First, Become Ashes

by K. M. Szpara

  I drifted, my head like a leaf floating on the lake, eventually dragged under. I surfaced with a headache, and no idea how much time had passed. Sunlight streamed in through the many panes of glass that lined the walls of Ritual House. I could move my limbs again, and despite the acrid taste in my mouth, the gag was gone. My chastity cage locked back into place.

  “You should rest,” Nova said. No explanation of what she’d given me to drink, rubbed into my body, or taken from it. I lifted my right arm to my nose and sniffed. Mint. Rose.

  “Okay,” I said, dressing.

  “I’ll have you back on the next full moon for another extraction.” She gathered a dozen glass bottles into a wooden box. “Your seed is powerful, Kane. It’ll prove a potent infusion for our wards and weapons. For our magical herbs and potions.” I swallowed, my spit thick and sticky. Lips still tasting of medicine.

  The next day at dinner, I sniffed my potion before drinking it, watching as the other Anointed chugged without thought. Lark turned twenty in three months and eight days. I wondered if Nova would ask the same of him—if she’d also take from Zadie and Maeve in a few years. The idea unnerved me. It felt wrong that we weren’t allowed to bring each other pleasure, but that Nova could “extract” our fluids for magic. Wasn’t it the same result, either way? Didn’t my body undergo the same reflexes, same motions? What was so undisciplined about experiencing pleasure with our partners? I would never forgive her.

  And yet, I went. I went because it was expected of me. Because that was my destiny. Because I was Anointed.

  Eventually, I grew used to the taste of the potion.

  17

  LARK / NOW

  I wake before dawn, long before Calvin and Lilian, but know the exhaustion that plagues me is not from lack of sleep. The Anointed do not require as much sleep as normal humans. We do, however, require pain and—I scratch my head—care.

  I trust Lilian enough to sleep in the same room and ride in the same car as her, but not with this. Calvin … he’s different. He sleeps with one leg over the sheets. It’s shaved smooth, showing the strong curve of his calf. I trace it up to where his thigh disappears beneath the covers. Would it be awful of me to wake him? He looks peaceful, almost Anointed the way his hair crowns his head. Last night, I invited him into a ritual space. A circle. My magic flowed through his body and I know he felt it. Think so, anyway. He believed even before I offered him proof. And, especially now while I feel so alone, that means something.

  I stand on the balls of my feet and walk quietly to the edge of the other bed. Bend down and lean on the mattress. I’m careful with my weight, shifting the bed enough that Calvin stretches but Lilian doesn’t. She snores—a welcome sound. I’m not used to sleeping in silence.

  “Calvin,” I whisper. He doesn’t move. I rest a hand gently on his exposed arm—the one not twisted behind his head like a wild root—and speak closer to his ear. “Calvin.”

  His eyes open. Come to rest on me. Stay wide. He untangles his arms from the bedding and sits up on his elbows. “What time is it? Is it morning?” He squints at the clock.

  “No, but I need…” Even though I’ve decided to trust him, it’s still hard to ask. I need to open myself up to someone else the way I did Kane—and Kane and I knew each other for years before we became real partners. “I need your help again.”

  “Okay.” Calvin sits fully up and wipes at the corners of his eyes before putting on his glasses. I watch him check on Lilian, who is sleeping facedown on a pillow, hair tangled around her. The position looks uncomfortable, but what do I know about how outsiders sleep? Their beds are extravagant enough to produce all manner of strange habits.

  Calvin slides out of bed slowly and follows me into the bathroom. He yawns and scratches along the band of his underwear. I look away as three of his fingers disappear below the hem. Maybe I should have asked Lilian. I might not trust her as much, but at least she doesn’t remind me of Kane. Stars, this is going to be harder than I thought.

  I close the door. “You trust me, right?”

  “Of course,” he says, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Yeah.” I cross my arms over my chest and look at my feet. Our feet, really. The room is so small, we’re almost touching. “But you might still leave, or call the outsider authorities, or—”

  “Lark.”

  I feel the heat of his hand on my shoulder. It feels like home.

  “I’m not going to leave you, but I am very tired, so why don’t you just tell me what has you up before the sun.”

  I nod, working up the courage to look him in the eye. “In the Fellowship, those of us who’re Anointed have partners. We are paired with someone around our own age that we bond with when we’re young and grow up training with. Kane was mine.”

  Calvin squeezes my shoulder, then lets his hand slide from my body. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not his fault. He was the first to quest and, well…” Tension grips my jaw. “I owe it to him to undertake mine. I know I can do it—can save him. But I can’t do it alone.”

  “You need a partner.”

  “No!” I say it so fervently, Calvin’s eyes fly open. “Sorry. I only mean that, as an outsider, you couldn’t fulfill that role. But you can help me maintain my abilities.”

  “Okay.” He draws the word slowly out. Looks at our feet as he asks, “What do you need help with?”

  I bite my lip until I feel heat swell between my teeth. “My hair, for one. We used to wash and braid each other’s hair. I don’t know if you know how.”

  Calvin looks up and smiles. “Oh, I can braid hair. Pretty standard skill in my field.”

  I sigh, my smile matching his. “I can’t tell you what a relief that is.” Even though it was the easier ask of an outsider, it requires the most skill. I worried he wouldn’t be able to help me. “Thank you.”

  “No problem, what else?”

  “Um.” The heat spreads from my lip, across my entire face, and throughout my chest—my heart pounds so fast, I lose my balance. “Promise you won’t leave?”

  “I promise I won’t leave.” Calvin reaches back and presses a small button on the door handle. The lock clicks. He could open it, of course, but I appreciate the symbolism.

  “Part of our dedication to training is avoiding distractions. No games or drinking, sweets or s—” Say it. “Sex.”

  Calvin’s expression doesn’t change. His face doesn’t blossom with judgment or disgust. It remains still, almost determinedly so.

  “That’s another thing Kane and I helped each other with.”

  “Your partner helped you … not have sex?” Calvin’s forehead wrinkles in confusion.

  My body is still so hot, I can barely look at him. “Can I just show you?”

  “I, um, yeah. I guess—I mean, of course.”

  I hook my thumbs under my waistband and push my borrowed underwear down to my ankles, stepping out of them. Otherwise I’d feel like a child.

  I risk looking at Calvin; his eyes dart around the small tiled room. “This. This is what we do for each other.” I finger the key around my neck, drawing his attention. “We use these keys to unlock and care for each other. Make sure we’re not bruised or raw.” I slide my other hand over my cage, not because I don’t want him to see it, just … I don’t know. To remind myself it’s there. Of why I wear it. How much I miss Kane.

  “I can do that,” Calvin says, quietly but sure, and I’m so surprised, I go cold.

  “You will?”

  “Yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck, clearly trying to look everywhere except at my cock. “I’m not exactly shy about my body either. And, I mean”—he shrugs—“I’m sexually active. I know how to handle a dick.”

  The forthrightness of his words evaporates mine.

  “I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want. I can keep it clinical.”

  “Clinical?”

  “Yeah, like a doctor or esthetician.
Even though they might touch you, it’s not sexual. It’s professional.”

  “That’s good.” I nod even though the reference means nothing to me. “Then there’s one more thing I’ll need from you. We can’t do it here, but we will need to soon, before I’m completely drained of magic.”

  “What is it?” His words barely make a sound. I’m lured in by the interest I hear in his voice. By how he cares and wants to support me on my own terms.

  “Pain.” There, I’ve said it. “Our magic comes from pain—and I don’t want to break an arm or get shot again. We have specific tools we learn to use on each other’s bodies. We know how to invoke pain without breaking each other.”

  When I finish, Calvin’s eyes have drifted slightly to the left of my head. I can’t parse the expression on his face, but it’s not good. I don’t know if I’ve lost him.

  “I promise it’s safe. I know what I’m doing.” My words pull him back to me like a magnet. “I can teach you how to hurt me.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Except for the mess of brown hair sticking up from his head, Calvin looks fully awake. Fully attentive. “Okay. I trust you. And you clearly trust me.” He doesn’t hide where he’s looking now. No point, is there.

  “You can take yours off too, if you want.” I wet my lips, mouth suddenly as hot and sticky as a summer afternoon. “Usually, it’s mutual—I mean, you don’t have to, but I would wash you too. I mean, I could. If you wanted.”

  I feel more exposed fumbling over my words than I do standing naked before this outsider. I haven’t had to ask someone to touch me, to invite them into my intimate space, in almost a decade. I’ve never asked an outsider.

  I wonder if he’ll feel different.

  “Okay. If you want to.” Calvin slides his underwear off and tosses them on top of mine. Seeing our worn briefs piled together makes me feel as if we’ve done something. We are very explicitly not doing anything. A moment of pressure inside my cage reminds me that I can’t, anyway. The same cage that I’m about to unlock, to let Calvin clean and care for me. I have to remain disciplined.

  “Okay.” I don’t look between Calvin’s thighs. I don’t, I don’t, I don’t. I turn around and sit on the toilet lid. This is supposed to be a special exchange. It’s supposed to happen under the warmth of the sun on the lawn or swaddled in blankets during winter. It’s a moment of closeness, calm relaxation—I tense when Calvin’s fingers brush the back of my neck.

  “Sorry,” he says, as if he’s accidentally nicked me with a razor.

  “It’s okay.” I shake my shoulders out, sit up straight. I was never as tall as Kane, but this outsider and I are more evenly matched. I feel the heat of his presence, and all I can think as he begins fumbling with my braids is that his uncaged cock is right behind me.

  I gasp, closing my eyes, trying to disguise the memory that shudders through me. The memory of Kane’s mouth and fingers, the slick of sweat and saliva.

  Arousal floods my body, confusion my head, as Calvin’s fingers dance through my hair, separating strands, unweaving Maeve’s work. I breathe deeply, hoping to draw enough oxygen into my body to clear my mind. I focus on this cold, decrepit, mundane motel bathroom. Tell myself this is simply a job that needs to be done, rather than a profound and intimate exchange between two people.

  Calvin ruffles my unbound hair, massaging the tension from my scalp. Only when his hands slide down the full length do I realize I’ve been rising to meet his touch.

  “Thank you.” I stand, his fingers still tangled in the ends, and reach to turn on the shower.

  “No problem. Happy to help.”

  I take the key from around my neck and fit it into its lock. Happy to help, he said. This is helping. I remove the lock, then the cage. Set both on the back of the toilet. Take a long slow breath as my body adjusts to the freedom. The lightness.

  I do not look at Calvin. I no longer have solid steel to keep my arousal in check. I step into the shower and close my eyes immediately, letting hot water soak my hair. Feet thud on the tub behind me. Another body in my space—I asked for this, because I need this.

  I revolve under the showerhead, soaking my whole body. When I wipe the water from my eyes, he’s there. He’s taller than I’d thought, and paler. His muscles are like nothing I’ve seen, sculpted as if for show. His hair styled even in the humidity of the room, sides shaved close. He pushes the top back and out of his eyes, no longer wearing glasses. Looks with his dark eyes, as if through me. Moves closer.

  “Is this okay?” He’s popping the cap on a small plastic bottle, pouring its contents into his hand. I don’t have time to wonder what it is before he reaches slowly for my head. A subtle tilt of his head asks permission, and I nod.

  “Do you want to turn around?”

  I answer by doing, not speaking. This is happening. My heart pounds like a drum in my ears. A strange man is washing my hair. An outsider. And it doesn’t feel bad. It feels different. The pads of his fingers are soft, their pressure gentle. They make small circles on my scalp before sliding down the length of my hair.

  Minutes pass—full minutes. Finally, I feel an absence.

  “If you stand under the water, I’ll…” He doesn’t have to finish. I don’t care what he’s going to do; I’m already moving under the spray, tipping my head back while he rinses the suds away. He tends to the nape of my neck, shoulder blades, lower back. Then he disappears again, leaving me waiting.

  Calvin returns with a cold cream, which he massages into my hair along the same patterns he just washed. “What is that?” I ask, though I don’t really care. I’d let him attend to me any way he wanted, with any outsider product.

  “Conditioner,” he says. “I’m surprised you haven’t used it before. Your hair’s so soft.”

  “I don’t wash it very frequently.” We only change our braids when they become unmanageable, which varies depending on our hair type—I wash mine every week or so.

  “That explains it.” He pats my side. The outsider casually touching the skin of my torso, as if he has washed my body before. “We’ll want to let it sit for a few minutes before rinsing it out.”

  “Okay. Would—” I clip my offer. It’s one thing to ask an outsider to help with basic maintenance, so I can keep myself in shape for my quest. It’s another to put my hands on him. To wash him. He must be used to caring for himself, he has no need for me to do so.

  But I want to.

  “Would you like me to wash your hair too?” I face Calvin, and he blushes—or the steam from the shower has warmed his cheeks.

  “I mean, I can—but this is supposed to be a together thing, right?” He trips over hurried words, settling on, “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

  Calvin’s hair is short, so much shorter than Kane’s. It takes me a minute to lather his hair, but only because I spend so long rubbing his scalp. It’s so short, I could grab it in my fists. But I don’t grab it, no. I rinse and release.

  “Thanks.” He turns to face me again. “Want me to—” He points at my conditioning hair.

  “Oh, yes, thank you.” I turn and let him work on me again, until his fingers no longer slip over the strands of my hair. This is it. I glance down between my legs, where my foreskin has begun to pull back around my hardening cock. That’s normal and fine, I remind myself. Discipline means not acting on my body’s impulses, means controlling myself when this happens naturally. I think of training with Kane on the grassy knolls of Druid Hill, of the empty eyes of FOEs, and of the monster I will rend throat to gut.

  I rinse the conditioner from Calvin’s hair with the determination my quest demands, ignoring my cock. I can do this.

  “Okay, what now?” Calvin asks.

  When I face him, his eyes are on mine as if looking elsewhere will turn him to stone. He fidgets with his hands, in front of his pelvis. I know how to handle a dick.

  “Um.” I don’t know how to instruct him. Don’t want to say the words even “clinically.” “I need you to clean me, look f
or bruises, discoloration, chafing, abrasions.” I step closer and take my own cock, as if I can hand it to him. “There shouldn’t be any. I’ve worn the cage for years; I know how not to hurt myself.”

  He takes me. I wasn’t ready, even though I should’ve expected it. One hand supporting my cock, the other cupping my balls. “I’m not supposed to be able to see from up here, through the water, am I?” He smiles, laughs awkwardly. His whole body is flushed, from the steam or his words or my closeness—I don’t know.

  “You can do whatever you need.” I clasp my hands behind my back so I won’t be tempted to touch him. That would be too far, too intimate. Washing each other’s hair was reciprocal; this can’t be. He doesn’t wear a cage. I don’t have to care for his cock.

  Calvin drops to his knees, and I draw in a deep breath. Hold it and close my eyes. I feel off-balance, and can’t rest my hands on his shoulders. I try to think of anything else, so my brain settles on Kane’s mouth around my cock, his nails digging into my thigh, fingers gently fondling my balls.

  I feel Calvin’s fingers gently press my foreskin back before lifting my cock. His fingers run smooth up my length, and I try to imagine myself flaccid in his hands rather than swelling with arousal. Try not to imagine his mouth closing around me like Kane did, fuck. I open my eyes as the forbidden profanity flickers through my thoughts.

  “I don’t see anything unusual.” Calvin cranes his neck like he is treating this with the utmost seriousness, and I struggle to breathe. To keep my head above the current of pleasure that threatens to suck me under. I am hard. Heavy and pulsing in his hand, the head of my cock red and exposed.

  I lean against the wall, unable to hold myself up anymore. Thrust into the hands holding me, touching me. I want—no. His mouth is so close. He bites one plump lip, looking closely. I shudder as his fingers slide featherlight over the ridges of my foreskin. He can’t pull it back because all the blood in my body is flowing toward my groin and I am hot, so hot.