by W. J. May
A flutter of nervous energy rattled against the walls of his stomach, and Simon nodded quickly. He was scarcely able to believe it himself. But things had happened quickly in the last few days. While his friend had been busy recuperating in the infirmary, Simon finally had the opportunity to turn his attention to other matters. Matters too pressing to ignore.
“Yeah,” he answered breathlessly. “What do you think?”
To be honest, it looked like Tristan didn’t know what to think. A mix of total confusion and crippling fatigue danced across his face as he lifted his eyes once more to the top of the monolith Simon had chosen. The blinding sun scattered beams of light across his pale face and he squinted painfully. When he found no answers there, he looked back down.
In the end, he simply asked the obvious question. “Why’d you get an apartment?”
Simon hesitated. This was where they ventured out onto shaky ground. There was an obvious reason he’d had to get the apartment. But it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing he could just blurt out on the street. Especially to someone with Tristan’s background.
Instead, he flashed an easy smile and cocked his head towards the door.
“Come on! I want to show you.”
This time it was Tristan who hesitated. He had been around Simon long enough to know that many of his ‘brilliant’ schemes didn’t quite turn out the way he’d planned. He was still incredibly weak since waking up from the coma, and just the trip into London was pushing him past the brink of exhaustion.
He took a step to follow then hung back, glancing up with great trepidation before turning his eyes entreatingly to his friend. “Simon, tell me this isn’t some—”
“It’s nothing bad, I swear.” Simon threw an arm strategically around his shoulders and casually steered him inside, nodding at the doorman as they walked past.
The interior of the building was even more spectacular than the exterior. Crystal chandeliers and intricately-carved framework lined the long hallways. The floor was made to look like a checkerboard of polished walnut, and soft classical music tinkled down from hidden speakers in the walls.
Tristan raised his eyebrows as he gazed around, looking reluctantly impressed. “This place is incredible.” His eyes flickered to the gold-plated statues posing in the corner. “How the hell are you affording something like this?”
An ironic question, coming from one of the richest guys Simon knew.
He cocked his head sarcastically. “Asks the guy who rode over in his Porsche. You’re not the only one whose family’s loaded, Tris.”
Tristan shrugged modestly. “That’s my parents’ money, not mine. They’d probably give me whatever I wanted, but if I started taking out thousands of pounds every month to pay for a place of my own they’d definitely notice. How are you doing all this, Simon?”
For the second time, Simon hesitated. Then stalled.
Tristan had unintentionally hit the nail on the head. Like the Wardells, the Kerrigans came from old money—the kind of money that built up over the years. Realistically, Simon would probably never want for much of anything materialistic in his entire life, but right now, as he was under eighteen, that luxury hinged completely upon his parents’ generosity. He had only a small cushion to keep him going through school, and he had already put an alarming dent in that just by laying down the deposit.
“Oh, you know how it is.” He brushed off the question casually. “My parents are gone all the time. They’ll probably never notice.”
Tristan flashed him a look but said nothing, following silently behind as Simon led him to the base of the stairs.
“Well,” he continued, “the lift is broken, but it’s only about thirty stories up.”
Tristan’s lips parted in dismay as his face paled even more drastically. “What?!” He stared with dread up the winding staircase. “Simon, I don’t think I can—”
“Relax,” Simon chuckled, leading him the other direction. “I was kidding.”
They stepped into the elevator and he pushed the button for the top floor, still grinning to himself as Tristan shoved him with the obligatory ‘bastard’. They shot skyward, and before Simon knew it the doors were opening with a pleasant ding into the upstairs hall.
They walked out and headed over to the only door on the floor, but it was here that Simon came to a fearful halt. Once they went over that threshold, there was no going back. And while he trusted Tristan with his life, it flat-out terrified him that he didn’t know exactly how his friend was going to respond to what he was about to see.
“Simon.” He turned his head to see Tristan looking at him expectantly. He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head towards the closed door. “Are we going in?”
Simon paused. Evaluating. Re-calculating. Generally panicking like crazy.
No. This was a terrible mistake. It’s too important. No one else can know.
“Actually...” He took a step back, tugging Tristan’s sleeve with him. “I didn’t even think about this, but I’m pretty sure that they’re doing one of those maintenance checks today. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to get in.”
Tristan yanked his arm away. “You have to be kidding me. We drove all this way—”
Simon shook his head quickly, and started backing away even faster. “I know. I’m sorry. I just didn’t remember until now.” He pressed the button for the elevator to return. “Maybe we can come back some other time. When you’re up for it—”
“Simon.”
The hallway grew instantly quiet as the boys stared at each other. Simon knew his face was full of blind panic. It wasn’t in his nature to trust, let alone with something as precious as this. On the other hand, Tristan’s eyes shone with a knowing steadiness. He didn’t believe the maintenance excuse for a second. Between that and the fact that he was swaying on his feet, there was no way he was going back downstairs. Not until he’d seen what they came here for.
After fidgeting a moment under that expectant stare, he finally reached down into his pocket and pulled out the keys. As he did so, he drew in a deep breath and cast a sideways glance at his friend. “Just...promise me something.”
Tristan’s eyes flashed warily, but he held his ground. “Okay...”
The key turned in the lock, and Simon braced for the worst. “Don’t freak out.”
IT WASN’T OFTEN THAT time could literally stand still.
Simon had only experienced it a couple of times. When the assassin was pointing the gun at his head. The first time he’d seen his tatù. The moment he passed through the gates of Guilder.
In each of those moments, he felt like he could have literally lived and died. They were infinite. No limits stopping them, no end in sight.
Unfortunately, this was one of those moments.
Finally, after an unbearable silence and with all the gentlemanly courtesy he could muster, Tristan politely cleared his throat. “Simon, there’s a girl in your apartment.”
Beth and Simon locked eyes.
She had clearly been in the middle of housecleaning, or something else of that nature. Her slender body was clad in nothing but a thin camisole and some running shorts, and her hair was swept up into a tumbling curly ponytail, only a few dark tendrils clinging to the sides of her neck.
For a split second, Simon was simply mute. It was such a surreal collision of worlds, to have both her and Tristan standing there, that he had no idea how to navigate his way through. Then, basic manners returned to him and he gestured them both forward.
“Tristan, this is Beth. Beth is Argyle’s older sister.”
The explanation was unnecessary. Over the last few months, he and Tristan had talked about Beth many, many times. Tristan probably recognized her from the picture hidden in Simon’s desk.
“Beth, this is Tristan Wardell. He’s a friend of mine from school.”
Having given the basics, Simon’s eyes flickered from one to the other, resting no more than an instant on either. Flying back and forth. Faster every time.
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It took Beth a second to put it together. Then her eyes widened ever so slightly, and he could tell the words ‘from school’ had hit home. This boy had ink like she did. Suddenly, a burning curiosity sparkled deep in her eyes and she thrust her hand into the space between them.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
For a moment, Tristan didn’t move. He was still struggling to piece together what exactly was going on, and her sudden boldness had thrown him even further. But a second later, he remembered himself and shook her hand with a tentative smile.
Her eyes fixed on his arm.
“And you as well. Simon never shuts up about you.” They shared a quick grin at Simon’s expense before Tristan continued with a slight frown. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d moved to London. Or that we were coming to see you today. I would have suggested that we bring along your brother.”
Simon’s heart skipped a beat as Beth turned to him with a look of exasperation. Yes, there were some things he might have neglected to mention.
Tristan followed the exchange, and shook his head a little self-consciously. “I’m sorry, am I missing something here, or...”
“No, you are doing just fine,” Beth said sweetly, leading him to the couch while casting Simon another rueful look. “Plus, you have the perfect built-in excuse. You just woke up from a coma, right? After getting struck by lightning?”
She strained the words in a way that made them sound so extraordinary as to be ridiculously surreal, and Tristan bowed his head with a soft laugh. “Yeah, that would be me.”
She smiled lightly as he sat next to her on the couch, but her eyes showed her deep concern. “Simon’s been so worried about you. We both have.” She leaned forward and, although she didn’t yet know him, she put a gentle hand upon his arm. “I’m so happy you woke up, Tristan.”
A small rush of pride welled up in Simon’s chest. That was his girl. Beautiful, through and through. He’d said it before, and he’d say it again—he was going to marry this girl.
For his part, Tristan looked slightly stunned by the unexpected show of support. The tops of his cheekbones blushed slightly, and he tossed a quick look to Simon before returning her smile. “Thanks. That...means a lot.”
Beth nodded warmly, before removing her hand and gazing up at her boyfriend. He had brought Tristan there for a reason, and the two of them had a lot of explaining to do.
“Well, now that you’re here, it’s actually funny that you brought up my brother...” She paused, and Simon took over the narration.
“Argyle didn’t get the mark, Tris.”
Tristan straightened up in surprise, his face tightening into a frown. “How can you know that for sure? He hasn’t had his birthday yet. Chances are, he’ll still...” His voice trailed off suddenly as he realized what they were saying. And why he was sitting on the couch. With a look of wonder, he turned to Beth. “You got it?”
After getting a reassuring nod from Simon, she turned around and slowly began rolling up the back of her shirt, exposing her beautiful, fiery tatù.
Tristan’s jaw actually dropped open, and he reached out to touch it without thinking. A shiver of automatic jealousy hummed through Simon’s skin as Tristan’s fingertips grazed over her bare back, but the next second the hand had moved.
“I’ve never seen one like that before....” he murmured, clearly very impressed. “Do you know what it can do?”
Beth grinned nervously, still brand new to the concept of ink and thrilled to be talking about it whenever at all possible. “Actually, that’s kind of why Simon brought you here.”
Without another word, she stretched her hand out.
Having attended Guilder for the better part of two years, both boys instinctively knew to lean the hell back. But nothing happened. A look of extreme concentration washed across her face, followed by a hint of frustration. But still, nothing.
After a full minute, Tristan’s eyes flickered up to Simon.
Is this a joke? they seemed to say. Did you bring me here to see your girlfriend’s henna?
Then all at once, he leapt back with a shout.
Beth’s hand was still hovering in the air. There was just one tiny difference.
It was on fire.
“Holy hell!” he gasped.
His eyes danced with the ice-blue flames, and Simon knew that Tristan was thinking the exact same thing that Simon had thought the first time he’d seen her power. These were no ordinary flames. The fire-throwers at their school didn’t have this kind of power. This was something more.
It was a stunning moment, turned curious, turned abruptly tense.
“Can you...” Tristan backed away as the flames began to spread. “Can you put it out?”
A look of worry flitted across Beth’s face, followed by a look of shame. “No...that’s kind of the problem.” She tried closing her fist a million times as Simon headed to the kitchen to get the fire extinguisher. When he returned she held her hand out over the coffee table, and he doused it up and down. At once the flames vanished, leaving only the smell of smoke in their wake.
...Along with a hell of a lot of questions.
“SO I GUESS WHAT I DON’T understand is why you ended up moving to London.”
Simon, Tristan, and Beth sat around the kitchen table. A box of half-eaten pizza lay between them. After Beth’s little fire display and the general shock that had followed, Simon had decided it would be a good idea for the three of them to get some food and clear their heads. It worked for a while. But now that they were finished, all those questions still remained.
Beth looked down at her hands with a soft sigh. “After I went back to Scotland with Argyle, the first thing we had to do was tell my father. He...”
Simon looked up at her with feeling. He knew from personal experience that Beth’s father was a difficult man to explain. An even more difficult man to live with. The last time the two of them had collided, he had literally thrown Simon onto a train with strict instructions never to speak to his daughter again.
“...he didn’t expect that I would be the one to get the tatù,” she finished coldly. “Let’s just leave it at that. But he said he’d train me anyway. Walk me through exactly how to use it. Prepare me for life in the world of tatùs. Argyle promised to help. I’ve actually never been so proud of him.” Her face warmed in spite of itself before growing abruptly cool. “My father and I might share the ink, but trust me: it’s the only thing the two of us have in common. We’ve never seen eye to eye, and when you mix two people like that along with something as volatile as fire...” She shook her head.
“You had to leave,” Simon finished for her.
Tristan had remained very quiet during her entire explanation. During the entire trip really. Simon couldn’t tell whether it was because he was still decidedly unwell, or because he was simply trying to wrap his head around everything that was happening.
Tatùs were almost always passed down through the father. So much so that, when a couple had a baby girl, many fathers would press for another, hoping to get a son. For a girl to be gifted with ink was a rare thing. Tristan’s silence seemed to lend to something else, something deeper. Simon wanted to ask him what it was, to see if his friend was actually hiding something. Then he brushed it aside. Whatever Tristan was thinking about, it only mattered if it had to do with Beth. Right here. Right now.
When he finally did speak, it was the last thing Simon expected to hear.
“I can understand that,” he said quietly.
A rush of gratitude the likes of which Simon had never felt rushed over him, warming him from head to toe. This was exactly why he had brought Tristan here in the first place. For help. For guidance. Because he could be trusted, and Simon and Beth were in over their heads.
But Tristan was also practical. And there were logistics to be sorted. “Do your parents at least know that you’re here?”
Beth paled slightly, and Simon shook his head.
No. They most certainly
did not know. For that matter, neither did Argyle. And for the good of everyone involved, it was going to stay that way.
“My father would try to force me to go back,” she said in a voice full of dread.
“And I...” Simon took over firmly, “...would never allow that to happen.”
The room went silent for a moment as he and Tristan shared a look. Their eyes locked and then each one moved determinately forward, unwilling to think about what exactly that meant.
“What about school?” Tristan asked, turning a deliberately blind eye to the troublesome darkness inherent in his friend. “Do you have the credits to graduate early?”
Beth leaned forward in her chair, nodding quickly. “And then some. All it will take is one quick phone call to the counseling office, and they can speed the diploma along through.”
Tristan nodded at the table, studying a crack in the varnish before he looked up with a thoughtful frown. “So... why did you bring me here?”
This time it was Simon who lowered his eyes. “I need help,” he admitted softly. It wasn’t an easy thing for him to do, under any circumstance. But the situation most definitely required it. “I needed someone else to know. So it wouldn’t be some huge secret. So we wouldn’t be in it alone.”
Tristan’s frowned deepened as he shook his head, clearly failing to see the problem. “Why’s it a secret at all? Girls get tatùs. It’s rare, but not impossible.” He turned to Beth. “Why don’t you just come back with us to Guilder? The school itself isn’t open to girls, but with your ink I’m sure they’d want to see you in action...” Then for the second time, his voice trailed off as the reason for his visit suddenly clicked. “Simon.” He said it both as an answer, and a quiet censure. Beth would receive none of the blame for her part in the relationship. Up until a few weeks ago she’d had no idea that tatùs even existed, let alone all the rules that went with them.
But Simon...Simon was a different story.