RoseBlood

by Howard, A. G.

  I rake a fallen lock of hair from his otherworldly eyes and repeat his words: “We’re here.” The explanation should strike me as unbelievable, but instead, the rightness of it is undeniable.

  All those nights we climbed the stars and rearranged the planets with our songs, we were complete and invincible when we stood together.

  Only in the context of predestination could those dream-visions make sense.

  He lifts my fisted hand, pushes my sweater’s sleeve to my elbow, and trails warm, soft lips along my inner wrist. Then he twines the length of the ribbon around the lingering imprint of his kisses, winding his own bared wrist into the loops, until we’re fused as one, my now-opened palm facing his, our fingers entwined.

  “We’re destined to be lovers, Rune. Connected by the thread of our shared soul through space and time. Now that we’re united, no matter the where or the when, or whatever circumstances come between us—that cord will stretch to accommodate it all, pliant and giving. It may tangle, but it will never snap. We will always be tethered. Always find each other again . . . because it’s fated to be.”

  My blood burns hot, the veins bright and luminous under my skin. Etalon’s veins flare in response. As if ignited by our combined surge, the ribbon catches fire on our arms. I don’t even blink because the flames don’t hurt, although they blaze through a rainbow of auras. Only when they fade to the purest white do they snuff away on smoky tendrils.

  The ribbon’s crimson stamp remains—a visible coiling tattoo on my left wrist and forearm, mirroring the image on his right—while leaving us free. As we pull our arms apart, I still feel the tug between us . . . an internalized bond that can’t be broken.

  I gasp and smile, looking up into his face. Returning my smile, he catches my hips and draws me to him, long legs cradling either side of my body. I move my hands along his shirt, learning the hard planes of his chest and stomach over the soft fabric. He groans and his fingers slip to my nape and clench my hair, forehead pressed to mine. His breath is scented with an elixir of emotions—smoke and honey and rose petals. I shut my eyes, drifting to the stars as I breathe him in.

  His lips hover inches from mine—a torturous tease of sparking currents just out of reach—but he jerks away at the last minute. My eyes pop open, vision clouded and unfocused. In the distance, at the other end of the roof behind the auditorium’s cupola, rises a cacophony of sound.

  Someone or something has been watching us. My mind is too fuzzy to react, my body too swept away by sensation and awe to move. I’m a trapped rabbit, helpless against the wolf closing in.

  20

  UNEARTHLY ENTANGLEMENTS

  “It is the dim haze of mystery that adds enchantment to pursuit.”

  Antoine de Rivarol

  Thorn stood—nerves abuzz—rocking from his soul-deep reunion with Rune after all these years of being apart. So close to tasting his name on her lips. But even with the frustration of that loss, he couldn’t deny how potent the surge had been between them. He’d never felt such a pure electric thrill. His body stung from the inside out—alert, alive, ignited.

  He helped her up and motioned toward the door. She wavered in place, absently rubbing the ribbon’s burn imprinted on her arm, unable to budge. She was dewy-eyed enchantment shrouded within her white aura of innocence and wonder—lost and confused. He’d given her too much too fast. He should’ve stopped with the information about the violin; her mind hadn’t been ready for the unity ritual this soon. But Erik had forced his hand.

  Thorn kept his sights on the green-lit cupola in the distance, his body planted firmly in front of Rune, waiting either for the spy to reveal himself, or for Rune to recover enough to get back inside, where he could keep her safe for at least one more day.

  He’d explored the roof when he arrived but failed to check the cupola’s secret passage. By then, he could think only of making everything perfect, of winning back Rune’s trust and feeling her in his arms without time or space between them, of her breath catching on his face—both of them bared of masks and lies.

  Most of the lies.

  He hadn’t outed Erik’s plan yet. He couldn’t, not until he’d confirmed or negated what he’d come to suspect after that cryptic discussion with Erik in the lab a few hours earlier.

  Thorn had always believed the universe lined up every event that brought Rune into his path. But now, it was starting to appear that the universe had help. That Erik had been using Thorn’s connection to Rune from the very beginning to summon her to this place, in this time.

  You have served me well over the years. His father’s melodious taunt writhed and pricked inside Thorn’s brain, an earworm with a serpent’s bite. You’ve brought her this far when no one else could have.

  Was that why he gave Thorn the violin to begin with, all those years ago? When he told him to play it every chance he could? Because Erik knew it had been tied to her father somehow? Some kind of magical tether?

  Thorn would never forgive himself if it were true, especially now, if his role had put Rune in even more danger. It was one thing, if she wanted to escape her voice like Erik had always said she would. But Thorn had come to realize she needed the chance to embrace the gift, free of pain, before making that decision. He of all people understood what it was like to have such a talent stripped away.

  None of it mattered, though, if the spy behind the cupola was the Phantom. Everything would be over tonight.

  Already things were spinning out of control. Law enforcement was out of the question. Erik had trip wires and land mines set in place on the upper floors, and would trigger them all without hesitation should he sense someone closing in. Everyone in the academy was a sitting duck unless Thorn could sabotage the pitfalls himself, covertly. He was the only one who could, since he had helped Erik plant most of them, two years earlier.

  He’d already disarmed the ones he knew of over the past few weeks, but there would be some Erick had set up in secret. Thorn had searched all the floors except the top two. He needed at least another day. One more day of committing treason against the man who’d raised and nurtured him.

  Thorn’s chest ached. “Show yourself!” He shouted to their stalker, straining his voice.

  A rush of rustles and growls stirred behind the cupola, but nothing came into view. He would’ve suspected Tomlin, had he not already checked in on Erik’s puppet before coming to the roof tonight. The drummer still hadn’t returned from the city.

  That left only the Phantom. But how? When Thorn last saw him, he was barely able to stand. It usually took him all night to recuperate from pouring his energy into the cryogenic chamber.

  Thorn’s feet shifted as Rune’s body slumped against him. He wrapped an arm around her. “Come on. Snap out of it. Rune—”

  Snarling hisses and tingling bells preempted a flurry of movement from the shadows. A sprinkle of red feathers tufted on the wind in the wake. Thorn almost laughed, so relieved to see the swan and the cat. Both animals had the habit of behaving like dignified emissaries in the presence of the Phantom. They’d never lower themselves to this level of playfulness were he here.

  But there was still the chance he might be close behind.

  Scooting everything to one end of the bench, Thorn eased Rune down and lifted her legs so she could lie on her side. He patted her face until she roused.

  “W-wha’s happening?” She slurred, her eyes wide as Ange fluttered past, squawking, with Diable happily prancing in jingly pursuit. “Wait . . . Diable, no!” She rolled off the bench, diving to grab Diable but missing when the cat ducked and slapped a paw across the swan’s tail feathers.

  Thorn caught Rune before she face-planted next to his boots. She looked up, blinking, not fully cognizant.

  “H-how’d Diable get up here?” She rubbed her eyes as he settled her to sit back on the bench. “Oh, yeah. Ghost kitty.”

  Thorn frowned. It was taking her longer than he’d anticipated to come down from the drunken crest of energy they’d shared. How
was she going to manage the trek downstairs?

  She leaned forward, elbows on knees, so low her hair hid her face.

  He could scoop her up and carry her. He’d prefer that, with her warmth nestled against him—as close as possible to the citrusy vanilla clinging to those glossy strands wound about her head.

  Diable darted past, Ange chasing him this time. Her wings splayed low as she waddle-hopped behind. She stretched her neck and chomped the cat’s tail. Diable let out a nerve-wracking yowl.

  Rune sat up straighter, though still wobbly. She peered through her hair. “Why aren’t you doing something? They’re going to kill each other!”

  Thorn steadied her. “They’re fine. Tag is their favorite game. They were playing it that day we first met in the chapel. Ange doesn’t need our help any more than Diable needed yours then.”

  “But . . . he was drowning.”

  Thorn rolled his eyes. “That was a ruse on his part to get your attention. He was sweet on you from the beginning. Cats are naturally afraid of water but can overcome it. I made sure Diable could swim ever since he was a tiny kitten, because of where we live.” Thorn winced. The less Rune knew about the Phantom’s lair, the safer she was. He must be energy-drunk himself to let that slip.

  One glance at her face and the ribbon marks on his arm sizzled with hot friction as if in confirmation.

  “Where you live . . . under the opera house, with the Phantom,” she reasoned, knotting her unruly waves at the back of her head. Her mind was getting clearer by the second. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

  “Enough chatter.” He cupped her elbow and helped her stand. “It’s time.”

  Misreading his intentions, she snuggled close. “Finally,” she mumbled, her head against his chest, all of her curves pressed to him—softness and trembling expectations. “I was wondering when we were going to dance.” Her fingertips slid up his back, igniting a voltaic charge through his entire body. The force of their bond took even him off guard. Their link had coalesced faster than he expected.

  “No.” He pushed her away. She was steady on her feet now, so his tone harshened. “Time for you to go.”

  She flashed him a bewildered pout that flung him back into the moment he’d traced her lips. His thumb twitched, craving that sensual perusal again.

  “What do you mean, go? After everything you told me about me and my family? After what just happened between us?” She dragged her sweater’s cuff down to cover her ribbon tattoo. “You don’t drop life-altering things like that on someone and send them on their way!”

  “You’re not safe up here.” He shoved her tote into her hands, hating that his roughness rocked her back a step.

  Her eyes scanned the rooftop. “From what?”

  He shook his head, feeling each second slice through him like a scalpel. He had to get home and assure the Phantom was where he had left him. Time was already short enough without Erik looking over his shoulder. “Go get some rest.”

  She frowned as Ange and Diable darted by in their periphery. “Like that’s a possibility. My friends all hate me. My aunt despises me as much as my grandma. And now I have to find some way to cut school and visit the prison.” She held the bag against her chest like a breastplate of armor as she studied her father’s violin case. “You’re coming to the vent, aren’t you?”

  Imploring eyes turned up to him, wide, green, and edged with filigrees of gold—an enticing testament to their spiritual fusion. They would sparkle like jewels for hours. He wished he could be there to watch them fade, so he could light them up again.

  “Please,” she continued to torment. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. I need you to stay with me . . . to play a song for me. It’s the only way I’ll fall asleep.”

  Longing clawed through his chest. She might have the sense to be scared, if she knew how much he wanted to stay with her, and not on the other side of some damned wall with a violin filling his arms, coaxing out fantasy serenades. No. He wanted to hold her while tangled in the covers on her bed, flesh to flesh—coaxing out the beast she was so frightened to become.

  He wanted to end the evening on that note, with a promise she’d never spend another night alone. But the masquerade would be here too soon, and there were traps to be discovered, loose ends to tie up, and a harrowing secret still between them.

  “I can’t stay with you.” His response was designed to cut with its spiky edges and sharp apathy. “I have things to do.”

  “Ah.” Her voice cracked. “Things to do.” With only a grunt to warn him, she kicked the mask on the roof between their feet. It slammed his heel with such force, the crack in the forehead fissured like a busted eggshell. He was impressed by the power behind the angry gesture, knowing their merge had given her that burst of strength. But the hurt looking back at him crushed any satisfaction. “FYI,” she snarled. “Having some magical thread between us that can stretch across the universe doesn’t take the place of being physically there when I need you.”

  She kept him pinned with a glare and backed toward the door, her posture stiff and ready to snap. He couldn’t have her lumbering down the stairs like a raging bull. She’d fall and break her neck.

  He caught up to her and drew her close enough that her breasts grazed his rib cage. Her expression softened, all that tension draining away in an instant. It was daunting, how quickly she responded to his touch now.

  “Etalon . . .”

  “That’s better.” He spun her around and aimed her for the door once more. “Get those answers for me—as early as possible. Morning, preferably.”

  She glanced back, her tough façade continuing to crumble. Her chin trembled.

  He schooled his features to an expression as blank as his busted mask, in hopes she couldn’t see how she affected him.

  She opened the door, but stopped midstep. “Oh, I—I have something to give you. In my bag—”

  “It will have to wait.”

  Sniffing, she sealed herself inside. He watched her white aura filter through the space at the doorjamb, watched as it faded to a miserable bluish gray.

  Her emotions lingered, torturing him. He’d sampled the heartbreak of years long gone, each time Erik grew reminiscent of Christine. It was a stale flavor . . . flat and dusty, with the slightest hint of decaying lilies. But fresh heartache was an entirely different sensation—like overripe peaches scattered too long in the sun, a fermented sticky sweetness that left his teeth sore and his tongue parched.

  One thing Erik had been honest about: finding your twin flame could be hell if the time wasn’t right. Thorn touched his forearm, his fingertips prickling as they followed the ribbon’s imprinted coils.

  Diable mewled.

  Thorn rolled down his sleeve. He frowned at the animals seated next to his feet and panting. “Well, you two have a lot to make up for.”

  After a yawn that showcased a full cast of needle-sharp teeth, Diable pattered to the door and scratched at the base, his crooked tail twitching expectantly.

  “That’s a start.” Thorn opened it, peering inside to see that Rune had already disappeared around the first turn of the corkscrew stairs. Diable sauntered in and shot Thorn a slitted, glimmer-green glance. “See that she gets down the steps safely. And don’t leave her side tonight. Comfort her. Be there for her, since I can’t.”

  In less than a blink, the cat vanished around the bend, svelte as a shadow.

  Upon shutting the door, Thorn turned to Ange who was preening her ruffled feathers. “As for you, vixen-angel . . .” Her elegant neck curved so her clouded eyes could focus on him. “Where exactly is your master?”

  Having Diable join me on my journey down the dark stairwell is the only thing that keeps me from falling apart. The thought of lying down in my room, with only the dismal burble of my lava lamp for company, threatens to drag my loneliness to new depths.

  I’m so happy when I notice the cat slinking down beside me. I consider offering him the gift of Etalon’s toe socks—for a sc
ratching post.

  “Your master is a jerk. You know that, Ghost Kitty?”

  The cat glares up at me. If he had eyebrows, I’m pretty sure one would be raised in derision.

  “Okay, he’s not your master, per se. And I guess he’s not a jerk, completely.”

  Not if I stop nursing my wounded ego long enough to be honest. I’m assuming he’s the reason Diable is here now. On the roof, I watched Etalon’s aura fluctuate between his longing to stay with me, and the battle he waged to push me away. He was trying to protect me from something. Something shadowing him so closely, he’s in danger himself—a paralyzing thought that revives those uncomfortable, stinging tickles in my throat.

  Doesn’t he get it? He needs to let me in. There’s no place for secrets, not after everything we’ve shared. That’s why I wanted him to spend the night. To keep us both protected. There’s safety in numbers. I should’ve told him that. In fact, I should’ve told him the truth I was hiding . . . that I didn’t want him to sleep on the other side of the wall at all. That I wanted him in my room next to me.

  A flush of heat works its way across my face. I guide my flashlight app to light my footsteps. “He senses my emotions, so I thought . . .” My free hand runs along the two-way mirrors. “I don’t know what I thought. I acted like a diva.”

  Diable responds with a profound sneeze.

  I attempt a smirk and play with the roof’s key where it hangs from my neck. “You’re right. Renata’s role must be going to my head.”

  The cat’s tinkling collar offers the only comment on our continued descent. I lift the key and hold the metal to my mouth, thinking of Etalon’s soft lips. He almost kissed me. A real kiss, from someone I don’t have to worry about killing, from someone who makes me feel extraordinary yet grounded, just by pressing a fingertip to my temple.