The Girl at Midnight

by The Girl at Midnight (ARC) (epub)

  They made their way to the Nest, passing through the wards in one of the Metro-North’s abandoned tunnels. The Nest’s main gateway was located almost directly beneath the busiest part of the station, where commuters gathered around the clock at the center of the main concourse. Magic, the Ala had explained to an awestruck seven-year-old Echo, was powerful there. The comings and goings of millions of feet and thousands of trains thinned the veil between this world and the world between, constantly pouring magic into the Nest’s gateway.

  “So,” Rowan said, slinging an arm around Echo’s shoulders, “any idea what the Ala wants with you?”

  “Maybe.” Echo reached up and twined her fingers with his. Rowan’s half smile blossomed into a full one, and it summoned a matching grin from Echo. “But I can’t tell you.” She mimed zipping her lips shut.

  “Oh, come on.” Rowan twirled her around to face him, maneuvering her so that she was walking backward. Gentle hands on her waist guided her so she didn’t miss a single step. The farther they got from the crowd around the main gateway, the more affectionate they could be. Even the Avicen who didn’t mind Echo’s presence among them had a tendency to frown on a relationship between one of their own and a human. “What could be so important you can’t tell your”—he glanced around, dropping his voice to a loud stage whisper—“boyfriend?”

  There it was. That word. Echo wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to it. She stopped walking and popped up on her toes, hands balanced on his shoulders, forehead resting against his. She remembered when they’d been the same height as children. The only fight they’d ever gotten into had been about who had reached five feet first. Six days of angry silence had stretched between them until Rowan had relented, conceding that Echo had cracked that milestone first.

  “Nope,” she said. “It’s all very hush-hush.”

  Rowan tilted his head to the side. He’d taken off the cap the second they’d passed into the safety of the Nest, loosening his feathers with a playful shake of his head. They were a thousand shades of gold and bronze, speckled with copper and cropped short. They shimmered, faintly, lit by the glowing torches lining the stone corridors leading to the Ala’s chamber.

  “Have it your way,” he said, letting his hands fall from Echo’s waist. She frowned. It wasn’t like him to drop something so quickly. They’d gone only a few steps before his fingers hooked around hers again, though his grip was tense. As they approached the residential section of the Nest, the doors became less uniform. Some had welcome mats in front of them, others had pots of herbs arranged on their windowsills. The Ala’s chamber was located at the very end of the path. Rowan peered down at the gravel of the stone and wooden walkway, slowing his pace. He was uncharacteristically quiet. The Rowan Echo knew was all smiles and sunshine. This Rowan was veering dangerously close to sullen.

  Echo stopped, pulling on Rowan’s hand to prevent him from walking any farther. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Rowan jerked his head up. He glanced at her, nibbling on his lower lip. Any other day, Echo would have been transfixed by the way his lip was pillowed between his teeth, but there was a tightness to his shoulders that spoiled the moment. “We’re still friends, right?” he asked quietly.

  “Of course we are.” Echo squeezed his hand. He kicked a loose stone, sending it clattering ahead of them. It bounced on the broken bits of wood that lined the ground at uneven intervals.

  “I just—I don’t want this”—he gestured at the space between them—“to change us, you know?” He took a step closer to Echo, and her heart fluttered against her rib cage. She was beginning to think that maybe this was what relationships did to people. They hurt and felt good, at the same time.

  Echo brought his hand up to her lips to press a gentle kiss along the ridges of his knuckles. He’d tucked his gloves into his pocket, and the soft feathers on the back of his hand tickled her nose. “You will always be one of my best friends,” she said. “You and Ivy are my family. You know that.” She poked him in the side, making him jump. He’d always been incurably ticklish. “Besides … our dynamic hasn’t changed that much. I still think I’m smarter, prettier and funnier than you are, so there’s that.”

  Rowan let out a small laugh. “Please. You wish you were this pretty.”

  Echo shoved him lightly. “Beauty fades.” The moment the words escaped her lips, she regretted them. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Rowan wouldn’t age the way she would. He would reach full maturity, and then, like all Avicen, his aging process would slow until it almost stopped. The Avicen could live for hundreds of years; human life spans seemed paltry in comparison. It was something they never discussed. Talking about it would require thinking about the future—their future as a couple—and Echo wasn’t quite ready for that conversation.

  Rowan settled his hands on her hips and pulled her closer to him. “Sorry,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I’m just stressed out, and it’s making me overthink just about everything.”

  Letting her eyes droop closed, Echo rested her cheek against his shoulder and breathed in his soapy scent. Boy smell. It was magic. She tilted her head up to meet his eyes. “What’s got you so stressed?”

  He huffed, as if he was breathing out his frustration. “Training’s been pretty rough. My partner is kind of … intense.”

  Warhawk training operated on a buddy system of sorts. New recruits were assigned partners, and Echo had heard that Altair liked pairing up conflicting personalities to better teach the recruits the power of teamwork. Rowan was one of the most laid-back people Echo had ever met, which meant his partner must have been the opposite of mellow.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  Rowan stopped walking. They’d reached the door to the Ala’s chamber, with its trio of iron ravens glaring down at them from the lintel. A tense few seconds passed before he said, “Ruby.”

  Echo stepped back, dropping Rowan’s hands as if they were hot coals. “Ruby? As in, the Ruby who hates me with the fire of a thousand suns? The Ruby who’s tried her damnedest to make my life miserable since I got here? The Ruby who’s been crushing on you since she knew what a crush was? That Ruby?”

  Rowan winced. “Yup. That Ruby.”

  A small group of Avicen rounded the corner at the end of the corridor. Their glances slid between Rowan and Echo, taking in the palpable tension between them. Two of them bent their heads together, whispering. One hid a giggle behind her hand. Echo waited until they’d passed, turning left at the end of the hallway. When she was sure they were out of earshot, she said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Rowan lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I didn’t say anything because it doesn’t mean anything. All she cares about is impressing Altair. Besides, it’s just for training, and I know how much you hate her.”

  “I don’t hate her.” Echo knew she didn’t sound convincing, but her dignity demanded the denial. Rowan looked at her, but it wasn’t just a look. It was a look. “Okay, fine, I totally hate her. But she likes you. Like … likes you.”

  “Yeah, but …” Rowan stepped into Echo’s space, crowding her against the wall. “I like you. Like … like you.” With a small smile gracing his lips—which were entirely too perfect—he brushed Echo’s ponytail from her shoulder, leaning down to nuzzle her neck. It was more of a resting of lips against skin than a proper kiss, but it sent tingles shooting down Echo’s spine. He always knew just how to distract her. When they were kids, he’d tug on her ponytail or hide bugs in places he knew she’d look. This was much better. She brought her arms up to wrap around his shoulders, hugging him tight.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier,” Rowan said softly, voice muffled by the collar of Echo’s jacket. Her mouth felt curiously dry. Talking about their feelings wasn’t a strong suit for either of them. He sighed, breath ghosting across Echo’s skin. “I just didn’t want you to worry about anything. You have enough on your plate as it is.”

  “My life is virtually
stress-free,” said Echo, fingers carding through the soft short feathers at the nape of his neck.

  “Is that so?” Rowan asked with a soft chuckle. He stepped back, putting a few inches between them. Echo wanted to reach out and crush his body to hers, but she resisted the urge. “You spend your days gallivanting all over the world stealing stuff and I heard you had a run-in with a warlock.”

  Echo puffed out a breath of air that sent the strands of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail fluttering about her forehead. “Jesus, news travels fast.”

  “Too many Avicen, not enough gossip to sustain them.” Rowan smiled again, and it almost reached his eyes. “Deadly combination. But you know … I worry about you.”

  It took entirely too much effort to meet his gaze. “Really?”

  “Of course I do, dummy.” With his free hand, Rowan brushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear. Echo’s insides did all sorts of stupid things that she would deny under threat of torture. “Just be careful out there, okay?”

  “Careful is my middle name.”

  Rowan’s chuckle was nice and soft. Like how the feathers on his head felt when she ran her fingers through them. “I thought your middle name was danger,” he said.

  “That was last week.”

  “Of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Rowan slipped his hand from hers, though his fingers lingered a touch longer than they needed to. “I should go,” he said. Echo didn’t think she was imagining the slight note of wistfulness in his voice.

  She had the unacceptable urge to ask him to stay. Instead she said, “Altair awaits.”

  “Yup.” Rowan tucked his hands back in his pockets. “Wouldn’t do to get on his bad side right out of the gate.” He leaned down, closing the distance between them. His mouth was mere inches from Echo’s, but he waited for her to make the first move. Ever the gentleman, no matter what Ivy said. Echo wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her. She could feel the curve of his smile against her lips as they kissed.

  Kalverliefde, Echo thought. The euphoria you experience when you fall in love for the first time.

  For a word that contained only four letters, love felt like a monumental leap, so she kept the thought to herself. Her fingers slid into the fine feathers at the base of Rowan’s neck, causing him to grin against her mouth again. When he pulled away, Echo felt as though he were taking little bits of her heart with him. He dropped a tiny kiss on her nose, and said, “I’ll see you later, okay?”

  With that, he turned back the way they’d come, heading to the barracks on the other side of the Nest. Echo raised a hand to her mouth. She could still feel the phantom touch of his lips on her skin.

  “If you’re quite done, Echo dear, I have a task for you.”

  Echo spun around, blushing with a vengeance. The Ala was standing in her now open doorway, eyes alight with silent laughter.

  Echo’s blush felt as if it were powered by lava, simmering just beneath her skin. “How long were you standing there? Were you watching? How much did you see?”

  The Ala held her hands up. “I’m a thousand years old, Echo. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Now, come along, so I can fill you in.”

  Without waiting for a response, the Ala retreated into her chamber. With a last glance back at the corridor—Rowan was long gone—Echo followed her inside. The chamber was exactly as she had last seen it, except for the whoopie pies. They’d been replaced with a bowlful of coconut macaroons. A vastly inferior cookie.

  The Ala walked to a table in the center of the room, picking up the map from the music box. She offered it to Echo. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

  There was a somber quality to the Ala’s voice that settled deep in Echo’s stomach. After a tense few seconds, Echo took the map, cradling the fragile paper in tentative hands. The Ala cleared her throat and settled onto the chaise that Echo had sprawled across earlier. A few crumbs of the whoopie pie she’d eaten littered the velvet, and the Ala brushed them off. It was as if she was stalling.

  “Ala?” Echo sat down next to her and placed a hand on the Ala’s arm. “What’s going on?”

  The Ala finally looked straight at Echo. “I want you to follow that map. If it leads to a clue about the firebird’s location, I want to find it before Altair—or anyone else—does, but I can’t exactly saunter into Japan myself. Kyoto is in Drakharin hands, but you’re human. Your presence will go unnoticed.” She cleared her throat and smoothed her skirts. “But if you don’t want to go, I won’t force you. You are just a child after all.”

  Echo knew the Ala meant well, but hearing those words strengthened her resolve. If Rowan could be sent off to war, the least Echo could do was go on a little scavenger hunt behind enemy lines. She glanced down at the map, eyes roving over the words written in neat block letters at the bottom. Beware the price that you must pay. Echo shook off the sense of dread that snaked around her. It would be a simple job, straightforward in and out. She’d be fine. With a nod, she said, “If you need me to steal something, I will steal the crap out of it. You know that.”

  A smile graced the Ala’s face, though her expression remained serious. “This task will require the utmost discretion, even from our own people. No one must know about your involvement. Especially not Altair or any of his Warhawks. And when I say any of his Warhawks, I mean any.” The Ala pinned Echo with a hard look. “Not even the pretty ones.” Echo blushed furiously. “Whatever you find there, retrieve it, and then come straight back to me.”

  As much as Echo hated keeping secrets from Rowan, she would do it. The Ala had given her so much—a home, a family—and asked so little in return. Echo could do this one thing for her. She placed her hand over the Ala’s. “I’ve got this, okay? I may not be feathery, but you’re the only real family I’ve ever known. If whatever this is, is important to you, to the Avicen, I’ll find it. I’d take on the Dragon Prince himself if I had to.”

  With a small smile, the Ala patted Echo’s hand where it rested on her own. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” She sighed, long and tired. “I know you must be exhausted, but do you think you’ll be able to depart as soon as possible?”

  “For you? Anything.” Echo spared a thought for the nearly empty pouch of shadow dust in her jacket pocket. “I just need to swing by Perrin’s shop to pick up a few supplies.”

  Echo leaned in to place a quick kiss on the Ala’s cheek, as black as the rest of her but absent of feathers. She was nearly at the door when the Ala spoke again.

  “Oh, and Echo?”

  Echo spun on her heel, walking backward. “Yeah?”

  “Try not to be reckless this time.”

  With a laugh, Echo pushed the door open with her hip. “I make no promises.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Dorian’s scar itched. It did that, when he was agitated, or angry, or experiencing anything one might call emotion. Or when rain was on the horizon, but he didn’t think that was entirely relevant to why it was itching now. He fought the urge to rub at it as he watched three of the guards under his command assemble on the rocky shore outside the keep’s walls. Normally, the green and bronze of their armor—Caius’s colors—would be gleaming in the fading twilight, but Dorian had ordered them all to wear civilian clothes and make sure their scales were hidden. They needed subtlety, not a show.

  He could have used the massive archway on the grounds of the keep to transport them all to the shores of the Kamo River in Kyoto, but he preferred the natural threshold between land and sea. Water had always called to Dorian as if beckoning him home, and the ocean sang a sweeter song than the cold iron of the keep’s main gateway.

  He slipped a finger under the patch he wore to hide his scarred eye socket. When he touched the gnarled tissue where his eye used to be, the itch only worsened. No matter how long he lived with the loss, he didn’t think that he would ever get used to how it felt. The eye patch itself was largely symbolic. Every Drakharin and their dog knew he had lost
his eye to the Avicen, and he only kept the wound hidden because it itched most ferociously when they stared. It was vanity, but there were far worse sins than that.

  You are my prince, and I would follow you anywhere.

  Dorian could have laughed at his words, but being the punch line of one’s own joke was a hollow humor. He had long since perfected the art of saying precisely what he meant without saying anything at all. It was true, he would follow Caius anywhere, even into the fires of hell if only Caius so much as hinted that he desired the company.

  The memory of their first meeting was as raw as an open wound. It was the day Dorian had lost his eye. He’d been a fresh recruit, plucked from the ranks of Drakharin orphans, eager to prove his mettle the way only the young and disposable could. Battle, he’d thought, would be a marvelous affair. He’d imagined that he would earn glory and honor, but all he’d gotten was a knife in the eye. Lying on a rocky shore, so like the one he stood on now, in the middle of a godforsaken abandoned spit of land in Greenland, Dorian had found a place beyond pain. His entire being had been reduced to the throbbing absence where his eye had been. Strands of silver hair had clung to his forehead, tacky with his own blood. He could barely see anything past the veil of red obscuring his remaining eye. The river by which he lay had gone pink and frothy with the blood of the fallen. The water was cold and it stung where it licked at his wounds, but he didn’t have the strength or the will to move.

  The Avicen who had taken Dorian’s eye—a beast of a man with the piercing gaze of an eagle and white and brown feathers speckled scarlet with blood—had left him there to die, surrounded by bodies. Some were still writhing in agony, moaning out their last tortured prayers. They would die soon, as Dorian would. Cold and alone. Just as Dorian’s own parents had. He could barely remember what they looked like. His mother had silver hair, so like his own, but the memory of her was a phantom, fuzzy around the edges. He knew, in that moment, that he would see her soon enough.