Reckless Cruel Heirs

by Olivia Wildenstein

  I caught his smirk in the shiny handrail.

  The equivalent of four floors later, we reached the first landing, and I pirouetted to take in the expansive space. Nothing. There was nothing. No fake furniture. No fake people. No crazy animals. The next two floors were identical to the first. Instead of heading up another flight—I’d exercised enough to last me a decade—I crossed the gigantic space toward the floor-to-ceiling window that gave onto the street below, bumping the tip of my nose against the impeccably clean glass that must’ve been made from a special material, because my breath didn’t fog it.

  Inside the skyscraper across the road, apartments made of steel, pale stone, and cream drapes filled each floor. And the building next to that one was littered with office furniture. “Is it just me, or did you pick the only vacant building?”

  Remo, who’d come up next to me, frowned.

  “What?” I asked.

  “When I looked up, I didn’t see anything in those buildings.”

  “Maybe you should get your eyes checked?”

  He turned said eyes on me. “Did you see anything?”

  “I was too busy scanning the street for mutant mice.”

  He cocked up an eyebrow, which told me he couldn’t tell if I was joking; I wasn’t. I really was more worried about what lay in wait in the concrete wilderness. Now that I knew the buildings were missing front doors, though . . .

  “Mutant mice,” he grunted. And then, because he was glib like that, he spun around and pounded back toward the spirals.

  “Careful. Glass breaks,” I said.

  “Probably not the magical kind. What the—Where the fuck are the stairs?”

  “Seriously?” I gestured to where they . . . should’ve been.

  Across from us, an elevator dinged.

  He looked at the floor some more, then at the ceiling, and then back at me. “Next time, don’t wish for something so loudly, Trifecta.”

  “Yeah. Because disappearing stairs are my fault.” Muttering bagwa under my breath just loud enough for him to hear, I crossed toward the elevator.

  “You’re not actually going to get in?”

  “Do you see any other way out of this building?”

  I stepped inside, then searched for the keypad to input Lobby, but the elevator’s walls were black glass and devoid of buttons. I brushed my fingertips where the keypad should’ve been, hoping one would materialize. The doors began to slide shut. I jerked my attention to where Remo still stood by the missing spirals. Growling, he ran toward the elevator. I stuck my boot between the closing doors, which he seized and prized apart.

  “I don’t like this,” he grumbled, squeezing himself through.

  As the doors sealed shut, I said, “Can you help me locate the panel?”

  His lashes hit his browbones, and then the color leached from his skin as the doors smoothed into a creaseless panel of black glass.

  Crap.

  Were we about to be transported like in the train? Claustrophobia clawing up my throat, I looked at Remo, but then the elevator darkened, and just like the stairs, my companion disappeared. A room materialized before me, with a bed and a table topped with a half-eaten burger.

  A tall man with faded blond hair was lifting a chilled beer bottle to his mouth. After a long swallow, he moved closer to a young girl with hair the same coppery red as Remo’s. You’re right, Faith. I do know the show’s producer.

  Faith? I blinked. Remo’s mother, Faith?

  The blond man slid a knuckle down her cheek, and she flinched, her high ponytail swinging over her shoulder.

  How badly do you want the part?

  I . . . I—

  Let me rephrase myself. It’s a career-making role. How badly do you want an acting career?

  Faith’s tongue darted nervously over her lips. It’s my dream.

  The man smirked. Then I’ll make it come true.

  Relief wrought with some tension softened her stance. Thank you. Thank you!

  She spun to leave when the man’s voice rang out. You’re forgetting something . . . She whirled back around and took in the room before her blue eyes landed on the man again.

  The man who was now sitting on the bed, patting it.

  The scene flickered then faded, and light flared, illuminating the elevator.

  Relief to find Remo standing next to me mingled with confusion. “Was that your mother?”

  Remo’s mouth, which had been slightly agape, closed. “My mother?”

  One of my eyebrows crept up. “Um. Didn’t you just—Wait. What did you see?”

  “Obviously not the same thing you did. So, you saw my mother . . . and what was she doing?”

  “She was with this—” My words jammed in my throat as the man’s face flashed behind my lids. There had been something so familiar about the shape of his smirk and the lines of his body. Oh, Skies, had I just gotten a glimpse of Remo’s father? The man no one knew anything about?

  Remo dipped his chin into his neck. “With this what?”

  Did Remo know how he’d been . . . conceived? In case it was a secret—was it even real?—I countered, “Who did you see?”

  “Finish your sentence, and I’ll share what I saw.”

  I steeled my lips but then relented. “With a man.”

  “Not Silas?”

  “No, but she was much . . . younger.”

  His eyes seemed to darken even though the light around us was still bright.

  “So, what did you—”

  Suddenly the elevator jerked, and my back rammed into the wall. Heart in my throat, I braced for the black glass box to shoot up . . . or down.

  It descended. Slowly. And then it jerked to a stop. I imagined the doors would reform and release us—probably somewhere awful—but I was wrong. Whatever magic the black glass was imbued with made the air darken again and Faith reappear, older this time. She was crying, both hands clutching the front of Silas’s black uniform. Silas whose downturned face was entirely unlined and whose dark brown locks was untouched by age.

  He pushed a piece of red hair off her cheek. Don’t ask me to choose between my duty and my heart, Faith. Don’t.

  Ace may not have murdered my mother, but he married Cat, which makes him complicit.

  You have to forgive her. Your mother attacked her.

  You know what? She released him. You’ve obviously made your choice. She flicked her hand toward the entrance of her apartment. Leave.

  Faith . . .

  Leave! Her large blue eyes glittered with tears. And don’t bother coming back.

  Brightness bled over the dark and whisked away Faith and Silas.

  I blinked, found Remo already staring at me. This time, his lips were firmly wedged together, and his jaw ticked as though whatever had played out for him was deeply aggravating.

  “You’re seeing my parents, aren’t you?” It wasn’t such a wild guess. If I was witnessing chapters from his life, he must’ve been seeing episodes from mine.

  He twitched.

  “Tell me what you saw.”

  He thrust one hand through his hair, then averted his gaze. The elevator jerked before sliding down. This time, when it stopped, I was ready for my weird little show to begin.

  Gregor was there and so was a younger version of Remo. If I had to guess, he was four, maybe five. And they were standing beside a floating crib. I couldn’t see the baby inside, but I could hear it whimpering. Was it Karsyn? No . . . Karsyn was over a decade younger than—

  What do you think of your future queen? Gregor asked.

  I was in that crib?

  She’s a baby, Little Remo responded. Babies can’t be queens.

  Babies grow up.

  She’s ugly. And her cries hurt my ears.

  Gregor guffawed, his thick, age-streaked hair dancing around his mirthful face. Better get used to it, Remo.

  Used to what, Grandfather?

  Women crying. That never changes.

  My lips pinched together. Chauvinist.


  Little Remo wrinkled his nose. I don’t like women.

  If you’re anything like me, you will. You’ll like them way too much. Maybe you’ll even like this one. He nodded to my floating crib. And if you did happen to like her, then you’d be king. Wouldn’t that be just grand?

  Remo pushed up on tiptoe to look into the crib again, nose still wrinkled. Do I need to like her to be king?

  Gregor sighed, and although he wasn’t actually there, his piercing hazel gaze seemed to land on me—grown-up-Amara. It’d be the easiest way . . . but not the only one.

  The air brightened, but my mood definitely didn’t. My loathing for Gregor Farrow simmered and sank into my skin, curdling my blood. How I longed to launch my fire and dust into the wariff’s face.

  Remo and I didn’t talk this time, even though our eyes met and held as the elevator dipped to the next floor. We’d gone up three stories. Did that mean there would be one more memory to wade through? Gripping my elbows, I readied myself. Right on cue, the elevator leveled out, and the air blackened.

  A ball smacked into the side of Remo’s jaw, which was slightly round and dusted with sparse stubble.

  Get your head in the game, Remo, another boy called out to him.

  My head’s in the game, he grumbled.

  Really? Because I could’ve sworn you were prinsisa-gazing.

  The look Remo tossed his friend was full of venom. She’s a kid, Aaron. A kid, who thinks she deserves the world on a fucking silver platter because her father wears a crown and her mother can manipulate stolen wita. His fingers were rolled into fists. Wita she took from my family, by the way. Wita which I plan on setting free.

  Dude . . . Aaron backed up.

  What? You think our queen should be allowed to keep something that isn’t hers?

  Aaron raised his hands. I don’t want to hear this.

  When the boys faded, my fingers dented the skin over my elbows with such fury I was surely cutting off my blood circulation. “You planned on slicing my mother’s neck open?” I yelled.

  Remo’s brow pleated in confusion. “Amara, I—”

  The elevator dinged, snatching away the rest of his words—undoubtedly a lie—but the glass panel didn’t split open. Instead, it lit up and four words appeared: “Welcome to the Scourge.”

  That word again. What did it mean?

  The glass went dark, then brightened with a dile injecting venom into someone’s foot, followed by a quila clawing through flesh, faerie bodies bursting into gray dust and human bodies being decapitated by laser beams, wounds oozing and bubbling with sores.

  A wave of sickness slammed into my clenched teeth. The projection shut off and then a seam appeared in the glass wall that widened as the doors pulled apart. I scrambled out into the lobby, palms gripping my thighs, body hunched over. As I worked on swallowing back the vile taste of vomit, wind whistled through the gaping entrance, filling the lobby with an eerie silence.

  “What’s a scourge?” My voice was flat even though I brimmed with rage.

  “A whip. One that causes immense pain.”

  I wondered how Remo knew this. It wasn’t as though he could look it up on his Infinity. Maybe he owned one. That made sense.

  “Maybe it’s the name of this place,” he ventured.

  “It’d be suiting.” Once I got my stomach under control, I straightened and turned to face Remo, who was standing near enough for me to touch him. Not that I ever would after what I’d just witnessed.

  Unless it wasn’t true and this place was trying to stir up trouble.

  “Did you once tell a boy called Aaron that you would hack through my mother’s neck?”

  He blinked.

  I took a small step back. It was true. “I hated you before, but now . . .” My hands locked into fists so tight my knuckles whitened.

  His eyes turned stony. “Trust me, I got that from the episodes I was subjected to. I didn’t know you had quite so many nicknames for me, and that my eyes were . . . how did you describe them to Giya again? Oh, right, the color of dile poison.”

  “I might’ve said unpleasant things about you, but I never plotted your mother’s murder or your family’s downfall.” I backed up. “To think I was beginning to trust you.”

  Color rose to Remo’s cheekbones. “I wasn’t going to murder her.”

  “Like I’d believe you.” I whirled around and stormed out of the building.

  Footsteps sounded behind me. Too quick and too near. “That conversation happened almost four years ago.”

  “Just because it’s in the past, it doesn’t make it any less real.”

  He growled. “I’m sorry, all right!”

  I halted my mad dash toward the train and spun back around. “Is Remo Farrow apologizing for something? Wow.” I looked up at the unremitting white sky. “I hope someone’s recording this because I want to play it over and over after we get out.”

  If we ever freaking did!

  I stared at the cliff. Was the portal somewhere beyond it? And then I looked up into the surrounding buildings, seeing furniture, even in the tower we’d just come from.

  I’d been wrong about the glass being magical. It wasn’t magical; it was evil, offering deceptive salvation and cruel truths. As I stalked off toward the train again, I rebaptized this cell Deception Central. I neither sang nor hummed, and not because I was afraid Remo would pick on me, but because I was so disheartened I couldn’t find it in me to produce a single sound.

  My stomach growled, but I doubted it was in hunger. I didn’t think I could eat anything after the horrific movie in the elevator. However, if I remained in the Scourge much longer, I’d need to find food. I thought of the pack of lupa. I’d never eaten one before, and the idea was revolting, almost as much as the oozing sores from the video, but meat was meat. How could I hunt one down without a weapon, though? And how would I cook it without fire? Sure, there’d been a chimney in the boarding house, but without access to my Seelie power or to matches, I had no way of kindling flames.

  The glare of white sky against glass made me blink my eyes closed. And then an idea made me blink them wide open. Sun through glass created flames. I’d seen it done in a movie. There had been windows in Frontier Land. I could surely punch one out.

  I was about to share my musings when I remembered I wasn’t talking to Remo. And then a spot of color made me forget all about hunting lupa. On a stair in the building closest to me rested a single red apple. I pirouetted to take in the silent city on the lookout for a shadow or some flicker of movement. Was someone leaving them for us? Were they our magically-allotted prison meal?

  I decided to go retrieve it when Remo clapped his hand around my forearm and held me back. “Did the lupa’s reaction to it slip your mind?”

  I plucked his fingers off my sleeve. “It showed up in both worlds, so it’s got to be important. Besides, the wolves here might only like human flesh.”

  Remo stayed quiet as though mulling over my hypothesis.

  “And holding it didn’t hurt me.”

  He nodded to my hands. “Maybe because you’re wearing gloves.”

  I waited for him to ask for them back; he didn’t. Had he forgotten they were his? I didn’t remind him. “Perhaps. Or perhaps because it’s not poisonous.” I trotted into the building and up the glass spirals, climbing fast, afraid the fruit might vanish or relocate. Thankfully, it wasn’t on the first-floor landing. I didn’t want to be caged inside an elevator again with one of Remo’s or Faith’s memories.

  When I reached it, I was completely out of breath and had a stitch in my side. I really needed to exercise more when I got back to Neverra. I bent down and scooped it up. It was as unblemished and glossy as the one from the schoolhouse.

  I brought it up to my nose to sniff it when Remo raced across the lobby, bellowing, “Don’t eat it!”

  I jumped, and the apple almost slid out of my fingers. “I wasn’t going to,” I mumbled, body vibrating from his yell. Clutching the fruit to my heaving c
hest, I took a step down.

  A great, rattling rumble echoed around me. I thought the sound was coming from my stomach, but I couldn’t be that hungry, could I? When another boom sounded, I stared out the windows, expecting to find the street darkened and slick from a thunderstorm. Instead, I saw fissures race through the enormous clear panes. Another rumble reverberated through the skyscraper and up my legs.

  Aw fae, what now?

  “Amara!”

  Another loud quake rolled through the city, splintering the stair beneath my boots.

  “Amara, the building’s breaking apart! Get down here! NOW!”

  Heart pinned to my throat, I ran, leaping from one stair to the next. Glass and stone cracked and crashed all around me. I wanted to yell at Remo to run to safety, but my voice couldn’t get past my battering heart. If only I could jump the rest of the way down, but I was still much too high.

  The stair beneath me gave way, and air replaced the sensation of shaking ground. A cry tore up my throat as I fell, arms flailing to latch on to something solid. I managed to seize the edge of a step, but the momentum of my fall sent a bolt of fire into my elbow and rent a scream from my lungs.

  “Amara, let go!”

  “I know you want me dead, but I don’t want to die like this,” I shrieked.

  Could I die from a fall, though? Not in Neverra and not on Earth, but back home, when skin tore, it knitted; when bones ached, they mended. Here—I whimpered as the outside tremors breached my body and flowed into my veins.

  “If you don’t let go, we both die, so fucking let go already!”

  The building shuddered, and my hold broke. I squeezed my lids shut, desperately seeking out my fire, even a wisp of it, but my veins were empty, and I tumbled through the air like the doll Nana Vee had made me when I was a baby.

  Glass shards tinkled like tossed glitter around me, scratching my skin and poking through my suit. I almost wished a piece would just pierce my heart, because the anticipation of cracking my skull and every bone in my body was beyond horrifying.

  I thought of Iba and Nima, prayed they assumed I’d run away. I didn’t want them mourning me. And then I thought of Sook and Giya, and how they probably wouldn’t stop looking for me if they believed me gone and not dead. I thought of Pappy and of my two favorite nanas. I even thought of Remo, the boy who hated my mother. I hoped he’d make it out of the Scourge and alert Neverrians to Gregor’s atrocity.