by C. J. Valles
I really want a car, Wren thinks with quiet desperation.
She inhales and begins to approach the men, waving to the one whose head is not obscured by the hood of the car. When he sees her, his lip curls into a smirk.
Looky, looky. Jailbait.
He shoves his elbow into his friend’s ribcage, and the other man straightens with a scowl before seeing Wren. When she sees the second man’s dark sunglasses, she frowns, unnerved not to be able to glean anything from his mind. He rubs the stubble on his chin as he looks her up and down, and I feel my grip tighten on the handlebars as I listen to his thoughts. Wren comes to a sharp stop.
“I’m Wren. I’m here about the car,” she says, pointing.
“Wren?” the second man says in a tone meant to belittle her.
“Yeah. I e-mailed you,” she says, refusing to be cowed.
He steps forward, his eyes traveling up and down her body again.
“So you want to take it for a drive? We can drop off my buddy here.”
I’ll bet she’s never been—
My craving to torture this sadist to death is growing achingly strong. I fear I can tolerate little more before I destroy both of them in front of her.
“If it runs, I’ll take it,” Wren says, jarring me from my bloodlust.
Skittish little girl. How do I get her inside?
He glances at his friend and lowers his sunglasses, leering meaningfully. Then he swaggers to the driver’s side of the barely functioning vehicle he is selling and turns the key in the ignition. When the engine sputters to life, he pulls his torso from the window and shrugs.
“You want it or not?”
Wren shifts uncomfortably.
“Um, I don’t have all the money with me. Can I leave some kind of deposit and come back later?”
A man walking the large dog that lunged for Wren earlier stops on the sidewalk next to me.
“Nice bike, buddy. How many cc’s?”
Lifting the visor, I look at the man until he begins moving away from me. My attention immediately shifts back to Wren and the two men.
“You want a drink?” the taller of the two men asks her.
How old do I look to him? Wren thinks with barely concealed annoyance.
Gunning the engine, I take off in her direction, watching through the taller man’s eyes as she takes another step back. She hears the engine of the motorcycle, and when the two men turn to stare in my direction, she looks over her shoulder and winces.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse.
She looks around for a means of escape as I step off the motorcycle and begin approaching her.
Is this what they do? Rob people? she thinks, her breathing speeding up as she backs away from me.
I reach for the helmet and watch her mouth open in shock when she recognizes me. Stopping between Wren and the man I am struggling not to lobotomize in front of her, I remove my jacket and hold it out to her, aware that she is chilled and frightened to the point of shaking. She remains perfectly still.
“Put it on,” I tell her.
She swallows and nods slightly to herself before reaching for the article of clothing. As soon as it has covered her shoulders, I reach back for her hand, keeping my body between her and the two men, both of whom have begun approaching again.
“Listen, buddy, me and the girl have a business arrangement to discuss—”
Unwilling to engage in a confrontation in broad daylight, I quickly lead Wren to the motorcycle and place the spare helmet over her head before donning my own. Stepping astride the motorcycle, I hold out my hand. She hesitates only a moment before placing her small hand in mine. Pulling her behind me, I feel her arms wrap around my waist.
The sensation of her body pressed to mine is terrible in its perfection.
As my energy propels the machine forward, her arms tighten even more. She turns back once as the taller man lifts his glasses, giving her a clear view into his mind, and the hunting knife in the glove compartment of the car she wished to purchase.
Wren is safe, and that is all I can focus on if I want to maintain the small shred of self-control I have left. Her grip on me remains unrelenting until we reach the West Hills.
My mom! He can’t take me home on a motorcycle!
I have no intention of taking her home on the motorcycle, but her fear—of her mother seeing her on a motorcycle—is rather amusing. Her pulse skyrockets as the turns tighten. Then I pull off toward the Portland house. When the motorcycle comes around the bend, Wren catches sight of the house and the car she associates with me.
Wow. Of course, this is a place where that car belongs.
Pulling to a stop, I offer my hand for her to step from the motorcycle, but she immediately loses her balance, and I shift beside her, steadying her before stepping away.
“Do you live here?” she asks with an incredulous expression, her breathing still quick from excitement and fear.
I nod.
“Alone?”
What can I tell her? That I have spent eternities in solitude?
“Often, yes.”
She searches my face.
“Don’t you have family?”
Parents, siblings—normal human attachments and familial bonds. Of course she would expect this, even if she suspects me not to be human. How can I tell her that I am one of a small band that escaped the eternal torment of a dimension she could never imagine? When I offer no further answer or explanation, she frowns.
How silly of me. Of course he’s not going to answer any questions, she thinks with frustration—and a hint of bitterness that quickly transforms into resignation as she contemplates the danger she has encountered in the last day alone.
“Why?” she asks softly. “I don’t get it. Why do you keep helping me?”
I look away. Again, what can I tell her? That she is the last human with powers like ours and she can be manipulated in Victor’s pursuit of this dimension? She continues watching me until I turn back to her.
“Atonement,” I whisper, knowing I have told her too much.
It is only one word, but it is the truth. I have millennia of wrongs to atone for—a weight that I will carry for an eternity. This word only represents a small piece of the truth, but it is all I can tell her without complicating her existence any further than I already have. She shakes her head in confusion, continuing to stare up at me as though she will find the answer in my eyes.
This might be the only real answer I’ve gotten from him.
For a moment, all I want is to reach out and touch her cheek, trace the line of her lips, and feel the soft fragility of her skin humming beneath my fingers. I hate myself for it, and I can see my pain reflected in her eyes. She senses it while failing to perceive that she is the source of it. I hold out my hand, gesturing toward with car.
“Would you like me to take you home now?”
With a small nod, she begins walking after me, stopping when I open her door. She hesitates, but says nothing. Sinking into the seat, she takes out her phone, oblivious to my instantaneous appearance in the driver’s seat. She groans when she sees the two missed calls from her mother.
As I drive out of the hills toward her house, I think of what her life would be if the gateway between dimensions were sealed and no one sought to use her. Conversely, she very well could see her freedom stripped by human hands. After all, it is human beings’ innate tendency to try to control others who do not believe as they do. We have served as witnesses to countless religious and political skirmishes across time, all inevitably leading to a loss of life and freedom as one group imposes its will upon another in the name of greed or a god, though most often both.
Perhaps Wren is fortunate to have come into existence in a place and time where her freedom, while in peril, has not yet been taken. However, I must admit, human influences alone could in the near future lead to oppression with a mere shift of the pendulum. For now, though, her life should be focused upon that which should dominate the
attention of a sixteen-year-old—not an inter-dimensional power struggle.
With a grim smile, I accept that, for the first time, I feel very much like an adolescent—compelled by very self-centered inclinations that I only wish I could pursue. When I stop at the curb in front of Wren’s house, she remains seated, looking over at me with a resolute expression.
“I need some answers,” she says in a quiet yet unequivocal tone.
I look down, knowing that the time for evasion has passed. I wanted to protect her from the truth. I wanted to protect her from those who would use her for their own gain. I wanted to protect her from what I am.
The truth is that our worlds inevitably will collide, and she deserves some form of warning.
Alistair and Persephone have arrived at the Portland house, though fortunately for me, their appearance came shortly after my departure with Wren. Audra and Chasen will not be far behind. It is possible, though not likely, that I have aroused their suspicion with my short interval in the suburbs of Portland. Audra, certainly, would doubt that I came here by accident, or that I made a miscalculation in my search for the last human vessel remaining in this plane of existence.
Reaching up, I pinch the bridge of my nose, like I can somehow contain the havoc this girl has wreaked upon my existence, as well as the danger I have introduced into hers.
“I know,” I concede, looking up as Caroline Sullivan, who has been watching my car from the front window, hurries toward the front door to investigate what form of trouble has just arrived at her doorstep with her daughter.
Wren follows my gaze and panics when she sees her mother rushing from the house. Without a word to me, Wren wrenches open the car door and jumps from the vehicle, closing the door unceremoniously behind her in hopes that I will leave. Smiling, I make a decision that I very well may come to regret. At the moment, though, doing what I want for once brings me somewhere close to euphoria as I step from the car. I walk up behind Wren just as her mother arrives breathlessly in front of her daughter.
“You must be Ever,” Caroline Sullivan says with a warm smile.
Stiffening, Wren turns to glare at me, and then turns her gaze upon her mother, who is unabashedly studying me from head to toe, as humans say. She glances at her daughter.
Wow, this boy is—
Wren nudges her mother, knowing that I, too, am listening to her mother’s internal monologue. Wren looks at me again, narrowing her eyes.
Yeah. Ha, ha. My mom thinks you’re hot. To herself, she adds: Suddenly he has a sense of humor again?
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Sullivan,” I say with age-appropriate deference.
“God! That makes me sound so old. Caroline, please.”
I smile at Caroline Sullivan thinking of herself as old at a year and forty.
“Honey, I thought you were going to look at a car today,” she says, looking at Wren, who blushes as she struggles to produce an explanation for my presence
“I did. Well, I was, but—”
“Wren called me with some questions about the car,” I interrupt.
Her mother’s expression brightens when she remembers Wren’s story of how I “fixed” her car.
“Oh! That’s right. Wren said you helped her with the Z. I’m sorry, Ever. We’re being so rude. Would you like to come in?”
Wren turns toward her mother.
Mom! I’m sure he’s got better things to do than come in and get grilled, she thinks, embarrassed and exasperated.
“Thank you, but I’m expecting guests from out of town. Another time?”
Caroline Sullivan nods, appearing satisfied with my answer as Wren continues to frown in consternation and bemusement.
“Of course, of course. It’s just so good to finally meet one of Wren’s friends. We would love to have you over for dinner.”
I smile.
“Will tomorrow evening work for you both?” I ask.
Wren blinks and stares at me as though I just spoke in a language unfamiliar to her.
Did he just accept a dinner invitation from my mom? she thinks weakly.
“Great! Seven-thirty?” Caroline Sullivan asks.
Smiling again, I nod and walk to the car. As soon as I have stepped into the driver’s seat and closed the door behind me, Wren’s mother turns to her daughter with simultaneous elation and exasperation.
“Wren! How come you didn’t tell me that boyfriend of yours was so gorgeous? Sheesh!”
Wren frowns when her mother playfully swats her arm.
“Mom! Really, we’re not going out.”
As Caroline opens the front door, she reaches back to prod her daughter.
“Sure. He’s a friend. Wren, snap out of it! That young man is so in love with you.”
My hands grip the steering wheel as Wren stops, staring, stupefied by her mother’s casual proclamation.
“You want to get the pizza delivered now?” her mother calls. “We can finish it tonight.”
“Yeah, okay. Is it all right if I go up to my room for a bit?”
Caroline, her brow furrowed, walks to where Wren is standing and touches her forehead.
“You’re flushed. You feeling all right?”
“Yeah, fine,” Wren nods.
Parking the car a few streets over, I shift to the coast, unwilling to face the others. For now, Wren’s true nature is hidden from them, and I trust that none of them would act rashly without conferring with me first.
I walk through the house, discarding my clothing on the way to the cliffs beyond the pool. The wind whips at me as I push off the ground and dive toward the roiling waters below. The fall alone would kill almost any human, and if a person managed to avoid the rocks, the water—only reaching fifty to sixty degrees Fahrenheit in the summer months—would quickly render him or her hypothermic. I dive straight toward the ocean floor, reaching it as Wren types the word atonement into her Web browser.
As I watch the water swirling around me, Wren struggles to parse some meaning behind my single-word answer, fruitlessly staring at the definition in her Web browser.
a·tone·ment [uh-tohn-muh nt]
–noun
Amends or reparation made for an injury or wrong; expiation; recompense.
How does helping me make amends for anything?
She shakes her head and begins reviewing everything that has happened to her since she first saw me. Finally she sighs as she comes to a conclusion.
He isn’t evil, but he’s not human, either—I’m sure of that.
I begin to push upward, toward air I do not need to survive. As I break the surface of the water, her next thought pierces me like a blade.
The only other thing I’m certain of is that I am falling in love, even when I know that these feelings will tear me apart. Because I am an obligation to him—a way to repay some debt he thinks he owes. Nothing more.
Is it possible that this young human girl feels as inextricably linked to me—the being meant to destroy her—as I feel to her?
9: Truth
This girl’s sudden internal declaration … of love has annihilated any sense of control I thought I had over my emotions. Emotion is and always has been a weakness I cannot afford. To feel something for a human is worse. In caring for a vulnerable creature, I make myself vulnerable. And if Victor and his royal guard cannot destroy me, they will seek to destroy what I care for.
When did Wren’s fascination with me transform into something so dangerous? What she knows of me is sparse, and what she does not know could kill her.
My actions have diverged from that of the greater good. Of course, many humans across history have assumed their actions were in line with the greater good, when the greater good was, in fact, a mere extension of their greed and myopathy. War, genocide, oppression—all in the name of the greater good.
The difference between our kind—who have served as the guardians between this dimension and our own—and those who seek absolute power is simple. The only luxury we will pursue at any cost is
freedom, and it is a freedom that extends to humankind as well, even if humans remain ignorant of our war.
I should seek the others’ counsel—and confess my transgressions—but to do this would put Wren in peril from those I owe my allegiance. Staring down at the sketch of her face, I accept that I now owe my allegiance to her. Wren is not only capable of severing the connection between dimensions, but also is the one who has changed me in ways I never could have anticipated.
Time outside of her presence feels empty in a way I have never experienced. Time once was meaningless to me, having very little impact, but now it renders me desperate.
Craving such as this, like so many other impulses, is unfamiliar and disturbing in its intensity. As much as I could try to force myself to keep my distance, physically and mentally, from her, I fear that my impulse to be near her would overpower my best intentions. Giving in, I watch through Caroline Sullivan’s eyes as she approaches Wren’s bedroom door.
“Honey?” she asks, tapping on the door. “You ready to go to the store?”
Wren looks up from her textbook, still scowling over her mathematics assignment. Watching her, I have noticed it time and again. Her mind gravitates toward narratives, not equations. When confronted with an algebra problem, her thoughts wander, and I will admit that I take pleasure in how often her attention drifts to me.
Do humans appreciate how precious this feeling truly is—the desperation, the urgency, the all-consuming nature of what I feel? Despite eons in this dimension, I may well be feeling for the first time what Wren feels, something powerful enough to alter the unchangeable. A light has been sparked, obliterating the darkness that had encompassed me. Darkness I had believed to be an integral part of my very being has disappeared.
Am I being sentimental? Mawkish? Bathetic? I would have thought so. Unrestrained human emotion always seemed puerile at best, dangerous at its worst. Oddly, I have noticed that many of Wren’s age group in the Western world have a similarly dismissive attitude toward romantic love. Romeo is merely a fool. Bellicosity is revered, and they salivate over the dystopian.