by Meg Kassel
40- the queen
Reece and Rafette exchange a look that sends blood pounding in my ears.
It’s done. Decided. If his soul wasn’t about to be forfeited, I’d be flattered that this didn’t appear to be a difficult decision. He may think he’s saving me from death, but I don’t think he’s considered what his choice will do to my soul. I won’t just get on with my life as if nothing happened. I won’t be able to live with this.
“Let’s get this over with,” Reece says roughly, walking toward us. “Before I’m too late to save her.”
Rafette smiles, wide and pleased. “A wise decision.”
“No!” I surge to my feet and lunge for the side of the monkey bars. Reece stands on the other side. “You can’t. I won’t let you!”
Eyes wide, Rafette holds out a hand. “No, don’t—!”
The stingers of a hundred bees pierce my skin, release their venom. Pain pours over and through me like liquid fire. White and hot and engulfing me in an unnamable agony. Breathing is out of the question. I drop to my knees in a gasp.
“Angie!” Reece is at my side, kneeling down next to me. “What have you done?”
His eyes are gentle and worried. And any remaining conflict about his decision is gone. He brushes a hand over my face, brushing off a few bees. “You can call the rest back now, Rafette,” he says quietly.
The Beekeeper stares at me in open astonishment. The few bees who didn’t just kill themselves stinging me fly off me and return to his mouth. Revulsion squeezes my heart. Reece can’t become this. Not because of me.
Reece’s trembling fingers curl around mine. His palm, despite being so hot, is clammy.
“Don’t do this, Reece,” I plead. “Please. This will destroy me, too.”
“No,” he whispers into my hair. “You’ll go on and live your life. You’ll find a guy who can be with you. Who can give you everything you deserve.”
Everything I deserve. What is that, exactly? And who gets to decide? Not him, I think.
“It’s time.” Rafette’s voice quavers with eagerness, but with a touch of fear, too. He wasn’t expecting this. “Open your mouth, harbinger.”
Reece looks up at him. I can see the whites of his eyes and the stark paleness of his skin. I can feel the trembles going through him. The effort of swallowing makes his Adam’s apple bob dramatically. He’s scared. No, he’s terrified beyond belief.
But still, he is doing this.
He looks at me, blinks, and a tear slips down his cheek. “I love you, Angie.” His voice sounds like broken glass.
And it cuts through me, shredding everything. I croak out a response. Maybe I tell him I love him. Maybe I babble nonsense. I’m not sure what I say with the venom starting to dig into my system and swell up my tongue. Every emotion I’ve ever known is struggling for supremacy within my overwhelmed mind.
Through the chaos, one thought holds, fixes in place:
I cannot allow Reece to take this curse. I hold on to this, my anchor in a sea of fracturing thoughts.
Reece parts his lips, and Rafette opens his mouth. He lets out a whimper of relief as a fat bee floats out. The queen. Her flight is clumsy, heavy.
I grab Reece’s arm. “You listen to me,” I grind out through my tears. “Do this and I will never forgive you.”
“But you will live,” he says. “You will live.” Reece firmly peels off my hand. His eyes stay glued to the bee, even as tears leak from the corners of them. His breathing goes rapid and short.
A shrieking caw snaps the air, followed by a cacophony of squawks. More crows darken the sky. Dozens of them swarm the playground, wings flapping, beaks snapping. They fly in agitated circles, then land on the metal rungs above us. It makes sense now, why Rafette chose this spot. Not easy maneuvering for a crow. But clearly, they aren’t pleased by what’s going on.
Hope expands in my chest. My ribs ache with it. Surely they will stop this. His family will show him how horrible a mistake this is.
But they don’t. They remain perched on the rungs, screaming their disapproval down upon us. The noise is maddening, but Reece doesn’t waver.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers to the crows, before squeezing his eyes shut to his fellow harbingers. The crows scream as if they are the ones who are dying.
“Open your mouth wide, harbinger,” whispers Rafette.
With a quiet sob, he opens his mouth. The meandering bee spots her destination and aims for his mouth. She’s fast. Faster than she appeared.
She’s an inch from Reece’s lips, and all I can think is, I cannot allow this to happen!
I reach out. My fist closes around the queen the second before she enters Reece’s mouth.
I don’t hesitate. I’m already ruined, after all.
Frantic wings beat against my palm. Delicate legs scramble at the seams between my fingers. The world looks featured, like stop-action frames. I see Reece’s shocked wide eyes, the “no” forming on his lips. The gasp of surprise from Rafette, who falls to the ground and convulses.
The queen stabs her stinger into my palm, and my vision turns spotless white. My hand feels like it’s been plunged into a bucket of acid. This is blinding, obscene pain, beyond description. Worse than anything I could have imagined. It is the type of pain that makes one wish for death.
Every instinct in my body wails at me to open my hand. To release her. Instead, I close my eyes and squeeze.
Reece’s voice cracks over a broken, “No!” He realizes what I’ve done. The queen’s venom is an instant death sentence.
She stings me again and again. But I keep squeezing until there is nothing left of her. I glance down at the sticky mess between my fingers and stiffen as pulsing waves of agony double me over. My hand is no longer my hand. It’s an appendage of indescribable burning.
I drop to the ground as a bitter taste erupts in my mouth. The crows fall silent.
The inexplicable scent of fresh hay mixing with rotting flesh fills my nostrils. A shadow falls over me, cooling my fevered skin, turning the color filtering through my closed eyelids from red to gray. There is a strange sound next to me, like straw snapping, then a sigh. I sense, in that moment, that someone else is at the playground with us. Someone ancient. Someone far more dangerous than Rafette. And a voice in my head that is not my own: Well done, child.
Then the presence is gone, and everything slows down. I feel the sharp prick of talons on my arms, the brush of feathers on my cheek, and then the wings are inside me, beating frantically under my ribs. It’s as if a bird is trapped there, scrabbling for escape. It must be my heart, throbbing unevenly, struggling to keep blood pumping. The erratic beat gets louder, bigger, thunderous, until it takes over all the sensations in my body.
Then, the fluttering rises up. I can almost feel dry feathers on the back of my throat, surging up and out of my mouth, taking all the air with it. My lungs gasp in a breath. My heart settles back into rhythm. Another breath. More beats. The pain returns, filling up my extremities like a bucket filling with water one spoonful at a time. I’m fearful of what I’ll have to endure next, before this misery ends, but I want to hold on to every moment I have left with Reece. I open my eyes and look.
Next to me sprawls a young man dressed like Rafette. His eyes are open, sightless in death. His head is turned toward me, one hand outstretched as if reaching in my direction. My vision doubles a bit, but even my addled, pain-eroded brain perceives the shocking beauty of him. To call him handsome would not do him justice. His face is one in a million. Impossible to look away from. A genetic lottery winner of strong, elegant, masculine bones, over fine golden skin. The man’s vacant gaze is frozen in what appears to be complete bliss.
The realization hits me—this is Rafette—the real Rafette before he was cursed—and for the first time in a millennia, his beautiful features don’t change. Thousands of dead bees carpet the ground around him, like a wreath. A burden of incalculable weight, finally set aside. I’ve experienced something I can’t fully un
derstand—don’t want to fully understand.
Suddenly, Reece’s terrified face is in front of mine. He shakes my shoulders, calls my name. He sounds frantic, but his touch and his voice feel so far away, off in the distance. He’s talking to someone, arguing. Too many stings, someone says. A queen has never stung someone before…
Once again, the pain subsides. It’s like a lapping tide, slowly ebbing away. My senses switch off, one by one. Reece’s voice fades out. Everything fades out.
Is this it, finally? That precious, pendulous tipping point of life into death? How absurd that I’m wasting my last few moments thinking about such a thing. I’m so sorry, Dad. A different kind of pain twists my heart. I didn’t get to say good-bye. I feel so terrible about leaving him.
But I saved Reece, Deno, so many other people—even Rafette, who needed saving more than any of us. And I had to sacrifice only myself. My body seizes. I guess the toxins have reached something important, at last. A burning sensation creeps up my neck, then detonates in my skull. I’m flying apart. Breaking into pieces, one molecule at a time.
Bright light burns my eyes. A ripple of heat rakes over my burning skin. I’m being lifted, moved.
And then, nothing.
Blessed, glorious, painless nothing.
41- just a boy
It’s raining again. I can hear it on the roof. A cup of tea is getting cold on my nightstand. A pile of at-home schoolwork is piling up in my inbox. I snuggle deeper under my purple comforter and hug my right hand against my chest. It’s still red and painful and a constant memory of what happened in the playground nearly a month ago. The queen’s stings had become infected. I’m still being treated with antibiotics.
The house next door is empty again. The windows are dark. A fresh, new For Sale sign swings hopefully next to the street. It’s as if the Fernandezes were never there. I would seriously consider that maybe I imagined the whole thing, if my dad hadn’t regaled me with tales of how Reece carried me nearly a mile to the safe hands of paramedics. Or if Deno and Lacey hadn’t come over and made me relive every single moment. They’re a couple now, and I admit, it’s a little weird seeing them that way. Weird in a good way.
I wasn’t awake for any of my rescue, unfortunately. If I’d known that day would be the last time I’d see Reece, I would have made an effort to remain conscious.
I thought for sure he’d at least stop in at the hospital. To say good-bye, like he promised. To say something.
But he didn’t visit. Not once in the two days I was a patient there. Not once in the two weeks we stayed at the hotel while power and road access were restored to our neighborhood. Not in the week since my dad and I came home. I thought we went through something remarkable enough to warrant a good-bye, at least, but what happened in Cadence was probably just another day at the office for a harbinger of death.
Knuckles lightly rap on my bedroom door, and Dad pokes his head in. “Hey.”
Roger shoves through the open door and does a running leap onto my bed. He sneezes, then flops onto his back in a demand for belly rubs. Of course, I comply. He’s fully healed from the blow he took from the Beekeeper in the garage.
“How are you doing?” Dad comes in and perches on the edge of my bed. He smooths the hair out of my eyes. “Want me to reheat your tea?”
“No thanks,” I say. “I’m good.”
His brows draw together. “You very clearly are not good.”
“Yeah, I am.” I struggle to an upright seat with a wince. “Healing is hard work.”
“It is, but the body isn’t what’s bothering you right now.” Dad’s face softens. “Kiddo, you survived a landslide, a flood, all the insanity that ensued, and nearly died by stumbling on a colony of bees. Yet somehow I think heartache is causing you as much pain as that cracked rib.”
I shake my head and hold up my stung palm. “This still hurts more.”
“They sure did a number on you,” Dad says. “Over a hundred stings is a lot for a person your size.”
I smile weakly. “Sure. Remind me how short I am.”
“You’re not that short.”
My heart flips over in my chest. Those words didn’t come from my father. Roger’s tail starts up a rapid thumping.
I peek around my dad with dread and hope and the sudden urge to cry, and see Reece in the doorway. His arms are folded tight over his chest. He wavers at the jamb, as if unsure whether or not to come in. “Hi Angie.”
“Oh yes. By the way, you have a visitor.” My father clears his throat and gets to his feet. “Well. I’ll just give you two a moment.” He crosses to the door and pauses before Reece. “She’s still supposed to be resting,” he says. “I’ll be downstairs.”
“Yes sir,” Reece replies, a picture of deference. “Thank you for letting me see her.”
“Yeah, yeah. I made you wait long enough.” Dad mumbles something, then retreats, closing the door behind him, but not clicking it.
Reece looks healthy and handsome, in a blue T-shirt and jeans. He watches my father leave with a gentle, inscrutable expression. His gaze shifts to the floor and stays there. The room is so quiet. Too quiet.
I scrape my hair back and wish I had washed it recently. I don’t want to know what I look like right now. Thanks for the warning, Dad. I’m wearing Hello Kitty pajamas, of all things.
No wonder he won’t look at me. Wait…why won’t he look at me? Why is he still all the way on the other side of the room? It isn’t because of how I look. Or smell.
The answer slams into me. Burns worse than my hundred bee stings. This is good-bye. He’s leaving. Finally.
I close my eyes and ignore the burn behind my lids. At least he kept his word. This is just one more thing I’ll have to survive.
“How long do you have?” I manage to keep my voice even.
His head comes up. “How long for what?”
“Before you leave, of course.”
He rolls his shoulders in a tense shrug. “I don’t know.”
So we’re playing the vague game. Fan-freaking-tastic. After all we went through, we’re back to this.
“Fine,” I say. “You just let me know, then.” Somehow, I managed to infuse ample snottiness in my words. Even as my stomach slowly knots. Even as I bite my lip to keep it from quivering.
“I don’t know when I’m leaving,” he says hesitantly, “because I don’t know if I’m leaving. That part is up to you.”
As if my head wasn’t pounding enough. “What does that mean? I thought you were here to say good-bye.”
He comes forward and stands next to the bed. Finally, his eyes turn to mine. I tilt my head, confused by what I see. The lights are low, but I swear it looks like…
He blinks. Long, dark lashes sweep over crystal-blue eyes.
Not black. Not red. Not any other shade.
I rise up to my knees and lean close. Those blue eyes blink slowly, gaze at me with an inscrutable expression.
“Reece, your eyes are blue.” My voice is a reverent whisper. “What does this mean?”
He holds up his hand. The three scars running the length of his palm are gone. His lips turn up in a crooked, uncertain smile. “It means you—what you did—ended it for me. The crow is gone. You released it. I have a life—one life, one death, like everyone else. No more curses. No more changing into a—” He cuts off with a shaky indrawn breath.
“You mean you’re not a harbinger of death anymore?” I ask. “You’re just…you?”
His mouth moves into a wavering smile. “Yes. I’m just me.” His voice is low and rough and aching with deep emotion. His gaze shifts to my sore hand. “I don’t have the words. They just don’t exist—thank you, Angie. You…freed me. Rafette, too. And everyone who had been stung by Rafette, as you know.” He lowers his head. “I owe you everything.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I say roughly. “You were going to become a Beekeeper to save me, remember?” My heart pounds. I can’t stop staring at his eyes. So blue. If it weren’t
for them, I’d wonder if this was a latent bee sting-induced hallucination. “You don’t look happy.”
He rubs his palms on his jeans and lets out a breath. “I am, it’s just… My family has left. They’re all excited that there is a way out of this curse, even though what happened with us can’t be replicated. But it’s given them hope.”
Hope. Such a powerful emotion. I glance over at my dresser, to the small glass bowl sitting there. Inside are Hank’s gifts, untouched, and the amethyst Reece found in the mine. “How is Hank?” I ask.
Reece sighs. He reaches into his pocket with slow movements and comes out with a long white wing feather. He takes my hand and reverently places it in my palm. “After it was confirmed that you would recover, he requested the mortouri and it was granted.” He looks away, brow creased. “I wasn’t present for it. I didn’t…”
“It’s okay.” My throat tightens. I close my fingers around the stiff white feather. “He suffered enough. Maybe his curse will die with him, too.”
“I hope so.” Reece’s gaze flickers back up to mine, then away.
“Thank you for this.” I hold the feather to my chest. “I’ll never forget him.”
“Nor will I. He tried to save himself and your mother, but wound up damning them both. But with us…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what happened after you grabbed Rafette’s queen bee. I was incapacitated for a while, as the curse worked its way out of my body. I couldn’t see what happened. My family thinks it was our willingness to lose ourselves, to save each other, that cracked the curse. We may never know for sure what did it. I still can’t believe you survived the queen’s venom, too.”
Yes, there are things we’ll never know about that day. Maybe my mom’s final gift to me was whatever magic allowed her to survive so long with Rafette’s venom. In the end, I’d like to believe my mom saved me.
I think back to my fleeting memories, just before I passed out in that playground. Of Rafette’s shockingly beautiful face. Of the smell of decay, the sound of snapping straw. Of the quiet voice in my head saying, Well done, child. I can’t be sure any of it was real and not the byproduct of pain, venom, and fear. Maybe I’ll tell Reece about them sometime, but I may never have the chance to.