Kaliel frowned. “But you never went to church.”
“And you said they were hippies.”
Pux looked flustered. “I—I don’t know a lot about them.” He frowned, shooting daggers at Krishani with his eyes.
“They were assholes anyway. It’s not like you chose to be gay,” Kaliel said.
Krishani choked on the straw in his mouth. “You told her you’re gay?”
Pux looked uncomfortable. “I’ve always been gay.”
Kaliel put a hand on Krishani’s arm. “Sorry, I forgot to mention it.”
Krishani shook his head in disbelief. He tried to think back but memories after the volcano exploded were fuzzy. Regardless, he never thought of Pux as competition, not since the time the feorn confronted him at the waterfall, making a snide remark about things on Avristar being forbidden. He thought of Pux more as Kaliel’s brother. That memory was the only crystal clear one in the back of Krishani’s mind. He pressed his lips into a straight line. “It explains a lot.”
“Like what?” Pux asked, offended.
Krishani shrugged. “Do you have someone?” He half-hoped Pux had something else besides Kaliel to focus on.
Pux looked at the table and Krishani knew he went too far. He didn’t want to talk with Pux about the past, the blizzard, and the girl sitting with them that caused it all. It took Pux a minute to regain his composure. “I had Jack.”
Krishani didn’t remember him, but the look on Pux’s face said Jack was from Castle Tavesin.
“What happened?” Kaliel asked, and Krishani realized Pux never told her about Jack.
Pux seemed defeated and small. “He died.”
“I’m sorry,” Kaliel said automatically, regret washing over her features. Krishani said nothing, the server stopping by with fries. They ate mostly in silence, conversation flitting back and forth between Kaliel and Pux, about community college and books. Pux didn’t read and found English a tough language. He was a hands-on kind of person.
Krishani paid the bill and waited by the front while Kaliel went to heat up the Sundance. Pux came out of the bathroom and stopped beside Krishani, staring out the same floor to ceiling glass doors at the parking lot. “You have something to say so say it,” Krishani grumbled.
“Don’t hurt her.”
“I’m not—”
Pux glared at him. “Don’t die.”
Krishani sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “How much did she tell you?”
“Everything. Why aren’t you helping her remember?”
“Do you want her to remember?”
Pux sighed, clearing his eyes with the tips of his fingers. “I don’t know.”
Krishani stared at the slick black top with its reflective orange lines. He couldn’t look at Pux. “It’s going to destroy her.”
Pux blinked, seeming calm on the outside. “What if she remembers on her own?”
Krishani shuddered. “I don’t want to think about it.” He pushed one of the double doors open and blasted himself with cold. Kaliel drove him back to the flat, a pensive expression on her face. She parked out front and her phone rang. Krishani waited, instinctively knowing it was probably her mother, beckoning her to come home because it was February and it was dark before six. He thought about what Pux had said, about remembering on her own. He couldn’t stop her from trying, but the past was so complicated he wasn’t sure how long it would take for her to put all the pieces together. He kept hoping if she did remember, she’d remembered the good stuff, and the bad stuff would stayed locked inside her forever.
“Sorry, I can’t stay,” she said, the phone to her ear.
He nodded, numbly, leaning forward and placing a chaste kiss on her lips. She blushed and he pulled back, unlocking his door. “I’m tired anyway.”
Her lips formed a wan smile. “Sleep lots, I’ll call you later.”
He got out of the car and trudged towards the flat, his mind a jumble of thoughts. Everything was surreal. He never thought he’d have a semi perfect life with the girl that used to hate everything he was. He hoped she never remembered that part, because that part would break him.
O O O
Maeva watched Michael trudge towards the building, his shoulders rocking from the cold. He disappeared through the door and she sighed. Things between him and Rob didn’t go the way she planned. She hoped because Rob was so different from the people at school Michael would get along with him. Instead his walls went up and he treated Rob like a human punching bag. She held the phone to her ear, waiting for Steph to come back on the line.
“You still there?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you at home?”
Maeva sighed. “No.” She hadn’t spent time with Steph in a long time and it would be a welcome break from all her boy drama.
“Good, can you take my shift?”
Maeva glanced at the time, nearing six thirty. The diner closed at ten, and most shifts began at five. “Aren’t you working your shift?”
Steph let out an exasperated sigh. “I want to go home and Rachel won’t let me unless someone else comes in.”
So Steph didn’t want to hang out with her, and probably wanted to take off to see Tait. “Um, I don’t know if I can.”
Usually Steph would whine until she did but there was dead silence on the other line. “Seriously? You’re saying no?”
“I’m not saying anything.”
Steph let out a loud guffaw. “What the hell is up with you? First you’re all broody and now you’re always with Michael. I thought we agreed he was scary-as-fuck.”
Maeva gritted her teeth, not wanting to have it out with Steph because she was her oldest friend and at times her only friend. “Michael isn’t—he’s not like that.”
Steph snorted. “That’s not what everyone else says.”
Maeva rolled her eyes. “I don’t care about everyone else.”
“Obviously. And before you find out from someone else, Amber asked for his number.”
Maeva smirked. She knew what Michael thought of other girls at school, particularly Steph and her new crowd. “And?”
“You have competition.”
“Did he give her his number?”
Steph paused, not answering for a long time. “Whatever, can you take my shift or not?”
Maeva smiled, that was a no. Michael came to town for her, and whatever it was between them it was theirs. Nobody could touch it, or break it, and if they tried they were in for a world of pain. “Fine, I’m actually around the corner.”
“Oh, thank god.”
She hung up and pulled away from Michael’s flat, looking up at the second story window as she drove away.
***
Chapter 25
Tiny Icebergs
Sometimes living on an island was a serious disadvantage. Maeva woke to the sun in her eyes and frowned at her tiny basement window. She groaned and grabbed her phone off the nightstand, sending a good morning text to Michael. They had this invisible tether between them, even when she wasn’t with him she felt him, like he was part of her somehow. She waited, wondering if he was still in a drug-induced coma, playing video games, or at the hospital.
Her heart squeezed. She couldn’t be with him every waking moment and as morbid as it sounded in her head, she wanted to be there when it happened. She couldn’t stop it, death came for everyone at some point, but it seemed to be stalking Michael, leaning over his shoulder, whispering in his ear. She shook away the fear. She’d feel it if he were dying. She felt it that night, before he kissed her and changed everything. She knew then that fighting her feelings for him was impossible. She was his, and whatever he wanted, she would do it.
The search for what she was had temporarily been postponed. She tried to ask Michael about her theory, but he scoffed and said mermaids aren’t like the ones in Disney movies. They’re vicious creatures. Most otherkin have an air of beauty, but are dark underneath. And he told her to stop believing everyone was good inside, most of th
e time they weren’t. She stopped looking because of the weight on her chest. She couldn’t get rid of the guilt, as if it had a vice around her throat.
Upstairs was quiet. She poured herself cereal and sat at the table, spoon in hand. She assumed everyone had left but the bathroom door opened and closed, proving people were sleeping. Gord appeared halfway through her cereal and sat at the table, separating sections of yesterday’s paper. He read through sports, business, and looked at her.
“What?” Maeva asked, feeling like she’d done something wrong. He wasn’t at work yet, which meant one of two things—he was on one of his weird vacations or the lake was melting.
“You don’t have plans today do you?”
“School, homework.”
“Unfortunately …”
Maeva smiled. Four years of this and nobody had figured out a way to get across the water when it wasn’t a solid or a liquid. She finished her cereal and took the empty bowl to the sink. “Teleportation dad, you need to get on it and invent these things.”
“Yeah and stop building all that heavy machinery making sure you have that food in your stomach.” Gord went back to his paper, reading through headlines. Maeva sighed and went for the basement, hoping Michael was conscious enough to text her back. Gord wasn’t the talkative type. He worked at a manufacturing plant for farm equipment, and spent most of his time in the office at the factory. He was home once in a blue moon since a major promotion a year and a half ago, leaving any bonding time scant and precious.
“I’m going to pull your canoe out this afternoon and clean the backyard. You’re going to help.”
Maeva stopped; her hand on the basement door. She missed canoeing, and wanted to take Michael back to the summit to see if it was as bad as she thought it was. She nodded deftly. “I need to change.”
“That’s my girl.”
Maeva headed into the basement. She didn’t bother to ask about Scott because chances were he had some kind of excuse to get out of it. Being the family star came with perks. Maeva grumbled to herself as she checked her messages for the third time that morning, nothing from Michael. It was a school day anyway and classes began in half an hour but anxiety welled into her and she shoved it away. He didn’t need to pay attention to her all the time.
She found Gord in the yard, shovel in hand, melted mounds of crystallized snow heaped over canoes. Gord had his bomber jacket on, the one he got when he played hockey with the Pirates in his twenties. Oddly enough it still fit, and was in good condition, the logo on the back a little faded, but the fabric patch sewn into the arm was in pristine condition. She read the name on the sleeve, “Gordie” and something pinched her memory.
“As soon as we move the canoes, you can pile the branches here.”
Gord’s voice pulled her out of her stupor and she numbly waded through snow, watching while he dug. They released the canoes, leaving a big patch of yellowish green grass in the yard. Winter always left the yard cluttered in debris. Gord left it for a spring cleanup day when the snow was melted enough to merit working on the yard. She took big skeleton branches in her hands and transported them to patches of yellow grass. Gord wasn’t the observant parent. That was reserved for Grace, but Maeva hoped the woman wasn’t snooping in her room. She left her phone unprotected and if Grace found out Maeva had a boyfriend there wouldn’t be an end to the scrutiny. She flexed her gloved fingers and tried to focus on the task at hand, pulling another thick branch across the yard. Gord spent his time chipping ice on the dock, and spreading snow onto patches of grass so it would melt faster. He cleared the dining area, and by the time lunch rolled around, they were done.
Maeva was about to follow him into the house when she glanced at the lake. It was a mass of tiny icebergs, colliding and mashing together like a swirl of broken glass. She stepped onto the dock and looked across the lake, the idea of being trapped on the island for a couple of days until this passed hitting her chest. She squinted, not quite sure if she was seeing things or not. St. Mary’s Harbor wasn’t exactly close, but she could make out the silhouette of a figure standing on the very tip of one of the docks. She shivered and moved inside the house, blotting out the image.
“Why are you so worked up?” Grace asked the moment she stepped inside. She shook the frying pan, settling scrambled eggs inside it, making one of her famous omelets. Maeva ducked, taking off her boots.
“I was getting my canoe ready,” she said, averting her gaze and skirting around the kitchen table. She wanted to dive into the basement but Grace noticed all the slight changes in her behavior and had a way of calling her out when she least expected it.
“Are you hungry?” Grace called as Maeva pounded downstairs and slammed her door shut. She crawled into bed and grabbed her phone, lighting up with a text message from Michael.
“Alive,” he wrote.
She flipped onto her back and held the phone against her chest.
O O O
The worst thing about homework was the English language. Krishani hunched over the desk, pen poised over loose-leaf, trying to remember how to spell. He turned in the first few assignments in an ancient dialect of Woo, and when Mr. Wilson told him to redo it he handed them in using the written language of Avristar. Mr. Wilson spent an hour quizzing him on history and soon realized Krishani knew more than he did. But the teacher still wanted assignments in English.
He wrote another sentence hoping it came out right and his hand cramped up, pen thunking onto the paper. He cursed. He wanted to take Kaliel and leave. He didn’t know where to go, but he wanted her as far away from Tor as possible.
He forced another sentence out trying to keep answers as uniform as possible. Apparently, World History was more about facts than opinion. He remembered a lot of it differently and had a tough time stomaching all the incorrect info Mr. Wilson regurgitated from textbooks.
Cossisea had to be lurking. She had to be waiting for something, the same way Tor seemed to be waiting for something. Only he didn’t know what. From his perspective, there wasn’t enough time, brief flashes, a few seconds or minutes here or there. Ten years was a long time to hang onto a body without it dying. For Darkesh, his infinite immortal existence stretched on for eons, a year could pass and he’d barely notice it.
Maybe Kaliel wasn’t a threat to him.
Maybe he didn’t know.
Krishani didn’t know very much about The Prince of Darkness, the remaining members of the Valtanyana being all but rumors. Originally, there were four each to rule the other three quadrants of the Lands Across the Stars. Morgana was from the Lands of Men, along with Pendalyn. Crestaos was from the Lands of Immortals along with Tor and Cassareece. Darkesh was from the Lands of Beasts along with Joviasson. He didn’t know anything about the rest.
Time caused so many things to change. It turned heroes into villains and thieves into martyrs. Time changed everyone else but he was still a monster, and Kaliel was still a weapon.
His hand cramped, fingers resembling claws. He winced and shook out the aches running up his arm as he pressed his thumb into his tendons, trying to release them. A jolt ran through him, like injecting oil into veins, his fingers moveable. Elwen knocked and Krishani didn’t move. The door opened a second later, his ancestor appearing in the doorway.
“What you’re doing isn’t fair.”
Krishani raised an eyebrow and looked at the loose-leaf. “I’m not cheating.”
Elwen gave him his best come-on look. “With Kaliel?”
Krishani launched himself off the chair and grabbed his dagger, attaching it to his belt. He grabbed his leather jacket off the bed and threw it over his shoulders. March showed up and the temperature spiked, making it easier to be outside. “Consider it a detour.”
He pushed past Elwen before he said anything else and stuffed his feet into his shoes, letting the door to the apartment scrape shut on his way downstairs. Sun blinded him as he walked the short two blocks of downtown and found himself heading towards the harbor. He wanted to s
ee Kaliel but the lake was covered in blocks of ice and she was trapped on an island until the jam cleared. She said it was always like this, and it won her a couple days off school, but also a couple days cooped up in a house with her family. She’d take school over family time if she could.
It took him a while to get there, sun shifting to late afternoon as he passed Earl’s Garage, one of the big garage doors open. He continued down the road to the path just off it, heading to the waterfall. The trail was wet, last year’s foliage matted in deep browns against the soil. Winter faded, leaving mucky roads and boulevards heaped with reddish brown sand. Within the city limits was pure ugliness, and the forests weren’t much better. Skinny fallen trees criss-crossed the path; patches of snow living in shadows under evergreens, puddles melded with mud making their surfaces a murky unreflective brown. Fresh green buds appeared on branches tangled above his head.
He wound down the path, a sense of foreboding creeping into him. The trail forked and he followed it, climbing rocks. He emerged in a meadow, bright green grass tips poking up amidst flattened blades from last year. Mounds of melting snow patterned across the space. An old man limped through the trees, stopping halfway across the meadow, his bare feet sunk into snow. His eyes were the color of ink, his wrinkled hand clutching his chest. He wore coffee colored dress pants, a cream-colored polo shirt and khaki jacket, unzipped.
Krishani felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as sand poured into him. “Mythos,” he greeted the Vulture evenly, knowing it wouldn’t last long. The last time he saw Mythos was a few lifetimes ago in Afghanistan, having left the swarm to find his own salvation.
“Gajan,” Mythos choked, taking a shaky step forward. His eyes watched the ground and his head swayed like he was dizzy. He held a hand out palm down to brace his fall, but didn’t fall.
Krishani hated the name he used, the name all Vultures knew him by, a name he wanted to forget. He recoiled. He wanted to run but he couldn’t do that on the off chance Mythos had a cell phone and knew how to get that body to a hospital. He wasn’t sure about Mythos’s ability to play pretend, taking on someone else’s life instead of taking off and making his own, but he wasn’t willing to find out. He grabbed the dagger, gripping it in his right hand.
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