by Sara Ella
“Her eyes and skin remain unaltered.” Robyn’s words. Realization dawns. “Your father was Soulless?”
A nod. “Think of the Void like a disease—one afflicting the soul. One to which only children are immune. Just as a Threshold sourced by the Verity empowers the Callings and guards young souls, so a Threshold contaminated by the Void has its own influence. To my father, his Shield Calling wasn’t enough. So he drank from Midnight Lake, the Threshold within Shadow Territory, hoping the Void would give him something the Verity hadn’t.”
“Did it?”
“Yes. It was like a drug to him. He could no longer feel pain. Or love. The more he consumed, the sicker he became. The illness fed on his cruelty until there was nothing left but a numb shell of the person he once was . . .” His voice trails.
Does the memory of his Soulless father haunt him?
“So my mother took me and my sister, and we fled to her childhood home in the Third. We had to keep our Callings hidden, as most people in the Third hold no belief in the Verity, the Void, or the Callings. Some do, but they conceal their abilities well, opting for a quiet life rather than becoming a science experiment in some test facility. It’s a completely different world, the Third. But I’m sure you know that.”
I do. Ky’s understanding of my Third Reflection references come to light. He grew up there. Just like me. “But eventually you returned to the Second, right? What brought you back?”
“The only thing that could have—my father. He found us, or rather, he found my mother and sister.”
I almost don’t want to hear what happened next. From the murderous expression tensing Ky’s face, it can’t be good.
Eyebrows cinched, he says, “We lived in a small town off the coast of Maine. I was eighteen and had secured a job unloading freight at the docks. It wasn’t the most fulfilling work, but it helped my mother pay the bills. I came home one day to find her crumpled at the bottom of the stairs and my sister gone.” Voice catching, he quiets.
My throat constricts. For all the sorrow I’ve had to bear, Ky’s is ten times worse.
“He did it. He killed my defenseless mother, kidnapped my eight-year-old sister. I should’ve been there. I’m a Shield. I could’ve done something.” He kicks at nothing. Grabs fistfuls of hair.
I place a tentative hand on his shoulder. I’ve never known what to say in these situations. When I thought Mom died, I preferred when people said nothing at all.
“I swore on my mother’s grave I would make my father pay for what he’d done. I found him at the Threshold that had become his demise. He was forcing my sister to drink the water with him. Though it couldn’t touch her young soul, it still made her physically ill. My father wouldn’t stop, insisting she drink more. More. More . . . I still remember his eyes. That’s when I understood why they call it the Void. There was no life in him. He was a black hole of malice and hatred.”
“What did you do?” I’m on the edge of my seat, fear and awe battling for center stage.
“I attacked him. He was so much stronger than me. Even if we weren’t both Shields it wouldn’t have mattered. I can’t control a Soulless any more than I can control one of my own kind. I was sure he would kill us right there, drown us in the Threshold and then drown himself. Our fight ended with him holding a knife to my sister’s neck. He said he’d release her on one condition. If I drank from the Threshold myself.”
A twist in my gut tells me this story doesn’t have a happy ending.
“I knew if I did I would always want more. But what choice did I have? I couldn’t let my sister die. So I cupped my hands and drank. In an instant I felt something snap inside of me. I no longer had anything holding me back, no conscience to keep me from doing what needed to be done. My father must’ve seen the change, too, because he was wild-eyed. ‘Don’t you feel it?’ he taunted. ‘The surge of power?’ And I did. He released my sister. Then I took his knife. He just smiled at me, said he was going to die anyway. He was raving mad. So I killed him.” Not a hint of remorse is present in his words.
“I’d finally protected someone I loved, but at the same time I sensed my own humanity slipping away. After that I swore I’d never take another life, no matter how much the Void wanted me to. I would defend myself, do what was necessary to guard my sister, but I wouldn’t kill. It’s why I went to such great lengths to find a mirrorblade.” His hand rests on the dagger’s hilt.
Biting my lip, I consider his tale. Would I have had the strength to drink the Void’s water for Mom’s sake? “But you’re not Soulless. Which means you’re okay, right?” My own question startles me. And I realize . . . I do care what happens to him.
He removes his shirt and I gasp. Black veins like Gage’s run along Ky’s right arm, from his wrist to his bicep. “It’s like an addiction, one I battle every day.”
“The Void? Ky—”
“It appeared at first drink. I was becoming the very thing I feared—my father’s son. I wanted to be as far away from that Threshold as possible. I swore I’d never take another sip, no matter how crazy it made me. No matter how much it called to me. Resisting became easier with time. I needed an outlet, some way to expel the anger within. So I joined the Guardians. Gage trained me. It was easy to take my ire out on him because he was always such a thorn. When he sent me on my first mission, I felt as if I was finally doing something to make my mother proud. Until Haman captured me.”
Hesitating, he stoops and plucks a blade of grass, spins it between his thumb and forefinger. “Crowe had a proposition for me. He knew about my sister, compliments of my father’s loose tongue before he died. He’d been indebted to Crowe, for what I don’t know. I had a choice. I could either serve Crowe and pay off my father’s debt, or he’d take away the only person I had left in the seven Reflections.”
And there it is. The reason behind Ky’s betrayal. How can I hold it against him? I would’ve done the same for Mom.
“Are you . . . ?” I swallow. Did my ability to form coherent thoughts take a sick day?
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got it under control. I drink from a Verity-sourced Threshold as often as I can, which keeps my craving for the Void at bay. It’s not a cure, but it helps. At least, it seems to. The Void has never spread past my arm.” He slips his shirt back on. Clears his throat. “Enough sob stories. You wanted to know about the Callings.”
I do, but I have one last question. One that’s been nibbling at me since Ky mentioned his adoption. “Your father, what was his name?”
Three, two, one . . .
“Tiernan,” he says. “Tiernan Archer.”
I’m frozen. Stranded on my own reality show with no hope of being voted off.
“I think he was Makai’s brother,” Ky says. “Though I’d never met him until a few days ago.” Right. Because my uncle was in the Third protecting me. “From what I can tell, they’re nothing alike. I took my mother’s maiden name, Rhyen. I wanted no association with the man who called himself my father.”
Could Ky possibly comprehend the atomic bomb he’s dropped? I can’t see how.
The man who raised him, the one who killed his mother and kidnapped his sister . . . my half-sister if she wasn’t also adopted . . . that man is—was—my father.
It takes everything in me to contain my shock. Hurt. Anger. Curiosity. Emotions war. I always wondered about my dad. Mom said he left us. No more. No less. How could she have fallen for such a cruel man? Was he always so heartless? So easily swayed by the Void? What does that mean for me? I used to wonder if I was like my dad, since I seemed to be nothing like Mom. My soul aches at the thought.
He didn’t want a daughter.
He didn’t want me.
Ky may not know what Tiernan’s debt was, but it’s not too difficult to figure out. According to Mom’s journal entry, Jasyn never would’ve approved of Mom falling for a Guardian. But she did, and obviously became pregnant with me. Ky said Tiernan didn’t want a daughter. Maybe Mom wasn’t only escaping Jasyn whe
n she left. Could she also have been running from Tiernan, just as Ky’s mother did?
If so, the reason Ky sided with Jasyn, the debt he had to pay for his sister’s sake . . .
That debt is because of me.
TWENTY-ONE
He Chose
I should tell him.
I can’t tell him.
He’ll hate me. We were just starting to get along.
I have . . . had a half sister. And now she’s gone.
My father raised Ky. I have so many questions. I don’t dare ask.
“Magnets, such as Stormy, can summon things. Their symbol is a moon.”
I blink. What’s Ky saying?
“Like Shields, all Magnets hold different strengths.”
The Callings. Right.
“Stormy is a water Magnet. Her ability is linked to that particular element alone. Other Magnets might control fire, wind, or earth. Still some have no connection to the elements at all, their gifts lying with matter or energy. Whatever their specialty, this Calling takes great focus and exertion. The summoned thing can remain only as long as the Magnet wills it.”
It all comes together. The storm. The Threshold water. Stormy is one talented Magnet. I wonder if she’d let me see her tattoo.
“Then there are Masks. Lark, Kuna, Isabeau, Wren, Robyn—they all have alternate forms. It’s a more common Calling than you’d think. They’re represented by a butterfly, the simplest and most beautiful example of transformation.”
Hard to picture Kuna with a butterfly on his back. “And Physics?” Act natural. Don’t let him see all I can think about is Tiernan and how he connects us.
We’ve reached the square, and Ky sits on an iron bench across from the inn. Two empty flowerpots flank it. The cat from the windowsill curls up on one end, its orange-tipped tale tapping.
Ky stretches his lean legs out in front of him. “Physics come in all shapes and sizes. Organic Physics, like my mother or Physic Song, have a knack for mixing medicines. They use remedies concocted from nature. Illusoden, for example, was invented by Lancaster Rhyen, my mother’s grandfather.”
As in the dude they made a statue of? “A Physic founded the League of Guardians?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. A Physic is more than a white coat and a fancy title. There are some Physics who guard their Calling with more ferocity than an Ever. A mere touch from such a Physic could cure even the deepest wound, which is why a Physic’s mark is a handprint.”
Nathaniel. Is his touch that powerful? Must be. Why else would Wade put so much faith in the man? Does Ky know my grandfather is his adoptive grandfather? Part of me hopes he never finds out.
“No matter what,” Ky adds, “if someone is already meant to die, if it’s their time, nothing can change that. Not a touch from a Physic or a drop of Ever blood. Death is a Calling all its own.” He scratches the cat’s neck, and it purrs in satisfaction.
I join him on the bench, trying not to sit too close. Otherwise he might hear my thundering heart, see the sweat forming at my hairline.
He scoots over so our thighs touch. Ky hesitates a second before raising his arm and wrapping it around me in one fluid motion. He’s just protecting me. Doing his job. The big brother I always wanted.
Moan. He has no clue how technically true that is.
As he continues his explanation, the hand resting on my shoulder lifts animatedly every so often. “Finally there are Scribs and Amulets. Scribs, like Grizz, have excellent memories and are talented in reading, writing, or drawing—sometimes a mixture of all three. They’re responsible for recording anything and everything regarding Reflection history. Genealogies. Events. Even legends. They can be a bit insufferable because of their brilliance. Think of them as the savants of the Called. Scribs are always correcting you, and some have compulsive tendencies. Many are able to read something once and never forget it. It should be no surprise a Scrib’s symbol is a quill.”
Compulsive tendencies, huh? Grizz in an eighth note.
“Amulets have the gift of illusion.” An unexpected chill sends a tremor through my body. Ky rubs my arm with his palm. “They’re meant to be secret keepers, their purpose to conceal anything an enemy might desire. Amulets are generally attractive and easy to like. Their symbol is a lock and key. Crowe, as you may have guessed, is an Amulet.”
I consider my time with Jasyn. His kind demeanor and calming voice. He almost had me fooled. “Amulets are responsible for the façades, aren’t they?”
“Yes. The trick is to look for tells. No matter how strong the façade, there are always glitches—signs that what you’re seeing isn’t real.” Such as my nonexistent porcelain skin? “If an Amulet can’t fool you, the façade is useless.”
“So the façades at the Haven and subway Threshold, at the Broken Bridge, an Amulet created those?” My eyelids droop and I stifle a yawn.
“Many Amulets, actually.” Ky yawns too. We’ll never make it to the Haven if we can’t stand up in the morning. Still, I can’t bring myself to move. “The ones on our side act like sentinels, assuring certain protections remain in place. I’ve no idea who constructed the façade at the Broken Bridge for Isabeau. But the Threshold beneath the subway, the Haven entrance, and many other gateways have an Amulet ally assigned to them. Every so often the façade has to be strengthened, reconstructed, or even moved, should its location be jeopardized. The Guardians have a good team, though I’ve yet to see an Amulet as talented as Crowe.”
So much to take in. Not just the Callings, but their unique aspects as well. And the tattoos. I can’t get them off my mind. But there’s this other thing, too, something Robyn mentioned. “What about Mirrors?”
Ky stiffens. “Mirrors?”
“Back at the Haven, Robyn said something about a person who could have all the Callings.”
“Mirrors don’t exist. No one is that perfect.”
“Perfect?”
Another stretch. Another yawn. “The Verity augments your greatest strength.” His words have that slow, falling-asleep pace. “For me, it was my desperate need to defend those I love. For my mother, it was her innate desire to help people. Crowe was probably good at keeping secrets as a child, a talent he’s obviously abused since then. But for someone to possess a quality strong enough to hone all seven Callings in some form or another? Such a person might as well be the vessel of the Verity himself.”
Mirrors don’t exist. Got it. “What about me?”
“What about you?” He knocks his knuckle against my shoulder. Is he teasing me?
I squirm. Flush. Maybe it’s a stupid question. “Do you think my mom gave me Threshold water when I was born?” Yep. Saying it aloud does sound childish. I just escaped playing the lead role in Close Encounters of the Troll Kind, and I’m worried about auditioning for a part in X-Men: Days of Future Called? Priorities, anyone?
“If she loves you as much as you appear to love her, I wouldn’t doubt it.”
I make a mental pros-and-cons list. My soul is guarded until I turn eighteen: pro. If a Calling hasn’t manifested yet, I probably don’t have one: con. Sigh.
The cat crawls onto Ky’s lap, a purr rumbling its back. He doesn’t seem to mind, stroking the feline with his long fingers. “I know what you’re thinking. You’ve still got some time. You don’t turn eighteen for a couple weeks, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So a Calling could still be in there somewhere. And if not”—he shrugs—“be glad you won’t have to carry the burden. Plenty of people don’t have Callings. Gage, Preacher—” His mouth snaps closed, as if realizing comparing me to those guys probably isn’t the most encouraging thing he could say. “Don’t worry. I have a good feeling about you.”
Better. “Thanks.” Goose bumps sprout along my arms, despite my layers. Could I possibly have a Calling somewhere deep inside? Does Mom have one I never knew about? I rack my brain trying to picture her bare shoulder. The image doesn’t surface. She never was the tank top–wearing type.
&nbs
p; “So, we’ve spent this entire time talking about me. Your turn. Tell me something about you.”
Me? What’s to tell? “I wear a size eight shoe.” Gah, that was lame. Now I’m thankful for the cold. Otherwise my cheeks would ignite, turn my skin to ash.
“While I appreciate that imperative piece of information, it’s not quite what I had in mind. Try again, this time make it real.”
Real?
Real.
I’ve never spent much time trying to get to know myself. I’d actually avoid myself, if it were physically possible. Except, there is this one thing . . . “I love music.” My heart contracts. I miss music. “Singing actually, though I do play a couple instruments. It’s kind of like my outlet. My way of expressing emotion? When I’m sad or lonely or scared, and I find the perfect piece to describe that feeling, it’s like the artist climbed inside my head and wrote the song for me. Or when I don’t know what to say, I sometimes find it easier to reference a particular lyric.” I twist the hem of my shirt. This is the most anyone has talked. Ever. “Dumb, huh?” I tuck a stray hair behind my ear. My right leg jiggles. Stop fidgeting, will you?
“You are many things, Ember, but dumb is not one of them.” Ky slouches against the bench. Tilts his head back. Closes his eyes. “Sing to me,” he croons.
My heart stops beating. Literally. His reference to one of my favorite songs ever catches me so completely off guard, gives me déjà vu like he wouldn’t believe.
“Well?” He taps his toe.
“What, you mean now?” Breathe in, breath out. Let it go.
“I’m sorry, was there another time you had in mind?”
He’s so infuriatingly sarcastic, it’s almost endearing. “What do you want to hear?”
“Singer’s choice.”
Out of habit I begin humming the melody to one of Joshua’s favorites, one we played often during our afternoon jam sessions. But the sound falls flat, a generic cover of my past life. Nothing’s ever as good as the original.
Or maybe it’s not the song. Perhaps I need to change my tune. Joshua always picked the playlist. It didn’t really bother me, mostly because it meant I didn’t have to make a decision. They were always made for me. Whatever he chose, I sang.