Twixt

by Sarah Diemer

  I feel as if all the air has gone from me. I sag, crouch down, sit on the cold, wooden boards of the floor. I feel horrified that Charlie saw me like that; I don't remember it, don't want to remember anything more from that part of my existence. I bow my head, flushed and sad.

  Charlie squats down in front of me, tilts up my chin, and searches my eyes.

  “The thing about Twixt,” she says, voice cracking. She swallows, continues, “Is that everyone is obsessed with the past, right? Everyone. But in Twixt, we can’t touch the past anymore. All we can do is watch it. And we have no future. Everything in Twixt points to this moment. Right here. Right now. Because it’s all we have.”

  She’s holding my hand. I don’t remember her reaching across the space between us; I don’t remember her threading her fingers through mine. Cold tears falls down my face, and all I am is empty, is pain. “Charlie…”

  “No,” she whispers, shaking her head. “We’ve come to this place. We’re together. You, me. How do you explain that?”

  I breathe out. “Sometimes things just happen—”

  “This?” She looks down at our hands, presses her other hand to her heart. “This didn’t just happen.”

  I can’t stand to see her hand with my hand, try to disentangle them. “I’m a monster,” I breathe. “I’m not what you see. It’s an illusion, Charlie. I told you. I’m hideous—don’t you understand? Worse than what you've seen of the Snatchers, far worse. I’m a fallen creature. I’ve devoured souls; I’ve lived to devour souls—”

  “They killed you,” she says softly, leaning forward, “because you stopped.”

  “Oh, Charlie.” I press my face against her shoulder, feel her warmth as she wraps her arms around me, holding me close. I am so ashamed, disgrace slick on my skin, eating through to my insides.

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow," Charlie says, smoothing her hand over my hair. "I have nothing left, except for you. And you are the most lovely—”

  “Don't.” I’m shaking my head, trying to push away from her, but she stills me, arms firm, hands along my arms, eyes locked on mine.

  “Whatever you are, Lottie, I love you,” she whispers.

  “I don’t deserve it,” I’m telling her, but she’s shaking her head, tracing her fingers up my arm to my cheek, pressing a long finger against my lips.

  “It’s not about deserving. None of us has a past here, Lottie. And now…" She gazes at me, a faint smile curving her lips. "Now is ours. Let's not let it slip away."

  My heart aches—with pain and love, twined together, inseparable.

  "I love you, Lottie.”

  I reach across the space between us, curve my fingers through her hair, draw her to me, my lips against her lips, kissing her like she contains the air I need to breathe, like she is my air, my sky, the only thing that's real inside an artificial world.

  I kiss her, and I don’t know what’s going to happen now. I am so afraid, and I am so tired of being afraid. The Sixers, my sisters... They’re not afraid of anything, have never been afraid. They are, after all, monsters, and what does a monster need to fear?

  Charlie is warm and soft and lovely. She tastes of cinnamon, of fire, and when she drifts her fingers down my neck and shoulders again, taking the collar of my dress with them, her skin against mine is like cinnamon, too, a dusting of spice, of warmth, as she shrugs out of her coat and shirt, as I shrug out of my dress, the cloth crumpling against the floor like a textured shadow.

  In the darkness of the room, with the gentle, constant plinking of the Wisps against their glass jars, there’s just enough light to make out features, just enough light to be ashamed beneath her gaze. I feel the heat rising in me, and I cover myself, trying to hide even as I gaze up at her, at her strength as she stands before me, beautiful, perfect, her curves swelling with her shadows in the soft yellow light.

  “Stop,” she says, and she takes my hands. “Stop,” she murmurs, her mouth against my skin. “You’re beautiful,” she says, and she whispers it over and over as my tears come, as we lay down on Edgar’s bed, as I move beneath her fingers, her lips, all I am a heartbeat.

  She presses her palms against my palms, our black lines merging together as I close my eyes, feeling her length over mine, like stars over earth. I remember stars as she captures my mouth with hers.

  I’ve never loved. There was nothing to pin that feeling to, that intensity of growing heart, that rush of blood through veins. Love was the luxury of beings who could die, because then life was precious, not a commodity. Not something to be devoured.

  But I died, didn’t I? I was killed, and I know what things are precious, and maybe I knew before, when I was sickened by our gluttony, by our greed. As she touches me, her fingers moving over my skin like light, like shadow, I know a new hunger. I know what things are precious. And they can merge together, these two concepts...

  They have.

  I love her, I know. And with the acknowledgment of that, I am no longer afraid as she tastes me, touches me, as I taste and touch her. The fear falls away like a husk, like a metamorphosis, as she tears away the layers of ugliness to what I am beneath.

  In her eyes, something lovely.

  She whispers my name in the dark. The name she gave me.

  “Lottie…”

  And her love devours me whole, shaping me. Changing me. Making me over, new.

  I am not afraid.

  Chapter Eight: Hunt

  “Well.”

  I sit up, breath coming fast, Charlie opening an eye beside me blearily, not making a single motion to cover up. We’re both sprawled on the bed, limbs tangled together like string that you’ll never unravel.

  “It’s not like I haven’t caught you in the act a thousand times,” is what Charlie tells Edgar, who stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, smug smile curving his lips up beneath his mustache.

  “True, true. But it is my bed.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Charlie sits up then, runs her fingers through her hair, grinning at me. Edgar picks up her pants gingerly, tossing them to her from the floor, and she swings her legs over the side of the bed, sliding the pants on one leg at a time. I watch her distractedly, thinking over last night…and yesterday.

  “The Sixers are moving up the Bone Feast,” says Edgar then, smile falling away from his face. “I just heard the news. I think they’re using it to try to flush Lottie out of hiding. They’re doing it tomorrow.”

  “Shit,” Charlie murmurs, glancing at me.

  “They won’t find me. I know what I have to do,” I tell both of them. “It’s just…” I trail off, pick at a thread disentangling itself from the blanket, wrap it around my fingers. “It just seems impossible.”

  “I love impossible things,” says Edgar, folding his arms. “For example: a Sleeper and a Sixer falling in love! Nothing is as impossible as it seems, ever.” He seems so resolute when he says that, and tips his hat cheerfully.

  So he believes me now. And…I don't think he's afraid of me anymore.

  I take a deep breath, glance to Charlie. She's still grinning at me. I smile back.

  “Well,” I say slowly, carefully, sobering. “It seems impossible, because I need to convince the Sleepers to give in to their worst fear—to get Snatched.”

  Edgar and Charlie, Fetchers who have been trained to avoid the Snatchers at all costs, lean forward, though I can't help noticing how their faces pale, how Charlie's grin vanishes.

  I stare at the floor, swallow, but Charlie moves against me and covers my hands with hers.

  “We’re listening,” she promises, bending down to brush her lips over my fingers.

  *

  I remain in Edgar’s room, because I can’t be seen. If I’m seen, the Sixers will hear about it, fast. Anyone besides Charlie, besides Edgar and Violet, would rather have the reward of Nox than protect me and risk the Sixers' wrath. And I can't blame them.

  Charlie’s left, and Edgar, too. I watched them walk away from Black House witho
ut looking back as I peeked around the edge of the curtains, wishing I were with them. This place, being trapped in this place, with no way out, makes my heart race. But at nightfall, I’ll be free again, and tomorrow, everything will begin.

  I pace the room quietly, counting my footsteps. I lean against the wall, think about last night, my body aching for her, for Charlie. It feels so much, this body. I stare down at my hands, touch my fingers to my palms. When she left today, right in front of Edgar, she put her arms around my waist, drew me forward and kissed me deeply. It made my heart leap up against my ribs, that kiss, and when she stepped back, she was grinning, eyes downcast, hair feathered and floating around her head like light. I loved her so much in that moment, it was this fierceness of knowing that flooded through me, so warm it made me breathe out, breathless.

  I promised Charlie that I would to try to stay in the present. Now, here. In the only moment I have. But it’s impossible, really… I have to think about tomorrow. I have to think about all of the people who need to know the truth—about Twixt, about themselves. The people I hope to save. The people I might fail utterly.

  This, all of this, could crumble at any moment for any number of reasons. If the Sixers find me—if they kill me again, devour my soul… I’d be lying to say that I don’t fear it. Of course I do. I can’t imagine nothingness, though I’ve brought it about myself so many times.

  But I fear more what will happen to these people if I don’t act, if I don’t try to shift things. And now Charlie and Edgar know. If the Sixers find me, eat me up, Charlie and Edgar could lead the Sleepers. They could start a revolution. I know they would. They would change things, and that’s enough. That has to be enough for me.

  But still, I pace.

  Edgar and Charlie went to find Violet, and though I’m no judge of daylight, I think it’s halfway through the day when I hear footsteps outside Edgar’s door. Though I’ve been peeking out of the curtains at intervals, I might have missed their return.

  A creak of boards, feet against wood. And the door does not open.

  There’s a knock against it.

  Not Charlie, then. Not Edgar. I stare at the door, heart pounding. I glance at the bed that’s so far away, that’s too close to the ground, anyway, to hide me, and then I look to the curtains.

  When the door opens, when Isabel steps in, I have my body pressed as close to the wall as I can, breathing in and out softly. The curtain is likely still gusting from my movements, when I twitched them aside and inserted my body into a natural fold. I can see Isabel only peripherally; she steps into the room, casting her eyes about, hands on her hips.

  She pauses for far too long, and then she turns, angling her body towards the curtains.

  She locks eyes with me, peering through the curtain’s crack against the wall.

  “Isabel?” calls Miss Black from the hall. “Anything?”

  “No, Miss Black,” she says sweetly, stepping forward, kicking the door shut behind her. “I see you,” she whispers then, in a chilling, singsong voice.

  I push the heavy curtains aside, watching her, panting. I consider the window, leaping from it, but it’s daylight outside, and this close to the Wanting Market, there are Sleepers out there. They’ll see me. And if I injure myself, I won't be able to run fast enough to escape, hide…

  I could run past Isabel, out the door, down into Black House. But are there Sixers in here? Did they demand another search? Is that why Isabel’s here, looking in Edgar's room?

  We stare at one another for a long moment, Isabel and I.

  I lick my lips. I open my mouth. “Isabel—”

  “I’ll scream,” she whispers.

  We stay still, standing, staring at one another.

  “What do you want?” I ask then, heavily.

  She watches me for a long moment, nose up, lips in a sneer. But it falters—for a heartbeat, the bitter curve slips from her mouth, and in its place, there's something…pain-filled. Longing.

  “Is Charlie going to get into trouble because of you?” she hisses then, startling me.

  I blink, silent for so long that she gets angry, takes a step forward, hands balled into fists.

  “Why would you care?” The words whip from my tongue, shocking her motionless.

  She opens and shuts her mouth. There are tears in her eyes, and she dashes them away with the backs of her wrists, turns, puts her hand on the doorknob.

  “I don’t know,” I answer her, then. “I don’t know if she will suffer because of me. It’s all… All of this is wrong, Isabel. If you’d just let me tell you the truth—”

  “I won’t say I found you,” she whispers and, pasting a smile on her face, lets herself out into the hall, shutting the door with a click behind her.

  I stare at the door, slumping, kneeling down upon the floorboards, my whole body shaking.

  I don’t know if she’ll keep her word; she might trot off to Miss Black right now, or to the Sixers themselves. But there was something in the way she spoke…

  I think I believe her.

  Charlie did love her once, after all.

  I itch at my skin, lean against the wall, close my eyes, try not to think too much about Charlie embracing Isabel, kissing her, whispering into her ear, tracing her fingers over her pale skin.

  I scrub at my eyes, stare down at my palms, my hands.

  All that time, Isabel was using Charlie…wasn’t she?

  Is Charlie going to get into trouble because of you?

  I don't know how much time passes, but the next time the door opens, Edgar and Violet are there. And Charlie… Oh, Charlie. I rise stiffly from the floor, race across the space between us and put my arms around her shoulders. I kiss her once, then back up, breathing out as she smiles at me worriedly, squeezing my hands with her reassuring fingers.

  “Hi,” says Violet, shoving her hands into her pockets, mouth sideways, pushing past us to get into the room. “Are you…okay?”

  “Yeah,” I manage, glancing to Edgar, who leans against the now-shut door. I don’t want to talk about Isabel, not with Charlie—and, after all, Isabel promised not to say anything.

  And the Sixers haven't come for me yet.

  “What’s going on outside?” I ask.

  “They’re preparing for the Bone Feast and ripping Abeo apart looking for you,” says Edgar softly, studying his nails again. “But it seems they’ve stopped searching the Safe Houses. And I really do think they’re assuming you’ll come out of hiding for the Bone Feast. Or that you’ll be much easier to find then. Who can guess how a Sixer thinks?”

  There's a moment of tension, as I draw my mouth closed and stare intently at the wall. No one speaks, the answer to Edgar's question quivering in the air.

  Who can guess how a Sixer thinks…but a Sixer herself?

  I run my hands through my hair, separate from Charlie, go back to pacing the small room. “The Sixers built Abeo. They can find anyone or anything, but I don’t think they can find themselves. Me. I think I’m hidden from them. I must be, or they would have found me already, wouldn’t they have?” I bite my lip.

  “We’ve a night. Tomorrow morning, the Bone Feast begins, and that’s when we’ve got to start moving.” Edgar smoothes his mustache, sighs, pausing. “You know, I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, and I must say, Lottie—it would be so much easier to sell this story to the Sleeping mob if it wasn’t all leading up to getting Snatched.”

  “The Sixers set it up that way on purpose.” My voice is so small. “The Snatchers needed to be as terrifying as possible so that no one would figure out that they were the way to escape Abeo City.”

  “It’s just hard to swallow, is all,” says Violet, then, leaning against the wall. She hasn’t smiled at me, hasn’t really looked at me since coming in. “All of this.”

  “Violet,” says Charlie, watching her, but she shakes her head, pushes off and crosses her arms.

  “I know you both explained it to me. I got it all. It's just…” Violet shrugs her s
houlders, eyes on the floor.

  I glance to Edgar, who raises his eyebrows. “We can’t say the ‘d’ word, but we can sure as hell say ‘not living,’ apparently.” He winks at me.

  “But, Lottie…” Violet lets her arms fall and gazes at me now. There’s fear in her eyes, a trembling in the blue. “A Sixer?”

  “I’m sorry," I say, and bow my head.

  I am sorry. I'm responsible, in part, for all of this. Perhaps I'm even worse than my sisters, because I always felt it was wrong, and I let it happen, anyway. My hands knot together, and I stand before the window, the curtains drawn tight.

  “No,” mutters Charlie, then, standing a little straighter. “We are what we are, Vi. You know that. And we do what we can with what we are and what we’ve been given. We can’t help where we come from, but we can sure as Snatchers help where we’re going.”

  I turn from the window, look to Violet. She watches Charlie for a long moment, shifts her gaze back to me. My feet are planted firmly beneath my hips, and I stand there, fingernails dug into my palms but locking eyes with her.

  “It’s just hard,” Violet begins, and falters when she sees my face.

  “Tell me about it,” I say quietly, simply.

  We stare at one another, and she relents, stepping forward, putting her arms around me. “Lottie, I’m afraid.”

  “Of me?” I close my eyes, returning the embrace, my arms loose around her shoulders.

  “No,” she says, then, shaking her head against my shoulder, and I believe her. “Of all of this. Of the other Sixers. Of the Snatchers. Of Abeo. Of Twixt. To imagine that there could be an ending to this…not a terrible ending, like I always thought I’d get, but something all right… And it is all right, what comes after. Right, Lottie?”

  I squeeze her tightly, work my jaw. “Yes. That I remember, for the people flown away from Twixt, it was…all right.”

  “To imagine that…” she huffs out, pressing her nose to my shoulder. “It’s hard to imagine that, because all I’ve been doing is running from everything since I got here, just like everyone else. But to imagine something better is… It’s hard to find a word for it.” She falters, presses away from me, searching my face.