I look down at it, light still streaming from my fingers.
I press my fingers into the heart, and I feel it give. The pretty thing that men chased. The treasure they wanted above all else.
I feel it crack. And it feels like I’m not breaking the heart, but freeing it. I squeeze harder, putting everything I have into my grip: my messy anger, my paralyzing terror, my lies—
Red light spills through the opening, mixing with the white light still rippling off me.
This heart is mine.
And with a scream that seems to shake the world, I shatter the heart in my own two hands.
A shockwave rips through the water, and the light around me dies. I drop one hand to my ribs. The scar is still there. I let out a soft gasp, the bubbles floating past my lips. Whatever magic was keeping me alive underwater this long dissipates, and the burning in my lungs overtakes me.
But the fear—the choking, debilitating fear—it doesn’t come.
I’m reforged again, this time by my own choice.
I feel someone jump in beside me, and feel fingers grip my shoulders. Seth pushes from the ocean floor, yanking me up to the surface. I gasp in my first breath and then look over at him. In my hands, the shards of the ruby give off their last hint of light before fading.
“You did it,” he breathes, his gaze alight.
That’s when I see it—
“Your eyes are green,” I cry. I don’t know if it’s a laugh or a sob that escapes me as I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and yank him closer to get a better look, but the same strangled sound rips from his throat as he puts one hand on the side of my face.
“You did it,” he whispers.
Sirens and speedboats sound in the distance, and I kiss the man I love as we tread water in a remade world.
Chapter 42
THREE MONTHS LATER
I SLICE THROUGH THE WATER, LETTING THE WAVES pull my hair over my head. I sink as low as I can, breathing out the bubbles as I look up at the sun-dappled water.
Home.
My feet touch the sand, and I close my eyes.
No fear. No terror.
Just quiet.
And that’s nice, because there hasn’t been quiet in my life for a long, long while.
The world changed that night. Not just because the curse was broken, and every Vessel, Exposed, and Xanthous turned back into regular humans again. Dean lived, and so did Abel.
And he was wrong. People did care.
The Torch rioted, tearing down the walls and demanding justice. Abel Lassiter will be put on trial later this year, and Evelyn—newly human—is in a hospital, recovering. Vessels who were taking the antidote seem to make the transition back to human a lot more easily than those that didn’t. Probably because their minds were more preserved.
Those who have been declined for a long time . . . they didn’t make it. The curse ended the second I touched the ruby, and they just . . . dropped. I guess they weren’t human enough.
For a few days, I wondered if my parents would come home, looking for us. If they’d been among the ones that Abel reached through Evelyn. But they haven’t shown up yet. And I know, in my bones, that they probably won’t.
But we have a new family. And Dean is alive.
I push off the ocean floor and break the surface.
Seth rests on a surfboard that floats nearby, and I sneak up, tipping him with one mighty shove. He topples into the water next to me, emerging with a laugh as he pulls me close.
“Sailors spend their whole lives hoping to be pulled into the water by someone half as beautiful as you,” he whispers.
My legs wrap around his waist, and I brush my lips across his.
“Don’t those stories always end with the sailor getting eaten?” I whisper.
He shivers under my touch, and I smile against his lips. “If he’s lucky,” Seth growls.
We’re interrupted by the sound of someone calling to us from the beach.
Dean and Harlow jump out of the back of a truck driven by Lucia. Thomas and Rielle pull up alongside on bikes, and by the shouts of triumph, I can tell they were racing. Ragnar and Pollux sprint alongside Rielle—they’ve been by her side since Maddox died.
We’re going to have a bonfire tonight, and then I’m going to fall asleep in Seth’s arms.
This is the life I’ve chosen.
Seth hoists himself up on his board and holds out a hand to me.
“I’ll meet you there,” I say, and he starts paddling back to shore. I dip beneath the surface, eyes looking for her again. It’s a habit, even though I know she’s gone.
At peace.
I still say the words before I swim back to shore.
You will not choose my end.
And sometimes, I swear I hear the ocean whisper back.
For this heart is mine.
Acknowledgments
This is a story about choosing. Choosing yourself, choosing your fate, and choosing to fight for those you love. I’m grateful for the God who chose us. My continual prayer is that my words would honor and glorify Him, always. I will fall short, as mortals do, so check out Jesus, ya’ll, because humans are always gonna be a thorough (though sanctified) mess.
Ross—Most people joke about their partner being the “better half,” but in this case, it’s true. You make me better. There aren’t enough words.
Aryn, Liam, and River Grace—I hope one day you’re old enough to read this, and that the story might be wind in your sails and that you know that wherever you choose to go and whoever you choose to be, your father and I have your back, always.
To my agents, Brianne Johnson and Mary Pender—again, I can’t say thank you enough. You’re both badasses, and I’m so blessed to have you in my corner.
To my managers, Daniel Vang and Jonathan Rosenthal: thank you for believing in me. To Megan Beatie—I am so grateful for you.
To the editor of my dreams, Sara Schonfeld: Every step of the way, you’ve been Charlotte’s champion. Thank you for putting up with my ALL CAPS EMAILS, my overly steamy kissing scenes, and way too many “fucks,” I am grateful for your gentle guidance and GIF-laden edits. If my whole career is just matching white sweaters, musical references, croissants, and Chris Evans jokes with you, then I consider my whole life a win.
Thank you to the beautiful humans who created the stunning cover—Molly Fehr and Chris Slabber—and to the copyeditors extraordinaire who dealt with my complete lack of understanding about how grammar works: Kathryn Silsand, Jen Strada, Susan Vanhecke. To the whole team at Katherine Tegen Books: you gave me a chance to tell stories as a job. I’m so happy to be one of yours.
Thank you, Dad, for being generous with everything you have, and for supporting your daughters with love and grace. I am sorry you’re so bad at arguing, though, and that I can officially declare me the winner of all arguments hereon and henceforth, and have it be in print. Na-na-na-na-naa.
Mama, to say thank you for everything would fall short. Embarrassingly short. Without you, this book wouldn’t have ever been done. Let’s back that up a bit, though. Without you, this book wouldn’t have been started. No, even further: I wouldn’t be here without you.
To my sisters, Hannah, Rachel, and Becca: this is a book about the bond between us. The one that couldn’t be severed by the dozens of fistfights, stolen shirts, unplugged straighteners, and projectile remotes. The one that survived despite the tears and the yelling and because of the endless support and meme texting threads and our united phalanx at Thanksgiving. All these “despite of” and “because of” things make sisterhood the indelible thing that it is, and I’ve loved it all.
To my people: Amanda Jaynes, Brittany Sawrey, Ashtyn Cross, Isaac Estrada, Jillian Denning, Hilary Miller, Kate Angelella, Anna Bright, Lira Kellerman, Landon LaRue, Beda Spindola, Rachel Simon, Olivia Hinebaugh, Andrew Munz, Oana Sweeney, Phoenix Eyre . . . you make life better, and I’m blessed by you. And to V—you kept me smiling in the dark when no one else really could. T
hank you.
To the imitable Lee Jessup: you’ve changed my life and seen me through devastating rejections and unimaginable wins. You’ve scraped me up off the floor more than once, and I am taller because I know you have my back. Blessed by you; love you muchly.
To my family: Richie, Jo, Emi, Eli, Jenna, and Amira. To Scot (hi, Matthew and Mama B! Told ya!), Aunt Lin, Aunt Terry, Diana, Meg, Tim, Caitlin, Jill, Oma, Opa, Marie, Stu, David, Bri, Elaina, Jack, Victoria, and the Rutherfords—thank you for cheering me on and having my back.
Michael, Robert, Paul, Hollie, Nadia, and Biggie—Monday night writing group has changed me and pushed me and given me blessings on blessings. Thank you for letting me sit at your table—I love you all.
Dr. Arai and Luke—thank you for guidance, wisdom, and friendship.
To the absolute superhero saint badasses that are, collectively, Dove Day School: I wouldn’t be able to do this without you. To say I love you all would be a vast understatement.
To my church family: thank you for your love and support. I am thankful for each and every one of you. I’m excited for more of our story.
Lastly—as I write this, we’re in the middle of a global pandemic. The entire nation is on lockdown, and we’re facing a cataclysmic event together. And as we all watch, we’re seeing the best of us rise to face unimaginable challenges. I hope by the time this book hits shelves, Covid-19 will be beginning its descent into our history. But I pray we will never forget the people who stood at the front lines of this epidemic, putting their own lives on the line: including but not limited to doctors, nurses, grocers, postal service workers, delivery people, childcare workers, etc.
You are all heroes, and we will all be forever grateful.
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About the Author
Photo by Oana Foto
KATHARYN BLAIR is a novelist, a screenwriter, and the author of The Beckoning Shadow. She graduated with her MFA in 2015 and her MA in literature in 2018. She’s been a social media coordinator for several films at 20th Century Fox, an intern at her city’s parks and recreation department (it wasn’t like the show, unfortunately), a gymnastics coach, and, most recently, a writing professor at Azusa Pacific University. She lives just outside Los Angeles with her husband and three kids.
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Books by Katharyn Blair
The Beckoning Shadow
Unchosen
Copyright
Katherine Tegen Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
UNCHOSEN. Copyright © 2021 by Katharyn Blair. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Cover art © 2021 by Chris Slabber
Cover design by Molly Fehr
* * *
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020938949
Digital Edition JANUARY 2021 ISBN: 978-0-06-265766-4
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-265764-0
* * *
2021222324PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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Unchosen Page 30