The Girl at Midnight

by The Girl at Midnight (ARC) (epub)

  “‘The bird that sings at midnight,’” he recited, “‘from within its cage of bones, will rise from blood and ashes to greet the truth unknown.’” He sat back on his heels, brow furrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Echo said. “But I have every intention of finding out.” She met Caius’s gaze. “You in?”

  He smiled again, widely enough for her to notice that his teeth were almost disturbingly perfect. He nodded. “I’m in.”

  Oh yes, she thought. The game is most definitely afoot.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Sleep tickled at the edges of Dorian’s mind, but he knew it would elude him until he all but passed out from exhaustion. He had fought against the Avicen for too many years, lost too much to them, to be able to rest in one of their nests while hiding like a common outlaw. And that was what they had become. Yesterday, Caius had been a prince and Dorian had been the captain of his guard.

  How the mighty have fallen, he thought.

  Dorian was on the verge of feeling sorry for himself when Jasper descended the three steps that separated the bedroom—if it could be called that—from the rest of the loft, two steaming mugs in hand. Dorian’s hand twitched to the bedside table against which Caius had rested his sword.

  Jasper clucked his tongue disapprovingly, as if he were a disappointed schoolmarm and Dorian a naughty student.

  “Don’t think I didn’t see that,” Jasper said, setting one of the mugs down on the bedside table. “It would be earth-shatteringly poor manners for you to whip out your sword in my home.” And then, oh, sublime horror, Jasper winked. “After all, we’ve only just met.”

  Dorian’s mouth opened and closed, but there were simply no words.

  Jasper shook his head and smiled. “Too easy.” He settled on the edge of the bed, dangerously close to Dorian’s left hand. It wasn’t his sword hand, but it would do in a pinch. He hadn’t realized that his fingers had curled into a tight fist until he felt the tiny pricks of pain from his nails digging into his palm.

  “Relax,” Jasper said. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  The thought was so absurd that Dorian couldn’t not respond. “As if you could.”

  In hindsight, it wasn’t his wisest choice of words. Jasper poked the bandage Ivy had so carefully applied to his wound, and Dorian hissed as the muscles in his abdomen jumped.

  “There, now that that’s settled.” Jasper offered the mug to Dorian. “Drink this. Doctor’s orders.”

  Dorian accepted the mug with tentative hands. If Ivy had wanted to harm him, she’d had ample opportunity, but still. He sniffed the contents of the mug dubiously.

  “It isn’t poisoned.” Jasper rolled his eyes. “Gimme.” He snatched the mug back, quickly but carefully, and took a sip. “See? Perfectly safe.” He stuck out his tongue, gagging. “Gross, but safe.”

  Jasper returned the mug and watched as Dorian took a small sip. It was bitter, but not nearly as intense as Ivy’s last concoction. The aftertaste was vaguely citrusy this time. It wasn’t pleasant, but Dorian choked it down, mindful of Jasper’s golden eyes on him.

  It had been a long time since Dorian had seen an Avicen male up close, and he’d never seen one quite like Jasper. Everything about him screamed peacock. The angles of his face were graceful yet masculine, a sharp counterpoint to the riot of color that was his hair, if one could call Avicen feathers hair. Jasper’s were the familiar blues and greens and subtle golds of peacock feathers, but also deep purples and bright fuchsias. His skin gleamed a warm brown, complementing the molten gold of his eyes.

  “Like what you see?” Jasper asked, voice low and dark and all too intimate. It was a bedroom voice.

  Dorian sipped Ivy’s home-brewed tea and refused to dignify that question with a response. The mug just barely hid the flush on his cheeks. Having skin as fair as his was far more curse than blessing.

  Jasper smirked and took a sip of his own tea. After a tense few minutes, he said, “Quite a shiner our resident healer’s got.”

  It wasn’t a question, so Dorian said nothing.

  “Hard to believe a gentle soul like that could have done anything to deserve it.” There was a lightness to Jasper’s tone that didn’t quite match the hard look in his eyes. Dorian shifted, as much as he could in his current state, and wondered how Jasper knew. He’d been trying to listen in on Caius’s conversation while Ivy and Jasper had been in the kitchenette. Perhaps she had told him.

  Almost as though he could hear Dorian’s thoughts, Jasper said, “I’m good at reading people. Between the two of you, your body language tells a hell of a story.”

  Dorian grunted into his tea and looked at the seating area over the cup’s rim. Caius and Echo were deep in conversation, tones too hushed for Dorian to overhear.

  Jasper followed his gaze. “Hmm.”

  Dorian went still. He hadn’t meant to be so transparent. “What do you want?”

  Jasper’s half smirk returned. Dorian recognized it for what it was. A mask. A face to slip on to keep one’s secrets secret.

  “I wasn’t aware I needed a reason to be in my own bedroom,” Jasper said.

  If that was how he felt, Dorian would happily relinquish the bed. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he tried to lift himself up. Jasper laid a single hand, warm from the mug he’d been holding, on Dorian’s chest, and pressed. Dorian fell back against the mattress with a shameful lack of resistance, tea sloshing in his mug.

  “Down, boy,” Jasper said. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  It was almost an apology. Not that Dorian wanted one. He sipped at the remnants of the tea and prayed for an end to the conversation.

  “Besides”—Jasper smiled, teeth pearly white and predatory—“it’ll be a cold day in hell when I complain about having a hot piece like you in my bed.”

  Dorian choked, sputtering tea down his front. Judging from Jasper’s grin, it was precisely the reaction he’d meant to elicit.

  With a quiet laugh, Jasper pushed himself off the bed. Looking down on Dorian—in more ways than one—he said, “Drink all of that before you fall asleep. I suspect our little dove has a stern mistress hiding beneath all those pretty white feathers.”

  And with that, he was gone. Dorian was left alone, covered in tea and the unholy pink of his own blush.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The porcelain of the bathroom sink had appeared white before Ivy laid her hands on it. Next to the paleness of her skin, it looked like more of a cream color. Breathing deeply through her nose, she relinquished the iron grip she had on the sink, prying her fingers away from the cool porcelain one by one. She wanted to be proud of how she’d kept her cool while tending to Dorian’s wounds, but all she felt was hollow.

  Looking at her reflection didn’t help. Her skin was pale, but that was nothing new. What was new was the purplish bruise on her right cheekbone, the burns that formed patterns on the soft skin of her chest, and the legion of scratch marks on her face, a reminder of Tanith grabbing her by the feathers on her head and smashing the side of her face against the rough-hewn stone of her cell. The interrogation had been brutal, and the bruise Dorian had given her paled in comparison. Ivy swallowed thickly and closed her eyes. The darkness only made it worse, as did the silence and the solitude. She opened her eyes. At least the girl looking back at her was clean now, even if Echo’s clothes hung a little loosely on her. It was a low bar to live up to.

  She needed to not be alone. Alone was bad. Alone left her with her thoughts, and they weren’t very good company at the moment. Smoothing her feathers as best she could, she squared her shoulders and went out into the loft.

  Jasper was in the bedroom with the tea she’d mixed for Dorian using the best ingredients she could find in his cupboards. For someone who wasn’t a healer, he was remarkably well stocked, but the tea would do little more than alleviate the pain. While she watched, Jasper sat on the bed beside Dorian.

  Interesting, Ivy thought
. She was surprised Dorian allowed it.

  She left them to it, padding to the couch, where Echo and Caius were sitting. He was kneeling by Echo’s feet, their heads bent together over a scrap of paper on her lap. They looked unusually chummy.

  “Am I interrupting something?” Ivy asked. At the sound of her voice, Caius sprang up and backed away from Echo, gracefully falling back into the chair when his calves touched the seat behind him.

  “What? No,” Echo said in a rush, scooting to the other side of the couch and shoving the piece of paper into her pocket. Part of Ivy wanted to ask what was written on it, but an even bigger part just wanted to curl into a tiny ball and sleep for five years straight. She’d ask about it in the morning. Echo patted the seat next to her. “Here. Sit.”

  Ivy lowered herself gingerly, body reminding her of every ache and pain. Echo’s frown was a mix of sympathy and anger. Her protective streak was a mile wide, and Ivy warmed a little to see it.

  “How is he?” Caius asked, nodding toward the bed. Dorian’s fair skin turned an interesting shade of pink at something Jasper said before walking away.

  “I did the best I could with what I had,” Ivy said.

  Echo stared at the bruise on Ivy’s cheek. “How’d you get that?”

  Ivy’s hand fluttered to her face, hovering over the bruise. She debated not answering—the situation was awkward enough as is, with two Drakharin camped out in what amounted to an Avicen safe house—but her eyes gave her away when they slid, involuntarily, to Dorian.

  Both Echo and Caius followed her gaze. Ivy saw the moment they put two and two together. Like a cat ready to pounce, Echo tensed, but Ivy placed a hand on her knee to still her. Caius fell very deliberately silent.

  “Don’t,” Ivy said.

  Head snapping between Dorian and Ivy, Echo sputtered, “But he— But you— But I can’t just—”

  “You can and you will,” Ivy said. “I don’t want to fight right now, so just leave it.”

  “Thank you,” Caius said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  Talk to Dorian? Heal Dorian? Not kill Dorian or otherwise cause him additional grievous bodily harm? Ivy wanted to ask Caius which one he meant. Instead, she simply replied, “I know.”

  Caius nodded at them both, pushing himself out of the chair and making his way to Dorian’s bedside. He rested his hand on Dorian’s forehead, and Dorian stirred, already in the grip of the healing tea. Caius sat on the floor, back resting against the bed. He, too, closed his eyes. Echo watched him, as attentive as a hawk.

  “I don’t like this,” Ivy said.

  Echo looked at Ivy, eyebrows raised. “What part of this exactly? The part where we’re on the run from the Drakharin, or the part where we’re hiding out in a thief’s house in Strasbourg, or the part where you and I are evidently sharing a couch for the night?”

  Ivy pinched the bridge of her nose, willing back the headache she felt tingling right behind her eyes. When you put it like that … “If I had to pick just one … I don’t like that we ran off with two Drakharin. I don’t trust them.”

  “Well, they got us out of the keep,” Echo said with a shrug. “Maybe they’re not so bad.”

  Ivy knew that tone of voice. It reminded her of the time Echo had found a mangy cat in the subway tunnels beneath Grand Central, the ones the Ala had told them never to play in. Echo had wrapped the cat in her jacket and presented it to the Ala, big brown eyes earnest as ever as she innocently inquired, “Can we keep it?” They would not be keeping Caius. Or Dorian. Especially not Dorian. Ivy rested her head in her hands and focused on breathing in and out. She was staying under the same roof as a man who’d helped imprison her.

  A hand on Ivy’s arm pulled her from her thoughts.

  “Are you okay?” Echo asked.

  The short answer was no. The long answer was also no. But no got them nowhere. No was useless.

  “As okay as I can be,” Ivy said. “I didn’t know your life was so exciting.”

  Echo laughed, but the sound was all wrong, fragile and worn. “This is extreme, even for me.”

  Ivy picked at the tassels on one of Jasper’s throw pillows. “Echo,” she asked, “are you sure we can trust them?”

  Echo slouched deeper into the couch, s if she were trying to burrow a hole to the other side. “Sure? No, not sure. But I have this feeling … my gut says that Caius means what he says. I don’t know why, but I believe him.”

  Ivy was far from sold. Her skepticism must have shown on her face because Echo said, “You don’t have to do this, Ivy.”

  “Do what?”

  “You can go home. No one will blame you for anything. You got taken; it’s not your fault. Everyone loves you.” The unlike me was silent, but it was there all the same. “Even Altair.”

  Ivy frowned. “What kind of friend would I be if I left you alone with two Drakharin and the Avicen you once described as the shadiest person you know?”

  “I heard that.” Jasper was in the kitchenette, but the loft offered little by way of privacy.

  Ivy ignored him. “Why does this mean so much to you, Echo? I mean, I get why the firebird is important, but why does it have to be you? Let someone else do this.”

  Echo shook her head, eyes downcast. “It needs to be me,” she said softly.

  “But why? Echo, you’re only seventeen. I know you don’t feel like a kid, and that’s fair—you grew up too fast, we both did—but you don’t have to do this.”

  “You don’t understand.” When Echo looked up at her, eyes raw, Ivy’s heart broke. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

  “What what’s like?” Ivy asked. “Talk to me.”

  “They look at me like I shouldn’t be there. Like they would be happier if I wasn’t,” Echo said. Ivy didn’t need to ask who they were. Altair. Ruby. The Avicen like them. Everyone who had ever looked at Echo as though she were lesser. “But if I do this, if I find the firebird, if I help them end this war, then they can’t say I don’t belong. They can’t say I’m not one of them.”

  “Oh, Echo.” Ivy took one of Echo’s hands in her own. “You do belong with the Avicen. You belong with me and the Ala and Rowan and your little army of sticky brats. Yeah, Altair’s a dick, but he doesn’t speak for all of us.”

  Echo sniffled and rubbed her nose with her sleeve. When she spoke, she almost sounded like herself. “Strange how you ended up as an outlaw, and Rowan’s the one in a uniform.”

  Ivy smiled, for Echo’s sake. “Yeah, who saw that coming?”

  “Crazy world we live in.” Echo rubbed her eyes. “I saw him in his uniform, you know. When he busted me out.”

  Nuzzling her head against the sofa, white feathers sticking up at all sorts of angles, Ivy yawned. “Yeah? How’d he look?”

  “I prefer him out of it.”

  Ivy forced herself to laugh, just a little. “I bet you do.”

  Echo flopped backward on the couch, pulling Jasper’s throw blanket across the both of them. The sofa was built for three people sitting, not two teenage girls reclining, but they made it work. Ivy wrapped the blanket around herself like a shield. Echo was trying to be strong for her, and so Ivy would do the same.

  “We’re gonna make it home,” Ivy said. “Both of us.”

  Echo kept her eyes down, focused on her hands. “I don’t know if I can even call it that. Not now.”

  Ivy reached across their legs to seize Echo’s hand. She squeezed it tight. “You belong with us, Echo. Never doubt that. If I can’t get you to believe that, maybe Rowan can. You know he and I don’t always get along, but he loves you, even if he hasn’t said it yet. You’re one of us, whether you like it or not. Just try to remember that.” She brought her other hand up, pinkie raised. “Promise? For me?”

  Echo’s smile was more a halfhearted twitch of the lips, but it was something. She linked her own pinkie with Ivy’s. “Promise.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Echo crouched deeper in the coat closet. It was dark, and the smell of ol
d wool was thick on the air. This was her safe space. The place where she went when the monsters outside were too real to ignore. She balanced her flashlight on her knee and turned the pages of a hopelessly outdated encyclopedia. It was so old, the chapter on the Berlin Wall referred to the structure as “still standing.” Echo had read it cover to cover enough times that the pages had gone soft like fabric. Its words were imprinted on her brain, but still she read on. She reached up to push her bangs out of her face, and that was when she realized she was in a dream. Echo hadn’t had bangs since she was seven. She’d let her hair grow out after running away, and it was only ever tamed when the Ala forced her into a chair to trim the ends.

  The nightmare was a familiar one, and as the dream unraveled, she knew what to expect. There was the crunch of gravel in a driveway, the familiar growl of an engine on its last legs, the metallic slam of a car door closing. The sharp tang of whiskey and the cloying scent of stale cigarettes clinging to the air no matter how many windows she cracked. A closet door yanked open so fast and hard that its hinges groaned in protest.

  But when the door opened, it wasn’t the backlit figure of her mother—drunk, and reeking of whatever bar she’d stumbled home from—that she had been expecting.

  “Hello, my little magpie.”

  The Ala reached a hand down to Echo, black feathers glinting in the soft light behind her. Over her shoulder, Echo could see the mismatched furniture and haphazard piles of throw pillows that decorated the Ala’s chambers. The wave of homesickness that hit her was so powerful, she felt as if she might drown in it.

  “Ala,” Echo said. She pulled herself to her feet, aware of how small the closet was. Or had she grown in the seconds it took for her to stand? One could never quite trust the internal logic of dreams. “What are you doing here?”