Inherit

by Liz Reinhardt

  The waves chop and agitate, and I’m not sure if the nauseous feeling low in my gut is because I’m hungry or nervous or aware that something isn’t quite right with this entire situation. Before I can think about it anymore, a few more pieces of my snapping, shocking shield disconnect and whip back, and I close my eyes and let the pull of the warp drag me away from my friend and back to the panicked race of the new reality I’d rather not face.

  Chapter 26

  Jonas’s glasses are crooked on his face. There’s a book half-sliding off his leg, and his neck is bent at such a weird angle, there’s no way he’s comfortable. He has his boots off and I see the black and blue checkered socks I still wouldn’t have expected. I finger-comb his hair back, tuck the book under one arm, and shake his shoulder with my hand.

  “Jonas. Wake up.” My voice is low and soft, sympathetic to the fact that I’m about to ruin his plans, unleash a nuclear missile’s equivalent of information on his brain, and probably get into a knock-down-drag-out fight over going back to Bestemor’s.

  Soft noises come from his throat, and he moves his head from side to side. Jonas delivered a perfectly reasonable and sensible lecture to me on the reasons why we absolutely, no doubt, cannot get romantically tangled. Even if I wanted to ignore his logical debate, right now, with Loki and Vee’s safety on the line, it’s not the correct time. But no amount of solid thought and rationalization can make up for the fact that his kisses are still seared into my brain, and he’s not waking up from being shaken or called to.

  What harm can one kiss do?

  One kiss.

  It occurs to me that this may be the one and only kiss I get from him for a long, long while. I decide to make a boble, my own secret boble and seal it the way Jonas taught me. Creepy? Maybe. But, because I can and want to, I will.

  My wrists ache and my singed, torn fingers burn and shake, but I manage to throw a boble around the two of us and close it tight. Instead of being perfectly round, it wobbles on one side, but that’s because my right ring finger has the fingernail blown off and spasms like crazy every time I try to cast.

  “Jonas?” I raise my voice a tiny bit, which makes a huge difference in this little insulated space. I want to give him one more chance to wake up before the kiss, for the benefit of my own teetering conscience.

  His eyelids flicker, but he’s out.

  I run my hands from his chest up to either side of his neck and follow the curves of his ears with my thumbs. I lick my lips, wishing I had access to some lips gloss, and lean forward. His lips part, and I hold stone-statue-frozen still, but he doesn’t wake up. I dip my mouth and glance my lips over his.

  Just one soft kiss. One tiny brush of my lips on his was all I wanted.

  The reason it goes any further is because I’m busy trying to pull the boble down around just this one sweet, perfect kiss, when Jonas wakes up with a vengeance.

  A moan tears out of his throat and bursts into my mouth, and his teeth catch my bottom lip in a nip that makes me pull him closer. His hands run up and down along my back and under my shirt, then tangle in the stretchy constraints of my bra. His fingers move along the edges of my underwire, toying at the skin underneath with such quick, fumbling readiness, I lose my grip on my lopsided boble and hold on tight when he pulls himself to the edge of the chair, lifts me on his hips, and eases me to the floor, the seal of our mouths never broken.

  His body presses tight over mine, his tongue flicks and presses at my lips, encouraging me to lick and suck back. I curl my hands over the rounded strength of his shoulders, lay them flat and let them ride down every ridge and bump of his back muscles, and cup them over the perfect curve of his ass. I pull his hips to mine hard and love the moan that vibrates from his vocal chords and ricochets into my mouth, full and decadent as a spoonful of homemade whipped cream.

  There’s a white-hot need connecting the two of us, and it sparks out of me and out of him and into me and into him, like we’re fraying and bursting at the edges, and being welded back together with the heat of each other’s sparks.

  I rock under him, the hot press of his body flickering against the dry need of mine like a lit match to lighter-fluid soaked kindling.

  “Wren.” My name torn from his mouth with that thready need is the last crack of flint on steel that ignites me.

  “Jonas,” I say around a mouthful of hot, wet, sweet kiss. His fingers have edged fully under the wire half-circles of my bra cups and flirt with the sensitive skin of my breasts, eliciting a whole string of wild pants, crazed words, and eager pleads from me.

  Like the fall away of the boble, my newly needy voice ruptures some kind of spell and Jonas tears his mouth from mine and rips his glasses, now smudged and slightly bent, off his face. He scrambles back, leaving me sprawled on the floor, breathing heavily after having been crushed under him.

  “What was that?” he demands. “What’s going on?” He blinks like an old owl, and it makes me giggle. “Shut up, Wren!” His words are so savage, they should cork my amusement, but I’m cruising too fast for any scolding to stop me at this point.

  “I only wanted one little kiss. You’re the one who brought out the big guns, lover boy,” I tease him, lightheaded and solidly stupid after that kiss.

  A scowl mars his otherwise handsome face with deep, disapproving lines. “I told you already why that can’t happen. I explained to you why it’s not a good idea for us to…be together that way.”

  I should get up. There’s a patch of sunlight coming from between the heavily curtained windows, and it’s falling in a luxurious rectangle of warm light right on my cheek. I don’t get up. “I have to tell you something, and I don’t want you to freak out.”

  His boots clomp up and down along the dusty floorboards of the narrow living area. Seven stomps left, pause, seven stomps right, pause, repeat. “I”m already freaked out. You have no idea how close that came to being a major problem for both of us.”

  “We have bigger problems than our little make-out session.” I try to keep my voice from being so angry, but he’s not making it easy. “I heard from Loki last night.”

  One, two, three boot steps. Pause.

  “Loki?”

  I hold my hands up into the dust-mote-filled light of the window and try to make a small palm boble that’s perfectly round, but my aching ring finger won’t cooperate. Instead, I make what looks like a shining white egg. “She spoke to me in this weird, super deep part of my brain.” My voice sounds woozy and half-drunk in my ears. I chalk that up to a combination of getting kissed senseless, barely sleeping, and fighting evil until my fingernails fried off my fingertips. He goes back to pacing, I go back to counting.

  Four, five, six, seven. Pause. “Are you sure it wasn’t a dream?”

  I spin the egg boble in my hands, slowly at first, then with more momentum. “Not a dream. I’m sure.”

  “What did she say?” One, two, three, four.

  “She told me she escaped and was running to Bestemor’s.” The egg is spinning so fast, it’s warming my palm.

  Five, six, seven. Stomp. “And you told her no, right? Tell me you told her no. Please tell me.” His voice slides between the edge of panic and the slope of hope.

  “There was no telling her anything.” The egg whirls so quickly, it doesn’t seem to hold any true form anymore.

  Stomp. One. Stomp, stomp. Negative two. “You’re her witch! You tell her where to go and what to do.”

  A blush boils me from my center out. “You don’t understand how it works at all.”

  “I think I do.” His stomps are an erratic mamba raving all over the floorboards. “Loki is just an animal, Wren. You’re in charge of telling her what to do, not the other way around.”

  “That isn’t how it works for us.” My teeth are so gritted, the words come out like they’ve been put through a strainer.

  “Maybe that’s why you lost her.”

  It’s a quick, nasty lash of an accusation, and before I can form a truly coherent tho
ught, I whip the egg boble his way.

  I’m way better now than I was that day in the gym with Sakura. The egg is flying so fast, it’s barely a visual blip, and when it hits home, it’s going to leave an egg-shaped welt on Jonas. I throw a hand over my eyes to block out having to see the damage I’m about to inflict.

  Time crawls. I cringe and wait for the dull smack of the condensed boble against Jonas’s shoulder, but it never comes. When I look through the slats of my fingers, my boble has been reduced to a shiny whitish splatter suspended in midair.

  Both of Jonas’s hands are up and when I scramble off the floor and reach my hands out to touch his, they bump into a shield wall.

  I look at him through the sharp glare of the shield. “Could you always make a perfect diament?”

  He shakes his head, jaw completely unhinged.

  “Could you make any shields?” I press my fingers along the edges, where most diament shields lose their tenacity and crumble, but his is tight and strong.

  “Only girls make shields.” His voice flounders and gaps between the words.

  I walk around the small shield and stand behind him, run my hands along his arms and lock over his fingers. Together, we break his hold on the shield and he shakes his wrists out with slow, fazed flops.

  When he turns, we’re nose to nose. “I’ve never made a shield. Then you kissed me.”

  “We’ve kissed before,” I point out.

  “I was never your magus before.”

  His mouth is closing in on mine, and I want it. I want it so badly I pull away to double check. “Are you kissing me to test your shield theory? Or are you kissing me because you want to kiss me?”

  “A little bit of both.” The honesty of his words is bitter cold, refreshing with the danger of frostbite.

  I step back and flip my own diament shield so quickly he leans nose first into it with a thud. “Ow! Shit! Wren!” he rapidly exclaims.

  “If you’re gaining powers, how do I know I’m not losing them?” I turn the shield in a circle, admiring my tight, military corners, and look through the iridescent glow of it to Jonas, rubbing his fingers over the reddish bump growing on the bridge of his nose. “Huh. I guess my powers are still intact. Wanna kiss?”

  He squeezes the bump with this thumb and index finger and winces. “I said I wanted to kiss you. You didn’t need to break my nose.”

  I flip the shield off, swat his hand aside, and run my fingers over the bump on his nose myself. “You’re fine.” My words are brisk and efficient, bossy even. “And you’re also right. About kissing and us. There are always reasons you and me together make no sense. Every time I think I’ve found a loophole, there’s another problem.” I trail my fingers down from his nose and over his lips, twisted in a grimace. “All signs are pointing to no kissing. Plus, we have to go be the heroes. I hope. So let’s get a move one.” I make a concerted beeline away from him and to the door.

  “We’re not going back to that house.” I expect to be scolded, ordered, anything other than those words in the shape of a plea.

  “We’re going.” Something strong and sure buzzes through me, Loki is waiting, I need to see Vee, we’re going, any and all questions absolutely aside.

  “Wait?” His voice makes me drop my hand from the doorknob.

  I look down at the dirt between the floorboards and count his boot steps. It was five steps across the room for me, but his feet are bigger and his legs are longer, so he’s at my side in three. His hands slide over my shoulders and he turns me to him, his eyes sweet and needy over the angry bump on his nose. “I want to kiss you. I’ve thought about kissing you pretty much every day since we were kids. There were a million reasons not to. That douchebag JR, your family, mine, your powers, mine. But I don’t give a shit about any of that right now. We have no idea what we’re about to face. And I want you to know…I want you to know how much I care about you. How I think you and me are worth a try when this is all over. And we shouldn’t do this, but I would follow you through the fucking gates of Hell if you asked me to. I never could say no to you.”

  He flexes his wrists and makes a boble on his palm, perfect round and slightly blue, the size of one of those giant gumballs you get from the machines at the mall. “You were trying to catch our kiss?”

  “You were sleeping.” I back up to the door and press against it, but there’s no room to back up more.

  “I was sleeping. Then I was kissing you, and I lost it a little. You can’t blame me for that. You have no idea how sexy you are.” Every hormone in my body begins to do a pole dance as a smile unzips across his mouth and he holds the glowing boble up to my lips. “I saw one of my aunts do this once. I never tried. Would you mind? If you’re going to lead me into a death trap, I think it’s fair of me to ask for one little magic kiss, right?”

  “What do I do?” I focus on the swirling blue and white ball of light to avoid his eyes and his intentions and my rampant need to jump his bones.

  “I don’t know exactly. It looked like they held it in their mouths while they kissed? I was young.” He must read the worry in my eyes, because he rushes to say, “It won’t hurt you or anything.”

  I try to take it between my teeth, but bobles don’t have a very solid consistency, and it just kind of melts away like a subtle sweet candy. Like green tea ice cream pooling on my tongue. Before I can think about it too much, Jonas locks his arms around me and nuzzles against my mouth. First it’s just the warm press of lip to lip. Then I open mine and drink him in, transferring the sweet taste and the buzzing shock of cool energy from my tongue to his. His fingers press into my back, and I hold onto the strong column of his neck and knead until the moan I know is coming breaks from his mouth.

  I pull back and kiss one side of his mouth, then the other, his top lip, then nip the bottom, slide my tongue back into his mouth and ease into the safety and warmth that protects me better than the strongest shield ever could whenever I’m with Jonas.

  If it wasn’t for Loki and Vee, already waiting longer than I should have let them, I would have peeled back everything and twisted into him. As it is, I lean back with one, final soft kiss and see the boble steadied in the air between us. He takes it in his hand, and gestures to me to cup my hand around it too. This time when he murmurs the incantation, I feel the energy vibrate in my veins, shaking my blood and mixing my cells until they spring and jump inside my skin. He holds it out to me, but I shake my head and press it into his hand.

  “You’re the one who’s worried. We’re coming back from this, and we’re going to be fine. Keep it.” I close my fingers over his hand. “It can be a good luck charm. Like how a lady used to give her knight something before he rode into battle.”

  “Except you’re the knight. I’m not even your page.” He quirks an eyebrow.

  I’m about to tell him that he’s at least my horse, but just thinking the words makes my blood run spicy, and instead I murmur, “We should go. We’ve wasted time already.”

  “Whatever you say, Lancelot.” His chuckle makes my ears burn and my grin stretches all the way to the car.

  Chapter 27

  The drive back home is a drag race on mute: fast, tense, and silent. Each mile closer to home and farther from the protective birches of the cabin has Jonas leaning over the steering wheel to check the sky and crushing the accelerator into the floorboards. When he starts to swerve, I force him to pull over for fuel, sugary snacks, and a driver switch, but he refuses to rest.

  “Stop staring at me and sleep.” I take a bite of the apple pie that tastes exactly like two tons of condensed sugar and chemicals in a flaky cardboard crust.

  Jonas yawns and weaves the kiss boble over and under his fingers. “You’re good to look at.”

  I try to move my smile to the left so he can’t see it. “You’re useless if you can’t stay awake to fight. Who knows what we’re walking into?”

  “Good point. Why are we walking into this again?” He levitates the boble over his second knuckles and bum
ps it up and down over the ridges. “We could have at least gotten word to your parents.”

  “How? They’re ghosts right now. I’ve been trying to get some kind of connection with them, but they must have blocks up.” Part of me burns at this. So many people have told me that what they did and continue to do for me is for my own good. So where are they?

  Where the hell is everyone when I need anyone?

  My own personal anyone and everyone’s answer brings me out of my self-pity. “I have info sources. There are only so many places they can hide. They have to, Wren. I know you’re pissed, but they aren’t just protecting themselves. They’re protecting you, too. I swear.”

  My hands fist over the steering wheel, and my foot bears down on the gas. I think of a thousand responses that range from pure rage to teary upset, but settle on, “Go to sleep, Jonas. You look tired.”

  “You don’t understand how powerful you are. I’ve never heard of a magus with shield-making powers. You reversed the draw and gave me powers. Do you realize what it would mean if anyone knew you could do that?” He expects an answer, but I have no idea what to say. “You’re a game changer.”

  “You’re just as much a part of this as I am.” I’m not ready to be the shieldmaiden messiah or whatever Jonas thinks I am. I went from being powerless to all-powerful in the span of a few weeks, and it’s not a light burden to bear.

  Especially when my partner in crime isn’t shouldering his share of it.

  “I have nothing to do with this. It’s all you.” He rolls the boble back and forth in his hand.

  A deep breath does nothing to steady my frayed nerves. “Nothing? How do you know that? No one else hijacked my powers. What if you’re some kind of special magus sponge? What if you’re the amazing one?”

  “There’s no way to really test it anyway.” His answer is flippant and a few beats too late.

  “Obviously there is.” When he turns his head and looks at me, I smirk. “I could just go around kissing every powerful magus I can find and see who gets his shield up over me.”