I figured I would let that one slide and followed her into an alley ahead of us. Wyn was not a very big fan of Míra. Not that I blamed her. I had seen her killing Thom, after all. And while that was something I probably shouldn’t have shared with Wyn, I did also see her in the caves with Ilyan. I saw her with him, and he was still alive.
I knew there was something more to it. There had to be, considering the moment I had seen that one distorted sight with Ilyan and Míra in the cave, everything else had kind of turned off. The images from within Imdalind had become shadowed and broken or, even worse, nonexistent.
Everyone except Wyn had agreed it was worth keeping her alive. At least for now. It didn’t help that, after two weeks of waiting for the girl to slip up and go bat-shit crazy, Wyn’s trust level had reached an already extended breaking point.
“If I can’t torment them, then what’s the point?”
You would think the girl who had committed genocide and was somehow able to regain forgiveness would be a little more understanding.
“Not having a creepy hole in your hand?” I knew she wasn’t going to accept that.
In fact, she dismissed it with one irritated glance, sprinting away from me, darting behind a towering building and into one of the many dark alleys that littered the city.
Rolling my eyes, I started running, trying my best to keep quiet, only to have my foot land squarely in a crimson-tinted puddle I preferred not to imagine the origins of.
Liquid splashed up my leg, soaking through my already worn and frayed jeans. I shivered at the cold, wishing there were a way to wash them.
Perhaps I could convince Wyn to take a detour to a clothing store. Why was it always my pants?
“Great,” I grumbled more to myself than to the renegade I was chasing.
Shaking my leg like a dog during an enjoyable belly rub, I attempted to get as much of the liquid off as I could. However, it stayed put, staining me. The color was made that much more disgusting by the deep red light the city was bathed in, the looming shadows of the building drowning everything in purple and gray.
Purple and gray. The imagery seeped into me as my head began to spin, sight’s familiar swirl attempting to pull me down.
It wasn’t safe for me to let it take me completely, not here. Not when we were so exposed, not when night was so close.
Keeping control, I continued forward, letting the vision play over my reality in a shadow, the faded scenes running over each other.
A flash of light.
The explosion I had been encompassed in before.
The blood-filled rain.
Nothing here was new, something that normally would have irritated me. But, after the darkness and Míra’s twisted sight, I wasn’t going to dispel any of this as a recap.
Dramin had taught me that much, yet he was still being far too secretive about telling me more. Besides, you couldn’t stop a battle; you could only face the war. And the more information I had for that, the greater my chance of survival.
No, of everyone’s survival.
Stopping in the middle of the filthy street, I stared into the smoke-filled room of Imdalind I had seen a million times. I stared into the shifting atmosphere, the familiar blood and screams gone, replaced by the whimpers of a child.
The smoke began to dissipate as my heart rate accelerated, hoping I would see something this time.
I could hear Míra’s screams, but all I saw was fire. Nothing else was clear as an adult woman began to laugh, her voice oddly youthful as the smell of burned flesh hit me. The aroma was strangely familiar, as if I had smelled it somewhere before. But even the pile of death that Sain had forced us to dig into and dispose of had not carried the same power, the same familiar undertone.
This was something different.
“Water flows.” My own voice said within the sight, the imagery leaving as I stared down the darkening street once more, heart galloping in my chest at a painful, unsustainable rate.
Joclyn? Ilyan’s voice ripped through me the second I rejoined reality, his fear making it obvious I had blocked him from the vision again.
I’m fine, I said, my internal monologue strained with emotional exertion. I thought I might see something within Imdalind and Edmunds camp, but there was nothing. Again. I was sure he could hear my disappointment, so I quickly added, We are safe, although Wyn might be planning on killing Míra. I hoped he would leave it alone.
That explains why your heart is moving like a motorbike. His panic seeped into me, his magic following close behind. The powerful warmth filled me as my heart rate began to slow. We need to do something about those two.
Míra and Wyn? I don’t think anything can be done until Thom is alive and well, and Edmund is declared dead.
Speaking of that … Ilyan prompted, and my mind followed his perfectly as I took one step forward, turning into the alley where Wyn had already begun digging through one of the five large dumpsters there, making far too much noise for what was considered safe.
She’s still looking. We are at a clinic in the eighth district.
I had no sooner given Ilyan an update than Wyn threw a large box behind her, the glass-filled thing hitting against the stone wall behind her.
Maybe she was trying to get us killed.
I cringed, stretching my magic out into the city. At least I could feel if someone was coming before they got here. Even if she rang a gong, we should still be okay.
I looked around me at that, my magic strangely aware of the surly best friend who was still doing who knew what in the alley before me.
Stay safe, můj kamarád. I would be most upset if you did not return to me in one piece. His voice was deep and sultry, his love a profound joy against my heart.
Sighing deeply at the comfort it gave me, I felt the stress of the unknown drift away.
I didn’t respond. I knew I didn’t need to. He was right there inside my mind, inside my heart. His love grew in response.
Pressing my hand against the gritty stone of the building Wyn had dodged around, I propelled myself forward, out of the pink light of sunset and into the black pitch of the alley. My eyes adjusted, my magic flaring simultaneously as the shadow of Wyn digging inside the dumpster became clear, the ghostly whispers of sight following right behind.
“Stabilize your foot, or you’re going to fall.”
Wyn looked up from her digging, her nose wrinkled in irritation before she did, in fact, stabilize her foot and go back to digging.
“It’s freaky, you know,” she said in obvious irritation, her focus back on the dumpster she was excavating, reading tiny vials and boxes before throwing them behind her into the dark alley. “That you can see everything.”
“If you think that’s freaky, you should try seeing everything.” I was well aware my retort didn’t make it above grumbly teenager status. “Then again, it is better than being stuck scavenging with someone who will reek of three-month-old cabbage and fish bones.”
“I guess I should be thanking you, then.” This time, the game was clear in her voice, the smile sparkling in her eyes as she shot me a sidelong glance.
“You should,” I taunted, playing along. “You should also be a bit quieter if you want to live.”
“Nah.” She didn’t even look at me as she threw yet another box behind her. “I’ve got my friend and some super-powered magic. We can take them.”
“But then you would owe me more once I save your ass,” I teased, leaning against the wall in feigned boredom, really hoping she would take my advice and shut up. I wasn’t in the mood for a fight, even if I could take them all. “Being alive and not stinking is quite the tall order, especially for a queen.”
“I’m sorry. You would be saving me?”
I chose to ignore that.
“I accept gratitude in the form of allegiance, sword swearing, and of course, jewelry. Bowing will no longer suffice.”
The hint of a devious smile broadened over Wyn’s face, a small trickle of a laugh escap
ing as she jumped down from the dumpster to face me, a sagging bit of cloth clutched in her fist.
“I’m fresh out of jewelry, your majesty.” She seemed mournful, but there was something behind her eyes that set off alarms in my head.
What was she planning?
“It is most unfortunate. Would a hoodie suffice?” She lifted her hand then, the movement sending a wave of rot toward me.
Nose crinkling, I stepped away, horror filling me. “No!”
“What do you mean, ‘no,’ Jos?” Wyn whispered, careful to keep her voice low as she took a step toward me with what I was convinced had been a hoodie at some point held out toward me eagerly. “You love hoodies.”
“I love hoodies made of fabric, soft cotton … not rot and bug feces.” It was all I could do to keep the panic out of my voice. It wouldn’t take much for her to force that thing onto me, and Wyn was now matching me step for step in my effort to get away. And she was enjoying it, given the way her smile broadened.
“Get that vile thing away from me!” That time, my reaction was too loud, something we both noticed right away.
Each of us froze in place, waiting for the ugly hissing of the Vilỳs or some disgruntled Trpaslík to come around the corner after us, brought right to us by the sound.
Hoodie forgotten as Wyn extended it between us, we waited.
My magic flared as I stretched it around the streets, through the sky, looking for any sign that someone had heard. That someone was coming.
There was nothing. Not even a whisper, which was something that frightened me even more. This city was never this safe, not with noise that loud. The security of nothing was clear.
So, where were they?
“Boxes are okay, but screeching is not?” I asked, the reason for her audible battle becoming clear, the look in her eyes cementing it in place.
She wanted the battle.
I shouldn’t be surprised. It was a Trpaslík thing, one she was extraordinarily good at controlling. But with Thom still down for the count and us being unable to spar thanks to imminent explosions, she had been a bit cooped up.
I should have seen this coming.
“Wyn,” I groaned, “can we please not kill anyone this trip?”
“You say that like it’s the worst thing in the world.”
“Last I checked, murder was pretty high up on the Worst Things in the World list,” I spat, my magic flaring violently as the revolting thing Wyn still held spontaneously combusted from within her hand, the dark alley igniting in brilliant orange light as my magic engulfed it. “Whoops.”
“Jos!” Wyn hissed, jumping away from the flames as she dropped the hoodie to the ground. “No fair. You burned my sacred offering to the queen of the Skȓíteks.”
“Is that what you were trying to pass it off as?”
“Some queen you are.”
I knew it was meant in jest. She was still smiling like it was. But I reacted the wrong way. The words cut me a bit too raw.
“Well, it does seem to be the consensus.”
“Eh,” Wyn said with a shrug before turning back to the looming pile of trash. “Don’t listen to ’em. They are the idiots for listening to a deranged old man who tried to kill you … and me … oh, and that whole pile of corpses—”
“That he brought back to life.”
“Don’t give me nightmares.” Wyn leaned against the trash can, a hand on her hip. “I mean, I used to kill people for a living and that …” Wyn paused, her eyes wide, before she forced a shiver, the exaggerated motion shaking her.
“What, you mean you don’t have them every night?” I tried to joke, but it had too much truth behind it. And, instead, it came out as an odd squeak that Wyn did not miss.
“We all do … about everything. I think that happens when you live underneath a sky the color of blood. It infects you somehow, like cabin fever. We should be happy we haven’t all gone crazy.”
I shot her a look at that, one eyebrow hiking up into the wisps of my hair, my brow pinching together as I tried to laugh, something she didn’t try to restrain.
“I did say all. Not all of us have gone crazy,” Wyn mused, a deep sigh coloring the words as she pulled out another box, inspecting the label with a squint. “But all the ones who follow Sain have. Seriously, how can you look at that crazy and still follow it around? Gah!”
“Maybe he cursed them all to see me as a giant, moth-eating lizard.”
“And him a romance novel model. Crazy nut-bags, the lot of them.”
“Romance models or Sain’s sheep?” I asked, entertained by the image of both.
“Both. You’ll see once you kill Edmund, free us all from the dome of doom, predict the future, and save the world. They’ll all come to their senses and see how dumb they are being. Not all in that order, of course,” she added as a desperate afterthought, wagging her finger in my face in warning as she winked.
“Oh, well, if I don’t have to go in order, then it seems much more manageable!” I couldn’t help the eye roll, something Wyn laughed at.
“You wait. You’ll do it. The ‘sight said so’ and all that jazz.” Wyn turned away from me, back to the dumpster and the task at hand, still not very quiet about it.
Trying to ignore the rhythmic clanking of glass and cardboard, I turned away, keeping my magic trained on the city in case someone decided to hear this racket and come running.
The red tint of Prague was fading into a bruise as the night stretched over it, a cloak that dragged over the city and dipped into the alleys in a deep purple that swallowed everything in a dangerous pitch.
We were running out of time, we couldn’t stay out here much longer. The shades of sunset we were bathed in were especially beautiful if you could ignore the danger the dark held.
“It’s almost sunset,” I began, walking back toward the pile of old office supplies she was wading through. “Do you think you can wrap it up in about five minutes?”
I hated asking the question, and I could see her shoulders tense up from where I stood. Her muscles were defined underneath the threadbare band shirt she wore. Jefferson Starship’s faces were all faded and distorted from years of washing and wearing.
“Well, you know, if finding this crap wasn’t so difficult, I would have found it months ago …”
“Point taken. You could always tell me what you are looking for.” I prodded gently, hoping not to enrage her with the question I had asked multiple times before. We had been out looking for the mystery medicine before, and her answer was always the same.
“Why? So you could go off and find it before me? No, thank you. If I tell you, you could go using your sight and finding it for me. I have to do this myself.”
I was met with the low dejection of an already impending defeat, a buzzing sadness that infected me and chased all of my fears away.
Wyn stood before me, broken and folded like a paper doll, every fear and vulnerability inside of her encompassing the alley like butter, in plain view for me to see, to understand.
And I did.
“I wanted to be the one to save him, Jos. Save him before the girl kills him. I have to do something, and lately, I haven’t been able to do anything other than put everyone’s lives at risk and destroy Ilyan’s precious cathedral and disobey orders—”
“You saved me from my father.”
“True.” The paper she was made up of straightened a bit, the snide, confident girl who had plowed her way into my life becoming more visible. “Sain’s an idiot, though. He’s probably going to kill himself soon if he’s not careful. Accidental maiming on a coat of armor or something.”
I laughed at the imagery that was far too good to pass up.
“Let me do this, ’kay?” she pleaded, the desperation in her showing.
I nodded, understanding that part far too well.
Sometimes, you’ve gotta do stuff on your own, just to prove to yourself that you can.
“I know, Wyn.” I stepped toward her, hoping she would see the
truth in my eyes.
Wyn met my eyes, vials wrapped inside her grubby fingers as she stood there, her mind working and winding in the air between us.
I could almost feel the tension and fear that was seeping off her.
I guessed trust was harder to rebuild than I had always assumed it to be. It didn’t mean it wasn’t worth the effort, though.
“It’s for Thom,” she finally whispered, her voice so soft I had to take a step closer in order to hear her. “Dramin read in one of those books that you gave him about ephindredem… or something. I have it written down. It’s supposed to jump-start the heart.”
I stared at her, knowing exactly what she was talking about. I replayed at least four movie scenes in which some sort of Miraculous adrenaline recoveries were featured, and my stomach twisted at the memory. I would help her find it, though I wasn’t going to help her administer it. She was on her own for that one. I drew the line at giant needles.
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” I said.
Wyn’s face lit up before she bounded away from me, back to the piles of trash from the clinic we were next to.
Well, if she was going to do it herself, I should at least be glad she was using her brain.
“Not too much longer, though,” I told her, careful to keep my voice low. “It’s getting dark.”
She didn’t even seem to hear me, or she pretended not to. I would be dragging her out by her prized T-shirt.
Be careful. No one wants to deal with Wyn after one of her T-shirts gets ripped.
I smiled at the sudden addition of Ilyan’s voice. He seemed as stressed as Wyn.
True. But don’t worry. I’d sooner hit her over the head with a club, I responded, leaning against the damp wall of the alley while Wyn searched. She is a one-woman show. I guess it’s good I make a fine lookout.
You make a fine everything, můj kamarád.
I giggled, whether I wanted to or not, something not missed by either Ilyan or Wyn.
Crown of Cinders (Imdalind Series Book 7) Page 6