by Dan Rix
“Of you,” he said. “The potentate will be delighted to see how much you’ve matured since the last time we visited the palace. You’re a beautiful girl, Amber.”
“Can you please stop talking like them?” she said. “Like who?” said Clive.
“Like our parents.”
Clive smirked, ignoring her comment. “Then again, I still have to teach you some manners . . . ” he leaned forward, “and that’s what the ten hour flight’s for, Mrs. Selavio.”
Amber felt her lip curl. She pressed her forehead to the window, but she could still feel his gaze. She loosened her hair, and a blonde curtain fanned out between them.
Clive’s cell phone rang.
Amber listened to the ring tone, and her pulse quickened. She glanced up at him. “Aren’t you going to get that?” she said.
“It’s them.”
The ringing stopped. The limo bumped the curb as they pulled onto the runway, and she winced again. She sat forward carefully, trying not to put too much pressure on her tender back. She resisted the urge to scratch the scabs. The less she scratched, the milder the scarring.
She felt the whine of jet engines through the soundproof, tinted windows, but heard nothing. The limo glided past small propeller planes and commercial jets, and beyond the private airport’s control tower she could just make out the mountains through the rippling haze—the mountains where she and Aaron had stargazed two nights before her birthday.
The memory stung her, and she felt a sudden, throbbing pressure behind her sinuses. She had tried to call him, but of course he was with his half. Now there was no way to reach him. Since she blocked Clive’s calls, she wasn’t allowed a phone anymore.
Amber closed her eyes and held her breath, but Aaron refused to leave her mind. Of course not, he had to ruin everything in there first and turn her into an emotional mess. The limo parked next to the potentate’s private jet.
“That’s a Gulfstream gee-six-fifty,” said Clive, nodding to the sleek, black aircraft. “Here to Italy without refueling.”
“Does it look like I care?” said Amber.
Clive’s cell phone rang again, just as the driver opened the door for her, and the scream of jet engines blasted her ears. Amber hesitated. What if it was an emergency?
“Could you give us a second?” she said to the driver.
He nodded, tipped his hat, and shut the door. Silence again. Clive’s cell phone was still ringing.
Amber faced him. “Didn’t Dominic just let you stay with him for an entire month?”
“He’s the one who owes me,” said Clive.
“For what?”
“For Father’s services.”
The phone went silent, then rang again.
Amber glared at him. “So you’re just going to ignore them?”
Clive sighed and jerked the phone open. “What do you want?” he said.
In the soundproofed interior, Amber could just make out Tina’s voice on the other end. “Can I talk to Amber?”
“I told you to stop calling,” said Clive.
“Is she okay?”
“Tina, I didn’t kidnap her,” he spat. “She’s my half.”
“Is she there?” said Tina.
“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” said Clive.
Then Tina yelled something. “Amber, Aaron said—”
But Clive slammed his phone shut before she finished. “Bitch,” he muttered, and then he turned his phone off. “Harper won’t be saying anything once Father deals with him.”
It took Amber a moment to process what she’d heard, and a moment more to realize Tina had been trying to send her a message—a message about Aaron.
Was he in danger? Had Casler gotten to him?
The driver opened the door again, and the screaming jets scrambled her thoughts. She stumbled out into the haze of heat. Her hair lifted and blew across her face, catching the sun like strands of glass, blinding her.
She had to make sure he was okay. No, she had no right, he was with his half now—
Clive grabbed her waist and hurried her toward the jet’s airstairs, and her shirt scraped across the still wet cuts on her back. The sting made her flinch.
Clearly Aaron’s half wasn’t keeping him safe. She was probably dumb and spineless. And ugly. Besides, what did it matter anyway if Aaron and Amber weren’t halves? She was in love with him.
Amber halted in the plane’s doorway. “I want to go back,” she said.
Clive grabbed her wrist. “Not now, Amber.”
She yanked herself free. “Did you hear me?”
“We can’t,” said Clive.
“Why not? Aren’t you the heir?” she said, and she knew she was going to have to pay for this later.
“You think I do whatever I want?” said Clive, his eyes narrowing.
She stepped up the last step, and their eyes were almost level. “Unless you’re scared,” she said, and though her thoughts were a dizzying blur, she didn’t blink. The operation. Casler could use her clairvoyance instead of Aaron’s. Clive would never let her, but if she went straight to Casler—
“The potentate is expecting us,” said Clive.
“Oh, so this is the potentate’s honeymoon?”
“It’s ours.”
“Then prove it,” she said, and with a final, smoldering look she kissed him in a way she never wanted Aaron to know about.
***
It was out of Aaron’s hands now.
Later, Tina called him back and said she might have gotten through; maybe Amber heard. Maybe.
Maybe he was asking for too much.
Aaron stormed out of his house and down the street. He hurried through morning shadows, crisp with icy air. He headed nowhere, just away.
She was the most meaningful part of his life, yet for a whole month he had denied it, pushed her away, hurt her—when all along she was supposed to be his half.
But just to be sure, Aaron went over the details one more time. Eighteen years ago, Clive was about to die from half death, but Dr. Selavio split him from his half. He did the same thing to Amber, and the two of them snapped together—stopping Clive’s leak. Dr. Selavio must have used his machine on Amber’s mother while she was giving birth to Amber.
And Clive . . . he could have been older. Once his son was connected to Amber, Casler only had to fake his birth certificate. He could have been twenty.
With each passing hour, Aaron felt more feverish. His heart thundered, rattling his skull with every beat. In the evening, he knelt in his driveway and watched the sun bleed through the trees. The violet sky gaped above him, ready to swallow him whole.
And he waited.
Around three in the morning, he got a response. His cell phone beeped, and he barely heard it through the clammy fog of his own thoughts. A text message from a number he didn’t recognize.
Tina told me. Next time, you can just send me a rose.
Aaron felt his heart lighten. He thumbed his reply with shaky fingers. So you’re back? How’d you do it?
Don’t ask. Where are you?
Twenty minutes later, Aaron glided his Mazda through the parking lot at Arroyo beach and untwisted his ignition wires. His house wasn’t safe.
Around him, glistening black cliffs towered out of view. And what if the texts weren’t hers? What if it was a trap? Clive, with someone else’s phone, maybe?
The night seeped in, ice-cold and surreal.
A few minutes later, headlights swerved into the parking lot—and Amber’s powder blue Bug pulled up next to him.
A figure stepped out, and then it became real.
***
The first thing he saw was a shock of silver hair, shimmering under the quarter moon. He jumped out of his car, and Amber fell into his arms. Soundlessly, they held each other. When his hand brushed her back, she winced and took quick, shallow breaths.
Almost as soon as they touched, though, she jumped away. Her eyes darted to the Mazda’s empty passenger seat. “I forgot—
”
He yanked her back. “There’s no one there.”
Her green eyes locked on his. “You came alone?”
“So did you.”
“What about your half?”
“You’re my half,” he said. “You were right all along. They switched us. Clive’s not even eighteen.”
Amber searched his gaze. “Then why was it him at the Chamber?” she said.
“Clive’s half died before you were born,” said Aaron. “They used you to save his life. Casler split us apart and sealed your channel to Clive’s so it would stop leaking. He made you guys into artificial halves—I’m your real half, Amber.”
Amber’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. Then she flung herself into his arms and kissed him, convinced, and Aaron’s lungs inflated with helium. He felt her shivering, though, so they climbed into his car. Moonlight dusted their faces.
“Run away with me,” said Aaron, and he reached for the ignition.
“No,” she said, brushing her hair behind her ear, “because then we’d just be pretending. I want to be yours completely.”
“Amber, we have to leave—”
“And if they see me?”
“We’ll blend in,” he said, searching for the wires.
“You want me to blend in?” she said. “Now that I’m officially Clive’s half, a lot more people are going to know I’m missing. They’ll come after us.”
“So we lay low—”
“You are aware that I’m the heiress of the Juvengamy Brotherhood?” she said.
“So?” Aaron peered sideways at her, and for the first time that night, he noticed the light behind her eyes was dimmer, clouded over. Scarred. “Amber . . . what happened?”
Slowly, she swiveled away from him and pulled up her shirt—and Aaron finally lowered his hand from the ignition.
Because all across her back, adhering to the side of her waist and crisscrossing her spine, were strips of blood-spotted bandages. Where he’d rubbed her back, fresh blood stains soaked into the gauze, spreading as he watched. By connecting the dots, he could make out the design underneath—the mirror image of Clive’s tattoo, marking her as his stolen property.
She dropped her shirt and faced him, and the surf sparkled behind her. Aaron could taste the ocean’s salt. And he had nothing to say.
“I wish they’d just empty me out already,” she whispered.
“Don’t ever say that,” he said. “Those marks will heal after we switch back, after we become halves again.”
She nodded, and some of her hair came loose and fell across her eyes. “What about the part of me they gave to Clive?”
“What part?”
“The part of me you should have gotten when we were born,” she said. “The part that would have made us halves. I won’t get it back, will I?”
Aaron stared at her, and he could feel the hollow seconds between his heartbeats. She meant the vials worth of clairvoyance Casler’s machine had cut out of her. It was inside Clive now, not Aaron, and it would forever be missing if they tried to switch back.
“How much do you think I’ll lose?” she said.
“We need to find someone who can help us,” said Aaron, reaching for the ignition wires again.
“Who?” she said. “Casler’s the only doctor who would know what to do, and he’s the one who did this to us.”
“We’ll find someone.” Aaron fumbled with the wires, but they bounced off his fingers.
“Wait—” She held his hand. “Can’t we just stay here for a minute, together?”
He squeezed her hand and faced her. Amber lifted herself off her seat, slid over the gear stick, and climbed into his lap. Carefully, he ran his hands behind her neck, where her skin was cool, slippery. Her hair slid between his fingers. She kissed him.
And the universe paused to watch as they broke the law of halves. He could taste how utterly forbidden she was, how kissing her was tearing her inside out. She belonged to Clive now.
He felt it too, a prick at the back of his head as a little more clairvoyance drained out.
They did it anyway.
She pulled her head away and gasped. “Aaron, you have to run away before Casler gets to you.”
“I’m not running unless you’re with me,” he said.
“Aaron—” She pressed her cheek to his, and her tears filmed between them. “No matter what happens, don’t let him talk you into anything—”
But a squeal of tires cut her off.
They both jerked their heads around as a pair of headlights veered into the parking lot.
The vehicle pulled up behind them, engine growling. Its high beams glared in like searchlights, and the glass flared with white haze, opaque as frost. They had fogged up every last window. And it left them blind.
“It’s Clive!” Amber scrambled back into the passenger seat, her whole body trembling. “He must have followed me here. Drive!”
***
The sharp ends of the ignition wires stabbed Aaron’s fingers, drew blood. Silence.
He tried the next pair.
A black figure loomed outside Amber’s window, shadowing her from the glare. The wires shorted, and Aaron’s Mazda roared to life. The smell of his own burnt skin reeked in his nostrils.
“Hurry!” Amber mouthed.
Aaron floored it and popped the clutch. His car lurched, recoiled, and heaved them forward. The engine stalled.
He had started too fast.
“Lock your door,” he yelled, staring into Amber’s fear-soaked eyes. She just stared back, frozen.
“Lock it!”
She finally obeyed—just as the latch clicked. Outside, Clive grunted and vaulted over the hood, gorilla-like. He stomped across the metal to the driver’s side door—which didn’t latch.
Clive jerked the handle and it flew open, taking him by surprise. He staggered backwards, still gripping the handle as the steel bent under his weight. The hinges groaned.
A frozen gust whipped Aaron’s eyes, and he yanked back on the door. But Clive had already looped his arm inside the car, preventing it from closing. His tendons swelled like tree trunks.
The door’s hinges reeled on threads.
Clive’s face plastered against the window, and for a split second, their eyes burned into each other. Then Aaron dropped his shoulder and sank his full weight into the door, broke it free completely, and tackled Clive to the asphalt. He hardly felt the crunch in his spine.
Aaron rose, and a black fog closed around him. The back of his brain burned under his skull, and every stroke of his heart fueled the roar. He bent his fingers around the car door, raised it, and cocked it behind his head. Might as well have been cardboard.
He swung the door like a baseball bat, as hard as he could. Clive jumped to his feet, but not fast enough. The sharp edge gauged into his chest. The result was a fleshy sound, like cutting steak with a blunt knife. The impact flipped Clive’s body, and he landed with a slap.
Clive tried to crawl away, but Aaron followed and swung the door again, made it whistle—buried the steel into Clive’s shoulder and knocked him clear off the asphalt.
Fury pounded through him. It scorched his veins. He couldn’t stand the idea of Clive possessing any part of Amber. He swung again—thwack—and again—thwack—he swung until saliva foamed on his lips. Thwack. Until Clive’s blood ran in purple rivulets
Thwack—Clive’s body convulsed and went limp.
Aaron lowered the car door. He coughed for breath, and mucous frothed in his throat. The sea’s salt tore into his lungs. He glanced behind him, at Amber.
And the door slipped from his fingers, toppling with a clang. She was keeled over and wincing in pain, shivering—because every blow into Clive had been a blow into her.
She was still Clive’s half.
Aaron stumbled forward and skidded to his knees. “No—”
“Aaron, you have to go,” she moaned. “Before he finds you.”
Aaron was only half-aware of the gr
oans behind him, the wheezing, the sound of a body scraping across pavement.
“I can’t leave you here,” he said.
“Just go!” she said.
But it was too late. Clive wheezed into Aaron’s ear, his breath damp with blood. His finger landed on the back of Aaron’s scalp.
When he pulled it away, an entire ocean poured out the back of Aaron’s skull. Aaron crumpled to the ground. Stars spiraled above him.
Clive leaned over him, blotting out the sky. “You can’t win, Harper,” he said, shredded skin flapping on his lip. He gurgled blood and spat to the side. “I deserve her. You don’t.”
He limped around to the Mazda’s passenger seat and smashed in the window, and he lifted Amber out of her seat. She no longer had the strength to resist. Aaron had taken that from her.
Then the very last drop of his consciousness slipped away.
***
Daylight dribbled between Aaron’s eyelids and lured them apart. He stared at a ceiling, at flakes of plaster. His ceiling. He was in his bedroom, tucked into his own bed. Outside, the morning sun glittered through lime-green sycamores, glossy with dew. He watched their shadows thrust across his floor, wash up his walls, then recede like surf.
Aaron fingered the back of his skull. He had been somewhere. Not asleep, somewhere else. An abyss.
He heard voices from the other room. His mom and dad—and a third voice.
Aaron closed his eyes again, and his heart gave a sickening lurch. Amber.
She was someone else’s half; her back was already scarred, yet she had risked everything for him. Just to see him. And all he’d managed to do was drain what little strength she had left.
Now Clive had her.
Aaron traced the cracks on his ceiling, and his lungs caved in a little more with each breath. Clive would never let her go. He would never give her back what had been cut out of her, the piece that now made them halves.
In fact, he wanted to take more out of her.
Aaron sat up and threw off his comforter. Plumes of lint ignited in the sun’s beams, flared white-hot, then extinguished. No. Amber was supposed to be Aaron’s half, not Clive’s.
He had to find a way to switch her back before they strapped her into the machine and drained out the rest of her clairvoyance.
It was Tuesday morning, April 2nd, three days after their birthday. He heard voices from the other room. His mom and dad.