by K. M. Szpara
I nudge Calvin awake as we pull into the welcome center parking lot. He stirs, stretching and checking his surroundings out the window.
“We’re in the Ozarks,” he says, reading another sign.
“Yeah.” I watch the outsiders, remembering Calvin’s warnings.
They pull the car into a space and stop, but don’t get out right away. It’s awkward, so I say, “Okay, we’re going to go hit the can.”
Calvin looks suspiciously at me as he follows my lead. He’s never heard me say that before. He knows something is wrong.
“You want some cash for snacks?” the driver asks. They open a small leather holder and remove several green rectangles.
“That’s really generous, are you sure?” Calvin asks.
“It’s only a few bucks,” the driver says, their smile so big and toothy it covers half their face. “We’re happy to help.”
“Well, thanks.” Calvin takes the cash, mimicking the driver’s smile. He makes a show of putting it in his pocket before taking my hand and leading me toward one of the buildings. “What’s going on?”
I glance back to see the two of them lingering beside their car, the driver talking into their phone. “While you were asleep, the radio announced a tip line outsiders could call to report our whereabouts to FOEs.”
“Figured it was something like that,” Calvin mutters.
“There’s a reward.”
“We should go.”
“Agreed.”
By now, we don’t need to consult each other. We don’t look behind us and barely look ahead. We break our hold and run. Calvin gets off to a slow start, but he’s better rested than I am after his nap, and soon we’re both running fast. We never hear the outsiders call after us. Never hear the squeal of tires or blare of their horn. Nothing. We run until we reach the first exit, ducking off the highway and into the trees. Past another sign:
OZARK NATIONAL FOREST
—No camping—
“How do you feel about breaking outsider law, Calvin?” I ask.
He laughs so hard, he slows. “Seeing as I’m already a fugitive…”
I drop my pace to match his, catching our breaths as we wander deeper into the shadows of the forest. I feel more at home here than I have at any other point on my quest. If the ground weren’t soaked, I would suggest we camp. Sleep outside under the stars with each other’s bodies for warmth. I blush, grateful for the cover of darkness.
“What are you thinking?” Calvin says. “I’m hoping you have a plan. Because I don’t.”
“Don’t worry.” Through low-hanging branches, I spot a wooden structure on a hill. Either a small house or some kind of way station. Doesn’t matter which. “I do now.” I nod in its direction, and Calvin sighs in relief.
“Do you think anyone’s home?” he asks.
“I hope not.”
My thighs burn as we hike up the hill. Even by Anointed standards, it’s been a taxing day—not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. I long to relax somewhere that FOEs and outsiders can’t find us. I knock on the door and hold my breath, resisting the urge to ready my knives.
No one answers.
“I’m going to check the perimeter, look through the windows,” I say. Calvin just nods and leans against the outer wall. I give in and pull a knife from its sheath on my hip, just in case anything’s lurking. I can’t feel a hint of presence inside, so I’m not too worried.
The building is a small rectangle with a window on each side except the back, where a chimney sticks out of the roof. When I return, Calvin stands straight as if he had been the whole time. I don’t care if he relaxes. He deserves to.
“All clear,” I say. “Stand back.” I whisper an unlocking spell against my palm and press my hand against the door’s lock. Time seems to slow as I realize I’m casting a spell that I’m sure is going to work. When I take the knob in hand, it turns easily. It occurs to me as I push that it could’ve been open the whole time.
Doesn’t matter; we’re safe here. Calvin and I unzip our wet sweatshirts and hang them on hooks beside the door. It’s cold inside, but no surprise there.
Calvin nods at the fireplace. “Think we can risk the smoke?”
“I don’t think anyone knows we’re here. For all the FOEs know, the owners of this cabin are home and warm.”
He nods, then heads to the hearth. Puts a log into the metal basket and fiddles with some kind of lever. I know what a chimney is and how to start a fire, but I’ve never worked one with a lever before. Leave that to the outsider.
It’s cold, my clothes are soaked, and I want to dry them by the fire, so I begin to pull my shirt over my head before remembering I’m not at home. I don’t know what outsiders are used to. At the motel, Calvin and Lilian slept with some of their clothes on. Sure, Calvin and I showered together, but that was maintenance. It doesn’t mean he wants to see me naked. I should ask again.
“Do you mind?” I tug up the bottom of my shirt. “It’s just…” I shrug.
“Not at all,” he says. A fire glows in the hearth as he steps back. “I’d like to do the same.”
I nod and watch as he pulls his shirt off. For a moment, our eyes meet, then drop, then meet again. We both smile as we undress, mirroring each other’s actions. Unfastening belts and harnesses, jeans and shoes. We drape our clothes over the sofa that’s in front of the fire. Lay out our socks over the arms. Line our shoes up in front of the flames.
“Um.” Calvin looks down at his own underwear, then at the pair he lent me. They’re identical, and they’re both soaked.
I smile, then break into a laugh. “What are these?” I point at the shapes that pattern the cloth, then read the waistband aloud. “That’s how I roll?”
“Those are dice!” Calvin says, his smile as big as mine. He moves closer, pointing to one of the tiny shapes. “That’s a d20—means it has twenty sides.”
“A twenty-sided die?” I crane my neck, turn it so I can see the tiny shape better. “I know what dice are; I played with them and cards once. We weren’t supposed to, though, so I never really learned.”
“I can teach you when this is all over.”
When this is all over. What does that mean? Do I have to find a monster and kill it? Even then, what’s over mean? Is this over when I return to Baltimore City? To the hotel where the rest of the Fellowship is waiting Nova’s trial? Is it only over if I testify? I don’t want to go back to that. I want to go home with Kane and Calvin, wherever that might be. Somewhere safe.
I bite my lip. Touch one of the d20s on Calvin’s thigh. Drag my finger slowly upward, and rest it in the elastic of his waistband. “Teach me, now.”
He knows what I mean—what I want. “But your…” His eyes drop to my crotch, to the outline of metal bars against the thin fabric of my underwear. Then to the key that hangs around my neck, and finally back to my own eyes.
I hold his gaze as I wrap my hand around the small key and yank. The chain snaps easily, its ends dangling from my fist. Calvin holds out his hands, and I press the key into them. I hook my fingers in the elastic of my borrowed underwear and push it down over my thighs and calves. Kick it up into my hand and toss it onto the couch.
Calvin struggles to do the same with one hand, not breaking eye contact, holding the key tight—as if dropping it would kill us both. When we’re naked, Calvin opens his fist slowly, palm up. He picks up the key carefully between two of his nimble fingers.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks.
I nod. “I feel magic inside me—I have my whole life. If that feeling is real, if I’m Anointed, if monsters exist, then this shouldn’t matter. Nova taught us to discipline our bodies and emotions in order to power us; she taught me that pleasure would weaken me, but … have I not loved Kane my whole life? Have we not lain together before? I’ve touched and been touched. I’ve blessed members of our Fellowship and loved my Anointed family. If letting myself feel means losing my magic, then I should have lost it long ago. So, plea
se, I’m asking you.” I close my hand over the cage for what could be the last time. Its familiar bars press into my palm.
Calvin falls to his knees in front of me. He presses his lips against my thigh, against my hip. This time, I rest my hand in his hair as he fits the key into the lock and turns it. I swell as he removes the cage gingerly from around my cock and pulls it free of my testicles.
He slides his hands up the sides of my thighs, grabbing my hips, standing, lifting me off the floor. I gasp and smile, wrapping my legs around his waist as he carries me to the modest bed and lays me down. My back hits the cool cover and Calvin descends on me. Our lips meet and meet again. We kiss hard. Desperately. When he bites my lip, I moan. Arch my back and feel my cock harden, unfettered.
And then I’m cold, alone—no. Calvin’s straddling me. He’s looking down at my body as if something’s wrong. He reaches for a spot on my torso, brushes a finger over the skin. It feels—it doesn’t feel like anything. “Lark, what is—what happened…”
When I look to his finger, I see an expanse of shiny skin, raised and thick and pink like the last rays of light before the sun sets. I remember the slick feeling of oil, the burn of flame, and pain that kept me awake all night. I remember Kane by my side with an ice pack, soothing me, despite my refusal. Burns are particularly effective for recharging magic—they hurt long past the point of injury. But I don’t remember this scar.
Calvin’s finger traces a pattern of lines down my left arm—my nondominant arm, just in case. We were careful to protect our sword arms, but we always healed. We were Anointed.
“I’ve seen these lines once before,” he says. “When you asked me to strike you with the cat o’ nine tails in the forest. I thought it was some kind of magic or that I was imagining things; I don’t know.”
He pulls my marked body against his and slides his hands up my back. I shiver, his touch so light it sends a tingle through my nerves.
“I don’t understand,” I say. I wince when his fingers glide over fragile scabs.
Calvin kisses a spot on my shoulder, then another, and I follow the trail of scars left in the wake of his lips. I don’t remember those either. I feel the thick ropey scars on my back through the path of his fingers, as if for the first time.
“We were naked together in the shower,” I say. “Before the forest—and you’ve seen my body since then. We undressed together in the firelight. I’ve…”
I stare past Calvin, over the curve of his neck and swell of his shoulder. Through the cabin window and into the fuzzy dark of night.
“I’ve always had them.” Saying it feels true. One by one, I did this to myself, or made Kane do this to me.
Could Kane always see the scars? Did he know?
Calvin presses harder, presses our bodies flush against each other. “Lie down,” he whispers against my neck. His words tickle.
I do as he says, not because I think I have to, but because I feel safe in his hands. That he feels the valleys and mountains formed in my flesh and cares for them and for me. My lips part as he kisses his way down my bare chest, stopping to flick his tongue over my nipple and curl around the curve of my navel. He pays attention to every part of me I haven’t.
He sits gently on my thighs, resting his hands on my hips. “What can I do to make you feel good?”
I don’t know how to answer—apparently I don’t know my own body at all. What would make me feel good? I feel his hands massage the soft skin around my cock and moan softly as my erection grows stiffer. I reach down. Close my eyes for a moment and touch myself like I haven’t in ages, running my hand slowly down my shaft, feeling every vein and ridge as it hardens in my hand. Skin against my own skin. Not Kane’s practiced fingers, cleaning and checking. Not hard rough strokes that I’ll hate myself for later.
I let go, suddenly so hard, I’m worried I’ll push myself over the edge before Calvin can join. When I look at him, he’s smiling softly.
“You don’t have to wait for me,” he says. “I’m not mad about watching.”
I almost protest. Tell him that of course I want him to penetrate me—find out if he feels whatever power the Elders felt when they did the same. I miss bestowing blessings, miss sleeping with another person, pleasuring each other. But …
“You won’t mind if I touch myself?”
Calvin rests back on his heels and shakes his head. “It’s not like I’ll explode if I don’t fuck you. I mean”—he shrugs—“I want to, of course. I really like you.” He bites his lip and looks down at my splayed body. Casually strokes his own cock. “But I’ve also really enjoyed getting to know you, and I’d love to learn even more.”
“Prepare to be disappointed. I don’t know what’s true anymore. It only took an outsider a couple of days to corrupt me.” I smile, but Calvin doesn’t. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Well, I did, but not in a bad—”
“It’s okay.” He presses a smile onto his face. “I have tried very hard to not corrupt you, though. To be respectful.”
I take his face between my hands and kiss him. Reassure him that I’m grateful for the care he’s shown me, even if I didn’t always express that.
“Let me do something else for you.” Calvin’s breath is hot against my lips. Before I can respond, he positions the pillows against the headboard and settles against them, spreading his legs. Beckons me over. “Turn around and come here.”
I fill the space, resting my back against his chest and the sides of our heads together. He pulls my braid from between us and drapes it over the front of my shoulder.
“Just relax.” He kisses my shoulder, then my neck. “Take care of yourself; I’ll be here.” Calvin plants his heels on the mattress and I relax my legs against them.
I feel the hard length of his cock pressing against my back—against the haphazard pattern of scars—as I take my own in hand. I’m under no illusion that I’ll last long, but I want to. I want to live in this moment when I’m touching myself, and giving my body the pleasure I denied it for so long.
I close my eyes, let my head fall back on Calvin’s shoulder, and let myself feel. The weight of his left hand on my knee, fingers brushing through the hairs on my leg. The small slow circles he traces on the right side of my chest, pausing to rub a finger back and forth over my nipple until it hardens. The rhythm of his chest as it rises and falls.
I stroke myself almost lazily, allowing the glow of pleasure to rise like the sun within me. But it’s not long before I feel orgasm dawning. I shift and stiffen, press back harder against Calvin, who runs his hand over my hair and kisses my neck. The feel of his lips shoots down my arm to my hand, which picks up speed on its own. When he slides his right hand down my inner thigh and presses his fingernails into my flesh, I come. My body pulses against his, within his arms and beneath his lips. I lose control—all bodily discipline—and yet I’ve never felt more powerful.
As my orgasm dims, I collapse against Calvin with a deep sigh. I don’t want to move—not now, not in the morning, never again. But I know I have to.
Tomorrow, before Calvin wakes up, before the sun rises or anyone has a chance to find me, I am going to dress and lace up my boots, take my weapons, and go find out if there’s a monster waiting in the west. Whether I’ve ruined my magic by caring for myself. If my quest was ever real to begin with.
24
KANE / CONFIDENTIAL
I’d had my eye on the outside world for a while. As a child, stories of monsters and FOEs made me curious. When my powers manifested, and I started taking guard duty, I became fixated on the outsiders who walked past. After I turned twenty, when Nova started extracting my fluids for potions and rituals, I yearned for the other side. But it was her setting up Elder Zephyr’s “blessing” that drove me there.
There was a portion of the fence along the northern side of the hill that was obscured by trees and prickle bushes, even when the leaves fell. I liked to stand there and watch the outside. Used to imagine that’s what movies were like. It wasn’t a
busy area. There was one wide road, mottled with potholes and rusting construction equipment, that traced the perimeter before ending at the fence. One of the old park entrances. From there, I could see rows of houses. The only outsiders who paused to stare seemed to be passing through; the ones who lived nearby ignored us. I’d guess they thought we were good neighbors. Never made any noise. Kept the land in shape.
I didn’t do anything heroic or on purpose. All I did was lean against the pickets and feel the iron shift. The fence shouldn’t shift. It was driven deep into the ground, sturdy enough to withstand a car crashing into it and warded with Nova’s own magic.
I glanced around the forest and listened for footsteps, making sure I was alone before looking more closely at the metal. It had rusted along a seam—and why not? It was an old fence, and this section was choked in thorns, hard to reach for maintenance. When you think your fence is protected by magic, what impetus do you have to reinforce it?
What would Nova even have told us? That the wards we strengthen with rituals and herbs and a line of our own seed weren’t enough? That she needed to hire outsider contractors to fix what we couldn’t? Suspicious at best, horrifying and corrupt at worst. Lark and the others probably would’ve excused it, somehow. Maybe I was always a lost cause, because I yanked on the bar, and it broke off. I remember looking at the iron picket in my hands like a rib I’d ripped from my own chest. Immediately, I fitted it back into the hole in the ground and returned to the commune.
But I went back the next day. I removed the picket and held it in my hand. The weight of it balanced in my fingers was all the proof I needed to know what I’d done was real. That the fence was vulnerable.
The day after, I stepped through, taking the picket with me, like I was still within the fence’s boundaries if I brought a piece with me.
The fourth time I visited the weak spot, I left the picket behind. As soon as I let go and my foot touched ground outside the fence, my body lit up. Exhilaration flowed through me like magic—at first, I thought that’s what it was! But magic never felt that good. Magic was work, like lifting a heavy weight. This new feeling was effortless, made me feel light as a leaf in the wind.