Blood and Salt

by Kim Liggett

  As we came to an abrupt stop in the center of the dance floor, she maneuvered Brennon so he was facing me.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, feeling the crowd press in around us.

  “It’s tradition.” He smiled.

  I raised an eyebrow. “There’s more?”

  A tall man with a twisty mustache, wearing a brocade waistcoat, turned toward the band, whistling through his teeth, and the band struck up a different tune—a slow and delicate piece.

  I knew where this was headed.

  Mrs. Mendoza placed my hand on Brennon’s shoulder and his hand on my waist.

  “Oooh,” the crowd roared lasciviously.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to tell us to dance?” I whispered.

  Brennon cracked up; his mother shot me a look of warning. Apparently, this was her big moment.

  Together, she and her husband placed my other hand in Brennon’s.

  The audience burst into cheers, making me flinch.

  Brennon squeezed my hand. “Remember what I said.”

  I nodded. Dance. Make the old folks happy—I’ve got this.

  With tears in her eyes, Mrs. Mendoza latched on to her husband and backed away.

  Brennon gave me a reassuring smile before he started moving me around in circles on the crowded dance floor. I think he was leading me in a waltz, but I had no idea what I was doing.

  Soon, the onlookers lost interest, and it finally felt like I could breathe again.

  Brennon was a gorgeous distraction, but my thoughts still wandered to Dane. I spotted him talking with a group of men across the room—and that tingling sensation spread over the surface of my skin, settling deep inside of me.

  He was more than handsome. I’d been around my fair share of pretty boys. This was something else . . . something chemical. I’d never doubt my mother’s theory of attraction again.

  I watched Dane as inconspicuously as possible as he moved through the party. Even though he was Mixed, people treated him with a certain amount of deference. All the girls took special notice of him. Clearly, I wasn’t his only admirer. Why was I being so ridiculous? He wouldn’t even look at me. Come to think of it, Dane seemed to look at everyone but me.

  The music changed to something more upbeat, a jig of some sort, and Brennon lifted me up and twirled me around. I couldn’t help but laugh. There was an easiness about him. I tried to imagine what it would be like, picking someone to spend the rest of your life with based on their scent. Brennon wouldn’t have been a bad choice. Fireworks didn’t go off in my chest when he touched me, but maybe that was better—who wants to spend their whole life getting burned? And Brennon didn’t make me want to hurl when he touched me, which was still kind of a novelty.

  As we danced, Brennon filled me in on the Quivira gossip. “The Hanrattys stick to their own.” He nodded toward a grim-faced group huddled up on the right side of the ballroom. “And it’s best to steer clear of the cheese balls. The Hanrattys always make the cheese balls.”

  “Got it. Hanrattys are weird. Don’t eat their cheese balls.” I smiled.

  “The Grimsbys are good folk . . . like Lou, she’s a peach, but there are a lot of seers in that bloodline.”

  “I’d never met a seer, until today.”

  “Consider yourself lucky. My friend Pete over there”—he nodded toward a tall, rail-thin boy watching a group of girls dancing and carrying on—“he’s a Grimsby. He can’t even entertain the idea of calling on a girl without one of his aunts telling him how it will end in tears.”

  I looked around the room. “What other kinds of spiritual gifts do people have?”

  “There are a couple of dowsers—people who can find water sources—a few finders, folks who can locate missing objects or sense their history. Comes in handy when Ruth Hanratty loses her teeth, which happens about once a day,” he said, chuckling. “But the gifts are diminishing with every generation. Except for the Mixed, of course.”

  I perked up. “What about the Mixed?”

  “When Coronado left Quivira, his children stayed behind. They say there’s black magic in their blood, and their gifts only seem to get stronger. But you are one of a kind,” he said with a grin as he spun me around fast. “You are a Larkin, the first twin in your family, and the first conduit of your bloodline.”

  “Are there any other conduits at the party?” I asked, my heart quickening at the thought.

  “Of course not.” He pulled back slightly, with a sour look on his face.

  A bitter feeling welled up inside of me.

  He lowered his head, his tone softening. “I hope I didn’t offend you. It’s just . . . you’re very different from the other conduits. You’re very fortunate.”

  “Am I?” I felt my throat constrict. I tugged at the ribbon tied around my neck, but that wasn’t the cause. I couldn’t help wondering what it really meant to be a conduit . . . what I’d become if the protection marks weren’t working anymore.

  A guy bashed into me; he twirled his partner around—it was Lauren. The way he scowled at me made me think it wasn’t an accident.

  Brennon quickly moved us away, toward the far right corner of the ballroom.

  “What’s their problem?” I asked as I peeked over Brennon’s shoulder to find them glaring at us.

  “That’s my cousin Lauren, just being Lauren, and the one with the black eye is Tommy. He’s a little off-kilter, but he’s a third cousin removed. He’s got a little too much Hanratty blood, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, well, from the looks of him, I wouldn’t be surprised if that black eye was self-inflicted.”

  “How did you know?” Brennon laughed. “And over there . . .” He nodded toward a distinguished-looking man, impeccably dressed with thick dark hair, a dab of gray at his temples, who was holding court near the buffet table. “That’s my uncle, Spencer Mendoza. He’s a big deal around here.”

  Spencer’s eyes locked on mine.

  I staggered back a little.

  “Are you okay?” Brennon shot his arm around my lower back, supporting me.

  “Yeah.” I inhaled sharply as I regained my footing. “I just got a little dizzy.” I watched Spencer excuse himself and leave the ballroom. As he passed, I got a whiff of parchment and eucalyptus, but there was something foul underneath. I had no clue what just happened—I’d never set eyes on him before, yet I hated his guts.

  A commotion came from the center of the dance floor and the band went quiet. Betsy Grimsby, my brother’s admirer, seemed to have passed out. Rhys crouched next to her as Beth asked people to step back and give her some air. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was faking to get my brother’s attention. The girls of Quivira seemed old-school like that.

  After making sure I was okay, Brennon excused himself to help. It was a relief. With all the attention elsewhere it was the perfect opportunity to find Dane. Before my mother arrived and we left Quivira for good, I wanted an explanation for why he ran away earlier, and why he was so cold to me at the wreathing ceremony. I felt I deserved that much.

  I spotted him walking out of the ballroom. I slipped through the crowd, into the hall, down one flight of stairs, where I discovered Spencer Mendoza and Dane talking quietly in the archway of the men’s parlor. I ducked behind the tapestry curtain of the women’s parlor directly across the hall from them.

  “The boy has no power,” Spencer said. “But the girl’s a conduit, a direct link to Katia. She’s dangerous.”

  “She’s not the vessel and the summer solstice is almost here.” Dane glanced down at his feet. “I don’t see why it matters anymore.”

  Spencer seized Dane’s arm. “Who are you to say what matters anymore,” he spat. “Have you forgotten what you are? Your duty?”

  “How could I?” Dane pulled away from him, rubbing the inside of his wrist.

  Spencer took a
deep breath and tugged down the hem of his button-down vest. “Do as I say. And consider yourself warned,” he said before turning and storming back upstairs to the ballroom.

  Dane dragged his hands through his dark hair. He turned to head down the next flight of steps, but hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go. I wanted to see his face. I wanted to know what he was thinking. He descended the stairs, and I couldn’t help but follow—almost as if I’d never had a choice.

  15

  SAVAGE

  I SEARCHED FOR DANE, but I’d lost him. Even with the meeting house lit up like a jewel box, it was still incredibly dark outside—the kind of dark that pressed in around me like a lead veil.

  I walked to the shore, watching the ripples fade to black. The clouds obscuring the moon sailed past, giving the water an odd veneer, like the film on an old dog’s eye.

  “You shouldn’t have come here.” Dane’s voice slipped from the shadows.

  The blood seemed to flutter in my veins.

  I should’ve been embarrassed, but I wasn’t. I’d already made a complete fool of myself. What was one more twist of the knife?

  I stepped across the lawn, toward the sound of his voice, straining to catch a glimpse of his face. But what I saw chilled me. Standing a few feet deep in the corn, he watched me through the heavy stalks, his dark eyes glistening with a focus that unnerved me.

  I crossed my arms over my flimsy garment, afraid he could see right through me.

  “What was all that about . . . with Spencer Mendoza?”

  His jaw tensed. “You and I can’t be seen together. Alone.”

  “We’re just talking. Besides”—I stepped forward—“I don’t care about any of that. About me being a Larkin and you being a Mixed or whatever,” I said as I fidgeted with the end of the black silk ribbon.

  “I care.” His voice had a menacing edge. “We take tradition and honor very seriously in Quivira.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I just . . . when we met . . . and then you left . . . and I saw you again . . . it’s just . . .”

  I took another step toward him. As soon as my foot hit the soil at the edge of the corn, a current ripped through my body, flinging me back at least ten feet in the grass.

  Stunned, I got back up. He stared at me unflinchingly.

  I tried again, but the moment I stepped into the corn I was thrown back with an even greater force.

  “What’s happening?” I struggled to get to my feet, feeling more than a little dazed.

  “The only way you’ll leave Quivira is if the corn wants you to leave.”

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Tanner’s warning. People go into the corn but they don’t come out. Could it be true? I held my ground a few feet away from the edge of the field. I could feel it now—an invisible energy force keeping me there.

  “But how are you—”

  “I’m a Mixed. I have Coronado’s blood.” He pulled up his left sleeve, showing me the brand on his inner wrist. “All of the Mixed have certain quirks.”

  “Beth,” I exhaled, remembering the scar on her inner arm, her strangeness. But her mark looked different from Dane’s. “Can all of the Mixed go into the corn?”

  “No.” He looked at me with a pained expression. “And you’re the only person who knows I can. If anyone found out, they’d kill me.”

  “Kill you?” I whispered as I glanced back toward the meeting house.

  “I need to know I can trust you,” he said as he brushed his hand over the scar tissue on his arm; I had an overwhelming urge to touch it.

  “I know how to keep a secret,” I managed to whisper.

  He walked toward the edge of the field. “There is a way you can walk in the corn,” he said, extending his arm. “Take my hand.” He glanced nervously behind him. “But we need to hurry.”

  When I looked out over the field, a dark feeling rose inside of me. The stalks hulked and swayed in the breeze, like a churning sea, but the thought of touching him overruled every other thought in my head.

  As I reached out for his hand, something violent quaked inside of me, a dull ache grinding me into the past.

  I tried to hold on to the present, but it felt as if someone had a death grip on my rib cage and they were trying to pull me through a sliver in the earth’s crust.

  • • •

  I drag Alonso’s corpse through the corn. A sadness unlike anything I’ve ever felt washes over me, as if my heart can’t bear to beat without him. I call upon the Great Spirit, begging her to break my blood bond to Coronado and return Alonso’s soul to me, but she refuses.

  Then a whisper rustles through the crops, tickling my ear. “I can bring him back to you.”

  I stumble back—there’s no one there, but I can feel a presence all around me.

  “Who are you?” I demand.

  “Without darkness, there can be no light.” The whisper swirls past me this time, circling Alonso, moving his hair about his face, making him appear . . . alive.

  I know who speaks to me now—I can feel him trying to slip under my skin.

  The Dark Spirit.

  I should block him out, refuse to listen, but when I look down at Alonso’s mutilated body, I know what I have to do. The Great Spirit has turned her back on me. She’s made her choice, as I must make mine. “What do you want of me?” I ask. “I’ll do anything to bring him back.”

  The whisper then seeps inside my throat. I breathe his power into my lungs. The Dark Spirit etches the terms across my heart.

  “Let him go,” a voice behind me pleads.

  I turn to see Aiyana. Her long plaited hair, eyes shining like wet shale. “The Great Spirit knows best. You must accept your fate.”

  “I can’t,” I scream, tears running down my face. “I love him.”

  “There are other ways to break the blood bond.”

  “But not ways to bring Alonso back to me.”

  “If you turn your back on the Great Spirit, I will be forced to turn my back on you.” Aiyana’s words cut right through me.

  My entire body trembles. I cannot let Coronado win . . . cannot let Alonso go. I will have my vengeance.

  Ripping the stalks from the field to form a circle, I cut my wrist with my golden blade and walk along the rim, letting my blood sink deep into the soil. I call upon the Dark Spirit. “A’ckista ra’u taku nistka’au’a.”

  “Katia, stop!” Aiyana races toward me, but she’s unable to enter the sacred circle.

  I dig my hands deep within the soil. The ground grumbles in defiance until it finally gives way, taking Alonso’s body down with it, forming a deep crevice in the center of the circle. A gateway to the Dark Spirit.

  I feel the light leaving me and the darkness taking hold, consuming me.

  I know what must be done. Every great deed requires great sacrifice.

  And so it shall be . . .

  • • •

  “Ashlyn.”

  I was thrust back into the present, standing at least thirty feet inside the corn, Dane bracing my wrists.

  “You walked straight into the corn like you were in a trance,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve never seen anyone do that before. How did you do that?” He shook me.

  People began to pour out of the meeting house, screaming and crying.

  Dane’s eyes darted toward the commotion and then to the corn behind him. He looked down at me, lips parted, eyes blazing. “What are you?” he whispered, letting go of my arm.

  As if a spell had been broken, I was torn from his side. A tremendous force of energy pulled me back toward the perimeter, spitting me onto the grass of Quivira.

  Rhys and Beth spotted me. As they ran across the lawn to reach me, I peered back at the corn, searching for Dane. The look of savage beauty on his face nearly shattered me as he stepped back, lett
ing the dark green stalks envelop him.

  16

  ADRIFT

  RHYS COLLAPSED TO his knees beside me on the grass, gasping for air. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to catch his breath or if he was going to throw up.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, still in a daze.

  “He’s come back,” Beth said as she stared off into the corn.

  “Who?” I pulled myself into a sitting position.

  “Coronado.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The crows,” she replied.

  I looked up to the sky and saw the faint outline of black birds flying high above.

  “These people . . .” Rhys panted. “They think the crows belong to Coronado . . . some kind of animal spirit.”

  “They’re called familiars.” Beth blinked slowly, like she could push them from her vision. “The crows attacked during the slaughter in 1861 when Katia sealed off Quivira. They returned the night Nina and Thomas walked the corn. Their presence has marked the disappearance of so many Larkins over the years. But this is different—his magic’s getting stronger.”

  “Ash, we have to leave,” Rhys whispered as he pulled me to my feet.

  My stomach coiled up into tight knots as I looked out over the corn. He still didn’t know we were trapped. Rhys would absolutely freak if I told him. “We can’t leave.” I shook my head. “Not without Mom.”

  “Look at me.” He turned me toward him, his hands trembling. “Someone just died, Ash. She died right in front of me.”

  My mind stuttered, trying to grasp what he was saying. “Who?”

  “My cousin Betsy Grimsby,” Beth said softly as she looked down at the ground.

  “The girl you were dancing with?” I asked, my mind spinning. “I thought she just fainted.”

  “There was so much blood.” Rhys winced. “Coming out of her nose . . . her mouth . . . her eyes. She just bled out right in front of me. She must’ve had an aneurysm or something. I tried to get them to take her to a hospital, but they looked at me like I was crazy. They think Coronado’s ‘black magic’ had something to do with it.”

  Brennon ran up to us. “Thank heavens you’re okay.” There was blood spattered on his white dress shirt.