Unblemished

by Sara Ella

  I shake my head again. “English please. Who is Jasyn Crowe? Where’s my mom, and why was I led to believe she was dead? What do you mean by ‘this side,’ and why does this thing”—I point to my birthmark—“make me a target?”

  “These are all very good questions,” Makai says. “But they have to wait. We must get you to the Haven before Crowe discovers you are not the one his men apprehended.”

  Oh my—“Mom. She took my sweatshirt. They think she’s me.”

  “Soulless.” Joshua nearly vomits the word. “Vile, emotionless creatures, but too focused on themselves to see past their own noses.”

  “My best guess,” Makai continues, “is Crowe faked Elizabeth’s death to throw us off. He wants you alone and vulnerable. Elizabeth escaped because she knew he would send his men for you next. She wouldn’t have been able to do it on her own. Crowe’s castle is swarming with guards, which means your mother has an ally on the inside—good news for us.”

  “How do you know my mom?” The question bursts free before I can stop it. “Are you my dad?”

  Makai scratches his cheek. “No. I am not your father, but I knew him.”

  Finally, some answers. “Who is he? Can you take me to him?” Maybe he can help us.

  He frowns. “I said I knew him. I do not anymore.”

  “We really need to get going.”

  No way. Ignoring Joshua’s interruption, I plant my feet, place my hands on my hips. “I’m not going anywhere until one of you gives me a straight answer.”

  Makai sighs. “Your father’s name was Tiernan Archer. He was my younger brother.”

  Was. I grieve inwardly for the man I never knew—never will know. “What happened to him?”

  “Tiernan disappeared seventeen years ago, but I have no delusions about my brother. About what he . . . became.” The muscle beneath Makai’s right eye twitches.

  I lean forward. “And?”

  His face softens for the first time since he walked through the door. “Tiernan turned Soulless.” A pause. A shift. “He’s never coming back.”

  SEVEN

  Tragic Place

  It’s 10:00 a.m. but this makes no difference. No matter the time of day, the subway tunnels always smell like urine.

  Joshua shoulders two backpacks—he refused to let me carry my own. I’m wearing my gray parka, unzipped over a long-sleeved aqua V-neck tee. Mom’s black Uggs are warm and cozy around my toes. We always shared clothes. Is there a chance we will again?

  A hobo with fingerless gloves and Santa Claus whiskers lies incapacitated against the wall, a poster advertising an MTA smartphone app above him. We pass him. Stop a few feet behind the yellow safety line. Wait.

  The subway isn’t empty on a Sunday by any means. It just attracts a different sort of crowd. A mom with twin boys in matching plaid shorts and polo shirts trots down the steps, followed by a dad with an umbrella stroller in one arm and a wiggling toddler in the other. CEOs dressed for a morning on the green and child-free nannies enjoy a day off. Columbia students with lattes in hand chat about the upcoming Thanksgiving and winter breaks. It’s a day of recreation, a day to forget the busyness of the week ahead. For everyone but us.

  I lean toward Makai. “How far are we going?” Translation: How long until I’m in the same vicinity as Mom?

  He’s still carrying his bow and quiver. Nobody looks at him twice though. It’s New York. Weird is normal.

  “We’ll get off just before the tunnel passes beneath the East River. Then we walk.” An omniscient smile spreads across Makai’s face. For the first time he looks less than intimidating. Something tells me when he says “walk,” he doesn’t mean above ground.

  When the train screeches toward us, Joshua enfolds a protective arm around me. I should shrug him off, still unable to completely forgive him for thwarting Mom’s rescue, but his nearness fills a longing inside. “Stay close. We’re not sure what awaits us at the Threshold.”

  Threshold? There’s that word again. The doors slide open before I can ask. People pile in like remote-control droids. I start in after them, but Joshua’s embrace tightens as Makai extends an arm in front of us. It’s the same gesture Mom always made when a bus came to a sudden stop. The doors are about to close. We’re not going to make it. Then I’m rushed forward. We leave the platform just in time before being captured by the car’s metal jaws.

  The car rattles into darkness. Joshua grasps the bar above his head. I can’t help but lean against him when the momentum impairs my balance.

  Makai inclines his head. “Six o’clock.”

  Joshua nods, then glances back and to the right.

  I follow his gaze through the mass of bodies. A blond boy with nostrils flaring watches us from the car’s other end. My small breakfast of coffee and toast churns in my gut.

  Joshua draws me closer. “Kyaphus. What do you suggest?”

  Makai’s cool expression doesn’t alter. He’d be a good Buckingham Palace guard. “Follow my lead.”

  Thump, thump, thump. Is that my heartbeat or Joshua’s? It palpitates faster, louder. I know what Ky is capable of. I never want to feel trapped inside my own body again.

  When the train stops at Rockefeller Center, we exit. I’m expecting to book it up the stairs, but we just stand there, straddling the line between train and platform. What are we doing? We have to move.

  Natives shove past, casting us dirty looks for blocking the exit. I glance between my protectors. Their eyes communicate understanding, while I remain clueless. Hello? Won’t someone fill me in?

  Ky exits three doors down. Strides our way. Makai shoves Joshua and me onto the train. The doors close, reducing us to spectators while Makai enters the lion’s den.

  I push against the doors, dig my fingers into the crevice between them. Worthless. My strongest link to Mom is going to sacrifice himself to save me. Us. What is Joshua doing? Why won’t he fight?

  “Stop, Eliyana.” An eerie sort of calm, a resolve, laces his voice.

  My face flames.

  Beyond the glass, Ky pulls his glass blade from his sweatshirt pocket and lunges.

  Makai vanishes. Where’d he go?

  Ky grabs what appears to be thin air, struggling against an invisible duress. He jerks his head left, right, as if avoiding a punch to the face.

  Now I’ve seen everything.

  The train lurches and glides. Ky plunges his knife into nothing.

  Makai reappears, the dagger sunk deep into his shoulder.

  As the tunnel ingests us, I turn into Joshua. Let the walls crumble in this tragic place. I have a good excuse. I bury my face into his chest, and he strokes my hair. We don’t speak. We don’t have to. We spend the rest of the ride this way, clinging to each other. Somehow I know, in this moment, he needs me as much as I need him.

  “Kyaphus won’t be far behind.” Joshua grasps my hand as we exit the train.

  I won’t read too much into it. It’s part of his job, keeping me close.

  We stand aside and wait for the train to leave. Joshua shrugs my backpack off his shoulder, passes it to me. “You should eat.”

  I accept the purple JanSport and sling it over my back, sliding my arms through the loops. Our hands separate, but he joins them again the moment my backpack is in place. “Not hungry.”

  “I’ll carry it, El. I just gave it to you so you could eat.”

  I shake my head. “We’ll be faster if we’re balanced. I’ll pull my own weight.”

  He knows I’m right. It’s why he doesn’t argue.

  Once the train slithers away, he hops off the platform onto the tracks and reaches for me. “We need to hurry. Our window is small.”

  I plant my hands on his shoulders, and he lifts me down. When I’m on firm ground, he takes my hand again, leads me into darkness. Nobody stops us or tries to wave us back. Welcome to the city of minding your own business.

  Joshua removes a Maglite from his backpack and clicks it on, illuminating our trail. Then he picks up his pace.


  I have to double my steps to keep my short legs in sync with his long ones. We veer close to the wall, maintaining a sizable distance from the third rail. Gulp. Becoming underground roadkill is one thing, but electrocution is probably the last way I’d choose to die.

  “What are you thinking?”

  What if Mom is already dead? What if we’re too late? It’s my fault Makai’s gone. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to me, El. I know you.”

  “Do you?” I try to free my hand.

  He holds on tighter. “More than you know.” I can’t see his face, but it doesn’t matter. I know every expression, every furrow and frown.

  Grating metal resounds through the tunnel like fingernails on chalkboard.

  We share one glance. Our hands part. Then we’re running, backpacks bouncing against our spines. Why does everything involve this stupid sport these days?

  Slap. Slap. Slap.

  We avoid the rails. Stay to one side. Our footsteps echo, lost beneath the scream of the approaching train. One thing’s for sure—if we survive this, I’ll never ride the subway again.

  “There it is!”

  Huh? Oh. An alcove, ahead and to the left. We’ll have to jump over the tracks to get there. Peachy.

  Light floods the walls. The train rounds the bend. “We’re not going to make it,” I shout.

  Joshua swerves and I follow. We hurdle left, my entire body seizing when I leap over the “death rail.” We duck into the alcove at the exact moment the train whooshes by. The backdraft nearly blows me off my feet. Joshua steadies me. Then I lose my footing. I’m falling. He’s falling. We greet the ground with the breath knocked out of us.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Not physically. “I’m fine. You?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead he gets up, grabs my hand, and helps me do the same. When I’m upright, he releases me.

  To the right there’s a metal door with the word Maintenance posted on it in peeling white letters.

  “Follow me.” Joshua pushes down on the handle, opens the door, and enters a narrow hallway. We follow it, Joshua in front, me behind.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  Leaky pipes and wire webs encase us. A caged lightbulb flickers on the ceiling. Rap, rap, rap. We follow the path, Joshua’s flashlight beam guiding our way. We don’t speak. Minute shadows silent minute. The walls seem to close in. Is it hot in here? My chest constricts. Hard to breathe.

  The hall turns a sharp left. A dead end. Now what?

  Joshua crouches, removes a grate about the size of a doormat, and sets it to the side with a clang. “I’ll go down first to make sure the rungs are stable. Don’t follow until I say.”

  I nod.

  He rotates, descends backward into darkness.

  I lean over the opening, waiting with breath on hold.

  Squeak!

  “Joshua?”

  No response.

  I swallow. One. Two. Three. “Joshua David, you answer me right now, or so help me—”

  “I’m okay.”

  Exhale.

  “Just slipped. I’m fine. Almost there.”

  Tick-tock, tick-tock. Hurry up. I can’t take it anymore.

  “All right.” His voice is an echo in a canyon. Far. Small. How deep does this go?

  I repeat his steps, turning first then climbing down. Narrow, round, and somewhat slippery, I take each bar with painstaking care. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. It’s just a ladder. No big deal.

  At the bottom Joshua grasps my waist, helps me down. Fingers loiter for a millisecond too long.

  Scratch that. It’s not hot in here. It’s sweltering.

  “This way,” he says.

  More long halls. Pipes. Railing. Stairs. Lightbulbs here and there. Who knew such a labyrinth existed below the city?

  Finally, finally, we reach a padlocked door marked Restricted.

  Now what? “Do you have a key?”

  “Don’t need one.” He walks straight through as if it isn’t there.

  My jaw goes slack. Now he’s showing off. After everything I’ve seen tonight, I don’t question it. I follow.

  A chorus of rushing water echoes riotously. I’m standing on the shore of a crystal-clear pool nestled in an open cavern. Grass greener than any I’ve seen carpets the floor. The air is so clean and pure I want to capture it in a bottle and drink it in. A rainbow of wildflowers dots the scene. At the center of it all is a great and glorious waterfall, a curtain of foamy white cascading from an opening in the rocky ceiling.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Joshua leans against a boulder taller than he is.

  I’m speechless—almost. “What is this place?”

  He clasps his hands behind his back, like a tour guide at the Museum of Natural History. “This is a Threshold. It’s a gateway between Reflections, or alternate universes, as you might recognize them. You saw a door blocking our way because you didn’t know what to look for. You saw what you expected to see, not what was really here.”

  “People only see what they want to see.” Ky’s words release on my own whisper.

  “What?” Joshua cocks his head.

  Three quick blinks. “Never mind. Please don’t tell me I have an alter ego floating around somewhere in there?” I gesture toward the water.

  “No, no. Unlike worlds, souls cannot be duplicated.” He chuckles.

  Phew.

  “Each Reflection has a series of Thresholds leading into the next one. The world you know is the Third Reflection, from which you can pass to the Second or Fourth.” He speaks about it with ease. Has he given this speech before?

  “How many are there?”

  “Seven in all, but no one has ventured beyond the Fifth in years. Not since King Aidan was alive.”

  I don’t even want to know.

  “You almost passed through a Threshold last night.”

  The glowing green light at the bottom of the Pond.

  “If you had passed through it, you would’ve fallen right into Crowe’s hands. That Threshold leads into the Forest of Night—Shadow Territory.”

  Ugh. I can’t keep up with him. Threshold. Reflection. Shadow Territory. “Where does this one lead?” If I wasn’t witnessing an underground Eden, I wouldn’t believe it.

  “Lynbrook Province. It’s on the outskirts and overlooked enough, no one should notice our entrance.”

  I face him. “Listen. Before we go any farther, I need to know a few things.”

  “Okay.” His jaw bulges.

  I step closer. “No more lies?”

  “No more lies.”

  “Ever?”

  He looks me square in the eyes. “Eliyana Ember, on my honor as a Guardian, I swear to be as honest with you as possible from here on out.”

  His use of my full name is so formal. Cold. I ignore the pinch in my chest and say, “I need to understand something. Mom said I’m not from here—the Third Reflection. You’re not either, are you?”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “The day we met . . .” I swallow, my courage gaining momentum with each word. “It wasn’t an accident, was it? Every encounter, every time you called or hung out with me, it was all part of your”—another swallow—“job. Is that right?”

  His Adam’s apple bobs. “Yes.”

  “You’re my best friend.” Or you were. “Was any of it real?” An enormous lump presses on my vocal cords.

  He runs his fingers through his hair. Averts his gaze. “I care for you. I can’t deny that. But my duty comes first. Your safety comes first. You must understand—”

  I lift a palm to stop him. “I got it, thanks. No need to elaborate.”

  Lips pursed, he nods, turns toward the pool.

  “One more thing.”

  His body shifts, but he doesn’t meet my gaze.

  “From now on, if it comes between saving my life or Mom’s, you’ll save her.”

  No eye contact. No answer.

  “Joshua?”

  Nothi
ng.

  “Look. At. Me.” When he doesn’t, I add, “I’m not taking another step until you agree.” My feet plant, arms cross. He can be stubborn, but so can I.

  “You have no idea what you’re asking.”

  “Promise me.”

  His eyes narrow. “Don’t be childish. You’ve no clue what’s at stake here.”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  He doesn’t move. “It’s not so simple.”

  “You promised no more lies. Prove it. Fill me in on why my life is so much more valuable than Mom’s.”

  Still he ignores me.

  “Answer me!”

  That does it. He zips over to me like a bullet train. I’ve pushed him over the edge. He raises an open hand. For the smallest, stupidest moment, I think he might hit me. But he doesn’t even come close to touching me. “I can’t tell you. I won’t put you in more danger than you’re already in.”

  I roll my eyes. “Stop making excuses. You swore to be honest. How can I trust you if all you do is lie?”

  His hand closes into a fist that he lowers to his side. “Don’t you see that everything, everything, I’ve done is because—”

  The pool bubbles, gurgles. The water turns green, a rerun of last night’s show, but in a new venue. I blink rapidly. My palms go clammy. This is bad.

  A man with greasy, slicked-back hair emerges. He’s clad in leather pirate garb, and water cascades from his frame, from a holstered gun on one hip and a sheathed sword on the other. A black patch covers his left eye, completing the Davy Jones effect. Some kind of weird tattoo creeps up his neck and stops at his jaw. Like long black claws going for the kill.

  Joshua assumes a protective stance in front of me.

  “Joshua, my old comrade.” The man leers. “It’s been too long.”

  ACT II

  I’m Not That Girl

  EIGHT

  Hands Touch

  My back smashes wall. Joshua’s frame is a stalwart tower separating me from Jack Sparrow’s much older and less attractive cousin. Why do I get the feeling my shivers are caused, not by the chilled stone icing my skin through layers of clothing but by grease-head’s frosty glare?