by Sara Ella
Joshua reaches back, wraps an arm around me, and draws me closer. “It hasn’t been long enough, Haman. And do not call me comrade. You betrayed the League of Guardians to follow Crowe and the Void. As far as I’m concerned, you were never on our side.”
Haman steps ashore, his gait slow and uninterested. “Details, details.” He smiles. A silver tooth fits like a single black key among a row of sparkling ivories. “I’m here for the girl. But you already knew that.” He sighs. “There’s no use stalling. You can’t win this, boy.” Haman titters. “The Void grows stronger each moment. With each heart that turns black. With each soul that gives in, my master moves closer to victory.” He laughs again, a mocking, disrespectful sound.
Joshua huffs. “You’ve chosen your side. As far as I’m concerned, you and Crowe deserve each other, you two-faced son of a swine.”
This time Haman snickers. “You have some nerve pointing out my shortcomings. Tell me, Joshua, how does it feel to be a murderer?”
Now he’s flat-out lying.
“You. Tell. Me.”
Joshua’s rage emanates straight into every fiber of my being. With each word, each lie, my own anger escalates. It’s like he and I are one entity, a series of melodies and harmonies woven together to create one intricately beautiful, yet complicated, piece.
Haman snaps his fingers.
Joshua collapses to the floor, writhing in pain.
I scream. This time the waterfall’s roar drowns the echo. “What are you doing to him?” I throw off my backpack and kneel. Joshua kicks me hard in the thigh. I ignore the bruise already forming and place my hands on him. Calm down. He’ll be okay.
He twists and turns in silent agony.
I glower at Haman. Sweltering tears spurt from my eyes. “Stop it!”
His good eye twitches. Hesitation? Could my pleas convince him?
“Please! I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll come with you, but please don’t hurt him.”
He lifts a hand and examines his fingernails.
I cover Joshua’s entire body with my own. What do I do? What do I say?
“Be brave,” Mom whispers.
I can’t. I don’t know how.
I lie next to Joshua, hold him. I’m useless. I couldn’t save Mom. I can’t save him.
“Please,” I breathe into his neck. “Please.”
Joshua goes still.
I sit and lift his head into my lap. His eyes are closed. His face is no longer contorted but peaceful. “Joshua.” I trace his brow. “Wake up.”
“He can’t hear you.” The voice is not Haman’s.
I jerk my head toward the door we came through. Ky stands there, plus one swelling eye, minus a hoodie. He’s got a tan pack slung over his back. Blood stains the front of his Mets shirt. Makai’s blood.
“Are you alone?” Haman asks.
Ky nods. “Archer won’t be a problem.”
They both turn to me. “What about her?” Ky asks with a jut of his chin.
“Also not a problem.”
Ky comes at me then.
I close my eyes and hold on to Joshua with all the strength I have. Arms stronger than mine wrench me away. I’m kicking and screaming, never looking directly at Ky.
Snap.
My intestines feel as if they’ve been ripped from my gut, twisted into knots, and then thrown back in. My forehead sears. My ears ignite. Every bone, nerve, and muscle shrieks against the torture. Make it stop. Please.
“What should I do with the rebel?” Ky transfers my dying body to Haman’s arms.
I’m released from the pain the moment his hands touch my skin. Just before I pass out for the second time today, Haman answers, “Toss him in the water.”
“A fire destroyed Lincoln Cooper’s gallery. As far as we know, your mother was the only one inside. We’ve yet to uncover her remains, but we have two witnesses who saw her enter half an hour before the blaze began. We suspect arson. Did she have any enemies? Any suspects we can follow up on?”
I stare with blank eyes past the NYPD officer relaying the information of Mom’s disappearance . . . death? I can’t look directly at him. Too real.
Now I’m wandering aimlessly through Central Park. How did I get here? I don’t remember leaving the house.
“El?”
My numbed heart flutters. I rotate in slow motion.
Joshua takes a hesitant step toward me. “I saw the cops outside your house. El, I’m so—”
I close the distance between us, fall against his chest, and cry.
We stay that way awhile. He doesn’t push me away, but he doesn’t fully embrace me either. He lets me be, and for a moment, it’s okay.
Until it isn’t. I want more.
My snot and salty tears soak his flannel shirt. I can’t even think about how my face looks right now. I won’t think about it. I sniff and dry my cheeks with my jacket sleeves. My forehead only reaches his chin. When I look into his eyes, I’m home.
This is right. This is real. I still have Joshua.
I rise on my toes, close my eyes, and—
“No.” Joshua pulls away, taking all warmth and life with him. He scratches the back of his head, avoiding eye contact.
Tears burn. I trip over myself. I’m gone.
I open my eyes, attempt to recover from the all-too-real flashback. I try to breathe in, but I can’t. No air underwater.
This must be the Threshold. What do Haman and Ky plan to do with me once we get to the other side—Reflection?
Drowning doesn’t get easier with experience. It’s like shooting up with a dose of panic. Walls close in while the surrounding space remains vastly empty. It doesn’t help that my body is wracked with sobs, involuntarily welcoming my death sentence with every gulp of water.
An arm secures my waist, pulling me down, down, down into the whirlpool of green. I don’t bother seeing who has hold of me. Bubbles rise as I fall. Then a body disrupts the still water above. Joshua’s limp and unconscious form sinks in slow motion. I reach for him, wince at the pain the small movement causes. I don’t care. I keep reaching, keep fighting.
He’d do the same for me.
An ache resides deep within my chest. He can’t die. There has to be help on the way. More Guardians. Someone. Anyone.
Past the green light at the bottom of the whirlpool waits an exact reflection of another. When I think I’m swimming down, I’m suddenly swimming—being dragged—up. Disoriented much?
I’m dumped on a shore of mud and reeds, turn on my side. My lungs burn, expelling water as I cough and choke and . . . is that blood? “Josh . . . ooo . . . waaaaah!” I scream-cry-wail, though it sounds nothing like it feels. My voice is too hoarse to do the agony inside justice. I feel as if I’ve been run over by a Mack Truck. Then dropped down a manhole. Then swept away with a horde of sewer rats.
Dead. I’d rather be dead.
An awning of branches, leaves, bark, and needles shades me. Trees. So many trees. Tall and wide and towering, and they all have . . . doors?
The chirping chorus of a middle-of-nowhere morning sings all around me. It’s a foreign noise. Irksome. One I’ve heard on the sound machine by my bed, but never in real life. Engines revving and tires screeching. Horns honking and sirens blaring. A butcher spraying down rubber mats. A native cursing at a cab that won’t stop. Those are the tunes on home’s soundtrack. Not incessant twittering.
My parka is long gone, lost somewhere between Reflections. I’m soaked and muddy and—yuck—Mom’s Uggs are waterlogged. My toes squish in my socks. But the discomfort is nothing compared to the numbness closing in. The blackness that threatened to swallow me after I thought Mom had died returns. And I don’t even care.
“His Sovereignty won’t be happy when he learns you used your Calling on the girl.” Ky speaks in a low, agitated whisper, his voice fading in and out. I can’t see him, but he isn’t far.
“I did what was necessary to apprehend her,” Haman says. “His Sovereignty has access to . . . medicines.
The castle hosts some of the most talented Physics in this Reflection. She’ll be taken care of once we reach our destination.”
No. She—I won’t. I let my hand fall back into the water. Cool. Inviting. Deadly.
“No medicine or Physic can reverse what you’ve done.” Ky again. As much as I detest him, I hate Haman more. “His Sovereignty was adamant—he wants her alive. I’m an accomplice in this. Your careless actions affect me too. Crowe will have our souls if we ruin his plan.”
I blink away black and orange spots. Glance at the water. Come on. Plenty of unbelievable stuff has happened recently. Any minute Joshua will break the surface. He’ll turn up alive, just like Mom.
I inhale and flinch. The small movement of my ribs expanding, pushing against my skin, confirms my condition is bad. Am I really dying? My fingers wiggle in wetness. All it would take is one willful roll and I’d be back in the water. With each second that ticks by, the truth sinks deeper, anchoring me in reality. He’s not coming. He’s—gulp—gone. How can I keep going when Joshua is—?
“Like I said, His Sovereignty can cure her. One way or another, he always gets his way. Surely you have discovered that by now.”
I inch my foot over, off the ledge and into the water.
“And if he doesn’t?” Yep. I detest Ky less. He won’t back down, even from a bully as detestable as Haman.
“You dare doubt our master? Be careful, Kyaphus. You know what His Sovereignty does to those who defy him. If he’s willing to lock up Elizabeth, I guarantee he will not hesitate to do far worse to you.”
Mom. I lift my hand and foot from the pool. Darkness rolls away in thick clouds. Light filters in as my vision begins to clear. I can’t go through with it. Mom needs me.
Quiet. The argument is over. Clop, clop, clop. I try to sit. Excruciating. Crunches were never my thing, but this is ridiculous.
Two hands grab me beneath my arms. “Wait,” Ky says. “You’ll never be able to do it on your own.”
I want to lurch away, but I can’t even do that. “Don’t touch me.”
He laughs, almost to himself. “No way around it. Either you let me help you, or you die right here. Your choice.”
I stare at my feet, guarding myself from his paralyzing gaze. Mom. Do it for Mom. “Fine.”
It takes a drawn-out process of grimaces, pauses, and slow breaths to get me vertical. Ky is soaked through too. His jeans suction against his legs, his wet blond hair curling in places.
The pool is nestled in a circular clearing with trees bordering all sides. The hues of autumn quake in a dainty breeze. Red, orange, yellow, and brown all wave hello. A greeting from my favorite season, but I can’t bring myself to appreciate it. It’s meaningless without the ones I love by my side.
Two horses wait on a path ahead, one ebony and the other spotted gray. I have one arm around Ky, and he nudges me inch by inch. Wait. My feet dig like roots into the rich, moist soil.
Joshua. I didn’t get to say good-bye.
Ky presses his lips against my ear. “Don’t even think about it.” He guides me forward, and I have no choice but to fall into step beside him.
Do it for Mom. She was always the goal.
I know, I know. But as we move farther and farther away from the Threshold, the pain around my heart deepens. Joshua is gone. If this is the price of love, it’s one I can’t afford.
My hand lifts to my collarbone. But the space is bare. No. “Stop. We have to go back. My necklace . . . it must have come off in the water.” The gift may have been Joshua’s way of keeping tabs on me, but it was so much more to me. And it’s all I have left of him.
For a portion of an instant, Ky pauses. Will he at least give me this?
No. We’re moving again.
Heartless jerk.
When we reach the horses, Haman strides into view. He mounts the black steed with ease, then turns up the collar of his jacket before he takes the reins.
“I’ll lift you up first.” Ky helps me get a foot into one stirrup, then boosts me onto the freckled horse.
And then I’m falling.
He catches me. Didn’t see that one coming. He’s stauncher than he first appears.
I won’t thank him.
Once I’m finally sitting seven feet above the earth, Ky mounts the steed in one smooth move, pulls me into his chest.
I hate that I need him. “Don’t get any ideas. Just because I’m not strong enough to fight you right now does not mean we’re friends. You killed Makai. And . . . and Joshua . . .” My voice trembles. I swallow and steady it. “You’re a murderer, just like Haman.”
“Be careful, princess,” he says in my ear. “I don’t tolerate being accused of crimes I didn’t commit.” One breath. Two. “But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
The empty condolences from Mom’s wake fill my mind. He’s sorry? I want to punch him. Slap him. Anything to cause him pain. But I can hardly move, so I say, “I hate you. I will never forgive you for this.”
His head nods against the side of mine. “Duly noted.”
The horse’s jarring trot increases my discomfort, but it isn’t as painful as trying to walk. We pass over a cobbled lane, weeds shooting up through dislodged stones. Every ten feet an unlit lamppost stands, all with glass shattered. The trees curve inward, creating a tunnel effect. These have doors, too, and are stacked together like row houses, tall and slender, with hardly any room separating one trunk from another.
I need to learn as much about this world as possible, so I ask, “What’s with the trees?”
“What do you mean?” Ky’s chest vibrates against my back.
“I mean the doors. Why do the trees have doors?” Each one is different, but all are weathered. Red doors, black doors, natural doors, some tall with squared corners, some short and rounded.
“How else would you get inside?” He might as well say “duh.” Then he adds, “But this is Lynbrook Province. All these tromes were abandoned during the Revolution.”
Tromes? Tree homes?
I examine each one as we trot onward. Do people, did people, really live in these? I look up. Windows glimmer high above in each trome. When a shock of blue flashes in one of the panes, I do a double take. On second glance, nothing’s there. But I saw . . .
The horse stops.
The tree line ends just before a drop-off. The beginning of a dilapidated bridge stretches straight ahead. Thin branches arc and intertwine, consumed by overgrown and deadening ivy.
Haman dismounts. “We’ve reached the Broken Bridge. I will have words with the Troll.”
Troll? As in mythical creature that doesn’t exist?
He walks to the bridge’s mouth and halts before earth changes to wood. Thirty feet ahead I can see the bridge is broken in two, a wide, impassable gap dividing our side from the other. Beyond the gap, a gray, rolling fog obscures the bridge’s other half. I wait, my breath in limbo. Any minute some beast straight out of Middle Earth will emerge.
Not even close.
A striking woman with cascading blonde hair and wintry-blue eyes materializes from the mist. I’m immediately reminded of Quinn. Did she make it home okay? Did she ever try to call, drunk and slaphappy, to check on me?
No. She didn’t.
The woman walks over the gap as if it’s not there and approaches Haman.
A gasp escapes me. “How in the—?”
“It’s a façade.” Ky’s lips graze my ear and I flinch. “An illusion created to ward off trespassers.”
“Haman Skinner.” The woman’s lyrical voice turns even his name pleasant. Black dresses her hourglass frame from shoulder to toe, a flowing, almost ethereal fabric billowing around her. “What brings you so far from home?”
Haman bows. He respects her. Why? “Sovereignty business, Mistress Isabeau. My lord—”
A porcelain hand silences him midsentence. “You know better than anyone I do not make exceptions for Jasyn Crowe. Why are you really here?”
“We need to cross.”
“And this concerns me how?”
With all the presentation of a hotel concierge, Haman sweeps an open palm back toward us. “The girl, m’lady. She is Elizabeth’s child.”
Isabeau’s expression changes. Recognition? Hatred? Awe? “You are sure? Do not toy with me.” Pink sneaks into her ashen cheeks.
His bow deepens. “I would not lie to you.”
Isabeau looks past Haman, her glare penetrating.
I lean deeper into Ky’s chest. What is it about this woman that makes me so afraid?
“So this is my late husband’s unfaithfulness incarnate. She will make a fine slave.”
In your dreams, lady.
With a trepid laugh Haman speaks again. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible. His Sovereignty has plans for the girl. The mark—”
“I’m well aware of what her mark indicates, Haman, though it holds no value for me. Get on with it. What is my recompense?” Isabeau crosses her arms and tilts her chin. Pretty high-and-mighty for someone living on—or underneath, as the tales go—a bridge.
“What is it you desire most?”
Haman already knows her answer. Why this long-drawn-out conversation?
A pearly smile lights Isabeau’s face. “How can I be sure you will keep our bargain?”
“I do not welcome your wrath. You have my word. I will deliver payment.” He reaches out a hand.
Isabeau nods, her incisors a little too sharp within her satisfied grin. She places her dainty hand, palm up, in Haman’s. “I bind you to your vow.”
He bends, places a kiss to her palm, looks up. “By a kiss I am bound.”
What just happened?
“We have an agreement.” She leers at me. “Safe passage across the bridge in exchange for Elizabeth’s unborn child.”
NINE
Eyes Meet
The mist consumes us as we pass over the false gap in the Not-So-Broken Bridge. Clopping hooves and our breathing are the only sounds. It’s daytime, but the shadows give the illusion of twilight. There’s no hour or season. Just clouds. The arcing branches of the bridge act like a cage. Trapped.