by Sara Ella
Who did this to you? I squeeze my eyes shut. The hurt—nauseating and suffocating—is too much. My throat constricts.
“C’mon, Em,” he says, brushing away my serious thoughts. His belt jangles. “You’ve seen me shirtless before.” His voice is muffled, probably from the shirt he’s lifting over his head, thank the Verity. “I don’t mind if you look.”
Why does he avoid my question? I know he heard me. I can’t help but believe this is somehow my fault as well. That Ky was tortured . . .
Because. Of. Me.
No one is safe. Everyone I get close to ends up hurt—or dead. Will nothing ever change?
Footsteps across the cabin. Shuffle, creak.
I will myself to hear his thoughts. To search his mind for the secrets he keeps.
Nada.
I peek beneath my eyelids.
Ky is clothed now, wearing a V-neck sweater, crisp white T-shirt beneath. Dark jeans. Black dress shoes. Cocky, twisted smile. His gaze is intense, leaving nothing to question. Must he make his feelings for me so obvious?
I step back. Ky . . . Look down. Who . . . ? Swallow. The scars. The bruises? Who did this? Look up.
The space between his brows creases. “Some came from Jasyn’s Soulless.”
And the burn?
His eyes shift. Narrow. He works his jaw before he says, “Next question.”
Again I attempt to listen for his thoughts but hear nothing.
Move on. Get that lopsided grin back. Khloe said you wanted to see me. Is everything okay?
“Quite.” His focus finds mine again, the tension in his expression melting. He wiggles his eyebrows. Lists his head. “Can’t I simply want to look at you without everyone watching?”
My heart hits the door behind me. Joshua can’t see my mirrormark, so he’s always seen me as beautiful. But Ky? What does he see?
“Em . . .” He slides forward an inch, smelling of soap and brine. “You. Are. Beautiful. Every part. Every line and scar and flaw. Every blemish. I love it all. Maybe David is blind to your mark, but that’s where I count myself fortunate. He sees the you he wants to see. The you he thinks he can make you. I see you as you are.”
My walls vanish. All the tautness between us dissipates.
“And you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Ky is so close now I’m positive he’ll touch me. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t have to.
Because I feel it, the invisible thread connecting us. It’s more tangible than ever. Like a force I can’t war against. Silence settles, the magnetism present but not as strong.
“Better hurry up.” He reaches past me to open the door, ending the moment. “We’ll be crossing the Threshold soon.”
Wait, I think. I remembered something.
“Oh?” He quirks a brow. “Do tell.”
I share about the Verity and the mirrorglass crown. Watch his mind work behind his shifting eyes.
“Mirrorglass, you said?”
I nod.
His lips flatten. “I think this bit of information will prove useful when we speak with Countess Ambrose. Especially the part regarding mirrorglass.”
Why’s that?
“Because.” His Adam’s apple bobs at the precise moment his lashes lower. “The Fourth Reflection is where mirrorglass was first discovered.”
I’d always assumed the ship’s captain steered or drove or whatever. Wrong. A guy named Flint is the pilot, in charge of navigation and steering. He wears a shark-tooth necklace and a stoic expression, unblinking eyes focused beyond the ship’s bow.
Ky braces against the upper-deck railing five feet away, elbows locked, regard fixed on the sea. His gaze darts back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He doesn’t even glance in my direction when I emerge from the captain’s cabin. What’s he looking for?
Flint tilts the wheel left an inch. Right two. I shuffle past him, careful not to disturb his concentration. His expression hovers between serious and afraid.
My stomach flips. Great. Now I’m worried. Is there something about the Fourth’s Threshold they’re not telling me?
When I reach the steps leading to the main deck, I pause and cast a sidelong glance at Ky. Creased lines edge his eyes, span his forehead. I want to reach out and smooth those lines with my fingertips. The urge is so strong I have to keep moving.
On the main deck, the crew works in uniform silence, their miens reflecting the captain’s. Streak readies the lifeboats, the cords of his neck rigid. A guy named Sam, but referred to as Gunner, stocks his person with knives, a sword, a pistol. Charley marches past me, a quiver of arrows attached to her hip, a bow made of redwood to match her hair clutched in her left hand.
I clutch Dimitri’s journal in my right hand and move to the railing. Fog engulfs us, floating across and around and through. It’s like dry-ice smoke but thinner. A ghost’s shadow. Does Flint bear a unique Calling that allows him to find his way blindly? What category would such a gift fall under?
Everyone seems to be dressed in their best. Not gala fancy, more business casual. Collared shirts, slacks, a few ties. Apparently Countess Ambrose is someone to impress. Even Tide, who stocks packs with sandwiches and canteens, has swapped his trademark board shorts for khakis and a polo shirt.
I glance down. Frown. I dug through the trunk containing my things and found the sundress I wore to my eighth-grade graduation. It’s a little too tight, pinching my underarms, the middle buckling in places. But at least it falls past my knees. I dressed it up with a cardigan, leggings, and flats. It’ll have to do.
Not sure what else to do, I open the journal and turn to the place I left off. But then I change my mind and flip forward several chapters. I know it’s here somewhere. I made a mental note of it back in Joshua’s study. I lick my thumb, flip one, two, three—aha! I knew it. Perfect.
Twenty-Eighth Day, Tenth Month, Tenth Year of Count VonKemp
Perhaps the most interesting discovery I have made upon my return to the Fourth Reflection is a substance I am respectively terming “mirrorglass.”
Yes!
I have not been here since I was a boy, and the Fourth’s beaches are teeming with it. Where did it come from? Was it here when I was a child? The residents have not paid it much mind. I took it upon myself to ask Count VonKemp if I might be at liberty to study the stuff. He allowed it and I have been cooped up in this cramped room for a number of months, examining the substance’s properties. While my original intention was to merely pass through the Fourth, as this is my place of birth, and head straight to the Fifth, I am fascinated by my newfound discovery and cannot yet bring myself to move on.
Sounds like Mom when she was working on a difficult painting. Once she put her mind to it, there was no getting her away from her studio. I had to practically pry her brush out of her hand to get her into the sun once.
Findings:
Lightweight but strong. Looks like glass, but upon testing proves to be extremely durable and difficult to break.
Will not melt when put through mortal fire. (Note for future study: Might Dragon fire have a different effect?)
Appears to have a reverse effect of some sort. When sharp pieces were used to cut the surface of skin, the wound immediately healed upon drawback.
I sigh my frustration and turn a page. I know all of this already. Surely there must be something new—
The ship shudders, drawing my gaze level. Streak, Tide, and Gunner lower the anchor as one. Flint skirts the wheel and stands beside Ky. They exchange a cryptic look I can’t decipher.
“There it is.” Khloe stands to my left. She looks like a doll in her cornflower-blue pinafore dress and Mary Janes.
I knit my brows and snap the journal closed.
“Look closer.” She gestures out to sea. Toward nothing.
I squint in the direction of her extended finger. Nothing. Nothing. Noth—Wait. There. Beyond the gray. Something . . . Is that . . . ?
What appears to be a stone arch juts from the middle of the ocean. Ja
gged rocks loom just beyond, blocking our path. But then the fog parts. Yes. I see it now. The arch leads to something else. It’s a gateway. Those aren’t just rocks.
They’re stairs.
Tide flanks my right. He and Khloe exchange grins. Together they say, “Welcome to the Bermuda Triangle.”
THIRTY-ONE
Cross the Bridge
I’ve seen an underground lagoon hidden beneath the subway. Witnessed humans morph into beasts and vice versa. Walked through mirrors. Fashioned a façade. Transformed into a butterfly. Taken on the Verity. But this? A stairwell in the middle of the Atlantic? At the brink of the Bermuda Triangle?
This is the stuff of legend. Unreal.
What else is there to discover beyond what I’ve seen? There’s so much I don’t know about all of this—the Reflections, the Callings, the Void, and the Verity.
But I want to know. I inhale a sharp breath and glance at Ky, braced against the upper-deck railing, elbows locked, knuckles white as latte foam. He could be a statue for how granite-still he stands, expression unyielding. In this moment, he looks more like the stately, cautious Joshua rather than the passionate, take-action guy he is. I don’t know why, but the idea turns my saliva to acid.
Weird. I used to loathe Ky. But then . . . I didn’t. He’s not who I thought he was. He’s not who others think he is. But I doubt he cares what they think. Ky isn’t the type who allows opinions to define him.
His gaze flashes to mine and a muscle in his jaw twitches.
My breath hitches against my will.
A demi-plié smile bows his lips. Flint skirts the wheel, drawing Ky’s attention away, and both men bend their heads together. Their hair color is so similar—like caramel-streaked honey. They could almost be brothers. Same peachy skin tone scarred by acne. Same height and build. It’s possible. Ky was adopted. Who knows if he has biological siblings he’s never met.
I squint, trying to find other similarities between the two. Their lips barely move as they converse. Ky shakes his head. Flint pinches the bridge of his nose. I strain to hear, but the task proves futile. They’re too quiet. In fact, it’s all too quiet.
Something is offbeat.
I scan my surroundings, take in the subtle changes. Normally, the sea’s playlist loops at random—lap, whoosh, spray . . . whoosh, spray, lap. Seagulls squawk during the commercial break. Wood tick-click-creaks in the background. But now? It’s as if the layered tracks have been muted. The absence of sound unnerves me.
A hand claps my shoulder. I look right and Streak stares down at me. “Are ya ready, Butterfly?”
I wink at him as if to say, “Aye.” Since the crew has seen my Mask, they’ve gained a new respect for me. I feel less like an outsider and more like . . . well . . . one of the crew.
Streak tromps past me, followed by Charley and Gunner. All three traipse up the steps to join the captain and his pilot. Before I can follow, invited or not, Tide’s hand squeezes my bicep. I’d almost forgotten he and Khloe were here. Ebony joins us, turning our trio into a quartet. Her gaze finds Tide and rests there. Is that admiration I see?
Tide leans into me, slides a hand to the far corner of his mouth. “This is bad.” His peppermint breath gives me the sudden craving for a candy cane.
“You think?” Khloe twists a frizzy curl around one finger. Despite my younger sister’s snarky words, not a trace of sarcasm laces her tone.
Maybe she’s like Ebony. But perhaps Khloe and I have some things in common as well.
Tide shifts and laughs, a rich, rumbling sound that reminds me of Kuna. And just like my old friend, Tide finds a reason to smile at a time no one else can.
I miss you, Kuna.
“I mean, worse than bad,” Tide says. “This is a problematic situation of epic proportions.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Ebony flips her hair.
“My brother will know what to do.” Khloe floats away, head held high, not a worry weighing her petite shoulders. Her faith in Ky fills me with unexpected warmth, spreading across my chest, traveling the length of my arms.
Ebony and I exchange a glance. We’ve fulfilled our Kiss of Accord. She’s helped me strengthen my abilities, and I helped her escape. We’ve no obligation to one another now. No reason to stand so near.
But neither of us moves away. Ebony reaches over, sticks her fingers into the collar of my sweater.
I eye her.
“Your tag was sticking out. You’re welcome.”
Then I smile. And she smiles. Different from when we were fake friends. This is authentic. Real.
A beginning.
Ebony looks away as if it’s too much too fast, so I peek sideways at Tide. Chew on the inside of my cheek.
He shoves his hands into his pockets. It must be obvious what I wish I could ask because he says, “The stairs.” He jerks his head, directing my attention toward the rocks. “They’re not supposed to be above the surface. The arch isn’t either, just its crown. Most of what you see now is usually hidden by ocean, only visible through a window belowdeck.”
I yank my cardigan tighter around me. Hug my chest.
“The entire ocean won’t drain,” he continues. “Because of its unique source in the Verity, Threshold water is comprised of energies rather than elements. You follow?”
I shake my head.
“Hard to explain. Basically, if a Threshold is part of a larger body of water, and the source of that Threshold’s energy is cut off . . . only the Threshold water would drain—vanish. It would create a wormhole”—Tide withdraws a hand from his pocket and slices a circle in the air with his open palm—“in the end, leaving a circular waterfall in the middle of the larger body of water. An opening leading to who knows where. You could end up at the far corners of the Seventh or loop back here. Got it?” Fascination shadows his trailing voice.
Whoa. Not only did Tide flip the switch from laid-back surfer dude to all-knowing professor, but my mind has literally bent. Backward. Twice. Nope. I’m thinking about what he said again . . . and . . . make that three times.
That’s when Ky joins us. I feel him before I see him. The heat at my back. Breath at my neck. His sudden nearness arrests my pulse. I avert my eyes.
Ky clears his throat. “Change of plans. We eat now. Take no extra weight or supplies. What do we have prepared?”
Lyrics to a popular eighties song scream across my brain. “Don’t stand, don’t stand so, don’t stand so close to me.”
“I can reheat the pot of chowder from last night.” Tide is already stepping away, moving toward the galley. “Give me fifteen minutes.” He’s gone then, disappearing beyond the galley door.
“I’ll help, I guess.” Ebony takes reluctant steps after Tide.
Helping someone without getting something in return? She’s changed. Softened. There may be hope for my sister after all.
I half expect Ky to leave as well. Instead he shifts closer. Our shoulders touch. Neither of us acts to break the connection.
“Change into something you can easily move in.” The hands clasped behind his back release and his arm swings, his knuckles brushing mine. “We no longer have a need to maintain formalities for Countess Ambrose’s sake.”
Why? Thump, thump, thump. Drum line in my ears.
He wiggles his fingers and they collide with the backs of mine. An accident? I twitch but make no effort to back away. “Because,” Ky says, “we’re not entering the Fourth as her guests at this point.”
I wait.
“I’m not sure what we’ll find in the Fourth, but we enter expecting the worst.” His voice changes key on “worst,” bordering on baritone. He looks at me then, and I turn my head, searching his eyes. His face. He seems to do the same with me as his Adam’s apple dips. “I don’t suppose I can ask you to remain here?” An arched eyebrow.
The tiny hairs on my hand—the one touching his—raise. I shake my head. I’m in this.
He nods. “Good. We need you. But be prepared. With the Threshold this l
ow I can’t even guarantee the Fourth is where we’ll end up.”
I return his nod, and then, before I know what I’m doing, I entangle my fingers with his, squeeze his hand in silent thanks.
And there it is. There he is. That smile. The mischief behind those two-tone eyes. Ky is Ky. Not a trace of Joshua in sight.
Before the whole Kiss of Infinity-slash-mirrormark-slash-Verity’s vessel thing, I’d never been chosen for anything. Granted, I never cared when it came to sitting on the sidelines. Why whine about not getting picked to play PE soccer? More time to do homework at school, which meant more time with Mom—and later on, Joshua—at home. Back then, I’d rather write a report than participate any day.
But that was then. When I never knew what it was to be part of a team. To belong. To have people need me.
Is this what I’ve been missing?
My stomach is full and warm from Tide’s leftover chowder. But the comforting sensation doesn’t last as Streak and Flint work on opposite sides of the lifeboat to lower us into the sea. Some of the crew remain on board the ship. Normally we’d take the Seven Seas straight through the Threshold. I guess it sort of sucks the ship through and pops it out the other end.
I’ve only been through a Threshold once before, and the memory is hazy. I thought I was being dragged through from one side to the other, but was the Threshold actually propelling me? I wouldn’t be surprised, given the glowing green light that made the water seem alive. The light—I can only speculate—was a result of the Threshold’s source in the Verity.
I gaze through the stone arch and toward the stairs, searching for the same green light in this Threshold. Nothing. With each jerk of the boat my stomach drop, drop, drops and then settles as we hit the water with a splash. I’d much rather stay aboard our much safer and sturdier ship, but Ky explained it’s safer to leave it here until we know what we’re walking—i.e., swimming—into. I’m surprised Khloe isn’t remaining back as well. She’s just a kid. Surely she’d be safer if we left her here.
Sea sprays my back, squirts into my ears. I lift my arm and swipe at my damp cheeks with my sweatshirt sleeve, burrow down into my hooded collar. Dimitri’s journal, wrapped in cords and thick plastic, presses against my rib cage. I couldn’t leave it behind. I need to know more about mirrorglass and, well, anything else that might aid us on our journey.