Year of the Tiger (Changeling Sisters)

by Heather Heffner

  “Citlalli, no!”

  I could hear her right on my heels, but I was faster. I beat her there. When Yu Li entered the nursery, she saw me rise from beside Young Soo. The boy looked shaken, but he was doing his best to conceal his shock.

  “Umma, is it true?” he asked in Korean.

  Yu Li was still panting, her pinned-back hair now disheveled and dangling around her shoulders.

  “Young-a, don’t cry. It’s not so scary,” she whispered, crossing the room with arms wide open.

  “Are we really going to Everland? And we’re going to stay in the castle?” Young Soo jabbered on, but I couldn’t catch it. “I want to ride on the roller coaster six times! And I need new swimsuit! Let’s go buy swimsuit now!”

  Yu Li froze in the middle of her embrace. “You didn’t tell him.”

  “No.” I sat exhaustedly on the barstool. “No. You called my bluff. I couldn’t do it.”

  Yu Li gripped Young Soo tighter. Finally, he grew impatient and slipped out from under her arms, dashing off with chants of “Everland! EVERLAND!”

  Yu Li stood like a woman frozen in time. In that second, all of the fear and hostile anger built up over her in a mountain of venomous ice. And then it shattered. Slowly, ever so slowly, she came to sit by my side. We watched the children play. Both of us were tired of fighting.

  “I don’t know if I can ever tell him,” she said suddenly, and I was surprised to see tears threatening to fall. “His father is a vampyre. His mother is a werewolf. Back in those days, when I was a journalist, and he a politician, we thought the worst thing that could happen to us was death. Extremists opposed to my husband’s peace talks in Panmunjom. Assassination attempts from the North. Actually, he used to say the thing he feared most were my words,” she said, and a different sort of smile crossed her face. “That’s how we first met. I’d written rude articles about his lack of aid to refugees, and he wanted a real debate. He said it was easy to criticize, but much harder to propose a solution.”

  “He sounds like quite a catch,” I offered.

  “So many women wanted his attention, but he only looked at me. I should have been more worried. When Duck Young went missing in his monthly visit to Panmunjom, everyone thought North Korea was responsible. I knew different. But how could I tell anyone about the tall, pale woman who appeared in our bedchamber, who hushed me and left me unable to speak?” Yu Li choked out the words, gathering her legs to her chest. “But not unable to follow. I ran after him, desperate to save him from her. She set Dark Dogs on me. The evil things tore me apart and left me to die. But I didn’t. I survived for my son. I survived because even now, sometimes, I think this is all a dream.” She brushed a thinning strand of hair wearily from her eyes. “I think one morning I will wake up and my family will be back together again.”

  That it was Duck Young whom she loved only made me feel more pity for her. The emotionless vampyre who had casually beheaded my sister and the visionary man she was describing were two entirely separate beings.

  “We’ll lay him to rest for good, Yu Li.” I doubted that helped any, but to my surprise, she reached for my hand.

  “Thank you, Citlalli. Sometimes I think…you are a good person.”

  “Only sometimes?”

  “I will have to take out a month’s savings to pay for a trip to Everland.”

  “Oh, get over it. The kid deserves it.”

  “Yes. He does. I would take him to live there forever if I could.” Yu Li folded her arms. “Will you really accept Maya’s invitation, Citlalli?”

  “Oh, Yu Li.” A hollow laugh shook my chest. “A long time ago, you asked why you should like me. That all I had done was distract the pack from its true goal: destroying the vampyres. Well, this is me. Not distracting, but ending humanity’s hidden enemy of a millennia. And now you don’t want me to go?”

  “You will surely die.”

  “So that’s why you opposed the plan. Sisterly concern.”

  She smiled faintly. “And I wanted to make you look like a fool in front of the elders. But somewhere in there, maybe, concern.”

  I spread my arms wide. “This is me running after my Duck Young, Yu Li. No thought or emotion involved. It’s what I would always do.”

  “Then come. Let’s go prepare the attack.”

  Chapter 16: The Soul of Donovan

  Every seventh night, the brides held a private “Knitting Circle” in their husbands’ absence. They drank cocktails. They compared shoes. Someone would hesitantly mention the “sunshine life,” and gradually, as the night wore on, more and more stories came pouring out from cobwebbed memories. They did everything but knit. When the moon set, they snapped back to attention—“perfect” wives once more.

  I was interested because the Circle was held in Donovan’s quarters.

  Favorite brides-to-be could wait on them, if they knew the right people. When I approached Marisol, she was overjoyed I wanted to attend.

  “That’s the spirit, Raina!” she congratulated me. “Of course I’ll get you in. I was so sick of that Natalya, already crowning herself as Donovan’s next queen. Now you’ll be in the perfect position to fight for your man.”

  I wasn’t surprised. After walking in on Natalya licking Lady Amrit and Eva’s boots clean while they reclined on their floor cushions, I suspected she’d even been granted access to the mysterious Mirror Room.

  I entered the common room dressed in a white blouse and a full skirt chima of the brides-to-be. Beneath the smoky eye shadow caking my eyelids, I chanced a glance up the stairwell toward Donovan’s bedchamber.

  I’d thought long and hard. How did one steal a soul from a vampyre? I could only wait until he was “asleep”: that time when he returned to his body on Earth. But what happened to his soul, while his spirit returned to the body? The vampyres hadn’t figured out how to reconcile with their souls; it couldn’t follow him over. Where would Donovan hide a pair of wings?

  I had to start somewhere. The bedchamber was an easy guess, but four giant ghosts stood to attention on either side of the ornate sliding door: two turtle-lions and two vicious-looking seals.

  Fortunately, the window was open, and I could taste the moisture frozen in mid-air. The vampyres Amrit and Eva no doubt meant for the cold to torture us warm-bloods, but for me, the water droplets soaking the sky sharpened my wit. They were my unseen soldiers.

  Tonight the brides were playing hwatu, a Go-Stop game that revolved around a gorgeously painted deck of flower cards. Four of the same flower card represented one of the twelve months, and could be matched up to earn maximum points. Marisol assured me she was an expert at it.

  “Oh dear, they forgot to bring us footstools this evening,” the Russian vampyre Eva said, mock-pursing her lips as she glanced around the common room. “Girls. How can we remedy this?”

  That was directed toward me, Natalya, and three other oh-so-lucky attendants. I grimaced as I squatted, bear-like, under Amrit’s sapphire-blue toenails. The floor had splinters. This was going to be a long night.

  I spent my time focusing on Marisol’s water glass. I’d practiced harnessing the power of water in the women’s quarters, but this was for real. I tentatively poked at the glass.

  A bubble. Seriously, all I could conjure up was a bubble? How the hell was that going to help me?

  “Three kwang.” Amrit matched two from her hand to the crane character card. She had to be cheating to get such a high scoring hand right off the bat, but no one wanted to call her on it.

  Eva went next, scoring zero. “I do hate card games,” she huffed, eyes flicking around the room for something to entertain her. “Ladies! Did you hear about the new ‘guest’ we’ll be hosting this Lunar New Year?”

  “Another ‘guest’ from the sunshine world?” one of Aaron’s wives grumbled. “The palace is already too crowded, if you ask me.” She gave her live footstool a small kick.

  Amrit’s flat black eyes never left Eva’s as she reached for another card. “We are not suppose
d to talk about that with present company, Eva.”

  “Oh!” I caught her eyes flicking momentarily in my direction. “How silly of me. I sometimes forget she’s not deaf anymore.”

  This disturbed my momentary focus on the glass. Which “guest” were they talking about? Citlalli? Was she walking into a trap and she didn’t know it? Or were the vampyres casting out false lures? My arms felt leaden, my elbows crooked. I shook myself and resumed focus on the glass. I could do this. I just had to push harder.

  Marisol’s glass frothed up with boiling water. She jumped off her cushion in shock.

  “Orchid? Why do you disturb the game?” Amrit, thankfully, took her card games extremely seriously.

  “Nothing, Sister Wife!” Marisol squeaked. Her gaze swept suspiciously around the room. I attempted to look the part of a humble footstool.

  Amrit scored with a set of bird yul. It put her in an extremely good mood.

  “Get up,” she ordered, kicking me in the rear. “Make me another drink.”

  “Yes, Lady Amrit.” I all but ran for the bar. Natalya watched me beneath Eva’s wagging feet, looking like a disgruntled cat. As the eldest vampyre wife, Amrit was the queen of the brides, holding a higher status than Eva, even. It would have been a great honor to wait on her.

  I was just happy I had a bride who was on a winning streak. The other, far unhappier, players kneaded their live foot cushions in displeasure.

  Safely unnoticed in the shadows of the bar, I inched toward the window. Frigid winter air swam around my face. I breathed it in, expelling each gust in successively larger clouds of frost. My eyes were shining as I drank in the night. Was this what it meant to have a Changeling Soul?

  “How is your husband, Orchid?” Amrit asked of my sister. “It’s been a rough week. Losing his frontrunner and something far more personal…”

  Marisol glanced in both directions nervously. “That is a secret, good Sister Wife.”

  “Oh, please. Every ghost from here to the hermits on U-Do have heard that your husband’s soul is in the hands of monks,” Amrit said scathingly. “Foolish young vampyre. He thought such a small, trivial reminder of his past life meant nothing when it was in his care, but now it means everything to him.”

  “Amrit, be careful how you speak of him. He may be your younger, but he is still a prince,” Eva hissed.

  Marisol scored with a set of three blue ribbon cards. It wasn’t much, but her cheeks glowed proudly. “Yes, and Prince Duck Young has a plan for getting his soul back.”

  Amrit and Eva exchanged identical surprised expressions. “Do say? And this ‘plan’ has been run by the Queen?”

  Marisol realized she’d said too much. She shut her mouth and determinedly focused on her cards.

  Amrit leaned over the table. “The ‘plan’ doesn’t, for instance, involve interfering with the plans our Queen has for a certain guest?”

  There was that “guest” again. I watched Marisol’s shadowed face with growing dread. It couldn’t be who I thought it was. There was no way Mari would espouse a plan that put Citlalli in danger.

  “I’m only a lowly wife; he doesn’t discuss such things with me,” Marisol murmured.

  Amrit snorted. “So now you choose to powder your cheeks with that pretty shade of coy pink. Keep your husband’s absurd secrets. Dark Spirits know, I’m thankful Prince Donovan doesn’t put us through that. He keeps his soul extremely well-protected—”

  The glass shattered at my feet. All of the brides, vampyre and human, whipped around to stare at me with unnatural speed. They could see right through me. I would be found out! I threw all of my urgency, all of my need, into the winds. They spun up, up, and away, where they began to spin and shape the slumbering clouds. As soundless panic dropped away within me, so, too, did the clouds thicken menacingly, until a head broke through the forefront. And I called it to me.

  “T-that!” I pointed with a trembling finger at the window. “T-there!”

  “What in the seven hells?”

  The blizzard dragon lurched ponderously through the air toward us, wisps of cloud beating the air in the semblance of wings, while its head drew back to unleash a flurry of snowflakes.

  “Shut the window, you idiot!” Eva shoved Marisol toward the amassing gale.

  No! She can’t! I summoned even more winds to the storm dragon’s wings, and the skin rubbing around my nails turned frightfully, numbingly cold. It felt like ice water was sloshing down through my veins, leaving my hands dark and unresponsive. But I couldn’t back down. One of my nails popped off.

  Marisol was buffeted back by the fierce gale and hit her head against the low coffee table. I winced. Sorry, sis.

  The rest of the humans scrambled to stand on two feet. Amrit cocked a finger at Donovan’s chamber guards, and they marched forward. Together, vampyre and ghost forced the window closed. I closed my eyes, feeling the ice water hit a sub-zero point in the middle of my forehead. They were too late. The storm dragon broke upon the palace.

  My hands slipped limply to my side as I released all control of the storm. I had no choice. That sub-zero spot in the center of my forehead stung like the most awful bout of brain freeze, leaving me a cringing mess in the corner.

  “Raina? What’s wrong?” Marisol touched my shoulder, and I buried my head in her chest. Warmth. The pressure relieved. I felt her hand stroke my hair, and then snow pellets shattered through the stained glass, extinguishing all candles.

  “Goodbye, sis.” As shadowed shapes dove for cover, I fought my way through the blustery winds to the staircase. I knew the way from here. Taking a last peek over my shoulder to make sure everyone was occupied, I slipped past the sliding door and into Donovan’s private chambers.

  The hall loomed ahead, tall and silent. My harsh breathing cut through the darkness, trembling every time the gale shrieked and dive-bombed the palace. Donovan’s bedchamber opened up before me. The room that had once been warm and smoldering with our hungry kisses now huddled cold and empty, like a dead fireplace.

  Something rustled overhead. I peered up, heart hammering, to see the most curious thing: one hundred beating white wings, fluttering overhead like butterflies. They all shied away from the rattling window, emitting golden sparks of light at every push and shove of the winds. But which one was the soul?

  I cautiously uncovered the small lotus lantern from the folds of my dress. The wings flew in erratic circles around me.

  “It’s okay,” I called. I remembered stroking the dove-soft feathers. “You know me.”

  One set of wings detached itself from the rest. It circled me curiously, poking at my cheek and brushing against my neck. The soul recognized me, I was sure. Then it rested on my shoulder. I could feel the way it beat like a heart, could feel the most incredible vibrations reverberating throughout my entire being, energizing me with life and joy.

  “When we were turned, we were cast out from the eyes of God,” Khyber had told me. “The soul flees when the mark of the vampyre is placed upon it.”

  But what was it like before? I wondered. Khyber had said Maya must sacrifice innocent souls to the Dark Spirits, not wicked ones. But Donovan’s soul didn’t seem so bad. It seemed…fiercely beautiful.

  But hungry. As it frolicked across my skin, each stroke became more urgent, seeking penetration. My mouth dropped in horror, and I glanced nervously toward the empty bed. Seriously? Even when absent, there was only one thing on Donovan’s mind, only one thing that ruled his soul: the desire to consume. He always needed…more.

  I held up the unlatched lantern, but the soul refused to go in. It glided instead to my back, where it attempted to settle in the crevices beneath my shoulder blades. But it couldn’t.

  I froze. Perhaps it had recognized me, perhaps it hadn’t, but one thing was for certain: It knew I wasn’t him.

  The wings grew hotter to the touch, and my nostrils filled with the scent of burning feathers and blistering skin. My skin. I frantically batted the soul away, but it reared up in a vi
sion of blinding celestial flames, both mesmerizing and awful.

  Now the other wings broke away from the ceiling to encircle me, their feathers not the downy-soft fluff of doves, but jagged blades that nicked my cheeks, my legs, my back. I covered my face with one hand and swung the lotus lantern around blindly to fend off the buffeting snowstorm of knife-sharp wings.

  The storm dragon sensed my danger. It howled and pounded against the walls with mounting intensity, frustrated that it couldn’t break in. Blood ran in countless tiny streams over my knees and elbows, and one wing sliced my eye. The moaning gale was the only things that oriented me, that made me crawl toward the sound. White filled my vision, but I thrust my red-smeared fingers into the flurry of feathers, tearing the wings apart at the bone.

  I dizzily fell past them, felt the cold windowpane press against my cheek. The soul, now indistinguishable in a halo of fire, roared up with the fury of a furnace. I jiggled frantically at the window latch, and at the last second, shoved it wide open.

  Golf-ball-sized hail rode in on the backs of wintry winds, pelting the wings back, scolding. The soul was left as little more than a bedraggled bird, dripping wet on the floor. I pulled myself up despite my stinging cuts and bruises. Everything was foggy in my right eye, so I shut the window, because there was no way in hell I was going to let this soul get away. I nudged it gently into the lantern and shut the latch. It came alive, a sickly white gull, inside.

  My shoulders slumped, expelling the last breath of the storm. And that was when the sliding door flew open.

  For a second, Amrit took in the leveled room: the crusted snow in the corners, the unhappy wings. Then she jabbed a finger at me.

  “Get her.”

  The room shook as the lion-seal guards charged. I slipped and slid on patches of ice, desperately seeking the edges of the window frame. Khyber said he would catch me if I fell.

  That insane recollection had the last word. With Amrit streaking across the room, shrieking “No!” at the top of her lungs, I pitched forward out the window.