by Ann Aguirre
Kian eyed me for a few seconds before nodding with obvious reluctance. “Well played.”
“Any news on Aaron?” It seemed like I should change the subject.
“No. But you know what’s weird about him?”
“Everything?”
He laughed as I settled on the couch beside him. “Well, yeah. But specifically?”
“You’ll have to tell me.”
“He didn’t know anything about modern technology. Like the TV, computer? He couldn’t remember how to use any of it. So I’ve been teaching him. But he acts like it’s magic or something. When I start talking about the science behind it, the beams and rays, his eyes glaze right over.”
“Not everyone’s as smart as you.” Ironic for me to be saying that—Kian loved poetry, but he also understood the hard sciences. In my experience, that was kind of rare.
“You had to be there, I guess. I swear he was like those old comedy sketches when some guy from the Renaissance is plopped in the middle of a modern city.”
“That’s…” I stared at him, unable to believe the idea I was entertaining. “It would explain why nobody’s missing him. Right now.”
Kian’s eyes widened. “‘Now’ being the key word?”
“Do you think it’s possible?”
“That he’s missing, not geographically, but chronologically?”
I nodded. “My hypothesis is on the table. Discuss.”
“As a theory, it’s crazy. But—”
“There’s a compelling rightness about it. This might sound incredibly basic but … have you asked him what year he was born?”
I got a stare in return, then a slow headshake. “No, it’s not the kind of question I’d ask unless this was a movie where somebody’s waking up with massive head trauma.”
“Do you mind if we do a little fact-finding at your place? I know you had something more romantic in mind tonight, but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”
“Promise?” Kian asked, low.
“Yeah.” I kissed him quickly and then put my coat back on.
It wasn’t strictly necessary but I also left a note for my dad. Went to Kian’s. Home later. Love you. The fact was, he probably wouldn’t see it until morning, if at all. But my conscience wouldn’t let me go about my business as if I lived alone. I loved my dad, no matter what; he was pretty much all the family I had left. Sighing, I pulled a wool beanie on and then headed to the door, where Kian was waiting.
“Ready?” He reached for my hand as we left the apartment building.
It was a cold clear night, city lights sparkling diamond bright all around us, white from the streetlights, red from the stoplights, yellow and orange neon from restaurants across the street, blinking a garish invitation. My breath came out in a wisp of smoke, twirling upward into the night sky until I couldn’t see it anymore. I thought of the molecules packing together, reacting to the cold air. Such tiny particles, making up the bigger picture; there was always science at work, even in the simplest process. For some reason, I didn’t feel as scared as I did before—maybe because Kian was with me, maybe because I was slowly learning how to fight back. There was no way I’d turn into a ninja overnight, but those hours with Raoul were helping.
That new mental ease also made me realize something and my smile faded. “It’s probably not as great as you imagined.”
“What?”
Several cars passed before I spoke. “Being with me. You built an ideal from watching me. But up close, I’m awkward, annoying, not smart in a way that’s ever helpful, plus I get mad over dumb things, and—”
“Hold up.”
He stopped walking between my apartment and his, and since we were holding hands, an extra tug twirled me back toward him. Kian caught me by my upper arms, just before I hit his chest. For a long moment, he stared down into my face before curving his palm to my cheek. The heat of his skin came as a small, sweet shock, sending a pleasurable chill through me.
Smiling, Kian ran his thumb over my cheekbone lightly. “You think you’re a disappointment?”
“How can I not be?” I couldn’t meet his gaze.
Changing how I looked had changed how people treated me but a complete internal shift would take longer. I didn’t have the confidence I pretended, even now. Intellectually, I believed that Kian cared about me, but it was hard to accept emotionally—to put my full faith in it. It was hard to trust that his devotion could survive obstacles like the ones we were facing, and in my worst-case scenario, he couldn’t stand me when the Harbinger called for payment, and Kian died wondering what the hell he was thinking, chucking his life for me.
“Sometimes you surprise me,” he admitted. “But it’s never bad. I love getting to know the real you because it means I’m part of your life.” Then he bent, punctuating the rest of his words with slow, gentle kisses. “I wouldn’t change this time with you for a hundred years with anyone else. Now let’s go talk to Aaron.”
I followed when he tugged on my hand, hardly able to breathe for the ache in my chest. There was no way I deserved Kian, though part of me thought he might actually be some kind of karmic repayment for the shit I went through at Blackbriar. Not that I actually believed in any kind of universal balance. Supernatural forces were definitely at work, but they cared more about winning points and ruining another player’s gambits than maintaining equilibrium.
Aaron was watching one of Kian’s classic DVDs when we came in. He smiled at me and made room on the couch, all wide-eyed innocence. Are you punking us, kid?
I thought hard about it, but in the end I still asked, “What year were you born?”
“1922.”
Kian sucked in a breath, sinking onto the love seat opposite. “Are you kidding?”
But the boy’s blue eyes were clear as he shook his head. “I’ve been away a long time. The world is very different now.”
Shit. No wonder he didn’t want to go to the police station.
“How old were you when…” Kian trailed off, probably not knowing how to phrase it.
“Six when he took me,” Aaron answered.
We had tons of questions, mostly historical, and Kian sat with his tablet, verifying trivia about what Boston was like back in the day. Considering his age when he was stolen, his right answer ratio seemed about what I’d expect, hovering near 60 percent. But it was really late when we wrapped up, and I’d ignored one text from my dad already.
Finally, I said, “I better head out. It seems my father’s paying attention to my curfew.”
That was actually a welcome change. So Kian walked me home and then we were kissing on the stoop when my dad marched out. Never in my life had I seen him so furious. He actually hauled me away by the arm and fixed a hard look on us both.
“I asked you to come home hours ago, Edith. You didn’t ask permission to go to your boyfriend’s house tonight. You nagged me so much to be around more that I got groceries and I made dinner, so we could eat together like we used to. I’m making an effort here, in answer to your demands, and—”
“Excuse me, I had no idea we were having dinner because you didn’t tell me. I haven’t seen you in days, it seems like. How am I supposed to read your mind?”
“All you had to do was check your messages,” he snapped. “And this attitude is not helping. You’re grounded, two weeks, nothing but school. Give me your phone.”
I shot a horrified look at Kian. Our time was limited enough already. And how was I supposed to work with Raoul? When he said I needed those skills, he wasn’t screwing around.
“This is complete bullshit,” I protested.
For the first time in my life, my father slapped me.
IT CAN ALWAYS GET WORSE
Kian stepped between us. “Don’t—”
“Stop,” I said, knowing there was no way this wouldn’t turn into a huge mess. “You better go home.”
“Not when you’re in trouble.” He put a protective arm around me, which was sweet but by the way my dad’s face dar
kened, it wasn’t helping.
“While I appreciate everything you’ve done to help, this is a family matter. You won’t be seeing Edie anytime soon.”
My heart in a knot, I stepped away from Kian. “It’s okay. Night.”
He didn’t look pleased when my dad dragged me into the house, and I got why. My cheek was still stinging. I’d never mouthed off like that to my father before, never cursed at him, that I could recall. He’d probably attribute the aberrant behavior to Kian’s influence. Which meant I’d be lucky to see him ever again, let alone in two weeks.
I don’t have time for this.
Inside the apartment, it was ominously quiet apart from the ticking of the clock. I sat down on the beige couch without waiting for my dad to order me. He took a seat opposite, anger knitting his brows into a formidable line. I tried to look penitent, but deep down, a sense of injustice percolated, bubbling away along with the witch’s brew of anger and outrage that came with this grounding.
So unfair. He ignores me for weeks, then expects me to read his mind.
I got a fifteen-minute lecture, followed by a five-second apology. Though I said all the right things, I was still pissed off when I retreated to my room. He had no idea what I was facing, or how much worse things could get. These days I had battle scars, wounds I’d taken trying to fight. I doubted my dad would understand that, either.
Curling onto my side, I went to sleep only after a lot of mental gymnastics. In the morning, Dad stuck around to make sure I honored his edict about staying home. It could be considered progress, I guessed, since we ate six meals together over the weekend. Monday morning, though, he seemed half crazy with the need to get back to his research.
“What about drama club?” I asked, eating a spoonful of squishy high-fiber cereal.
“Hm?” In his head, he was already at work.
“I’m not allowed to go anywhere but drama club meets three days a week after school.”
“Oh. Extracurricular activities are fine. But come straight home.”
I choked back a joke about him fitting me with an anklet that tracked prisoner movements. Knowing my dad, he’d find someone at the university who could jury-rig one. So it was better not to put ideas in his head.
Nodding, I scraped out my bowl and put it in the sink. “I’ll be back around six.”
“Have a good day.”
“You too.”
At school, the atmosphere was weird and hushed as I headed for my locker. Two students were whispering as I walked by, though not about me. “No, seriously, it’s true. She has a picture and everything.”
“Yeah, right,” the guy scoffed.
“What’s the deal?” Once, I would’ve been afraid to speak up like this, afraid of drawing negative attention.
The girl replied, “Apparently Allison Vega was working on a student council project after school Friday night and she saw something in the hall.”
I raised a brow. “Like what?”
If she was responsible for this gossip, there was a 99 percent chance it was malicious, designed to foment panic and chaos. But the other two were taking it seriously, and all around me, people were checking their phones. My dad had given mine back this morning with the understanding he’d confiscate it again tonight, once I was removed from any possibility of needing emergency assistance.
“Blackbriar’s haunted. Allison thinks it’s Russ or Brittany.”
Or Cameron, I thought. But nobody else knew he was dead, apart from Davina and Jen, who were taking my word for it, and there was no way they’d talk to Allison about it. Okay, maybe this wasn’t bullshit. Because there was a spirit following me around, enough to seriously freak me out, if I didn’t have so much other weird shit weighing me down.
“You don’t believe me?” the guy said, copping some attitude. “Check this out.”
He shoved his phone at my face, so it took a few seconds for my eyes to focus. I saw that the e-mail had five FWs before the subject of “Holy shit,” then the pic popped up. It was a hallway in the science annex, all of the overhead fluorescents were off, but there was enough ambient light from the high windows to give the sense the picture had been taken around twilight. Near the end of the corridor, an amorphous shadow stood, freestanding, framed in the doorway. It seemed to have shape and mass, independent of any light source, yet it was also transparent. A chill rippled over me. I’d never seen Cameron, apart from flickers in my peripheral vision, but this could be him.
“Pretty crazy, right?” The girl looked like she wanted to call one of those ghost-hunting TV shows right this minute.
“Could be Photoshopped,” I pointed out.
But I didn’t think so. It cooled off some of their excitement, though. The guy cocked his head. “Shit, that does seem like something Allison would do. Send around a fake ghost photo, get everyone pissing scared, and then announce she was punking us.”
I half smiled. “Thanks for filling me in. I have to get to class.”
The rest of the morning, I played good student. Davina needed consoling because people were talking shit about Russ, calling him the strangled specter. Which was flipping macabre and, pretty soon, morons were talking about cold spots and feeling hands on their necks in the shower. While I thought Russ was an asshole when he was alive, it sucked that he was turning into an urban legend—and oh, shit. I needed to put this rumor to bed before enough gullible people made it come true. Sadly I had no idea of the tipping point—how many people needed to buy in—before Blackbriar actually had an entity created in Russ’s monstrous image.
My blood ran cold. And Allison knows that.
During lunch, I went to the new Teflon table and tapped her shoulder. “Can we talk?”
Allison glanced up, flipping shiny dark hair. Yeah, she’s eating well. It occurred to me that she must’ve found it hilarious pretending to be bulimic to pass better as a human. The scientist in me entertained fierce curiosity about her species and how she differed from other immortals; the rest of me realized that I didn’t have time for distractions.
“I have better things to do and they don’t include validating your existence.”
Leaning in, I pitched my voice low. “I know what you’re doing with this stupid Blackbriar ghost.”
Her perfectly lipsticked mouth curved into a pleased smile. “Call it a social experiment.”
“You don’t know how many people it takes either, do you?” From the flash in her eyes, I’d struck pay dirt.
But she didn’t answer. Instead she turned to the dude next to her and loudly complimented him on his stupid hair, spiked with enough product to put someone’s eye out. Sighing, I went back to my own table and pondered ways I could completely discredit the story. By the time school ended, I was already exhausted. Since Kian knew I was grounded and forbidden from seeing him, he didn’t pick me up. That gave me the window I needed, breathing room from both my dad and boyfriend, to make my training session with Raoul.
Who looked impatient as hell when I ran into the gym ten minutes late. “Do you take this seriously? Do you understand what’s at stake?”
Between my dad, Kian, Allison, and the Harbinger, the urge to burst into tears hit me hard but I wrestled it down. Crying won’t help. It won’t save Kian or make my dad understand. It won’t break the Harbinger’s deal, stop Allison, or make me stronger. So I squared my shoulders and bowed like I’d seen students do to an honored sensei.
“I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”
Mollified, he said, “Stretch out, run your katas, and then show me what you can do on the practice dummies. Once you’re ready, we’ll spar.”
I did as I was told and earned the right to punch his gloved hands after an hour of brutal sweating. That actually felt really good. Raoul called a halt, let me drink some water and walk around, then we met in the center of the mat. He took up a battle stance, both of us unarmed. I was still too inexperienced to be trusted with a practice weapon.
“Come at me,” he invited.
This was never going to be my first instinct. The idea that I could ever kick someone’s ass seemed ludicrous, but I readied myself and went in, only to be taken down hard. All the breath rushed out of me as my back slammed into the mat. I lay there for a few seconds, wheezing and seeing stars.
Raoul made an impatient noise. “You’re small. You’re weak. You’re tentative. Congratulations, anything in the game will eat you before you get in a single strike.”
“Is this your idea of a pep talk?” Somehow I managed to roll over and wobble to my feet.
“It’s your reality. I’m trying to teach you how to survive.”
“And to save Kian,” I said.
“That too. Again.”
Raoul threw me five more times, each time harder than the last. He didn’t hit me today, but I couldn’t penetrate his guard enough to make it worthwhile. I was bruised all to hell by the time we called it quits. I didn’t say anything as I limped toward the exit.
But he called after me, “You’re stubborn. That’ll help.”
A faint, exhausted sigh escaped me. “I hope so. It never has before.”
“And you know what it’s like to be broken. You won’t let it happen again, will you?” He was relentless, digging at old scars to see if there was any raw putrefaction beneath.
“No,” I said softly. “I won’t roll over again. I won’t go quietly.”
For the first time since I’d known him, Raoul gave me a warm, true smile. “I’m counting on that, mija.”
The two weeks of my punishment went slowly. I Skyped with Kian, trained my ass off with Raoul, and ate dinner with my dad. Things were a little better at home. He was making an effort, so I tried to do the same. I couldn’t say it was perfect; tiny fissures had formed in our relationship. It was hard to forget the burn in my cheek after he hit me, easy to remember all the nights I went to bed without seeing him and left in the morning the same way. Yet he was all the family I had left, so I had to patch things up.
I also had homework and friends to reassure. It seemed like there weren’t enough hours in the day because I poked around online, searching obscure texts and trying to find some medieval codicil that would free Kian. So far all of my Google-fu qualified me only as a noob, not a ninja. The answer was probably in a dusty old book, hidden in a quaint corner shop somewhere in Europe written in ancient German, and I’d never in a million years find it.