by G. Bailey
“Sis,” Damien mutters as I reach up and ruffle his hair, and that little word speaks volumes. I stop to take in his appearance, moving backward a step and cocking my head to the side with a grin. Damien has gotten a heck of a lot taller since I’ve been in the prison, and his hair is cut shorter - did he do this before they arrived here, I wonder, or after?
“What have you been eating? You are so friggin’ tall,” I point out.
“The higher gods might be crazy, but they have damn good food,” Damien states.
“Language, Damien,” Dad says, and that makes us all laugh. It’s strange how, in the midst of all this, we can suddenly feel like a normal family again. But has never been logical, I suppose.
“I also cook good food, Damien,” mum points out, placing her hands on her hips, and Damien gives her a sheepish look.
“Of course you do, mum,” Damien replies, turning and exchanging a pacified look with me. His wide eyes are so big that it’s almost comical, and I can’t help but chuckle. Some things never change.
Hugo comes over next, hugging me with a squeeze before letting go and stepping back, taking in my appearance like he’s seeing me for the first time in years. “I missed you,” he says at last. “We were getting worried you’d never come back from the prison.”
“I was too, Hugo,” I tell him. “There were times back there when I thought I would never see you guys again. I’m… I’m glad you’re all here.”
“Me too,” Hugo says. “And it doesn’t matter if you’re my cousin or whatever biologically. You will always be my pain in the ass sister who is way too good at pranks.”
I snort, rolling my eyes. “Thank you, Hugo. I’m back now, and there will be plenty of time for pranks later,” I tell him. I take a breath, crossing my arms and looking around at my family. Storm is lingering behind, leaning against the wall and watching the scene unfold with a knowing smile on his face. As for Peyton… I frown when I see that he has moved to stand next to Mads, his arm wrapped around her waist.
“It’s good to have you back, Sis,” he says, nodding to me and giving me a brotherly grin. I’m so happy to see that our relationship hasn’t changed. “There was something else we were going to tell you, sister,” he adds, looking suddenly awkward. I raise my eyebrows expectantly, crossing my arms and taking a step back. Peyton opens his mouth to speak, then shrugs and leans down to kiss Mads on the lips. My eyes go wide, and I stumble back in shock. When did that happen?
“Damn, you guys have been busy,” I mutter, feeling my face flush as I rub the back of my neck sheepishly. The full meaning of my words sinks in then, and I go even more red in the face. “Wait a minute, get your mind out of the gutter, all of you!” I exclaim, looking around at the group. “Unless… No. No way. Uh-uh. Nope, I really don’t need to know any more than feckin’ that.”
Everyone laughs at that, and Dad reaches down to ruffle my hair. “I guess being taken care of by your best friend’s brother really does bring you closer together,” Mads says, grinning, and links her fingers with Peyton’s.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I say, waving a hand at them like a crotchety old man. “That’s enough out of you two. I’m going to keep my innocent mind away from the thoughts of my older brother and bestie together,” I say, looking away. “Though if you guys are happy, I’m happy too,” I add, and mean it. Times are hard enough as it is; it’s nice to see that the people I care about most in the world are having a chance at love.
“So you don’t mind?” Mads asks, looking both shocked and relieved. “And hell are you innocent minded, Karma,” she adds, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Why does it matter if I mind?” I ask. “If anything, it means you won’t be able to escape our family any time soon, Mads. That is a bonus.” I tip her a wink, giving Peyton an approving nod. Before anyone can do anything other than widely smiling at me, there’s a knock at the door.
Mum moves to answer it, but before she gets across the room, the door swings open. Killian comes into the room first, swiftly followed by Seth. The hours we have been away have given them time to smarten up, and boy do they look good. Killian has black jeans on, a thick leather belt holding them up on his hips, and a white shirt which is almost see-through, so I can admire his muscular chest and the six pack I know is under it. His hair is brushed and styled, and he has shaved now.
“Miss me, angel?” Killian asks with a teasing grin. Somehow he can always make me smile.
“Karma? An angel? Who is this crazy fecker?” Peyton asks with a laugh, and I glare at him as Killian introduces himself. Seth doesn’t say a word, though he is back to his usual clothing as I look at him. A pretty suit, a short haircut and smooth shave. I never did like the business type, but I find myself checking out Seth. He is my broken god, one I deeply understand and want to fix. I can’t seem to pull myself away from him like I know I should do.
“I’m Killian Justice, and this is my twin brother, Seth. We are good friends of your sister and here to protect her no matter what,” Killian vows. It’s crazy sexy to hear him say that, and my cheeks go red.
“Protecting Karma is my job,” Storm interrupts, and I look at him to see his arms crossed, a glare fixed on Killian. Here we go again.
“Actually, I think we will all find it is all of our jobs to protect Karma while we are here. The higher gods have called every god or goddess to the local towns so they can be invited to the island for the games. The first game is tomorrow; they are not wasting any time, and it will be dangerous. As we all know, Karma can’t fight, but Storm could teach her how to use her higher god powers,” Seth interrupts, being the voice of reason.
“I can work with her,” Storm grumbles to Seth while he looks at me. “But these powers come from you, Karma. No one taught me to use them, and I never taught the higher gods. It's something you have to find on your own.”
“Now where are we staying? We have an apartment here, here on the east wing,” Seth asks me, suggesting I stay with them. Killian nods his agreement in the corner of my eye.
“I have my old rooms as well. Karma, where would you like to stay?” Storm asks, suggesting the same, and the room becomes incredibly quiet as words escape me. The twins look at me in the exact same way Storm does, and I know they want me to choose. How the friggin’ hell do I choose?
“Karma already said she would sleep in my room. I’m human, and she is worried about me being on my own. Especially as Peyton shares a room with Hugo and Damien still,” Mads says, and Peyton looks at her like she is crazy until she elbows him, and he plasters on a fake smile. Like hell are they sleeping apart. But they sure are now, and I try not to laugh at how pissed Pey looks.
“Right,” Seth mutters, and I throw Mads a thankful look as she holds her hand out for me to take. I friggin’ love Mads right now.
“Come on, bestie. Why don’t we get you some new clothes and a shower?” she asks, and I’m quick to take her hand. It makes me remember I’m still covered in blood, dirt, and wearing a ripped dress. I look back to see Peyton place his hand on Killian’s chest, stopping him following me out.
“We need to have a little chat about Karma. All of us do,” Peyton’s words are pretty darkly spoken. Good luck, guys. That will teach them for putting me on the spot.
“Only you could go to prison and come out with not just one sexy god obsessed with you, but three.” I chuckle at Mads’s comment, but the truth is, this might just get us all killed. As far as I know, sharing is not something gods ever do. They would rather fight it out and break my heart in the process. As much as I don’t want to admit it, somewhere down the line, I’ve realised I don’t want any of them not in my life.
8
A long shower is in order after the morning I’ve had, and it dawns on me as I step under the steaming stream of water that I can’t remember the last time I bathed. I had almost forgotten what it was like to not be covered in dirt, sweat, and dried blood, and the heat of the water soothes my aching muscles as I put my hand against the wal
l and drop my head down. For a long while I just stand there, letting the trauma of the past few days wash away with the hot water, my eyes drifting closed. I feel like so much has happened in so little time, and in spite of the relief I’m feeling in the aftermath of my conversation with Mum, I’m utterly exhausted. The idea of crawling into a warm bed and sleeping for about ten years sounds perfect right now, and that’s what ultimately motivates me to clean myself off and emerge from the shower.
At least they have good water pressure here, I think dryly as I finish towel drying my hair. I place the towel on the side then, taking a long moment to look at myself in the small, steamy mirror. The fog obscures most of me, and for a few moments I can’t see anything but my green eyes. They reflect back at me hauntingly, almost like a deep green pool of nothing. They are my mother’s—Maria’s—eyes, and I know that now, but for all these years, I’ve looked at them and they reminded me of my mum. Hers are darker, though, while mine are a more jade green, but it’s obvious that we’re related, even still. Maria’s eyes were like carbon copies of mine - it’s almost eerie how similar she looked to me in those memories.
The eyes are just one of about a hundred little memories I now find myself looking back on, trying to figure out how I couldn’t have seen it then. All the little aspects that make me me - my ways of carrying myself, the sound of my voice, the way my body is shaped and the contours of my face - all spell Maria’s name and not my Mum’s. I suppose that’s the thing about secrets, though: for those of us not in on it, it’s hard to see the truth - even when it’s right in front of our eyes.
I find myself wondering if there were ever moments that mum and dad wanted to tell me the truth, but they were too scared to. It must have been such an intense burden, to keep something as immense as this from their daughter, and it can’t have been easy for them - all those years, all those birthdays, all those questions about whether they were doing the right thing.
Some part of me still hurts when I think about the truth, but I know I need to face it. It won’t be easy, and the pain I felt this morning seeing my Mum’s memories was only the tip of the iceberg. There’s a fight coming, and the stakes are higher than they’ve ever been: my life is on the line, as well as the lives of everyone I care about. I can’t afford to lose focus now, no matter how much it hurts, because trying to push the reality of the situation from my mind and pretend it doesn’t exist - like I usually do with all the bad things in my life - will not work this time. This isn’t some karma job gone so badly that I want to forget about it. This isn’t the time I tried to run up the rainbow of Nessie, our resident drunk family leprechaun, and fell into the sea. I chuckle at the memory, running a hand through my damp red locks as a memory - this one positive in its nostalgia - washes over me. I had been young and stupid then, and ended up breaking two of my ribs. Dad had to jump into the sea and rescue me, since that was before I could swim for shite. Thank the gods he is a good swimmer, at least.
The truth is that running away from reality when the going gets tough is my usual go to plan. I was never mature enough to look the truth in the face, especially when it was unpleasant, and I’ve spent my entire life letting other people clean up my messes for me. Whether it was Dad pulling me out of the water or Peyton rescuing me from some botched karma job, I’ve spent years depending on others to pull me back to my feet. It’s been easier that way: to cower in a corner and let someone else do the dirty work instead of facing my problems like an adult.
But for the first time in my life, I don’t want to run now. I want to fight back, and take revenge for everything I've lost because of the higher gods. It’s not just for me, either - it’s for Maria, for Mum and Dad, for Mads, who never asked for any of this - and with higher god blood running through my veins, it’s possible that I’m the only person who will be able to put an end to this. It’s time to pay the piper, and there will be no backing out of it this time… no matter what.
I shake myself out of my thoughts, shivering at the cold air outside the shower. The fog on the mirror has dissipated, and I can now fully make out my figure. It’s almost shocking how much I’ve changed since my birthday: the prison food was hardly enough to sustain me, and I look thin and underfed. My eyes are bloodshot from tears and exhaustion, and my body is covered in healing scrapes, bruises, cuts, and bumps. The cut Xur gave me is still there, and when I run my fingers over it, I feel a muted but still unpleasant surge of pain. It seems to be taking longer to heal than most injuries - possibly because it was part of a magic spell.
Not wanting to give any more time to my weak-looking appearance, I turn away from the mirror. I loosely plait my hair and tie it with one of Mads’s hair bands before re-wrapping the cut on my arm with the bandages that mum dropped off an hour ago for me. I pull a pair of jeans on over my underwear, and the simple black shirt on next, super thankful that Mads packed me a bag of clothes in case I was able to get out of the prison. She really thought of everything, and I’m grateful - at this point, all the clothes Mum packed for me when I went on the run are dirty and in need of a good wash.
Stretching my aching arms behind me and letting out a groan, I stand up straight before bending over to slip on the fuzzy slippers Mads left out for me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so soft against my battered feet. I give myself one final check in the mirror, glad to see that I’m looking slightly more human than before, before leaving the bathroom and making my way into the living room.
At least the higher gods aren’t lacking for space, I think, even in a glorified dungeon. Our living quarters are similar to the connecting space where the others are being housed: upstairs is one large bedroom with two double beds, which seem to make up in comfort what they lack in privacy. Downstairs is a sprawling common area, complete with a kitchenette and a panel of windows overlooking the sea on the far wall. Not a bad place to spend time, if you can forget the fact that you’re being held here against your will.
Mads is lounging on the sofa in the living room. The TV is on, tuned to a news program about American politics. It all seems so remote now… so petty. I had always felt a disconnect between myself and the affairs of humans, but now even more so: somehow, questions about which president said what and the latest parliamentary configuration feel trivial - almost petty, in comparison with what I’m now facing. Mads seems to be in a similar situation: she’s staring at the TV, but hardly seeming to process what she’s seeing, and I’d imagine she has it on more to escape the silence of the castle than because she’s interested in what the news anchors are saying.
I sit down next to Mads on the sofa, and she turns off the TV stiffly before facing me. We both just stare at one another for a long moment, neither one of us knowing what to say to all this craziness. We’re a long way from worrying about homework at school or boyfriends that were arseholes. Life just got serious for us so quickly, and neither of us really knows how to deal with it. Not for the first time, I wonder how she’s handling everything. If I thought my life was turned upside-down over the past days, I can’t even imagine what she must be going through; she’s gone from an innocent human excited about her new job to an unwitting pawn in a game between supernaturals, and I remind myself that I’m not the only person whose life has been overturned lately.
Before either of us can say a word, however, we hear the sounds of a few brisk knocks on the door to our suite.
“I’ll get it,” I say, jumping up and hurrying to the door, thankful for a distraction from the heavy silence in the room. I pull it open, only to come face-to-face with Killian, who is standing on the other side with a playful grin on his face. He is holding a metal tray in his hands and looking like the cat that ate the canary. The tray has a white towel covering its contents, but I’m Karma Kismet, and I can smell peanut butter a mile off.
My stomach rumbles, and I know it’s calling out to the peanut butter like a long lost lover. “You know, Killian,” I say, crossing my arms playfully over my chest and smiling at him, “maybe yo
u’re not so bad after all.”
Killian laughs. “I’m so glad I have your approval, Karma.” He nods down at the tray. “Peanut butter sandwiches, Diet Cokes, and salt and vinegar crisps. I remember you saying they are your favourite meal, and I’d like to try them with you if you want company. If not, though I can leave,” he adds hastily. He’s usually not this bashful, and it’s so cute that I don’t really know how to tell him no. Plus... I don’t actually want him to leave. It’s only as I meet his golden eyes now that I realise how much I missed him.
Mads comes over then, catching the tail end of our conversation. She gives Killian an appraising look that can only come from a girl sizing up her best friends’ romantic interest, before a sly smile spreads across her face. She clears her throat. “Killian, we haven’t officially met. I’m Mads, Karma’s bestie,” Mads says, going to hold her hand out for him to shake but realising he has his hands full. She takes in the sight of the tray he’s holding and her grin gets wider. “You brought lunch, how sweet.”
Mads winks at me, but Killian can clearly see her. Mads and I exchange a long look before turning back to Killian, who smiles at us. My eyes meet his, and I can feel my heart beat a little faster as I wonder what to say. The moment drags on until it starts to get awkward, and Killian clears his throat, breaking eye contact with me.
I don’t blame him; there is so much unsaid between us since we kissed, his fight with Storm and…well, I could make a long list. We haven’t gotten a chance to really talk about where my head is at since I saw Mum’s memories, and he has the uncanny ability to hide whatever he’s thinking behind a sardonic mask.
I just know I’m tired of finding out truths I don’t want to know.