Charcoal Tears

by Jane Washington

  I bit my tongue, my face burning up again. “He’s very expressive.”

  Quillan was silent as he examined me, but he must have seen the humour somewhere in my eyes, for he eventually started laughing. “Expressive…” he repeated, shaking his head. “The day I see an actual expression on my brother’s face—”

  The door opened and Quillan’s sentence trailed off. Silas stepped into the room and closed the door with deliberate slowness. He stalked across the carpet and folded himself stiffly into the armchair in the corner, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His hood was still pulled up, so I couldn’t tell if he had heard us or not, but I could feel the weight of his stare nonetheless. It was entirely possible that he had only entered the room to end our conversation. As if coming to the same conclusion, Quillan stayed silent and we all turned to watch the television.

  I raised my hand before my face, thinking of Bill’s valcrick trick. I wriggled my fingers, but nothing happened. I frowned, thinking of all the times I had drawn on the electricity. I’d been angry, or frightened, or disquieted. My thoughts turned back to the last time I’d zapped my father, and the emotion swept into me. I remembered the smarting pain in my head, the coins scattering the staircase, and the echo of his zip being drawn down, the only sound in the otherwise silent house. It wouldn’t have been the first time my father had abused me sexually, but it had been the first time since the valcrick started saving me. My fingers lit up, the sparks dancing as I moved my hand around. The air in the room grew static, and Quillan’s face appeared before mine, his eyes wide with fear. He shook his head mutely, and I worked to get the sparks under control. When my hand was back to normal, he slumped back, running a hand through his hair and messing it up.

  “What did I do?” I asked.

  “You almost blasted us through the walls,” Silas answered casually, like such an event might have served to amuse him. At most.

  “Huh?” The valcrick had made an appearance before with Noah and Cabe, but it hadn’t hurt them. “I don’t understand.”

  “Your emotion drives them, Seph.” Quillan was attempting to sound comforting, but he only succeeded in sounding hesitant. “If you’re afraid, the valcrick will try to defend you.”

  “Oh.” I looked at them, and then purposefully turned back to the television.

  It took them longer to relax this time, and when I was sure that they weren’t paying attention, I raised my hand again. Wrong emotion… but I still managed to make the sparks appear. I pushed the memory of my father into the depths of my mind and stared surreptitiously at my fingers, trying to find a memory that might have carried a powerful emotion other than fear, anger, or sorrow.

  “It’s not such a bad place to work.” Sally stood behind the bar, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain that seemed to have the consistency of honey, but had a greenish tinge. She frowned at it and scrubbed harder. “You’ll be busy, but I find most folks prefer to be busy.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I’d known Sally since my mother had died—my father disappeared for a week, and this was where I eventually found him, after checking every other drinking establishment within five miles of our house. She had always been nice to me; she always called when it looked like my father wasn’t going to make it home. She even made up stories so that we wouldn’t know the truth. But now Gerald’s drinking debt was too much, and Sally needed a way to pay it off.

  “If anyone gives you any trouble, you come straight to me, ya hear? And there’s Carlos at the door—he might not look too friendly but he has a heart like an inflatable playground—it’s all bouncy and soft, but mostly people just walk all over it.”

  I managed a nod, but already I was running scenarios through my brain. “I’ll be okay,” I told her.

  I had to repeat the same thing to myself all night long.

  People spoke to me, but I didn’t hear them. They grabbed me, pinched me and stole the shots I was supposed to be selling without paying for them. I had no words to fight them off, because I seemed to have lost my voice entirely. It wasn’t until close to midnight that the panic started to recede, and in the most unexpected way possible. I had stamped the hands of all manner of people so far: women with blackened teeth and men with track marks up their arms and bulges in their pockets that warned away unwanted trouble. None of them scared me as much as the last man to walk through the door. He was taller than most, with a mess of dark hair that was cropped closer on the sides and back, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket and his eyes cast into permanent disapprobation. In the shadow of the doorway I could have mistaken him for another member of the Hispanic gang that frequented the club and dealt something called dice—a name given to crack, as I later found out—but as he drew closer I dashed the notion. He didn’t entirely dress the part; he wore only black, the clothing seemingly tailored for his broad shoulders and long legs, whereas the gang members usually wore baggy pants and sweatshirts to hide whatever they were packing. This man had on a leather jacket instead of a sweatshirt, and his boots were reminiscent of combat boots, scuffed enough to look both well worn and well taken care of.

  He didn’t belong there.

  He seemed bigger than that club, bigger than all of the nobody people gathering inside.

  Bigger than me.

  I didn’t raise my hand to stamp him, and he flashed me his identification, his thumb covering the name. I still didn’t move, and he eventually took control of my hand and stamped himself. His touch was surprisingly gentle and slow, like he didn’t want to startle me, and he brushed a finger against my cheek before he walked away. Warmth swept through me with the force of a heavy sedative, making everything clearer and yet dulling the sharpness of my existence all at once.

  Light flashed across the room, and the sparks slid around my fingers. I glanced at Quillan to find him wearing a delighted smile. My chest seemed to expand, as though my capacity for happiness had become bloated, and I grinned back, my eyes catching Silas over his shoulder. For the first time since I’d met him, Silas was gifting me with a full smile. A real smile. It transformed his entire face; the wildness in his eyes receded, and an uncertain hope shone through. It was a brand of happiness so pure that it became just as overwhelming as his darkness, but infinitely more painful to witness. Quillan reached out, and I switched my attention back to him.

  His hand was hovering over mine, and I felt my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth. I was afraid that the sparks would hurt him, but they became thin as they stretched from my hand to his, licking over his palm and curling about his wrist. He slid toward me, almost as if the sparks had pulled him, and the smooth skin of his palm brushed mine.

  “Miro.” Silas spoke as though warning his brother, his accent thicker than usual, rolling the ‘r’ and shortening the end of the word.

  I watched as Quillan shot back from me, Silas’s hand anchored to his shoulder, shoving him back against the couch. Quillan stared at his palm, lying open on his lap, like he could still feel the valcrick. He didn’t pay any mind to Silas.

  “I’m sorry.” I tried to draw their attention away from whatever had brought about the sudden change in the room. “I ruined your movie.” The credits were rolling on the television screen.

  10

  The Dichotomy of Unwilling Want

  I was laughing and there were tears streaming down my face as the door to the lounge opened, revealing Noah and Cabe. They looked at the screen, which was currently showing a parody reality show, and then back at us, smiles breaking out.

  “You left your own party!” I accused, pointing a finger at them.

  “They won’t even notice.” Noah tried to brush it off.

  I held out both of my hands, and they stared at me.

  “Phones,” I demanded.

  Cabe laughed, fished out his phone and then tossed it to me, falling onto the couch between Quillan and myself. I wiggled my fingers at Noah and he sighed, pulling out his phone and handing it to me.

  “Bets?�
�� I asked. “Anyone?”

  “Eighteen calls for each of them,” Quillan said.

  “Twenty,” Silas sounded bored. “But more for Cabe.”

  I weighed the phones in my hands and Noah scooped me up, causing me to squeak. He claimed my seat and then settled me between him and Cabe. “Do I get to place bets?”

  “Nope.” I poked my tongue out at him. “And I’m guessing twenty-five for Cabe, fifteen for Noah.”

  Noah laughed. “Are you saying Cabe is more popular than me?”

  “I’m saying more people have his phone number, now hush, we’re watching something here.”

  A moment later, one of the phones buzzed in my hand. I glanced down.

  Where did you go baby? I left my top in your car.

  I froze, the phone slipping out of my hand. It hit the floor with a thump, and Noah stiffened behind me. I knew he’d seen it. I stood, forcing a casual yawn. “Be right back.”

  Cabe snagged the phone from the floor and glanced at the screen. His eyes flashed to Noah, incredulous. I ignored them, running from the room. I pushed into the bathroom and splashed my face several times with freezing water. My veins felt like they were on fire, and the feeling had taken me completely by surprise. There was no rush of emotion in my head, and yet… there was a terribly dark feeling in my heart, trying to claw its way out. Jealousy? That didn’t make any sense.

  The door banged open and Noah walked in. I made a sound of surprise, backing up against the sink. “You should knock!”

  Cabe entered a moment later, closing the door and leaning back against it.

  “Get out.” Noah slapped his chest.

  “I’m supervising.” He folded his arms, daring his brother to object.

  Noah ignored him and spun back to me. “Seph…”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me.” I fought to keep my tone level, but I was wrestling with bewildering hysteria. It had nothing to do with Noah and everything to do with the alien feelings that were threatening to turn me into some kind of schizophrenic. “I’m not your girlfriend or anything, Noah.” You agreed not to start anything romantic with me. “You don’t owe me any kind of explanation.” What is happening to me? “You can take as many tops off as you like.” Except mine, definitely not mine.

  Pain flicked over his eyes and I paused, wanting to reach out and sooth it over. Instead, I folded my arms like Cabe and tightened them around myself.

  “It was all her, Seph. She followed me to my car, jumped in, took her shirt off and tried to kiss me. I pushed her out, found Cabe and we came up here. That’s why I left the party.”

  My arms fell back to my sides, and as though he had handed me the antidote, I was suddenly back to normal. The dark emotion stopped clawing at me and retreated to whatever part of me that it resided in, settling contentedly. I wanted to insist that he could hook up with whomever he wanted to, but the words wouldn’t rise: the beast inside of me had stolen them away.

  “Okay,” I eventually mumbled, utterly miserable with myself.

  He stepped forward, cupping his hand around my jaw. “Okay.”

  I ducked my face into his chest, too embarrassed to look at him. He gathered me into his arms, bending down to hook my knees so that he could carry me back to the lounge. I kept my face hidden as he plonked me onto the couch and settled in beside me. I tucked my legs up and Cabe sat on my other side, his hand curving around my ankle, holding me loosely.

  Noah dropped the phones into my lap again, and I checked one of them. Fifteen missed calls. It was Cabe’s phone. I pressed a button to light up Noah’s phone. Ten. With a chuckle, I turned back to the television. When the phones kept buzzing, I pushed them away, and quickly found sleep.

  I woke up the next morning with a problem: I had to go to work that night, and I still didn’t want Cabe or Noah to know about my job. Or Quillan for that matter. Thankfully, I was still on the couch in Silas and Quillan’s television room, a blanket tucked securely around me, so I had time to think of a plan before I saw them. I shuffled out and followed the sound of voices to the dining room, thinking that I would find Silas and ask what I should do. I passed through the arch to find Quillan buried in paperwork again. Cabe had his feet propped up on the table, and Noah was down the other end, facedown on an icepack. I frowned, moving to him. I touched his head, and he jerked upright like I’d taken a Taser to his neck. I gasped at the mottled bruises on his face, the swelling over his left eye and the torn shirt.

  “What on earth happened to you?”

  “He had a job,” Quillan answered for him. “Sometimes we do work for the Zevghéri.”

  “What the hell kind of wor—” I paused, thinking back to my drawing. I had sketched five figures, me in the middle. The outside figures were holding guns.

  I spun, facing Quillan. I knew he was one of the outside figures, because he and Silas were taller than Noah and Cabe, and Silas had been wearing his trademark hood. “You’ve got a gun,” I accused him.

  His jaw unhinged. “How the hell did you know that?”

  That was all the confirmation I needed. I turned back to Noah, checking him over. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  He didn’t answer, so I scowled at him and caught the hem of his shirt, tugging it up. He chuckled, and Cabe laughed too.

  “Remind me to get injured some day soon.” Cabe leaned back in his chair, watching us with his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

  I ignored him, checking over the bruising on Noah’s left side. It didn’t seem too bad, actually. I dropped his shirt and then went back to examining his face. I brushed a thumb over the bruise on his cheek and then picked up the icepack, pressing his hand against it to hold it up. I left the dining room and entered the other apartment, fetching a change of clothes and jumping into the shower. I dressed in black shorts and a plain white t-shirt. I tied up my chameleon shoes and stole one of Noah’s notebooks, tucking it under my arm. The piano room proved a perfect place to hide myself away, and Quillan found me a little while later with a plate of toast and a mug of coffee.

  “You don’t eat enough,” he informed me.

  “You swear too much.”

  He smiled, his eyes lighting up. “What are you drawing?”

  I shifted on the couch and he dropped down beside me, taking the notebook from me. It was only half-finished, a bent reflection of a form floating beneath water. He frowned, running his finger over it.

  “Is she drowning?”

  “I hope not.”

  He looked at me, his brows drawing together. “There are things you’re not telling me.”

  I leaned back, looking him straight in the eye. “You’re keeping secrets too.”

  He sucked in a breath, drawing to his full height. I could feel his eyes changing, like prickly flames licking over my face. It didn’t intimidate me, because I was sure that Quillan was more afraid of me than I was of him.

  “You’ve got five questions,” he decided. “Use them wisely.”

  “Are there other kinds of… abilities?” I asked without hesitation, glancing down at my sketch. “Other than the valcrick?”

  “The powers are rare,” he replied, “usually there is a sort of… pre-requisite.”

  I gazed at him, taking in the gentle wave of his hair, styled back in a perfect sweep from his forehead. His smile-lines showed as soon as his lips moved, like shallow dimples. He was actually giving me information, but his black eyes were guarded.

  “A pre-requisite?”

  “It’s called a pair. To have a Zevghéri power—like the valcrick—you need to have a pair.”

  “Like another person with the same power?”

  “No,” his eyes slid over my face, and I wondered if he were basing the volume of his information on the extremeness of my reactions. “I can’t explain it completely, but we’re not built to have that much adrenaline running through us all of the time—and the power is downright unnatural. Having a pair gives us the strength to withstand it. The stronger your pair
is, the stronger you are, and likewise, the stronger your bond, the more powerful your ability.”

  “I’m not really following.”

  He sighed, reaching out a hand and capturing mine. “Seph… you’ve changed since Noah and Cabe showed up. You smile, and laugh, and tease and joke. You stand up for yourself and look people in the eye more, and it’s barely been a week.”

  I sucked in a breath, shocked to my core. He was right. I’d only known Noah and Cabe for a week.

  A week.

  “I’m… bonded to them in some way?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what a pair is?”

  “No.”

  I groaned, confused all over again, and he squeezed my hand before releasing me and hovering his arm over my lap, facing up.

  “A pair is two people of the same gender born with the same mark,” he said, pointing to the mark on the inside of his arm, right below his elbow. I touched it with a quiet gasp. It was a disfigured star, an exact replica of one of my birthmarks.

  “But I’m a girl,” I muttered, still tracing my finger over the mark.

  “The pairs are made for someone.”

  “But… if I’m bonded to Noah and Cabe, then how can you be part of the pair? That makes three people.”

  He clenched his fist, pulling his arm away from me. “You have two pairs, Seraph.”

  He got up and left me, and I fell back against the couch, trying to piece together everything that he had said. I had two pairs. Cabe and Noah; Quillan and… Silas. I was connected to them in some way. Strangely, it was relief that once again flooded me—as it had when I had learned of the Zevghéri—and I released the breath I had been holding in. That was why I wanted to push girls away from Cabe and Noah… I was connected to them. That was why I felt strange whenever they touched me. We were connected.

  I picked up one of the pieces of toast, nibbling at the edge. That wasn’t so bad. There was no real reason to keep that from me.

  My mind was too far removed from the sketch I had been drawing, and I found that I couldn’t finish it. I made a mental note not to stop sketching again until I’d finished a drawing. I doodled half-heartedly, played the piano and borrowed Cabe’s phone to check up on Tariq. Silas had been gone all day, and I could tell that the others were uneasy about it, but whenever I walked in on one of their whispered conversations, they immediately quietened.