by K. M. Szpara
I can’t help but snort. “You know that’s not real, right?”
“It is to him.” Kane leans forward so that he’s practically in the front seat with us. I grip the armrests to resist pushing him back. “That’s what matters.”
“So, how does he ‘recharge his magic’?” I ask. “Does he need to sleep? Eat? Plug into an outlet?”
“No.” But Kane doesn’t elaborate. I hate that I want him to. “He’ll need to stop and he’ll need…” He pulls back slowly. I don’t even notice until he’s not there.
“He’ll need what?” I ask.
“Help. From someone else, probably one of those outsiders.” Does Kane sound sad? I glance in the mirror above the glass front of the car. He is sad. What in the hell is going on with him?
“So, he’ll be stopping soon for various reasons. No surprise,” Miller says. “I’m more concerned about which direction he’s going. We’re currently going north because that’s the nearest highway out of Baltimore, but I’m going to have to choose soon. Do I continue north? Turn west? South?”
Neither of us answer—I don’t know how we would. Could Kane track the monster Lark’s chasing? I sure can’t. When I look his way, he’s staring gloomily out the window.
“Kane?” Miller looks at him in the overhead mirror.
It takes him another moment to meet her eyes. “What?”
“You’re the one who demanded we go after Lark. Is there anything you can do to help?”
“What do you mean?” I don’t intend to say it aloud, but there’s an edge in Miller’s voice, like she’s hinting something forbidden.
Kane’s face creases with suspicion. “I know as much about where he went as you do—and you’re the one who chased him off. What do you expect out of me?”
“Magic,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry, what?” Kane blinks as if surfacing from underwater. “Magic? You want me to do magic, which you told me isn’t actually real. I’ve spent months sharing the intimate details of my life, trying to get over that—over all the lies Nova taught me. The hurt she caused. And now you want me to do magic.”
Miller shrugs. “I didn’t say that.”
Kane folds his arms. “You meant it.”
Until the last few days, I’ve believed in magic my entire life, but I can’t do it. My Anointed status was revoked long before my powers could manifest. When Lark’s did, it confirmed everything he ever thought—that he was better than me and everyone else. Magic became his identity. If it isn’t real, is he even Anointed?
“What about mindspeech?” Miller says.
I’ve never heard of mindspeech before—have the Anointed been able to communicate silently all this time? No, because it’s not real, I remind myself. Kane doesn’t comment.
“You could reach out,” Miller continues. “Ping him, as you call it.”
“Why are you asking me to do this?” His voice wobbles. “You don’t even believe.”
I watch Miller consider the accusation. Kane has poked something. What is it?
“I thought you wanted us to find Lark. Without backup. If you’re not willing to help, we can set up a dragnet and close all the roads out of Baltimore. I don’t need you to find Lark, but I am trying to work with you, because I value your testimony.”
Kane sniffs. He catches me looking and holds my gaze for the first time, as if he needs me. He’s looking for my company, my sympathy, my support. I snap my head forward to the road and readjust the uncomfortable belt that crosses my chest. How am I supposed to respond to Kane’s need? After all these years, he wants something from me. I’m just as surprised to hear Miller suggest magic; I have no help to offer him. She didn’t bring it up during our interview, but I assumed … it’s what all the social workers and other outsiders were telling us.
I wait. Listen to the hum of the road beneath us and the thump-thump every time we hit a bump or dip. Miller looks sideways at me. Nods toward the back before returning her eyes to the road. She wants me to check on him. She consulted me to make sure the Anointed One is doing his part.
I glance over my shoulder. Kane’s eyes are closed, his cheeks wet. He blinks rapidly. He looks at me when he says, “West. I feel him moving west.”
“Thank you.” Miller switches lanes, glancing up at the big green signs that cross the highway.
Kane wipes his tears on his sleeve, and I have to look away. I force myself to read the signs rather than watch him cry. It isn’t my fault … is it? He’s the one who said being Anointed meant “everything.” He said he’d help Miller. He agreed to this. I still can’t help wondering why she asked, though. Why she would bring up magic after everything.
* * *
Eventually, Miller presses a button and voices fill the car. I hear two people talking about current events. They mention Lark. Neither Miller nor Kane reacts as I listen to the outsiders describe him as armed and dangerous. Delusional. I hear them laughing at him—at us.
It’s dark for a long time before Miller says, “We’re stopping. Do either of you know how to use the maps app on a smartphone?”
I shake my head. Kane doesn’t answer out loud, and I don’t look back to check on him.
“That’s fine,” she says. “We’ll do it the old-fashioned way.” She scans the signs as we pass them, eventually pulling off an exit and into a small, half-empty parking lot of something called a Night Inn.
“This is a motel,” Miller says, getting out of the car. I do the same, but when Kane doesn’t, she opens the back door for him. “Can you two share a room?”
Kane’s feet hit the ground. The door slams behind him. He shrugs.
“Fine with me,” I say, and Miller nods. Not ten minutes later, she hands me a white plastic card with NIGHT INN printed on one side. I remember how to use this thing from the hotel in the city, and I’m pleased to unlock the door without having to ask Miller for help. I can handle myself out here, beyond the fence.
The door clicks quietly shut behind us. It’s odd, closing ourselves off from the outdoors. It’s not that we slept outside on Druid Hill all the time, but I’m not used to sleeping behind a door that locks. A few weeks ago, the whole Fellowship moved into their winter quarters, and I moved with a dozen other Fellows into a big glass building that used to house giant apes. When I was younger—when I was Anointed—I used to imagine that’s what monsters looked like.
“Was that true?” I ask Kane, now that we’re alone. “Is Lark really going west?”
He flops down on one of the beds. It creaks under his weight. “Maybe.”
“You’d better not be lying.” I unlace my boots, wishing we’d thought to grab some clothes before chasing Lark. Surely, he did. The room is warm enough and so dry I feel an itch creep across my arms. “You heard Miller; she can send a team of agents to—”
“To what? To shoot at him again?” Anger sears hot across his cheeks.
“She didn’t kill him or anything,” I say. “Sheesh.”
“Didn’t kill him? That’s your standard.” Kane stands and walks toward me slowly.
Even though I feel like his prey, I don’t move. I’m not a Fellow out here. Kane’s not Anointed. We’re the same. “Yeah, well, he’s attacked multiple outsiders. Besides, it’s not like he couldn’t stand to be reminded he’s human like the rest of us—that he bleeds too.”
“Of course he bleeds!” Kane hisses. “I know. I’ve seen it.”
My heart pounds in my ears; I’m afraid of the Anointed, even though I shouldn’t be. I can still feel the bruise on my chest. “Then see this.” I hook a finger in the collar of my dress and drag it down. Expose the yellowing edges of the mark Lark left when he slammed me across the kitchen. I take it back. We are different. “See what you Anointed do to us. Look what I went through.”
“What you went through?” Kane pulls his shirt over his head as if he’s fighting his way out of it. Strands of black hair fall in a halo around his face and land on his shoulders, breaking the line of a thick scar. “Wha
t about what I went through?” Dozens of thin shiny lines trace down his arms. Divots mark the left side of his torso. “Consider yourself lucky.”
Kane turns and walks into the bathroom, exposing a web of scars on his back. He slams the door so loud, I’m sure Miller heard it. I sit on my bed, hand still against my chest. As I listen to the shower water blast, I press my palm against the fading bruise. Feel the residual pain.
I take it back. We are different.
15
CALVIN / NOW
“Is he still breathing?” Lilian glances into the back seat before returning her eyes to the dark of the road. A car pulls up alongside us and she watches them longer than a driving instructor would recommend. I do too. Even though I believe Lark cast a spell to disguise the car, I need to believe it worked—believe him.
“Yeah,” I say, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. “He’s still breathing. Been out for a while, though. What time is it?” I yawn.
“Almost ten.” She adjusts her grip on the wheel and watches the car beside us pull slowly ahead. Too slowly. “Do we keep driving?”
“I have no idea.” But I was wondering the same. This isn’t really our trip. We’ve never hunted monsters before. Didn’t even know they existed until today. “Probably? He said he wanted to heal.”
“What happened to him?”
Normally, Lil and I would’ve dished as soon as Lark fell asleep, but for some reason it felt like he was still watching us. Like he’d know if we said the wrong thing. Catch on that we have no idea what he’s doing. Three hours is a long time to sit in silence.
“Bullet grazed him, I think. Didn’t get a great look. He told me to take his bag and go. It looked like he was going to fight her, but I didn’t stay to watch.” Should I have helped? I would only have gotten in the way. I’m no use against a gun.
Lilian sighs and looks at me in the rearview mirror. “You gave me a goddamn heart attack when you got back out of the car and went to meet him at the fence, Cal. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid like that again. This isn’t a fantasy novel.”
I shift, adjusting my shirt over the stolen wand that’s still jammed into my pocket. Its length presses hard against my abdomen. Lilian would laugh at me for taking it, and Lark … I’d probably lose his trust.
“I promise.” But my gaze drifts to Lark, curled up against the window, and I can’t help but want to hold him. Protect him from people who would rather shoot than help him. If I could do magic, things would be different.
“Okay, good. Everything’s going to be fine.” Lilian grips the wheel so tight, her hands tremble.
“Let’s stop,” I say, taking the burden of decision from her and opening the maps app on my phone. “We all need to rest. I’ll check if there are any motels in the area. Any cheap motels.”
Lilian nods, her limbs relaxing. The car that was driving beside us finally pulls far enough ahead that my suspicion eases.
“There’s a Motel 9 twenty-three minutes away. Only fifty dollars a night.”
“Sold.” She holds her hand out, and I press Go before giving her my phone.
Our silence resumes for exactly twenty-three minutes until we pull into an empty space at the Motel 9. The parking lot looks like a mouth with missing teeth, so few cars dot its spaces. Fluorescent light beams from behind an expanse of sliding doors.
“If you want to get us a room, I’ll wake him.” I nod at Lark. He never buckled his seat belt.
“Do we—” Lilian lowers her voice and leans closer. “Do we want to sleep in the same room as him? What if he…” She shrugs dramatically as her lips thin.
“What if he what?” Lark hasn’t given us any reason not to trust him. He’s the one making the leap of faith. He can’t drive, doesn’t have any money, doesn’t know what Toy Story is. And he’s hurt. I wonder if he’ll let me watch him heal. Wonder what it’ll look like. As polite as I’m trying to be, I’m desperate to watch more magic. To do some.
“He’s got a bag full of weapons.”
“I’ll…” I can’t find an argument against that. “I’ll tell him to leave them in the car if he tries to bring them. It’s probably against hotel policy, anyway.”
Lilian nods, shuts the door, and walks off to the lobby. I sit beside Lark, watching him sleep. Something glitters around his neck, disappears down below his collar, and ends in several small bumps between his chest and shirt.
What is he keeping so close to him? So hidden. He’s been asleep for hours; he won’t notice if …
Gently, I lift a silver chain from his collarbone. It slides effortlessly through the crook of my finger as I pull it from under his shirt. The bumps rise toward his collar, and I’m sure I’m about to discover a magical medallion or sigil or potion vial, when—
Lark gasps.
I drop the chain and press my fingers against his shoulder as if I were nudging him awake. My body burns with embarrassment as he looks at me, at the empty driver’s seat, at the length of chain hanging over his shirt.
“We stopped.” It’s all I can think to say.
His eyes flick to the lobby as he straightens up. “Stopped where?”
“A motel,” I say, unbuckling my seat belt. “You said you needed to heal, and it’s late. Lilian needs a break after driving so long.”
“How far have we gone?”
“Three-ish hours west. We didn’t know where to go, so we kept driving the direction you told us before you fell asleep.”
“Good,” Lark says. “West is good.” He looks at the various buttons and handles on the car door before pulling the correct one.
When I get out, I feel the press of the wand against me, reminding me of what I’ve done. Lark doesn’t seem too alert, though. He stands beside the car, blinking the sleep from his eyes before looking around the parking lot, as I open the hatch. “Here’s yours.” I hand him the duffel I packed him, then move to close the hatch. I unzip my bag. Make sure to stand between it and him, before quickly slipping the wand inside.
“Wait, my…”
I freeze. He can’t have seen.
“My other bag.”
Relief floods me. “Sorry, we’re not actually allowed to bring weapons into the motel.”
“Oh.” He ponders this for a moment before saying, “I suppose that’s fine. I’ll ward the hotel room as a precaution.”
I lock the car just as Lil’s exiting the lobby. She looks both ways before crossing the extremely dead parking lot and trades me a key card for her suitcase. “Room 216.”
Lark and I follow her around the back of the L-shaped motel, past a rusty playground, up an elevator with an expired certificate—I don’t tell Lark—and down a long row of doors. Whenever I stay at a motel, I’m glad to be on the second floor. It feels safer for some reason. I hate the idea of opening my bedroom door onto the street.
Jeopardy shines so brightly through our neighbor’s window, I have to shield my eyes while Lilian unlocks the door. She opens it for me and I hold it for Lark, but he doesn’t follow. His grip on his bag slackens before he drops it on the concrete walkway and steps up to our neighbor’s window. He stares, face alight from the glow of their television.
I know Jeopardy isn’t The Fellowship of the Ring. It isn’t even The Hobbit (though I refuse to hate those movies). But when I watch Lark watching Alex Trebek, I remember how I felt when Orlando Bloom dismounted his horse at the Council of Elrond. I saw that movie eleven times in theaters, just for that moment. I told my mom I needed the money for a field trip. When she found out what I spent it on, she stopped giving me allowance. A prelude to when she stopped paying for my education.
“What’re you watching?” I ask quietly, stepping closer. I’m afraid that asking will ruin this moment.
Lark blinks and turns to look at me. “Nothing.” His eyes linger on the screen for a second—long enough that he could play it off if he wanted. Long enough to notice. “I don’t watch television. I’m Anointed, and outsider media corrupts us.” He picks up
his bag and brushes past me as he walks into our room.
I know that’s not true because he was watching Kane on the news in our convention hotel room. Shut that off the instant I caught him, though. I wish he didn’t feel like he had to deny himself joy. It’s hard to give yourself that permission when you’re expected otherwise.
Lil pokes her head outside. “I’m okay,” I tell her before she can ask, and bring my things inside. In the time since Lark and I were staring at Alex Trebek together, he’s claimed the bed closest to the window and is untucking the meticulously folded sheets.
I drop my suitcase beside the other bed. Lil’s already hovering over the sink, taking her makeup off. Every now and then, she sneaks a glance at Lark in the mirror, while rubbing a cream or serum over her face. She doesn’t trust him. I really want to, but he’s sure as hell not making it easy. Maybe I’m going about this wrong. I should just talk to him. Explain that it’s fine if he’s interested in outsider media; it won’t make him less magic. It might even make him happier.
We walked through that fence. It was solid and then it wasn’t. Lark did that, and Alex Trebek can’t take that away from him.
“Uhh, Lark,” Lilian says, pressing a sheet mask onto her face. She points into the mirror. “Lark, where are you—”
I turn in time to watch him slip out the door and onto the walkway. “Dammit.”
“Real talk time,” she says, before I can go after him.
I know where she’s going with this. “No.”
“No, you no. Listen to me. That guy just got shot. What if we’re doing more harm than good here? What if he doesn’t want to be with us?” She trains her eyes on the open door and says, “What if this isn’t real, and you just want it to be?”
I purse my lips.
“I’m sorry; I had to say it in case it’s true—I don’t want it to be!”
I feel my brain form the words, Even if it is, but refuse to finish the sentence. Even thinking it feels traitorous. Sure, I’ve barely met the guy, but I know belief when I see it. Know the deep longing of needing something to be true. “You know what sucks?” I don’t wait for an answer. “When no one believes you—when the person you’re closest to doesn’t believe you.” I rush out into the cool night air, unsure whether I meant Lark or myself. I don’t dare speak either into existence.