Gravitational Pull (Vis Vires, book 2) (Vis Vires trilogy)

by Marissa Carmel

  My violet eyes stab me through the mirror as wet steam evaporates all around me. My skin is tacky and moist; my dark hair hanging flaccid around my face and across my chest.

  I blow the past one last kiss and then decree: everything good isn’t gone.

  I walk out of the bathroom draped in a towel to find Siberian sitting attentively on my bed.

  “Really, you’re still here?” I say annoyed.

  “What kind of gentleman would I be, if I didn’t take the lady I spent the night with out to breakfast?”

  “The human kind,” I answer dryly. “I’m going to have to pass, I need to go find Jocelyn.”

  We need to fix things.

  “You mean the nasty little Seraph? She and Melenia are gone.”

  “How do you know?” I snap.

  “Melenia stopped by your room while you were in the shower.”

  “And she found you?” I say aggravated.

  “Not to worry, I told my cousin everything, she’ll straighten things out.”

  “Cousin?”

  “Yes, the queen is my sister, which makes Melenia my cousin,” Siberian says straightforwardly. “You didn’t think she was part of the Royal Guard by chance? Only blood relatives of the monarchy can be a member.”

  Queen? Sister? Ish. Now I know why Jocelyn knew who he was.

  “Come now,” he says springing off the bed. “Get dressed and I’ll take you on a guided tour of the city.”

  I sigh, routed. Now that my bodyguards have abandoned me, it doesn’t look like I have much of a choice.

  “Is there coffee on that tour?” I concede.

  “If you want there to be,” he gives me a barefaced smile.

  I sit at a table in the coffee shop like I am a showpiece on display. Its strange how this world is so different and yet so much like my own.

  I wasn’t expecting coffee.

  Siberian is off somewhere ordering breakfast. You’d think being a prince, we’d get table service.

  Pixies gawk as they come and go, whispering amongst each other about my presence.

  Now I know how cirque du freaks feel.

  “Ignore them,” Siberian tells me, as he places a plate of fruit and one enormous cup of coffee in front of me. “I think the whispers are now more about me, than you,” he says as he sits.

  “Why, because you’re fraternizing with the freak in broad daylight?”

  “You’re not a freak,” he says seriously. “You’re…provocative.”

  “Oh,” I blush. Provocative? That’s an unusual word to use, but I sort of like it.

  His eyes glimmer from my reaction, obviously pleased that I am pleased. He doesn’t push the subject any further, tactfully

  pouring some cream into his coffee. He then takes a polite bite of his breakfast.

  “So, Just Liv,” he sweeps his eyes up to me from his plate. “Tell me how you came to keep such powerful company.”

  “He hit on me at the parade,” I say without missing a beat. Siberian creases his eyebrows, then chuckles. “Humorist.” “Just sarcastic,” I divulge.

  “That’s not much of a secret,” he smirks. “Seriously though, how did a human come to forge such an elite friendship?”

  I can see the formulation in his eyes. “Unless,” he twirls a silver spoon between his fingers upright in his cup. “The human is pretty elite herself.”

  I gulp my coffee.

  “Elite? Me? Not elite at all,” I stumble and lie; just the perfect the storm of splendor and fury.

  He gives me a deeply skeptical look.

  Shit. I have to give him something or he’s going to keep poking. And that is the very last thing I need.

  “One of the Seraphs saved me from a Spirit Stalker a few months ago,” I tell him, wondering if that’s too much information. “After that, Jocelyn and Melenia kind of took me in.” I shrug.

  “Which Seraph?” he asks, intrigued. “Does it matter?” I evade the question.

  I’d rather not say, I’d rather not utter his name at all. I’m sure the mere mention of him will give my feelings away.

  “Maybe not,” he lets it go. But I can still detect an air of curiosity.

  “Why did Jocelyn and Melenia have to take you in?” He changes the subject, thankfully.

  I hesitate to answer; do I really want to dredge my history up? “You could say I was in an emotionally challenging place.” “Brokenhearted?” He tries to guess.

  “Not exactly.”

  “There was someone, though?” He probes eagerly. I look straight into his platinum eyes, reluctant to answer. “If there was, there isn’t anymore.”

  A streak of what runs across his brow? Sympathy? Relief? I can’t quite tell. And to be honest, I don’t really care to know.

  “But you’re in a better place now?” He asks, genuinely concerned.

  “I guess that depends.” “On what?”

  “On your definition of the word better.” He studies me extensively.

  “You seem fine to me.”

  “You’ve barely known me for twenty-four hours,” I point out. “It’s long enough to know I like you,” he says candidly.

  I know exactly what he means by ‘like.’ Like, like to own you.

  “That’s nice.” I stir my coffee uneasily.

  This situation could not be more dangerous. Siberian is chivalrous, courteous and polite, not to mention easy on the eyes. His genuine interest in me is eerily refreshing. And being with him is comfortable, sort of. It’s too bad his interest goes way deeper than just getting to know me.

  He takes another bite of his breakfast then asks, “So what’s your power?”

  I freeze. Power? How does he know I have powers? “What makes you think I have one?” I ask remotely. “Call me observant,” he leans in.

  Crap, what does that mean? What did I give away? Maybe my magical exploit last night wasn’t as covert as I thought. Come to think of it, I never should have done that in the first place. What was I thinking? Oh wait, I wasn’t. I was trying to escape myself. I broke a cardinal rule and now I’m facing the consequences.

  “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he leans in closer and whispers. His face is only an inch away from mine now.

  Internally, I panic.

  Siberian gives me a sly smile, then shifts to pick up his fork and places it in his open hand. The piece of cutlery levitates, then suddenly, magically liquefies before my eyes. The watery metal spins swiftly through the air until it finally solidifies again in the shape of a silver heart. Then it drops back into Siberian’s palm.

  “For you,” he hands me the now–transformed fork.

  I take the trinket.

  “I can manipulate metal.”

  “I see.” I look down at the mirror-like object and then back up to him. “Are you related to Magneto?” I ask wryly.

  “Who?” He clearly has no clue. I laugh.

  “More sarcasm,” he grins. I snicker. “Yes.”

  He gives me a penetrating look. “Your turn.”

  I freeze. I’m not supposed to reveal myself, and showing him my powers would most definitely do that. Not to mention, probably level the building.

  “Ummm,” I stall, “I’ll show you right after I get some more sugar for my coffee.”

  Then I flee the table. Crap! Crap!! Crap!!!

  As I fumble with the sugar spoon, anxiously trying to figure out a way to get out of this mess, I unexpectedly turn to find an elderly face prodding into mine. I jerk my head back and shoot her an offensive look.

  Ever hear the term personal space?

  Her inky black eyes survey me, like I am a distant grandchild she’s never met before. It is highly uncomfortable.

  “Fire with no ice makes for a difficult world to live in,” she

  says randomly.

  “Is that the Chinese proverb of the day?” I say instinctively.

  She laughs quietly, as if she highly enjoys my sarcasm, but her gaze has me pinned to the wall. She reminds me of the d
isguised wicked witch from Snow White.

  I can see Siberian stand up over her shoulder, watching intensely.

  “Not much time my dear,” she says as she rummages through her worn bag that is draped across her body. If she pulls out an apple, I’m most definitely not taking it.

  Instead, she pulls out a silver chain with a small round medallion. It’s nothing spectacular, shiny at best. She shoves it in my face, gesturing for me to take it.

  I am hesitant to say the least.

  Melenia’s other warning about gypsies and indentured servitude acts as a brake light.

  “Thank you, but no,” I say graciously, and attempt to slip past her, but she is insistent.

  “For you, take it. It will help,” she hisses. “Help with what?” I ask intrigued.

  “I think you know.” I definitely don’t.

  “Here, here,” she continually forces it on me, while I continually try to refuse it.

  “Sorry, I’m not interested in becoming an indentured servant,”

  I finally snap.

  She snickers at me like I am ridiculous, “My dear, you have never been, nor ever will be, slated for servitude, indentured or otherwise.”

  My jaw drops.

  She suddenly sounds so regal, like everyone and everything is beneath her. I am fascinated by this sudden change, and as if she is pushing her energy right into me, I feel her intent, and she’s right. It has nothing to do with servitude.

  I take the necklace, and she gives me a warm, delicate smile.

  Like somehow, some way, she knows me.

  Before we can say anymore, Siberian storms over.

  “Be gone, crone!” he orders, getting right into her face. She gives him a rancid look, hissing defensively.

  She takes two steps back, gazing between me and Siberian. “Wait,” I call. But she disappears, like the Cheshire cat; her

  eyes the last thing to linger.

  I am left mentally drifting after her departure.

  “What did she give you?” Siberian demands, snapping me back to reality.

  I hold up the necklace.

  “Give it to me,” he reaches for the chain. “I will have it destroyed. And if she comes for you, the Guard will take care of her!”

  “No!” I yank the necklace defensively into my chest. I’m not giving it up. I don’t understand what just happened, but I know I have to keep it.

  “Liv. Give me the necklace,” he directs. “I can’t,” I refuse him. “It’s mine.”

  What I’m saying makes absolutely no sense; I just know it is the utter truth. The more I hold it, the more familiar it becomes.

  “You had best be careful,” Siberian warns. He is neither polite nor chivalrous now. “Keeping that necklace is certain trouble.”

  I clutch the trinket tightly in my hand. “I’ll take the risk,” I avow.

  It’s All in the Past

  Siberian ushers me out of the coffee shop and onto the cobblestone street. There are no sidewalks in Century city, just one, sprawling, cobbled lane divided by golden footbridges and a sparkling green canal. A roofless horse-drawn carriage is waiting for us. Siberian boosts me in first, then rushes in right behind me. The city is bustling this morning, every pixie eye taking notice of me and my tour guide. Siberian takes the reins, and with a childlike gleam asks, “Where to first?”

  He seems to have let the encounter with the gypsy go. And I’m thankful for that even though I can’t pull my hand away from the trinket now hanging from my neck. I unconsciously rub the metal with my thumb, re-familiarizing myself with its grooves and curves.

  I look at him, unsure. “Um, Melenia didn’t exactly give me a brochure.”

  He raises his eyebrows considerately. “Well then, what do you like to do? What are your interests?”

  My interests?

  “I like dancing, and music,” I say quickly. Siberian nods attentively, “Is that it?”

  I shrug, “And art.”

  “Art?” He’s intrigued. “Alright then,” he snaps the reins and the carriage takes off. I screech as I’m thrown back, taken by surprise. “A tour of the countryside, then art,” Siberian exclaims.

  As we are hauled out of Century city by two magnificent white horses, I can’t help but feel a little apprehensive about being so close to the forest’s edge. Melenia and Jocelyn warned me to stay in the confines of the city, and yet, here I am playing with fire, sandwiched between a dark forest and an untrustworthy pixie.

  “What’s your world like, Liv?” Siberian asks, as we travel up and down the rugged landscape, rushes of autumn color highlighting our surroundings.

  “We don’t ride around in carriages, I can tell you that,” I smirk.

  “Well, what do travel in?” His curiosity is so innocent. “Intimidators,” I say wryly.

  Siberian gives me a beyond puzzled look. I chuckle to myself. “Tell me more,” he smiles captivatingly.

  I look out over the beautiful, sprawling land; a multitude of fall splendor secluding us.

  “Where I’m from is nothing like this, but it does have its own majestic beauty.”

  Sweeping his platinum eyes back and forth between the dirt road and me, he hangs on to my every word.

  “I live by the ocean.”

  “Yes, I’m familiar with what you speak of. I’ve been told it’s vast.”

  I nod fondly. “Yes, it’s so vast, the surface touches the horizon.”

  “Sounds magical.” Siberian smiles.

  “Sometimes it is,” I sigh. “I could never be away from it. I would miss it too much.” I look over at him. My statement is as much information as it is a warning.

  He holds my gaze, but gives nothing away.

  “Am I the first human you’ve ever met?” I’m curious now. “No, you’re not.” Siberian says with a pensive gaze. “There

  hasn’t been a human here in centuries,” he says evenly, but I can feel the malevolence hiding behind the words. “Only the Royal Guard can travel between realms, and they don’t usually make a habit of toting humans through the portal. They aren’t exactly our biggest fans.”

  “Because we persecuted you and ran you off your land?”

  Siberian hesitates before he speaks. His brows are furrowed and his lips are in a hard, thin line. “Brush up on your pixie history, did you?”

  “Melenia sort of gave me the rundown when I got here,” I confess.

  He nods acceptingly while keeping control of the reigns. I still don’t know where we’re going, and now Century city is far off in

  the distance.

  “Why aren’t you part of the Guard?” I ask curiously.

  “I am a direct line to the throne. It’s impractical,” he says strictly. “My place is here.”

  Okay.

  “Is that some sort of pixie code?” I ask naively.

  “It’s more like law,” he clarifies, and I can’t help but notice the resentment in his voice.

  The horses begin to slow, and the change in speed causes me to look away from Siberian. I almost don’t believe my eyes as we come upon what I can only describe as a massive gothic church hidden in the vast dip of a valley.

  “What is this place?” I ask with wonderment, as we drive down the steep slope of the countryside, and follow along the sparkling emerald river that flows straight through the low-lying area.

  “My home,” Siberian says as we pull though two colossal gates, which look exactly like the front doors of the White Tulip.

  The grand structure boasts multiple spires, in the same brick red as the buildings of Century city, surrounding a choir of predominantly pink and purple stained glass. And for a moment, I am painfully reminded of The Cliffs.

  “Keelin Castle,” Siberian calls the structure by name. “It’s…wildly romantic,” I say awe-struck. Just like the Flower

  festival.

  “I’m glad you think so.” The carriage stops right in front of the cathedral-like doors.

  Helping me out, Siberian leads me into the
stunning sanctuary; its inside just as impressive as its out. Almost giddy, I follow him through a long, vaulted corridor that reminds me of a church nave. We pass door after door, until we finally come to the one Siberian wants. The double entrance has the same swirling pattern that’s carved into my headboard; it seems to be everywhere. Taking my right hand in his left, he opens the one of the doors to what can only be described as a mesmerizing museum. Walking cautiously into the impressive space, I soak up the multiple depictions of pixies in paintings, sculptures and statues. Leisurely, Siberian and I study each piece. It is all so beautiful and different than anything I am used to. Images of great battles, epic loves, vast gains and sorrowful losses are on exhibit all around us. This room is a window into pixie history, and from the portrayals, it is a history filled with hardship and pain.

  “What’s this one?” I ask, fascinated. The picture is of a pale, naked child against a brown background, with his clothes in a clay pot.

  “The birth of a pixie,” Siberian tells me.

  “And this one?” The image shows a sweeping war of pixies fighting alongside some kind of winged, humanoid creatures.

  They’re battling against what I can only describe as vicious, snake-like beasts.

  “The cleansing of Cornwall,” Siberian explains. “We aided the fairies in ridding their land of the white serpents, who mercilessly fed on their people.”

  “Eww,” I hate snakes.

  As we make our way to the rear of the room I am overcome by a brightly colored tapestry hanging on the back wall. Walking cautiously in front of it, I drink in the image: a happy scene of what looks like humans and pixies intermingling. I become especially intrigued by the violet eyes staring back at me. Cautiously, I bring my finger up to touch the young girl’s face, whose eyes mirror mine. A sense of longing suddenly overcomes me.