Keeper

by Kim Chance

  When he dismissed me, I practically ran toward the exit. I needed some fresh air.

  Hissing through gritted teeth, I waited until I was safely out of the building before I let out a frustrated yell. A few people walking by stared at me, but I didn’t care.

  There was a small grove of trees up ahead and a courtyard with benches and tables designated for students. It was mostly empty; a couple was making out on one of the benches, and one of the art kids was stretched out on the grass, sketching in a notebook. There was also someone else, a guy, propped up against one of the trees, his face hidden behind a book.

  Plopping down on a patch of shaded grass, I closed my eyes and let out a long huff.

  “Bad day?” a voice called out.

  You have got to be kidding me. I opened my eyes and sure enough, a familiar pair of blue eyes were looking straight at me. Ty was leaning around his open book, the usual smirk on his lips.

  “How do you keep doing that?” I demanded.

  He raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Popping up out of nowhere.” I waved my hand as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And always when I’m at my worst.” Ty chuckled and moved to sit across from me, ignoring my question. He pulled a brown paper sack from his backpack and handed me something wrapped in plastic wrap.

  “A sandwich?”

  “It might not be the answer to your problems,” Ty said, unwrapping his own sandwich. “But I personally believe that life is a whole lot more manageable on a full stomach.” He took a bite of his sandwich and nodded at me as if he were the authority on such matters.

  I looked down at the sandwich in my hand. It was peanut butter and grape jelly—my favorite. My stomach rumbled at the sight of it.

  I rolled my eyes, feeling ridiculous, and took a bite. It was actually quite satisfying, and I took another bite without any hesitation.

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  I swallowed. “Not really.”

  Ty nodded and took another bite, chewing slowly.

  We sat there without speaking, both of us focusing on our food.

  Maybe it was because he didn’t push me, didn’t ask me questions I couldn’t answer, but as I sat there, the tension in my shoulders eased, and with each bite of the sandwich, the lump in my throat slowly dissolved. There were no expectations to meet, no obstacles to overcome. It was just easy. Sitting next to Ty, eating PB&J was the most normal thing I’d done in a while.

  The calm was unfortunately short-lived, however. Something tugged at me; the last remnants of the handprint on my arm—now almost completely faded—tingled. I looked up, nearly choking on my next bite of sandwich. Josephine stood a few feet away. She stared at me as usual, but it wasn’t the normal look of intensity I’d become accustomed to. It was something much deeper. It took me a minute to place it, but when I did, it nearly took my breath away. The look on her face was sadness—the kind you feel deep within your soul. It made my chest ache.

  Lainey. Josephine reached out a hand to me. Her eyes pleaded with mine. Lainey.

  “Hey.” Ty nudged his shoulder against mine.

  I tore my eyes away from Josephine’s face.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded. “Fine. Just a lot on my mind.” When I looked back, Josephine was gone. I sighed and turned my attention back to my sandwich. I have to figure all this out. I just have to.

  As I swallowed my last bite, my eyes fell upon the book in Ty’s lap, the one he’d been reading before I showed up. It was a worn paperback, several of the pages loose and sticking out of the top. The cover was half missing, but I knew it well.

  “The Great Gatsby?” I asked, pointing at the book.

  Ty smiled, somewhat sheepishly, and picked up the book in his hands. “Fitzgerald is a favorite of mine.”

  I smiled back. “Mine too.”

  Ty had also finished his sandwich and was busy placing our empty plastic wrap back in the brown bag. When he had shoved the trash back into his backpack, he picked up the book and looked at me. He smiled at me, opening to the page he had dog-eared, and then began reading aloud.

  I couldn’t help but stare. How was it possible that this mysterious boy who picked fights for fun understood the simple satisfaction of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and the peaceful calm that came from reading beautiful prose?

  Who are you? I mused, watching as he read.

  He was a natural reader, his voice automatically rising and falling with the cadences of Fitzgerald’s style. His face was bright, and I could tell he was enjoying the story as much as I was. What a mystery you are, Tyler Marek. I smiled and lay back on the grass to listen, enjoying the stillness of the moment.

  When the bell rang, Ty finished the page he was on and closed the book with a gentle snap. “Feel any better?”

  “Yeah, I do.” I sat up, fighting a yawn. I peeked over my shoulder, but Josephine was still nowhere to be seen. I let out the breath I was holding. “Thank you for the sandwich . . . and for reading. It was really nice.”

  Ty nodded his head. “You’re welcome.”

  I stood up and dusted the grass from my clothes. “Chem for me next. You?”

  Ty followed suit. “History.” He looped the straps of his backpack over his shoulders. “Can I walk you to class?”

  My heart gave a tiny flutter. “Sure.”

  We didn’t say anything as we headed toward the building, but there wasn’t any need to. I think we both felt the ease of just walking beside one another.

  When we walked through the double doors, I saw Maggie pacing back and forth in front of her locker.

  “Styles?” she yelled, waving at me. “Where the hell have you been?”

  She stomped over, almost skidding to a stop when she saw who I was standing next to.

  Ty chuckled under his breath beside me.

  “Ty, this is Maggie,” I said, stifling my own laugh at the wide expression in her eyes. “Maggie, this is Ty.”

  Ty stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Maggie.”

  Maggie looked slightly shell-shocked, but she recovered and reached out to shake his hand. “You too.”

  Ty gave her his signature smile and then turned toward the history hall. “See you guys later.” I waved and watched him go.

  Maggie waited till he was out of earshot and elbowed me hard in the ribs. “Damn, Styles.” She grinned wickedly. “No wonder you skipped class.”

  “God, Mags, can you just not? It’s not what you think.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then what was it?”

  I stopped, the moment in the courtyard so perfectly undefined in my mind—I didn’t want to ruin it by slapping a label on it.

  “It was a just a sandwich, Mags. That’s it.”

  Maggie scoffed and put her hands on her hips. “A sandwich?”

  “Yup.”

  With a heavy sigh, Maggie rolled her eyes and started walking in the direction of her next class, one we shared. “Fine, keep all the juicy details to yourself. Just remember, Styles. Friends before food . . . and hot boys.”

  I rolled my eyes and followed her, but when I turned the corner, I jolted to a stop.

  There she was, staring at me again, the same mournful expression in her eyes.

  “Josephine,” I whispered.

  I took a step toward her, but inky black spots appeared before my eyes, and the world slipped away.

  CHAPTER TEN

  JOSEPHINE

  The wind outside was deafening as it ripped through the trees, but even louder than the howling gale was the uncontrollable chattering of Josephine’s teeth.

  Her skin was layered in gooseflesh, and her icy fingers fumbled with the knot of her shawl, untying it and pulling it even tighter around her shoulders. The threadbare fabric offered little in the way of warmth. She longed to light a fire—to be w
arm and dry for the first time in days—but the orange glow would be too easily seen. It had been pure luck that she had found shelter at all; to tempt fate further would be unwise.

  The single-room shack must have been a logging cabin at one point in time, but it was clear from its state of disrepair that it hadn’t been used in a while. The walls were bare, and the only pieces of furniture, a rickety wooden table and a single chair, were covered an inch deep in dust and cobwebs. Piled in the corner was a small heap of old burlap potato sacks. It was here that Josephine sank to her knees and tried as best she could to settle in for the night. She was weary and desperate for rest, but the hard floor was agony to her aching body, and the cold seemed to seep straight through her skin and resonate deep in her bones. The worst pain, however, was the deep hollow feeling of her stomach. How long had it been since she’d had anything to eat? She couldn’t remember.

  The days of running were taking their toll on her.

  Tears pooled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. No matter what, she couldn’t let herself fall apart. She had to keep going, had to keep running until she was safe.

  Until it was safe.

  Wiping her nose with the back of her hand, she unclasped the amulet from around her neck. She held it in her hand, a few whispered words on her lips. The crackle of energy and a warm green glow filled the small space. In the place of the amulet, Josephine held a large leather-bound book. It looked ordinary enough, with its worn cover and frayed edges, but it hummed with power. Magic tingled in her fingertips as she flipped carefully through the pages.

  She knew she was being foolish; opening the book in its raw form would create an energy pulse. She might as well be sending a flare into the sky, signaling her location. Her resolve, however, had weakened, and a terrible grief, like an iron fist clenched around her heart, was threatening to crush her.

  She’d lost her entire family. Everyone she loved was gone. The book in her hands was the only connection to them that she had left, and she needed to feel it—even if only for a few precious moments.

  You have to protect it, keep it safe, her father had urged her. It must be protected at all costs. Josephine’s fingers dug into the worn binding as she clutched the book. “At all costs, indeed,” she thought bitterly to herself, holding her family’s heritage—their history, their lineage, their magic—in her lap. The fist around her heart clenched even tighter.

  She had never felt more alone in her life.

  A sob threatened to erupt from her throat, so she bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out; she tasted copper on her tongue. The unbearable weight of the book grew heavier with every passing minute.

  Choking back the tears, she held her palm down over the book and began to speak again. Her voice, although no more than a whisper, was confident and strong.

  The air in the room shifted as the magic once again took hold. The book vibrated, and a pale green light draped around its edges. Soon, it began to shrink, and its form grew distorted. It twisted in on itself and formed new edges. The transfiguration was almost complete.

  Josephine’s cheeks flushed as the magic coursed through her, warming her chilled skin. It took only seconds, and when the green light faded, the book in her lap had been replaced once more with the small but ornate emerald amulet. Its oval face glowed slightly as the magic settled, before finally growing dark.

  Her fingers trembling, she refastened the amulet around her neck. It was risky to use magic—stupid, even—but as the amulet came to rest at the base of her throat, right above her heart, the weight of her burden lessened. It was humming and pulsating as if it were alive, as if it had a heartbeat, and in that moment, the loneliness eased.

  Yet there was one pain the amulet couldn’t ameliorate.

  Henry. Josephine’s heart cracked open at the thought of him, and her mind recalled his face—an image that already seemed to be fading. She closed her eyes, savoring every detail: his unruly blond hair that was too short to be tied back in a tail; his calloused but gentle hands against her skin; the way he always smelled of pine and leather.

  Outside, the wind had picked up. Its shrill whistle through the trees sent chills down Josephine’s back. Wrapping her hands around her ears, she curled up in a tight ball and began to hum a soft lullaby, letting the image of Henry’s face soothe her aching heart.

  A bright flash of lightning illuminated the room, accompanied by a loud bang as the cabin door swung suddenly open. Josephine leapt to her feet, her heart pounding. A figure moved across the length of the floor. Her stomach pitched violently as she realized her worst fear.

  They had found her.

  Inching her way along the wall, she used the darkness as a cover, praying the old creaky floorboards wouldn’t give her away. She’d have to make a run for it.

  Mustering all her courage, Josephine threw herself at the open door. Rain pelted her skin as she darted into the night and bolted for the tree line.

  She had made it only a few feet when a pair of strong arms wrapped around her like a steel cage, lifting her off her feet. Josephine screeched and kicked her legs with all her might. A deep voice yelled against her scream, but the heartbeat pounding in her ears made it difficult to focus on the words. She thrashed about trying to break free, but the hands wrapped around her arms only tightened as her attacker moved back toward the cabin. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t break free.

  At the door of the cabin, her attacker lowered her to the ground and whirled her around.

  “Josephine! It’s me! Jo!”

  The voice that broke through her screaming was familiar. In fact, she would know that voice anywhere.

  Josephine opened her eyes and blinked away the tears and raindrops. When her eyes focused, the first thing she noticed was a pair of pale eyes the color of spun straw. She sucked in a breath.

  “Henry?” she choked out. “You’re alive?”

  “Of course I am,” Henry replied, helping her to an upright sitting position.

  For a few seconds, all Josephine could do was stare. Was this a dream? Was the man who had captured her heart so long ago really standing in front of her?

  She carefully reached out with trembling fingers and brushed his cheek. A layer of stubble covered his strong jaw. As her fingers moved across the planes of his face, she began to tremble even harder. It was when he finally covered her hand with his own that she realized the man in front of her was no apparition or figment of her imagination.

  He was real.

  A hysterical cry erupted from her throat as she threw herself into his arms. She didn’t care that she was covered in mud or that they were likely to be struck by lightning if they didn’t take shelter soon. All that mattered was that Henry was alive.

  Josephine sobbed against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat for reassurance, as Henry wrapped his arms around her and murmured soothing words in her ears. She couldn’t make out his words, but the deep tenor of his voice made her ache with relief.

  “Shhh, Jo. It’s all right. I’m here.” Henry pried her away from his chest and pulled her face up to his. He pushed the matted strands of wet hair out of her eyes and gave her a gentle kiss. Despite the chill in the air, his lips were warm.

  “Come on,” he whispered, when they broke apart. “Let’s get inside. This storm is likely to kill us both.”

  Still reeling from shock, Josephine was shaky on her feet, but Henry’s strong arm wrapped around her waist and supported her as they made their way back to the cabin.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, pulling Henry down beside her on the pile of potato sacks. “I thought you were dead.”

  “I probably should be. I was in the barn when those men attacked. One minute I was fighting with one of them, and the next minute I woke up on the ground with the barn going up in flames around me. I barely got out in time.

  “It was
n’t until I overheard the men talking that I realized I wasn’t the only one who got away,” Henry continued, squeezing her hand tight. “I knew it had to be you, Jo. As soon as it was safe, I headed south. I had a hunch you’d stick close to the river. It wasn’t until a few days ago that I found your tracks. I was beginning to think I was wrong, that I’d never be able to find you.”

  “Well, you are the best tracker in the area.” Josephine snuggled a little closer. “And you did find me.”

  “I wasn’t going to give up until I did just that. I won’t let anyone hurt you, Jo.”

  After days of running, terrified for her life, Henry’s words were like a lifeline. A tear rolled down Josephine’s cheek, followed by another. She clung tighter to Henry, and an almost peaceful silence settled over them as they held each other.

  But Josephine knew it was a stolen moment.

  “We can’t stay here,” she finally whispered into the darkness. “We should keep moving. He won’t stop until he’s hunted me down.”

  Her words had a sobering effect on Henry. He peeled himself away from her and looked into her eyes, his face solemn. “He? Jo, who are those men? I’ve never seen them before. Why would someone want to harm you and your family?”

  Josephine bit her lip. Should she tell him the truth? And if she did, would he accept it? Her father had always warned her of this, of revealing their secret. But this was Henry. He had risked his own life to come after her. He loved her. He deserved to know.

  She took a deep breath. “Henry, there’s something you have to know about my family. I . . .” The words caught in her throat.

  Henry’s eyes narrowed in confusion, but he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “My father,” she managed to continue, “comes from a line of very powerful . . .” Her throat tightened, making it difficult to speak, and her mind was working overtime trying to come up with the proper words to say. “You see, my father’s family . . . those men . . .”

  A sob of frustration broke through her lips, and Josephine buried her face in her hands. The fear and anxiety crashed down upon her as heavy as her grief. She tried to swallow it down, to push it deep into the back of her mind, but after days of forcing herself to be numb, her resolve was disintegrating.