by Hanna Peach
Moloko’s long thin brown hair kept falling into her deer-in-the-headlight eyes; she pushed her hair aside with thin, shaky fingers.
“When you’re ready…” she said, her soft voice barely reaching his ears.
As he had been instructed, Israel drew the ink into his body for the very first time. Oh. Wow. The magic flowed through him in a rush. Every cell felt alert and the hairs on his body stood on end. He felt like a wind was blowing across his face and hair, although not a single strand on his head was tousled. He felt…alive. He could get used to this.
He tried holding an image of someone else’s face across his. He could feel the magic flickering across him like a strobe light.
Moloko’s little nose screwed up. “It’s not working. Whose face are you trying to hold?”
“Whose? Well, no one’s. Just a generic face.” Israel let the magic drop and he glanced down to his forearm. One line down. Two lines to go.
She shook her head. “It works better if you know the face you’re thinking of. It must be effortless, feel effortless. Otherwise you’ll use up the magic too fast, as you’ve just done.”
Israel pulled the magic through him again and he thought of Mason, the captain of the Saints. But…did Mason have more of a copper or orange tinge to his beard? Were his shoulders wider than that? And did he have that many freckles on his ruddy cheeks?
When he looked in the mirror he saw Mason but…the image seemed blurry and it stood out against the clear lines of everything else around him that was in focus.
Moloko studied him and hummed under her breath. “Usually it takes years of training to be able to hold an image at will.”
Israel felt the magic drain out of him as the hope did. Mason’s face faded to reveal his own face, now marred with a crease between his brows. “I don’t have years.”
He glanced down. He had one line left. One chance left.
“Which is why for you to have any chance of this working, you’ll need to hold an image of someone you know really, really well. What about family? Father? Brother?”
Israel shook his head. “I don’t have any brothers and I never knew my father.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Well, who do you care about most? Who do you know the best?”
Alyx.
There was no question. He pulled the magic through him one more time as he thought of her. He heard Moloko gasp. Before he could ask whether that was a good gasp or a bad gasp, he realized he felt the magic holding over him in a steady hum.
“That’s it,” Moloko said. “You have to use Alyx’s image. It’s the only one you’ve been able to hold.”
Israel turned to look in the mirror and his jaw dropped. Alyx stared back at him. It was her from every angle as he turned his body left to right. The replica was perfect.
It’s the image I know inside out, every inch of her body, the lines of her face, every shade of her, her smell, the way she moves… no wonder she’s the one. I know every line of her like they are my way home.
“How’s the student doing?” Alyx’s voice came from behind him. He spotted her face over his shoulder in the mirror’s reflection. Two perfectly identical Alyxes. The real Alyx gasped and her mouth fell open.
Israel spun and as he did so, he let go of the magic. He felt the mirage float away from his body like cobwebs.
“Um, I’m going to go find some, um, water. I’ll be back…soon,” Moloko mumbled, and she left the room.
Israel wasn’t sure what to say, so he waited for her to speak. Alyx was still staring at him wide-eyed. “You…used me as your mirage?”
He grinned sheepishly at her. “Moloko said that I needed to use the image of the one I know the best.”
“Show me.” She stepped forward towards him. “Please.”
He looked down at his arm and was surprised to see that most of the last line was left. Holding Alyx’s image in his mind had been effortless. Moloko was right; the magic hadn’t been used up as fast. He drew the magic into his blood as he inhaled deeply, letting the thought of Alyx fill his lungs and his body. He knew it had worked when he heard another sharp intake of air from Alyx.
He stepped closer. “Perfect, isn’t it?” He turned his head to various angles and let her study him. He look directly at her and grinned. “This means I get to fight, right? ’Cause I just proved that I can hold the image.”
Alyx dropped to a crouch and swung her leg around to clip his ankle, a move that she had tested him with once before when they were training in their old Regent Theater. Last time he had been knocked onto his back. This time he jumped clear of her leg and flipped back, still holding her image across him like a veil.
She attacked him again. He blocked her fists with his own. They moved across the floor of the empty room trading blows, and not once did he feel Alyx’s image slip away from him.
He managed to hook his foot around her knee and tackled her to the ground, pinning her arms so that she couldn’t fight him off. Alyx’s body ran the length of him, and he moved his knee to the other side of her leg to keep her from slipping out. Was it him or did her breathing seem labored? His certainly was.
He grinned as he gazed down at her, her dark hair pooling around her pale face and making her green eye color stand out more. “See, I passed your little test.”
“Fine, you passed. You can fight. Let me up.” She squirmed against him.
“I just have one more question.”
She froze. “What?”
He leaned down towards her. This close he could see her pupils opening so the irises were just thin circles of green. He moved his face to her ear and whispered, “Have you ever wondered what it’d be like to kiss yourself?”
Alyx made a noise in her throat. She managed to get one leg and her arms loose. Using his distraction she flipped him over so that she was now straddling him. To be honest, he wasn’t fighting back that hard. He kind of liked being under her. Correction: he really liked being under her.
“You got funnier while you were in your coma,” she said as she pushed herself up to standing. “Maybe you should go back into one so you can work on your delivery.”
Israel laughed as he flipped up to his feet. He faced Alyx and pulled his miraged face into an exaggerated frown complete with pouty bottom lip.
Alyx balked. “What are you doing?”
“Thought you’d wanna see how cute you are when you get angry.”
Her hands came up to her hips. “I don’t look like that when I’m angry.”
Israel mimicked her by putting his own hands on his hips. She crossed her arms. So did he.
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Copying me.”
“Am not.”
“Are to.”
Israel stepped forward, closing the gap between them. They stood close without touching, the barest of air between them.
“You know,” he whispered, “I could show you how you look like when you’re turned on. Or even when you c−”
Alyx slapped a hand over his mouth, her cheeks flaming bright red. He started to laugh against her palm. He was still laughing even after she stormed out of the room.
Chapter 20
The training for the camps was due to start soon. Each leader was taking a mixed training group of both Seraphim and warriors. Jordan was walking towards his group of DreamWalkers and warriors on one side of this large grassy field near the castle, mulling over what he was going to teach them to do and how he was going to get them to start working together.
Jordan felt a hand grab his elbow. He spun and the sight of Cleo at his shoulder made him recoil. Goddammit. Her eyes…they tore into him. They taunted him. A reminder of his failure to save Lylianne. “What the hell do you want?” His voice came out harsher than he had intended.
If Cleo was insulted or fazed by his tone, she didn’t show it. She let go of his arm and pushed her chin up into the air. “I want to fight.”
Was she serious? “No.”
“You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Why do you care?”
He snatched his arm away from her as if it burned. “I don’t.”
“Then it’s settled. I’m fighting.”
He let out an exasperated growl. “Do whatever the hell you want, mortal. Why did you even bother telling me?”
“I want to train with you.”
Jordan froze. He narrowed his eyes at Cleo. She was playing at something. What was it? “Why would you want to do that?” he asked slowly.
“Because I know you don’t like me, don’t bother denying it.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
She didn’t flinch, she just shrugged the comment off. “You don’t like me for whatever reason, that’s fine. But it means that you won’t take it easy on me like I suspect the other trainers would because they know I’m mortal and don’t heal like you guys do. If I’m to survive the battle, I need as tough a trainer as possible. As much as I hate to compliment you, that means you.”
Jordan ignored the small amount of admiration that threatened to creep into his distrust. “It’d be your death sentence if you fought.”
She shrugged. “I’m tired of hiding. I want to help. Believe it or not, Lady Bluesette makes all her girls train in martial arts and blade work, just in case we have to defend ourselves outside of Purgatory’s enchantment. Sometimes our clients can get stalkery, you know? So I can take care of myself, buddy.” She poked a finger at his chest. He didn’t budge and she seemed a little annoyed that she couldn’t get a reaction from him.
Jordan rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to be facing some loser demon with a crush and a stalker agenda, these are proper bad guys. With proper weapons. And proper intentions of killing your ass.”
Cleo smiled. “Aw, are you scared for me? How sweet.”
Jordan bristled. “Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t give a damn about what happens to you. If you want to sign your own death sentence, be my guest. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
For a moment Cleo looked stricken, and Jordan felt the first sliver of guilt that he may have been too hard on her. Then her face composed itself and that pouty smile was back. Goddammit, did that pout annoy him. And those smouldering come-hither eyes.
“You gonna train me or not?” she demanded, crossing her arms across her full breasts. “’Cause I can go to Alyx and−”
“Fine.” He didn’t need Cleo going to Alyx and complaining about him being a jerk. He stepped up to her, almost nose to nose, and was surprised at how close to his height she was. To her credit she didn’t flinch. She held her ground and stared back at him. “But you’ll do what I say, when I say it.”
A slow smile crawled across her lips. Without meaning to, his eyes dropped down to them before realizing what he was doing. He quickly looked back up and was annoyed when it appeared that she had noticed him looking at her mouth.
“Of course, master,” she whispered. “You should know how well I take instructions.” She winked before striding off towards the grassy patch where his other trainees were waiting.
His eyes followed her across the field as she strutted in her black boots, black skin-tight leggings and tight black top. Jordan shook his head, trying to clear it. He could not let her unnerve him.
* * *
Alyx approached Jordan on the grassy grounds of the castle where he was watching over his group of DreamWeavers and warriors. The warriors were going through a set of sword drills to Jordan’s left. On the right, the DreamWeavers were lined up and facing a set of birds in cages hanging from posts, a row of twittering targets.
Alyx sidled up to Jordan as the warriors gathered magic in their palms and practiced their aim by trying to put their targets to sleep. The squawking and flapping from the end of the field was making a right racket.
“How are they doing?” she asked. She cringed as a DreamWeaver next to them dropped a blue ball on his own foot and stumbled around as his foot fell asleep.
“We’re screwed,” Jordan replied.
“They may look pretty bad now, but I’m sure they’ll be ready by the time they need to be, right?”
Jordan inhaled audibly and was silent for a moment. “Hopefully.”
Alyx watched the field for another few moments. A DreamWalker threw his ball towards his target underarm like a bowling ball. She watched it fly up into the air and come falling back down to hit a defenseless patch of grass. We’re so screwed. She couldn’t watch them anymore. She turned towards the warriors and watched them dueling with wooden weapons. She was surprised to see a familiar figure in the group. “Why is Cleo in your training group?”
“She asked to be. She wants to fight.” He held up a hand to her. “And before you protest, I have already argued with her about how dangerous it’s going to be for her. But she’s more stubborn than you are and she’s fighting anyway.”
“But do you really think it’s right for her to−”
“She’s at no less of an advantage than any other Seraphim warrior. The Darkened’s Black Stone blades will cause our healing powers to be reduced to a mortal level. She wants to fight, let her.”
Alyx turned back to watch Cleo dueling with an ex-warrior from the old Florence community. Cleo blocked an attack, then struck back, getting her partner on his ribs.
“She’s actually doing okay,” Alyx said.
Jordan said nothing. He just stared out at the group of warriors. Alyx frowned at him. This whole time, Jordan had barely glanced at her, like he was avoiding looking at her. “What’s wrong?”
“Apart from the fact that we have a group of untrained Seraphim who don’t realize the danger of this mission or how terrifying the Darkened truly are, and we have less than five days to whip them into some kind of shape that they may escape with their lives? Nothing.”
Alyx flinched. His voice was cold. She hadn’t heard him speak so coldly to her…ever. “You’re angry at me.” He didn’t reply but the twitch in his jaw told her everything. “This is about us, isn’t it?”
Jordan turned to her. “You think everything is about you.”
“No that’s−”
“You didn’t think when you made the deal with Balthazar that you would rather risk the lives of our whole community than to let the boy die. Maybe he should have just died. He would stop being a threat to us if he did.”
“To you. He’s a threat to you. Jesus. I’m his Guardian, his bonded. It’s my duty to protect him any way I can. I was desperate. I made the only choice I could when faced with Balthazar’s deal.”
“You made the wrong choice. We could have ended this all if you had let him die. If you didn’t love the boy, you would have seen that.”
“And you’re telling me you don’t make decisions based on what your heart wants?” she hissed.
Jordan flinched. “No. I’m the first to admit it. I chose not to tell you that your memory had been taken because I was being selfish.” He turned to face the field again. “So I understand why you chose to save him and to damn us.” His voice dropped to a pained whisper, “If it had been your life at stake, I would have done the same thing.”
Alyx felt the anger fall off her. She reached out to grab his hand, but he pulled it from her grip.
“Alyx, it’s clear to me where your heart belongs. I’m already facing one losing battle.” He nodded his head towards the field. “I’m not stupid enough to choose to face another. You made your choice. I made mine.”
“But I haven’t made a choice.”
“Yes. You have. You just don’t know it yet.”
“I−”
“Just let it go, Alyx. Let’s forget about it.”
She was about to speak when something caught her eye. Alyx frowned. There was that man again, the seraph in the deep crimson cloak, standing on the other side of the grounds at the c
orner of the castle wall, watching them. She was far enough away that she couldn’t see the expression on his face but she recognized his cloak. What was he doing? Alyx had a weird feeling. “I have to go. But this conversation isn’t over.”
“Yes, it is.”
Alyx didn’t have time to keep arguing. The seraph ducked around behind the corner of the wall where he’d been standing.
“Hey,” Alyx called out as she flew towards the corner. “Hey you. Wait!”
But when she got to the corner, he was gone from sight.
* * *
Passar hurried through the forest surrounding the castle, his eyes peering behind him every few minutes. He was sure Alyx hadn’t followed him from the castle after she spotted him watching their training session, but it didn’t make him any less paranoid. She had looked at him enough times. At one point she even seemed like she had recognized him. But thankfully she hadn’t. If she had caught him, she wouldn’t have stopped a second before killing him.
When he was comfortable that he was far enough away from the castle not to be seen, he took off into the sky. He had heard enough of what they were planning. He now knew that they were going to attack in less than five days. He had seen the size and skill of their little army. He knew what he needed to do…
* * *
Passar pushed his way past the guards and ran into the RaceKeeper’s brightly-colored tent.
The RaceKeeper, face shrouded in shadows, pulled the shisha pipe from his lips. “Doesn’t anybody knock anymore?”
Before Passar got two steps in, the guards caught him by the arms. They began to drag him out, apologizing to the RaceKeeper for letting him through.
“Wait,” Passar yelled out. “I want to trade.”
The RaceKeeper made a motion with his hand, and the grip on Passar’s arms released. There was grumbling as the guards retreated to just outside the tent flap.
