Kiss Kiss

by Various Authors

  “The Academy was able to, shall we say, secure certain information that will lead us to Cece and the Underground. And that information is worth quite a lot.” Her red lips turn up at one corner.

  “And what does that have to do with Perpetua?” I cross my arms and stare.

  “Perpetua exchanged information on Cece’s whereabouts for her and her team’s return to the Academy.”

  “You let her bribe her way back into school?”

  “Call it what you want.” Her lips purse.

  I stop to consider the information. If Terease knows Cece’s location, then she knows my mom’s. Maybe I won’t need the rosary necklace after all.

  “I want in,” I blurt.

  “What?”

  “When you go to find her. I want to be there,” I say plainly. I know Terease will want to be the one to drag the redheaded, blood-loving freak in, and I want to be there too.

  Terease bites her long black fingernail and rotates to the TVs as though she’s considering my offer. After several moments she simply says, “No.”

  “What!” I jump to my feet.

  “I said, no!” she repeats. “Now, leave.” She waves her hand but never turns to face me. She only leans into one of the pictures dancing across a monitor, hoping to catch someone doing something they shouldn’t.

  I consider telling her that Perpetua just beat me up, but I know it won’t do any good. Angry, I bolt through the hall, and march right out the front doors of the Academy. If Terease can admit Perpetua back into school, she can admit me a free pass out of this place—alone.

  As I leave, racing down the front stairs, I glance over to the mirror school. The west Washington Square Academy, the one for the Normals. They have absolutely no clue how lucky they are to be just that—normal. And for the first time since I learned that I’m a Wanderer, I wish I were normal too.

  I run out of the courtyard, past the obelisk, with no particular destination in mind. Physical activity helps release my anxieties. Thankful that I put on tennis shoes, I open my stride, running and pushing my muscles. I inhale the September Chicago breeze and decide not to look back, at least for a few hours.

  Running around the city allows me to feel ordinary. I think about things that I generally don’t when I’m locked away in the inner sanctum of the school: the smell of pizza, parents playing with their children in the park, cars sitting in traffic, a shopkeeper sweeping his front walk, and music.

  Even music, the thing that I loved most in my “Normal” life has taken a backseat to my Wandering life. The urge to write, to sing, to create a melody are gone. Finding my mom, being a Wanderer, becoming a better fighter, Bishop, and every other high school drama consumes my mind. There’s no place for music now. The speed at which my priorities in life have changed scares me. What will I be a year from now? Ten years? Will I even recognize myself?

  When I return to school, it’s three hours later. I calculate that I’ve run at least the length of a marathon, maybe more. Somehow, in the last several months, my physical prowess has changed, along with my heightened emotional volatility.

  I walk around the golden obelisk in the school’s courtyard. I reach my arms high above my head and shake out my legs. Unfortunately, no amount of stretching will save me from the world of ache I’ll feel tomorrow. I bend over and touch my toes, feeling the scabs on my back pull and crack.

  Sensing someone staring, I glance at the East Academy. Bishop stands at his bedroom window, looking out, his face expressionless. One hand rests on the window frame. He doesn’t wave or acknowledge that our eyes have met. He only turns and disappears from view, letting the curtains drape closed.

  I can’t run away from him forever. And if he’s bent on breaking up, I’ll have to accept it. The run has given me some clarity, allowing a peaceful place for my emotions to be dealt with in a logical way. If he doesn’t want to be with me, it’s not healthy for me to want to be with him. It’s that simple. I’m only sixteen, with my whole life ahead of me. Will I really die if a stupid boy breaks up with me?

  I consider this and look at Bishop’s window. My nose burns again, but I push away the waterworks. Yes, yes, it might kill me, and I’m certain I can’t handle it, at least not at this very moment. So I keep moving, walking to a place I know I can find sanctuary—Aunt Mona’s house.

  A few blocks away, I stroll past the front hedges and into the miniature yard of the Victorian townhouse. I squat, feeling under Mona’s mosaic-covered garden sculpture. A silver key lays among the earthworms and beetles, resting in the damp earth. I scoop it up and head for the front door.

  After I enter, I kick off my sneakers in the vestibule and step into the main living area. A pile of mismatched tapestry suitcases lay on the floor. Aunt Mona’s back from her painting trip in Europe.

  “Mona!” I yell, my voice echoing through the lofty living space.

  “Oh, darling!” Mona rushes in from the kitchen with a smile across her face. She tucks a strawberry-blonde lock behind her ear, right before she throws her bony arms around my back. She offers me a kiss on each cheek then holds me away from her body.

  “Your face is flushed red!”

  “I just went for the longest run of my life.”

  “Funny, I don’t remember you being a runner when I left.” Her brow furrows in confusion.

  “Helps to relieve stress. I’ve got lots these days.” I try to smile. I forgot how easy it is to open up to her. In my mind, I’d always hoped that she and my mom were very similar in this way. They had to be, being sisters and all.

  “Come in, I’m making dinner,” Mona says. I follow her to the kitchen.

  “You—making dinner—the real kind?” I balk.

  “Well, I decided to expand my horizons this year. Not only did I paint in Italy, I took an exquisite cooking class!”

  “Sweet! So what’s on the menu?”

  “Pasta alla Norma.” She drops an apron over her head, securing the ties behind her neck and her waist.

  Mona pours herself a large glass of red wine and a soda for me. I sit on a stool at the island across from her. I grab the butcher block, knife, and vegetables. Taking an eggplant, I slice off the ends and then cut it longways into thin slices.

  “So what’s the drama?” Mona asks, then swirls her wine in its glass. She holds the rim to her nose, inhaling the aromas before taking a small sip.

  “You wouldn’t be interested.” I shrug, looking at my eggplant.

  “Try me.” She expertly rips basil leaves from their stems.

  “Well, for one, Terease readmitted Perpetua and her team.”

  “Really? What would compel her to do such a horrid thing?”

  “Perpetua seems to have some information on Cece’s whereabouts.” I peek up to gauge her reaction.

  “Really? Well, that would be wonderful if the Society could finally do away with her.” She throws some fresh pasta into the boiling water on the stove. “How do you feel about it?” A typical Mona question, always pushing to explore my feelings.

  “I can’t say that it thrills me.” But if there’s a possibility it will help find my mom, I think I can live with it.

  “And what else is going on?” she asks, and reaches for a clove of garlic. She pounds it with the flat side of a large knife. The skin cracks open, and she peels the outer layer.

  I fail to find the correct words to explain why I believe Bishop’s going to break up with me without sounding like a pathetic, angst-ridden teenager. So I just blurt it out. “Bishop’s breaking up with me!” I drop my head into my hands, but I don’t cry. I’m too dry to make anything else come out.

  “What? That’s absurd.”

  “It’s true. He said that we ‘needed to talk.’ And everyone knows what that’s code for.”

  “Yes, I believe I do. It’s code for we need to talk about the weather, about how glorious I think you are, about how I need help with this new fabulous Protector defense move. Sera, there’s just no way for you to know what he wants unt
il you actually have the talk.” Her voice drops, low and dramatic.

  She makes everything sounds so simple. But I’m not buying it. Bishop and I spent an entire evening together. No topic would have been off limits—except a break-up talk.

  Mona might deny the truth behind the words, regardless. She loves Bishop, I think even more than she loves me. It’s okay because having her approve of my boyfriend makes my life easier. She’s a valuable ally, if and when Ray ever finds out about him. Because when he does, it won’t be a pretty day. When Ray finds out Bishop and I are dating and living in the same apartment—well, he’ll explode. We can’t easily explain our special scenario to Ray, a mere Normal.

  Mona walks around the counter and delivers a reassuring hug. “You are a beautiful, intelligent young lady. Bishop would be insanely stupid to break things off with you. I truly believe that you’re jumping to conclusions. And you know there’s only one way to find out.”

  “Yes, I know. Just face him.” The looming fear of it is driving me crazy. I think I’m ready to just deal with the consequences, whatever they may be.

  Time with Mona is exactly the sanctuary of normalcy I need. She fills me in on her travels over the best Pasta alla Norma I have ever shoveled into my mouth. She, it seems, is a natural cook. Then she shows me her photos over dessert—a chocolate cannoli.

  •

  When I return to the Academy, most of the dorm doors in the hall are shut, signaling their occupants have turned in for the evening.

  Even though I tell myself I’m ready to do this, I half hope that Bishop will be asleep. Our apartment door sits slightly ajar, and I walk in. A dimmed gas lantern flickers light over the kitchen counter. Both Bishop’s and Sam’s doors are closed.

  Now I just need to walk across the floor without making it creak. I step slowly, seeking out steps on the area rug where available. It helps to muffle the sound. Then I step from the rug to the kitchen floor.

  When I’m standing in front of my bedroom door, I finally breathe a sigh of relief, feeling happy that I have one more night. I’m such a coward. After this mess, I promise myself to be stronger.

  I push through my door, kick off my shoes, and switch on the light next to the bed. And that’s when I scream.

  ::11::

  The Talk

  Bishop jumps, awakened out of a slumber. His body tenses but relaxes when he sees it’s me. He throws his hand across his forehead, blocking the light and rubs his sleepy eyes.

  “You ruddy well scared the hell out of me.”

  “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to be here,” I say, my heart racing.

  He sits up, still half asleep, and pushes himself farther back on the bed to make room for me. He pats the sheets with his palm. I sigh. This is it. I can’t run any longer.

  “Where have you been? I thought you were coming back to the apartment after your meeting?” He yawns.

  “I was, but then I decided to go for a run.”

  “Is that why you stink so badly? You’ve been running for—” he squints at the clock, “for eight hours.”

  “I went to Mona’s too.”

  “I see.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Why don’t you take a shower? I’ll wait for you.”

  “Okay,” I mumble. I push off the bed and disappear into the bathroom. When I’m done, feeling refreshed but solemn for what’s about to happen, I walk across the room and crawl into bed. With Bishop behind me, he wraps his arm around my waist, and then he tucks his chin into the curve of my neck.

  “Why do I feel like you’ve been avoiding me since I returned?” he asks quietly. “Is everything okay?”

  “I don’t know, you tell me,” I say with a clip. He doesn’t respond. “I mean, I guess I’ve been avoiding you because I wasn’t ready for the talk.” My voice shakes, instantly activating the tears. I wipe my nose with the sleeve of my robe.

  “The talk?”

  “You know, the talk where you break up with me.” I frown and look at his arms wrapped around me, strong and perfect.

  “Break up with you?” He snorts. “Why on earth would you think that?”

  I inhale and turn to face him in the same motion. “If you aren’t, then why did you say we needed to talk?”

  “Wait, back up a second. How can you even think that’s a possibility? Has something happened between us that I don’t know about?” His brows pull together.

  “No, but—I—” I can’t think of what to say because my brain, my heart, my lungs, every part of my body feels a surge of relief—a new sense of elevated hope.

  “Seraphina Parrish, you are utterly and ridiculously cute. I promise that I’ll never, ever tell you that we need to talk again.”

  “Please don’t!” We laugh together. Even still, a few more tears escape in a rush of happiness.

  He kisses my nose and then stretches his arms tightly around me. I grimace. “Sorry, my back’s still a little tender.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that, too.”

  “Who was it?” I ask.

  “I’ve been thinking about it, and I have no idea. It’s not like they robbed us of money. And I’m quite certain it was another Wanderer. I tried to bandage you up that night, but you wouldn’t allow me near you.”

  “I don’t remember that.” I attempt to retrieve the memory but come up blank.

  “You were quite agitated. I could only talk you into putting on a shirt and sleeping. It must be a side effect of the schlag,” he considers.

  “Don’t worry, Turner fixed me up when I got home.”

  Bishop tenses. “How did Turner happen to be your savior?”

  I cringe, wishing I hadn’t said that. “It’s a long story,” I brush it off.

  “I’m listening,” he says, propping himself up on his elbow.

  I explain how I wandered home into the attic, crashing into Turner, and how he brought me to the apartment, cleaned my back, and added bandages. Bishop flinches every time there’s a possible situation in which Turner touches me. I leave out the part where he grabs my leg. No sense in upsetting him further.

  “You two have been spending some time together, then?” His brows wrinkle.

  “No—I mean—not really—a little,” I confess. “But seriously, he’s pretty annoying. I’m not sure how you stand him sometimes,” I add to make him feel better, and also because it’s true. “I know you don’t like each other, but he did help me.”

  “Yes, and I will have to pop over to thank him for that.” He seems to relax, so I snuggle into his chest. He rubs his fingertips the length of my bare leg, leaving a trail of tingles in their wake.

  “So what is it you wanted talk about?” I test the waters, feeling the topic’s safe now.

  Instead of responding, he leans close and gently kisses my neck. His mouth traces the length of my jaw until his warm lips find mine. Together, they glide softly back and forth. The kiss sends a firestorm of desire racing through my body. Pulsating heat begins at my mouth, pools in my stomach, and shoots out through my curling toes.

  His warm breath penetrates my skin, swirling and surging into my heart, which beats wildly out of control. His lips urgently move around my neck and retrace my shoulder. His hand slips under the hem of my shirt. His other quickly follows, and together, both hands slide down my waist and latch on to my hips, then he tugs me forward, locking my body against the curve of his.

  For the first time ever, Bishop’s losing control. Up until this point, he’s treated me with the same care one takes with a porcelain doll—one that will break if hugged too tightly. Shocked by his new aggressiveness, I nudge him away.

  “This isn’t talking, you know?” I whisper.

  “Believe it or not, it has to do with what I want to talk to you about,” he says, breathless.

  “Tell me.” I seductively trace the outline of his collarbone with my fingertip.

  “That whole night in London, Seraphina, I wanted to tell you. I wanted to find the perfect moment. I tried, but I couldn’t make the word
s come out.” He speaks slowly, as though unsure of himself.

  He grabs my hand and kisses the palm before placing it cupped over his stubble-covered cheek. “But now I just can’t wait any longer.” His gaze falls on mine, and even in the moonlit room, I can see the sparkling ocean of green in his eyes. “I love you.” He breathes in relief.

  “And I love you,” I respond quietly. My lips broaden into a smile. I’ve wanted to tell him the same thing for months. All this time, we felt the same way, having the same apprehension. The whole “talk” thing seems so stupid and childish now and so very far away in my mind.

  Bishop kisses me again. I drop my arms over his shoulders and wind my fingers into his shirt. All my emotions take over, solidifying every piece of my heart that I thought would surely be broken tonight. Instead, it pounds stronger, and more in tune with his. It begs me to melt and disappear into his body, breathe him in, and clutch him closer. I drop my hand to his chest, where his heart pounds chaotically beneath my fingertips.

  We’re feverishly kissing, tangled, wrapped, rolling, and squeezing against each other. My entire body rushes with a torrent of wild energy, overwhelmed by this new surge of eagerness on his part. There’s a frenzy of ecstasy in every thoughtful touch and every insignificant brush of his trembling hand on my skin.

  Bang, bang, bang. The wall shakes.

  We quickly unhinge ourselves from each other, falling away, breathless. Sam isn’t asleep. And unfortunately for us, she can see what Bishop sees, an uncomfortable side effect of being a team. Protectors and Seers can tap into the other’s minds and eyes without notice, whenever they want. I believe that’s why Bishop stays on his best behavior, because he never knows when Sam will stop by mentally to say “hi.” He won’t allow someone he regards as a little sister to see more than hand-holding.

  “Did you know she was awake?” I ask, embarrassed.

  “She wasn’t a few moments ago, I checked. In fact, she was happily dreaming of winning a spot in the Joffrey Ballet,” he says, sliding a finger beneath the edge of my robe, teasing my skin.

  I giggle. “But all this time, I didn’t know you could see each other’s dreams, too.”