Unraveling

by Sara Ella

  Then he withdraws a gun from his coat and shoots me in the knee.

  ASIDE

  KY

  Son of a Soulless, that smarts. I limp across the ship’s cabin, seize a pack of ice from the chest. This means one thing and one thing alone.

  She’s in danger.

  My T-shirt sticks to my chest, damp with sweat. My fingers flex and fist. I hobble to my cot and sit, hissing through my teeth. Since I left it’s been this way. I feel everything she feels. Every scrape. Every bruise. But it’s more than that. There’s a sixth sense, a knowing beyond myself. I can feel her, yes, but I hear her too. Her thoughts carry to mine. It’s as if she’s with me and somehow I know . . .

  I know she senses—hears—me too.

  Our souls are connected. Could we actually communicate this way, Reflections apart?

  Time to find out.

  SIX

  Make the Clock Reverse

  Breathe. Stay awake. Do not, I repeat, do not fall asleep.” Ky’s voice is so clear. I can almost feel his breath warm my neck, smell his distinct fresh-cut grass and earth aroma.

  I’m on my rear, hands clutching my right knee. My eyes are squeezed shut and I’m blowing fast breaths through my teeth. I’m connected to Joshua. This will heal. I’ll be fine.

  Except Kuna wasn’t fine. The cut on my arm is still fresh.

  Holy Verity, I’ve been shot. And I have zero clue if I will ever walk again.

  “Deep breaths. Listen to the sound of my voice.”

  I shake my head. You’re not really here. My Ever and Physic Callings may not be working, but my Scrib memory is clearly intact. This is just a reminiscence of your voice manifesting—

  “You know this is something else. Something more.”

  Gulp. I know no such thing.

  Gage gives no indication he hears Ky’s instructions. I don’t have time to freak or attempt to comprehend what lies behind my lunacy. This goes beyond the recollection of Ky’s voice in my head. I’m hearing him as if he’s standing a breath away.

  “My apologies for the inhumane tactic.” Gage’s tone is too-much-sugar-in-my-coffee sweet. “But we had to know for certain.”

  We? And know what, moron? That people bleed when you shoot them? Surprise, surprise—they do.

  Gage pockets his gun and crouches before me. The look in his healed eyes is—what? Curious? Crazed? Excited?

  I feel five familiar fingers wrap around my left arm, and my stomach does the Macarena. I sneak a sideways glance. Ky’s not there. My teeth chatter, and I force myself to level my gaze with Gage’s. This traitor will not see my weakness. I’m not the girl he tried to abduct in November.

  At least, that’s what I’m going for.

  “Gage, what have you done?” Stormy’s sudden presence adds to my composure. She’s kneeling beside me in a blink, placing her dainty Barbie-like hands over my blood-spattered ones. She’s both best friend and Guardian, all traces of distress and despair having thawed from her demeanor. No one would ever know she just lost her other half.

  “Move aside, love.” Gage jerks his buzz-cut head. I notice his dark-blue braid behind his ear is missing. Of course it is. He doesn’t serve the Verity and he probably never did. “This isn’t about you,” he says to Stormy.

  “You made it about me when you killed Kuna.” She speaks of her man as if he were no more than an acquaintance. Coping mechanism?

  Gage rises, withdraws his gun once more, and twirls it around one finger.

  Show-off.

  “Yes, well, that was unfortunate. It was you I aimed for.” He jiggles the gun at Stormy as if it’s a finger and not a deadly weapon. “I thought a little maiming was due, a little convincing in the way of returning the favors you owed. Of course, thanks to your dimwitted husband, none of that matters now.”

  “How dare you.” Stormy stands, mirroring Gage. How can she be so . . . with it? When I thought I lost Mom, the fog lasted much longer.

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Offended I speak ill of the dead?”

  “You’ll be the dead one soon enough. The cost of your crime is termination by sword.” Her voice wavers, hinting at the turmoil beneath her collected surface.

  Gage shakes his head. “We’ll see about that. I have more than you know on my side. Kuna was an unfortunate loss, as now you owe me nothing. If I could, I’d bring the imbecile back myself.”

  “Hold your tongue!” she screams, letting loose the storm.

  And then she charges.

  I reach out to grab her ankle, her leg, something to hold her back. Pain sucker-punches my wound and I clutch my knee once again. Ky’s touch vanishes and my heart falters.

  Gage laughs, the sound resonant of an out-of-tune clarinet. He deflects Stormy, tossing her aside like a rag doll when she reaches him. It’s not like her to act so rashly. To use physical force instead of relying on the strength of her water Magnet Calling.

  Grief’s a witch. It changes you. Makes you do things you’d never do.

  I know all too well.

  Gage cracks his neck. Returns his focus to me. “Looks like it’s just you and me, kid. And I’m betting you’re not so tough without your protector to rescue you this time. Tell me, where is Kyaphus?”

  Chills. Everywhere. My pulse thrums in my ears. Something about his question makes me think he knows the answer. He knows where Ky is. He has the upper hand there. But I have an advantage. Because Gage has no idea what I’m capable of.

  Insert maniacal laugh here.

  He advances again, his steps sure. Not at all afraid.

  Suspicion confirmed. My heart beats out of sync with my breaths. My body’s off beat but my mind is perfectly in tune.

  Bring it on, dude. Cuz this chick’s ready to rumble.

  I brace my injured self. I may not be a physical match for him, but the mind—the soul—is better than brawn. My heart swells, my Mirror song begging to release, to order Gage to his knees. If it didn’t work on Kuna to power my Physic ability, will it let me down on another aspect of my unique gift?

  Only one way to find out.

  Click. Gage cocks his gun.

  “Stop!” My voice quavers.

  “Oh, how the Thresholds have turned. Doesn’t feel so good being helpless, does it?”

  I force calm into my voice. Then new lyrics to my Mirror melody rush out.

  “Don’t you dare move, don’t you dare breathe.

  You are finished, you will not succeed.

  Fall to your knees, it’s time to go—”

  My insides convulse without warning. A sharp pain takes up residence in my throat, inhibiting my voice. I hug my middle and retch onto the snow. Gross. What in the Reflections is wrong with me?

  Gage takes one step. Another. Heel, toe, heel, toe. His combat boots crunch the snow like teeth crushing ice. When he’s standing over me he asks, “What’s the matter, girl? Is the Verity within not enough to overtake even me, a Calling-less traitor?”

  He knows? But how? “I’m not sure what you mean.” Why can’t I be a good liar?

  “I’m not daft. Mistress Isabeau has eyes and ears within the castle walls. We’re well aware of who you are and what you are capable of, as well as who you’ve kissed.”

  I have the urge to puke again but I contain it. So Isabeau is involved. Which means Mom’s in danger.

  “Don’t worry. I have no intention of killing you. Ending you would allow the Verity to latch onto a much-less-tainted soul. And we can’t have that.”

  Tainted? No. The Verity chooses the purest—

  “I only desired to see you bleed. To see if your link to David’s Ever blood would still heal you now that you are queen.”

  Dizziness clouds my vision. I close my eyes. Open them. Blink. What’s happening? How does he know?

  “As Isabeau suspected, the Ever Calling was the first to go. Now we need only bide our time until every last Called is weak. Vulnerable. Defenseless.”

  I glance at the spot where Stormy landed. It’s empty. Vacan
t. My pulse ramps. “Isabeau is a Mask.” If I could stand, I’d spit in his face. “How can she want the Callings harmed?”

  “Isabeau Archer is more than she seems.”

  “A jagged surface doesn’t always allude to what truly lies beneath.”

  Another Ky-quote memory. They seem to pop up more and more these days.

  Stormy appears then, launches her toothpick self onto Gage’s meatloaf back, locks the crook of her elbow around his neck.

  Gage’s eyes bulge. His gun falls to the snow and I lurch to snatch it. It’s wet and cold and slips between my numb fingers. My knee throb, throb, throbs. Do not pass out, do not pass out.

  Gage claws at Stormy’s arm, gasps for air.

  I dry my fingers on my dress, try for the gun again. This time I capture it.

  Stormy is stronger than she looks, wrapping her legs around Gage’s waist, refusing to give as he tears at her skin with his fingernails.

  I thrust my nausea to my toes, force myself to ignore the pain splitting my leg open. My arm shakes but I steady it.

  Gage pries Stormy’s arm off and flings her against a nearby tree for the second time. “That was stupid,” he growls, advancing on her.

  Stormy whimpers. She shields her face with her arms. Thunder roars in the distance, but it’s faint. Rain sprinkles but doesn’t pour as it should. “Something’s wrong.” Her arms lower and her eyes find the sky. “It shouldn’t take this much effort to summon a storm.”

  She doesn’t need to explain. The ache in my throat says it all. Something is definitely affecting the Callings. Which means we’re left with fewer options of defense.

  I widen my gaze and level the barrel at Gage’s center. He’s too focused on Stormy to notice. One. Calming. Breath. And then . . .

  Bang!

  Unprepared for the gun’s force, I drop the weapon. Did I hit him? Is he down? Gah, my ears are ringing. My leg—I can’t feel it anymore.

  A moan breaks through the din inside. Stormy? Gage?

  “El.”

  My heart reaches for Stormy but my body can’t move. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.” I wish my words weren’t so halfhearted.

  Gage sputters behind me. “It has begun.”

  Panting, I turn. He lies feet away, ripped arm encompassing his middle. He moves to his knees and blood drip, drip, drips like red tears onto the snow.

  He coughs and crimson spurts from his mouth. “This is the beginning of the end. It began the moment you kissed—”

  Fwit! An arrow soars inches past my left shoulder and sinks into Gage’s chest before he can continue. He releases his hold on his stomach, and blood oozes with the loss of pressure. Arm shaking, he grabs the arrow and yanks it out. Then he collapses.

  In an instant I’m surrounded. Guardians rush past. Preacher scoops Stormy into his arms, cradles her against his chest. No doubt Preacher was the one who fired the arrow. Gone during the coronation, his quiver has returned to his back, right where it belongs. Two burly Guardians I recognize but don’t know by name hoist Gage by his arms and legs, carrying him away. And of course it’s Joshua, limping as if his knee were shot, who kneels by my side.

  Anger chisels his jaw, pleats the space between his dark brows. But something else is shadowing his demeanor. Fear. His right hand trembles as he lifts it to my cheek and brushes a loose lock away. “Sorry it took so long. I’m here now.”

  I shake my head, press my frozen face into his palm. I want to say we were fine. To explain I was handling the situation on my own, without him. But Joshua has this need for me to need him. As if this somehow proves the connection between us is real, stronger, deeper than our childhood bond.

  He draws his hand away and I spy the cut that has not healed. The cut I didn’t feel him receive. His Ever blood should’ve healed him, but somehow that’s the least of my worries. Because this cut is the ultimate proof I didn’t give him a Kiss of Infinity. I didn’t connect my soul to his in the way he linked his to mine.

  Joshua catches me staring and curls his fingers into a fist, as if we can somehow ignore the truth. He draws me into his arms, lifts me, and says, “Everything’s going to be fine now. We’re together. The threat has subsided. We’re all going to be fine.”

  I nod despite the war inside. I want to scream at him. Because we’re not all going to be fine. Kuna is dead. Something weird is going on with the Callings. Even the Verity within couldn’t empower me. According to Gage, Isabeau is involved, which means Mom isn’t safe. No, we are all far from fine.

  “The beginning of the end.” Gage’s words. As Joshua hobbles toward the passage with me in his arms, I can’t ignore the dread circling my navel. Because Gage was about to divulge something important, and I can’t help but feel it’s no coincidence he was muted just in time.

  We can’t turn back time to this morning when all was well, can’t make the clock reverse to a moment when life was good. This isn’t a movie, some carefully constructed act in a play. This is real life. There are no coincidences. Gage was silenced, which makes me wonder . . .

  What was he about to say about a kiss that Joshua doesn’t want me to know?

  SEVEN

  Joshua

  Would you care to explain why my father—a man of mere traditional medicine—was the only Physic able to help the injured at the coronation? Why the other Physics could not heal with a single touch? Why Kuna is, in a word, dead? Even if the Physics could do nothing, your blood should have worked. Does it have something to do with our new queen?” Wren Song stares at me from across my study desk. She may be grown now, but this woman is no different from the fiery girl I came to know in my youth, before I traveled to the Third Reflection and the course of my life was altered forever.

  A creak sounds from beyond my study door, so I lean to the side of my chair and focus my attention there. The cut on my hand is healing but still causes discomfort. The pain in my knee from El’s gunshot wound continues to throb. I ignore both and will myself to focus on any sound outside this room. My pulse is a hammer to nails. I cannot divulge my theory to Wren here and risk another soul hearing about it. I must rectify this predicament before anyone else attempts to take the matter upon themselves.

  “I am looking into the issue.” I exhale, shove away from my desk, and rise. My wingback chair slides with ease against the cherrywood floor. My sport coat is draped over the chair’s back, but I let it be. Turning away from Wren, I gaze out the bay window behind my desk where a faint reflection stares at me. My top two shirt buttons are undone and my face needs a shave. I scratch my cheek, noticing the filmy taste in my mouth. When did I last eat?

  Five days have passed since Kuna’s death, but I have not gained a moment’s solace. Complaint after complaint has arrived at my doorstep. The people want answers. Those with Callings in particular have lashed out, and rightly so. The loss of their Callings, after all, could ensue. Nothing such as this has ever occurred, and they expect me to act. I may no longer be king, but they continue to seek my guidance and counsel. I was groomed for this role. How can I turn my back on them simply because I do not bear the crown?

  “It’s that girl.” Wren drums her fingers on the desk. “The Verity sources the Callings and she contains the Verity. There are rumors she gave a Kiss of Infinity to Rhyen. Something is . . . wrong with her.”

  Irritation flares, but I clear my throat and force calm into my voice. “Need I remind you how you helped rescue that girl? How she saved our entire Reflection? She defeated Crowe and extinguished the species known as Soulless.” I face her. My words border on harshness, but this must sink in.

  Wren bristles as she steps away from my desk, spewing no retort, as one does not exist.

  “Even so.” Zipping her green Guardian jacket, she moves toward the door. “I find it highly suspicious the Callings were just fine before the Verity transferred to her. Now Physic and Ever are useless. What next? The people expect answers, and they expect them soon.”

  I offer a nod before she slips out
the door and into the hall. She does not bid me good-bye or offer so much as a bow. No, I am not king, but I would think I have earned a measure of respect, at the very least from an old friend like Wren. I should call her back and demand some semblance of veneration, but I cannot bring myself to do it. How can I order respect from her while I am losing respect for myself?

  I should be able to fix this. Indeed, I will.

  I circumvent my desk and pace before the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the east wall. I have scoured the volumes of The Reflection Chronicles cluttering these shelves. Pages upon pages of histories, but not a jot regarding the subject of faulty Callings.

  There are holes in the collection, of course, not every volume accounted for. El has a volume of her mother’s, but I doubt it contains the information I seek. No, what I need is something much older.

  I need to speak with Nathaniel Archer.

  EIGHT

  Bring Back

  I stared out the bay window in Stormy’s suite for five days. I should be lamenting my shot knee. Wade fixed me up better than any Third Reflection surgeon could, but that means I have to heal the old-fashioned way. Thankfully the bullet only grazed me—though it felt much worse at the time—and I came away with my knee fully functional. Illusoden helps, and I’ve gotten the uneven walk down to a science. Still, my bum knee is the least of my concerns. My head swims and my throat aches. The eyelids in my reflection droop and the tip of my nose shines bright red. I sniff and swallow, wince against the pain it causes.

  It’s just a cold. My voice will be fine. What happened with Gage was a fluke. And Ky. I heard him. Felt him. Could it have been real?

  I pick at a loose thread on the hem of my crochet-lace blouse. Why does my world feel as if it’s unraveling? Thread by thread, seam by seam, worry tears at my heart. I unfold the note Reggie gave me upon my return to the castle the night of the attack. Rub my thumb over Mom’s rushed and out-of-character scrawl. I’ve read this dozens of times, but the words hit me fresh with each pass. Contradicting emotions consume me. Relief because Mom and the baby are safe. Anxiety because she’s not here—with me.