by Sara Ella
His demand is very stage left. Is he going to drown me? “What?” I avoid eye contact.
He digs the blade deeper, breaking skin. I try to lean away, but his grip is too firm. “Either get in or be dragged in.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“When you can’t touch the bottom anymore, swim down. Haman will be waiting on the other side.”
The other side? Haman? Maybe Ky is some psycho, escaped from a mental hospital. Of course, that doesn’t explain his freeze-ray eyes. Still, if I play along I might be able to escape. “You’re not coming?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You and your questions.” Ky spits to one side.
This is my chance. “So I just go out to where it’s too deep to stand and then swim to the bottom?”
“Yes.” Ky looks around, back toward the path. “Now hurry up.”
What’s he so nervous about?
I feign compliance and shrug, suppressing a grin. “Okay. But you’ll have to let my arm go first.”
He releases me with a shove, and I tread the freezing shallows. My sneakers become instant weights. I’ll never gain distance in them now. I remove each one and chuck them ashore.
Ky is a statue, arms crossed, watching me.
I move forward, ignoring the shivers already taking over. My feet sink with each step. Once the water reaches waist high, I push off from the muddy bed and swim. Something squirms by my leg. I jerk away. Gross.
When I point my toes and can’t reach the bottom anymore, I glimpse the shore one last time. Ky hasn’t moved. I take a deep breath. Then I dive. The water is dank. Murky. I can’t see a thing.
If I can get deep enough, I’ll be able to swim forward and hide beneath the Pond’s bridge. I’ll wait in the shadows until Ky leaves. When it’s safe, I’ll swim to land. Go home.
A hand grabs my ankle and yanks me down.
I claw for the surface. Chest tightens. Lungs burn. The grip on my ankle is too much. Down, down, down. How deep is this thing anyway? I’m dizzy. I’m going to pass out.
And then, out of nowhere, another hand grabs me, but this time around my bicep. I’m a rope in a tug-of-war, and Team Ankle is winning. I kick with every modicum of feistiness and teenage angst I have left. I don’t know if the other contestant is friend or foe, but he’s yanking me in the direction I want to, no, need to go.
Thwack! My heel meets bone . . . a nose? I’m free.
With my rescuer’s help I swim for the surface. When I break it, I gulp. Lie on my back and float. I can’t swim anymore. Then I’m dragged along until I finally reach earth.
Whoever saved me is propping my head now. Cough. Spit. Gasp. “Thank you.” Was that my voice or did I trade with a toad?
“Quiet now. We don’t have much time.”
Mom?
I look up. My vision blurs. Blink, blink, blink. Oh my—“Mom!” This can’t be real.
“Hi, brave girl.” She looks different, older somehow.
I scramble to sit. I cry out, and something reminiscent of a seal bark protrudes. “Mom, what’s happening?” Sob after chest-jolting sob spills forth. I clutch the fabric of her clothes, afraid if I let go she’ll vanish with my next breath.
She strokes my wet hair, finger-combing the tangles. “I need you to listen to me now. We may have only moments.”
Choking fear wraps jagged talons around my heart. “What do you mean?”
“I thought keeping all of this from you was the best thing. But I was wrong. You need to know the truth so you can guard your heart against the lies.” She cranes her neck.
I follow her lead and search for Ky on the opposite shore. He’s gone. Good riddance.
She grips my shoulders, and we lock gazes again. Her stare bores into my soul. I brace myself.
“You are not of this Reflection, Eliyana. I brought you here to hide you from those who seek to use you. In hopes you’d have a normal life. I wanted you to have a choice.”
Reflection? Normal? Nothing about any of this is normal. “Why would anyone want to use me?”
“Because of this.” Mom touches four fingertips to my birthmark.
I shudder. “I don’t—”
“This”—she traces my cheek—“is not what it seems. These markings on your face make you a target. The enemy knows about you now. It’s not safe here for you anymore.”
“Enemy? Target? You’re not making sense.” Has someone drugged her?
Mom sighs. Moonlight reflects off her pooling tears. With a shaky breath she says, “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I never should have kept—”
Splash! She doesn’t have the chance to finish. Whatever just broke through the water is coming right at us.
SIX
Far Away
An arrow—an arrow—darts by, inches from my face. Pings the maple tree behind Mom.
“Run!” She yanks me to a stand. We trip over stones and midget bushes along the shore up a small incline to the winding path around the Pond. A copse of trees rises beyond the sidewalk. Mom sprints into it, literally dragging me. She’s going to dislocate my arm. Who’d have thought she could run this fast? When we’re somewhat sheltered, she stops, grabs me by the shoulders, and looks past me, wild-eyed. “Give me your sweatshirt.”
I’m panting. I grip my aching side to keep from falling over. “What?”
Mom sheds her navy-blue, open-front cardigan. The same one she wore last time I saw her. “Trade me.”
We’re both soaked. What good will trading clothes do? “Why?”
She seizes my hoodie’s zipper, pulls it down, and peels the whole thing off in one swift move the way she did when I was young. She thrusts her cardigan at me and dons my sweatshirt. “You are to stay here until Joshua comes to get you. Do you understand me?”
“What?” I choke on the word. “No.”
Mom wraps me in a tight hug. “I’ll see you again. I promise. But right now the most important thing is keeping you far away from Jasyn Crowe.”
The hug doesn’t last. Who’s Jasyn Crowe? I don’t care. Only Mom matters. How can I let her go again? I won’t. “No.” I snatch her hand. Draw her deeper into the trees. “We’re going home. Together.”
She slides her fingers out of my sweaty ones and backs away. “I love you.”
I blink. She’s gone.
I love you too.
Fwit. An arrow sticks out from the ground before me.
I fight the urge to run after her, or better yet, start screaming so the shooters will come for me. What just happened? A dream? Did I fall victim to unconsciousness and am now drowning at the bottom of the Pond?
Fwit. An arrow grazes my arm, tears right through Mom’s sweater. I hiss through my teeth. Touch three fingers to my stinging skin. When I lift them, bright red blood paints their tips.
Not a dream.
I press my hand over the wound. I’m a duet of nausea and panic. What should I do? Mom said to wait here, but what if I could save her? I bend and scoop up the arrow. Where’d the other one go? I shuffle around the dirt and twigs with my bare feet. Got it. With both arrows in my free hand, I dart in the direction she went.
There’s too much light on the path. Some spills from the lampposts. Some streams down from Fifth Avenue. I stay on it anyway. Where were the arrows coming from? How did Mom just . . . vanish?
An arm materializes in front of me, jerks me into the trees. Now I really am getting whiplash.
I whirl, arrows pointed like spears.
A tall man in a black trench coat frowns down at me. “Makai?”
“Yes.” He squints, focusing on something behind me. A quiver of arrows is slung over his back, a bow held close at his side.
Now I’ve seen everything.
He shoves a hand in his pocket, removes a white handkerchief, and hands it over. “Wrap it around your arm to stop the bleeding. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I remain, helpless as a toddler in a playpen. I’m not stupid. I’m not the gir
l in the horror flick running up the stairs in her underwear when she should be running out the door. I have enough brains to know when to act. When to stay put. But I’m tired of everyone treating me like a baby.
I unfold the white square, one-handed. Shimmering blue thread embroiders three initials in one corner—E.K.C. I drop the arrows, roll the cloth into a loose line, and tie it around my arm. The pressure pinches, a good, stay-alive pain.
Target. Enemy. Reflection. The words switch around like the notes of an unfinished composition. How can I believe any of it? How can I not? After everything I’ve seen tonight, my disbelief morphs closer to conviction each second. A boy with the power to render his victim immovable. Arrows soaring through Central Park. Mom appearing and disappearing. This isn’t just weird, it’s otherworldly.
A not-so-distant scream pierces the night. Mom.
I won’t stand behind the curtain while Mom’s fight scene takes center stage. Dumb or not, I have to help her.
With an arrow in each hand, I stumble onto the path and move north. Wet bangs stick to my forehead and hang before my eyes. I part them, push them off my face. Where’s Makai? How does he keep disappearing? Water laps the shore to my left. Arrows zip by between interludes. Shouldn’t I hear shouts—something to alert me of the raging battle?
The bridge rises just ahead. I stop and wait. Silence. I cross. I’m jogging now, don’t slow when I cross paths with another unobservant pedestrian or two. Should I really be surprised when no one offers help? Wonders why a sopping girl is walking around barefoot, arrows fisted in each hand?
I’ll give you that one, Ky. Most people are totally self-absorbed.
The gritty sidewalk scrapes my bare feet. I ignore the blisters, the skin stripping off layer by layer. It would be worse to walk around in soggy shoes. I’m almost where I started with Ky. Where is everyone? Where are the arrows coming from? What—?
A single arrow shoots from the water, into the air. The battle is . . . underwater?
One deep, gulping gasp. Mom’s head surfaces. She screams again. Flails and disappears—pulled under?
Drawing in a huge breath, I dive after her. When I open my eyes, they burn against inky water. I swim forward. Down. My oxygen supply dwindles. What am I looking for? Guess I’ll know when I find it.
A pinprick of clear, green light beckons me deeper. I swim closer and the light grows, first into a beam, then a pool. When I’m directly above it, the glare is almost too much. Like a glowing emerald treasure lost at sea, the light sparkles and shines. Draws me in. Mesmerizes me.
And then it really is sucking me deep into its whirlpool. I let it take me. For Mom. A hand reaches out from the light’s nucleus. A head appears. There she is. Her face contorts, her eyes closed, her teeth clenched. Someone, or something, is hurting her.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
I kick hard, aiding the whirlpool in consuming me. I ignore the pain in my lungs, forget I can’t breathe. I have only one goal, one purpose—save Mom. I stretch for her, but she’s sucked into the light. Faster. Deeper. Closer. Green surrounds me. I have to reach her. I have to.
Another whiplash. I’m hauled backward, up and out, away from the light. Away from Mom. No! I try to scream, but opening my mouth only floods my lungs. Wiggle, squirm, kick. I don’t need rescuing. I need to keep going. But I’m not strong enough. Whoever’s gripping me refuses to relent. I don’t give up. I resist all the way to the oxygenated surface.
When my face hits the cold night air, I release the arrows and cry out. Relieved. Agonized. I couldn’t help her. She was right in front of me. I should’ve fought harder.
“Eliyana, are you okay? What in the world were you trying to do, get yourself killed?” A blend of relief and anger salts Joshua’s voice. He has hold of my hand, his fingers threaded through mine. I’ve always imagined our hands intertwining this way. So what.
I wrench away, but he won’t let go. “I was trying to save my mom.”
He shakes his head. “El—” He squeezes my hand.
“I’m not crazy. She saved me. I saw her.”
“It’s not that. I don’t think you’re crazy. I know she’s alive.”
“You do?” And you didn’t tell me?
A slight nod. Is that an apology in his eyes?
“Then we have to go back down there. We have to—”
“We’ll get her. I promise. But not that way.”
My mouth opens in automatic protest. Before I can argue he says, “I’ll explain everything, but first we need to get to safety.” He pulls me against him, and I stop breathing mid-exhale. Our bodies touch from chest to hip. His face is so close to mine our noses nearly brush.
My entire body is percussion. All beating organs and thrumming nerves. Is he trying to distract me?
And then it’s over. Joshua turns and pulls my arms around his neck. Even dripping wet, he smells of autumn—cedar sprinkled with cinnamon and cloves. “Trust me. Okay?”
Mom’s words. I let my muscles relax. Rest my head against his back and take in his heartbeat’s steady rhythm. My own pulse slows to match. A single, traitorous sob escapes. Joshua’s shoulders tense. He felt it. Does he care?
More than you know, sweetheart.
Yet another assurance of Mom’s I can’t believe. Since that night I’ve done my best to pack all our memories together in a box marked Do Not Open—a box I stuffed away in the attic of my emotional storage unit. Being close to him makes me want to peek inside that box, sort through those times. Examine them. What went wrong?
“How’d you find me, anyway? I dropped my phone back at the party.”
“This was the most likely Threshold they’d use.” Before I can ask what a Threshold is, he adds, “There’s also a tracking device implanted in the necklace I gave you. Insurance. In case something happened to your phone.” He clears his throat. “You can let go now.” His voice, deep and husky, rumbles through his chest.
I release my grip, and we walk the few feet to the shore. I cover the pendant resting against my collarbone with my palm. Not a gift, then. Part of his job. Another ruse. Another lie. Was any of it real?
When I’m standing ashore, drenched inside and out, I glance at the water. It’s still. Ordinary. No arrows. No battle raging beneath the surface.
Nothing aside from the silent procession accompanying the second funeral I’ve attended this week.
This is the longest silence in the history of long silences.
Joshua busies himself with what could be a kindergarten construction project. A leaning stack of peanut butter sandwiches tops my kitchen island. He adds slice after slice of bread, spreading the tan paste like mortar over spongy white bricks.
I run a brush through my damp hair, water droplets pelting the floor. The wound on my arm has been properly bandaged, Makai’s handkerchief tucked in the back pocket of my jeans. “Care to explain?” I try to hide the anger shading my voice. If Joshua hadn’t intervened, if I’d had one more second, maybe Mom would be standing here too.
He doesn’t look up. “When we’re safe.”
Why won’t he look at me? He goes from summer to winter as often as Mom runs out of pencils. “We’re not safe now?” And what about Mom? What about her safety?
He stops midspread. The corner of his mouth twitches. “No.”
The doorbell rings. Neither of us moves. All the lamps in the house are off, per Joshua’s instructions. Only the range light under the microwave glows pale gold.
Bing-bong.
He circumvents the island and pauses when he reaches me. “Get down on the floor. Don’t move until I come for you.”
I nod, lower myself to the refinished wood. I’ve never seen him so serious, so focused. This may be just a job to him, but he’s good at it.
Every step he takes echoes through the brownstone. The sounds give his positions away, each call unique. One floorboard pops this way, another protests that way. When he’s by the door, I picture him peeking out the window to see if
the person on the other side is friend or foe. The door creaks open. Must be safe to reappear.
“I cannot believe you’d be so careless as to let her out of your sight like that. You know better than anyone what her life is worth.” Makai is back. And he’s pacing. His boots squeak as he clunks across the foyer.
“I made a mistake. I didn’t want to force her into the middle of all this. It’s not her battle to fight.”
Makai emits a cynical laugh. “Like the Void it isn’t.”
I may have just developed a heart murmur. Battle? Void? “Okay, what on earth is going on here?” I enter the foyer.
Joshua’s jaw tightens. “I thought I told you to stay put.”
“I’m not a child. I don’t need you to protect me.” Except I so do, but I’ll never admit it.
Makai stops midstride and offers a discreet bow. “Eliyana. I don’t believe we’ve been formerly introduced. I’m Makai Archer, Commander of the Guardians. I’ve watched over you and your mother since just after you were born.”
His greeting is so formal I almost curtsy. “It’s just El. ” I draw his handkerchief from my pocket. It’s wrinkled and stained. Maybe he won’t want it back.
Makai accepts the damaged cloth, rubs it between his thumb and forefinger, before stowing it inside his coat. His expression sinks from angry to solemn. “I apologize we couldn’t meet under better circumstances. I did what I could for your mother.” His eyes glow, the orangey-brown color of cello wood. “I followed Crowe’s men through the Forest of Night, but I had to turn back. I vowed I would always protect you, first and foremost.” Why doesn’t he sound too happy about that arrangement?
I shake my head. Just listening hurts. “I have no idea what you just said.”
Makai looks at Joshua. “You haven’t told her?”
Joshua shrugs. “I was getting to it. There hasn’t exactly been a good time—”
“Eliyana, Joshua is your personal Guardian. He came here to assist me in protecting you when we discovered Crowe might have gotten a tip as to your existence.”
Three years? Joshua has been my Guardian for—I can’t even.
“The situation has escalated recently. We believe someone on this side discovered your location and has been sending him information since.”