by Emma Hamm
“Am I going in my nightgown?” she finally asked. “Or did you know what I should look like on this adventure?”
He pulled back, the wicked grin returning. “I have the perfect dress for you.”
Chapter 13
“Do I want to know where you got this?” she asked as she smoothed her hands down the white silk.
“Probably not,” Pitch called out from the bathroom.
Lydia knew it was a beautiful dress, even though she couldn’t see it. The fabric slid against her skin like water rippling down a smooth stone. Enchantments ran in electrical currents through her vision, the magic looking like veins carrying life-giving substance from her neck to her fingertips. It did not billow around her legs, but molded to her natural curves.
She had gained a little weight, she noticed with pleasure. For as long as she could remember, she had been painfully thin. Multiple trips to doctors, too many allergies, and a limited diet had made it difficult to keep any kind of form.
But the body beneath her hands was not a twig. She had filled in, even in excess on her thighs and behind.
“What are you thinking?” Pitch asked. His hands framed hers, following the path she traveled.
“You are very comfortable touching me, all of a sudden,” she murmured.
“We’re talking about you, not me.”
“I was thinking how pleased I am to have a little meat on my bones.”
“Meat?” He squeezed her hips. “That’s a terrible name for it.”
“You can call it whatever you’d like.”
“Good.” He stepped away and circled her like a vulture does its prey. “You look stunning.”
“Do I?”
“Almost like a professional made that dress to fit your measurements exactly.”
“Did they?”
“I’ll never tell.” He reached a hand out for her to take, the nebulas in his fingers dancing.
“What are you wearing?”
“Red shirt. Black pants. What else would I wear, darling?”
When he reeled her in against his chest, Lydia’s palms met warm skin. She feathered her fingers from his warm collarbone and down the smooth planes of his chest. “Just a red shirt?”
“I’m not a bland man, Lydia. Have a little faith.”
He had dressed her all in white, virginal, innocent. Yet for himself, he dressed in blood and darkness. She had hoped to break him of these fanciful opinions of their relationship.
Apparently she had not yet succeeded.
“Are we leaving?” she asked.
“Not quite yet.”
He raised a hand above their heads, and she saw the showering sparks of magic dancing from his fingertips. Her lips parted in awe.
A mask dangled in the air between them. Its enchantment was so strong that the magic made it entirely visible to her mind’s eye. Tiny glass feathers spread from the center outwards, arching back in a graceful beat of a wing.
“For you, my love.” Pitch said. He lifted the mask from the air and settled it upon the bridge of her nose. Shadows wrapped from the mask, slid underneath her hair, and locked the glass creation in place.
“What is it for?”
“I don’t want anyone to remember you.”
“I’m a rather unremarkable person, Pitch. It's doubtful anyone will remember me anyway.”
“You aren’t a Red Blood anymore. No one could forget you now.”
Perhaps he was right. Lydia forgot so easily how much she had changed. In her mind, she was still the shy mousy girl who hid in the corner away from the world. She was wearing the skin of another woman now. A Goddess who had the power to save the world.
Still, it didn’t feel right to be a Goddess in everything she did. Keeping a bit of humility would only help in the long run. Or so she thought.
Lydia placed her hand atop his forearm, smiling up at what she hoped was the direction of his face. “To the club?”
“To the club.”
Shadows swirled to create a tornado of darkness that swallowed them whole. She felt them pulling at the edges of her dress, tugging the strands of her hair out of their braid, threatening to rip her out of Pitch’s arms. But he held her gently. She was secure within the haven of his embrace.
Their feet touched plush carpet, and the shadows melted away. This time differed from the first wild ride she remembered in his arms.
“That wasn’t-”
Pitch interrupted her. “It was a pleasure to travel with someone the correct way. I usually have to ride the winds of shadows with a human body, they’re much too fragile to travel through the darkness. You have come into your own, Lydia.”
“A Goddess for real then?”
“I should say so.”
He bowed to her. To her.
Her hands shook. “Please don’t do that.”
“I’m not going to stop any time soon. Your power is nearly at its peak, Lydia.”
“I don’t want to think about that right now. We need to focus on Malachi.”
“We are,” Pitch said as he stepped forward. He pulled her into his arms, into the quiet space between his heartbeats. “You were made for this. You were made for me. And I will help you in every way possible.”
She curled her fists underneath her chin. “I know. I do. But there’s so much to fix, to predict, to watch over. I can’t do everything.”
“You cannot forget yourself as we do this. You are just as important as the rest of them.”
“I’m not more important than the world, Pitch.”
“You are to me.”
The words rocketed through her bloodstream. The burning blaze of truth seared the edges of her mind and zinged through her heart. She was electrified. She was burning alive. All while her soul and worries were soothed by his presence.
“I love you,” she whispered. “Every instance of myself, every moment of web of Time, I have loved you.”
“This is not goodbye,” he reminded her. “We are going to a party. You will see Malachi, to see his true strand of Time. And then we will leave.”
Lydia told herself to be stronger. He didn’t need a woman falling apart as soon as she left his house. He needed someone to stand by his side. She wanted to. That was the point of undertaking his entire journey, of learning how to see the future, of every tiny thing she had done.
That didn’t mean her palms weren’t sweaty. And it certainly didn’t mean she could breathe any easier.
He stroked her hair. “It’s harder when you cannot see. Is that it?”
“It’s as good an excuse as any, I suppose.” Lydia tried to laugh, but the sound was not mirthful and fell flat in the shadows of his office. “Maybe I’m just weak willed.”
“You most certainly are not,” he growled. “You have done everything without argument. You have learned to use your power with little training. You survived capture by the most feared man in the City if not the world!”
“And you’re giving yourself quite a lot of credit.”
“It’s the truth. I have been kind to you, gentle even. But if you were anyone else, I would have cut off little pieces of you until you finally gave in to what I wanted.”
A giggle forced its way between her lips. “Would you really?”
“Or I would tie you to a rack and stretch your limbs further and further until you resembled a rubber band.”
This time, she chuckled. “What else would you do? Frightening man that you are.”
Pitch gave her one last squeeze before giving her room to breathe. “You’re laughing, but this is all true. I’m not a good man, Lydia. I’ve been called a butcher, a monster, a demon.”
“You are all of those things and more, I do not doubt it for a moment. But you are mine. And I refuse to be afraid of someone who has given me their soul.”
She inhaled the sweet taste of his breath as he leaned down. His lips feathered over hers, the softest of touches lingering like the fluttering beat of a butterfly’s wing. He breathed her in. Devoured
her air. Swallowed her worries and fears.
“Shall we?” he asked.
“Does this dress really make me so unforgettable?” Lydia asked as she wrapped her hand around his bicep.
He lead her from his office. She inhaled the comforting scent of cigar and chocolate one last time.
“You would be unforgettable whether you were wearing a burlap bag.”
“Now I know you’re lying.”
They glided down the hallway. Lydia had never thought herself capable of gliding, but there it was. Her feet barely touched the floor as they left his office, made their way down the stairs, and stood on a balcony above the teeming mass of people.
She cast a curious glance at her feet. A black mass surrounded her pale slippers, magic glimmering in galaxies of fog that lifted her from the ground as she walked. So it was his magic then, not her own natural grace.
Lydia should have guessed.
The air was different inside the club. The acrid scent of human sweat was hidden under a wave of sparkling Juice that glimmered so faintly in the air that she wouldn’t have caught it if she didn’t know what it looked like. Magic could not lie, but her other senses could.
People were outlined by their own teeming magic. She thought everyone would look like the veins of power she had seen in herself and Pitch, but she was wrong. Their magic was the inward expression of their uniqueness.
A Dryad danced below them, the faint outline of her body filled with leaves that rustled as she moved. Two Fire Elementals surrounded her, fire engulfing their forms but leaving no marks upon her. The painful glimmering light of a Unicorn nearly blinded Lydia, the innocence and power inside the woman so overwhelming it made her eyes tear.
There were so many people here who were beautiful. Their physical forms may be warped or ugly, but Lydia could not see them. Instead, all she saw was their inner beauty, their inner strength.
This gift was more than she had ever expected. She could not even be appropriately thankful for it because Sil was well and truly gone. In honor of the Goddess’s memory, Lydia swore to herself that she would never forget the beauty of this moment and the inner glow of every spirit laid out before her in a banquet.
“What do you see?” Pitch murmured in her ear.
“Everything.”
“Nebulas?”
“They are made of more than stars. They are made of beauty, grace, nature, life itself. I cannot describe them, my love. They are wonderful.”
The smokey outline of his face turned, staring down at the mass of people. She hoped, she knew, he was looking at them with new appreciation.
“Are they worth saving?”
“I’ve never questioned that,” she said. “And neither have you.”
“No I suppose I haven’t.” Pitch paused, his hand stiffening on her spine. “It appears the game is starting, my love. I have left my shadows with you. Observe, but do not speak. Let this play out without interference, I want to see what he can really do.”
And then he was gone. Disappearing into the shadows without her.
Lydia controlled the upheaval of her stomach. She pressed a hand against her belly and took a deep steadying breath.
“Observe,” she whispered. “I can do that.”
She didn’t want to go down into the teeming mass of people. They were beautiful but she would drown underneath all that power.
Hundreds of years ago, she had stood on this exact balcony. Nothing had changed in his den of salacious activities and abandon. Though sightless, her eyes traced the outline of magic that coiled up the railings to the catwalks.
Sil had hovered in the air there, looking down at the mousy girl she had been. Lydia could remember it vividly. The pain. The electric strike of power. The whispering voice she couldn’t understand. Then the silence and the voice in her head screaming that she was alone, she was possessed, but she was still alone.
A shiver danced down her spine.
Hugging herself, Lydia looked down at the mass of people made of leaves and dust. They couldn’t understand her. She would never walk the street again without seeing them for what they truly were. No one could hide from her eyes now, just as much as they couldn’t hide from her power.
It was so easy to let loose a single strand of power. It threaded from her mind and tangled around the webs that stretched upwards from each person as if they were dancing marionettes.
The Dryad, though beautiful, was a cruel woman. She used men to her advantage. Begged them to buy her pretty things so she could sell them later for the drug addiction that left track marks down her arms, which she always covered.
The Fire Elemental was going to steal his cousin’s wife, although the other man did not know it. She was packing her things right now. Her husband danced with a Dryad whom he planned to take home while his cousin plotted to ruin his life.
The Unicorn was too innocent for a place like this. She was going to be jumped in an alley on the way home, her throat slashed and her horn stolen to sell to the highest bidder. There was no way to stop the inevitable from happening. She never should have come to this place.
Lydia jumped from person to person, her mind stretching toward its maximum capacity. There was so little happiness in this room although everyone was drinking Happiness by the bottle. Their lives at home were so violent that anger ran through their veins instead of blood. These beautiful people were unhappy. And there was no way for her to help them.
Pitch was standing next to a woman, Wren, a little thing who would help change the passage of time. She didn’t know it yet, but she was a key part to saving this world.
Lydia’s brows furrowed.
“Rather tragic, isn’t it?”
The voice startled her out of the webs of Time. She jerked back into herself, power lashing out at the man who now stood behind her. The softest lick of her magic filled her mouth with the salty brine of the sea and the scent of rotting whale.
“Malachi,” she whispered.
“I don’t believe we’ve met.”
But they had. He didn’t know she had traveled down the length of his Time so many times that she knew his parents’ names and the color his eyes were when he was born. She saw every possible ending for him, none of them good. But she had not seen the ending where he was not the reason why this entire world was reduced to ash.
Lydia glanced over her shoulder, unseeing eyes soaking in the absence of his body. His magic was unlike Pitch’s. She had expected it to be dark, but it was so much more than that. Malachi’s magic was nothing. It was a blank space where there should have been something.
Perhaps it was symbolic of his life. He would always lack power, family, love, knowledge, everything that made life worthwhile.
“We haven’t,” she replied. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“I hadn’t realized the sound of my voice was so recognizable.”
“I watched you walk up the stairs.” It was a stab in the dark. Lydia had to get control over the situation, though, and it was the only response he might believe.
Uncomfortable silence stretched between them.
“My apologies.” He stepped up to the railing and curled his fingers over the edge. “I was unaware you could see.”
“My eyes are unusual,” she agreed, trying to keep the relief from her voice. “It is a mistake many have made. There is no reason to apologize.”
“It is bad form of me to sneak up on a woman in any case.”
“One does wonder why you thought to sneak up on me at all.”
“I always sneak up on sad looking women overlooking clubs as though they are a queen.”
Lydia’s pale cheeks burned. “Sad?”
“Tragic.”
Now she understood why so many people would bow to him. He was charming. Malachi had a way with words which made him seem kind, caring almost, although she heard the darkness laced through every word. She needed to step carefully.
Pitch had not thought she would get this close to such a dan
gerous man.
“What brings you here, Malachi?”
“An invitation.”
He held it out before them, his long fingers graceful against the heavy stock of the card. Enchantments burned the edges with sinister red. Pitch had cursed it.
“You see what I see then?” Malachi asked. “You can see much with your blind eyes.”
“I find it easier to see without eyes.”
“Philosophical for such a child.”
“Child?”
She felt the lightest touch against the back of her neck and swallowed hard. The threat was made so easily that many would not not have noticed. They both continued to stare out over the crowd.
“Soothsayer, I have use for you.”
“I am no Soothsayer, nor Oracle.”
“I know the look of one who can see into the future. I have swallowed many souls in my time, more than you have ever seen little girl. Don’t forget that.”
“What do you want from me?”
Her heart was pounding in her ears. Her knees trembled, held steady only by the tight shadows which wrapped around her skin. Why wouldn’t Pitch look at her? He was speaking with Wren, drawing her into the crowd in an intimate embrace.
Malachi’s hand tightened around her neck. “I want to know my future. Why else would I ask?”
“I cannot see your future.”
“You’re lying,” he said in a sing song voice.
“There are too many possibilities for your ending. You may make the right choice, or the wrong one. All endings are so varied that there is no possible way for me to tell you what to do.”
“How about something much sooner than that?”
She swallowed. “What do you want to know?”
“There is a prophecy swirling around. Lies, likely. But I want to know whether or not it’s true that if four people band together that I will be stopped.”
Lydia stopped breathing. It had worked. Their lie had worked just as Pitch had planned. Malachi believed every word, she could hear it in the dipping tones of his voice.
“Yes,” she finally stuttered. “Yes it is true.”