by Sara Ella
So this was before he discovered the Kiss of Infinity. Interesting.
Tomorrow I set sail for a new Reflection. Perhaps it is there I will find what I have searched for my entire existence. Perhaps it is there true love waits.
I press the open book to my chest. True love. Do I believe in such a thing?
“Are you even listening to me?” Ebony elbows my rib cage as the train lurches forward.
I snap the book closed. Set it on my lap. Sigh. Nod.
“I said we need to go to Coney Island. If Ky was headed to the Fourth, that’s where he would’ve sailed from.” She crosses her legs. Smooths her sweater dress over her knee. “You need to brush up on your Reflection knowledge now that you’re queen, FYI. Everyone knows the nearest entrance to the Fourth is in the Atlantic.”
Maybe she can help me. I smile my thanks, trying to communicate my gratitude with my eyes.
She ignores the gesture. And why wouldn’t she? This is business, not friendship. We both want to be as far away from each other as possible when this is all over.
Don’t we?
It’s at least an hour before we reach the Coney Island stop at the south end of Brooklyn. Since it’s the dead of winter, Ebony and I are pretty much the only commuters to exit the train. This area of the city is mostly deserted. Dusty apartment buildings and hotels constructed of brown brick tower over us, casting wide, frigid shadows. The rides, games, and other attractions are closed for the season. Crushed soda cans, discarded cotton candy cones, and empty popcorn buckets litter the ground. I kick one and it hurtles into a vacant hot-dog stand.
I’ve only been here during the summer, when the wait to get on the Wonder Wheel is at least forty-five minutes long. When the cacophony of voices and music and Cyclone rider screams is so loud, I can’t hear myself think. But in the winter it’s a ghost town. Lively carousel music is nonexistent. No laughing children or popping balloons. Gone are the stilt-walkers, weight-guessers, and strongmen. We walk in silence, the sound of our shoes clap, clap, clapping the pavement.
Eerie.
When we’re nearly to the beach, I freeze. A single Coast Guard boat bobs just off the shore. Odd. Out of place. I veer toward it. Why would the Coast Guard be all the way down here this time of year?
I grin and slip beneath the railing separating concrete and sand. We’re close.
Ebony groans, staggering and sinking across the dunes in her unpractical ankle boots.
I’m faster in my black Converse sneakers. Moving, running, sprinting for the shore. I’m paces ahead of her now, but I can’t wait. He’s here. I feel it.
A wisp of another Ky memory returns. Standing on a much grander vessel with him, trying to escape a mob of Soulless. Me asking if he knows how to drive a ship. Him looking at me with one eyebrow raised, almost laughing as he replies, “You don’t drive a ship.”
There’s so much more to him than I’d allowed myself to believe.
Sand flings against my calves with each step. The shirt around my waist loosens and I cinch it tight. Almost there, a few more feet—
Someone grabs my arm, yanks me back, says in a thick Scottish brogue, “Well, what do we have here? A spy, is it?”
I twist and stare into the face of a dude with two missing teeth and an eyebrow piercing. Ratty dreadlocks frame his tan, leathery skin. Blue eyes so light the blacks almost seem to touch the whites glare at me.
Where did he come from? He just . . . appeared.
I lurch away. Ha-ha, very funny, El. Without your voice you’re nothing but an insignificant, five-foot-nothing girl.
His grip tightens. “Feisty, are we? We’ll see what the cap’n has ta say about tha’.” He lugs me through the shallows, then up, up . . . up? A ramp? This wasn’t here. I crane my neck. My mouth forms an O. Gasp.
Not the Coast Guard. A ship. A pirate ship. Holy Verity, it was hidden by a façade. I hang my head. I couldn’t even see it.
What is happening to me?
Dreads pitches me onto the deck.
Ouch. I back away crab-walk style. Brainless cretin.
“Who’s this, Streak?” a tinny female voice asks above me.
I glance up, squint. The clouds part and sunlight shines into my eyes. I shade them. A girl who can’t be much older than I am moves to the side, blocking the rays. Teased, fiery hair is pulled off her face into a half pony. Jet-black liner edges her robin-egg eyes. The corset-like bodice of her dress curves over her torso, feathers out into a colorful skirt made of ripped fabric scraps in shades of turquoise, mauve, and gray. Her body language suggests she has no doubt just how gorgeous—and intimidating—she is.
“Spy by the looks of it,” Dreadlocks—Streak?—informs Red. He withdraws a pocketknife, digs beneath his dirt-encrusted fingernails.
Gross.
“What do you reckon we do with her, Charley?”
“Throw her in the brig with the other spy, of course.” Charley nudges me with the toe of her boot as if I’m something she fished from the ocean. She whistles and two more men appear over the ramp, Ebony captured between them. “Captain Warren doesn’t tolerate spies,” Charley says. “He’ll deal with them once we’re out at sea.”
Brig? Sea? Captain? What have we gotten ourselves into?
TWENTY-ONE
Joshua
What do you mean she’s gone?”
Preacher wrings his cap in his hands. The poor garment should have unraveled by this point.
“I mean, she left and took the Troll’s daughter with her.”
“Where did they go?”
He shrugs. “Beats me. We’ve scoured the grounds and the castle. Secret passageways as well. They’re gone.” He coughs and tugs his cap on over his ears. “They were in here and then they just . . . vanished.”
My mouth turns down. Everyone may know El is the vessel of the Verity and a Mirror, but not all are aware of the specific capabilities a Mirror possesses. Even I was in the dark until she shared my mother’s “Mirror Theory” with me.
“Thank you, Saul.” I brace myself against the desk, my knuckles like paste against the dark grain. “That will be all.”
He lingers, moving in a ruler’s breadth. “Is it true what everyone’s been saying?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “And what is that?”
“Eliyana and Rhyen shared a Kiss of Infinity, and now her soul is tied to the Void.”
I heave a sigh. “Might I suggest you ignore rumors, Saul? Speculation gets us nowhere.”
With a nod he takes his leave, and I welcome the snap of the closed door. My answer wasn’t a lie, not really. The people carry no proof of El and Ky’s bond. They merely go off what they hear. If I don’t confirm their assumption, it’s still a rumor. And I’d like to keep it that way.
The night has dragged on, but the blue-gray haze of dawn has finally begun to break. I swivel in my desk chair and rest my head against my thumb and forefinger. What I would pay to remain in solitude for a day, to recharge before accomplishing what I must. Of course, that isn’t an option. It never is these days.
I can give you rest.
My head jerks and cocks, a gun’s barrel ready to fire. “Who goes there?” My sword hand hovers above the weapon at my side. “Show yourself. Enough Dragon games.”
But there is nothing aside from the furniture-cast shadows.
Have I misplaced my mind? Lack of sleep will do that. I’ll stop by the kitchens on my way to the dungeons. Regina’s coffee will be just the thing to get me through the day ahead.
But first thing is, as always, first. I open my filing cabinet and thumb through the tabs. Why are these out of order? I had them organized alphabetically—
My hands clench the cabinet drawer. Ebony. If she was with El she would have searched for her prisoner file. No doubt she wanted her name erased from our records. Why would El help her? She knows Ebony can’t be trusted. Where would they have gone?
Terminating my hunt, I shove the drawer closed. It clangs and causes the entire c
abinet to shudder. Pulling at my hair, I pace to the window. But before I reach it, something on the coatrack catches my eye. Or rather, the lack of something. My Guardian jacket, where is it?
The lines fall into place like a finalized blueprint.
El left to find Ky.
She helped Ebony escape.
So Ebony would help her.
My mission is now more vital than ever. I stomp to the files, locate the one I require, and storm out of my study and into the hall.
Rafaj Niddala, I hope you enjoy visitors.
Rats. I hate rats.
The sooner I’m out of the dungeons, the better.
Motivation drives me onward, Regina’s coffee still warm in my gut. I tread beyond the rodents scurrying past my boots and over the water trapped between cracks in the cement. Rafaj’s record stated he’s on the third level down, in cell 33. The odd detail, however, is his record gives no indication as to the reason he remains imprisoned. His sentence was to be for the length of time he held the Void, stating Rafaj became a danger to himself and others, and thus captivity became essential.
As an Ever Rafaj is the ideal inmate. Food and water would make him more comfortable, but he does not require them. In fact, it would be easy to forget his existence altogether. Now that he’s Void free, what would have kept him down here all these years?
I suppose I will discover the answer soon enough. My mind weighs on the side of restraint, causing my footsteps to dither. Seeking help from a prisoner is indeed a last resort at best, and not to be taken carelessly. But what I’m doing is not just for El, it’s for everyone. Every Called. Anyone who has a loved one in another Reflection. This is about our existence, our way of life. About ensuring the Callings and passages to other Reflections remain intact. It goes beyond a mere romance. Some things are simply too important—sacrifices must be made.
The Void cannot snuff out the Verity.
I will not allow it.
My steps resume.
At cell 33 I pause. Whatever lies on the other side, whatever information Rafaj relays, there is no turning back.
I shove the key in the lock and after a half turn the bolt bangs, the door opening toward me. I step inside and close it, the clang echoing finality. But the cell is . . . vacant? Did I choose the wrong one? I was certain—
But no. There, in the shadowed corner of the space where a fraction of daylight touches, is where Rafaj waits. The eager expression on his sagging face gives him away. He was, at the very least, expecting someone. His eye sockets are sunken holes, but the eyes they hold are bright with life and color. Despite his aging body, the Ever Calling inside keeps his soul young.
But soon this too will fade, should the Verity’s light continue to dwindle.
Perhaps Rafaj has something to gain here after all, if he wishes to live, that is.
“Rafaj?”
“It is I.” His voice sounds as if it has not been used in decades.
“Rafaj, my name is Joshua David. I am—”
“Silence, boy. Don’t you think I know my own grandson?”
“How did—?”
“You sound like him, my son, Aidan. Your voice is the same. I knew Ember was with child when they departed for Lisel Island those many years ago. You are what, twenty-one, twenty-two? I may be old, but I am far from senile.”
Good. We can forgo the niceties then. “You know why I’ve come?”
He wheezes. I can just make out his contour, nothing but skin and bones. “You are after the Unbinding Elixir.”
“Yes.”
“You and everyone else. It is the only reason I ever get a visitor at all. In fact, I have had contact with no one aside from the girl in the next cell. I spoke to her through the wall months ago, or I believe it has been months. Quite difficult to gauge time down here.” His words are a jumble of wheezes. “Tell me, did she make it out all right?”
Girl? I’ve no idea who he’s talking about, and I can imagine all the years he’s spent down here have played tricks on his brain. I almost feel sorry for him. But then I remember my surroundings. He’s imprisoned for a reason. I cannot be too careful. I must obtain his knowledge without losing my head. Or being fooled.
“So tell me,” he says. “What is your purpose?”
I swallow. “The Callings are in danger.”
Head shaking, he croaks, “Not good enough. Try again.”
“The Thresholds are draining across the Reflections. Without them everyone will be sentenced to one Reflection forever.” Surely the complexity of the problem is enough to convince him to share. This is about our life, our worlds.
“You do not fool me, Joshua David.” Suspicion lowers his tone. “The desire to aid the greater good is a cover-up, a façade. Tell me your truth. What is it you desire?”
My body tenses. “This is not about me, old man. I would not have come if it were.”
“Nonsense.” He waves his skeletal hand. “It is always about the individual. You may pretend you care for sacrifice, pretend you are indeed selfless. But no one is entirely selfless.” His bony finger wags. “No one.”
Something triggers deep inside. My entire life has been about selflessness and sacrifice. But have I once asked myself what it is I truly desire? All considerations aside, have I ever thought, What’s in it for me?
No. Because I always suppressed the notion, held it back, refused to let it surface. Yet here, now, talking to Rafaj Niddala, is when my will takes its initial breath.
Face hardening and chest expanding, I say, “I want to unbind my love’s soul from the soul of my brother.”
He leans forward. “And?”
“She is the Verity’s vessel, and he holds a portion of the Void. Their mutual feelings are corrupting her. I need to break their soul bond to save the Verity.”
“Is that the only reason?”
I clench my jaw. “No.”
“Speak your truth.”
My truth. My truth is, “I love her.” This is the simplest explanation I can give. “I want her to be with me. Always. I want her whole heart.”
“You want her to forget he ever existed.” Wobbling, he rises. His skin is so translucent he could almost be a ghost. “You want her to forget she ever loved him at all.”
I nod.
“Well then, come close.” He beckons me with one finger. “Let me share my secret.”
TWENTY-TWO
Not to Say a Word
Charley lugs me to a stand, her fingers curled around my wrist. She’s forceful. Careless. Who does she think she is?
I lurch away. How can I explain without my voice? What was the word on Pirates of the Caribbean? The word Elizabeth Swann used to ensure temporary protection? Parfait? Par . . . par . . . parley! My mouth opens, but there is nothing. Not a squeak or a rasp. Drat. I’m in for it now.
“Excuse me.” Ebony pitches against her captors. “You don’t have to hold on so tight. I’d rather walk away from this unscathed, thankyouverymuch.”
Charley and Streak whip their heads in her direction.
“You’ll be quiet, girl, if you know what’s good for you,” Charley says.
But then Streak squints and a smile spreads across his sunworn face. “By the Reflections, if it isn’t Bones.”
Bones?
“I ’aven’t seen you since . . .” Streak lists his head. “When was it?”
“November, dimwit.” If Streak is bothered by Ebony’s insult, he doesn’t show it. “When I brought Khloe to you to be transported to the Fourth. Looks like you’ve upgraded vessels though.” She gives the ship a once-over. “This craft is much grander than your dinky little fishing boat.”
“Aye.” Streak winks. “The Seven Seas, she’s called. She be a sturdy one, at tha’.”
Charley’s face quirks from lip to eyebrow. “This is Bones? The Bones?” She elbows Streak. “Why didn’t you say something?”
What did I miss?
“I thought I jus’ did,” Streak says.
Charley plants h
er hands on her hips and shakes her red head. “We’ve been shore ridden far too long. You’re losing your marbles.”
Scratching his scruff, Streak whines, “Am not.”
“This little back-and-forth is fun and all, but would you mind telling your minions to release me?”
The men on either side of Ebony let her go. She rubs her arms, swaggers her way out from between them.
My neck burns. I trusted her. Again.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“I assume your captain is interested in fair trade?” Ebony—Bones—saunters over, glares down her snobbish nose. “This girl here is worth at least five thousand Third Reflection dollars, if not more.”
Streak and Charley exchange amused glances.
“You’ll get wha’s comin’ ta ya, Bones, don’t ya fret now.” Streak claps Ebony on the shoulder.
She wobbles, then brushes his hand away as if it’s infected. “Carry on, then.”
Teeth bared—the ones he still has, anyway—Streak grabs me, throws me over his shoulder. His stained white shirt is taut over his back muscles and smells of alcohol mixed with used mop water.
Ick. I pound him with my fists. Try to scream but no sound emerges. Why do I bother? I’m nothing without my Calling.
“Not true.”
Ky? Where are you? If you’re near, why are you letting them do this to me?
My thoughts go unanswered as Streak laughs and marches across the deck, shoulder quaking against my waist. Charley remains behind, chuckles racking her form. So glad I can be the onboard entertainment for these two.
Ebony doesn’t give a second glance as she glides in the opposite direction. How can she do this? We shared a Kiss of Accord. Our contract is binding. She has to help me. She has—
Unless, hmm. Is she up to something? Could it be she is helping me?
I watch her walk toward a short flight of stairs. Wait for it . . .
There! A peek over her shoulder. A wink.
My heart sashays. Maybe she won’t let me down this time. #fingerscrossed
I cease my resistance and relax. A breeze gusts, sends a loose sail flapping. The ship groans and creaks, and my stomach churns along with it. A bout of seasickness—or maybe it’s Streak’s pungent odor—threatens to upend my last meal. Do not lose it. Clear your mind. Think.