble up. Bellini always soothes ragged emotions.

  * * *

  Casta Diva, che inargenti

  Queste sacre antiche piante

  * * *

  As the harmony and rhythm pick up, my emotions swell, then ebb. In “Casta Diva,” enraged Druids are asking the high priestess, Norma, to declare war on Rome. But Norma, using diplomacy, explains that a war is not needed. It’s akin to a plea for karmic retribution. Norma explains that the Romans will be the masters of their own undoing. In this aria she sings to the moon goddess, asking for peace.