Such A Secret Place (Stolen Tears Book 1)

by Cortney Pearson

  “We should go, Gwynn. Get you some tears.”

  She watches several children playing at a playground down the street. Sunlight beats down, warm and inviting. Their laughter infiltrates like an echo.

  “We can’t break curfew,” she says, shaking her head.

  That's a poor excuse. Illegal or not, she had to know I'd want to go.

  “And we need a gatekeeper to get us in, remember?”

  “How did you hear about it?” I ask.

  Gwynn holds up her aud. With the screen clear once more, the device looks like a simple piece of rectangular glass in her hand.

  “Whoever told you probably knows a gatekeeper,” I say. “Who was it?”

  Another vehicle sheers down the street, slowing to a stop beside us. The Arcaian symbol of a black flame is etched above the back bumper. Sizzling purple electricity combusts along the rims of the wheels, dancing like small galaxies.

  The window rolls down, and without thinking, I clutch Gwynn's wrist. Lieutenant Hawkes doesn't miss the gesture. Angels, his scowl could make a grown man sweat.

  Gwynn's empty eyes gaze at me like dead things. Wordlessly, chin to her chest, she strides over and climbs into the vehicle’s back seat.

  Countless times she’s shown up at my window in the middle of the night, her clothing ripped, blood dripping down her face or bruises developing on her ribs, while she sat stoically, letting me bandage her up without so much as a sniffle or a word.

  I want to snatch her away, to steal her and hide her, never let him near her again. But I stand there on the curb in front of her home, unable to do a thing.

  “You’re probably right,” I tell the vehicle as it grows smaller and turns the corner. “We shouldn’t go. It’s best to avoid trouble.” The words are lifeless, meaningless. Everything in me is telling me to go, go, go. Rescue her. Save her.

  I hug my books tighter and stare up at the leaves stirring in the tree above me. I'll have no problem crawling out my window later. I'll scale my way across the few streets separating our houses, drag her from her bedroom...

  I sigh. No sense incurring more of Clarke’s wrath. Angels only know what he'd do to her if we were caught.

  That doesn’t mean I can’t go get her some tears myself, though.

  I trudge the remaining three blocks to Clover Street and amble up the front walk. My home is gray brick like Gwynn’s, a dual-level house, built based on necessity and not extravagance.

  My resolve weakens, shrinking with every step. Who am I kidding, I don’t have a clue where to start. It’s too late for me to find a gatekeeper. Everyone knows Black Vault will only be here one night and then vanish to somewhere else in the country for who knows how long. If only I’d known about it sooner. I don’t have the time, plain and simple.

  “Hi, Mrs. Holly,” I say to our neighbor. The only nymph around for miles, Mrs. Holly's wings flutter, small and translucent between her shoulder blades as she digs around in her flowerbed. She doesn’t greet me back.

  Mom stands beside the lamp near the staircase inside our house. She wears her healer garb—solid black shirt and pants with ample pockets for holding tools and gauze. Her graying blonde hair has been short as long as I can remember.

  “Hi, Mom,” I say, setting my books down on the table. I'm dying to tell her about what happened--about the Arcaian cornering me, about Gwynn. Maybe she'd have some advice.

  "Did you have a nice day?" she asks with a plastic smile. Then without waiting for a response she adds, "It will be dark soon,” and lifts a hand to shoot a brilliant streak of magic into the canister embedded into the wood. It sparkles and glistens like liquid glitter. Not looking at me, she shuffles off toward the kitchen. A full canister lasts about a day, long enough to power the lights and other devices we all use, like those for cooking food or using the bathroom facilities.

  “Great,” I say, wishing I could talk to her about Gwynn. About Black Vault. About anything. I rack my brains for something to say, anything to get her talking. But she treads off, leaving me with the lamp as my only company.

  Mom had a powerful dream that broke through the barrier about six months ago. I woke up that morning and she was there by the side of my bed with a warmth in her gray eyes, a tender devotion I've never seen before. She pulled me into a hug. Her arms were full of life, of strength.

  Her heart beat so hard against my chest. The same spot in my ribs burns now just thinking about it. She rubbed my back and coiled her hands in my hair, saying my name like a whisper.

  She asked me how my day was when I got home and actually waited for a response. She slipped a note into my school bag.

  You need to know I love you, the note said.

  It didn’t last long—the effects of those dreams rarely do. By the next day she was back to being zombielike and apathetic again. The sight of her like that now leaves me with an eager sort of emptiness, a hollow below my ribs, crying out in a way I can never voice well enough to do it justice.

  You need to know I love you.

  My father used to work as a law enforcer until the Arcs crashed Cadehtraen eleven years ago. They were in our country longer than that, but as our small town lies on the opposite side from the capital city, it took them a while to get here. They had more important conquests, I guess.

  I don’t know why they haven’t just stormed in and taken everyone’s magic. Not that I want it to happen, but I suppose they’re content with holding the upper hand. For now, anyway.

  I pass my brother, Ren’s, bedroom and linger in the doorway, staring at his bare bed and empty shelves, at the space behind his closet where he used to keep his guitar. Ren left a year ago to attend pledgeschool in Jienke, and we haven’t heard from him much since. He keeps in contact with Mom on her aud, but since I can’t power one, I’m left to regular mail, and let’s just say keeping in touch with his little sister doesn't seem to be a priority.

  I shuffle into my bedroom and throw myself onto the covers, staring up at the exposed rafters. Thoughts of Gwynn snake their way in, of the dead expression she gave me before climbing into Clarke's vehicle. I hope she's okay. So what if she's a few minutes late coming home from school? I suppose I shouldn't gripe too hard, though. Who knows what that soldier with the goatee would have done to me if Lieutenant Hawkes hadn't intervened?

  The Arcs were pretty brutal when they first invaded, taking magic left and right to display their power, to make people fall in line and revere them as the main source of leadership. We had no wizards here to kill like they did in Valadir, but the Arcaians soon became the dominant power, not just here, but everywhere.

  The soldier's malevolent glower is branded into my skull. I can't shake the sick delight he got at the thought of his claw in my leg. What made me stand out to him? It makes no sense for them to have an interest in a girl who has no magic or power whatsoever, but something tells me it can’t be anything good.

  “I want to go to Black Vault,” I whisper to the empty room. And not just for Gwynn. I want to go for me.

  If I had magic, I could fit in. I could complete my coursework at school. I could watch Gwynn go home and not have it eat my heart raw.

  Then maybe the Arcaians wouldn't notice me anymore. No more targeting the girl who hasn’t broken through. Something tells me having magic would make me more vulnerable to their tyranny, but fitting in would still be best. Definitely. At least with magic I could fight back.

  Yeah, I could do it. Sneak out my window, climb down the tree and head toward the square, search for some signs of people gathering…

  I flop back against my pillow. I don’t know where it’s located. Or how to find a gatekeeper. It’s hopeless.

  “You’re a fool, Ambry Csille,” I say to the rising darkness.

  I wonder if people in Jienke or Valadir are like this—unresponsive. Listless and submissive. I don’t want to live this way. With my mother only showing affection once every ten years, or with the kids in my Procedures class, unaware that last year they winced, last
year they knew what it was to be sad or defensive.

  I kick off my shoes and climb into the covers fully clothed. Eventually, my clenched teeth relax. The angry rant in my brain unwinds, and my lids close, ready to surrender to sleep.

  ***

  A knock breaks through, flickering beneath my lids. I push against the heaviness, the haze settled over my brain, only to roll over and tighten the covers under my chin.

  Another knock follows. I blink and sit up, staring across the stationary dresser, the nightstand and its lamp, the blankets gathered around my legs.

  This time a lighter tap resounds like that of hailstones on glass. I shake sleep fully away and peel my covers back to find Gwynn clinging to my window.

  I've seen it so many times before--her, knocking at all hours--but it's different this time. This time, Gwynn’s eyes are wide, her face pleading with something that hasn't been there in years.

  Desperation.

  “Gwynn!” I dart over, throwing the curtains back and opening the latch as quietly as I can. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she wears a t-shirt, jeans, and her pink hoodie.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, moving aside so she can climb in.

  “I had a dream, Ambry,” she says, panting hard. She loses her grip on the sill and slips, landing hard on my floor.

  “Shh, my parents!” Not just my parents, though. Arcs are out on patrol. If they catch any lights on, or any signs of disturbance, they’ll barge in quicker than a starving kid smelling freshly baked pie. And who knows what they’ll do if they find Clarke Hawkes’ stepdaughter here?

  “What happened?” I ask, closing the window once more.

  Gwynn paces back and forth at the foot of my bed. “He was hitting me, but I was fighting back. I didn’t know I could feel such rage, Ambry. Look! I hit the wall!” She displays a set of badly cut knuckles. The blood has dried, making it a ghastly sight. Her face breaks into an exultant smile. I never thought I’d see that expression again.

  “Sit down,” I tell her, trying to organize my thoughts. I guide her to my rocking chair in the corner. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but calm down.”

  Still pacing, she shakes her head. “It all came back, Ambry. It’s like a spigot was loosened and someone turned the water on. I feel it. All of it. I’m so empowered, I feel like I could take him down. Take on the world!”

  “Wow.” I don’t know what else to say, so I just let her rant. I can imagine she needs to get a few things off her chest after having everything blocked for so long.

  “And that’s why I had to come. I have to tell you—I found a gatekeeper.”

  “You—what? How?”

  She pulls her aud from within her hoodie. “He told me not to say anything. I never felt enough to question, and I couldn’t see any reason to tell you. Before, when I was a robot.” She scoffs at her poor joke.

  Her hand ignites with silver, and she lights the clear screen. Instantly, a picture of a handsome young man appears. He’s clean-cut, with gray eyes and a kind smile.

  This time I stand. “You’ve been in contact with my brother?”

  “At first it was to keep tabs on you. He said he didn’t want to keep asking your mom for updates. He wanted to keep in touch but couldn’t since you don’t have an aud, so I’ve been telling him how you have been faring at school and in town.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” She’s telling me I could have talked to my brother this whole time? The worst part is, I can’t believe I never thought of it.

  “He said you’d be upset if you knew.”

  “I’d be upset my brother cared enough to check up on me?” This is baffling. Why wouldn’t he want me to know?

  Her eyes widen and she glances at her aud. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “I can imagine what that knowledge does to you now.”

  It hurts more than I’d like, to know my brother is now closer to my best friend than he is to me. Before, we confided everything in each other. Of course she didn’t realize it would hurt my feelings. She had no concept of that anymore.

  Ren did, though. He always felt more than others, even after he Torrented.

  “He would message about nothing and just…tell me things, swearing me to silence. And I’d always promise to keep his secrets! I never knew why, though, not until that dream…I don’t know, I can’t interpret it.” She places a hand over her chest and stares off in wonder. “My heart races when he’s near, every time I’ve thought of him…”

  By the angels, this can’t be happening.

  “You love him,” I tell her. “That’s love.” Not that I would know, but it sounds like it to me.

  She beams, basking in a full-on naive happiness. “I don’t know what it is, but I don’t want it to stop. Any of it.” She examines her knuckles once more.

  “He’s the one who told you Black Vault was coming,” I say, though how my brother would know is beyond me. It’s the only thing that makes sense. “He invited you.”

  Why would he invite her to Black Vault and not me?

  “I overheard my stepdad, actually. He and some other soldiers were discussing rumors they heard, about it coming to town. So I told Ren, and he said it was true. He asked if he could tell me another secret.” She stares at his image on her aud, and her voice quiets. “Then when I had the dream, I messaged him. And he told me to meet him.”

  “Wait—you said your heart beats when you’re near him. You’ve—you’ve seen him?”

  She tucks her aud back into the pocket of her pink hoodie. “That’s what I came to tell you. We’ve got to go. We have to meet him. Right now.”

  “What?” I glance at my clock. It’s one in the morning. "Aren’t you still worried about curfew? Is Clarke on patrol tonight?”

  Gwynn’s nostrils flare. She takes several heavy, deliberate breaths. Her lip curls, and she points a finger with each word. “Never. Say. His name. Again.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, knowing the words can never come close to being enough. At least Gwynn had someone to talk to, especially knowing who she lives with and what he does to her. Ren can help her—can help us.

  Gwynn swallows and finally takes a seat in my rocking chair. “It's okay. He’s why I have to go. You had it right earlier, Ambry. Ren said there will be a gypsy there tonight. I have to get some tears. And then I’m leaving.”

  “Leaving, as in…”

  “I have to get away from here, leave this town, leave this dungeon of a life! Do you remember before we Torrented? In that dungeon, how trapped we all were for days, waiting for magic to happen so we could be released? I’m there again. I’m in that dungeon every vrecking day of my life. But this time I’m not waiting for someone to release me. This time I’m releasing myself.”

  I have no words. I don’t want her to leave. But how can I ask her to stay? Her stepfather has forced himself on her, beaten her, burned her, and she could never feel enough to fight back. And she could never report him because he’s part of the very organization keeping us all in oppression.

  But right now, she looks happy. This is my Gwynn, the way I remember her, with her innocent, bright outlook on everything. Plus, if what she says is true, my brother is out there.

  “Let’s do it,” I say. I pull all the money I have from my wallet, stuff it in my pocket, and slip back into my shoes. And together, Gwynn and I climb back out of my window.

  Gwynn leads the way. I follow her blonde tuft-of-a-bun down the street, my heart clenching tighter with every step. Any minute now we’ll get caught. The heavy tread of military boots will hammer through the silence, and they’ll try to take our magic. Either that, or they’ll take us in a raid. Or both.

  Fog laces so thickly through the air I can barely make out the street signs or the homes lining the way toward Guerra Square. Purple circular streaks indicate a vehicle rolling slowly along at the intersection of the next street.

  I pull Gwynn into a foggy alleyway and wait for it to pass. My thoughts knot with images of the
soldier with the goatee from earlier. Please, angels, let him not be out on patrol tonight.

  “I just hope we get some good tears,” Gwynn whispers. “Hopefully they won’t extinguish my magic or shrink us to the size of nymphs or something. Maybe they’ll make us instantly rich. Darrin Graffman—”

  “I know, I know.” I wave her down. Darrin Graffman is the only guy at school I’ve ever heard of actually getting his hands on some. Supposedly, he drank tears the night before his Pledgeschool Acceptance Exams and got soaring scores, and he’s about as smart as a fencepost.

  Kids want tears to be better at sports, to get enhanced sight or strength, or like Gwynn, to get their emotions back. Some want tears to make their magic stronger. I inhale the chilled air. I just want tears to give me some magic, period.

  Moonlight shifts, and the crippled, twisted arms of the Guerra Tree that stands in the center of the square twine upward over the fog. We’re moving targets, but we head straight for it.

  I sink against the knobby, thick trunk, breathing hard.

  “He’s meeting us here?” I ask.

  Stray hairs leak from the messy knot on Gwynn’s head. She lifts her aud to me even though the screen is clear. “So he said.”

  Steps patter and I trap my breath. A thousand worst-case scenarios rumble through my brain. Ren has been caught. The Arcs have him and now they’re going to catch us. Someone higher up than Goatee will find me and submit me for extreme testing and possibly torture to discern why I never Torrented…

  The steps grow louder. I brace myself and grip the rough bark on the tree trunk behind me.

  “Ambry,” Ren whispers my name like a reprimand. “It’s just me.”

  I whirl around to find my brother with one boot propped on a rebellious root and a hand resting against the tree trunk while he catches his breath. All at once everything connects. I could go back home right this second. Sure, I want tears, but right now, seeing my brother is more than enough.