Lightborne (The Bexley Chronicles Book 1)
Author: Quinn, Brindi
Date: 2016-12-29
Publisher: Never and Ever Publishing

Lightborne

The Bexley Chronicles, Act 1

By Brindi Quinn

Copyright © 2016 Brindi Quinn.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Print ISBN: 978-1-949222-21-0

Library of Congress Control Number: 9781949222210

Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

Cover design by Victoria Cooper.

Published by Never & Ever Publishing

Minneapolis, Minnesota
www.neverandeverpublishing.com

This book is dedicated to Jess and Lori. For adding light to the bleak.

Also by Brindi Quinn:

Heart of Farellah (Book 1 of the Heart of Farellah Series)

Moon of Farellah (Book 2 of the Heart of Farellah Series)

Fate of Farellah (Book 3 of the Heart of Farellah Series)

Atto’s Tale (Book 4 of the Heart of Farellah Series)

EverDare (Book 1 of the Eternity Duet)

NeverSleep (Book 2 of the Eternity Duet)

Seconds: The Shared Soul Chronicles

The World Remains

Sil in a Dark World: A Paranormal Love-Hate Story

The Death and Romancing of Marley Craw

The Eternity Duet

The Pursuit of Zillow Stone

Farellah: The Complete Series

Nightborne

Fiend

I am enveloped in sweet, silky shadow. It slips through my nose and down my lungs. Behind me, the prism separating his world and mine quakes. If it shatters, it will all be over.

Everything we’ve worked for will be complete.

I am the Wilted.

I am the fiend.

1

The Very, Very Unpleasant Boy

I can’t stop looking at him. I should, but I can’t stop.

He sees.

It’s awkward.

We both look away.

I wait a few seconds before looking at him again.

I can’t help myself. The boy in the blue hoodie is like me, and it’s so very rare to see someone like me.

I wonder if he knows it.

I bring my hand to my right earlobe. A small glowing orb of turquoise radiates from the skin there and pulses at my touch. It isn’t a tattoo or a piercing; it’s proof of what I am. The boy in the blue hoodie has a matching one.

For now, my light is dim. His is dimmer. Does it mean he hasn’t awakened yet?

Only one way to find out.

“Ahhh. I’m stuffed!” I kick my legs from the booth and stretch. The booth makes a squeaky protest at the release of my weight. The boy in the blue hoodie looks up from a fry coated in ranch dressing.

“Hey, Moll,” I call to the sole waitress. “Can you run my card?”

The Café on Grand is less crowded than usual. I only ever go there alone. To think or to plan. Moll hurries over to clear my plate and take the debit card marked with a fake name: ‘Amanda Robertson.’ That’s what I’ve been going by lately. Completely inconspicuous.

Only those in the coterie know my true name.

Moll returns my card, with receipt, and I leave her the sort of tip an Amanda would leave. Not too big, not too small. Then, I make my way for the boy in blue—whose glow is only slightly visible, though it’s definitely there, tucked behind his hood.

As I pass him, the receipt from Moll is loose between my fingers. Just loose enough that—

“Oops!”

—it accidentally drops into the puddle of ranch on the hooded boy’s plate.

A half-bitten fry falls from his mouth as he gapes down at the receipt in dismay. By the looks of it, ranch dressing is very, very important to him.

There are worse things. At least it isn’t mustard. Shudder.

“Oh wow! So sorry about that!” Eyes locked on the stranger, I pluck the wet receipt from his plate. “Hey, Moll! Can we get another side of ranch over here? I believe I’ve just committed lunch murder in the third-degree.”

“It’s okay,” the boy starts, appearing somewhat put-off that a random girl has just dug around in his food, “I was just about fini—”

“Nonsense!” I fan at him. “Condiments are important. Very much so.” I lean in with cupped mouth: “It’s the little things.”

The boy is now even more put-off.

If only I were good at flirting, I might be able to approach this in a different way. Alas, charm and coyness aren’t my strongest of suits.

I plop down in the booth opposite him, in response to which he stiffens against the vinyl of the cushion, shocked apparently. “Sure,” he says under his breath, “go right ahead and have a seat.” He doesn’t bother to lower his hood.

His earlobe hasn’t changed. Not even with me this close to him. Mine, on the other hand, is glowing obnoxiously. He doesn’t take notice.

It can only mean one thing:

He’s still dormant.

“Hmm. I’ve never activated anyone before…” I mutter to myself, chin in hand.

The boy’s left eyebrow twitches with something between confusion and annoyance. “Excuse me?”

Right. I probably seem like a crazy person.

“My name is Amanda,” I lie, sticking out my hand. “I come here all the time, but I’ve never seen you before. Come here often? Sorry about the ranch.”

“I told you, it’s fin—”

“There you go!” With ninja stealth, Moll is at the side of the table, delivering a fresh cup of dressing.

My hand is still hanging awkwardly over the table. He never took it. It doesn’t look like he intends to, either. I inch it a bit closer to him, and he backs further into the booth seat. “How old are you?” I ask. “Middle school?”

My question triggers something. The boy’s already unenthusiastic expression transforms into one of utter foulness. “I’m seventeen.”

“What!? No way! You look quite young!”

He stares down his nose at my outstretched hand. “Quite?” he sneers. “And what about you? How old are YOU supposed to be?”

Snarky little fella, isn’t he? Wasn’t expecting that.

“T-twenty-one,” I say, taken aback.

“Ah,” he says, pushing my hand aside with the prongs of his fork. “Did you want to buy me booze, then, or—?”

“Of course not!” I spout. “We don’t drink! It dulls our lightborne sense!”

Oops.

I cup my mouth.

It’s too soon to tell him the truth of what I am. The truth of what he has the potential to be.

“Lightborne sense?” The boy’s demeanor is indifferent. “Look, I saw you staring at me before. What is it you want from me, old lady?” His mouth turns haughty. “I know I’m hard to resist and all, but—”

“Old lady?” I repeat through my teeth.

This encounter isn’t anything like how I expected. This ‘boy’ is more of a ‘guy.’ And an unpleasant one, at that!

“Listen, you baby-faced runt!” I counter. “I was going to let you in on something really amazing, but now I’ve deemed you unworthy. So there!”

Silence follows my proclamation.

“So, what,” he says, after a moment, “it’s something like… drugs?”

“NO.”

With a sigh, I peel myself from the sticky covering of the booth. My sweaty thigh seems to have formed a glue-like bond with the vinyl. My skin makes a sickly ripping noise as I stand.

The unpleasant boy wrinkles his face in disgust.

“Shut up,” I tell him.

He folds his arms. “I didn’t say anything.”

With that, I march away from him, flustered enough that Moll notices. She calls something to me, but I ignore it.

What a shame. The boy had such potential, too. It’s rare to come across one of us, as it is, but to find someone turquoise like me…

We are a dying bloodline.

I move to the door marked by a bell. And that’s the end of it.

Or so I think.

Just as I make a motion to push at the door. A certain discourteous boy in a certain stupid blue hoodie pushes past me rudely—

And inadvertently brushes his hand against my wrist in the process.

Skin contact is made. The turquoise light streaming from the boy’s right earlobe flares blindingly bright, and he stumbles against the café door, which retaliates in disrupted bell clamor. In the aftermath, he is wide-eyed, gaping at the brightness on my ear that matches his own.

Not only that, a thin turquoise string of light now connects us, from his wrist to mine. Something only the two of us can see. Realization hits me—

“Aww hell!”

I’ve unwittingly just activated my first lightborne ward. And he’s possibly the worst human I’ve ever met.

2

A Rude Awakening

“What’s with your ear?!”

“Shhhh!”

I pull the newly awakened lightborne away from the café. He’s like a baby. A baby-faced baby lightborne.

As I draw him down an alley strewn with cardboard boxes, he puts up a protest: “Why is your ear glowing like that?! FREAK.”

“For the record, YOUR ear is glowing just the same as mine,” I tell him. “Don’t worry, though, normal humans can’t see it.”

This only sets him off. “Normal humans? Meaning there are abnormal ones, also?!” He begins to flail, of all things.

“Stop it,” I bark. “If you don’t, someone will notice and think I’m abducting you.”

His face reaches new levels of desert-like dryness. “Aren’t you? And what the heck is this thing?” He gives his wrist a shake, where the thin string of light connects us. It runs from his wrist to mine, like yarn.

“It’s our lightstream. It allows us to share power.”

He roots himself to the cobble of the alley. “Power?”

This isn’t going over well.

I try to remember back to when Aiden gave me ‘the talk.’ How did he put it?

“You are a special, glowing person. Like a princess. One seeded with the light of the Maker’s breath. Chosen, over everyone else, to protect the—”

I stop myself. I was five when Aiden gave me the talk. It won’t work on this guy.

Indeed, his lip is curled with disgust. “A princess?”

“O-or a prince? Ugh. Never mind. It’s too much to explain right now. The sun is almost at highpoint, and they’ll be coming soon. Anyway, what’s your name?”

The boy rips his wrist away from me, and the light chain shakes in retaliation. “Wait a minute, I know what this is! You’re a cougar. AND you roofied me. That’s why I’m seeing weird things.” He scoffs to himself smugly. “Gotcha.”

Is he serious!? Four years isn’t that great of an age difference!

I glance at the sky because the sun is moving into position. Normally it would be fine, but with a newborn on my hands…

“First of all, I’m not a cougar,” I say, rushed. “Second of all, any seventeen-year-old boy should be happy to have the attention of a hot older woman. Thirdly, when would I have roofied you!? Did you even eat anything around me?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Plus, I’m far too cute to be your standard abductor.”

He rolls his eyes. “As cute as you are humble.”

“Good, now that that’s settled—” I snatch his sleeve and tug him down the alley. “I don’t like you, and I didn’t mean to awaken you, but it happened, and it’s probably for the best, being that you’re turquoise and we need as many people as we can get. Now that IT’s happened, I figure I need to keep you alive at least until sundown, so I’m going to need you to do exactly as I say until we get back to the coterie. There, Aiden and the others can help me figure out what to do with you.”

The boy looks like he wants to protest, but he doesn’t get the chance. The sun is at highpoint, and it’s time to do what I do best. I begin to sprint, and I’m sure he notices that it’s quicker than an average human. It’s enough to distract him.

At least until we reach the end of the alley.

There lies an open stretch of sunny street. The sort of place darklings like to dwell. The very place I was supposed to be guarding, before being distracted by the boy in the blue hoodie.

Any moment now—

“Ho! What is THAT?” the boy squawks.

Right on schedule. There, on a stretch of pavement, heavily occupied by humans, a shadow passes, blacker than any black the boy has ever seen. He clings to me.

“You can feel it, right?” I say. “Not only see it, but feel the darkness?”

He doesn’t answer, just watches as the shadow swims over the pavement, beneath the feet of unsuspecting humans.

“The funny thing is, you expect dark things to hide in the night, but actually—” I bring my hand to my glowing earlobe and give it a pinch. “Only in the brightest sunlight, do the darkest shadows show themselves. Our job is to drown them.”

“Nope. Nope, nope, nope.” The newborn lightborne covers his ears and turns his back to the shadowy beast. “It’s not real. It’s the roofie.”

Guess denial is to be expected.

I spin him around. “Just watch.”

Watch and learn.

It’s my turn to be smug. He’s about to be impressed. I concentrate my turquoise power from my ear and into my fingertips. In response, my fingers pulse with the magick of the earth. My veins are now one with the veins of the tree of light. Yggdrasil’s power courses through me. I channel it into action.

“Yah!” With a cry, I sprint into the open street.

Normal humans don’t notice. They can see it, but it doesn’t register with them. They don’t think anything out of sorts about the girl dashing quicker than a person should be able to dash.

The shadow below is still circling, looking for its next victim. Its sights are set on a woman with red shoes, shouting into her cellphone. Something about her cable fees doubling. Bright colors are appealing to the darklings. That’s why I most always wear black.

As the woman’s scarlet feet become encompassed in darkness that only I and the boy waiting in the alley can see, I run at her, dragging my lighted fingers along the ground as I come. A strip of turquoise light glows along the coarse street where I’ve drawn it. I’m creating a passage of light between the earth and the mortal world. A vein.

Even the woman doesn’t notice me as I dart at her. She can’t see the glow on my ear, she can’t see the line of light drawn along the ground, and she can’t see the chain of turquoise that connects me with the boy in the alley. She’s busy taking out her frustrations on the customer service representative on the other end of the line—a person who probably has no control over the red-shoed woman’s cable fees.

By the sound of it, the woman is one of those people that deserves to be eaten by the darklings.

But it’s my job to save even the horrible ones.

I don’t dare touch the shadow directly. Instead, I circle it—and the red-shoed woman—creating a ring of turquoise glow around them. For the lesser darklings, this is all it takes. Yggdrasil, tree of light, will do the rest.

Once the circle of glow is completed, I take my fingers from the pavement and dart back to where I started the line of light. I bring my hand again to my right earlobe to replenish the power in my fingertips, before placing a spread-fingered hand against the ground, at the start of the light line.

I give a glance over my shoulder to make sure the baby-faced baby is watching. He is. He’s crouched, but he’s watching. Good. With a grin, I draw my breath and channel the power of the earth into the line of light. It sears in response.

Like a lit fuse, power courses down the line of light until reaching the red-shoed woman where she stands.

Teeth-gritted, I push everything I have into the spell. “TAKE THAT, YOU FIEND!” The world lights blindingly bright with turquoise power. There is a pop! And a hiss! And once the world becomes visible again, the shadow beneath the woman is gone. All that remains is her own huffy one as it storms down the road, still ranting at the poor representative on the other end of the phone.

The line of light is gone. My fingers have returned to normal, and even though I can’t see my own earlobe, it’s dimmer than before. I feel it. I’ve exerted a fair amount of power today.

The rest of the world carries on their way, returning to work from lunch, or scurrying about on their errands. Only the boy in blue knows what’s happened.

He’s crouched against the ground, muttering under his breath like a foaming raccoon.

I brush off my hands and return to his side, following the chain of light that connects us. “Well, what did you think, runt? Preeeetty sweet, am I right?”

He says nothing that amounts to words. He just continues to mutter and stare at the space where the darkling formerly was. He’s caught in the sort of disbelief that can only be eased, in my experience, by one thing:

“Let’s go for bubble tea!”

><

Expression vacant, the boy slurps another boba up the straw. He hasn’t said a word since the alley. Maybe I broke him. Whoops.

The day is bright and warm. I keep a keen eye out for any other darklings that might be forming over the ground. My mission was to watch that open stretch of street only, but if any others happen upon us, I’ll have no choice but to act—with a ka-pow! And a hi-yah!

“What the actual hell?”

The boy is watching me, as I’ve been unconsciously making karate motions with my hands.

Whoops again.

“H-hey, good job!” I divert. “You said something. And they were actual words, too! Does that mean you’re ready to tell me your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘the boy,’ you know.”

He rolls his eyes, as he’s prone to doing. “You haven’t once called me ‘the boy.’”

“Maybe not out loud.”

The boy lets out a sigh, and stares into the center of his straw. “You can do… magic. Like a wizard.”

“Not a wizard,” I correct. “But yes, magick. Light magick. You can too.”

He halts in the middle of the sidewalk and chews his lip a moment. “You fight… shadows?”

“Darklings,” I say. “Among other things. To be honest, lesser darklings like these are a walk in the park compared to what’s out there.”

He chews his mouth a moment more, and then—“Teach me.” His eyes are set on mine, stern almost.

“That IS the idea.” I take a final slurp of my tea before tossing it into a can at the corner of the walk. “Whenever we meet a new lightborne that hasn’t been activated, we’re supposed to activate them. TBH, you’re my first, though, so I want to ask Aiden how to deal with you.”

“Aiden?”

“My waker,” I explain. “The one who showed me what I am.”

The boy eyes me up and down with apparent dislike. “That means that you’re MY waker? Great.”

I flick him in the nose. “Try not to be too excited about it. Little asshole. I’m actually pretty awesome, you know.”

“I’m not little,” he grumbles.

“Suuure.” But I feel bad for him… a little. I haven’t been ‘normal’ for a very long time, so I can’t really relate. As we cut through the cemetery at the edge of the city, I think about how to be tactful. “Look, I know it’s a lot,” I tell him without meeting his eye. “I’ve seen others right after they awaken. It’s tough. You’ll feel better when we get to the coterie. There’s a whole group of us. People that are better at this sort of thing than I am.”

He squeezes the empty plastic cup in his hand. “Can you at least give me a rundown of who you people are?” He swallows at the cup and his voice becomes squeaky: “Aliens?”

I wish! But a rundown? That’s a tall order.

“I can try?” I say, equally squeaky. “But first you have to tell me your name.”

“I don’t…” he stalls.

I turn back to him and his forehead is furrowed.

Of course. How could I have forgotten? Now that he’s awakened, he probably can’t remember his old name. After all, I can’t remember what I was called before I was five. He probably has an ID in his wallet that shows the name his parents gave him. It won’t do any good in our world, though, so it’s better not to remind him now. That’s not the name I want to hear, anyway.

“You’re going to have many names in the future,” I tell him. “Right now, I’m Amanda Robertson. But my true name, my lightborne name, is something deeper than a name. It’s something that’s been with me forever, in my blood. You don’t have to remember your human name right now, but try to recall your lightborne name. Even if you don’t think you know it, you do. Here—” I take the destroyed cup from his hand. “Bring your hand to your ear. That’s our link to the earth. I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense right now. It probably sounds like weird spiritual crap, but trust me. Your earlobe is a connection between the mortal world and the world of light. Touch it. Concentrate.”

He looks reluctant, skeptical, and like he wants to murder me.

I lean against a polished tombstone. A large one in the shape of a Celtic cross. “Just do it.”

He does so with the utmost disinclination. With eyes locked deadly-like on mine, he brings a twitching hand to his earlobe. Upon touching his skin there, though, something happens. A sizzle shoots up his body. I see it run from his feet the top of his hair—not that there’s much space to cover on a shorty like him. “Pidd,” he says automatically, and the light chain between us pulses.

“Did you say Pit?” I tease.

“PIDD,” he says again, this time stronger. Bolder. The chain pulses again. Good, he’s telling the truth. “It’s weird,” he says. “I can’t feel it or hear it, but I KNOW it.”

I nod. “Sounds about right.”

He turns to me expectantly. “Your turn.”

“Hm?” I raise a brow at him.

“Your true name,” he says.

From some far off part of the city a jackhammer starts.

“Oh,” I say absentmindedly. “It’s Pauline.”

“Liar,” he shoots.

“Ah, you can tell.” I grin at him. “See? It means we’re connected, waker and ward. Lucky you.”

“What is your real name?” he demands, arms crossed foully. “I told you, didn’t I?”

I stand from the tombstone and kick at the weeds that have overrun the grass. “That’s true,” I sigh. “And I suppose you’ll need to know sooner or later…”

He waits, browline darkening by the second.

“Jeanine,” I say.

“Liar.”

“Felicia,” I say.

“Ugh! Just tell me, would you?!”

Heh. It’s somewhat satisfying to torment him.

All the same…

“My true name,” I say, “is Bexley.” The turquoise chain running between our wrists flares.

“Bexley?” He cocks his head. “Yeah, you seem like a ‘Bexley.’”

I don’t want to know if it’s a good or a bad thing.

“Anyways,” I say, moving around the cross-like tombstone. “Let’s get back to the coterie. There’s actually kind of a lot going on in our world right now, so the sooner we get there, the bett—”

“But I have to go home.” Pidd roots his shoes to the ground. There’s probably a dead body under there. Shudder. “You can’t just expect me to go with you to your magical cult or whatever it is,” he says.

“Pidd…” Now I feel more than a little bad. “Do you… have anywhere else to go?”

“Of course I do!” He reels backwards in offense. “My HOME, idiot.”

“But…” I hide my eyes in the weeds around our feet. “Do you remember where it is?”

He takes a moment to answer. “I…”

“How about a family? Do you remember your family? Or friends? Or anyone?”

“That’s—!”

I wait for something more, but he’s quiet. Truth is settling on him and it’s a heavy truth to bear. “Do you remember anything but your name?” I ask softly.

“I remember… I like taking pictures. That’s all.” He is horrified by the discovery.

“You remember other things, I’m sure,” I say, fanning at him. “It’s just hard being put on the spot.”

He meets my gaze, with eyes that are sharp and cold. Until they aren’t. For all of my earlier staring, I haven’t really gotten a good look at him yet. Not a true look.

His eyelashes are dark. So are his eyes. It was hard to see before, but…

More than angry, more than defiant, his eyes are afraid.

It was a long time ago, but I understand. It can be frightening to forget your old self so suddenly and without remorse.

I put a hand to his shoulder. “Come with me, Pidd. I’ll keep you safe until you can keep yourself safe. You didn’t choose this, but your old self is gone. For a while, it will bother you. I used to strain my memory for a face. Any face to connect me to the mortal world. But new faces will begin to fill your life, and then it won’t bother you anymore. Mine’s the first.”

The world seems to pause. The air around us is still, but it’s an alive stillness—as if the air is clashing against itself so ferociously that it has no choice but to cancel itself out.

As the world around us clashes, Pidd stares at me. He slowly lifts his hands to the edges of his hood and drops it for the first time.

I suddenly feel embarrassed for how I’ve been treating him.

“Y-you’re seventeen?” I say.

His hair is blond and reaches below his ear to the base of his jaw—which is more defined now that it’s out in the open. He may be baby-faced, but there’s something about his jaw and his adam’s apple that makes me realize:

Pidd isn’t a boy, at all. He’s a guy. One normal girls probably find attractive.

“I’ll be eighteen next month,” he says with a haughty swish of his hair.

“H-hey! You remembered something else! Anyway—” I awkwardly remove my hand from his shoulder. “I promise everything will feel better once we get to the coterie. All of this magick stuff? Pretty badass. There’s so much more to it, too!” I box at him. “So stick in there, runt!”

For some reason, it feels weird to call him that now, though.

“You realize we’re the same height, right?” he says dryly.

Are we? I eye at the top of his head. Aiden is a lot taller than him, but then… Aiden’s also a lot taller than me.

“Oh my gawd.” I feel my eyes widen. “Maybe I’m a runt too.”

He snorts, for the first time looking amused by the situation—though he’s quick to revert. “Ah, this is all a lot, Bexley.” He scratches at his hair vigorously. “Argh! Aren’t people going to look for me if I just disappear? What if there were people that cared about me? I mean, I’m SURE I must have had a girlfriend.”

“Maybe you had a boyfriend.” I shrug. “That would explain why you weren’t susceptible to my sexiness.”

“Ha! Sexiness, right.”

“I’m kidding.” I shield my eyes from the falling sun. “But for real, don’t worry about any of that. You’ve disappeared from the memory of anyone that used to know you, just like they’ve disappeared from your memory. Even if there’s a you-shaped hole in their life, their logic will twist around it. People have an uncanny way of overlooking things they can’t understand.” I halt abruptly enough to startle him. “Besides, Pidd, normal humans can’t follow us where we’re going.”

3

Brotherly Love

“Let me get this straight.” Pidd stands, hands to hips, before the dirty mirror. “You expect me to believe that smashing my head against a mirror is going to get me into your little cult headquarters?”

“The coterie isn’t a cult,” I tell him for the dozenth time. “And yes. That’s exactly what I expect you to do.”

Beyond the cemetery, there is an old library, lacking the proper funding to be of any real use to the community. The only good thing about it is the ivy that crawls the withered brick, like a lovely, leafy plague.

Pidd and I stand in the unisex bathroom that smells of must. The faucet drips rhythmically, staining the drain in rust.

“There are three ways to portal,” I tell him. “Number one: water. Number two: mirrors. And number three: torn space.”

“Torn space?”

“Yeah, that one’s a little weird. You’ll have to see it in action to understand. Now then—” I shoo at him. “Follow my lead.” I bring my hand to my right earlobe and pinch the glowing cluster of turquoise light. Once an ample amount has been transferred into my fingertips, I begin to draw a box of light on the mirror. “You do it too,” I tell Pidd. “Make sure it’s big enough that you can get your shoulders through.”

It’s clear he doesn’t like the idea of following my orders, but his curiosity is too much. He brings a hand to his ear, but when he removes it, his fingers are dull.

I shake my head at him. “First you have to actually transfer the power.”

“Of course, I have to TRANSFER the power. How obvious.” He returns his hand to his ear. “Now what?” he snaps.

“Umm, push… kind of.”

He makes the face of a dead fish. “Push what?”

“Your mind? I’m not really sure how to describe it. Just WILL the light from your ear to your fingertips.”

“Hyuuuuh!” He makes a groaning noise as his face distorts.

“Don’t push too hard! You don’t wanna pop!”

When he draws his hand away, it’s still dull. I’m not doing a great job of teaching him, apparently. A new approach.

“Pidd. Here.” I position myself behind him and he stiffens. We lock eyes through the mirror dotted with smudge marks. “One more go.”

Suspiciously, never taking his eyes from mine, he pinches the lobe of his ear one more time. This time, I pinch his other one.

“What the—?”

“Remember how you didn’t feel or hear your true name? It just WAS?” I say.

He nods.

“It’s a little like that.” I rub the ball of his ear. “You can feel your finger against your ear, but it’s something more than feeling. You need to make it happen. Ex nihilo means ‘from nothing.’ Like when the Maker formed the world, you need to make something from nothing. So—” I breathe in. “Take a deep breath. Maybe even the deepest one you ever have, and then just create.” I give his earlobe one last pinch before slipping my fingers away. In the aftermath, his eyes remain locked on mine through the dingy mirror. The world is silent, but for the dripping of the faucet. The air is still.

This time it’s truly still.

I blow a small stream of air against his neck and he shivers. “You are magickal, ward of mine,” I whisper into his ear. “That goosebump feeling is a little like the magick you possess. Something unseen and intangible, but there, all the same. The proof is the reaction.”

“Bexley.” As my name falls from his mouth, it is the softest thing I’ve heard him say so far. This time, I’m the one to shiver.

When he pulls his fingers away from his ear, they are glowing, infused with turquoise power.

“Hot damn! Nice going, Pidd! Now, quick, draw a box before it fades.”

He does as instructed. I follow, replenishing the one I previously drew. “Now—” I hoist myself onto the vanity. “Get up here.”

Astounded over the magickal energy he’s just produced, Pidd doesn’t put up a fight. He hops agilely onto the vanity next to me and follows my lead as I spread my fingers across the grubby mirror. We lightborne are part of the reason it’s so grubby. “A floor-length mirror works better, but this building is kind of perfect for us, so we make do. Next step is the fun part.” I can’t help but beam. “We cross realms, head-basher style. Don’t think about it, just one, two—” I thrust my head forward against the glass.

If a normal human were to try, they’d smack right into the hard mirror, but when an abnormal human does it…

My face melts against the mirror. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, I tumble forward into the coterie’s reception room. The mirror I just came through is still glowing with my magickal square, but it quickly fades. There’s no sign of Pidd yet, but his portal is yet active.

“Come on,” I bid him under my breath. He can’t be that much of a chicken, right? After everything he’s seen?

I wait in the stuffiness of the reception room for a hint of action from the mirror. The room is a grandiose room, draped in velvet scarves and crystal beads. Four large mirror portals mark the corners of the room, offset only by a solitary door, entrance to our headquarters.

I cup my mouth against the mirror sporting Pidd’s portal. “Come on, dude! I promise it won’t hurt! I’ll count with you, okay? Three, two—”

Pidd doesn’t wait for ‘one.’ He doesn’t give me a chance to back away, either. Before I know it, he’s spewing through the mirror, face first and right into me, wearing the dumbest of expressions, too. His full weight knocks me to the ground. Afterwards, I’m pinned to the carpet as he gawks around the reception room.

This is the first time I’ve served as a landing pad. “Heavy,” I grunt, basically suffocated.

He scrambles to remove himself from me—then spends the next few moments ogling at his own two hands, which are still stained in turquoise.

“Yes, yes.” I swat him in the back. “It’s amazing and all that, right? And that’s only the tip of the mother-freaking iceberg!”

Pidd slowly moves to his feet, attention turned to the reception room’s interior. “Velvet… crystals…” He raises a brow at me. “Cultish.”

“Psh. Come on.” I lead him to the door and out into the rest of our fortress. The mortal world’s version of the library might be mundane, but our version is…

“Whoa,” says Pidd.

It’s very whoa.

The structure of it is the same as the library—massive and gothic. That’s why we chose this place. But where the library’s upper floors are used for storage and coated with dust—in our realm, the building is used to its full potential. Shimmering marble halls lead to training rooms and dorms, adorned with pointless bits of gold embellishment along the edges of the ceiling; cabinets of iridescent rocks collected from the distant shores of Yggdress settle against the walls, some of which house secret passages behind their false backs; shelves of grimoires line every spare nook and cranny, ranging in a rainbow of colors; and at the center of everything a wide meeting hall connects the rest of the coterie. The heart. This is where our leaders get down to business.

And this is where the velvet room spits us out.

Pidd’s sneakers patter against the marble as he breaks into the room. He gapes up at the vaulted ceiling and around the balconies that lead to it. “This is…”

“Home,” I finish.

A circular table, large enough to fit all the coterie dwellers, lies at the far side of the meeting hall. On the near side, a massive blank frame takes up most of the wall; here, Aiden and the other leaders scribble instructions and decrees in words formed from light.

Aside from Pidd’s sneakers, the place is quiet.

“The others are probably still out on mission,” I tell him, “but Aiden should be here still. Let’s go find him.”

Awestruck, the newborn lightborne trails after me as I start up one of the sweeping staircases. Each floor circles the meeting chamber. The grand spiral. “It’s really fun to lean over the edge of the fifth floor railing and shout,” I say. “If you’re loud enough, the mortal side can faintly hear it. That’s why normal humans think the library is haunted.”

“So… this is the library still.”

“Kind of. It’s another realm or dimension. Call it what you want. The dimensions aren’t butted up next to each other; more like, they’re stacked. Have you ever been alone but felt like there was someone there with you?”

Pidd doesn’t answer.

“Welp, a lot of times, it’s because there’s someone right there with you, but in a stacked dimension. You can’t see each other, but if your auras are strong enough, you might be able to sense each other.”

Pidd’s look of awe has reverted to flatness. “We’re ghosts.”

“NO.” I swat at him. “Don’t be silly. Although…” I put up a matter-of-fact finger. “Most of the time, the more decrepit a building is on the mortal side, the more extravagant it is on ours. Not sure why that is, but it does explain a lot of hauntings.”

“Unbelievable.”

I think about it. “Then again, some cases of hauntings might be attributed to darklings and other dark things.”

Pidd is suspicious. “What things?”

He isn’t ready for that yet.

“Come on.” I give the turquoise chain a shake.

I lead him up the stair flights and to the sixth floor—the top one—where Aiden’s quarters are. On the way, we see no one.

“This place is deserted,” says Pidd, drawing his finger along a shelf of deep azure grimoires.

I can’t help smirking. “Just wait ‘til tonight.”

The balcony ends into a long hallway. Aiden’s quarters are at the end. Portraits of the great light-wielders from ages past adorn the hall, painted in metallic paint. Pidd points to one of them. “Now THAT is one epic moustache.”

“Ah yes.” I nod. “I’ve long aspired to grow such a stache—one that dangles in the wind.”

Pidd shakes his head. “You’re one strange girl, Bexley.”

So I’ve been told.

Aiden’s door is on the left. I give it a rap. It’s pointless, though, because he already knows I’m there. Aiden and I are linked by a chain of light only he and I can see. Waker and ward are forever linked. Ugh. Which means that the little asshole and I will be linked forever too—until one of us dies. Hopefully him.

“Aiden,” I call softly. “Are you awake?”

Nothing. And then—

In true Aiden fashion, I’m answered by the flinging of his door. “My princess! You’ve returned!” Before I can discern anything else, my face is smothered into the chest of a tall person.

And then there’s cooing. Lots.

“Are you unscathed, my joy? Your big bro was worried about you out there by yourself with the dark icky things!” No chance to answer. In a flash, Aiden spins me around, so that I’m facing Pidd. “And who might this be?”

Meanwhile, Pidd is backed against the wall, under the portrait of the moustache, sporting a look of disgust.

Yeah, Aiden can be a bit much.

“A-Aiden! This is Pidd, my new war—”

Aiden spins me around again to face him. His hair is long and straight and light—like stardust. On his right ear an orb of amber light shines. Aiden isn’t turquoise like Pidd and me. He’s of the amber bloodline, and so the light chain that connects our wrists swirls a mix of amber and turquoise. His eyes, too, sear amber—a side effect of years of amber light usage. Someday mine will pulse turquoise.

“Don’t say it, my joy,” Aiden contests in horror. “A WARD?! Am I no longer good enough for you?!”

“Aiden,” I mumble, embarrassed that my new ward is witnessing the outburst. “You always told me I’m supposed to awaken any dormant lightborne I come across. Plus, he’s turquoise like me, and you know how rare we are.”

With his arms around me, Aiden pulls my shoulders further against his chest and rests his chin on the top of my head. “But Bexley,” he pouts, “he looks like a punk.”

“Well, I can’t really argue with that, but…”

Pidd bares his teeth.

I let out a sigh. I should have expected this. Aiden has always been over-protective, ever since he found me when he was fifteen and I was five. I am his treasured ‘little sister.’

I tilt my head back to look up at him. “Aiden…”

He sticks out his bottom lip before releasing me. “FINE, Bex, but you know, he could be a serial killer or something, so watch out.” He narrows his eyes at poor Pidd, who probably hasn’t ever seen such a display from a thirty-year-old man.

“Naw,” I say. “Too stocky to be a serial killer. Not stealthy enough.”

“Hmph.” Pidd folds his arms.

“Well then, kid,” Aiden gestures to his open door with a sigh. “Come in… I guess.”

Aiden’s room is messy. Sashes hang dully from the highest beams of the enclosure. They trickle down and catch us when we enter. Several vials of milky liquid hang on a chain near the open window, each bottle bobbing with pearls of a different color. A single stream of light from outside flows through them, flecked with particles of dust. The pearls are cultivating, filling with sun’s power until strong enough for Aiden to ingest. Around the room, barrels are stacked, some protruding bunches of yellowed scrolls, others sealed tight.

At the center of the room, a mess of blankets and cushions lies strewn.

Aiden’s nest.

I imagine him crawling out of it, messy-headed and cranky.

My mouth turns up at the corner.

“Have a seat.” Aiden punts an embroidered pouf at Pidd’s head.

With a scowl, Pidd catches the pouf, slams it onto the ground and puts his foot on it triumphantly, like he’s just claimed a piece of land. I drag an unused crate from the corner and take a seat. Aiden sinks himself into a tattered armchair and throws his arm over his forehead like a spoiled prince.

“I guess it can’t be helped,” he says. “What does the punk know so far, Bex?”

“Not much,” I admit. “But he was able to cast a portal, as well as remember his true name, so there’s a start.”

Aiden plays with his glowing earlobe, mulling it over. “What are the chances that you encountered another turquoise?”

“Right? I was preeeetty shocked, myself.”

But there’s something funny there, hidden in the corner of Aiden’s right eye.

Pidd finally plops onto the pouf. “Are we really that rare?” he says, grouchy.

I nod. “There are four bloodlines. Aiden is amber. The most common is rose. Lavender is pretty common, too, I guess. But turquoise is ultra rare. I’ve only seen one other. You and I are the only two in this coterie.”

“There are other coteries?” says Pidd.

“Of course! There are lots, scattered all over the world, fighting to keep the darkness at bay.”

“Light versus dark?” Pidd rolls his eyes. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

“Can it, twerp,” says Aiden. “Stories are usually rooted in truth, and the truth is that dark things are continually trying to force their way into the mortal world.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “We don’t know. All we know is that we’re supposed to dispose of them whenever they enter the mortal realm.”

Pidd frowns. “So you all just pop back and forth through mirrors, blowing up shadows?”

“Among other things,” I say.

“What other things?”

“Well…” I exchange a glance with Aiden until he nods, permitting me to continue. “We’re also scouring the mortal realm in search of an item. Something prophesized to destroy the lesser darklings and their brethren once and for all.”

“What kind of an item?”

“A torch. A big one. Called the ‘feínne.’ But that’s all we know. The other coteries are also searching for it. We’ve got a little bit of a friendly competition going on to see who can find it first.”

“A big torch. To destroy the darkness.” Pidd blows a stream of air through his lips. “Uh-huh.”

“The torch is said to seal all entry to the mortal world from Nocturne—the dark world,” I explain.

Pidd doesn’t look convinced.

“Ur—help me out here, Aiden.”

Aiden’s face, which was previously glaring at Pidd with murderous intent, lights at my usage of his name. “Anything for you, my joy!” He springs to his feet and tears a map from the wall, exposing a stretch of clear space. He shoots me a glistening smile before darting his attention to Pidd. “Pay attention, kid,” he says through his teeth. Then, he brings his fingers to his right earlobe to infuse them with amber power. “There are three realms. The mortal world, for which we have no name; the dark world, called Nocturne; and the realm of light where the great tree resides. The tree is Yggdrasil, and the realm is Yggdress.” He begins to draw his fingers along the wall and a glowing tree appears.

“Before the worlds were formed, there was only darkness, leftover from the last era. For a time, the darkness was unchanging—until, one day, something in the darkness moved and creatures began to sprout from within. The Maker saw it, and created a tree of light to keep them from multiplying. Yggdrasil was a beacon in the darkness—a display of the Maker’s light.” Aiden halts. “You with me so far?”

Pidd gives an unenthused nod. Aiden continues:

“Even with Yggdrasil’s presence, dark creatures continued to form, so the Maker created three planes of existence.” Aiden swipes his hand along the wall, and three horizontal lines appear below the tree. He points to the top space. “This is Yggdress, where we are now, along with the tree of light.” He shifts his finger to the middle space. “This is the mortal world, where Bex found you. And—” Lastly, he draws his finger to the bottom space. “This is Nocturne, world of the darklings. Just as we are able to enter the mortal world from above, so are the darklings able to enter from below. Get it?”

Pidd rubs his face with both hands. “Suuuure.”

Aiden glowers. He snaps his fingers and the glowing picture on the wall disappears. “I tried. He’s too dumb.”

Before Pidd can retort, I step in:

“I think he understands, Aiden. It’s just a lot to accept all at once. Let me finish it.” I turn to disgruntled Pidd. “From as far back as our history stretches, we lightborne have been tasked with keeping the darkness from the mortal realm. We do this by connecting with the light of Yggdrasil and destroying the darklings. Like you saw me do earlier. Remember?”

“Of course I remember; it happened like an hour ago.”

What a brat.

“I’m just trying to help, here!” I feel my hands forming to balls. “Whether you want to accept it or not, that’s how it is, so get used to it!”

My voice reverberates in the small space. After, the room is unnervingly quiet while we wait for Pidd to digest.

“Fine,” he says at last, slow and calculated. “There are three worlds. And you two are warlocks. And I’ve been abducted.”

Meh. It’s a start. My fists unclench.

Pidd continues: “And there’s some great tree of light called Yggdrasil?”

I nod.

“And we can just pop between here and the normal world whenever?” he says.

“Right-o.”

“What about the dark realm? What was it called, again—Noctus?”

“Nocturne,” I correct, sensibly.

“Yeah, that. Can we get there through mirrors too?” he asks.

That’s a weird question. “I don’t know,” I say, “but why would you want to?”

He shrugs. “Just trying to keep it all straight.”

Aiden catches my eye, and again there’s something funny there, but he doesn’t say anything. At least the baby lightborne is starting to accept things. That’s probably enough for now. It’s unlikely his peabrain can handle much more.

Better to experience it all firsthand, I think.

I stand from the crate. “There’s an unoccupied dorm on floor five, over by me. Is it okay if I room him there, Aiden?”

Aiden brushes the hair from his shoulder haughtily. “As long as the twerp promises not to sneak into your room in the night hours.”

“Like I’d want to,” huffs Pidd.

Aiden narrows his eyes. “Keep it that way. Bexley is too fair for someone like you.”

Fair? Aiden’s being ridiculous. But I play along. “Don’t worry, Aiden. Pidd can’t handle this much sexiness.”

He frowns. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

I brush it off. He’s joking.

“Come on, Pidd. Let’s go get you settled.”

But as I start to leave, Aiden catches my wrist and pulls me to himself abruptly. He places his warm lips to my forehead and says something low enough that only I can hear it:

“Be careful, Bex. Coincidences aren’t usually so.”

><

“Not bad, eh?”

Arms folded, I lean against Pidd’s doorway. The room is much cleaner than Aiden’s, having yet to be nested.

Pidd is sitting at the edge of his bed, staring listlessly. I know that look. I’ve seen it on other newbies.

“We’ll get you some clothes and stuff later,” I tell him. “Take a little while to settle in. When you’re ready for me, flare our lightstream, like this—” I fuel my fingers with power and bring them to my opposite wrist. The chain ignites, from his wrist to mine. “See? Easy peasy. You can call for me like that if you ever need me, okay? Unless it’s for something dumb.” I begin to leave, but Pidd is at my side in an instant. I stiffen. “What’s up?”

“I think your brother wants to kill me.”

Ha! That’s probably true. I let out a snort, but Pidd’s expression is grave. Dangerously so.

“H-hey! Pidd? Are you okay?” I put a hand to his shoulder—to let him know he still exists.

It doesn’t help. He slumps against me, setting his forehead onto my shoulder. “Is it true?” he says. “The tree and all that?”

“It… it is.”

Though he’s quiet, I feel his shoulders give a shake. I know what this is. It’s a breakdown. His mortal worldview is crumbling. “You’re fine,” I tell him, pulling him close. It feels natural. Because I am his waker and it’s my job to protect him. “You’re sturdy, Pidd. Hell, you’re magickal! How sweet is that?”

He lets out a sick-sounding groan.

“Tomorrow we’ll go out and practice spells and stuff. It’ll be fun,” I say.

This time, the sound he lets out is a gurgle.

He’s no good like this. Soon I’ll have to announce him to the others in the coterie, but he’s fragile, and exposing him now may push him over the edge.

I preferred him when he was stony.

But…

I can’t help consoling him. My hands find the sides of his face.

“I can help you,” I whisper.

He glances up at me through dark lashes. Suddenly, it no longer feels natural. I’m aware of the placement of my hands, as well as the nearness of his breath. “Uh, just… here—”

It’s been a weird day. I’m stumbling over my words like a buffoon.

I shift my right palm to the side of his head, so that my thumb is pressed to his temple and my fingers are lost in his hair. There’s a small amount of light remaining in my hand. I will it into his temple.

Just a little to take the edge off.

Just a little…

“There.”

I release him, and he staggers away from me, eyes closed and a silly little grin forming at the corner of his mouth.

“That should help. I’ve muddled you up a bit. Enough that you won’t be so overwhelm—”

But I have to stop myself. When Pidd opens his eyes, something is wrong. He’s glowing, irises bright with turquoise light.

What the—?!

He shakes his head from side to side—first slow, then slower—and begins to giggle to himself uncontrollably.

Again, what the—?!

He fans at the air, like wafting away a flurry of bees, but soon is distracted by the backside of his own hand. Admiring it, he stumbles backwards into the side of the bed, where he melts into a slump of laughter.

Moron!

“What are you doing?!” I grab at him to pull him up. “I only gave you a teensy tinesy bit! Quit playing it up!”

He takes hold of my wrist and yanks me down to his level. “Bexley! Did you know? I’m a WIZARD!” His grin is wide; his cheeks are red.

Oh my gawd. He’s drunk.

But how?!

I have no time to figure it out. Hurried footsteps sound from down the hall. Crap! Someone’s coming, and I’ve got an intoxicated newborn on my hands! This doesn’t look good. I hurry to shield Pidd from the doorway.

Too late. A spunky girl with pink-tipped hair and a sleeve of bracelets bursts into the room. “Bexley! Is it true?! Jobel said that Aiden said that YOU got yourself a ward!” But the girl stops when she sees me bent over him. “And just what is it that the pair of you are doing in here?”

Pidd peeps around me and waves a shy little wave.

I crab-crawl away from him. “Not a damn thing, LaMar!”

LaMar folds her arms with knowing—at least she thinks she knows. The rose light of her ear flares. “Oh?” she says innocently. “Then what’s wrong with him? And why were you on top of him?”

I scramble to my feet. “Shhh. Keep your voice down! I don’t know what happened! He was sort of freaking out over everything, so I gave him just a very small dose of light to muddle him, and—”

LaMar drops her mouth. “Wait. YOU gave him YOUR light?”

“Yeah. So? Not like people don’t do it all the time.”

LaMar throws back her head. “Well, that’s what’s wrong, Bex! It’s so much stronger when you do it between lightborne of the same color!”

“It… is?” I look from Pidd to LaMar and back to Pidd—who’s taken to rolling his head in wide circles.

“Yeah!” says LaMar. “Like, if I were to do it to you, it’d be fine because you’re turquoise. But force my light into another rose person, and they’d be drunk off their ass.” She clicks her tongue in reprimand.

“WELL, HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT?! IT’S NOT LIKE THIS PLACE IS BRIMMING WITH OTHER TURQUOISE PEOPLE!”

LaMar holds up a finger. “True.”

Meanwhile, Pidd is pawing at his ears like a cat. He stops to give LaMar one hard look up and down. “Bexley,” he concludes, “your friend is hot.”

Great. This day has just been one string of delight.

LaMar makes a kiss in the air at him. “Quite the little cutie, isn’t he?” she says.

“With a horrid personality,” I say.

“Hey!” Pidd wrinkles his nose up at us.

“Oh stop, you know it’s true.” I turn to LaMar with a sigh. “People are starting to talk, aren’t they?”

“Oh, definitely,” she says. “Aiden’s a blabbermouth.” She motions to Pidd. “It’s only a matter of time before the others come up here to look for him. You’d better figure out what you’re gonna do, and fast.”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Help me get him up.”

><

“HEY GUYS, LISTEN UP!”

LaMar and I stand at the fifth floor balcony, attempting to hold back an inebriated ward as he fights to lean over the railing. I figured in his current state it would be better for them to see him at a distance, but now I’m not so sure. In the hall below and all around the various balconies and stairways, the others have stopped what they’re doing to stare at us—we, the spectacle.

It’s worse than I anticipated.

Pidd is dangling his arms limply over the railing and singing some jingle about cereal. How mortifying. Aiden is in a dark corner on the third floor, arms folded smugly. I feel hotness swell in my cheeks.

Better to just get it over with.

I hoist Pidd into a standing position. He pokes at my hot cheek.

“Stop that!” I scold under my breath—then I turn to address the others. With a forced smile, I shout: “AS YOU’VE PROBABLY ALREADY HEARD, I’VE TAKEN MY FIRST WARD, BUT—” I take a break to reel Pidd in. “HE’S A LITTLE OUT OF SORTS RIGHT NOW, OKAY? SO GIVE HIM SOME SPACE. THAT SAID—PLEASE, JOIN ME IN WELCOMING PIDD TO THE COTERIE!”

But where there would usually be applause, there is nothing but silence, followed by murmuring. It starts in a hush, but spreads as quickly as uncontrolled flame, until a man named Torr steps forward from the second floor:

“Is it true, Bexley?” he calls. “Is he…?”

“Is he what?” Confused, I turn to LaMar.

She bites her lip. “They want to know if he’s like you.”

Of course. Lame-asses.

“YES,” I shout into the din. “IT’S TRUE. PIDD IS TURQUOISE.”

The murmurs swell.

“Did she say turquoise?”

“Another turquoise? It can’t be!”

The same reaction Aiden got when he introduced me.

Ours is a rare bloodline.

The speculation continues to grow until I can no longer take it. Jerks! They’re supposed to welcome Pidd like everybody else!

Maybe it’s a good thing he’s drunk for this.

“That’s right!” I call to the meeting chamber below. “He’s turquoise like me, but more importantly, he’s a LIGHTBORNE! Please—welcome him, would you?!”

Or so help me—!

At last, I get the reaction I’ve been waiting for—not for my sake but for Pidd’s. The chamber erupts with delayed applause.

“Wow! Would’ja look at that, Pidd?” I give him a shake. “Everyone’s super excited to have you here!”

He doesn’t care at all. He’s busy nuzzling his face into LaMar’s chest.

Little pervert.

“Ugh. Let’s get him into bed, LaMar.”

As we begin to drag him away, I see Aiden stick up his nose before turning away and disappearing into the shadows. One of my wrists connects me to my waker in a stream of mixed light, while the other links me to my ward, the boy in the blue hoodie, who now has his head settled in the nape of my neck and is breathing heavily.

LaMar helps me lift him into bed, before leaving me with one parting piece of advice:

“Get a good night’s rest, Bex. Seems like you’re gonna need it.”

In that moment, I feel something. A shift. The world around is the same as it’s always been, but something in the unseen space is changed. The boy in the blue hoodie is mine to protect and to guide.

Things are different than they were this morning.

At the thought, the chain connecting me to him brightens.

The one connecting me to Aiden dims.

4

How to Train Your Lightborne

Rays of sun bake into my back. It’s a low sort of sunlight. Comparable to the mortal crash at twilight. Within Yggdress, it is perpetually dusk.

The little punk and I are in a standoff. My fingers are fueled at the ready, cocked like guns.

POW!

I come running at him, drawing a line of turquoise along the ground. He does the same, but he’s too slow. My light cuts him off. An opaque wall of blue sprouts from the ground. He would be trapped—if he weren’t also turquoise. He blazes right through, uncoordinated as all hell, and attempts to circle me.

I dash away faster than normal human speed, and before he knows what’s hit him, Pidd is standing in a glowing light circle of my creation.

I’ve won.

“You’re fast.” Pidd is doubled-over, panting.

“I know,” I tell him, inspecting my nails.

“How the hell are you so fast?!”

“I’ll only tell you if you promise to obey me forever.”

Pidd folds his arms. “No thanks.”

He’s changed into a black t-shirt and jeans. No longer the boy in the blue hoodie. Only in spirit.

The grass below is golden, bathed in the light of Yggdress. So is the castle behind us. Well, it’s a library, skeleton-wise, but ever since I was a girl, I’ve thought of it as a castle. A fortress. The ivy from the mortal world isn’t present here. The rest of the dingy city is gone, too. Yggdress’s version of this place is a lone building at the center of a clearing, at the center of a dense forest, the likes of which I’ve never ventured.

Aiden told me long ago that there were thorns in there—as great as knights’ lances.

The lawn is quiet today. Pidd and I encountered a few snoopers on the way out, but I did my best to shield him from the others. We crept away while most were still sleeping. In his drunken state, he slept only a few very hard hours before stealing across the hallway to wake me.

A lost puppy.

I felt him before I ever saw him.

Across the yard, there’s movement. Three distinct movements, to be exact. “We’ve got company,” I tell Pidd.

The three responsible for the movements are trying to be stealthy, shuffling about behind a polished stack of hedge. They’re anything but.

“I spy with my little eye, THREE rapscallions fresh for a feast!” I pop out my claws and go sprinting towards the commotion, leaving Pidd to stand and gape. He thinks I’m weird.

Who cares.

The three boys giggle before racing off and around the far strip of hedge.

“Does your waker know you’re out of bed so early in the day?” I call out after them.

There is quiet, until the hedge gives a shake and one of the boys is brave enough to proclaim: “Let us play with him, Bexley! The newcomer!”

They want to play? I turn to size up Pidd. He’s still out of breath, and a little hungover.

“Of COURSE you can play with the newcomer,” I tell the three boys, all of which are of lavender coloration. “Have at ‘im!”

Pidd doesn’t stand a chance. The trio of seven-year-olds is around him before he’s even detected them.

“B-Bexley?!”

Hands at the back of my head, I strut away from the scene as the yard lights with lavender light.

At the highest window, in the highest corner, there is movement.

That’s Aiden’s room. He’s been watching us. The mixed chain between us pulses. I give it a snap to let him know I know he’s there. He isn’t my real brother, but he’s always been mine.

No, it’s probably more accurate to say that I’ve always been his.

I’ve never really understood it until now, though. The weight of being responsible for another person. Pidd is mine now. Somehow the prospect seems better today than yesterday.

I stare up into the window, but if Aiden’s there still, I can’t see him.

I lean into the side of the bricked building. Pidd is no match for the three boys. They duck and weave and throw him off-course. Heh. Not so big now, are ya, Pidd?

That’s the way I want to feel, at least.

But I’m grateful to the boys for distracting him. It’s only his first day, fresh into our world. The more distraction the better.

“ARGH! GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE CRETINS!” It’s Pidd’s turn to form claws. He huffs after the boys, arms painted purple, temporarily.

The kids have done their job, but we can’t let them win, can we? I form my fingers into a gun and fire shots of light after them as they disappear into the hedge. The whole of the leaf glows turquoise.

Pidd’s hands are on his knees. Giving generous heaves, he seethes up at me. “TEACH ME.”

“What?”

“TEACH ME HOW TO CONQUER ALL.”

Pidd the conqueror. Ha!

“In good time, my ward.” I catch him by the collar. “In good time.”

><

Inside the coterie, the others are waking. Pidd and I pass a few sets of shrewd eyes as we make our way to the main chamber. LaMar is among them.

“Nice to see you so perky and erect this morning,” she coos. She annunciates her own chest as we pass.

Oh brother.

Even in his sober state, Pidd is captivated. I swat him on the back of the head and usher him into the meeting hall.

“Breakfast?” he says.

“Are you hungry?”

He thinks about it. “Not really.”

“You’re able to eat food,” I say, “but you don’t need it. All you need in order to replenish is exposure to Yggdrasil’s light.”

“Where do we get that?” he says, only half-heartedly, for his eyes are still on LaMar’s chest.

“We were just basked in it. A few minutes outside in this realm each day are all you need to survive. But don’t get me wrong—a burger is nice every now and then.”

I’ve finally caught his attention away from LaMar’s bosom. He scrunches his face. “So, say I was stuck in the mortal world for a few days. I’d die of hunger?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you’d starve, unless you’ve got some pearls with you.”

“Pearls?”

“There were some in Aiden’s room, hanging by the window. I’ll give some to you later. They’re these tiny little beads that can store Yggdrasil’s light. We’re always sure to take them with us, if we’re going for extended missions in the mortal realm.”

“Beads.” Brow lifted, Pidd taps his chin. “Uh-huh.”

“Like that’s the least believable thing you’ve seen!” My outburst calls the attention of at least a few snoopers hanging around the meeting hall.

I contort my face at them before taking Pidd’s wrist and yanking him past the grand stairway and to a back corridor. This hall leads to one of my favorite places in all the coterie. At the end, sits a door different from the rest. It’s marked with a brass frame and locked by a turning, cranking contraption. First drawing power into my right hand, I spread my palm and fingers flush against the center of the door, where lies a divot.

“Yah!”

Power pulses from my palm and into the door. It lights turquoise and the cranking contraption begins to act. The turning of gears signifies the subsiding of heavy bolts put in place to protect the coterie’s most treasured pieces.

But Pidd isn’t impressed with the door; he’s looking at me foully. “Is it really necessary to make sound effects whenever you exert your magick?”

“At least I’m able to exert my magick,” I tell the door as it finishes its whirring. I point to Pidd with my thumb. “This guy, I mean, shoot blanks, much?”

“What did you say?”

I clear my throat and turn to address the blank-shooter. “Ahem. Pidd. You don’t really deserve to see this, but it’s hella cool, so I can’t help myself from showing you. Feast your eyes on—”

The door swings itself open and I don’t need to finish.

Pidd’s limp hanging jaw is satisfaction enough. The room is a treasure trove, stacked from floor to ceiling with ornate crystal cases housing armor and weaponry from the times of old. Handguns, decorated with intricate etchings, goggles made of leather and glass, and geared batons and staffs rest within the cases on cushions of velvet.

But my favorite is the back wall, where hangs a slab of purest turquoise light in a golden flame. I don’t know what it is, or what it’s for, but I’ve always admired it.

In the opposite corner stands a sarcophagus, painted to look like a sphinx. The air around the thing feels devoid of life. I usually try to avoid it.

“Paws off.” I swat Pidd’s hands from one of the cases. He’s pressed to it, eyes and mouth equally wide.

“What’s all this steampunk gear for?” he says.

“Steamed-punk?” Whatever that is. “Did you want me to put you in a sauna?”

“Ugh. Puns. You really are the worst,” he says.

Ignore.

“These are the Artifacts,” I explain. “A long time ago, our people weren’t able to harness their power through flesh. They needed conduits, hence, these weapons. Before we mastered the art of opening direct veins between Yggdrasil and the mortal world, our people would fuel their power into the weapons and yield it that way instead.”

“So, what—?” Pidd smudges his nose up against a case holding an antique gun. “These would shoot lights instead of bullets?”

“Yeppers. And the armor could be infused with protective light too.”

Pidd points to the corner. “What about the corsets? What was the point of those?”

“Sign of the times.” I shrug. “Why, did you want to try one on? Concerned with maintaining your girlish figure?” My eyelashes take to fluttering obnoxiously.

“You are such an awkward human, Bexley.”

I put up a finger. “Awkward, yes, but don’t forget extraordinary, too—”

The room dims, for the lights have just flickered. I stiffen. The flicker is important. It’s only happened once before, when I was a small girl.

They flicker again.

Uh-oh. It’s no fluke.

“Faulty wiring,” says Pidd.

“No.” I shake my head, heart quickening. “We’re being summoned. Something’s wrong.”

The mixed chain between Aiden and me lights brighter than ever before.

Within the meeting hall, there’s duress. Low murmuring fills the chamber. Nearly all of us are present—fifty or so. Wakers hold their child wards near as Aiden and the three other leaders wait for quiet.

LaMar stands near to Pidd and me, transferring weight between her feet. Aiden watches us, distrust apparent. When I catch his eye, though, he covers with a beaming smile.

You aren’t fooling anyone, Aiden.

He’s got it out for my ward.

I’ll have to find a way to diffuse him later.

On the other side of LaMar, a frail girl named Ellie tugs at her own hair distastefully. It used to be long and blond, but today it’s short and pink. LaMar’s doing I suspect, and Ellie doesn’t seem pleased with the makeover.

“Brothers and sisters—”

With the beckoning of the leaders comes the hush of the room.

There are four leaders total—two roses, a lavender and an Aiden—an amber. Technically, there’s supposed to be one of each color watching over the coterie. Someday, it’ll be my job to replace the interim leader.

For now, the role is kept by Jobel, LaMar’s rose-colored boyfriend. They’ve been together since we were children.

“Brothers and sisters,” Jobel starts again. His voice is like a radio personality’s. Fine over the airwaves, but annoying in person. “There’s been an incident. Mortal world missions are to be put on hold until further notice. We are moving immediately on the defensive. Directly after this meeting, you are to report to your respective leaders for your roles and schedules.”

An attack? How very vague of them.

The meeting hall erupts in murmured speculation, until—

“What happened?” From the back of the coterie comes a voice.

Why am I not surprised that Torr is the one to speak up… again. He was the dumbass that sparked the uprise last night over Pidd’s turquoise.

Jobel is quiet. So is Cello, the primary rose leader, a pretty girl with red hair. Meanwhile, the lavender leader—a short lady named Kray—swallows deeply enough for it to be visible. Only Aiden steps forward. He locks his amber eyes on mine. “There has been an attack,” he says, not bothering to look at anyone else. His two other wards are sure to be jealous.

The speculated buzzing starts up again.

LaMar glances in my direction. “What the dodges does he mean an attack?”

“Probably another mortal world disaster,” Ellie says. “They’re always blowing each other up down there, you know…” Her voice trails as she catches sight of Pidd’s turquoise ear. I shift my body to shield him from her.

Wow. Unexpected. I’m feeling territorial.

Aiden waits for the crowd to calm. He gathers up his shimmering hair and tosses it over one shoulder. “Are you done?” he asks the hall impatiently. Again, though, he’s looking only at me. “We don’t know the details yet,” he says, “but there has been an attack. Within Yggdress.”

Within… Yggdress?

Aiden looks to Kray, the lavender leader. She nods somberly. Then, she begins to tell us of her waker, resident of a neighboring coterie who sustained injuries in the woods surrounding their fortress. “He was out on a standard excavation mission, where he claims to have seen…” She looks to Aiden, who nods, before she continues: “A darkling.”

A darkling? I can’t help being skeptical.

“In Yggdress?” LaMar scoffs, arms folded. “Looks like Kray’s waker is a liar. Isn’t he a turquoise, too? Typical.”

“H-hey!” I take offense.

“Joking.” LaMar winks at me. “Of course.”

But as far as the ‘liar’ comment, the rest of the coterie is in agreement.

“Stop it!” Kray flares up. “This isn’t a joke! The leaders of his coterie confirmed it! His injuries are unprecedented. He is unable call forth Yggdrasil’s light and the turquoise of his ear has been tainted. They say he’s gone dull and that no amount of outside exposure will replenish him!” Fierce wetness forms at the corners of her eyes.

Jobel puts a hand to her shoulder. “Kray and Cello will leave at once to check the validity of these reports. In the meantime, the coterie is to remain on lockdown. IF the darklings have found a way into our world, we must find the passage immediately and block it. Be on the lookout for any strange activity and report it to either Aiden or myself immediately. We’ll update you as we know more. For now, you are dismissed. Report to your respective leaders for further instruction.”

While the rest of the coterie branches off to check in with their leaders, still abuzz with skepticism, Pidd and I are left alone. Aiden is our stand-in leader, but for now, he’s swarmed with a flurry of amber lightborne.

He’ll deal with me separate from the others, as he always does.

Pidd has been quiet ever since the lights flickered. What horrendous timing. On top of being a freshly awakened lightborne, he’s subjected to something like this on his first morning?

Must be he’s bad luck.

“Are you one of those people who never wins anything? Like drawings and stuff?” I ask him.

“Huh?” His expression is vacant.

“Meat raffles? Bingo?”

His jaw flinches.

I ring an elbow around his neck. “Aww. Don’t worry, guy. I’m guessing there was a miscommunication or something. Darklings can’t get into Yggdress, and even if they did, they’d instantly sizzle up, being so directly exposed to Yggdrasil’s light. Like bacon.”

Mmm. Bacon.

He shrugs me off of him. “Ugh.” Then he leans into the wall and lets his face into his hands. “Does this sort of stuff happen a lot here?”

“Nope. Actually, they’ve only ever called an emergency meeting one other time that I can remember.”

“Lucky me.”

“Heh. Like I said before. You don’t usually win stuff, do you?”

“WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?!”

The hall stops its commotion. Pidd’s cheeks flush.

I push him out of sight of the others. “We’ll go talk to Aiden once he’s done with the amber folks and get this all straightened out, mmkay?”

“Joy.”

><

“It isn’t true, right, Aiden?”

Aiden’s room is flooded with hazy incense. It’s called teakwood. Whatever that is. Aiden is strewn sideways in an armchair, swathed in a long robe. He thinks he’s an emperor.

“We’ll only know for sure once Cello and Kray get back, my joy.”

“But it isn’t possible, right?” I say. “I mean, a darkling would have to get all the way into the mortal world and then somehow find a way into ours.”

“The realms were whole once,” he says. “It is possible cracks remain that we don’t know about.”

“But wouldn’t a darkling fizzle as soon as exposed to the light here?”

“Yes,” he says, staring at the cracked window. “Unless…”

“Unless?”

He shakes his head. “Speculation will get us nowhere until we know for sure.”

“At any rate, I didn’t know Kray’s waker was a turquoise,” I say. “Are there many turquoises at the neighboring coterie?”

Aiden makes a funny face. “Just the one is left, I believe,” he says slowly.

“Left?” I repeat.

Aiden shakes his head. “Wrong choice of words.”

Hm.

“Anyway,” I continue, “it was weird to hear one of the leaders talking about their waker, in the first place. You never talk about yours, Aiden.”

“And I won’t begin now,” he says lazily.

Pidd is planted upon a floor pouf because Aiden insisted. He now stares scathingly at the amber leader and lets out a “Tch.”

‘Tch’ is right.

Aiden ignores him. “Bexley, I’ve a special task for you. Some of the others have been assigned scouting and guard missions, but I want you and your—” He sniffs. “Your ward to stay indoors until further notice.”

Of course. Of course he’d want me cooped up in here, missing all of the excitement.

I’m about to protest when—

“There is something that I want you to hide. It’s an important piece, so tell no one that you have it.”

—my interest pricks.

Aiden shuffles about in the folds of his robe and extracts a small moth made of metal and screws. At first, it’s tinted amber, but as he reaches it out to me and my fingers meet the delicate copper of its wings, it begins to stain turquoise. “I want you to conceal it within a turquoise enchantment so that no other colors will be able to find it,” says Aiden. “Even the other leaders cannot know you have it.”

“What is it?” I ask. I turn it over in my hand while Pidd cranes his neck around me to get a good look. His face reflects the blue glow. “A brooch?”

Aiden shakes his head. “It is a weapon.”

5

Strange Happenings

“A weapon?” I toss the moth into the air and catch it with a swiping motion. “Maybe he means like a throwing star?”

“Or MAYBE big bro is trying to keep you occupied so that you don’t get into trouble,” says Pidd.

“Trouble?” I tilt my head to the side. “Me?”

Sounds about right.

It’s been three days since the two leaders left for the other coterie. For whatever reason, they took the long way, directly through the woods of Yggdress, rather than just portaling to the mortal world and hopping a bus to the other coterie’s shell—a towering skyscraper, from what I hear.

I, like many of the others, began to feel stir-crazy on the second day—but day three is the worst. I can’t remember the last time I felt this idle. At least it’s given Pidd time to adjust. By now, he can find his way to the bathroom all by himself.

My little guy’s growing up so fast. Sniffle.

Presently, he straddles a chair backwards in one of the abandoned common rooms while I sit in the windowsill, holding the moth-like ‘weapon’ against the sun.

“Anyway, shouldn’t we hide that thing?” he says, tapping a cadence against the back of the chair.

“We will… as soon as I figure out how to use it. Go moth go!” I attempt to shoot a ray of light at Pidd through the wings, but instead, the device just sears bright with turquoise. “Huh. It’s definitely a conduit—all Artifacts are—I just can’t figure out how the heck you use it!”

“Why don’t you let ME try?” Pidd beckons me to throw it to him.

“Sure thing!” I pretend to toss it to him, but tuck it around my back at the last second, the way you’d psych out a dog.

“Not funny,” Pidd croaks.

I return my attention to the window, drawing a finger along the pattern of the moth’s wings. The outside world looks so much more inviting when you know you can’t get out there. I’m jealous of the rose lightborne. Jobel has them stationed all around the coterie and grounds in a rotation, keeping watch. In fact, LaMar is out there, just at the far side of the gardens, kicked back and sunbathing in dusky light.

Pretty sure her eyes are closed too. Some watchdog.

“This feels something like discrimination, doesn’t it?” I mumble. “The roses always get the good jobs.”

I’m just starting up a rant, when I notice something out of sorts in the garden below, amidst the black roses and curling terraces. It’s dark and shadowy, and moving along the grass, very near to LaMar.

“Holy shiz!” I cry.

Pidd lets his head fall against the top of the chair. “You’re a grown-ass woman, Bex-lame; it’s okay for you to say the word shi—”

“We need to go to the garden right now!” I’m already tugging him out of the chair.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to—”

It’s no good protesting. Before he knows what’s hit him, we’re tearing down the flights of stairs and past the grimoire shelves, to the courtyard entrance, where a surly teenager named Nekt is standing guard.

He refuses to let us pass, even after I tell them what I saw.

“A darkling, Bexley?!” Pidd reacts with panic.

He’s the only one to do so. Only the lavenders actually believe a darkling was spotted at the neighboring coterie. Everyone else is just humoring them.

“Whatever you THINK you saw,” Nekt says, “I’m not to let anyone outside unless they’re on rotation, and you, turkey, are not on rotation.” He hastily draws a barrier of rose around the door’s seam.

I release a growl at him. “Fine! Come on, Pidd.”

Pidd cocks his head. “Did he just call you a turkey?”

“Yeah, like turquoise. Get it? He thinks he’s funny.”

As we stomp away, I hear the unfunny teen mutter, “Probably her own shadow’s what she saw.”

That does it. I bend to the ground and draw a snake of light along the floor. It slithers away towards the rose barrier. “Fruck!” I hear Nekt cry out as we start up the stairs: “Something bit me!”

Heh. Heh. Heh. Take that, Nekt! A shadow, my ass! I know what I saw.

“Follow me, minion,” I tell Pidd. “I know another way out.”

The coterie is a place of many rooms and halls and passages hidden behind the walls. Once, when I was a child, Aiden and I were playing hide-and-seek on the second floor. I was still growing used to my power, then, igniting whatever I could with blue glow, leaving hints for Aiden as he searched for me through the massive fortress. That’s when I found it—

The secret stair.

Tucked away in a back corner, marked by a painting of some grouchy looking rabbits, there is a small supply room. The room is the sort of place cobwebs would accumulate, were it within the mortal realm. Within ours, though, the corners are clean and the boxes intact. Spiders and the like don’t exist here.

Thank GOD.

I lead Pidd through the clutter, around unused crates and mirrors, and behind a cluster of bins, where lies a small indent in the floor. Just like when I discovered it, I shoot a haphazard blast of light at the ground and the indent ignites in turquoise. Then, the whole of it slides away, exposing a twisting set of stairs.

Secret ones.

“After you,” I tell Pidd, motioning with gusto.

He looks into the hole with as much disdain as a person could muster. “Like. Hell.”

He doesn’t have a choice. I give him a shove into the darkness below.

“BEXLEEEEY!”

Paying the drama queen no mind, I slip in behind him, before retracting my power from the trapdoor. The opening closes, and Pidd and I are swallowed in a blanket of darkness, save for the lights shining from each of our earlobes.

“If you want to see anything, you’d better use your power,” I say.

He’s a stubborn little nugget, but in the end, darkness wins. He lights his fingers in turquoise glow and swishes them about the space. “Where are we?” His mouth has never been flatter.

“Ancient lightborne secret.” I make my voice foreboding, and then—“Come on!”

We take the narrow stairs down and around and around. The dampness of the air is apparent. I’ve always kinda liked musty smells, though.

Pidd doesn’t. “Where is this?” he says with disgust, sniffing at the thick, lovely air.

I ignore him, until reaching the bottom of the spiraling staircase. It opens into a passage. When I was a child, I didn’t venture down this far, but I’ve since estimated where the path would lead. The dark passage closes in on us, narrow and short. It appears to be a dead-end.

Appearances can be deceiving.

“Where is this, you say!?” I whirl to face the unimpressed seventeen-year-old. “It’s an out! A secret one. Don’t you just love it?”

Pidd holds his fingers between us so that only his cheeks are lit. His eyes remain dark. I knock at the ceiling directly above us. Hollow, just as I thought.

“This time you do it,” I instruct him.

“Do what?”

“A little of this and a little of that.” I light my fingers and reach at the hollow ceiling. He mimics me. “There should be a groove… or something. Find it and transfer your power into it. Like I did with the first trapdoor.”

Pidd feels around the ceiling. “What sort of groove? I don’t feel anything.”

I find it first, a small notch in the plaster. “Here—” I take hold of his hand and put it into the right place. “Do you feel the indent?”

He doesn’t answer.

And then something changes.

Until this moment, the day has been normal, aside from the mysterious shadow we are now pursuing. But in this moment, the hoodie-less boy’s fingers flex without warning. “I remember something,” he blurts.

As if summoned, the air around us becomes electrifyingly stagnant, at odds with itself to the point of tense cancellation. The space closes to a suffocating degree. Pidd’s breath is close; his hand warm and defined. His fingers clench mine.

My stomach doesn’t feel quite right. “P-Pidd?”

“I saw you… Amanda…” he says slowly.

“Amanda?”

He nods, gaze transfixed. “In a field… Or maybe I didn’t. That’s weird…” His eyes reflect the blue of our hands. “Do you ever feel like you’re about to remember something, and then it just slips away?”

“You just called me Amanda,” I say, eyes caught up in his. “You know that isn’t my real name, right?”

He distorts his face. “Er, yeah.” Then he turns his hand over in mine, so that the glow of our fingertips are touching for just the splittest second. A jolt of goosebumps runs up my arm.

“Ugh, just show me what to do, would you?” Pidd rips his hand away.

With that, the moment melts away, just like Pidd’s memory, and suddenly the pair of us are awkward and irritable.

“I thought I was making it obvious,” I respond through my teeth. “Transfer your light into that divot I showed you! What the hell are you waiting for, idiot?!”

Arms folded, I turn my back to him and he does as he’s told. The piece of ceiling slides away, exposing the twilit world.

Pidd steps into the light and peers up through the hole, which has opened into the outside courtyard, as predicted. Meanwhile, I lag in the darkness, hugging my arms to my body and waiting for the goosebumps to pass. I’ve never pressed my power to another turquoise lightborne’s before. Never had the opportunity.

Is that what it usually feels like?

That aside, what was all that about a field?

Pidd doesn’t bring it up again.

He reaches his hand to the ceiling as a shimmering rope of light falls through the opening. I take it first, wrapping it around my wrist; and it pulls me up into the openness of outside. I swing myself onto the grass, à la Tarzan, and let go.

We are situated at the side of the fortress, hidden in a lattice of crawling roses. The grass below is soft and thick. The overhead sun is low and golden.

It bakes into my face.

The light rope falls for Pidd to take. He hoists from the hole, dangles awkwardly a moment, and then gives himself a kick over to where I’m crouched. He lands with a thud.

“Pull your light from the ground,” I tell him.

He does, and the grass forms, leaving no trace of the opening or the secret stair.

We’ve escaped.

Boo-yah!

There are other rose lightborne out here, stationed at various parts of the garden, but I’m not worried. Because only the lavenders truly believe there’s any sort of threat, anyone out here will be half-heartedly so. Just look at LaMar.

Pidd looks up the aged brick of the building. “Where’s the window you were looking out of before?”

It’s around the other side. I convey this with a series of hand motions. Then, holding a finger to my lips, I stick close to the wall as I inch around.

My ward and I? We’re stealthy.

In the distance, I hear the dull conversation of two roses as they strive to kill time. There’s something satisfying in knowing that we out-thwarted them. I keep my eyes peeled for any movement along the ground. Darklings within Yggdress were unheard of before the supposed sighting at the other coterie, but I know what I saw, and what I saw looked awfully close to—

“A darkling!”

Pidd breathes the word so that, while it’s silent to the rest of the world, it’s obvious to me. He’s right at my ear and pointing frantically at a spot far out into the yard, where a blacker than black shadow darts below the layer of grass.

I refuel my hand with power before bringing it to the ground. I don’t know how it’s possible for a darkling to survive within our realm, with the light of Yggdrasil all around us, but I aim to take it out.

Someone else has the same plan.

Pidd rushes past me, drawing a line of blue along the ground, the way he first saw me do with the woman in red shoes.

“Pidd!” I mouth after him, frantically looking this way and that for prying eyes. Finding none, I chase after him as he fails to complete his line. His power is still too untrained. It fizzles not more than a few feet out.

The darkling darts away, across the courtyard and towards the edge of the forest.

I’ll catch it before it reaches that ominous line of wood.

Or so is my first thought.

Though it soon becomes apparent I won’t reach it in time. Neither will Pidd.

But that doesn’t stop him. He barrels towards the tree line faster than a normal human can barrel. He’s picked the worst time to realize his true speed.

This time, I don’t care who hears me: “PIDD, STOP!”

The disobedient scamp doesn’t listen.

It’s all happened so fast, and before I realize it, I’ve lost my ward to the forest I was told never to enter.

Instinct takes over. Aiden drilled into my head time and again that I shouldn’t enter the wood surrounding our coterie, but the moment my ward disappears into the grove, all of those warnings slip away.

My shout has caught the attention of at least three rose-colored guards. I catch a glimpse of LaMar running around the corner as I disappear into the wood. The chain on the wrist connecting me to Aiden sears. He can sense my distance and he isn’t happy.

6

A Boy and a Bathtub

The forest surrounding the coterie is perpetually basked in late autumn glow. Though rust and ocher-tinted leaves fall incessantly, the branches never run bare. The floor is cluttered with splashes of mustard and scarlet, mulberry and olive, always freshly fallen, never reaching the point of crispiness. The air out here glitters with the power of Yggdrasil. The corners of the world are blindingly bright.

I find Pidd stained in twilight light, beneath one of the shedding trees. Leaves descend around him like feathers.

“What’s that noise?” he says, looking into the distance.

He’s talking about a delicate chiming, barely existent, so that it’s heard only at the furthest reaches of perception.

“The pulsing of the tree of light,” I tell him.

“Have you ever seen it?”

I shake my head. No one can lay eyes upon the tree and remain living, or so they say.

Then again, ‘they’ say a lot of things.

Pidd catches a handful of falling leaves. “This place…”

Aiden has always told me to stay out of here. It is eerily beautiful. Like a haunting song. I shiver. The mixed chain on my wrist pulses furiously.

I hide it behind my back. “Yes, yes, this place is enchanting and all that, but you shouldn’t have gone running in like that, minion. We aren’t allowed.”

“Those two leaders went through here on their way to the other coterie,” Pidd argues. He puts his hand to the white bark of a nearby tree.

“SOME people are allowed, but we aren’t,” I reiterate.

“Bexley…” Pidd pivots to face me, mouth flat: “Is everyone allowed into the forest but you?”

“N-no! I’m sure others aren’t allowed, too.”

Although others ARE commonly given scouting missions into the wood…

While I mull it over, Pidd grows a smirk. “Big bro’s got a tight leash on his princess.”

“Shut up!” I kick a tuft of ground leaves at him. “Anyways, where’s the darkling? Did you see where it went?”

Pidd motions to a collection of bricks laid in the ground. The bricks circle a small pool of dark water, lit at the edges by the twilit world. I crouch over the pool as a leaf drops into it, creating a small series of ripples. The leaf listlessly skates over the water. I pluck it out.

“I don’t understand,” I say. “That was a darkling, right? Even though it’s impossible for them to exist here? I mean, this place is infused with the very light we use to fight them.”

Pidd shrugs.

“I wonder if this pool is a portal,” I say, chin in hand.

Pidd shrugs again.

“Ugh. Some help you are.” I put a finger to the water. It doesn’t feel like a portal. I submerge my wrist until locating the bottom. Hm. There’s only one way to know for sure. Drawing in a large helping of air, I place my hands at the bank of the pool, and then—

Splash!

As Pidd stands on dumbly, I plunge my face into the water. Water portaling is an instantaneous thing. At the exact moment a lightborne submerges his or her head on one side of the portal, it emerges from the connecting water body in the mortal realm. I’m not going to portal all the way through, though; just take a small peek.

While my body remains in Yggdress, my head surfaces in the mortal realm, from a body of water encased in ceramic basin.

A bathtub?

Indeed, the other side of the portal is a bathroom in the mortal realm. A dingy one, at that.

And it isn’t empty.

In the corner, a college-aged human is drying his hair off with a towel. His back is to me, but as the tub water splashes in receipt of my head, his attention is caught. He spins around violently, throwing the towel to the ground in the process. His hair is black, his eyes furiously jade, and his body tall and lean… and shirtless.

My stomach has always been flat but squishy. It feels even squishier in the presence of someone like him.

He definitely works out.

Geez! In this strange and alarming situation, I’m ogling, of all things? Keep it together, Bexley.

For a normal human, to have a girl’s head randomly pop out of your bathtub would be a disturbing event. Most humans probably wouldn’t be able to perceive it happening, the way they can’t perceive the darklings or my light. This is what I’m counting on. I hold my breath and wait for the college guy’s gaze to pass over me.

Only it doesn’t.

Instead, his eyes widen.

And then he says the thing I least expect:

“Bex… ley?”

What the hell?!

Somehow. Someway. This human whom I’ve never seen before has just uttered my true name.

I open my mouth to speak, but any words that come out do so in a groggy sort of whine. The stranger doesn’t care. He scampers up to the side of the tub—still shirtless, still toned.

“Oh my god, Bexley! I thought you were—”

As he bends forward, the hair falls from his right ear, revealing…

A gasp escapes me.

This is not a human! But I don’t believe he’s one of us either. Where there would normally be the glowing orb embedded in a lightborne’s earlobe, this person has a collecting of shadow, blacker than the blackest black.

“What the F are you?”

These are the last dumbstruck words I manage before I feel something strong pulling me down from the other side of the portal.

…

Strong hands rip me from the pool of water. I come up out of it, flipping my drenched hair back like a mermaid. It swats Pidd in the face like a whip. Whoops.

“Holy heck, Pidd! I just had the strangest experie—”

But as it turns out, it isn’t Pidd who’s torn me from the mortal realm. It’s someone much more excitable.

“My joy!”

I’m instantly swathed in long glistening strands of hair.

“Aiden?” I peek through the golden shroud to find that I’m back in the forbidden autumn forest, face and neck dripping with water. Pidd stands not more than a few feet away, arms crossed and nose upturned. The air chimes with the pulsing of the tree of light.

Knelt at the water’s edge, my waker pushes me from his body at arm’s length. “You’ve sought to break my heart this time, my princess! Why have you entered the place I told you never to go?!”

“Aiden…” Shame befalls me. I can’t meet his eyes.

“Like I already told you, we saw a darkling!” Pidd pipes in. “We followed it out here, and then Bexley went sticking her head in—”

Aiden’s face transfigures in a flash: “SILENCE!” he scathes over his shoulder at Pidd, before turning back to me, softly, “Tell me what you saw in that bathroom, my joy.”

I blink at him. “How did you know it was a bathroom, Aiden?”

Aiden stiffens.

“Have you been there before?” I add.

When he answers, his tone is weird; somewhat hollow: “Years ago, before the mirrors were set in place, this pool was one way of portaling to the mortal realm, used primarily by the lavenders. It is a temperamental passage, however, and was supposed to have been sealed off last year.” He looks at the water pool with disliking. “Apparently the seal was broken. I’ll be sure it gets done properly this time. Now—” With sudden intensity, he sets his amber eyes sternly onto mine, and gives me a firm shake. “Who did you encounter there, Bexley?” His grip is a little too tight, his expression a little too cold. All of him is cold.

“W-who?”

“Tell me.”

I can’t think of another time he’s spoken to me this way.

And how does he know I ‘encountered’ someone there, anyway?

That shadow-eared person, who acted as if he knew me, though I have no recollection of him… It all makes me feel abnormal inside.

“I…” I seldom lie to my waker, but: “No, Aiden. I didn’t see anyone,” my mouth answers on its own.

Why did I just do that?

With a heaving sigh, Aiden loosens his clutch and lets his head fall forward so that his forehead is pressed to mine. He stays that way a moment, before pulling himself away and brightening up to his normal self. He smiles at me tenderly and dusts off my shoulders where he previously clamped. “I didn’t mean to be harsh, my joy. The world is a dangerous place, you see.”

Now I feel guilty. My eyes find a comfortable patch of ground to hide in.

Over Aiden’s shoulder, Pidd watches with scrutiny. I don’t appreciate being analyzed.

“Aiden, we really did see a darkling,” I mutter.

“Which is exactly why you must go inside and remain there. I’ll alert the others.” He stands from the pool and offers me his hand, which I take dutifully. He hoists me up, and then cups my face in his palms. “You are rare, my ward. If you care at all about your lineage, obey me and stay inside.”

“Yes, my waker. I am sorry.”

Aiden turns disapprovingly to Pidd. “And you, stop being such a bad influence.”

“Hah!” Pidd throws back his head. “ME a bad influence on her? Hate to tell you, pal, but she’s no delicate little flow—”

Pidd is silenced by a hearty dosage of amber light that has just wound itself around his mouth like duct tape.

With a beaming smile and a sweeping motion, Aiden ushers me from the twilit wood and back to the fortress grounds—where it is ‘safe.’

And all this time, I still don’t fully understand—

Why did I lie to him?

Aiden is knowledgeable. And trustworthy. Maybe he knows what that dark-eared person was. Especially in the midst of a security crisis, I should be telling him about it.

So what’s stopping me?

‘Oh my god, Bexley! I thought you were—‘

Yeah, that. Whatever that jade-eyed creature was, it knew me. Or at least it acted like it did. Am I embarrassed of its supposed ties to me? Is that why I lied?

No. It’s more like…

I’m protective.

But why?

><

“Can I tell you something?”

Pidd and I are alone in the midnight hour. I’ve invited myself into his room, and onto his bed, where I’m comfortably perched, cross-legged, as he sits grumpily in an upholstered armchair that has that same musty scent I adore.

“You’re going to tell me anyway, right?” he says.

“Yeppers!”

With an eye roll, Pidd beckons me to ‘go on.’

“I lied to Aiden.”

“Well, well, well.” He throws his chin up haughtily. “What a disobedient little sister you are.”

“Quiet you, this is serious.”

With that, I recount to my ward the truth of what I saw on the other side of the portal. The bathroom. The guy. The abs. For some reason, it’s easy to admit it all to him.

Pidd scratches his temple. “He said ‘Bexley’? Are you sure? It wasn’t something like Trixie or Becca?”

I give him a dead-fish stare. “I know what I heard.”

“Well then, sure he wasn’t one of your flings or something? One-night stand, maybe?”

“Ew. No.”

Pidd clicks his tongue. “Yeah, that’s weird. So what was he?”

“Haven’t you been listening?!” My fingers clench into his bed. “I have no erffing clue what he was!”

The remainder of the coterie is at rest. My voice is abnormally loud. In the aftermath, I hug my knees to myself.

Pidd plays with the loose ends of his hair that curl around his neck. “Is there a black-colored line of lightborne?” he says.

“No, not that I’ve ever heard of.”

“Well, I did see a darkling disappear down that hole. Can darklings take on human form?”

“Uh, I should hope not. Darklings are primitive.”

With a yawn, Pidd stretches long in the chair. “Don’t know what to tell you, Bexley. I mean, I’m probably the worst person you could have confided in. I don’t exactly know a lick about your world.”

“Our world.”

He has a point, but I feel better for having told him. Besides, I have a plan.

7

The Wilted

“Here ya go!” I dump the box of books all over the unassuming newb. A satisfying flurry of dust kicks up all around him.

“Hell, Bexley!”

Maybe the one good thing about being cooped up indoors while awaiting the return of the leaders is that Pidd and I have ample time to scour the farthest reaches of the coterie for info on the shadow-eared person. At present, we are tucked away in the fourth floor archives. I’ve come to the conclusion that the being was a thought-reader. How else could he have known my name? Thus, I start with a book on telepathis.

Begrudgingly, Pidd uncovers himself from the pile of aged tomes and begins sorting them from most interesting-looking to least.

The room is dim and cramped, with rows upon rows of haphazardly placed grimoires and texts. This library goes mostly unused nowadays. The first floor one holds most of the records we utilize for training. The books up here are from a time when combat was different and the reaches of the mortal world were still a mystery.

Finding nothing useful in the telepathis book, I dive into a book without a title, whose pages are thin and frayed at the edges. It is a book on familiars. Though our coterie doesn’t use them, it’s possible to seduce an animal companion and infuse it with light. It isn’t practical for city fighting, though, as the bustle of the mortal realm has been known to confuse and distract familiars from their duty.

The book doesn’t cover those details, for it was written in a time when cities were small and familiars were abundant.

Without warning, Pidd slams the book he’s reading into the ground. “How the hell am I supposed to read this?!” He slides it across the dirty floor at me. “It randomly switches into another language!”

It isn’t a language I’ve seen before. Something long and scrolling.

I shrug before sliding the book back to him. “Look for pictures.”

Pidd’s grumbles fill the stuffy space. I move on to a book of poems. After that, I flip through a book on celestial patterns. Apparently, in some parts of the world, portal destinations can change depending on where the stars are placed in the sky.

“Very interestingggg.”

“Boy, I’m sure glad you’re enjoying yourself.” Pidd’s face is a plateau. “Pretty much all of the books you gave me are either total nonsense OR they conveniently switch into another language just when it’s getting good!” He jumps to his feet, taking aggression out on the crate the books were previously stored within. He gives it a kick, finds it to be rooted against an uneven piece of flooring, and ends up recoiling from a stubbed-toe.

Heh.

“Shut up.” He spins around, hands in the front pocket of his sweater, and storms off to find a more appealing set of books.

He is gone for some time. I busy myself with an encyclopedia on pirates, before growing lazy and resorting to careless leafing, hoping I’ll get lucky and that something useful will jump out at me.

I’m just laying to rest the fourteenth book of the day, when—

“I found something!”

Because it’s the most enthusiasm I’ve ever heard from lackluster Pidd, I make haste to where he is, slumped in the back corner of the library. His pupils are dark with excitement—like a cat’s. His turquoise lobe shimmers in the dimness.

“What is it?” I say. “Something about the dark-eared hottie?”

“Now he’s a hottie, eh?” Pidd rolls his eyes. “The story gets better and better each time you tell it.”

“He WAS a hottie,” I say, “but that’s besides the point. What did you find?”

“This.” Pidd holds a small, square volume with a goldish leather cover. He whirls it around so that the pages are open wide in my face.

“Hey! That’s—!”

The innards of the pages are cut in such a way that a certain mechanical moth might fit inside.

“Right,” says Pidd. “The thing Aiden gave you. That’s what I was thinking too. Do you have it with you?”

I shake my head. I hid it in a secret spot, just like Aiden told me to.

“What’s it say?” I ask.

“Not a clue,” says Pidd.

“You didn’t even read it yet?!”

“You didn’t even read it yet?” Pidd mocks in a whiney, girly voice before reverting to his own: “Of course I TRIED to, but it’s in that same stupid language as the others!”

He’s right. Long, flowing words spread the margins. Foreign ones. I don’t want to ask Aiden to translate it for us, either, being that he was the one who bestowed the ‘weapon’ unto us in the first place, without bothering to explain.

Even so…

Ten minutes later, I’m outside of Aiden’s door, while Pidd lugs behind, toting a box of particularly cryptic-looking works that I deemed necessary for later-night reading.

Aiden’s door is closed, but he’s in there. For one, I can sense it, and for two, there are murmurs coming from behind. I bring a hand to the door, prepared to rap, when something stops me.

It’s a voice, but it isn’t Aiden’s. It’s a woman:

“That’s all we need, A. For your young peach to start acting up again. You’d better get it sealed QUICK.”

Young peach? I hold up a hand to halt Pidd as he rounds the corner. He looks from me to the door and then back to me, cocking a brow that says ‘spying-are-we?’

I ignore him.

Aiden’s young peach. Who else could that be but…

Me.

“I’m on it,” says Aiden’s voice. “I’ve placed the first layer, and Jobel’s placed the second. All we need now is a lavender to make it impenetrable.”

“Do you want me to ask Kray when she gets back?” says the woman.

“No, not her,” says Aiden. “We need someone less…”

“Clean.”

“Mmm.”

“I know someone,” says the woman. “Leave it to me.”

I don’t usually eavesdrop, but it’s hard not to when the opportunity presents itself so willingly. Even from the other side of the door, I can smell Aiden’s earthy incense. Whoever’s in there with him, I assume they’re talking about the pool of water in the forest. Aiden wants it blocked off with amber, rose and lavender light.

Well, what am I, chopped liver!? Don’t they need turquoise to make the barrier truly impenetrable? And what was all of that about me ‘acting up’? Since when I have I ever acted up? Tch!

I intend to set the record straight. If I’m going to become turquoise leader someday, I should be included in placing secret barriers, etcetera, etcetera. I bring my knuckles to the door.

But then I hear something that changes everything:

“That newcomer could be dangerous,” the woman purrs, voice low. “The timing of his arrival is uncanny. If your peach starts remembering things…”

I feel a very strange pang in my throat.

The woman’s voice continues to coo, but Aiden’s cuts her short, rising brusquely in volume: “THANK YOU, DARLING. IF YOU DON’T MIND, I’VE NOW GOT TO ATTEND TO MY NAUGHTY LITTLE WARD—”

The door opens abruptly and I fall into a shimmering embrace of hair.

I’m an idiot. It’s impossible to spy on Aiden. The chain between our wrists will always alert him of my nearness.

“My Bexley!” A fawning session commences.

I peek from the strands in time to see a tall, slender woman saunter from Aiden’s chamber. Her name is Sesha, an amber lightborne like Aiden. Though unlike Aiden, she’s never taken a ward.

“Ciao, A,” she says, nudging Pidd out of the way with a pedicured toe as she passes. She doesn’t bother acknowledging me.

Aiden holds me out at arm’s length. His lip is pouted, his eyebrows dipped. “Do you not love me, my joy?” He searches me with worried eyes that pulsate amber.

“O-of course I do.”

Pidd makes a puking sound.

Aiden’s face shows hurt. “Then why are you skulking about behind closed doors, my joy?”

“Actually, you were the one behind a closed door,” Pidd corrects under his breath.

Without taking his eyes from mine, Aiden snaps his fingers and sends an amber bolt of lightning over Pidd’s head. My ward’s hair stands on end. He eyes the suspended bolt uneasily and steps to the side, but the bolt follows. Smugness settles on Aiden’s mouth.

My shoulders are still clutched in his talons. I’m still under scrutiny.

“Bex?” he prods.

“I was just about to knock,” I say quietly.

A lie.

Aiden sighs and releases me. “Why have you come to call upon me? Do you need something?”

The goldish tome is buried in the box of books at Pidd’s feet. We came to ask Aiden to translate it for us, but for some reason…

“Just wanted to say hi!” I blurt.

Aiden winces. It’s subtle, but I catch it. Immediately afterwards, my stomach is uneasy. Like the feeling of offending someone without meaning to.

“Hi?” Pidd questions from over my shoulder.

“Y-yup! Hi, Aiden!” I wriggle from his grasp. “S-see you later!”

Aiden holds out a hand to catch my shirt, but it’s halfhearted. I leave him frowning on the threshold of his chambers, while the mixed chain between us throbs.

I ache.

I don’t understand why, though.

The bolt of amber light remains over Pidd’s head even after we reach my quarters. He bats at it angrily until it dissipates. “What was that about?” he says. “What happened to translating the book?”

My bedroom is staler than usual. The daybed seems to take up most of the space. The rug is thicker than I remember, too. It eats my feet with each step.

“I feel weird,” I say. “My head hurts. Can you take that book to LaMar? See if she knows what language it is? She’s a lot better with that stuff than I am.”

Pidd grows a pervy smile—“Gladly.”—before trotting away to find my busty friend.

Rid of both waker and ward, I fall backwards onto my bed and flick my wrist to recall the turquoise light from the lanterns. The room goes dark. I wasn’t lying. I DO feel weird. I feel extremely weird. Deep inside, I know that something about my world is off. Aiden and Sesha were talking about me, and also about Pidd, and about the portal we found in the twilit woods.

An emotion is blocking my throat from swallowing.

I’m just not sure what it is yet.

‘If your peach starts remembering things…’

Remembering things?

‘Oh my god, Bexley! I thought you were—’

Remembering…

‘I saw you… Amanda… in a field.’

I sit up sharply from the covers. My feet kick themselves over the side of the bed, and before I know what’s hit me, I’m traveling across the room, to the corner, where I somehow know the floor is loose. Though I can’t recall ever doing so before, I place my toe where the ground meets the wall and press down. The floor gives a click and the floorboard springs out of place.

I fall to my knees and fish about in the newly exposed opening. Nothing resides in the darkness but a crumpled ball of paper.

I unball it to find a string of flowing text covering the paper in a language I don’t know—the same language filling the margins of the book Pidd found.

But there is something familiar about it.

At the end, there’s something I can read:

Whatever you do, don’t let them know that you know.

Find the Wilted.

—Amanda

And I’m pretty sure it’s in my handwriting.

8

Captivity

“Pidd!”

He isn’t in his room. He’s probably taking a bath.

Without much sense, I’m racing through the hall, clutching that one crumbled piece of paper that seems to have crumbled my entire world along with it.

I come to a screeching halt, as I nearly bump into LaMar. Even in her night garb, she’s accessorized with bangles. Hand to hip, she gives me a look. “Mmmhm. You wear trouble too obviously, Bex. What did you do?”

What DID I do?

Wrote a note to myself that I don’t remember writing?

Met a person that I don’t remember meeting?

LaMar tilts her head and pulls at a curl of pink-tipped hair. It recoils by snapping back into place. “Doesn’t have to do with your adorkable ward, does it?” Suddenly, she’s over me with a dark, depraved grin. “Have you been behaving lewdly?”

“Yeah right!” I say with proud resolve. “I’m not into nuggets!”

LaMar’s grin wasn’t sincere. I find out very soon what she’s really after, for the moment I let down my guard is the moment she snatches the balled-up paper popping out of my clenched fist.

Before I can drop my triumph stance, she’s already read the note.

“Who wrote this?”

She should be using her reasoning to deduce that I am probably ‘Amanda’—I’m sure I’ve told her my mortal world alias in the past—but instead, her mouth is cocked in genuine curiosity.

Right, because the lower half of the paper is still in my hand. It was torn when she snatched it. All her half says is: Don’t let them know that you kn— along with some of the foreign scribble.

My blood, which was previously thudding in anticipation, calms just a bit.

“I don’t know who wrote it,” I lie. “Can you read the scrolling stuff? What does it say?”

LaMar’s mouth cocks even further. “It looks like coordinates in the mortal realm, and then ‘Café on Grand’? Along with a date—July 22nd.” She reaches the paper to me. “Weird. Someone was keeping notes of their darkling hunts or something. And they were doing so using a super old alphabet. Probably okay to throw it away.” The dark, assuming sneer returns. “Now then, back to those lewd behaviors…”

My blood, which was previously calmed just a bit, swells again.

7/22. The mortal date I warded Pidd. Café on Grand. The place where I met him.

WHAT THE HELL?!

Again, I’m running, down the hallway like a madman, as LaMar calls after me: “It’s almost time for night patrol! You should be running the other way, Bexley!”

Where am I running, exactly? I was going to look for Pidd, but now I’m not so sure. Did I write that note before or after meeting him? Think, Bexley. Think really, really…

A burst of cloud, tinted in amber, fogs over my thought.

I slump to the ground, in some dark corner of the fifth floor. I’m left with my shadow, which is large and deep, fueled by the rose-lit chandelier dangling from the hallway ceiling. The lamp is currently being fueled with Jobel’s power. Once night officially strikes, he’ll come to reclaim it, and the light will go out.

It’s strange that lightborne even have shadows, I think. Maybe we should have spotlights beneath us instead, ones that drive away any surrounding darkness.

Jobel’s power fizzles around the chandelier, pulsating with little glowing flecks that almost look alive. It’s intoxicating just to stare.

“Bexley?” Pidd happens upon me, hair wet, with a towel around his shoulders. “Creeping around in dark alleyways now, eh?”

I scramble to make myself look normal. “One, this is not an alleyway. Two, it’s to be expected—our first encounter took us down an alley, after all.”

Our first encounter. On July 22nd, at the Café on Grand.

I almost say something, but I don’t.

“You okay, there? You’re looking a little…”

“A little what?” I huff.

He dons a brattish mien. “Tired.”

I’m about to make a comeback. Something wit-filled and eloquent.

Instead—

“What in the flying fajita is that?!”

Taken over by instinct, I leap from the ground and begin to draw my light. Pidd’s reaction is delayed, and before he can otherwise move, the darker-than-dark shadow caught from the corner of my eye is beginning to pool beneath him, intermingling with his own.

“A darkling?!” Pidd jostles around like a child plagued with terror without moving directly out of the way. “That’s not possible, right?!”

Yes, it is a darkling, and no, it isn’t possible. It isn’t possible to see a darkling within Yggdress, and even more impossible is seeing one within the coterie.

But the way the mass shifts and smokes, attempting to latch onto Pidd’s ankles is unmistakable.

It is a darkling.

The way I do in the mortal realm, I come at it, drawing a line of turquoise until surrounding it completely. Impossible or not, the only course of action here is to destroy it.

At last, Pidd regains himself and jumps out from the pooling blackness. Just in time for me to place a palm to the ground and push.

Only, whereas in the mortal world the darkling would fizzle away, this one does something peculiar. It disappears just before the light can touch it. “Where did it go?!” cries Pidd. He backs against me, looking left and right, as we search for the disappeared mass.

To my knowledge, they can’t simply disappear, unless masking themselves in preexisting shadows. Then how…?

“There!” Over the railing, Pidd points to the fourth floor, where the mass is sliding down the opposite wall.

“It went through the floor?” I say. True, before this, I’ve only ever fought darklings on level ground, and never within a multiple-storied building. “Huh, maybe they can do that.” I shrug.

“Maybe they can do that?” Pidd seethes. “How observative of you, o mighty waker!”

“Isn’t the word ‘observant’?”

This only serves to piss him off more. Growling like a baby lion, he pushes his hair from his eyes and shoots a wimpy line of light at the darkling, which darts down the wall with ease. It slides over the gold-striped paint, without regard for the hanging portraits strewing the wall. That’s when I notice: It seems to be sticking to a very specific area of the wall. Between where the light auras from Jobel’s chandeliers touch. When Pidd shoots another line to the right of the darkling, it responds by jerking downwards, rather than left.

“Pidd, I need your help.”

“Helping,” he says through his teeth, while shooting another barrage of light, to no avail.

“No,” I say, pushing at his shoulder blades. “I need you to do something else.”

He stops what he’s doing and turns to me with the utmost apathy. “What?”

“Your light spurts are cute and all, BUT I require you for a much more minion-suited task. Complete this and you’ll be deemed full-fledged sidekick. You ready?”

He doesn’t answer.

“I need you to be bait.”

…

A few minutes later, and Pidd is positioned perfectly between two circles of Jobel’s rose light. His hair is disheveled, his fists balled. The corners of his mouth curl in a defiant scowl.

Suck it up. You should be proud to be bait.

I’m tempted to say it aloud.

With Pidd in position, the mass of shadow darts towards him, as expected, careful to stay away from the glow of chandelier that licks the walls and floor. When it is within a foot of Pidd—

“Uh, Bexley?!”

Not yet.

I wait until it’s reaching at his heels.

“BEXLEY?!”

Now!

I concentrate on amassing a tightly compacted ball of light in my palm and sending it whizzing for the chandeliers hanging over Pidd. My light isn’t tangible enough to uproot physical objects like the chandeliers themselves; it is, however, capable of knocking into another lightborne’s light. The turquoise ball does as hoped, disrupting the five tiers of the chandelier and sending Jobel’s rose light ricocheting out of its brassy arms. The rose light disperses, covering a wider area of the floor—namely the part where the darkling is now situated beneath tempestuous-looking Pidd.

The darkling starts to fizzle immediately upon contact. Boo-yah! We’ve bested it! And just in time, too. The commotion has called at least four other coterie residents onto the scene. The patter of footsteps is near.

But following the sizzle, there is no satisfying—pop!—that usually accompanies the defeat of darklings. Instead, the fiend appears to have disappeared once more, leaving Pidd to frantically search down his shirt for it, swearing and spitting like an annoyed feline.

“Cutting it a little close, there, weren’t you, Bexley?!”

For a newborn lightborne, he has an overdramatic fear of darklings.

The darkling is nowhere to be found, but I assume it slipped down another floor. There isn’t any going after it this time.

Unfortunately, one set of nearing footsteps belongs to Aiden.

“My joy!”

A blanket of glistening hair falls over me. The fabric of his robe, infused with a woody, earthy scent, shoves into my nose.

“A-Aiden!”

It’s our first interaction since hearing the things that I heard earlier.

‘If your peach starts remembering things…’

As he holds me to his chest, I stumble to form words.

“We saw another one,” I manage. “A dark—”

“Shh!” He squeezes me tighter. “Don’t worry about that. We don’t need to cause a panic. I’ll tell the others later.” Releasing me only slightly, he glances venomously over his shoulder at Pidd. “Keep your mouth shut, too, kid.”

Pidd sets off, muttering angrily under his breath, but I can’t make it out. Aiden is smothering.

Not a moment later, nosy dwellers begin arriving. I can’t make them out, though, not with Aiden shielding me from them. He’s warm. Not only warm—his aura pulses with amber power. It’s a funny thing. Like fire heat. Or mortal realm electricity. I’m not strong enough to emit an aura like that yet. Maybe it’s because I’m tired from the day’s events, but his aura feels more palpable than usual.

He presses his mouth to the smooth of my forehead and it tingles at the place where his lips meet my skin.

I feel strange.

Light.

Tired.

Haze settles over me.

Amber fills up behind my eyelids.

And I begin to drift in a way that feels distant and familiar all at the same time.

><

I stand in the dark, but beneath my feet an even darker darkness swells.

A darkling? Yes, but I’m not afraid.

It washes over my toes, drowning them in purest, inkiest shadow.

“Bexley?” It communicates to me.

My heart thuds. I don’t know how, but I know the darkness has just said my name.

“It’s you and me, remember? Even if the world burns, it will always be you and me.”

><

I wake up and I’m in my bed, drenched. The whole of me is moist. Gross.

I sit up and rub my eyes, to find that I’m not alone. Pidd is near, curled in a chair like a lapdog. The lighted chain between our wrists glows strong.

He can feel me wake because of our bond. As I stir, so does he. When he sits up in the chair, the side of his cheek is red, and his hair is flattened up at an awkward, parakeet-like angle.

I squawk at him. He wrinkles his face in confusion. He doesn’t get the reference. That’s okay.

I let out a yawn, complemented by a stretch.

“Nasty, Bexley! You’re all sweated up!”

“Correction. I’m glistening. And what are you doing in my room anyway?”

Pidd looks to the ground sheepishly. “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he admits reluctantly. “You passed out right after Aiden picked you up, so…”

“Aiden picked me up?”

Pidd nods. “Yeah, and carried you here.” He scratches at his own ear. “I think something weird is going on with that guy.”

Yeah, me too.

But I feign ignorance. “What to you mean?”

“It’s weird. Like he’s hiding the fact that there was a darkling. You should’ve seen the look he gave me. Sort of a, ‘don’t-say-a-word-unless-you-want-to-be-castrated’ look.”

I can imagine.

“Maybe you’re right,” I say. “Things do feel off lately. There have been a lot of really strange happenings. Ever since finding you, actually.”

“Well, it ain’t my fault!” Pidd lunges forward in defense.

I let out a laugh. I said lapdog before, but he’s more like a bulldog. I picture him with his bottom teeth jutting up out of his lip.

I let out a snort, as ladies often do.

“What’s so funny?” The chair creaks with his frustration.

“Do you ever picture people to be like animals? Like, that Ellie girl—she resembles a meerkat or something. And Aiden, he’s all sleek and shiny. Like a snake. But not just any snake. A snake high-ranking in the snake community. An important snake.”

“An important snake?”

I nod. “Not your average garden snake, is what I mean. Anyway, I think every person looks like at least one animal. ”

Pidd points to his chest. “What am I?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“You don’t either,” he says.

Fair enough.

He gives me one of those smiles that isn’t quite a smile, but the potential is there. For a moment, he takes on the image of someone a little more…

His eyes and his chin are attractive. His adam’s apple is defined.

“What are you staring at?”

Was I staring?

“I got so bored, that I zoned out,” I lie. “Be more interesting.”

“YOU be more freaking interesting, Bexley! You don’t even have any hobbies!”

“Neither do you.”

“Well, you’ve been here for like sixteen years! I just got here! I intend to develop hobbies eventually,” he says.

I let out a sigh that’s possibly the most dramatic sigh ever uttered. “I guess I’m just so busy all the time that—”

“Yeah right! What do you even do?”

“Lots. Above your pay grade.” I make an ugly face at him. “Scallywag.”

“Scallywag?”

I derive pleasure from banter. It’s satiating. Especially with Pidd. With him, it’s like a game of tennis. The harder I serve at him, the harder he returns. Not everyone can fire back like that. His reaction time isn’t bad.

Maybe I need to give him more credit.

Naw.

We sit for a while in the darkness, and I almost forget all about the reason I went running down that darkling-invaded hallway in the first place: The note. The one I apparently wrote to myself but don’t remember writing.

After a while, Pidd speaks up.

“Hey Bexley?”

“Mm?”

“I saw something weird the other night.”

“Oh yeah?” I say.

“I was hungry in the middle of the night.”

“We don’t get hungry,” I correct, in true waker’s fashion.

“Whatever! You snack every chance you get!”

True. I currently have four caches of mortal world snacks hidden about the room.

“Ahem.” I clear my throat. “What did you see, Piddlywink?”

He scowls at the nickname—though deep down he probably admires the cuteness of it. Who wouldn’t? There, there, Pidd, don’t be embarrassed. Little nuggets like yourself deserve nugget-esque names.

“DON’T BE GOING OFF ON WILD TANGENTS IN YOUR HEAD!”

Oh. He could tell? Whoops.

“ANYWAYS,” he huffs. “When I went to look for something to eat, I passed by a room with the door cracked. I sort of glanced inside and saw your hot friend, by herself, playing on a Ouija board-thing. Do those things actually work here?”

Aha! See? I’m not the only one who spies. Any person could pass by any door at any given time and pick up some tidbit too enticing to ignore.

Not that what I heard between Aiden and Sesha was enticing. More so disturbing.

“She was bent over it, so I got a pretty nice view, too…” Pidd is still in the middle of talking about LaMar. Something about her bust, probably. I tune him out and struggle over whether or not I should tell him about the note.

The darkling encounter distracted me from it, but now…

Is it important, even?

And doesn’t it make me sound kind of… predatorial? I mean, the note held the date and time in which I first encountered Pidd, almost making it sound like the whole thing was planned. Like I was counting on meeting him there and erasing his memories. Like I scouted him out beforehand.

‘I saw you… Amanda… in a field.’

“So what are they?” Pidd’s voice snaps me back from my thoughts. When I enter reality, he’s staring in my direction expectantly.

“What are what?” I glub.

“Dimbits.” Pidd makes a face. “Do I have to repeat the whole thing again?”

“Basically. I wasn’t paying attention.”

He releases a long, guttural groan.

I shrug. At least I’m honest.

Reluctance apparent, Pidd starts over: “When we first met, you told me that you fought darklings, ‘among other things.’ So what other dark things are out there, even?”

“If I tell you, you won’t be able to sleep.”

“Doubt it,” he says.

“Let’s just say that sometimes nameless things come from the darkness, too. And sometimes they’re scary.”

9

I Won’t Tell If You Don’t

“So what’s the difference between magic and magick?” Pidd asks.

“Magic is pulling a rabbit out of a hat,” says LaMar. “Magick is…” She draws a spiral of rose light in the air. “Voila!”

I’m only half-listening. I’m obsessing.

After the crazy events with the note and Aiden and the fifth-floor darkling, I’ve made a decision—a point of focus, if you will.

I need to get back to that portal. Need to, need to, need to. Before it’s completely sealed again, I want another chance to meet the mysterious person who knew my true name. If in fact, I’ve forgotten some things, as Sesha suggested, maybe that shadow-eared person is a clue to remembering them.

So far, I’ve been unsuccessful in my escape, but it isn’t for lack of trying. The last few nights have been failed attempts at slipping out unnoticed, because as it turns out, I’m noticeable. Especially when Jobel seems to have doubled the amount of guards on the fifth floor—particularly near my wing.

Pidd was right: Aiden’s keeping a tight leash on me.

Something weird is going on with my waker, and for the first time since he found me and claimed me, I’ve been developing a foreign emotion:

Distrust.

‘If your peach starts remembering things…’

All week, I’ve been trying to remember things I may have forgotten. It’s not easy. I can’t quite figure out what to do with my mind, so mostly I just press my tongue to the roof of my mouth and hope to access some spectrum of thought I’m not even sure I possess.

What did I do before finding Pidd?

Most days, I traveled to the mortal world to save unsuspecting humans from darklings.

What else?

If I think about it, there wasn’t much filling the hours, yet there’s no apparent room for emptiness. I don’t remember having idle time, ever.

So what did I DO? Is it possible for me to plot out a whole day before meeting Pidd? And if not, is that normal?

Every time I come close, my thoughts become clouded in amber haze.

“Didja hear Kray and Cello got back last night?” LaMar slings her arms around my neck from behind. She smells like outside.

“And?” I say, absently. “What did they find out?”

“Kray’s waker really did lose his light. Never heard of something like that happening before.”

“And the darkling?” I say.

“Psh. Here? In Yggdress? Yeah right.”

If only she knew how close she’d been to one just days earlier.

I’ve kept it quiet, though, and so has Pidd. Aiden said he’d ‘alert’ the others, but if that were true, Jobel, being a rose leader, would have been one of the first to know—and LaMar, being Jobel’s sultry girlfriend, would have been one of the second. She has a way of getting him to do anything she wants. She seems to be having a similar effect on my puppy-eyed ward.

Speaking of whom—the baby lightborne twirls a lock of blond hair around his finger. “I need a haircut,” he says for the third time this week.

“I recommend the mortal world,” I say. “Unless you want to end up like Ellie.” I nod to the frail girl in the corner who still hasn’t grown used to her pink bob. She scratches at it absentmindedly.

Meerkat.

LaMar shoos me away, before proceeding to ramble a list of ten reasons Pidd should let her cut his hair.

I let out a sigh. He might not have a choice. There’s been zero talk of opening the portals and allowing us back into the mortal world. The coterie is feeling smaller and smaller by the day.

“As for hair,” Pidd interrupts. “What exactly IS that thing on your head, Bexley?”

“This?” I gesture to the grandeur atop my head. “I call it a wang-twang.”

“It looks like a nest,” sniffs Pidd.

“Bex must be lost in thought today,” says LaMar, matter-of-fact. “You’ll see her tug at her bun whenever she’s deep in contemplation. The bigger and messier it gets, the more concentrated she’s been.”

Is that true? I catch a glimpse of myself in the shiny floor. The wang-twang has gotten out of hand.

I try to fluff it down for good measure, as the three of us make our way to a lounge near the first-floor staircase. Our feet tapper against the hard ground. LaMar’s bracelets jingle while the top of her jiggles. A large portrait of a Victorian-era amber woman, decked out in clockwork Artifacts, hangs over the doorway to the lounge.

“Who’s that lady?” says Pidd.

“Dunno,” I say, somewhat absent. “Someone fancy.”

Once in the room, LaMar draws from her pack the goldish book left in her possession by Pidd. As she pulls it into view, a post-it note flutters from its pages. There are about fifty others poking from it in all angles like a papery porcupine.

“I was able to understand most of it, but there are a few sections we might need to get help from Aiden on,” she says.

I feel a familiar clogging of my throat. “Not an option.”

LaMar sends me a sharp look. I clear my throat and hide my quickly reddening face in my shoulder. Pidd flips up the plaid hood of his lumberjacket and shakes his head at me as if to say ‘inconspicuous much?’

Great, next time I see Aiden, I’m sure to be all awkward and gangly, and then he’ll know for sure that something’s up. As if last time wasn’t bad enough.

“Weird girl,” LaMar says, but luckily, she moves on quickly. “So this book, may I ask where you got it?”

“On a bookshelf,” says Pidd, smartly. He leans back in his chair with his feet kicked on the table and his hands behind his head, rooster-like.

She purses her mouth. “It’s, like, real dark.”

“Dark?” I inch forward against the table. “How so?”

“It talks about this noctuid—”

I hold up a hand to interrupt: “That means moth, Pidd.”

“Argh! I know what a noctuid is, dumbface.”

“Just checking.” I fold my hands under my chin. “Please proceed, LaMar.”

“From what I can gather, it’s a story about a moth that sizzles in the light.”

“Seriously?” I say. “Like at a barbecue? Like one of those bug zappers?”

“Not exactly.” LaMar drags her painted thumbnail along the pages so that they rattle. “More like ‘a moth to the flame.’ Anywho, it’s told in four parts. The first is called the ‘Waker.’ The second, the ‘Ward.’ The third is the ‘Wielder,’ and the last is a little tougher. They all start with the same letter in the original text, so I wanted to translate it to give it a similar feel, but there isn’t really anything that matches. The closest I could come was the ‘Wilted.’ I know it’s a little—”

An abrasive slamming sound cuts her off.

Oops. It’s my own hands. They’ve just made stinging contact with the tabletop.

“Wilted?” Hands throbbing, I slide back down into my chair. “G-go on.”

Pidd shakes his head. “I dub chapter five the ‘Weirdo.’”

He doesn’t understand. I haven’t yet shown him the note I found the other night.

“Mm-kaaay?” LaMar shakes her head to shake away my strangeness. It’s fine; she’s used to it by now. Her recovery is quick. “The first part is about this noctuid being seduced by a flame,” she says. “It’s very wordy. The next is about the noctuid becoming the flame’s. Kind of poetically written. The noctuid’s wings eternally burn with fire. Well, not eternally-eternally, because in the fourth part they fizzle out.”

“You skipped part three,” Pidd points out, rubbing at a smudge on the table.

“That’s where it gets choppy,” says LaMar. “It talks about this wall… or maybe a gate?”

“Let’s call it an obstruction,” I suggest, pragmatically.

“Suuure.” LaMar rolls her eyes. “Anyway, with regards to this obstruction, apparently the noctuid uses some kind of weapon to strike it down.”

“Weapon?” says Pidd.

LaMar nods. “Yeah, definitely a weapon of some sort, but I can’t tell what kind of weapon, per se. It’s all a little fuzzy. Main point is, the noctuid finds a weapon and uses it to bust down a wall.”

‘It is a weapon.’

“Hey Bex.” I look up to find Pidd staring at me, tapping his finger to his bottom lip.

“Yes, Pih?”

“My name is already short enough, thank you.” He makes a clamping noise with his teeth, and then—“Remember my first night here?”

LaMar and I exchange a look. How could we forget what a delightful, slobbery mess he was?

“I SAW THAT,” he lashes.

“Please, Mr. Piddy P. Piddrock, clarify what you’re referring to when you say ‘first night.’”

He gives up. Forehead against the table, he says: “You and Aiden said a few things that I’ve been wondering about.” Without bothering to look up, he holds up two fingers. “First of all, is it really so unbelievable that a darkling could survive here? When Aiden was telling me about the tree—Yggdrasil—he said something along the lines of, ‘even with Yggdrasil’s presence, dark creatures continued to form.’ That’s why God, or whatever, separated the world into three layers, right?”

Oh my gawd, he has a point.

From the corner of my eye, I notice LaMar fidget.

Pidd continues to talk into the table: “Another thing, it seems pretty obvious to me, BUT your brain is much smaller than mine, so there’s a chance you haven’t—”

I swat the back of his head. “On with it, minion.”

“The ‘torch’ you lightborne are trying to find in the mortal world, couldn’t that also be thought of as a weapon? If it’s going to help you win this war with darkness, and all?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “WELL, there also happens to be a weapon mentioned IN this book, and—”

“I get it!”

I cut him off before he can spill the beans about the mechanical moth. Aiden also called IT a weapon, AND there appears to be a perfectly cut indent for it within the book’s pages. Okay, three weapons… IF you count the feínne as a weapon. Pidd is inferring that they’re one in the same. But it’s a stretch. There’s a whole treasure chamber full of weapons just down the hall.

“Naw.” LaMar gives her head a resolute shake. “The weapon mentioned in this book was pretty literal. Meanwhile, the ‘item’ the leaders always talk about is probably not a tangible thing at all.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Jobel and Cello—” LaMar’s voice drops as she adds, “red-haired vixen,” before brightening right back up, “—have been studying the ancient texts together. They seem to think it isn’t a torch, but something less concrete. A power.”

That’s news to me.

“So basically there’s just some THING out there that’s going to help y’all seal away the darkness? A thing you know basically nothing about.” Pidd is skeptical. “Where did this well-cut idea even come from in the first place?”

“For real?” LaMar’s distaste isn’t directed at the uneducated boy, but rather at his uneducated educator. “You haven’t taught him anything yet, have you? You know that’s sort of your job now, right?”

Right. Right. I can’t be bothered right now. Too many peculiar things have happened in the last week point five. LaMar’s smarter than me anyway.

She lets out a scolding sigh. “Our society is a lot like a religion, Pidd. We’ve got ancient texts and rulebooks, and an abundance of creation stories.” She smiles. “Plus, we’re all about saving people. See the similarity?”

Pidd shrugs. One of his favorite things to do.

LaMar continues: “Here’s the thing, though, even after humanity developed modern record-keeping, the old farts of our culture kept the ways of old—I mean, have you seen a computer or typewriter around here? Basically, monks used to just transcribe all of the handwritten text from one tome to another, and they waited until the first tome was basically falling apart, to do so, too. Can’t really blame them. Not how I’d want to spend my Saturday. Needless to say, over the centuries a lot of our history was lost. We have virtually hundreds of paintings, texts, and even tapestries—yeah, that used to be a thing—showing the creation of the realms. All of them talk about this thing—called a feínne—though none of them make it very clear as to what a feínne is.”

“Not even the paintings?” Pidd questions.

LaMar is right. He knows virtually nothing.

Well, sue me! I’ve had my own shiz to deal with!

“Nope,” says LaMar, eyeing me with reprimand, “anytime it’s depicted, it’s just a smudge. Like, in the paintings, the feínne is the absence of painting, and on the tapestries, well, it’s just a hole.”

“Weren’t trying very hard there, now were they,” says Pidd.

True.

Not that I’ll give the little nugget the satisfaction of agreeing with him.

“Our people have forgotten what the feínne is,” I divert, “so we just fill in the blanks the best we can, like those little mad libs pamphlets you get in gas stations.”

LaMar folds her arms. “Since when have you been in a gas station, Bex?”

I don’t remember.

“So I was right.” Pidd’s eyebrow is unusually high and mighty. “You guys are looking for a THING, and you don’t even know what it is.”

“We sorta know,” says LaMar. “The one thing our records make very clear is that the feínne is important. Lightborne task number one—keep the darklings from the mortals. Lightborne task number two—find the feínne. This code is embedded in us. Someday, you’ll start to feel it, too. In every documented prophecy, just when the world is about to end, the feínne vanquishes the darkness and drives it away for good.”

“Could it be a person?” says Pidd.

I open my mouth but then close it.

A person. Now, there’s a unique thought.

Again, from the corner of my eye, I see LaMar shift her weight.

Pidd is joking, though: “Tch. I can totally see Bexley flying around with a cape made of light, thinking she’s all that,” he says.

“I AM all that,” I correct.

Fwump!

LaMar tosses the weight of the book into my lap, aggressively enough to make me jump. Then, with a shove, she excuses herself from the table. “Well, THIS was informative.” Rather abruptly, she begins away without even bidding farewell, when over her shoulder—“TRAIN YOUR FREAKING WARD, BEXLEY.”

“Thanks for the help, LaMar! You’re the best! Smooches! Love ya!”

I get no reply. Hm. She seems bothered by something. Probably the red-haired vixen she’s so clearly jealous of. She has nothing to fear. Jobel, along with a few other males in the coterie, only has eyes for her.

“This has been a weird week,” I say, staring after her. “I find a ward. A turquoise one, even. Aiden gives me a mothy ‘weapon.’ A darkling attacks a coterie. This whole place goes on lockdown. We see not one, but two darklings. We find a portal that was supposed to have been closed off. I come upon a non-mortal hottie who knows my name. We find the book that matches the mechanical moth. Am I forgetting anything?”

Only the parts I haven’t admitted to Pidd.

The memory loss of Aiden’s ‘peach.’

And… the note I found in my room, written by someone named Amanda. The one that told me to find the ‘Wilted.’

“A week?” says Pidd. He looks confused. “Amanda, we met last month.”

10

The Amber Woman

I’m certain Pidd hasn’t been here a month. And I’m certain my name isn’t Amanda—not my true one, anyway.

But what I’m equally certain of is that my ward was sincere when he said it. For a small flash of time, no longer than a sigh’s length, his eyes went vacant and he believed it.

Great, Bexley. You’ve gone and picked yourself a crazy one.

Speaking of whom—

“Halt!”

Pidd rams into me from behind for the third time of the day.

“I told you I need more warning than that, stupid!” he reels.

“I said halt. H-A-L-T.”

And the reason I said it so abruptly is because our target, Sesha—slinky amber friend of Aiden’s—halted rather abruptly herself, to pick up a piece of litter from the otherwise pristine marble floor.

Pidd and I are tailing her, investigating the reason behind Aiden’s weirdness. That’s the story, at least. Truthfully, I’m more interested in what she might know about me. Either way, we don’t have much better to do, as the ban on the coterie still hasn’t been lifted, even with the return of Kray and Cello. No going outside. No traveling to the mortal world. No missions. No action. No anything. I’m going bonkers, cooped up in here, hence the constant dwelling over Pidd and the ‘Amanda’ thing.

Sesha straightens, smooths out her dress, and continues in the direction of the door that’s different from the rest, tucked at the end of a back corridor beyond the grand stairway, and locked by a turning, cranking contraption.

“Now, why is it that Sesha’s headed to the Artifact chamber? And more importantly, what’s she all dressed up for? It’s not like she can go anywhere.”

“Better than wearing sweatpants every day,” Pidd says under his breath.

“Sweatpants are a way of life. See how relaxed and nonthreatening I look?” I motion downwards at the fabric bunched around my ankles.

“Your hair suggests otherwise.”

Not my fault. It has a mind of its own. I flatten the rising nest of hair, as Sesha places her hand on the treasure room’s door and enacts the cranking mechanism. Following a flash of amber light, she slips inside.

“Now what?” says Pidd, arms folded. “We can’t really follow her in there. That would be too obvious.”

“True. WE can’t follow her in there, on account of the obviousness,” I say.

“Right, WE can’t. Why are you saying it like that?”

“Saying it like what? WE can’t go in there.”

Pidd’s face flattens to a steamrolling extent. “You want me to go in there alone,” he says.

“So smart! Wow! Look at you!” I flash a glittering smile that’s only ten percent sincere. “Yes, if I go in there, she’ll know I followed her, but if you go in there, there’s no way she’ll suspect. You’ve got that whole ‘lost puppy’ thing going.” I reach for his cheeks and he cuts me off with a chop of his hand. “Do it and I’ll leave you alone the rest of the day?” I add.

The offer is too tempting. He caves much easier than expected. “Fine, but what do you want me to do in there, exactly?” he says.

“Sleuth around!”

“Meaning?”

“Figure out which Artifact she’s looking at.”

Easy enough.

Pidd dallies a few minutes before following the amber woman into the chamber. I lag behind in the hallway. The floor is pretty deserted right now. The roses are mostly all in the training rooms running through drills, while the lavenders are on cleaning duty. I saw a cluster of them in a cluttered corner of the third floor.

And I’m left to my own bored devices.

It’s frustrating, being rat-trapped in here, and feeling like a part of me is missing.

Which part, though?

I can’t remember. I know it’s in there somewhere, but I just can’t figure out the right route to get to it. My neuron paths aren’t hooked up correctly.

Pidd is gone a minute. And then two. And pretty soon, six minutes have passed. It’s longer than anticipated. I pictured him dipping in, getting yelled at, and returning, red-cheeked, and with at least a smidgeon of intel.

Only, he doesn’t return, even after eight minutes have passed. I butt up to the door, but hear nothing from within.

Curious.

Impatience claws at me. Though I was hoping to keep my hands clean of this, I might need to act, after all. When Sesha questions me, I’ll say I was looking for Pidd. I’ll say his lightstream led me here.

Maybe she’ll buy it.

With the passing of the tenth minute, I can’t stand it anymore. I push a turquoise-lit palm against the door. Two spectacles await me.

The first is Pidd, in a slump by the door, with his hand clutching the bottom end of a ruby-encrusted staff. The second is Sesha, also passed out near the door and holding the top half of the same staff. And that isn’t all.

The amber woman is donned from head to toe in Artifact gear.

She looks like a light warrior—the kind depicted in the portraits scattered all over the coterie. A metal headpiece clamps around her hair, pulsating with floating bits of amber light. The headpiece connects to a leather neckpiece, at the throat of which sits a large pocket watch, intricately etched, and glowing in reaction to Sesha’s power. Her midsection is pinched into one of the room’s corsets—looking much more appealing on her slender body than it would on my squishy one—her arms are suited with gauntlets, and her waist is adorned with several belt-like straps, from which hang a collection of ornately handled daggers.

Even in sleep, her painted lip is stern with resolve. She is beautiful. And fierce.

“Pidd?!” I pull myself from the vision that is her, to attend to my incapacitated ward. He, on the other hand, is neither beautiful nor fierce. He is a sloppy mess, with his jaw hanging limp and his arms strewn awkwardly over his body. He doesn’t stir when I shake him. And he’s too thick for me to drag. At least his breathing appears normal, if only a little snorish. And there don’t seem to be any gashes on him or anything like that.

In my experience, gashes are always a bad sign.

What the heck happened here?

A survey of the scene doesn’t provide an answer. But based on the fact that both Pidd and Sesha are unconscious while holding on to the same staff…

I won’t take my chances with it. Careful to avoid the suspicious rod, I situate myself over Pidd. From there, I begin to form a cloud of turquoise in each hand. I’m not sure if this will work or not, but—

“Hyah!”

I put my hands on his shirt and zap the turquoise power into his chest. His legs kick up from the floor, and a moment later, the rest of him follows.

He jolts up, slamming his forehead into mine, and dropping the staff in the process.

“Owww!” In unison, we recoil from one another, nursing the red marks forming on our foreheads. I’m pretty sure that glistening mark on his chin is drool.

“What happened in here, Pidd?”

“Hell if I know!” He lets out a loud groan and rolls his neck.

“Pidd… did you attack Sesha?”

“NO, I didn’t flipping attack her! She was already unconscious when I got here. I didn’t know if she was dead or not, so I thought I’d use that cane to poke her. The next thing I know, I’m on the floor with you all up on me.”

“All up on you? Ahem. Excuse you, but I revived you. You were gone for at least twenty minutes… Well, ten. But it felt like thirty. Anyhow, you shouldn’t go around poking people, dead or alive. It’s uncouth. Also, never play with cursed objects or objects that could potentially be cursed. There. I’ve taught you two things today.” I take my chin in my hand. “This whole scene doesn’t look good. We should get out of here before someone finds us. Naturally, they’d assume that you, being the newcomer, were responsible.”

“Pretty sure they know you well enough to know that you’re most likely responsible,” Pidd says, dry. He stands and motions to Sesha. “What about her?”

“She’ll be fine… probably. I’ll tell LaMar that Torr told me that Ellie heard a loud crash coming from this room. They’ll send someone in to check on her. But as far as her getup, I have zero idea what she was up to in here.”

“She was testing out the Artifacts.”

Because the statement was made by neither me nor Pidd, but from a disembodied voice coming from the hallway, Pidd and I share in a startled spin. Before we can complete it, though, I’m attacked by a mane of stardust hair.

“My princess! Are you unharmed?!”

“A-Aiden?”

He tackles me without regard for Pidd. Pidd dives out of the way in time, but crashes into a case of weapons. A few of them knock from their golden cushions. Meanwhile, Aiden envelops himself fully around me. “Spending an awful lot of time with our ward, aren’t we, Bex? Is it because he’s turquoise? Are my amber veins no longer good enough for you? Big bro wants to snoop around the coterie, too! But alas, I am no longer invited. I am neglected, in lieu of this rando.” He flings an open palm in stony Pidd’s direction.

“Psh. You don’t really mean that.” Still, guilt settles in my chest. I can barely look at him. It’s the secrets. And the mistrust. We’ve never had those before.

At least, not that I remember.

I force myself to look at him, and his amber-fueled eyes are contradicting. They sear with ancient power, but are plagued with fledgling strain.

Despite his gushing and fawning, I think he might actually be hurt.

I should ask him. Flat-out. What he and Sesha meant. I should do it right now.

“Aiden—”

“I can’t tell you.”

He cuts me off as bluntly as he ever has.

“But you don’t even know what I’m going to ask!” I protest.

Aiden sweeps into the room in true imperial style. “I know you better than anyone knows anyone, and what I know is that you should return to your room and act like this never happened.”

He puts a finger to my temple, and the next thing I know, I’m halfway down the hall, while Pidd babbles in my ear. Something or other about my waker’s abnormal behavior. My head feels fuzzy. It feels like I should sleep.

I should sleep. Should sleep. Sleep.

><

I’m floating.

I know I’m in my bed, but I can’t move. I can’t speak. Until a great, terrible force grabs me and forces my head against the pillow. I sink, deeper, darker.

“It’s you and me, remember? Even if the world burns, it will always be you and me.”

Who is that? Who said that to me?

I… can’t… quite…

From the darkness, an amber light appears. Aiden? Sesha? It grows ex nihilo—from nothing. And then it overtakes. Brighter and brighter until it enters my veins and turns me from turquoise to amber. Like Aiden. Like Sesha. And now I realize that the force of light isn’t a person; it is a season.

I am in the brightest day of mortal-world autumn, as the sun hits the dying leaves and turns the world golden. There is magic in the mortal world. I am in a clearing. And before my eyes, the same clearing passes through the seasons. Winter’s snow and frost melt into the green of spring, and then, in the earliest days of summer, I see him.

He stands in a field of grass up to his knees, as the afternoon wind ruffles his sandy hair against his ears. His hands reside in his pockets. His earlobe thuds with unexposed power. I can feel it rippling through the air, waiting to be awoken.

My ward?

When he notices me, he turns to speak:

“I saw you… Amanda… in a field.”

><

Intricate stitches line the blanket wrapped around my shoulders. The pattern is a landscape. I nuzzle in further, warmed from the chill of the night. Though outside is eternally dusk, nighttime is in the air.

Again, I find myself coated in cold sweat. The sort that sticks the hair to your neck.

Pidd in a field… A voice in the darkness…

I sit on my bed mulling it over.

My thumbnail bears the brunt of my concentration. In a matter of minutes, it’s been gnawed away and I moved on to my other hand. I’m not even halfway finished digesting the dream. By the end, I won’t be able to scratch even the slightest itch.

There comes a rap on the door.

I haven’t been paying attention, contemplating the relevance of dreams, but now I notice the pulsing of my turquoise chain. “What is it, Piddlywink?” I call.

He doesn’t wait for an invitation. The heavy door opens slight enough to let the minion into my dim chamber.

Ah, I missed that blue hoodie.

“Bexley?” His head is downturned, his shoulders hunched, his hands buried in the pocket of his sweatshirt.

“Ho!” I drop the blanket. “What’s up with you, depress-o?”

Shadows drown the features of Pidd’s face. He doesn’t answer. Something is wrong.

“H-hey?” I hear my voice crack. “Are you all right?”

“When I came here,” he says slowly, “I didn’t bring anything with me, right?”

I pretend to think on it. “I can’t say for sure. I never DID perform a strip search on you or anything.” He doesn’t react. I let out a sigh. “Nope, I basically just abducted you, Pidd, nice and clean-like.” I hold my hands up to say ‘you got me.’

“If that’s true,” he says, voice deliberate, “then where did I get all of these?” From the folds of his sweatshirt, he produces a stack of leafy papers.

“What’re tho—”

But it is in that moment that Pidd throws back his head, revealing the truth of his expression: Terror, the sort of sweat-drenched terror that calls dreamers out of nightmare, and precedes the sudden, unexpected end of a life. It’s contagious, creeping along the floor, up the frame of my bed and into my feet, where it spreads through the whole of me. In the same instant, Pidd releases the collection of pages into the air. Then, he drops to his knees as they come scattering around him.

One of the pages lands at my feet. I pick it up.

“They were in my pocket,” he says, eyes wide, “but I don’t remember putting them there. Shit, I don’t remember reading them! But they’re from you, right? From before we met. So… was this all a set up?”

In a handwriting that’s too familiar to be anyone else’s but mine, the paper in my hand reads:

I’ll be waiting for you at that café. Come alone.

11

Fragments

I’ve made up my mind.

This time, I won’t be caught, and if I am, I’ll fight my way out. The good thing about being the only turquoise aside from Pidd, is that my light will damage anyone else it comes in contact with, if I want it to.

In the middle of the night, under the concealment of a cloak, I steal through the vacant halls of the coterie. The lanterns and chandeliers that usually light the way are snuffed. In the waking hours, Aiden and Jobel will light them with amber and rose light, but for now, the go unlit. My confused ward trails me, clutching the handful of papers he previously discovered in his pocket, as we make our way to the storeroom with the secret out.

After his outburst, I hurried to collect the pages from the floor, finding they formed a greater letter—one from my old self to Pidd’s, apparently:

I’ll be waiting for you at that café. Come alone.

I’ll pretend not to know you. You do the same.

You never know who’s watching.

We need to find the Wilted. We need to take back what they stole.

—Amanda

P.S. I lied about my name. Sorry not sorry. Bet you lied about stuff too.

The rest of the pages are filled with a scrolling language I don’t know. And what’s more, on the backside of one of the pieces, in the scrawliest, chickenest scratch, an additional note has been scribbled:

Café on Grand. 7/22.

7/22. The mortal date I warded Pidd. Café on Grand. The place where I met him.

According to Pidd, the chicken scratch is his writing. And judging by the starkness of his face, I’d say he’s telling the truth. But how? And was it really in his sweatshirt pocket all this time?

‘Be careful, Bex. Coincidences aren’t usually so.’

‘That newcomer could be dangerous. The timing of his arrival is uncanny. If your peach starts remembering things…’

I feel the hairs on my arm go straight. Is it really possible that I’ve forgotten something important? And that Pidd and I have some prior association? And just what the hell is ‘the Wilted’!?

“Bexley?”

“Argh! Not now, Pidd! Can’t you see I’m undergoing an existential cris—”

“BEXLEY!”

I don’t mind him in time. I ram headfirst into someone on patrol:

“Gobble, gobble, Bexley.”

Enter surly teenager Nekt.

And he isn’t alone. Two other rose lightborne are stationed on the fifth floor.

Like I said—amped up security.

I’m guessing the three of them are supposed to be spread out, making rounds. Lucky for us, they’re congregated, playing poker in an open area between a crossing of hallways. Because I’m in a bad mood, I don’t even bother making up an excuse as to why we’re out of our rooms, meandering the halls.

It’s been a while since I’ve engaged.

Heh.

I bring my fingertips to my right ear and infuse them with light. Then, I dart at the teens, hand to the ground, starting a wide circle around them. Energy runs up my spine as turquoise light sears into the smooth of the floor.

Yeah, that feels good.

The two randoms gather up their cards and start to scamper. Not Nekt, though. He wants to play. Mouth in a half-grin, he readies a defense, scribbling at the air in short flicking movements. In no time at all, he’s crafted a glowing weapon of knightly proportions.

“A mother-flippin’ sword?!” cries Pidd. “He drew a sword with light?! We can do that?!”

Pidd’s impressed with THAT? Psh. Sword-schword.

Nekt comes at me, face illuminated in rosy glow and with the sword held high over his head like a piñata stick.

On second thought—

I don’t finish my light circle. Instead, I grab onto the power streaming from my fingers and yank up the light I’ve previously drawn on the floor.

Wih-cha!

The line of turquoise rips from the ground. Now, I’m armed with a whip of light to rival Nekt’s stupid sword. I snap it into the space between the patrolman and me.

A warning.

But the dumbass doesn’t heed.

“RAAH!” With a battle cry, he comes at me, slashing the newly formed sword at my whip, in an attempt to slice it in half.

“Shh!” I hiss at him. “You’re going to wake everyone!” I brace myself, and the light braces with me, armoring itself against the attack. Nekt’s blade recoils.

By now, one of his rose cronies has retreated away. The other shoots a feeble arrow of rose at my unsuspecting ward. Pidd isn’t prepared. The light tears the sleeve of his hoodie. “Defend yourself!” I shout at him, while circling the whip over my head.

But Pidd is inexperienced. Though he brings his fingers to his ear, he has a hard time conjuring his light.

“Like we practiced in the gardens!” I tell him.

Meanwhile, Nekt is lunging at me, long mouth pulled even wider. I bring the turquoise switch down hard on him, but the sword over his head shields him from impact. Our light pops and crackles upon connection.

This is getting us nowhere. Trying another approach, I lower the whip to the ground and sweep it outwards at him. My intent is to wrap it around his legs in a mummy-like bind, but he skips over it like a child playing jump-rope, a cocky purse to his mouth. Drat!

A look over my shoulder reveals that Pidd is still trying to muster a bit of magick from his earlobe. He’s trying too hard. It needs to come more naturally. I don’t have time to coach him now, though.

Both of the rose cronies are suspiciously away and out of sight. We can’t chance them getting help. I need to silence Nekt and fast. Maybe the whip thing wasn’t such a good idea. I’ve already exhausted a good bit of power, but—

I thrash the belt over my head with both hands and push all of my strength into bringing it downwards atop the lanky teen. He lunges to the side to dodge the hit, but at the last minute, I spread my concentration and partition the end of the whip into several thinner pieces.

A loud obscenity escapes Nekt’s throat as the cat-o'-nine-tails makes contact with his arm. I’ll give him points for creativity, at least. In an instant, his rose sword goes out, sacrificed for the sake of Nekt clutching his arm that sizzles with turquoise.

“You’ll live,” I bid him before turning, and—

A cannon of rose from some unknown source is suddenly at my front, charging straight for me. I don’t have time to react. Doing the least practical thing I can think of, I cross my wrists in front of my face and cower, of all things.

But the rose blast doesn’t hit. It’s interrupted by a second blast—this one turquoise, though it certainly didn’t originate from me. As the light clears, I raise from my pathetic cower to find Pidd, fingertips searing, standing between me and rose crony number one, who was knocked back fiercely enough into the balcony railing to be momentarily stunned.

“Nice!” I give Pidd a thumbs-up that is short-lived. Nekt is already readying something. His fingers are aglow, his mouth ascowl.

“UGH. Give up, ALREADY!” I shoot a quick flurry of small pellet-like light balls at him, while grabbing my dazed ward’s wrist. “Too much commotion,” I explain. “We need to get out of here!”

Luckily, Nekt is preoccupied by the flurry long enough for us to turn the corner into the next hallway, where I quickly draw an X of turquoise to bar the way. Pidd reinforces it with whatever power he can muster, making it into a web. There. They’ll have to wait for the light to clear before they can pass. I start up the stairs to the sixth floor.

Pidd is at my ear in a flash, voice hushed and hurried. “Where are you going, dimbits? I thought we were leaving out the secret exit!”

“We need to make a pit stop. Nice fighting by the way!” I give him a punch in the arm.

He rubs at the spot I punched, looking grouchy. “Couldn’t we have avoided that brawl, Bexley?”

“Come on! That was at least a little fun, right?”

But I can’t keep it up for long. Though I was temporarily distracted by the ‘brawl,’ I can’t help thinking about Pidd’s letter and mine.

But it’s a dangerous road that leads to a downward spiral. Sometimes, the best way to deal with the unexplained is to compartmentalize. My brain is a dresser. A bureau, if we’re being fancy. One drawer will hold my confusion. Another, my panic. Yet another will hold the inexplicable betrayal that’s been budding. It’s such a small thing to go off of and yet those few overheard words have put a wedge between me and Aiden.

I ache.

That goes in a drawer too.

Focus, Bexley. One thing at a time. Priority number one: retrieve a few essentials. Priority number two: another go at the portal. After that… well, we’ll see. The far wing of the sixth floor has a special room—one Pidd has yet to see. The door is unassuming, the knob high up at the center. I place my fingers around its cool metal and the piece reacts to my light, glowing blue before allowing me to turn the handle.

Click!

The door opens to a square room illuminated by a mountain of tiny pearls.

The beads are minute and shiny, piled high, and bright enough to cause a glowing outline around the whole of them. I often think about what it would be like to plow into the pile and send them all scuttling and rolling down the halls. Imagining the noise of it makes me shiver.

“Whoa!” Pidd runs forward to the edge of the heap and puts out a hand. “It’s warm!”

“The ceiling of this room opens during the day, allowing the pearls to be infused daily with Yggdrasil’s light.” I gesture to the wall where a pair of long-handled spades resides. “Someone usually has the job of shifting the pearls around with these long shovels, so that all of them can get a good coating of light.” I open my cloak to reveal a satchel tied around my waist. I begin spooning the pearls into the satchel, while Pidd stands transfixed by the glowing mass. His dark eyes reflect the light of the room. “I’ll be honest,” I say as I spoon. “I’m not TOTALLY sure what the plan is, here, but I’ve learned not to get stranded in the mortal world without back-up light. Like I said before, doesn’t matter how many hamburgers we devour—we’ll starve if we’re cut off from the tree’s light for too long.”

Pidd shakes his head to shake away the influence of the room. “You mean to tell me you don’t have a plan?”

I pause to think. “Mmmm. Nope. Not really.” Spoiler alert—I rarely do.

“Arghhhhh.”

By the sound of his groan, you’d think he was being subjected to a long, boring lecture, rather than an adventure, magickal in nature.

But once again, my gusto is quickly replaced by the weight of what we’re doing and all that has happened since meeting Pidd.

Since ‘meeting’ him.

Whenever that truly was.

“One more stop,” I tell him, feeling a sinking in my throat, “and then we’re leaving.

On the way to the second floor, we encounter two more roses on patrol. This time, we opt for stealth, waiting for them to shift out of view before stealing down the stairs. Pidd is much more agreeable with this course of action, but when I pass the way to the second floor storeroom, where the secret exit lies, he gives a protest: “What now?”

“I told you. One. More. Stop.”

Down to the first floor, where we have to be most cautious of all, for not only are there rose guards about, there are others out of bed, mingling. Despite being twilight outside—during the night hours, heavy curtains block any windows in any room, creating an atmosphere of darkness. Even those born in light need the dark to sleep, I guess. Thus, the meeting hall is blanketed in night’s shadow.

Pidd sticks to my hip as I stick to the wall, and together we pass under the staircase, undetected, to my favorite room of all, where I’ve hidden something important.

Amidst the cases of ‘steam-punked’ Artifacts, there is something the others cannot see.

“Remember when Aiden told me to hide the moth?” I whisper, trotting to the back wall of the treasure room.

“Are you kidding me? It’s only the important mystery we’ve been researching all week…” Sighing, he shakes his head at me. “Of course I remember, o great waker.”

That has a nice ring to it. Let’s see if we can make it stick.

“Welp—” I come right up to the slab of turquoise light that hangs within a golden frame. “This is where I hid it.” I plunge my hand into the light, which feels oddly silky, and withdraw the mechanical moth. “I placed a turquoise seal over it so that only you or I could retract it. Pretty smart, eh?”

“Isn’t that exactly what Aiden told you to do?”

I feel my face fall flat. “Quiet, minion! Let’s get out of here before anyone finds us.”

But Pidd is stopped beside one of the cases, his eyes fixed on the treasures beneath the glass. “I should take something,” he says, abrupt.

“What?”

Hood down, he gives me a determined nod. “Yeah, because, I’m not that great with my light yet, and you said the Artifacts are conduits, right? So couldn’t they help me control it a little better? Until I can do it on my own, I mean?”

I study him. His hair rests against his jaw. His eyes are deep and dark. His cheeks are less… soft all of a sudden, with his face conformed to reason like that. His voice is manlier, too. He’s a strange one—transforming from stubborn little nugget to levelheaded peer so fluidly.

Which is he?

When you look at him from this angle…

“Look, you’re dragging us out to god knows where, and I’m pretty much useless. Hate to say it, but that blast of light earlier was a fluke. Whatever ‘the plan’ ends up being,” he says, hand out in appeal, “I want to be able to help defend us.”

Us.

That feels like a warm word. And he has a point. But are we stealing things now?

The pouch of beads is heavy against my thigh. Pidd also happens to have a certain goldish book tucked in his back pocket, encased in a cloud of protective light, placed by yours truly…

“Fine,” I say. “ONE thing. One small thing.”

He selects a leather glove missing two of its fingers and with gears lining the wrist. He straps it on his hand and it responds by lighting blue. I suspect he just wants to look cool. We’ll figure out how to use it later. For now, we make haste to the second floor storeroom, down the secret hatch, through the passage, and out into the twilit world that looks like day but smells like night.

Truthfully, I like the mortal world’s night better. All cool and dark and with dots of far off light in the sky.

“Phoo.” I let out possibly the longest breath I ever have, as we stand with the grand fortress to our backs and the autumn wood at our fronts. How did we get here? How has so much changed in such a short time? And how can I make sense of any of it? Ward and waker, we are about to do something big that I don’t fully understand, but that’s driven by a small, distant, forgotten part of me. A part that doesn’t remember, but that wants to, and a part that tells me that the danger isn’t at our fronts, but lurking in the brick behind our backs.

As we step through the line of white-stemmed trees, I turn to catch one last glimpse of our home, noticing a figure in the corner top-floor window.

Aiden.

A pang of guilt hits me but is overridden by an urgency to get away and a need to explore the possibility that I might have been living a lie for at least a little while.

Whatever you do, don’t let them know that you know. Find the Wilted.

12

One Lonely Towel

“What the hell is that sound?” Pidd is pressed up close to me, his dark eyes flicking about the wood timidly. I get the feeling he’s the type to avoid horror movies—or at least the type to swear at them profusely.

The forest surrounding the coterie has a different feel at night. While its appearance is the same, perpetually shedding trees perpetually basked in amber twilight—perpetually, perpetually, perpetually—the chiming sound from before is now accompanied by a low moaning that almost sounds like music, though not the sort found on mortal radio.

It’s otherworldly.

“Relax,” I say. “It’s normal… probably.”

I swat at a flurry of leaves as they fall onto my head and shoulders from a weeping branch. Pidd roots himself beside the tree’s twisting trunk and attempts to make me do the same. “Is the forest actually crying, Bexley? That’s the epitome of freakiness!”

“Epitome. Nice word choice. One of my faves, actually. Doesn’t it feel like your mouth is moving super fast when you say it?”

The minion isn’t having any of it, probably experiencing the same anxiety I am, over the fact that at any minute we could be apprehended. Aiden saw us from the window, and you can bet Nekt has alerted the others by now, too. It’s only a matter of time before someone comes barging through the line of trees to stop us.

On that note—I hurry to the side of the water portal and take to my knees. They sink into the ground that’s moist and cool like spring. The crying of the forest swells—comparable to the ghostly underwater moaning of a whale—before ebbing away. Last time, this place felt enchanting. Tonight it feels…

“Freaky,” Pidd insists again, glaring at the twisting trunk beside him like it might attempt sabotage at any minute.

Ignore. Freaky or not, we need to get out of here.

I bring a cautious finger to the water, and—

“OW!”

The water lights with pink and orange rejection, zapping my skin. Hand dripping and stinging, I reel from the pool. Crap, it’s just like Aiden said. The amber and rose seals have already been placed over the portal, which means that I, with my turquoise descent, cannot enter. And neither can Pidd. I don’t know what I was expecting.

I glance over my shoulder at the line of trees. Nothing yet. Though I suspect our luck’s almost out.

With that thought, my heart takes on a dance club beat. Obnoxious thing. But it has a point. If we don’t hurry…

“Pidd! Get over here! We need to try breaking through the seals Aiden and Jobel placed.”

I don’t bother telling him it’s nearly impossible. The scallywag and I are weak, compared to the two leaders.

Still, we spend a frustrating two point five minutes trying to break through their seals with blasts of turquoise, until the surrounding trees are stained blue. If the entire coterie wasn’t aware of our disobedience before, they definitely are now. It’s hard to ignore, when the forest suddenly starts pulsating with blue light.

Maybe this is futile. So what do we do?

Something beneath my skin won’t allow me to turn back. A feeling of dread has been slowly building since finding that note from myself, and now, as I stare at my pink reflection in the water, that feeling reaches peak. For a moment, I consider taking my ward’s arm and running off through the forest; giving up on the portal and fleeing into the unknown reaches of Yggdress. I’m acting like a crazy person. There’s a logical explanation for what Sesha said. There’s a logical explanation for Pidd’s letter and mine. There has to be.

But if that’s true, why do I feel like half of a person? And why can’t I clearly remember what I did in the days before meeting Pidd? And why have I suddenly become so afraid of my own waker?

These thoughts race rampant, clouding my focus; meanwhile, Pidd is focusing sad little bursts of power at the pool. His gloved hand is hovered just over the water, his brow furrowed in concentration, as tiny fizzles of turquoise transfer from his palm into the pond, before being overpowered by pops of rose and amber light.

From my peripheral, I see movement crossing into the wood.

We’ve been found.

It is in that exact moment that a hand bursts up through the water, interrupting the lines of rose and amber, and grabs onto Pidd’s wrist.

“WAAAH!”

Pidd’s reaction is like a cat’s as, flailing and splashing, he’s yanked into the water against his will.

It happens quickly. And already, the lines of amber and rose are beginning to conjoin where broken by the mysterious hand that came from below. I’m faced with a choice. Follow my ward or return to my waker? I leave it up to my body.

Instinct wins.

My face plunges into the water before I can even make sense of it. The rose and amber barriers catch my ankle on the way in, but it’s too late. By the time the spells have finished re-forming, I’m already through, stinging ankle and all, welcomed to the mortal world by a porcelain basin.

At least it isn’t a toilet.

I gasp as I’m let from the portal, taking hold of the bathtub’s edge and pulling my drenched self from the water. Pidd is beside me in the dingy bathroom, also drenched, also gasping, and clinging to the hand that broke the seal and pulled him through. He’s quick to wrench away. I, though, remain transfixed on said hand.

The hand has pronounced knuckles and is, as most hands are, connected to a person. I wipe the water from my eyes. The creature to which the hand belongs is tall and lean, with black jeans and an obnoxiously blue tank-top.

It’s—!

The hottie from last time. Only this time—

“Helloooo, glasses,” I say under my breath.

This time, those furiously jade eyes are framed. How I love a nice thick pair of glasses. Swoon.

Pidd watches my reaction with disgust. “Oh god, Bexley. Are you salivating, for cripe’s sake?”

I ignore him. I’m preoccupied, scanning through the creature’s onyx hair for his ear, for that helping of shadow that shouldn’t be there. But while I stare unabashedly at the hottie, it turns out the hottie is also staring.

At me.

His adam’s apple dips in his throat. And then he says:

“I have been sitting in this bathroom for DAYS.”

His tone is reprimanding, his mouth downturned.

“I’m… sorry?” I feel compelled to say.

“You’re sorry?” Eyes tightly on mine, he lurches forward at me. “YOU’RE FLIPPING SORRY?! First, you disappear off the face of the earth for months, leaving me to think you’re dead! THEN, you show up, VERY abruptly in the bathtub, acting like you have no clue who I am, before disappearing YET again and leaving me to DWELL. YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I DWELL, BEXLEY!” His knuckles are white, clenched onto the edge of the basin. “YOU ARE, without a doubt, the most troublesome GIRL I’ve ever dated!”

Pidd’s jaw drops.

Mine drops deeper.

Dated?

And before I know what’s happening, the hottie, whom I’m SURE I’ve never met before, is atop me in the water, one hand at the small of my back, the other lost in my hair. I’m no longer focused on his hands, though. It’s his mouth that’s got my full attention. Somehow it’s become pressed to mine in a way that makes Pidd look away sharply.

Obviously this person has me confused with someone else. Obviously I misheard him on two different occasions when he said ‘Bexley.’ Obviously it’s wrong to make out with a stranger.

But I can enjoy it for just a minute, right? Who cares if Pidd is disgusted and awkward? And who cares that the three of us are together in a claw-footed tub in a mystery building, on the run from the other lightborne?

The stranger tastes like darkness.

He tastes familiar.

He pushes me up against the wall of the tub, jeans submerged, and with his long legs fitting gawkily against the curve of the bowl. His mouth is… practiced. With every movement, I feel my pulse quickening. The blood in my veins writhes and pulses. My stomach flutters. For maybe the first time ever, it feels constrained within its prison of a body.

And I love every minute of it.

I, Bexley Lightborne, am a glutton.

By this time, Pidd has thrown himself from the bathtub in sheer horror. The poor little nugget can’t handle this much sexiness.

I can’t either. I begin to feel very aware of my own ungainly responses. The way I’m kissing too fast? The way my hand is brutishly placed.

Is there any chance that this pheromonal stranger is enjoying this as much as I am?

Probably not. And it’s probably never going to happen again, so I might as well just let my stomach flutter away.

But then, one stupid word interrupts everything:

“Kinley.”

It comes from my mouth, against his lips, and causes him to pull away, stiff.

What the fudge is a kinley?

Though he draws away, the green-eyed stranger stays near, cupping my cheeks in his hands so that my face is squished like a chipmunk. He doesn’t seem to notice. Unless he usually looks at chipmunks with desire.

It’s definitely desire.

Maybe he’s into chipmunks.

His breath is warm. He lowers it to my neck. His gaze trails down my front, before flicking back to mine. He has an impish sort of look to him. Mainly, it’s his eyes. His eyes are sharp at the outer corners like a sphinx or a djinn. While he continues to drill them into me, harboring emotions I can’t decipher, I try to think of something to say, but under the pressure of the moment, my vocabulary becomes limited to strange choking sounds.

It doesn’t matter. He speaks first:

“You are a horrible, horrible girl, Bexley.”

But the way he says it is with such contradicting tenderness—my hand moves on its own, coming right up against his scratchy cheek, and—

“For spending days in the bathroom, you’d think you could have shaved, Kinley.”

I say it playfully, and it’s natural.

But it wasn’t me who said it, not really. It was my mouth, acting out on its own. I don’t know this person. I don’t know his name.

So why does my mouth?

“I’m sorry—” I put a hand to my temple. “I don’t…” I don’t know where that came from. For the first time, I look past the shadow-eared stranger and find my ward, who is drying himself off with a floral towel and acting as though I don’t exist. I lock eyes with him. “Pidd… I… don’t… know him.”

“It sure as shit looks like you do!” Back turned, he goes back to drying his hair.

I heave forward, sending a violent ripple through the tub. “I swear I don’t!”

The hottie looks from me to Pidd and then back to me. “Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me!” he lashes, pushing his palm to his forward and throwing his head backwards. “Is THIS why you were gone? You found some little blond dude to screw around with?” He leans away from me with folded arms, disbelief crossing his face. “Oh my God, I’m a moron. You weren’t dead, Bexley. You weren’t captured. You just… left me, didn’t you? For this guy. Great choice, by the way; what is he, twelve?”

While it’s satisfying to hear someone else call Pidd little, I can’t enjoy it in lieu of my own confusion. Also, that protective feeling that first kept me from telling Aiden about the dark-eared stranger acts up once more.

“No!” My arms throw themselves around the hottie’s neck. “It’s you and me, remember? Even if the world burns, it will always be you and me.” By the time I realize what I’ve done, it’s too late. I’ve reacted like an unusual person, spewing the line from my dreams. There’s no recovering, but still I try: “Y-you’re mistaken,” I say, retracting the hug with jerking movements. “I swear I don’t know you.”

I go on to tell him that the first time I saw him was in this very bathroom, not so long ago.

He watches me shrewdly.

“I must have an evil twin,” I conclude, hanging my head. It’s the only explanation I can muster.

With a sigh, the stranger rises from the water and snatches the towel from grouchy Pidd. Then, he removes his glasses and turns his back. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but I’m tired of it. You have no idea the strain you put on me, Bexley. You’re not being funny. You’re being cruel.”

I feel a sting in the middle of my chest.

I’m not a crier. Not usually. Some people tear up at the easiest things, but not me. My tears are only saved for the saddest of moments—like the time Moll was out of mac and cheese at the café on the corner.

Kidding.

But in all seriousness, I’m not a crier.

In the next moments, I become one.

“I’m not lying.” It starts as an uncomfortable tightness in my throat. I try to ignore it and it swells, beckoning my eyes to moisten at the corners. “I don’t know you.” My voice reaches strain. “You’re a little familiar, but I don’t know you. I swear!”

And then I begin to unload. All of it, at the stranger and at Pidd. About how I suspect my memories might be lost. About how I suspect Aiden is keeping something from me. About the things I overheard between him and Sesha. And even about the note I found in my room. I can’t help it. There’s no denying that my body has been acting of its own volition, and that’s simply not normal. I’M simply not normal. I can’t keep it in. I can’t keep it alone, and by the time I’m finished, my cheeks are stained salty.

“And now there’s you.” I beckon to the hottie. “I don’t even know WHAT you are, and you’re all hot and—!”

I set myself off again in incoherent babble.

Surprisingly, Pidd is the one to ease me. He doesn’t judge me for the note or for my messy state. He just exists.

“She’s telling the truth, you know,” he says quietly. “For your information, we came here to ask for your help. Plus, she and I aren’t like that. Not even remotely. You can have her.”

Well, he didn’t have to say it like that, but…

As I fail to dry my eyes on my wet shoulder, my ward storms across the tile and offers me a hand up out of the tub. “Come on, Bex. Let’s get out of here. This guy seems like a spaz. We can look for answers somewhere else.”

By now, the bathroom’s sole towel is drenched, loosely hanging from the stranger’s hand. No use bothering with it. We start for the door.

“Wait!” The stranger stops us. Djinn eyes firmly on mine, he puts a hand to his own scruffy cheek. “For your information, I’m out of razors, and I didn’t want to go to the store, in case you decided to show up again.”

I blink at him. “Um, what?”

“Besides—” He comes right up to me and places his hands on either of my shoulders, as a smallish, halfish grin begins to form at the corner of his mouth. “You’re in too much trouble to be ridiculing me, B.”

I open my mouth for something to say, but it’s tough. It’s reeeally tough with him that close and looking at me that way. Squinting, he lowers his face to my height. He studies me a moment, while I fight my brain for interesting topics to bring up, until—

“I see it,” he says. “Vacancy. What did they do to you?”

“They?”

He straightens. “Come on. Let’s get you dried up. Then, I’ll tell you what I know.”

13

Bad Guys

The building on the other side of the portal is an apartment complex in the mortal world. A crappy one, at that. The halls are some of the few in existence yet harboring wallpaper. The corners are yellowed where the glue no longer holds. The carpet is stained. The air exudes a certain cheese-like stench.

“A place this dumpy was portaled that close to the coterie?” I observe.

“Well, that’s because you and I were the ones to place it, B.” The stranger, who has since confirmed his name as Kinley, eyes me delicately, as if I the news might break me.

I don’t know what to say to that. Of course I didn’t place the portal. At least, not that I remember.

It’s scary, not knowing what I may have done in the past. Not knowing the extent of my own amnesia.

Kinley pauses to size me up only briefly before continuing down the crusty corridor. We three are silent. Pidd lags behind. Floorboards creak from above.

“This looks like a murder hotel,” I mutter after a while.

“That’s what you said the first time we came here, too!” Kinley spins around enthusiastically before stopping himself and adjusting his glasses. “Um. Never mind.” Shoulders bent, he turns his back to us and starts down the apartment stairwell.

Could it be true? I was really his girlfriend? We really set up a portal together, even?

…How’d I land a hottie like that?!

Well, my non-concealable awesomeness, that’s how.

…Is what I’d tell Pidd.

Truth is, I feel incredibly small right now, on the inside. I feel inconsequential, unworthy—I could go on. Adjectives are fun.

It’s weird, though. If my old self was able to capture a hottie of that caliber, as well as hide secret notes and form secret portals, it makes current me seem pretty lame by comparison. She and I are one, supposedly, but I feel a need to one-up her.

“So, like, yeah, I totally found a ward and everything…”

Kinley halts to give me a look over his shoulder.

What a stupid thing for me to say out of nowhere!

His lip curls up at the corner. “Now, now, B. No need to compete with yourself.”

He can see right through me?!

“She’s been back here having wild conversations with herself in her head,” says Pidd dryly.

And him too?!

I stomp right past them and out the metal exit door of the smelly apartment. The night air is cool and calm and refreshingly not cheese-like. We are in a quiet area of an otherwise busy city. The noises of the city aren’t far off, but within this street and the surrounding ones, the apartments are dim and the walk is deserted. I draw in a deep breath.

Ah. I missed the mortal world night.

Though I can’t say for sure when I’ve ever been to the mortal world at night.

“This way.” Kinley beckons us deeper into the city’s shadow, away from the lighted, busy parts.

Good.

By now, I’m starting to feel the chill of my damp clothes against my skin. Pidd’s in the same boat. “How far?” he says, arms tense at his sides.

“Next street over,” says Kinley.

The next street is very like the first, aside from a friendly tabby that follows us along a retaining wall as we pass. I meow to it because it’s the polite thing to do.

Kinley lets out a soft chuckle.

In that moment I consider that it might not be the safest decision to follow a stranger of unknown species into the dark in the middle of the night, on the outskirts of a city.

But I’m not afraid. Not of him. Of other things, yes, particularly of the amber nature, but not of Kinley.

“Kinley?” We are just reaching the entrance of another apartment—this one better landscaped than the first—when I feel compelled to ask: “Did you know Pidd from before, too? We have reason to believe he and I might have known each other in the past. It’s hard to say, because his memory was wiped the minute I touched him.”

Kinley swipes a keycard at the reader on the front of the apartment gate and it clicks in response. “Never seen him before.” But I can’t help noticing the way his eyes settle uneasily on Pidd’s gloved hand.

Thankfully, this apartment is much nicer than the last. The carpet is clean, and the air smells only faintly stale. Kinley leads us to the fourth floor, choosing the stairs over the elevator. Yeah, he seems like a stairs kind of guy.

“Sorry, elevator’s broken.”

Or maybe not.

“Here we are.” Kinley stops next to an ordinary door on the fourth floor and fiddles with his keys. “Don’t judge.”

He says not to, but I fully intend.

“Whoa! You live here?”

The interior is a strange mix between a secret base and a bachelor pad. The living room has no ceiling light, but a lamp in the corner casts a dim glow. A lumpy couch that’s clean but obviously pre-used sits alongside the back wall, which holds posters of mortal world bands. Meanwhile, the opposite wall, where there might normally be an entertainment device, is strewn with maps, lists, and other documents sporting foreign symbols. Portions of the maps are circled in thick red marker. Others are crossed off with black X’s. The wall is an amalgam of failed research and hopeful leads. He’s been searching for something or someone.

The coffee table at the center of the floor is littered with partially burned candles and three empty oversized mugs. A coffee drinker who usually leaves his coffee half-drunk. Kinley hurries to gather them and deposit them into the sink. I inch after him, neck craned. The kitchen is cluttered but clean. That’s good. There’s a difference between mess and filth.

“Geez, Bexley! You’re being snoopy!” scolds Pidd.

So he says, but I notice the way he eyes Kinley’s bookshelf. Maybe Pidd was a reader in his mortal life. Hm. Doesn’t seem the bookwormish type, though. Maybe comics. Or gamer magazines.

“Glad to see you’re not living in squalor or anything like that, Kinley,” I add.

Ugh. My annoying mouth continually feels the need to say outlandish, familiar things like that.

Kinley stiffens at the sink, but doesn’t turn to face me, instead mutters something indistinguishable to the pile of dishes.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “I’ll grab your friend some of my clothes to borrow. Your stuff is in the second drawer.”

“My stuff?”

He nods. “Of course. I wouldn’t get rid of it or anything.”

My stuff… is here? Meaning I stored things at a male’s apartment? Meaning I’ve spent the night before.

Through the chill of my skin, I feel my neck heat.

Go, old self, I guess.

Kinley lets out a tired sigh. “I’ll show you.” I follow him to the bedroom. The bed isn’t made, but who really makes the bed anymore these days? Bottles of cologne and two pairs of sunglasses rest upon his nightstand. The dresser is wide, and sure enough, the second drawer is filled with girlish garments my size—not to mention, one of the things, an oversized cream and gold sweater, is something for which I’ve been searching for weeks.

The gravity of my situation is dawning on me more and more.

I use Kinley’s bathroom to dry and dress, and by the time I come out, Pidd is also changed into pants that are too long for him. He rolls the bottoms to compensate. He sniffs at me when I approach and his face falls. “Are you wearing men’s cologne, Bexley?”

“What, I didn’t want to stink. Who knows who else has been in that nasty bathtub.”

“Weirdo.”

I wrinkle my face at him.

Kinley watches our exchange with balled fists and a tight jaw. Is he upset that I stole some of his spritz? Oops.

He settles into an armchair, while Pidd plops onto the couch. I’m a floor-sitter. The three of us sit in awkward silence just a moment before Kinley adjusts his glasses and lets off a musing, “Hmmm. Where do we start?”

“How about with what you are?” I blurt, eyes drawn to the darkness of his right earlobe.

“That’s easy,” he says. “I’m a bad guy.”

“But what ARE you?” I press.

“Not fazed, huh?” He rolls his eyes. “I’m a sullen, the highest rank of darkling.”

I should be shocked. Impossible!—is what I should say. But because this is my second time experiencing the bombshell, the blow isn’t as hard as it should be. A distant part of me remembers this.

The same isn’t true of Pidd.

“What the hell?!” He jumps from the couch and backs towards the door. “This dude’s a darkling?! Are we in danger, Bexley?!” And faster than ever before, he begins to draw turquoise power into his fingertips.

Kinley doesn’t appear threatened. Actually, he looks amused. Having removed his glasses, he presses his teeth together in concentration, whilst pulling wispy shadow from his ear to his fingers. He flicks his wrist and sends a miniature rabbit of shadow bounding off towards defensive Pidd. Pidd karate chops at it clumsily, before it dissipates on its own. Then, feeling foolish, the hooded boy retracts his light and returns to the couch, where he slumps down irritably.

Moving on—

“What’s the difference between a sullen and a regular darkling?” I ask.

“Well, we can take on humanly form, for one.” Kinley motions to his own body. “And we can enter the lightborne tier—but only when in shadow form.”

“Fascinating.” I rest my elbows on the coffee table. “So, then, that darkling we saw those times in Yggdress was…?”

Kinley nods. “Once I found out you were alive, I couldn’t help coming back.”

“Freaking frack!” Pidd is at it again, conjuring inner light quicker than previously possible.

I shoo at him. “Why are you so freaked about darklings anyway, Pidd? You literally JUST found out about them.”

He mutters something under his breath that very vaguely sounds like the word ‘demon.’

“Psh they aren’t demons, Pidd… er—” I glance at Kinley. “Are you?”

He shrugs. “Depends who you ask.”

“See, Pidd? Nothing to worry about.”

“Whatever, moron, you’re just blinded by your own lust!”

Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.

I tap my lower lip. “So I guess the darklings have evolved, huh? Able to look like people and even enter Yggdress now?”

“Evolved?” Kinley doesn’t falter his emerald gaze. “Not quite.”

“You’re saying darklings have always been like—”

I’m cut off by a vibrating noise originating from the bookshelf. Kinley pops up and hurries towards the noise, plucking a cellphone from the shelf. He studies the device a moment—“Aw, seriously?”—before trotting to the balcony’s sliding glass door and staring off into the night.

“What is it?” I ask.

He eyes me up a minute or two and chews his cheek. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I was a bad guy, you know.” He slides the door open along its track, letting in a gale of night wind. It catches his hair just as he says: “And so are you.”

“I’m a bad guy?” I say.

He clears his throat. “Sure. That’s what you used to call us, anyway.”

Oh great.

“Sounds about right,” Pidd mutters into his shoulder.

Kinley turns again to face the night, and it welcomes him with city-scented breeze. As he steps onto the patio, I find myself rising to follow him, stopping at the side of an end-table holding a stack of floppy notebooks held down by yet another uncompleted coffee mug. Kinley pushes the glass door the rest of the way open, offering: “Do you want to go see just how bad, B?”

The part of me afraid of what I might have done in the past reacts, though is overpowered by brazen curiosity. The same curiosity that’s gotten me in trouble with Aiden and the others time and again.

I nod, ignoring cowardly Pidd’s protests, and step onto the veranda alongside Kinley.

In a swoop, he is over me, glasses off, eyes catching a forbidden reflection of light. The corner of his mouth is lifted. My heart rams against my chest, as he slides his arm around my waist and—

“BEXLEY?!”

Pidd’s cries do nothing to stop Kinley as he thrusts us both over the railing in a bout of magickal strength. Night wind racing against us, we fall, encased in a funnel of shadow. It twists around us, finding its way into our nostrils and lungs. It swirls, inky and illicit, tasting like midnight intoxication. The fall is short, though it feels like forever, and at the end, the shadow around us gathers below to catch us, setting us gingerly onto the pavement.

From above, Pidd is leaned over the rail, eyes wide.

“You next, Pidd?” Kinley doesn’t remove his arm from around my waist as he prepares a shadow spell into his fingertips.

“Faaack no!” Pidd chooses to go down via the less exciting stairs.

Meanwhile, Kinley and I are left alone on the dark street, lit only by a Narnia-esque street lantern. He keeps his hand around my waist. I feel squishier than ever before. The air carries the optimal amount of breeze, kicking my hair and clothes in a way that resembles magick. The mortal world carries hints of elemental power, even if not direct. Kinley is warm and solid. Before I know what’s happened, I’ve nuzzled the side of my cheek against his chest. He holds me tighter.

It feels right and wrong at the same time. My stomach drops.

I’m relieved when Pidd rounds the corner and Kinley releases me. Only, he doesn’t release me all the way. He takes my hand and begins a sprint, faster than humanly possible. Apparently, sullens can travel the same speed as lightborne. Once the whiplash subsides, I tear after him, showing off my own faster-than-fast skillz. That’s right—with a ‘z’ even.

Pidd hobbles behind, until realizing his full potential and blasting past us, leaving a searing set of turquoise footprints. Kinley releases my hand and zips ahead of him, leaving a similar trail of shadow. Stupid, competitive males—is something I don’t have the right to say. I can’t help showing off a burst of my own speed, as I shoot between the two guys, letting out a “Muahahaha!”

We pass a few straggling mortals—a woman wearing scrubs, a man walking a yapper dog, and a teen smoking something that smells illegal—but none notice us.

As we run, the cool of the night settles around me, refreshing now that I’m dry. Something far worse settles along with it: contemplation.

Kinley and I were bad guys. What does that mean? I suppose darklings are, by definition, bad. But… I’ve never met one with a personality before. It’s easy to stamp words like ‘bad’ and ‘good’ onto things when they don’t have human qualities. Once they do, however…

Were we only relatively bad? I can’t see myself being senselessly bad.

Lost in the back of my mind, I barely notice when Kinley comes to an abrupt halt. Pidd flies right past him and is left to backpedal.

We’ve stopped next to a railing overlooking the city lights. We were running so quickly before that I couldn’t tell, but we’re completely out of the city now, at the edge of a road on the side of a hill, while the glittering skyline sits nestled before us in a basin, and the silver moon hangs high overhead.

Yeah, there’s magick here, even if the mortals don’t know it.

Even Pidd is quiet with the moon reflecting in his eyes. The still of the night contradicts the far off bustle of the city. It’s lovely when things clash like that. A calm sky over violent waves. Furious rain over a uniform green field.

Not that I remember where I’ve seen those things before.

Kinley leans on the rail with his back to the city, staring into his phone. “It’s programmed to detect tremors,” he says.

“Like earthquakes?” says Pidd.

Kinley shakes his head. “Tremors between the tiers.”

“Meaning the stacked realms?” I say. “Yggdress, Nocturne, and the mortal realm?”

“Right. The three tiers are placed dexterously, like a ball balanced on the tip of a stick. Whenever there’s a disturbance between them, the air resonates.” He puts his hand flat, parallel to the ground and closes his eyes. After a moment—“That way.”—his eyes pop open and he starts along the road, determined. Again placing his hand flat, he crouches to the grass a few feet from the gravel’s side. “Here. It’s here. Feel.” He yanks my wrist low to the ground beside him.

“I don’t feel any—”

But then I do. The air is purring softly.

“It’s a tear in the barrier between Nocturne and the human tier,” says Kinley, expression even. He watches me sidelong, awaiting my reaction.

My first instinct is to patch it. Bringing a hand to my ear, I begin to draw turquoise to my fingertips, but Kinley raises a hand to stop me.

“That’s not what we do,” he says, shaking his head. “This is what we do.”

Then, he grabs hold of the invisible seam and begins to wrench at it, teeth exposed. To a mortal, it would appear he’s gripping at nothing, but I can feel it. He’s tearing the hole larger, using the disturbance between worlds to create a passage. My pulse gives a punch at my neck. This is wrong.

In the aftermath, Kinley doubles over, panting, as a tuft of shadow escapes from the invisible rip in space.

Pidd wafts at it. “Ummm, what the hell just happened?”

“He…” I feel my own face go stark. “He made a passage between here and Nocturne. He’s making it easier for the other darklings to enter!”

He is a bad guy.

LaMar was right before. There is a code embedded in all of us. Even Pidd has started to feel it. As instinct takes over, we become one team. Our lineage compels us to combat the darkness. Together we draw inner light.

“It’s not what you think,” Kinley says, taken aback.

But I can’t help it. Lightborne task number one is to keep the darklings from the mortals. It drives our existence. Even if I feel conflicted by the familiarity of this stranger, I can’t help myself. I come at him, drawing a line of light along the floor. Pidd comes from the other side, baby-face determined.

Actually, he doesn’t look baby-faced at all. He has performed that weird transformation spell of his, changing from minion to peer in the blink of an eye. He and I are united as we circle the sullen.

Kinley stands and squares his shoulders to us, face even, eyes steady. “You two need to calm down. You’re going to disrupt it if you use your light!”

We aren’t listening. The glow of turquoise is fresh upon the earth. All that’s left is to ignite it.

But then—

“Bexley, it’s you and me, remember? Even if the world burns, it will always be you and me.”

The same words my mouth told Kinley in the bathroom slip from his tongue. Inky. Bewitching.

The words carry power. They spark something. An image flashes behind my eyes—one of Kinley… and also of me, standing knee-deep in an autumn creek, together tearing at a fissure in space. Kinley shows his teeth, and I do the same, as we wrench the air apart. We are wet and determined, fervent to rip an opening into Nocturne.

I halt, breaking the cooperation with my ward. Pidd slams into me from behind and sends me flying forward into Kinley’s lap. Just as quickly as the image comes, it disappears into a cloud of amber haze.

“What the heck, you klutz!” Pidd growls, reverting to nugget form as he dusts himself off.

Kinley catches me, concerned, and searches my expression. “What is it, B?”

“A… memory?” I question, pushing him away to study my own hands. “But why? Why would I do something like that?”

Kinley isn’t keen to answer. Instead, he glances nervously about at the invisible tear in space. “Quick, Bex, recall your light before the fracture heals!”

But before he can explain further, our light upon the grass illuminates on its own, and the fissure, which previously emitted only a small tuft of shadow, begins to retract, suctioning air inwards at an alarming pace.

“Aw crud!” Kinley thrusts me out of the way just in time as the world around us starts to invert, swallowing the road, the rail, and side of the hill.

And that isn’t all.

“PIDD!”

The pocket of space zips shut, taking my ward along with it.

In an instant, I’m overcome with panic.

14

The Sinking World

“Yeah, that can happen.” Kinley stands, chin in hand, examining the place where the rip in space used to be—looking more like a mortal sizing up a car with car-type problems, than a magickal being sizing up an inverted piece of space.

“WHAT THE SHIZ! Don’t be so nonchalant! The air just swallowed my ward!”

“Hey! I told you not to use your light!” Kinley accuses.

“Well, how the hoot was I supposed to know that would happen?! Where is Pidd?!” Frantic, I claw at the air where the chain of light stops—where the tear in space formerly was. I give the chain a tug. He’s there, on the other end. I feel him, though not within this realm.

Dang it! I finally get a ward, only to have him swallowed by an interdimensional rift?

TYPICAL.

“Is he in Nocturne!?” I cry, pawing at the air. “How do we get him out!?”

“Easy.” Kinley shrugs. “We just need to find another entryway.” He lowers his voice so that it’s under his breath—“Of course, we could just leave him…”

“We are NOT leaving Pidd! I’m accountable for him!” My waker reflexes trigger. “You are taking me to him, STAT, or so help me—!”

“All right, all right.” Kinley holds his hands up in surrender.

“AND,” I say, poking him in the chest, “on the way, you’re going to tell me why I would go against my lightborne nature and willingly help a darkling tear rifts between the realms!”

“Fine, fine.”

“AND—” I jab him in the chest again for good measure, but this time he catches my finger and flattens my hand against his chest.

Like emeralds, he meets my gaze. “And?” he says, voice light. That familiar glint catches the corner of his eye. A djinn, a sphinx, or some other crafty being of lore.

My neck flushes. “And…”

I can’t remember my final demand.

He suddenly looks dangerous, eyes and grin gleaming with mischievous intent. He leans forward, curling over me so that I feel short. The heat of him is close. And then—

“Are you wearing my cologne, Bexley?”

“Psh! N-no!”

It’s no use, though. He was there when I admitted it to Pidd earlier.

In a way that I can’t help, my heart thuds obnoxiously fast in response to his closeness. Even in the midst of a missing ward, a lost memory, and confusing life events, I’m feeling all weak and swoony. Yet he, on the other hand, seems so collected.

Not fair!

But then, with my hand on his shirt, I realize something. His chest his thudding, too. Maybe not as obnoxiously as mine, but it’s sure as shat thudding. Do I have some sort of inexplicable power over it, the way he has over mine?

Taking a page from Kinley’s book, I make my eyes to look like his and curl my lip darkly. “Why don’t you find out?” I tip my head to the side and expose the skin of my neck to him, as seductively as I can muster.

In a flash, he thrusts me away from his body, and balls his fists, looking irritated the way he did those other times in the apartment.

And now I feel like a moron. Number one, I’ve annoyed him and there’s nothing so unbearable as being annoying. And number two—

How stupid that must have looked, coming from me!

Kinley turns his back, while I fight to save face. “Eh heh. Sometimes I’m lame, but that’s just part of my charm, so better get used to—”

“You are DAMN cute, Bexley!”

“Huh?”

Whirling around, Kinley catches my eye and holds it. “This is so FRUSTRATING,” he says through his teeth. “All of your little Bex-isms! It’s like reenacting a memory with a naïve version of you. It’s frustrating that I can’t—that you don’t—” He shakes his head and lets out a deep breath. “Never mind. Let’s go find the kid.”

The Bex-gears start gearing. Earlier in the bathtub, I felt it. And now I’m feeling it again. So then, that look he keeps giving isn’t because he finds me annoying, but because he finds me…

Am I actually desirable to another living creature?

Huh. What do you know.

I mean, I am pretty awesome.

I stand dumbstruck to the extent that I don’t notice I’m being left behind, until Kinley’s head disappears around the bend in the road.

“Yo! Wait for me!”

We are awkward and silent for at least seven minutes. Kinley walks a few steps ahead, so as not to subject me to direct eye contact. I open my mouth and close it a helping of times, searching for something to say. Finally, my old ‘beau’ is the one to form letters into words:

“It all depends on which creation story you believe,” he says out of nowhere.

“What?”

“Never mind.” He puts his hands behind his head as he walks and gives only the slightest look from the corner of his eye. “Tell me again what Aiden taught you. About the beginning of the universe.”

Uh, okay. Better than awk-weird silence.

I recount the tale of the great tree, the darkness and the Maker:

“Before the worlds were formed, there was just darkness, leftover from the last era. For a while, the darkness remained that way—dark and singular—until, one day, something in the darkness shifted and creatures began to form from it. The Maker saw this and didn’t approve. He planted a tree of light, Yggdrasil, to keep the dark little nuggets from multiplying. But even with the tree’s presence, dark creatures continued to form, so the Maker divided the world into three planes of existence: Yggdress, Nocturne, and the mortal world. This was all to separate the darkness from the light. Despite the Maker’s efforts, though, dark things continued to seek out the light. Even now, they continue to seep into the mortal plane. The first task of the lightborne is to keep the darkness from the mortals. The second task is to find the feínne so that the darkness can be driven away for good.”

By the end of it, I’m out of breath.

“Okay,” says Kinley, “so you admit the darkness was first.”

I haven’t really thought about it before. “Well, yeah, sure.”

“And you don’t know what the darklings are after?” says Kinley.

“Mortals. I assume to eat their souls… or whatever. No offense.”

Kinley puts his hand on his hip as if to say ‘really?’

Sue me. What else would they want the mortals for?

Kinley shakes his head at the night. “In Nocturne, the telling of the birth of the world is different. That’s probably where we should start, being as you don’t remember anything.” He clears his throat. “The world was dark, and shadows roamed free. But shadow cannot exist without its counterpart: light. And so the darkness was unfulfilled. The Maker heard the sorrow of the darkness and created a tree of light to fill the void and strengthen the shadows. With its light, the shadows grew longer and darker than ever before. The darkness worshiped the Maker and the tree that gave the darkness strength. Until something happened. A single noctuid emerged—”

“Noctuid?!” I can’t help grabbing onto his arm.

He cocks his head. “That means ‘moth.’”

“I know what it means! It’s just…” The goldish book. The mechanical moth…

I release him. “Go on.”

Kinley continues, eyebrow peaked: “A single noctuid emerged from the shadow. This noctuid was selfish. Instead of existing alongside the tree, the noctuid wanted to become the tree. Like a moth to the flame, the noctuid made contact with the tree of light, seeking to steal its power.” Kinley’s gaze settles on my earlobe. “Upon contact, the noctuid’s wings burst into light. This was the birth of the first light being.”

…Meaning lightborne?

“Wait a sec, that makes us seem like the bad guys!” I protest.

Kinley raises another brow. “Shall I stop? Or am I doing an all right job of distracting you?”

Distracting?

My pulse flares. He’s right. I’ve been distracted.

Pidd… lost in the dark realm… weak and alone…

Unwittingly, the chain between us pulses brighter, fueled with anxiety and waker’s guilt. The other end of it is still swallowed by space. I am Pidd’s waker. I swore to protect him until he was strong enough to protect himself. The veins in my wrist chastise me for going back on my word. They writhe with turquoise power.

I wonder—

Is this what Aiden feels in my absence?

Something flicks my forehead. “Cool it, B. He’ll be fine.”

The culprit retracts his hand and smooths his own dark hair, snooty-like.

“But—!”

“Once the first light being awoke, it took a ward, infusing another shadow with light. And then that light being took a ward. And with every ward taken, the tree of light dimmed slightly. The darkness fought back, seeking to protect the tree that gave it strength, but the light beings retaliated, unwilling to give up their newfound power. A great war commenced and the Maker intervened, separating the dark beings from the light ones, until they could agree to coexist in peace.”

It’s my turn to be snooty. “But the Maker obviously gave Yggdrasil to the lightborne, so—”

“Did he, now?” Kinley cocks his head challengingly. “Not true. The tree of light was originally placed in the middle realm, where humans reside. It was meant to be shared by both the light beings and the dark. That is, until the light beings stole it for themselves, distancing the dark beings from the Maker’s light for centuries.”

“Riiight. And just how did they do that, supposedly?”

“Well, MISS HAUGHTY, why don’t I tell you?” He lifts his chin. “In those days, two beings emerged with the power to uproot the tree. On the dark side, the being was called the ‘Wilted,’ and his name was Meínne.”

“Hold up! ‘Wilted’?”

Kinley nods, amusement hiding in the hues of his eyes.

Whatever you do, don’t let them know that you know. Find the Wilted.

We need to find the Wilted. We need to take back what they stole.

‘What they stole.’ Meaning take back what the lightborne stole?… Meaning the tree of light. Whether or not Kinley’s creation tale is true, my old self believed it—at least based off of the note I found. But why would I refer to the lightborne as ‘they,’ if I’m one of them?

What’s more, this is all scarily similar to the goldish book in Pidd’s possession. Waker, Ward, Wilted, all that’s left is—

“And on the light side, the being with the power to uproot the tree of light was called the ‘Wielder,’ and her name was Feínne.”

I grab ahold of his arm for the second time—this time, with enough gusto to make him brake.

“You’re saying the feínne is a person?”

Kinley’s eyes linger on the place where my fingers clutch his elbow. “Déjà vu,” he mutters, before clearing his throat: “WAS a person. And yes, Feínne was a person, not a thing. Your people are searching for something they mistakenly call the ‘feínne,’ but what they don’t realize is that Feínne was a woman, an amber lightborne who died long ago. What they’re really searching for is the next Wielder; they just don’t know it.”

I release him and my hand hangs heavy in the aftermath.

Kinley persists, “Wielder and Wilted—two beings with the power to uproot the tree of light. Feínne and Meínne were only the first of their kind. During the time of the light wars, when Artifact usage was at peak, a new Wilted arose, and conversely, a new Wielder did too. The darklings rallied with the Wilted to reclaim the tree, but the lightborne army was too great, utilizing the tools of mankind as catalysts for increased power. In the end, the darkness retreated into the depths of Nocturne, waiting for the next Wilted to emerge.” He holds his arm out into the wind. “Which it has. We of the dark can feel it.”

Wind plays at the waist of his shirt, rippling the cotton against his abdomen. After a few moments of silence, I realize he’s waiting for a response.

I swallow. “You dark beings are searching for the Wilted, so as to take back the tree, right? Just like we lightborne are searching for the feínne—er, I mean the Wielder—to ensure that the tree stays permanently in our possession. Is that it?”

Kinley nods. “If your people were any good at recordkeeping, you might know that.”

Welp, the theory is more well-rounded than the ones I was taught, anyway. I mull it over. “Is that why the darklings attack mortals, then? To see if one of them is the Wilted?”

“Attack?” Kinley lets out a low whistle. “Maybe we should stop here for now.”

I fold my arms. “You can’t just give that kind of build-up without delivering, Mr. Darkling.”

There is a sudden shift in the emerald-eyed guy’s demeanor. From the tips of his long lashes to the toes of his sneakers, hesitation settles over him. “Only if you agree to sit for the rest,” he says reluctantly.

We don’t have time to ‘sit.’ Now with Pidd sucked through a tear in space. But Kinley doesn’t give me the option. He settles onto the ground and pats the grass beside him. He yields the stubbornness of an anchor. Prudently, I keep my distance as I sink into the waxy hill. The night air brushes through the leafy blades, carrying the smell of shrubbery and gravel.

Rolling his eyes at my distance, Kinley reclines into the grass and takes in a view of the stars. “The darklings aren’t after the mortals at all—they’re after their shadows. Human shadows prolong the lifespan of a darkling. Without Yggdrasil’s light the only way to survive is to devour the shadows of the mortals, but it isn’t a good meal. Compare it to craving a steak and getting a dog biscuit.”

Huh. Who knew.

“There is another reason they enter the mortal plane, though,” continues Kinley. “Because they hope to take on human form. They hope to become a sullen, like me. Do that, and they no longer need to consume mortal shadows. They can just pop into Yggdress whenever they get hungry.”

“Oh.” I look at him with enlightenment. “You used to be mortal?”

He contorts his face and delivers this next part as delicately as possible: “Actually, I used to be a lightborne. That was a long time ago…” He looks apprehensive. “You were the first turquoise I met, other than myself. Do you remember?”

I understand now, why he wanted me to sit. His words hit me square in the stomach.

Before Pidd, I’d only ever met one other turquoise. I distinctly remember this. But if I try to recall who that other turquoise was, I come up blank. It couldn’t have been Kinley, right?

As I fight with my memory, an amber haze settles over me.

“It’s okay, don’t strain yourself,” Kinley says into the night sky. “Meeting me back then was one of the first memories Aiden took from you. I doubt you’ll be able to recall it.”

I lurch myself forward at him. “Aiden did?!”

Kinley nods. “He’s got a knack for erasing your thoughts whenever we start making progress. This is the first time he’s completely deleted me from your memory, though…” His face betrays something—a sliver of pain—though he turns away before I can study it. He recovers quickly. “Pompous A-hole. Bet he’s jealous.”

Letting out a sick gurgle, I sink beside him into a lying position. The overhead stars are clear, even with the brightness of the dipping moon.

Kinley glances at me sidelong and continues, “The lesser darklings enter the mortal tier in search of hosts with magickal potential. More specifically, they’re in search of lightborne, awakened or non, so that they can become one with them.”

“You mean possess.”

“Tornado, torn-ah-do.”

“Nobody calls it that,” I say dryly.

Kinley folds his arms behind his head leisurely. “A human form is the ultimate prize for a darkling. It’s that much easier to get around the mortal world—not to mention possible to enter Yggdress. You, my dear, are in more danger out here than the mortals you defend. Any one of them would just love to inhabit your frame.”

‘Inhabit.’ Uh-huh. “What was that Pidd said earlier about demons?” I mutter.

“Heh.”

The sounds of nighttime insects swell around us as we lie in silence. I study the profile of Kinley’s face. “So at the end of the day, which are you?” I say after a while. “A darkling or a lightborne?”

He adjusts his glasses. “I’m sort of both.”

Sounds sketch.

“But,” he goes on, “if you want to be technical, I’m a darkling now, since I can no longer conjure my light.”

“But your personality—” I urge. “Are you still who you were before the darkling infused with you? Or what?”

He lets out a laugh. “Now you’re fazed? About time, Bexley! You were so accepting of me back at the apartment. Good grief, I should hope you’d be more wary of a stranger than that! I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let you out of my sight again, knowing how you act around strange men.” Kinley props himself on his elbow and turns to analyze me. “But what made you come to your senses? Is it because your ward is gone now?”

…Is it?

In Pidd’s absence, I seem to have lost some of my confidence. Not that I’ll admit it.

“Tch. Like that guy matters.”

“Glad to hear it…” But he narrows his eyes like he doesn’t totally believe me.

I don’t totally believe me.

“Anyway, back to your question—I’m ultimately the same person I was before I became a sullen. Think about it this way: When a lightborne awakens, they retain their personality. Even if they’ve lost their human memories, they’re still the same person. It’s like that when a lightborne becomes a sullen, too. I still have my personality. I’m still who I’ve always been. Although I was able to keep my lightborne memories, thankfully.”

“What about the darkling’s personality? The one that took over your body?” I say.

Kinley cracks a smile. “Darklings don’t have personalities on their own, B. They run on instinct.”

“Oh.”

“And neither would light, if it didn’t inhabit a human. The day you awoke as a lightborne was the day the light fully infused you. From that day forward, the light within you was stained with your personality. Similarly, the day I awoke as a sullen was the day the dark infused me. Get it?”

Kind of. Sort of. Not really.

My head is swirling. My thoughts are thick. This is all a lot to take.

But again, something about it all is distantly familiar.

Still, it isn’t a good idea to trust everything this hottie says without proof… even if he IS hot. I mean, is it really possible that Aiden was the one to erase my memories? And even more, is it possible this wasn’t the first time?

Yes. Resoundingly.

Though I hate to admit it, it’s definitely possible. Aiden is much stronger than me—not to mention overprotective to an uncanny extent.

Say that part’s true, what about the rest?

The creation story is one thing—but what about the part where a lightborne can turn into a sullen?

‘Kray’s waker really did lose his light. Never heard of something like that happening before.’

‘He was out on a standard excavation mission, where he claims to have seen… a darkling.’

‘His injuries are unprecedented. He is unable call forth Yggdrasil’s light and the turquoise of his ear has been tainted. They say he’s gone dull and that no amount of outside exposure will replenish him!’

Is that what happened to Kray’s waker? Was he infused with darkness while in the mortal world? Was the darkling he saw within Yggdress really just his own shadow? Was he in the process of becoming a sullen all along?

“Bexley?” Kinley’s voice is soft in my ear. “Are you going to be okay?”

My world is sinking.

“I’ll be fine,” I say.

“I don’t believe you.” He winces. “Look, I know you don’t remember what we had, but for me, you’re still—” He reaches for me. His aura is warm, his eyes laden with compassion.

But in the end, it’s my body that finishes the act. Before I know it, I’m clinging to him. As the world around me crumbles, I struggle to stay afloat, and I’m using shadow-eared Kinley as a buoy.

Who knows if all of it’s true. Who knows if any of it is. Even if the old me believed it, that doesn’t mean…

That doesn’t mean my worldview was a lie all this time.

My hands clench into the back of Kinley’s shirt, and his mouth is resting somewhere between my ear and shoulder. Together, our veins pulse in unison.

I can’t spiral. Though it’s the natural thing to do, I can’t.

Breathe, Bexley. Compartmentalize.

Aiden goes in a drawer. The lightborne go in a drawer. My past goes in the drawer stuffed with mismatched socks. We’ll open it later, but for now, the one thing coming out of its drawer is—

Pidd.

Determined, I release myself from the hottie and rise. In the midst of everything else, there’s one thing I know to be true, beyond a shadow of a shadow of a doubt:

I must retrieve my ward as quickly as possible.

On that day that I found him, whether staged in some way, or serendipitous, we became bonded. Pidd—irritable, disagreeable, foul-mouthed Pidd—might be a nugget, but he’s my nugget, and it’s my duty to find him. The lighted chain between us is proof.

I offer my hand to the darkling that’s staring up at me through those big boxy glasses with a mixture of concern and confusion.

I’ll be fine. There’s always a way to be fine.

It’s my duty. Before anything else:

“Take me to Nocturne.”

15

Noctus

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure, you’re sure?”

“I’m fine.”

Kinley mutters something along the lines of, “But that hair of yours…”

Indeed, as the primary outlet for my anxiety, the wang-twang has become large and nesty. I give it another tug for good measure, and a rebellious strand fights back, dangling limply in front of my right eye. I blow at it to get it out of the way.

I close my eyes briefly to concentrate on Pidd’s location. He doesn’t appear to have moved since the last time I checked. I give the chain a sear to let him know I haven’t forgotten about him. Meanwhile, the mixed chain connecting me to Aiden remains dim.

I ignore the pang of guilt that tries to bother me.

“Are we close to this portal of yours?” I say.

Kinley nods. “Just on the other side of that billboard.”

Said billboard is a massive picture of a woman drinking a cola. For whatever reason, her skin is moist with droplets of water.

“The mortal world is bizarre. They could put anything on those big signs, but they usually just choose pictures of people. They see people all the time. You’d think they’d want to display mountains or the ocean or something they don’t get to see every day.”

“You do realize the people are usually advertising something, right?” says Kinley.

I look at the sign again.

That cola does look appetizing.

“Tch, of course I know that.”

I so did not know that.

Kinley cuts behind the billboard and into the patchy wood at the side of the road. The sky has begun to transition into earliest morning. In the distance, streaks of pale orange interrupt the blue. Not more than a short distance into the scanty forest, Kinley stops and crouches into the overgrowth. “There’s a tear in space here. Hold on—” First conjuring shadow from his right earlobe, he begins to scribble a symbol over the ground. A triangle with a twisting X through it. The symbol hovers momentarily before dissipating. In the aftermath, a sliver of wafting shadow materializes just above the ground.

“This is the entry point, B. Are you ready?”

There’s a small amount of hesitation located in my heels. “I mean, it’s okay for me to enter Nocturne, right? Like, nothing’s going to happen to my light?”

Kinley shakes his head. “Not if you don’t want it to. Once we’re in, I’ll mask you in shadow. Otherwise your light would be obvious and unprotected.”

If that’s necessary, then what about Pidd? Isn’t his light all ‘obvious and unprotected,’ too?

I cram the drawer shut, for now.

“I’m ready.”

Kinley takes my hand in his warm one, gives me a firm nod, and then begins to draw a second cluster of shadow from his ear. He doesn’t stop with it amassed to his fingertips, though. He continues conjuring until the full of his arm is coated in inky darkness, all the way up to his shoulder. With one last flick of his emerald eyes to mine, he plunges his dark-cloaked arm into the sliver of shadow.

We are immediately swaddled in onyx smoke.

And in the darkness, there is a bright light—a tiny, glistening collection of light, vibrant to an intolerable extent.

Oh. It’s me.

Panicky, I feel about for my ear. I need to cover up the light, before it begins to attract the darklings residing in this realm. I don’t know the technicalities of it all, but I’m positively positive that I don’t want to become a sullen. I sift through the darkness in search of my own earlobe—which is a little strange, as I can’t seem to isolate my hand from the rest of me.

It is then that I encounter a problem:

I don’t have a body?

I am a collection of turquoise light and nothing more. Evidently, I don’t exist here beyond that. If I want to freak out, I don’t have the means to. No limbs to flail and no mouth to shout. It’s as if all of my consciousness has been transferred into my heart and the rest of me has gone numb.

Within Nocturne, I am nothing but light and consciousness.

Well, thanks a lot for the warning, Kinley! I mean, it makes sense, I guess, when you consider that he took the form of a bodiless shadow while in Yggdress. But it would have been nice to know all that beforehand. I’m a sitting duck like this, and that means Pidd is too, wherever he is.

If I had a face, it would be exhibiting burnt-toast dryness.

“Bexley?” From somewhere nearby, Kinley’s voice breaches the dark. “Hold tight. This is the best way for me to hide you, okay?”

Because I am small and frail, his voice is a loud whisper, strong enough to shake the fragility that is me. I can’t speak to him or think of any way to show competence, as two giant hands scoop me up and lift me into the air. Kinley looks different here. His eyes are dark-lined and intense, and his skin holds a silvery hue.

He cups me close to his face, near his mouth, so that his lips are grazing the reaches of my light. “You’re warm, B.” He grins. “Like a small fluttering bird.”

Then, his grin grows into something edging on salacious, and I have one hasty, breathless thought:

…He’s going to kiss me?

Nope.

At the last moment, he opens his mouth and shoves me inside. If I’m not mistaken, I’ve just been swallowed.

WHAT THE CRAP?!

I don’t have the means to protest. But I would. Swallowing people is not well thought-of in civilized society.

Within Kinley, my light expands. I don’t have a choice. I slide into him, flushing down his veins, intermingling with his shadow.

And then I blink.

No, he does, but it feels like it’s me. He’s cool and inky inside, like night wind off of water. I’m feeling through his skin and seeing through his eyes—eyes that are adjusted to the darkness. With them, I’m able to comprehend Nocturne for the first time.

Apparently, light isn’t necessary for visibility here, because even without a shred of light, the scenery has contrast. We are in a marshy, still area. The water is a color I’ve never seen before. Somewhat purple, but tinted with something like the sound a cricket makes—if that sound were a color. No, maybe it’s better to compare it to a time of day. If I had to call the color anything, I’d call it six o’clock.

Up from the water, tree trunks sprout, knobbed and twisted as can be, like wrinkled arms reaching for salvation. The leaves of the trees are another color I can’t aptly describe. Something between blue and gray, but more akin to the smell of winter—if that smell were a color. The center veins of the leaves are curling and scrolling, and look almost to be an ancient text.

“Say you didn’t just swallow me.” I speak, but it comes out of Kinley’s mouth.

“I didn’t just swallow you,” says Kinley.

“You totally did!”

“Well, you told me to say I didn’t.”

He has a point. If even a small one.

He doesn’t wait for my consent before he starts moving. His gait is wider than mine, because his legs are longer. Maybe I am a shorty after all. As he steps through the sloppy ground around the marsh, I fight him, wondering if I’m strong enough to control his direction.

No luck.

I hear him laugh in his head as he veers the opposite direction from what I’m attempting.

“Where’s Pidd?” I say, grouchy, managing to cross his arms over one another.

“Around.”

Helpful.

I glance to my right wrist—rather, to Kinley’s—in search of the turquoise chain connecting me to my ward.

It’s gone.

I look to my other wrist, just in case it somehow switched sides. Maybe everything in Nocturne is inverted? No dice.

No chain.

Kinley’s heart beats with my emotion. If the chain is gone, then how am I going to find Pidd? In the whole dark realm, he could be anywhere, right!?

Instinctively, I reach towards my head to knead at the wang-twang that no longer exists.

“Calm down, B.” Kinley diverts his hand and instead pokes himself in the temple. “I can feel it.” He lifts his other arm listlessly into the air. “That way.”

Then, he turns on heel and begins his larger-than-mine gait through the marshland. I search his thoughts to see if he’s telling the truth. Eventually I can feel it, too. Like a small sharp prick irritating my arm. Yes, Pidd is that way.

The air is thick. Rather than move through it, it seems to move past us, almost as if we’re standing in once place, while the darkness sifts around. We are an orbital point. And at the same time, we’re clearly making strides.

This world is so different.

“How are you doing, Bexley?”

“You mean after being swallowed?” I smile curtly. “Great. How do I taste, by the way?”

“Like summer.”

He doesn’t hesitate, and the way that he says it—

I swallow awkwardly. No, he does. No, it’s me.

Argh! It’s confusing, sharing a body.

We move between the air that smothers past. The scenery shifts. In no time at all, we are in a city. Rounded, windowless buildings sprout on the sunless horizon. The ground is mossy and plush. This time, I’m able to influence Kinley’s movement.

“Wh-what are you doing?” he stammers.

“Who me? I’m BOUNDING.”

“Pfft.”

We continue to bound against Kinley’s will for a short while more, until happening upon a place in the center of the city where the spark of activity disrupts the filmy void of the air. The source is a converging of beings—in both shadow and human-like form. I instantly halt and recess into Kinley, allowing him to take dominance. Of course there would be other dark beings here, but…

Blame it on my shortsightedness that it didn’t even occur to me that we might run into some.

The human-formed ones are silver-skinned, like Kinley. One turns rather obviously to sniff at us as we pass.

“Did that guy just smell you?” I ask.

Kinley takes his time answering. “He just smelled you.”

Alarming! I’m smell-able? And that means Pidd is too. Pulsing paranoia into Kinley’s veins, I recess even deeper against his soul.

“Are those other sullens?” I ask.

“No,” says Kinley. “They’re darklings posing as sullens. The real ones are few and far between.” He smiles sinisterly. “It’s no easy feat to acquire a lightborne host.”

I wonder if that’s the darkling side or lightborne side of him talking.

Kinley lets out a laughing hiss.

Alongside the humanoid beings, bodiless masses of shadow dart about in the darkness. Here, they aren’t constricted to the ground, but can stretch up into manlike figures and glide over the floor, leaving trains of wispy shadow that slither and whip.

Okay, so that’s terrifying.

“Can they communicate?” I ask.

“Of course they can. Listen hard enough and you might be able to hear.”

No thanks. For the first time since meeting Kinley, I’m partaking in some of Pidd’s elevated fear of the darklings. They never seemed all that threatening in the mortal world—more like dark little boogers below our feet that could easily be snuffed out.

That was before I saw them in three dimensions.

That was before I learned what it took for a darkling to transform into a sullen.

That whole possession bit.

Kinley snorts. “Who’s possessing whom?”

I make him thrust hips forward into the air as punishment. Listening in on thoughts is also not well thought-of in civilized society. Of course, that hasn’t kept me from trying to creep in on Kinley’s. I don’t want him to know that, though, so I cover with a second hip-thrust; and pretty soon the guy is plunging his hips forward with every step. Okay, now I’m just having fun with it.

“Hey now, this isn’t exactly inconspicuous.” The dark-eared hottie places his hands on his hips to stop himself from the motion.

Only… it feels like his hands are on my hips. And like my hands are on his. And there, in the swirling darkness, one of us—I’m not sure which—experiences that missed-step feeling, where a person’s heart and stomach give a jolt in unison.

“S-sorry about trying to extinguish you back at the coterie.” I’m not sure why I blurt it out like that.

“Yeah, B, what gives? Trying to snuff me out like that? That would have been the most extreme breakup I’d ever gone through.”

Breakup. As he says the word, our body gives a pulse. And not a good one. We were a couple, before I supposedly disappeared. Together, we were ripping holes, to let the darkness into the mortal realm.

I’m not sure whether it’s him or me, but one of us brings our fingertips to our lips. Unmistakably, he takes control of the mouth portion and nuzzles his lips against my fingers.

It feels good. It feels like home.

“You were important to me.”

Maybe I went against my lightborne nature because of how important he was to me. Maybe I didn’t aid the darklings because I decided it was right, but because I decided I didn’t care.

“You’re still important to me.” I feel every syllable slide past his tongue, and even though he’s exhaled the words, each one settles in my chest, heavier and heavier. “When I thought you were gone…” He doesn’t finish. His throat clamps off the words and emotions the best it can.

I don’t know much about Kinley. I don’t know his quirks, and I’ve only gotten snippets of his personality so far. But I’m beginning to feel that there’s something between us, dark and deep and dangerous.

And it feels good.

But Pidd needs us, and I’m so much of a glutton that I’m afraid of what I might do if I tap further into my buried memories. Or worse—if I tap into his.

“I understand.” Kinley can sense my thoughts. “We’re close.”

With that, he takes dominance, letting me slip into the depths of his body, as he picks up speed in the direction of Pidd. Soon after, the feeling at our wrist begins to change from a dull prick to an obvious tingle.

And then I see it. Like a lighthouse beacon, an unnatural, piercing light cuts the darkness, as if the atmosphere is rushing to get away from it.

“Pidd!”

Obvious and unprotected was an understatement. At least fifty darklings are swarming around him.

“Shhhh.” Kinley puts a hand to his own mouth. “Don’t let them know you’re in here.”

“But what are they doing? They’re all just standing around him. All creepy and ghoulish-like.”

Kinley’s tone is subdued: “They’re guarding him.”

The swarm of darklings is in motion, shuffling against Pidd’s luminosity, but even as they rise to cover him, his brightness bursts through.

“Guarding him from what?” I ask.

Kinley tenses. I feel him dip slightly forward in preparation, against the plushness of the ground, as his lungs rise and fall with cool, smoky darkness. And then, very suddenly, his voice transitions into something gravelly: “From me.” On that note, he rushes forward, straight at the cluster of darklings.

“K-Kinley!?”

“How important is it to you that we save your ward?” Kinley asks while pummeling headfirst into the rambunctious crowd of shadowy figures.

The answer flashes across my mind before I can form it: Very important.

“Understood.”

After that, I don’t fully grasp what’s happening, but it happens quickly. My light, formerly drowning within Kinley, starts to breed tension. It’s the sullen himself, pulling at the outer parts of me.

“I need to borrow just a little of you, Bexley.” The tightness of his words reveals the strain behind the action.

I can’t protest, overcome with the falling, suffocating sensation of being ripped apart. It gnaws at me from both outside and within. And then it stops, and I feel just a mite bit lighter than I was previously. Before I can ask ‘what gives?’ Kinley’s arm begins to tingle. Our veins writhe with a strange combination of electrifying light and wispy darkness. And then—

“RAAAH!”

The gravel of Kinley’s voice deepens, as a melon-sized blast of my light erupts from his palm, knocking the hungry crowd of darklings back from Pidd’s soul.

Kinley swoops forward and, much less delicately than he was with me, clamps a hand around Pidd’s light. He was right. It feels like a small, warm, fluttering bird. And that isn’t all. With Pidd’s core against our palm, the blue-hooded boy’s soul is fully exposed. I’ve seen hints of it before, but now it’s palpable—the fear of unfamiliarity. The meekness hidden behind an uncaring façade. And a feeling of absence.

Pidd…

He’s an angsty little nugget.

My chest thuds, but it isn’t my doing. Kinley was the one to fuel us with a bout of adrenaline. As he clears his throat, I get a strange desire in my hand—his hand—to throw Pidd far off into the distance.

“NO.”

“Just fantasizing,” he says under his breath.

Someone’s jealous, I suspect.

…Huh. Jealous over me? No, it feels like someone else. Like another girl. One who died. That Bexley was worthy of being coveted somehow.

“What now?” I ask, pretty much so that he won’t hone in on my thoughts.

Kinley has begun moving away from the hissing pile of lesser darklings, but they’ve already started up in pursuit. I force him to look back over our shoulder anxiously.

“It’s not those ones you need to worry about.” He diverts our eyes. “They can’t do anything to Pidd without his body. It’s those like me that could potentially consume his light.”

“Why would they want to do that!?”

Kinley picks up speed away from the lashing pile of darklings that have begun to do something terrifying: fuse.

“Lightborne have a code embedded in them, right?” he says, darting around an obelisk-shaped statue. “So do darklings. And the darkling code is to seek out the light. The goal is to recapture the tree, but more than that, it is to feel the warmth of the Creator’s light.” He pauses in speech but not in speed. “Even now, it feels so good to have yours inside of me.” His body gives a small shudder, starting with the hair of his arms.

Well, I’m not really quite sure what to say about that.

Kinley continues to tear through the landscape of Nocturne, eventually hitting an orchard. The trees are rigid, comprised of a rock-like substance—obsidian, maybe. As Kinley runs, I begin to notice that the trees aren’t planted in straight rows; instead, they grow in a spiraling pattern. Kinley cuts through the center of the spiral, and the branches of the trees claw at him. A small tuft of inky darkness escapes the place on his skin where contact is made.

Ouch.

I wipe the cut and the darkness sticks to my fingertips like molasses.

Kinley is fast, but as we near the edge of the orchard, I chance another glance backwards to find that the grouping of shadows have formed a colossus. A great towering shadow man with four arms and two wobbly legs. It doesn’t bound after us, but slinks, head well over the trees.

‘Let’s just say that sometimes nameless things come from the darkness, too. And sometimes they’re scary.’

This is one of those things.

Sensing my paranoia, Kinley conjures the rest of the light he took from me, forming it into an even bigger ball this time, and bowling it along the ground in the direction of the colossus. I wait, counting the seconds, until a loud—crack!—indicates that the light has hit its target. The colossus’ head falls below the tree line. Not for long, though. When I glance back again, the head is upright and in pursuit. At least we’ve gained distance.

“Where are we going?”

None of this looks familiar from the way in.

“A different outlet.” This time, Kinley is the one to force our gaze over his shoulder.

I’m feeling panicky, and that’s just not couth. What if I try to channel some of the old Bexley? The one with secret plots and a destructive nature. The one that somehow wrangled Kinley, and convinced Pidd to join her at that café. The one worthy of being desired.

“Tch.” Kinley rolls his eyes.

Ugh. He can hear everything I’m thinking. Embarrassing. Mortifying. Humiliating. Again with the adjectives.

“S-so that’s why you said the lesser darklings were guarding Pidd from you? You meant they were guarding Pidd from the sullens, in general? I thought there weren’t very many of you.”

“Random jump in topic, but okay.” He says it with a smile that I can feel on our mouth. “I suppose it beats the alternative of hearing you beat yourself up over nothing.”

I flush our cheeks with heat.

“The others hoped to get Pidd out of Nocturne,” continues Kinley, splashing through a wet spot of ground. “If they could manage it, they could merge with him, gaining not only a human form, but also access into Yggdress. Like I said, for a darkling, a lightborne host is the ultimate goal. They were trying to hide him from me, a known sullen in this area, because I could easily ingest Pidd while still within Nocturne, thus putting the kibosh on their chances.”

“But what would happen in that scenario? Because Pidd is Pidd and you are you. Dark and light don’t have personalities on their own, but you two already carry consciousnesses, so…”

Kinley looks uneasy. “It’s hard to say. It might be a similar situation to what’s happening now.”

Two consciousnesses in one body.

“But what about OUR bodies—mine and Pidd’s? Where are they now?”

“They don’t exist anywhere right now. Just like mine doesn’t when I enter Yggdress.”

It’s just gone? Ugh. This is all so much more complicated than I ever knew. I’ll just choose to think of it in a way that’s more digestible. I am a lightborne. Kinley is a sullen.

Easy enough.

Sullens are created when darklings merge with lightborne, either awakened lightborne or those still dormant.

Check.

Lightborne are a little more complicated. Certain humans are born with hidden light. When one of these humans comes into contact with a lightborne, a direct vein is opened between the mortal world and the tree of light. The light from Yggdrasil flows into the human, awakening them to their lightborne self. This is what Aiden did to me, and what I did to Pidd.

Double check.

Apparently, sullens are unique among darklings, in that they can enter Yggdress. When they do this, though, they leave their human form behind, reverting to a mass of shadow.

Check. Check. Check. See? I’m smarter than I give myself credit for.

“Who are you talking to in there?” Kinley, now ripping through a field of oversized dandelion puffballs, asks between breaths.

“Myself. I’m great conversation.”

By this time, the colossus has gained back the distance lost by the last ball of light. Pushing it back would mean Kinley tearing off a little more of my light.

The idea of it is violating, for some reason.

“I won’t,” says Kinley. “Don’t worry.”

But he might have to. The colossus seems to have learned something from our offense. A shower of shadow-formed stars begins to fall around us. I doubt it will hurt Kinley, but—

“Pidd!”

I clutch Pidd’s light core tighter to myself. Should Kinley swallow him too?

“No.” Kinley shakes his head. “I ventured it with you, because we’ve done it in the past, but I don’t know how my body will react to having him in here too.”

Because we’ve done it in the past. So this isn’t my first trip inside of Kinley.

The alternative to swallowing Pidd is to dodge the falling pockets of shadow stars. A glance at the colossus shows it winding up and belting handful after handful over the horizon at us. With each one that comes crashing to the ground, a shadowy cloud around us swells—until even Kinley’s eyes can’t make out the darkness from the dark.

Everything is black and thick and stifling.

I recess deeper into Kinley.

“Not too deep, B!”

I can’t help it. It’s too dark out there. It’s going to smother me.

I give up all control of Kinley’s body and let him swim through the darkness. I concentrate on my light, pushing my consciousness deeper into my core and pushing my core deeper into Kinley.

“I might not be able to get you out!”

But there’s nowhere else for me to go. I need to get away from the drowning darkness of our surroundings. I push myself, deeper… deeper…

Too deep, I access a memory. Not one of mine, but one of Kinley’s. Through his eyes, I see me. A different version of me. My nails are painted black, my lips are painted red, and my hair is pulled tight in a ponytail.

Kinley presses me against a graffiti-filled brick wall, holding me in place with his hips, while our mouths move together in a kiss—the sort of kiss that’s not a first kiss, nor a last, but something in the middle. A kiss that’s not impatient in the least. Shadow mixes with light. He tastes my warmth. I breathe his coolness. His fingers spread against mine, as he pushes the back of my hand into coarse brick. My hand slumps and his fingertips follow, trailing down the roughness of the wall.

Until, abruptly, I push him away.

“Fine, Kindler. If he won’t let me turn into a sullen, then the only other option is to kill Aiden.”

16

I’m Toxic

“I look thinner.” I stand sideways in Kinley’s apartment bathroom, sucking in. “Is that because of the chunk of me you stole?”

“I TOLD you: I only did that because you said it was important that we rescue the kid!” Kinley spazzes.

Said ‘kid’ is still unconscious from our stint in Nocturne. I, on the other hand, am wide-awake, having just popped two light-infused pearls down my ravenous gullet.

The rest of the contents of my satchel have been airing out since arriving at Kinley’s lair the previous night. Pidd’s goldish book would have been soppy and ruined, were it not for the seal of light placed around it. Kinley slouches on the ground of his hallway, flipping through its leafy pages.

“This book again, eh?” he says. “It is essentially a darkling handbook… Bible… Code of Conduct, what have you. It’s our history. It has a counterpart, too—one of silver binding, stored with a man named Erron.”

He twiddles the end of his glasses between his teeth, hair disheveled from recent removal of a gray knitted stocking cap. Cute.

Never underestimate the power of cuteness. Cuteness can make a person behave outlandishly. Here’s an example:

I cock my head at him, eyelashes fluttering, of all things: “Can you read the writing… Kindler?”

Immediately, ‘Kindler’s’ neck flares a tomato-tinted color. He perks up, hopeful—enough so that I’m floored with guilt. No, Kinley, I still don’t remember you. And it was unkind of me use a nickname I didn’t earn.

My eyes dart away because they aren’t brave enough to look at him.

“Yeah, I can read it,” he recovers. “Can’t you?”

“Nada.”

“Strange,” he says. “You used to be able to.”

I used to be able to do a lot of things, apparently. The brick wall kiss comes to mind. I let it replay, this time from my perspective—which is a far enjoyable perspective—and a long forgotten part of me gives a kick, near the heart region. Kick, kick, KICK. “W-what is that language anyway?” I divert. “LaMar could read it. She translated most of it for us already.”

“LaMar?” says Kinley. “Wait, isn’t she the one that—”

“BEXLEEEEY?!”

I know that irritable shout.

To hell with the book, I rip into the spare bedroom, where my ward sits up in a nest that I made for him—a nest comprised of a ripped up old quilt, two couch pillows, and a spare bottom sheet.

The right side of his hair sticks straight up against the side of his head.

“Cockatiel,” I mutter.

His nostrils flare wide. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing!” I plop down into the nest beside him and begin patting about his forehead in search of abnormal body temperature. “Feeling better?”

Pidd throws up the nest in a flurry of blankets. “NO, I’M NOT FEELING BETTER! WHAT THE HELL DID YOUR BOYFRIEND DO TO ME?!”

It takes twenty minutes to recount the events—complete with sound effects—and another ten minutes to convince Pidd that his sudden arrival in Nocturne wasn’t anything done intentionally on Kinley’s part; though, seeing the foul expression Kinley exhibits whenever Pidd opens his mouth, the ‘accident’ becomes harder and harder to justify.

Through all of this, the hottie stands in the doorway, mouth cocked in a way that does nothing to help his case.

By the end of it, I’m nearly out of breath—which isn’t any great feat for a squishy individual like myself. “Okay guys,” I pant, “I think we need to have a serious pow-wow to figure out what our next course of action is. Kinley, I’d just adore a full recap of what went down between us in the past, including our ‘master’ plan, or whatever. Apparently, my old self was hell-bent on letting the darklings into the mortal realm and stealing the tree of light from the lightborne. Also, there’s this whole question of why my old self met Pidd, refrained from bonding him, only to direct him to that café for a later date. Plus, I totally feel weird about Aiden now, and when we were in Nocturne, I saw a memory of myself talking about killing hi—”

But the end of my sentence doesn’t reach fruition.

And the pow-wow I long for doesn’t happen.

It won’t ever.

In that moment, three things occur:

Occurrence one: A loud pop sounds as a new portal is opened between this world and the world of light.

Occurrence two: A cluster of lightborne materializes in Kinley’s hallway. Amongst the cluster stand Jobel, looking disciplinary; Sesha, looking indifferent; and Aiden, looking like I’ve never seen him before. His expression is fierce, his posture warlike.

Occurrence three: My waker, showing the full of his teeth, rushes forward and rams an amber-infused blade deep into Kinley’s chest.

And just like that, the only connection to my old self falls, coughing up a mixture of crimson and shadow.

Occurrence three takes some time to absorb on a cerebral level. At the same time, instinct takes over, and the parts of my heart that are no longer mine cause my throat to release a wrenching, curdling scream. Kinley is dead, and with his death comes a wave of emotion that was locked away:

Love. Fear. Revenge. Hatred.

Who are these directed at? I can’t tell. But they are undeniably there, overpowered by the greatest emotion of all:

Pain.

From the depths of my body, an outpouring of pain sieges.

I loved him. The old Bexley loved him more than anything. And he was my only hope of reconnecting with who I used to be.

“NO! Oh gawd, AIDEN! WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

In the midst of muddle and loss, a pair of lips find my forehead and I’m overtaken by amber haze.

The last thing I hear is a woman’s voice, distant and rippling, like the purr of a cat: “We fight for the light, young peach. And for it we will always fight.”

><

Death.

Sudden. Definite.

Irreversible.

I’ve never felt, smelt, tasted the effects of death. Until now.

By the time the amber haze leaves my body, I’m back in the coterie, dressed in a fluffy robe, while a fire roars in the fireplace of my dorm. And I can’t quite remember everything that happened with Kinley.

Though I remember most of it.

And the parts I remember make it hard to stand.

It’s cruel to catch glimmers of a passion that once was—a passion the current me will never earn on her own—only to have it ripped away in a manner too quick and unforgiving to comprehend.

It’s selfish, but right now, my strongest feelings are for myself. I’ve lost him. And I need him. I’ve lost the old me. And I need her. And when I allow myself to realize this, my bones collapse and I become a sloppy pile of flesh.

But aside from loss, I’m feeling another thick, strumming emotion: guilt. This emotion plays at the sinew of my neck, tightening at random. The only reason Aiden was anywhere near Kinley was because of me. Kinley’s chest would be stab-free, had he never gotten involved with me.

I’m toxic.

My fingers find my lips in remembrance of a kiss I won’t ever reclaim.

My chest thuds in protest of what happened, turning sharp and daggerish when I think about Aiden. When I think about what he…

Wait, was it Aiden?

The person to stab Kinley was Aiden, right?

I was so sure of it just a moment ago, but now it’s not so clear. Wasn’t Sesha the one to stab him? Or was it Jobel? Was Aiden even there?

Argh! The image distorts when I try to recall it. I’ll have to ask Pidd.

Speaking of whom—

For the first time since waking, my eyes trail to my wrist, where the turquoise chain connecting me to my ward pulses.

At least, that’s where it should be pulsing.

“What the hell!?”

The pounding and stabbing in my chest heightens when I discover that the turquoise chain is nowhere to be found. I leap from the plushy chair I’ve been curled up in. Frantic, I press my full concentration on the veins of my wrist, hoping for something—anything, in the way of a tingle.

“PIDD?!”

…

Wait… who’s Pidd?

…

My ward?

…

But… I don’t have a ward… Never have.

…

I shake my head. No. That’s wrong. I DO have a ward. And his name starts with a P. P… something. Pint? Piiiing? P… idd.

Pidd!

I can’t forget him!

I rush to my nightstand and pull out a faded piece of parchment and a sleek pen.

You have a ward. Find him. Find Pidd. And take back what they stole.

But trust no one.

They killed the person once most important to you.

Whatever you do, don’t let them know that you know.

Find the Wilted.

—Amanda

But even as I scribble the words, I realize that they’re coming out in a language I don’t know. The first parts of the note fade away into oblivion, leaving only the following in a text I can understand:

Whatever you do, don’t let them know that you know.

Find the Wilted.

—Amanda

I tuck the note under the secret piece of loose floorboard in the corner of the room, just as the last images of Pidd and Kinley fade from my mind.

17

Bexley the Third

“My joy! How do you feel today?”

“I’m… sad.”

I sit at Aiden’s feet, curled in a ball, sipping at a hot beverage Aiden made for me.

“Why, whatever do you have to be sad about?” he coos.

I don’t know. Some days you’re just sad for no good reason.

I don’t tell him this, though.

The heat off the steamy beverage snakes and curls, warming my upper lip. I don’t need liquid to survive, yet this cup of warmth seems to fill an empty, hungry part of me.

Aiden tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, grazing my jaw on the way. “You keep looking at your wrist, my princess. What is it?”

My wrist? I haven’t noticed. But now that he mentions it, there’s something funny to the way my naked wrist hangs. The opposite wrist—the one chaining me to Aiden—feels heavy by comparison. Hm.

Aiden prompts eye contact by tipping my chin up towards him. Because I’m feeling listless today, I let him draw my face to his. His eyes sear amber behind shimmering lashes. His skin is soft and smooth. A silky robe, patterned in lotus flowers, falls over his chest, revealing one shoulder. He’s beautiful, for a man.

“Aiden, what do the humans think when they see you?” I ask.

Aiden’s eyebrow lifts. “What do you mean?”

“I bet they think you look like an angel or something.”

Aiden’s hair catches a forbidden ray of twilight from outside the window. His mouth sets in a musing manner. “It is you who are angelic, Bex,” he says, voice light.

I snort at him. Only if it’s the chubby cherub kind.

Again, my eyes find my wrist; I slide my opposite thumb down the center of it. It feels especially naked and exposed. Do I usually wear a bracelet there? Did I lose it? Probably. I’m prone to losing things. Earrings. Bets. Mortal-world cash.

“Aiden,” I say. “Have you seen my bracelet? I’m sure I had one…”

“Bracelet?” He eyes my wrist with worry. “Why, it’s right here.” The side table holds an ornate treasure box carved of whitewood. Aiden unhinges the brass clasp and unveils a hodgepodge of ribbons, rocks and sparkling bits of glass. He draws from the interior a thin strip of fabric. Instinctively, I lift my naked wrist to him, and he ties the strip tightly around my skin.

Yes, that feels better.

I knew there was something missing.

But it doesn’t do much to make my soul feel better. I huff into my knees and hold my beverage tight between both palms.

Maybe I’m turning emo. I need one of those sweaters with built-in thumbholes. I need a hooded sweatshirt to hide under. Or maybe a big derpy scarf. One that I can hovel up under and sniff my own scent.

“Give me your hand,” says Aiden.

He doesn’t wait for me to oblige before taking it on his own. Listlessness wins again. I let him do what he wants, burying my eyes in the fireplace that dances and hops with turquoise flame.

Huh. Turquoise? I wonder how he turned it that color.

Aiden places his mouth to the back of my knuckles and my bone warms with amber power.

“A-Aiden? What are you—?”

“Replenishing you.”

So he says, but it only makes me feel warm and dizzy. Shoulders slumping, I try to withdraw my fingers, but he grabs them up in his hand and next takes my fingertips to his mouth, placing his lips on the print of each one in turn. This time, I feel his power zip all the way through my hand and up my arm.

“It will get better,” he whispers into my fingertips. “You’ll get better. You always do.”

The teakwood incense of Aiden’s chamber mixes with the smell of enchanted fire. Aiden’s room is a womb, and I am swaddled. My head lands in his lap as I’m overtaken by amber haze.

…

When I wake sometime later, Aiden’s fire has returned to a normal, orangey color. I’m no longer slouched in his lap, but curled at the side of his nest. Meanwhile, Aiden sits over me, boasting a wide, energetic smile.

“I have a special task for you!” From the folds of his silky tunic, he reveals a metallic butterfly. No, on second glance, it’s a moth.

><

“A weapon?” I toss the moth into the air and catch it with a swiping motion. “Maybe he meant like a throwing star?”

‘Or MAYBE big bro is trying to keep you occupied so that you don’t get into trouble.’

“Huh?”

I look about my room. I’m alone. Still alone. Which means that the voice I just heard answering me wasn’t real.

Not a good sign, Bexley. Not a good one at all.

I shake my head to clear out any other uninvited voices that might attempt intrusion. In the interim, my unbonded wrist makes its presence known at my side, all obvious-like. It’s not that it’s itchy or sore or sensitive—it’s just there, feeling out of place amongst my other limbs.

I swear, I’m feeling crazy, but at least I’m finally allowed to leave the coterie.

Yeppers! You heard it right—I, Bexley Lightborne, am about to embark on a mortal world mission—the first one in weeks. But first, I need to stow this peculiar piece of metal, which Aiden so ominously told me to hide. Not that he bothered to tell me what the freak it was. In my opinion, it looks like a tacky piece of yard art.

I leave my room, and nod to the portrait of a woman in Victorian-era dress. She’s lit up in lavender light, from her corset to her pouf of hair. If I remember correctly, there’s a similar portrait of an amber-colored woman on the first floor, all decked out in clockwork Artifacts. You never see portraits of turquoise lightborne like that around here.

It’s so very rare to see someone like me.

I wonder why that is.

My wrist acts up again, fidgeting this time, like the veins inside are crawling around. It’s so unusual. So very, very…

Transfixed on my own arm, I nearly ram into someone turning the corner.

LaMar takes my shoulders sternly. “Bexley! Is it true?! Jobel said that Aiden said that YOU get to leave the coterie today! Glad you’re finally feeling better, love.” She happens to be dolled up as usual. Her hooped earnings dance in the aftermath of her enthusiasm.

Better? What does she mean by better?

“Was I… sick?” I ask, suspicious.

LaMar wrinkles her brow. “Yeah, lady, don’t you remember? You’ve been sick for weeks! You’ve been on bed rest and everything.”

Oh. Right. Forgot.

I point at myself. “Birdbrain.”

“What the dodges is that thing?” Lips bubblegum pink and pursed, LaMar motions to the moth clutched in my other hand. Oops. Aiden told me not to show it to anybody. Failed that task in record time.

“Nothing.” I tuck it into the pocket of my sweatshirt, and LaMar doesn’t press it. Instead, she turns to reprimand a group of lavender children roughhousing down the hall. One of them, a brunette boy with a dirty nose, knocks into a cabinet and sends a set of brooms rattling.

“You should be playing outside, rapscallions!” I call after them. The brunette boy halts as the others dart away. First steadying the cabinet of brooms, he next turns to us and tips his head to the side, puppy-like.

I want to ‘awww.’

But then he does something that makes me feel abnormal inside. Setting his gray, oversized eyes firmly on mine, he says:

“What happened to your friend, Miss Bexley?”

“My… friend?”

LaMar loops me around the neck before I can process it. “Her friend’s right here, dodo! Now scram before you feel my rosy wrath! And no more horseplay inside!”

The little scamp does as scamps do, and scampers away with a yelp.

Yeah, my friend is right here. Spunky, flashy LaMar in all of her bangled glory. I don’t have many others.

“That was weird,” I say, as the last of the boys’ thudding footsteps fades away.

She fans at me. “KIDS are weird, Bex.”

She’s right. It’s probably nothing. I part with LaMar and head towards the only good hiding place I can think of for the mechanical moth gifted by Aiden. In the Artifact chamber, where the daggers and goggles reside, there is a pane of pure turquoise light suspended in a frame of gold. I’m not sure of its purpose, but the other lightborne in the coterie seem to avoid it, making it the perfect hiding-in-plain-sight sort of hiding spot.

All the way there my naked wrist gives a dull thud.

The beginning stages of some weak joint disease? I ignore it the best I can.

“This is where I’ll hide you, yard art.” I plunge my hand into the pane of light, which feels oddly silky, and release the mechanical moth. It disappears into the turquoise light that sweeps over it, ravishingly. “I’ll place a turquoise seal over it so that only I can retract you. Pretty smart, eh?”

I don’t know why I’m talking aloud to myself so much today. My voice feels empty, echoing against the sleekness of the room.

‘Isn’t that exactly what Aiden told you to do?’

Again, I almost think I hear a voice answering me—an exasperated one, at that.

But I’m alone.

“Quiet, minion…” I feel my mouth mutter, and at the same time, my throat clenches itself, to stop an unwelcome sensation from coming up.

I shake my head. I shake my thoughts. I shake the aura of loneliness that won’t leave me alone. And I’m usually quite self-sufficient. What the hell is wrong with me?

I’m going stir-crazy, that’s what. I need to get out of this otherworldly library before I turn into a total nut. Before leaving the treasure room, though, I stop next to a glass case, noting a leather glove missing two of its fingers and with gears lining the wrist. The piece is familiar, though I don’t think I’ve ever noticed it before. I bet I’d look cool if I put it on.

There’s no one around to see my goonish smile. Shame.

I leave the glove alone and make my way from the room—careful to avoid the sarcophagus in the corner on the way. The air around that thing always feels stale and devoid of life. Shudder.

The reception room is a grandiose room, draped in velvet scarves and crystal beads. Four large mirror portals mark the corners of the room, offset only by a solitary door, entrance to our headquarters.

How many days has it been since I left this place?

Too long.

I ready myself in front of one of the mirrors, culminating turquoise light from my earlobe to my fingertips, before drawing a square of light upon the mirror. I place my hands at either side of the square and let out a breath. Here we go, head-basher style.

‘Let me get this straight. You expect me to believe that smashing my head against a mirror is going to get me into your little cult headquarters?’

A voice that isn’t really there interrupts me to the point that my light fades from the mirror. Blast. I’ll have to start all over.

Before I can, though, a very real voice interrupts me this time.

“Bexley?”

It’s Ellie, meek friend of LaMar, poking her head into the room. Her pink bob has mostly faded by now, melting into a sort of pink and gold ombre. She pipes, “LaMar told me to give this to you. She said you dropped it earlier in the hall by your room.” She extends a triangle-folded slip of paper to me; however, by the time I’ve unfolded it, Ellie has already disappeared to some quiet corner of the coterie. Ellie isn’t a people person. Ellie is a cat person.

I smooth the paper out on my knee and immediately know that LaMar was mistaken. This note isn’t mine. The writing is similar to my handwriting, but it isn’t mine. The uppercase C is much too flabbergasted for my taste.

Café on Grand. 8/22.

Huh. Regardless of whose note it is, it’s showing today’s date. And I know that café, too. A waitress named Moll works there, and she serves a mean-ass plate of mac and cheese—downright malicious.

But I don’t have time for mortalish pleasures today.

Apparently, the darklings have been acting up, showing in greater numbers lately, and it’s my duty to extinguish them.

Lightborne task number one—keep the darklings from the mortals. On that note, I swell a handful of turquoise light and draw my portal anew on the mirror.

Fwomp!

There’s a risk a person takes when portaling between realms. And though I’ve crossed through this same portal dozens of times, this is the first time I’ve fallen into someone on the other side, washing their hands.

The woman, a plain, dark-haired woman, looks stunned for all but two seconds, before the magic of the mortal world—or maybe it’s the magick of the lightborne world—kicks in, and the woman becomes blind to all strange occurrence. Mortals really do have a way of overlooking things that fall beyond the means of science. Some are better than others. Luckily, this particular woman hasn’t a shred of magickal capacity. She continues to wash her hands, rather half-assed, as if nothing unusual has ever happened to her.

Her tennis shoes squeak against the tiling of the floor as she leaves. I crouch on the counter, adjusting my shirt, before landing on the ground, with not even the slightest squeak.

Aha! Ninja status achieved.

But… the joy I usually feel over these outings tastes a little stale today. I keep looking over my shoulder as if there should be someone there.

I tell myself to suck it up, and then ninja my way out of the library that’s dressed in lovely, leafy ivy. Soon, the whole of the brick will be covered in scarlet. I wish I could see the exact moment the foliage starts to change.

It doesn’t occur to me that I might never be fated to see that moment.

At high noon, I find a darkling preying on a frustrated teenager who sits on the wall of the cemetery, venting to her friend. I circle both girls in turquoise glow and send the darkling sizzling away, before either of the girls notices my presence.

“Can I help you?” one of them asks, snarky, in the aftermath. Her face looks like she’s just smelled something rotten. Probably her own personality.

I speed away from them, faster than humanly possible, and concentrate on my next mark, a huffy woman with red shoes that look oddly familiar. Déjà vu is common for someone like me. I have a terrible memory. I should probably invest in a planner of some sort.

Something brown and sturdy. Or something argyled and leafy. I’m just envisioning the myriad of planners purchasable in mortal world convenience stores, as the second darkling of the day fizzles away.

Aiden was right. They’re out in higher number than usual. Usually I’m lucky to find one, but it’s only just after noon and I’ve already spotted my third, outside of Moll’s café, going after a boy in a gray hooded sweatshirt.

><

I can’t stop looking at him. I should, but I can’t stop.

He sees.

It’s awkward.

We both look away.

I wait a few seconds before looking at him again.

I can’t help myself. The boy in the gray hoodie is like me, and it’s so very rare to see someone like me.

I wonder if he knows it.

The boy sits opposite of me in the sticky café booth, hands clasped around a black coffee. The coffee gives him seven maturity points. Well, eight, considering he added no cream. And though I’ve been referring to him as a ‘boy,’ this person is really more of a guy. His hair is black and tousled, his body tall and lean, and his eyes furiously jade. There’s something otherworldly about them, too. Their shape. When he stares, he resembles djinn, a sphinx, or some other crafty being of lore.

Yes, he’s definitely magickal, as is proven by the lobe of his right ear, where exists a cluster of muted light—the turquoise kind—and the reason for my incessant staring.

That muted cluster can only mean one thing:

He’s still dormant.

“Hmm. I’ve never activated anyone before…” I mutter to myself, chin in hand.

He lets out a chuckle. “Activated?” Taking another sip of coffee, he finally pulls down his gray hood, revealing a pair of thick-rimmed spectacles resting atop his head.

Glasses? Even better.

Heh. Heh. Heh.

“Ho! Creepy smile you’ve got there,” he says.

“Oops.” I hurry to cover my own mouth. For shame, it has betrayed me. Well, heck if I can help it! Not only is this person an extremely rare dormant turquoise, he also happens to be incredibly attractive. I’ll have to fight my throat from letting out any garish noises, such as coos or titters.

The person sees my struggle, apparently, for he lets out a series of good-natured chuckles. Those jinn eyes are looking at me in a way. One that’s soft and… cherishing?

My pulse gives an unbearable kick at the side of my neck.

I, Bexley Lightborne, vow to make this hottie my first ever ward, or so help me—! I’ve come this far, by randomly inviting him to a cup of coffee, and although I haven’t even offered my fake name yet, it’s pretty pointless.

I know what I need to do.

With the scent of café pie floating in the air, I make a decision of utmost rashness.

It doesn’t matter that we are in clear view of Moll and two other diners.

It doesn’t matter that Aiden doesn’t think I’m ready for a ward.

It doesn’t matter that what I’m about to do isn’t well thought-of in good society.

Fingers spread wide, I fearlessly plant my hand firmly onto the whole of the stranger’s face. Skin contact is made. The turquoise light streaming from his right earlobe flares blindingly bright, as he gapes at me an expression of astonishment.

His shock is worth it. I had to be sure that fullest contact was made, so as not to let this person slip away. I can’t explain it, but I want him to stay with me.

Always.

As I pull my hand from his face, I watch the thin turquoise string of light materialize between us, connecting from his wrist to mine. Magickally, light links around light, bringing up the hairs of my arms, and locking a bond into place. His eyes sear turquoise a helping of seconds before fading.

I did it.

A smile overtakes my face—one that feels lewd, even by my standards.

But it’s nothing compared to the smile on the stranger’s face.

“Bex… ley?”

The wide-eyed, labored emission catches me off guard, making my smile fall in response. Somehow, someway, this stranger, whom I’ve only just warded, knows my true name—the name embedded in my veins by Yggdrasil, tree of light.

Meanwhile, the stranger’s smile remains in full force. “It… worked?” He looks down at his own hands, as if marveling them, and continues, “Then… she must have kept her end of the deal.” Coming to apparent understanding, he lurches forward over the table. “Bexley! We have to hurry! We have a lot to do if we’re going to end this once and for all!”

I have no idea what he’s talking about.

I have no idea…

But the guy in the gray hoodie takes my hands in his, saying, “Everything is going to be okay now, B.”

I don’t know him. And he shouldn’t know me, but for the smallest, stupidest reason, my hands trust him.

And for even a smaller, stupider reason, my mouth dares to act up all on its own:

“Kinley?”

18

The Truth and Nothing But

“Wh-where are you taking me?!”

The stranger—Kinley—has his hand lassoed around my wrist in the most aggressive way. Equally aggressive is the way he hauls me after him, through the mortal realm, as if I’m nothing more than an umbrella or a sack of groceries.

He takes me racing through the city, along the storefronts filled with eyeless white mannequins donning floppy hats and tight flower-patterned dresses, all the way to a bus stop, where a cluster of college students mulls, dressed in matching garb for some mortal-world event.

Kinley blasts through them with little detection and practically hurls me onto the bus. Before I can catch my breath, the bus is in motion.

“Look, if anyone should be hurling anyone, it’s me that should be hurling you. I know you’re new to this and all, but I’m your waker, which pretty much means you’re my slave—”

“You want me to be your slave, Bexley?” Mouth pulled wide, the emerald-eyed hottie leans over me darkly, elbow resting on the window. “I can do that.”

It feels like a potato is clogging my throat hole.

I try to say something cool and/or smooth, but it comes out like: “Y-yeah! So do it, then! Or whatever!”

Wow, your most shining moment, Bexley Lightborne.

The flush of my cheeks remains a moment or two, until the flare of Kinley’s earlobe catches my attention. Right. I’ve just warded someone for the first time. It should feel all jittery and surreal. But it doesn’t. This all feels very normal. Even the hurling.

“How the heck did you know my name?” I ask.

“How did you know mine?” he says.

“Maybe I have telepathis.”

“You don’t,” he says.

I put my finger to my nose. “Ah, but how would you know?”

The emeralds housed in his eye-sockets glint. “Because I know everything about you.”

But he won’t elaborate. And the way he looks at me makes me lose my wit. I get nothing out of him. Not for the whole duration of the bus ride. Not even after the bus pulls up to the side of a towering skyscraper.

This time, he’s gentler with his hurling. He draws me up out of the bus seat, and my trusting hands let him. Down the bus steps, out into the sunlit world, and through the revolving doors of the skyscraper.

“What are we doing here?” I ask.

The lower level is a reception area. Several suited men, and one pant-suited lady, sit in squishy waiting chairs. I scribble a line of turquoise in the air over their heads as we pass. None of them notice.

Kinley watches with his mouth cocked. Then he draws a shape of his own in the air. A small turquoise rabbit comes bounding in the air towards me. Cute thing. I catch it just as it dissipates.

“Always your favorite,” Kinley says.

But how was a newborn lightborne like him able to conjure something like that? It’s impossible, isn’t it? He should barely be able to conjure light, let alone form it into a shape and set it off hopping through the air. And by the feels of it, he hasn’t borrowed any of my power through the lightstream, either.

“Who are you?” I say.

“No time now,” says Kinley. “But soon we’ll get it back. And everything will make sense.”

“Get what back?”

But he just wiggles his brows over the top of his glasses.

Great, Bexley. You’ve gone and picked yourself a crazy one.

I stand in the middle of the reception hall, considering what’s happened. I get let out of the coterie for the first time in forever, only to encounter another turquoise lightborne, whom I have no choice but to ward, come to find out that he knows my name. Maybe he’s the thought-reader.

Still doesn’t explain how he’s able to conjure his light with ease, though.

A natural?

Not likely.

Guess I’ll just let it play out for now. I can bring him to Aiden later to see what he thinks. It’s better than being cooped up in the coterie, at any rate. The mortal air tastes particularly fresh today.

We move past the receptionist that barely notices our presence, a slouchy teen with a lopsided bowtie. A door on the side of the room requires a keycard for entry. Kinley places his fingers to the key reader, surging it blue, and the door gives a click. Handy trick. I’ll have to remember that one.

But again, HOW THE HECK DOES HE KNOW HOW TO COMMAND HIS LIGHT SO FLIPPING WELL? When Pidd was newly warded, he could barely—

Wait… who’s Pidd?

As a numbing haze fills the back of my eyes, I slouch to the ground, hand to my head, while concerned Kinley couches over me.

“Bexley?”

“I’m okay.”

Kinley’s frown suggests that he doesn’t believe me. Why so much concern for someone he’s just met? Must be my waker-ly charm. Heh.

“Come on, B. Don’t try to push your mind too hard. I’m worried it’ll break this time.”

‘This time’?

He’s right. Something about this feels like the second time. Or maybe even the third. Argh. I shake my head to remove the dull panging leftover from the numbing haze.

Kinley’s concerned face is closer, casting shadows over my own. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?” He takes my shoulders in his hands. “You’ll keep trying to fill those dark holes in your mind. I know how confusing this is all going to be for you, too. That’s why—”

Fingers glowing in turquoise light, he trails his fingers along the underside of my arm, and my skin pricks up responsively. With those same fingers, he passes along the underside of my jaw, tilting my face upwards towards his, illuminating us both in blue glow. Then, he leans in closer, closer, and with absolute tenderness, presses his mouth to my forehead. Meanwhile, his fingers are pointed to my temple and I’m starting to feel… off. Dizzy. Light. Floaty.

Oh my gawd, am I actually swooning?

No, Kinley is forcing his light into me, intoxicating me, just like that time I did it to…

Who? Who did I get drunk off my light?

Who…?

An amber haze threatens to settle over my thoughts, but is overtaken by a different haze entirely. Through every inch of me, airy blueness spreads, filling my mind up with lovely turquoise thoughts.

When I stand, my feet feel heavy, though my head feels light, and the outside of my vision is framed in smoky turquoise.

For no reason, I let out a snort.

The world around me drifts, rather out of character. The doors along the hall lean this way and that. Not proper behavior for doors, if you ask me. Kinley puts a steadying hand on my lower back and ushers me down the hall.

The thought crosses my mind that maybe it isn’t a good idea to let a stranger escort a drunken Bexley to an unnamed place, but then, he isn’t a stranger, not really. He’s my ward now, right? Doesn’t he have some sort of duty to keep me safe? Or is it the other way around? Either way, I give his glasses a poke for good measure.

“Aww, Bexley, you smudged them up!” He’s smiling, though, as he removes the dirtied things and cleans them against the bottom of his shirt, revealing a small sliver of abdomen.

Okay, now I might be swooning.

But I’m guessing nobody wants to hear about that.

I wave to a calendar on the wall. It doesn’t wave back.

With a laugh, Kinley catches my fingers and tucks them into my pocket for me. They hate it in there. Too constricting. Forming a hastily-thought rebellion, my fingers burst free, this time poking Kinley in the ear.

He swats me away, smiling cat-like.

Near the end of the hall, there’s a set of restrooms. Good thing a key card was required to get back here. Wouldn’t want just any riffraff running off with rolls of toilet paper.

I begin envisioning the mess a person could make with an unlimited supply of toilet paper. I could fill Aiden’s room with it all. He wouldn’t be a very happy snake.

“Bexley?” Kinley’s face is long and dull. “Are you hissing?”

Was I? Oops.

Covering my own mouth with the fingers that refuse to be detained, I give Kinley my most sorry expression and his cat-smirk returns.

Now we’ve entered the restroom. I wasn’t paying attention to whether it was the male or female one. I don’t see any urinals, though, so I’m thinking female. How risqué, Kinley! In the ladies’ bathroom and everything! It’s a good thing we aren’t easily noticeable by the general population.

Kinley is drawing a box of blue on the mirror, and I suppose I am too.

The mirror tells me that I’m quite a bit shorter than Kinley.

I growl at it because I don’t appreciate being called short.

From there, the world fast-forwards, and before you know it, we’re both head-bashing against the mirror. I don’t even wince. That’s how confident I am in my Bex-bilities.

I fall through the portal into—

“A jungle?”

No, there is a ceiling, and jungles generally don’t have ceilings. But it’s hot and muggy like a jungle, and there are plants. Lots. So many lots that it’s impossible to see the edges of the room, in lieu of the hanging vines and overflowing bursts of green. Jade, like Kinley’s eyes. Some of the leaves are larger than my head, shaped like elephant ears. Others are of the fern variety.

“This way.”

Kinley incarcerates my fingers again, but they don’t mind this time. Their days of rebellion are over. He leads me through the jungle room, swatting at swarms of waxy green. Some of the vines are wound with strings of lights, lit with pops of rose and lavender light.

Finally, I understand.

“We’re at the other coterie!” I exclaim. “The one where Kray’s waker lives! But what’s with this room? An outside inside room?” My words are only slurred by a little.

“It’s a greenhouse,” Kinley explains.

I fondle an interesting-looking flower. “Neat, I wish we had a greenhouse at my coterie! But how the hoot did you know how to get here?”

“Shh.” Kinley presses his fingers to my temple and I forget what we were just talking about. Can you blame me? This shrub over here is so ungodly soft! I pat its head.

Kinley yanks me away and draws me through a doorway and out of the green. This room is white, from floor to ceiling, with nothing on the walls, but with three trees in a row, sprouting from the tile, down the center of the room. All three have skinny trunks, the first with leaves of lavender, the second with leaves of rose, and the third with leaves of amber.

“Are they real?” I place a hand against the bark of the lavender-leafed tree.

Kinley nods.

“Why isn’t there a turquoise tree too?” I ask.

“That’s part of what we’re here to find out.”

He diverts me from the tree, placing his hands firmly on my shoulders and taking on the posture of someone about to give a ‘talkin’ to.’

“Most of this isn’t going to make sense, but I need you to retain it, okay, my B?”

I nod and the world nods with me.

“A long time ago, you came to this coterie and you spoke with a man named Erron. I was already a sullen by then, so I couldn’t come, but now that I’ve regained my light, I need to speak with him directly. I need to find out exactly everything he told you. Aiden stole the memory from you before you could share it with me.”

I’ve never been here before. I don’t know what a ‘sullen’ is.

I open my mouth to question it, but am distracted by the delicate chiming sound the trees have started to emit.

‘Is the forest actually crying, Bexley? That’s the epitome of freakiness!’

The voice isn’t really there, but I answer it anyway: “Epitome. Nice word choice. One of my faves, actually. Doesn’t it feel like your mouth is moving super fast when you say it?”

I experience pressure somewhere between my chest and my throat.

It hurts. Not in a physical way.

“What? Epitome?” Kinley shakes his head at me, while his eyes bore into mine, searching for the hurt, I think. He can’t find it, though. Mouth defeated, he straightens and continues through the coterie.

It is in the next room that we encounter another living person.

The person is average in most ways, with dangerously yellow hair. It’s a girl that looks like a boy, or a boy that looks like a girl. I can’t tell which.

“K-K-Kinley?” The person looks as though they’ve seen a ghost.

“Yes,” says Kinley. “I have full recall of my light.”

“But how—”

Kinley adjusts his glasses. “A special dagger. It was meant to kill me, but it only dispelled the shadow residing inside.”

“But that’s astounding! Is this the first case of a sullen reverting to lightborne?! We must tell the others—”

“No time. Is Erron in?”

The person nods. “He’s in his room.”

“And my things?” says Kinley.

“In your room where you left them. On Erron’s orders, we haven’t touched them. We didn’t know if and when you’d find your way back.”

Kinley has a room here? At the towering coterie?

“Thank you.” Kinley bows to the person. “Please don’t tell the others. I don’t want to cause a ruckus.”

Ruckus. Good word choice.

“By the way,” says Kinley, gesturing to me. “This is my girlfriend.”

The yellow-haired person eyes at me. “Then… she is Aiden’s treasure?”

Kinley nods.

“I see,” says the person.

They say no more, but the yellow-haired person stares off after us with bulging eyes, as Kinley ushers me down a wide corridor with a high ceiling. I don’t really notice, however. There’s one word replaying over and over again in my head:

Girlfriend.

Girlfriend.

Girrrrlfriend.

Wonder why he’d say that? Unless… he thinks that’s how these waker and ward relationships go? Hey, I’m not complaining. If that’s the case, I plan on full exploitation.

“Bexley, why are you honka-honka-ing the air?” Kinley’s voice interrupts my daydream. There’s that long and dull face of his again.

Was I honka-honka-ing? My hands do appear to be outstretched and grabbing at nothing. Oops. I return them to their proper place, while beaming at Kinley in the hopes of distracting him with my positive adorability.

It works.

“Maybe we should keep you like this forever,” he chorts.

Speaking of which, the blue frame around my vision hasn’t lifted in the least.

I concentrate on it too hard. I don’t even realize that we’ve entered a bedchamber. This bedchamber is the most orderly bedchamber I’ve ever been in. Every inch of wall space is taken by uniform shelves. Books line the shelves, all of equal height and width, and are arranged via color coordination. The red-spined section is the largest. The bed in the corner is made in a catalogue-level of professionalism—not that I can recall where I’ve ever seen a catalogue, nor can I recall what a catalogue even is…

Anyway, back to the orderliness of the room.

In summary, it’s as though my body is cluttering the place up, just by existing. I feel unwelcome.

The dweller of the room is equally orderly, with hair parted straight down the middle and with a long smock-like tunic that has a line of buttons from top to bottom.

Kinley offers me a chair, which I scoot into—scoot, scoot, scoot—and then he instructs me to listen.

Sitting makes me sleepy, but I do my best to listen to what he and the split-haired man are saying, though I don’t understand most of it. Through the turquoise haze, only bits and pieces of their conversation resonate with me.

The orderly man, an amber lightborne named Erron, has a voice lacking substance. “And she remembers nothing?” he asks thinly, amber eyes bright against his dark skin.

Kinley shakes his head. “That bastard Aiden wiped her again. Every time she gets too close, that moron wipes her clear!” He grinds his teeth together. “Their coterie doesn’t understand anything. And Aiden and the other three prefer to keep the rest in the dark.”

“Fear,” says Erron, pacing. “For those with small minds, it can overcome reason. Humanity is a prime example. Fear leads masses to do the unthinkable. We magickal beings are no better.”

The backside of my chair is rigid. If only it were squishier. I might be able to nap.

Napping is amongst my top five favorite things in the worlds.

Kinley walks forward, imploringly. “Before Bexley went missing a few months ago,” he continues, “she came and saw you. We’d started to put the pieces together on our own, but after speaking with you, she changed. She became anxious, though she couldn’t say why. I need to know everything. What did you tell her to push her over the edge?”

“Mostly, I just confirmed her suspicions. The reason why there are few turquoises left. And the reason her coterie turns a blind eye to her erratic behavior.”

Kinley leans against one of the room’s many bookshelves. “Yeah, she said no one there ever questioned her memory loss.”

“I’m sure they questioned it,” says Erron. “Just not to her. Amongst the older populace, that prejudice still remains.”

“You mean prejudice against us turquoise lightborne?” says Kinley.

Erron lets out a sigh. “Indeed, her coterie is far more conservative than ours. Without Aiden’s affinity for her, I doubt if they even would have let her live to adulthood. She has him to thank for her survival. His opinion is held in high regard. Enough to quash their dislike for your kind.”

Kinley lets out a scoff through his teeth. “All because Meínne, the first Wilted, was—”

Erron nods, somber. “Of the four colors of lightborne, only a turquoise can be touched by the darkness.”

“So it’s true,” says Kinley. “That only a turquoise lightborne can become a sullen.”

“And only a sullen can become the Wilted,” says Erron.

Wilted. That word is skin-prickingly familiar. Though I can’t say for sure why it should be treated any differently than any other word.

Erron continues, “To this end, the other lightborne tried to kill out the turquoise bloodline long ago. They feared the turquoises for their ability to fuse with darklings and turn sullen. In the silver book, turquoises are referred to as ‘darkness incarnate.’ Our rose, amber and lavender ancestors demolished your lineage out of fear that it would spawn a new Wilted to uproot the tree.”

“In the dark hours, Bexley spoke of vengeance,” Kinley says, voice subdued.

“Just as you always suspected, correct?” says Erron. “You suspected the other three colors had something to do with the disappearance of your lineage.”

Kinley chews the end of his glasses and studies me—though I’m preoccupied with inspecting the ceiling. There are patterned tiles up there that look like clovers. Familiar clovers.

“Yeah. But what about the rest of it?” says Kinley, returning his glasses to their proper place. “I did what I did because I had no choice. After the darkness took me, it only made sense to study the nature of what I’d become. She, on the other hand, had other motives. But even after everything, it wasn’t truly for vengeance, was it? It was so that we could restore order. She believed the tree needed to be removed from Yggdress. For the sake of everyone. She believed the words kept in that golden book. But after meeting with you, her urgency grew tenfold. Tell me you know something more than—”

“I do,” Erron cuts him off. “I know a great deal more.” He walks to the shelf at the side of his bed and removes a silver-spined book. “The reason I and the other leaders of this coterie welcomed you with open arms, despite your turquoise nature… The reason we continued to monitor you, even when in your sullen state… The reason we will continue to offer you and Bexley our aid…”

Kinley leans forward hungrily.

“The reason is,” says Erron, “that the tree of light is dying.”

I sit up in my chair, jerkingly enough that Kinley comes and lays a hand at the side of my face, pressing a fresh dose of light into my brain. I’m overcome, wrapped in honeyed turquoise power.

And I’m drifting…

Drifting…

Drifting…

19

Mad Shatter

The blue haze leaves my body abruptly, and by the time it does, Kinley and I are in the center of a twilit forest. Perpetually shedding trees perpetually basked in late autumn glow swarm around us, as the delicate chiming from the tree of light sounds through the glittering air.

“We aren’t supposed to be here!” I protest, once regaining my senses. “This is the forest separating the coteries. It’s dangerous! Aiden says there are thorns in here—as great as knights’ lances!”

Kinley doesn’t understand the gravity of our situation, apparently. “Welcome back to the world of the living, B,” he chimes. “You’ve had a lot of bexcitement today, eh?”

Bexcitement. Cute.

But wordplay isn’t enough to distract me from that fact that we’ve entered a place I was commanded never to go.

The mixed chain connecting me to Aiden pulses furiously in protest. Equally bright is the turquoise chain connecting me to Kinley. Right. I need to process. I claimed a ward just earlier today, and ever since then, it’s been nothing but a confusing whirl of turquoise.

“You… you made me drunk!” I leap from him, pointing a finger so that he’ll feel the full brunt of my accusation. “How did you know how to do that?! How did you know how to get into Yggdress?! Who the heck are you?!”

My frustration involuntarily comes out from my feet, and the colored leaves of the ground poof outwards, propelled by a tiny pop of turquoise light.

“E-excuse me!” I apologize. Mortifying. I’ve never accidentally expelled like that in front of anyone but Aiden.

Not that this guy deserves any sort of apology. I’ve clearly warded some kind of imposter.

The imposter comes up to me, crouches down, and takes my cheeks in his hands. He rubs my cheekbones with his thumbs. “I know it doesn’t make sense. It will, though. I promise. We’re going to get back what they stole.”

His dark-lined eyes press into me, somehow harboring intent and force, while at the same time appearing disinterested. At their core, they glimmer magickal green—a tint that’s starting to look a little on the bluer side. He’s already becoming stained with turquoise?

“Can you just try to trust me? Just a little while?” he whispers, eyes and mouth softening. “It’s you and me, remember? Even if the world burns, it will always be you and me, B.”

The words hit me square, like a spell. Inside of my chest, longing—powerful and dark—begins to muster.

“Nope!” I shove him away. “Doesn’t matter how attractive you are, mister man! Any practical woman wouldn’t blindly trust someone so obviously suspicious!”

“Hm. You were more blindly trusting of me the last time we met. Is it because your ward isn’t here?”

My ward? “You’re my ward,” I blurt.

“That reminds me.” Kinley takes his mouth in his hand and looks off to the distance. The glow of the forest frames his head in a holy way. “I wonder what they did with him. I doubt he would fall under Aiden’s protection the same way you do.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask for the umpteenth time of the day. This guy is clearly trying to confuse me. But why? So that he can do something unsightly to me?

Hot or not, I don’t think I like where this is going. I take a step back, eyeing the forest for the cleanest route of escape, and allowing my fingertips to twitch in anticipation. He’s a newborn. I’m sure I can take him down.

“Ah. I see. You might not remember him, but your body does, eh?” Kinley taps the space beneath his right eye. “I didn’t mean to upset you, B. I’m sure he’s alive somewhere. Don’t cry.”

I’m not crying.

But on second inspection, my cheeks are wet with unsolicited tears. “What the—?”

Kinley turns away with his hands in his pockets, while I fight to wipe the wetness onto my sleeve.

But the wetness won’t quit.

I can’t explain it, but I’m suddenly sad all over. A pulsing sensation, starting at the chest, juts outwards. Though I try to close my throat, it’s no use. The harder my attempts to suppress it, the more relentless the wetness becomes, until I’m heaving. To the moist ground, I go. On my knees, I clutch the painful parts of me. Those parts are everywhere. I’m overtaken by emotions that have no reason. Unwarranted loneliness collides with baffling melancholy, culminating in sorrow that, while stemming from nothing, demands my full concentration.

It’s everywhere. I can’t stop it.

I’m sad. I miss something, but I don’t know what. I’m fearful, but I don’t know why. I’m betrayed, but I don’t know by whom.

The chiming of the forest is drowned by the wails that escape from my throat.

I’m a mess.

The messiest I’ve ever been.

And I have no one.

No, I have someone. And the someone is behind me, with his arms wrapped around my shoulders. He’s warm, rocking me, cooing sweet things in my ear. And even though he’s a stranger, I don’t feel uncomfortable. Kinley’s words move into me, melting those negative things away.

“It’s you and me, my fierceness. And I’ll never leave you again.”

Yes, it’s him and me. I think I almost remember that. But there’s someone else too, isn’t there?

P…

Pi…

Kinley’s light has just finished streaming into my temple when I hear the crunch of someone breaking a branch.

Kinley stiffens and narrows his eyes, and then—“Shit!”—with a shout, Kinley tugs me up from the ground, at the same time producing a basketball-sized welling of light, which he shoots off through the forest.

“Kinley, why are you randomly—?”

Oh. His wasn’t an attack, but a retaliation. The turquoise ball makes head-on contact with an equally sized ball of amber light that was previously en route to us.

I can’t make it out clearly through the haze of turquoise surrounding my vision, but there’s a shape in that direction, too, through the flurry of falling leaves. The shape lets out a shriek of concentration as a third blast of light pushes through the forest. Again, the light is of the amber variety. Again, it makes an effort in our direction.

Because my reaction time is dull and drunken, I stand dumbly as the amber ball barrels towards Kinley and me.

“ARGH!” With the cry of a warrior, Kinley dashes in front of me, producing a screen of turquoise, and holding it in place until the amber ball makes sizzling contact. After, he drops the screen and turns to me. “Can you fight?”

But he answers his own question.

“Damn it. No, you can’t. I gave you too much. ARGH!” He pushes me behind himself, shield-like, and sends another heaping of turquoise off through the forest. This time, he’s answered by a blast of rose. There are now two shapes in the distance.

Two people in the distance. One amber, one rose.

And even incapacitated, I don’t appreciate being told what I can and can’t do. I happen to be quite the adept fighter. Using a white trunk for support, I prop myself up and place my fingers to my right earlobe, conjuring a stringy whip of turquoise light.

“Kit-chaw!” I make my own sound effect to accompany the outward lash.

But my focus is off. Instead of thrusting the light at the attackers, I thrust it right into Kinley’s back, in the space between his shoulder blades. Because he’s also turquoise, the light doesn’t sting him. Still, he throws me a confuddled frown over his shoulder.

“Whoopsie!” I say.

Shaking his head, he busies himself with combatting another oncoming flurry of amber and rose light. One thing is for sure, whoever those people are, they’re trying to bring us down.

Random woodland attackers?!

Focus, Bexley. Breathe. Push the haze away.

I impel air through my nose, in an attempt to clear away my inebriation. If only I can figure out a way to thrust Kinley’s fog from my brain. I place my fingers to either side of my head and grit my teeth. I will my fingers to extract the foreign turquoise, to no avail.

“RAAHHH!”

Frustrated, I stomp my foot, expelling a wave of light from my body.

That seems to have helped a little. The cloud in my mind rescinds slightly. Now I can make out the figures a tad more clearly. A thin person and a slightly wider one? I still can’t quite visualize them.

But I can at least comprehend their general direction. Hopping around the side of Kinley, I make a second attempt at thrusting out a line of light. This time, it lashes into the distance, causing one of the figures to scream.

It’s a woman.

I just barely missed her.

I ready another whip of turquoise, but am stopped by Kinley, who has come to thrust me out of the way. My reaction time still isn’t great, and I was nearly hit by a sharp line of rose.

“Ugh! This sucks! I can’t catch my bearings!” I shout.

“My fault,” Kinley says through his teeth, positioning us around the back of a thicker trunk. “Sorry about that. I didn’t expect anyone to find us. They must have been tipped off. My coterie is more understanding than yours, but that doesn’t necessarily mean every one of them is on our side.”

Our side? Which side is that, exactly?

Before I can ask, a line of rose rattles the top branches of our tree, setting them ablaze in pink light.

Kinley takes hold of my wrist and pulls me to a fresh tree. I take a page from the attackers’ book, directing a wave of light at the tree canopy above them. This time, there are two shouts, as the forest lights with flickering blue.

“Good shot, B!” Kinley cheers.

Yes! If I can just keep that up and maintain focus, we’ll be able to gain the upper hand.

But I can’t help questioning why we’re doing this, in the first place. The attackers couldn’t really be from the coterie, right? What reason do they have to attack me? Because I disobeyed and went into the forest?

Well, that seems harsh.

I distract myself with these questions, and am penalized by a shard of amber light grazing my arm. With a yelp, I clutch the wound and dip behind Kinley. He retaliates with ferocity, releasing an outpouring of light at the attackers. The look in his eye is one of protection. The grit of his teeth is one of disgust.

This person is territorial of me.

And for whatever reason, I feel slightly territorial of him as well.

I need to gain my wits so that I can fight to my full potential!

I stomp until the blue haze recedes further, enough for me to focus in on our enemies.

And to my surprise, they aren’t enemies at all.

“Kinley! Stop! I know them!”

Kinley doesn’t stop, though. After forming another screen to block the amber light lashing at us from around the side of the tree, he doesn’t hesitate to take up the offensive again, sending out several rounds of rebuttal.

Meanwhile—

“Yoohoo!” I call to the attackers. “Sesha! LaMar! It’s me! It’s Bexley! Hold your fire!” I step out from the side of the tree, placing myself in clear view; regardless, the blasts of rose and amber continue. Kinley clutches my elbow and tears me out of the way, as the ground where I was just standing sizzles pink and orange.

Huh. They must not have recognized me.

I’ll try again.

“LAMAR! IT’S BEXLEY, YOU TURD! STOP SHOOTING!”

Kinley holds me back, this time covering my mouth with his free hand. “Shh! It’s BECAUSE you’re you that they’re shooting!”

Pshh. What does he know? He’s a stranger. And while I don’t give a crap about Sesha, LaMar is my friend. Giving Kinley my dirtiest look, I struggle to wriggle out of his grasp, until—

“He’s correct, Bex.”

—from out of nowhere, a third voice enters our conversation. I halt my wriggling to whirl around and release a gasp, for unbeknownst to Kinley and me, while we’ve been battling, a silky man has managed to come up right behind us.

“H-heck, Aiden!” The veins of my neck react with surprise. “So sneaky!”

“YOU!” Kinley growls, readying his fingers. Head cocked forward, his eyes are shadowed, but the glow of them cuts through, murderously directed at Aiden.

“Oh. You’re alive?” Aiden folds his arms in apparent disgust. “Well, that’s disappointing.”

“No thanks to you!” snarls Kinley.

“You guys know each other?!” I look from my ward to my waker and back to my ward.

“Unfortunately,” says Kinley.

Before I can question it, a series of events transpires:

Event one: Kinley, fist aglow, makes a lunge at Aiden.

Event two: In the distance, an enormous blast of pink light releases from LaMar’s open palm and comes whizzing, cutting through low-hanging branches, towards where we three congregate.

Event three: Aiden reacts.

Easily, he bops out of the way of Kinley’s attack, instead focusing his energy on releasing a pillar of amber power. “YAH!” With minimal effort, he produces a horizontal beacon of light that starts between his rounded hands and streams outwards, encompassing LaMar’s puny-by-comparison attack.

My waker is the strongest lightborne I know. If he were to turn that light in my direction, I would fizzle away into nothingness.

Knowing this, my body makes an instinctual effort to position itself between Aiden and Kinley.

Aiden sees. It’s awkward. We both look away.

“Bexley, come here,” he says, eyes sternly in the grass.

I can’t. I don’t want to. Rather, I want to tell Aiden ‘no,’ but it’s hard for my throat to muster. Have I ever told him ‘no’ before? I can’t recall a time.

And why is it that I want to tell him ‘no’? I have a feeling that if I move, Aiden will hurt Kinley, but why should I care about this imposter whom I’ve only just met?

“It’s you and me, remember? Even if the world burns, it will always be you and me.”

This, my mouth tells Kinley without discretion or guidance; Kinley’s eyes widen behind his glasses, and then he does something unexpected. Stepping forward, he takes hold of my shoulders and pulls me back into himself. His chest is warm, his body firm.

My blood likes it.

“You realize that eventually they’ll all reject her, don’t you?” Kinley says over my head. “Getting rid of me means getting rid of an ally. You need my help if you’re going to keep them from her.”

By this time, Aiden’s amber pillar is beginning to fizzle. It’s only a matter of time before the onslaught starts up again. Aiden realizes this too. He looks in the direction of LaMar and Sesha expectantly.

“I won’t let you turn her into that thing,” Aiden says calmly, confidence apparent. “I won’t let you corrupt her.”

What the hell does that mean!?

It’s all too much. I don’t feel like a real person. I am fragmented. Incomplete.

“She has a plan,” says Kinley. “And she’ll tell you that plan herself, if you give IT back.”

Take back what they stole.

“She’s had IT all along.” Aiden sashays away from us and peers through the din of the forest, in search of motion from our attackers. “I’ve always left it in her care. I wouldn’t trust a thing so precious with anyone else.”

I can’t hold it back any longer. “What are you two talking about?!” The words are pleading. Pathetic. Unstoppable. “I can’t take this! I’m so confused, and my head feels like it’s about to explode or maybe implode, but either way, it feels as though I’m shattering. I can’t explain it, but I don’t feel right.” I can’t figure out how to aptly describe what I’m enduring, so I simply end with: “Please, you guys. Please.”

There is silence, but for the distant chiming of Yggdrasil, like the lightest tinkering of a crystal wind-chime.

“Your memory, Bexley,” says Kinley quietly, resting his chin upon the top of my head. “We’re talking about your memory.”

Aiden puts a hand to his hip, as the last of his light clears from the wood. “It would seem the others have gone. I doubt they were expecting me to appear.” He shows all of his teeth in a demented sort of smile. “I’ll deal with them later.” Then, with a flip of his shimmering hair, he leans back to steal a sidelong glance at Kinley and me, showing obvious dislike for our close proximity. “Very well. I won’t dispose of you yet, dark one.” He straightens, turns on heel, and begins to approach, adding, “Though I do wish you would have stayed dead the first time.”

Kinley pulls me back further into himself, and my blood agrees with the motion. It writhes about in my wrists.

“Bex,” says Aiden. “Where did you hide the moth Artifact I gave you?”

“I-in the coterie,” I say, exhausted from the swirl of emotions fighting for dominance inside of me. Inside of the shell that is me.

“Fine.” My amber waker crouches down to my level. “I’m going to show you how to use it, as long as you promise me one thing, my joy.”

“What thing?” I say.

“Promise not to kill me.”

20

Making a Murderess

“My joy?”

Aiden places a blanket around my shoulders and crouches to inspect me.

I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to think about anything.

Too much.

Too much.

Much too much.

Instead, I concentrate on the fire. It dances and pops and doesn’t threaten to do anything other than burn. I can deal with fire.

What I can’t deal with is people.

Aiden wipes the hair from my face and lays a cool hand over my forehead. I chance a look into his eyes. He is forlorn.

“I’m going to miss you,” he says, quiet, but yet loud enough for Kinley to hear.

Kinley stands in the corner, arms folded, scoffing, “You mean you’ll miss her blind complacency.”

Aiden snaps his fingers, conjuring a lightning bolt of amber power over Kinley’s head. Kinley swats it away with a blue-glowing hand, and the bolt easily dissipates.

Again, I start to wonder how a newborn lightborne can be so powerful, but decide against curiosity. My mind is too fragile.

Too fragile.

Much too fragile.

Aiden places his mouth to my forehead. “I love you, Bex.”

The words are warm.

“I love you too, Aiden,” I speak into the fire. It pops, the color of Aiden’s eyes. And now I’m getting tired. That always seems to happen with Aiden’s lips upon my skin.

“Do you have it?” he asks of Kinley.

Kinley nods. “She placed a turquoise enchant over it, but I was able to retrieve it.”

While I fall into a slump, I vaguely see him pull the mechanical moth from his person, handing it to Aiden. Decorated in tiny gears, the moth turns from turquoise to amber as it transitions from Kinley’s grasp to Aiden’s.

My waker holds the Artifact out in front of himself, disdainfully.

‘It is a weapon.’

Then, he tosses it into the fire.

“Hey!” Kinley lurches forward.

“Easy,” says Aiden, holding out his arm. “Watch.”

The fire licks at the moth, swelling upon contact. And then the flames change. No longer are they the color of Aiden’s eyes. Now, they are turquoise.

“Blue fire?” I mutter.

“These,” says Aiden, gesturing to the fire, “are your memories.”

He takes my hand and lures me forward, so that the fire’s heat is lapping my skin. Intuitively, I withdraw. Only a dumbass would willingly stick their hand into a fire.

But Aiden insists. “It won’t harm you, Bexley. Because they’re yours.”

He pulls me closer to the warmth.

“Aiden.” My voice is small.

“Trust me, my joy. I would never harm you.” His mouth is to my ear, urging me on. The fire illuminates his shimmering hair, turning him blue. Mesmerizing. With my free hand, I touch the strands falling around his shoulders. Like silk. He is beautiful, for a man.

He uses my distraction to finish the job, plunging my captive hand into the fire. Concerned, Kinley starts forward.

But I don’t burn.

I don’t scream.

The fire is toasty, comfortably so.

And then it hits me.

All of it.

In that moment, I feel something. A shift. The world around is the same as it’s always been, but something in the unseen space is changed.

I stand and then stagger back from the fire, as images pop into my head, faster than a hummingbird’s zip. One by one they hit me, and then all at once. And as I struggle to weed through the images in my head, I set eyes on the handsome person in the corner.

Kinley Sullen. No. He’s Kinley Lightborne again. I didn’t know that sort of thing was possible.

Physically, he the same as the first time I saw him… almost. His eyes show burden that wasn’t there back then. Maybe it’s because we’ve both lost our innocence.

“We met at a party,” I say slowly.

My dark prince nods, equally slow.

The memory is crisp and recent. Mostly the hors d'oeuvres—a spread of fancy finger foods and miniature sandwiches. That part’s important. Appetizers were… ARE amongst my top five favorite things.

In the midst of my grazing at the lovely long table dotted with plates of handcrafted delights, I looked up to see him, in a formal smock, at the other end of the buffet. Of course, the thing I noticed first was his eyes, striking things. The way they gleamed with magickal intent, like a being of lore. He appeared crafty.

The second thing I noticed was his ear. The way it shined a forbidden color. Mouth full, I stopped to place my full attention on him. I’d heard there’d be another of my kind there. Aiden had prepared me. Still, I couldn’t keep from staring. It was so very rare to see someone like me.

As I swallowed the too-big bite of pastry previously swelled in my right cheek like a gerbil, the third thing I noticed was the way he was looking at me. He wasn’t only watching me; he was boring into me. He was examining me with deepest curiosity.

I’d never been looked at that way before. And it made my squishy self aware of every ticking movement of my body.

That memory wafts away, replaced by a new one.

Our first kiss.

Our second kiss.

Our third and fourth.

And conspiring in the twilit wood between our coteries. Hands clasped. Buried in the leaves of the forest. Wondering why we were the only two of our kind. Wondering what happened to the other turquoises.

The days passed and we began to speculate. I began to notice the disdain behind the coterie’s forced words and smiles. The gestures I hadn’t noticed as a child. The things I hadn’t noticed until after meeting my dark prince. I started to loathe them. Anyone other than Kinley was worthy of hatred. Because they’d hated me first. Whatever had happened to the rest of my kind, I suspected the others were behind it. And still their forced smile continued.

And always, Aiden was over my shoulder, bidding the others to be kind.

Because I was his pet.

Once I realized this, I took out my aggression on the wood, staining the twilight in turquoise glow. And all the time, Kinley was right there beside. The only one who understood what it was like to be the last of a dying bloodline.

And in the quiet moments, amidst the falling leaves, we realized something. With each passing night, the crying of the twilit wood grew louder and more tormented.

A new memory surfaces.

Tucked away in the dusty corner of the fourth floor archives, I discovered a book. A goldish tome, carrying the secrets of the darkling world, and the story of the Wielder and Wilted. The nighttime moaning of the wood had become a concern for us. We resolved that Yggdrasil was in pain, and the goldish book claimed to know why.

The Maker never intended the tree to reside within the lightborne realm.

I shared it with Kinley, and together, we devised a new objective: To study the nature of the world.

But in our pursuits, something unthinkable happened.

“I… remember…” I tell Kinley. “An accident. We were being careless.”

And Kinley was touched by the darkness. He was changed.

“I’m so sorry,” I choke.

“Don’t.” My dark prince steps forward to take my hand.

The memories don’t wait for me to grieve. They race over my mind.

No longer able to enter Yggdress with his body, we created a safe space within the mortal realm, and a portal in the woods just beyond the coterie, so that I could visit him freely. In the night hours we studied the darkness, seeking a remedy to his condition. In the day, we studied the light. And always, we vowed to be together.

We found positive in the negative, and used Kinley’s condition as an asset in our research of the tree’s sorrow. The coteries were full of secrets. Full of whispers. But what of the whispers held by the darkling race?

With the help of the goldish book and the murmurs of Nocturne, we came to a conclusion:

The order of the world was wrong. The crying of the twilit wood was our proof. We vowed to make it right.

An image flashes behind my eyes—one of Kinley and also of me, standing knee-deep in an autumn creek, together tearing at a fissure in space.

It was the first tear of many.

Convinced that the tree’s pain had something to do with its placement in Yggdress, we did what we could to let the darkness in, in the hopes that one of the dark creatures would become the fabled Wilted and steal back the tree of light. We didn’t know everything yet, but we knew that we needed to ease the tree’s suffering, one way or another.

My memory skips forward.

Because Kinley could no longer enter the lightborne tier with his body, I agreed to return to his former coterie in his stead, to meet with Erron, an archivist. While Erron was thought to be a heretic by some, due to his expansive collection of blasphemous literature, Kinley believed Erron’s books might prove valuable to our cause.

The visit turned out to be of mondo importance.

Particularly, the archivist guarded a silver-spined book of ancient origin. According to the book, human auras, though non-magickal, had a special purpose in maintaining the tree of light. Essentially, the human experience served to water the tree. Erron believed that in the centuries since the lightborne had captured Yggdrasil, it had been slowly dying, unable to flourish without the human presence.

And in recent years, he claimed, its nighttime moaning had gotten unbearable.

This coincided with everything Kinley and I had amassed so far.

If the tree died, Erron claimed, the worlds would die too, and though he brought it to the attention of the other coterie leaders, only his own was receptive.

So I did what I could with the position I was in.

I brought it to Aiden, imploring him to use his influence to persuade the others.

As I relive the memory, Aiden is stone-faced, the way he was the time I approached him—right before he removed the archivist and the silver book from my memory completely.

He didn’t hesitate to force my amnesia that time, nor any time after.

In remembrance, I shoot him a scowl, but he distracts his gaze in the fire.

Guilt? I haven’t seen that on him in a long while.

I search my memory further.

Within the dark realm, Kinley gathered whatever speculation he could. The whispers of Nocturne told of the potential for the next Wilted. But with the lingering urgency from my meeting with Erron, I determined there wasn’t time to seek the Wilted out; instead, we hoped to create our own.

In Kinley.

We used the ancient texts kept in the furthest reaches of our coteries as fodder, but none of them sparked a result.

Until one day, one of them did.

In me.

In the Artifact chamber, there was a golden frame housing a divine block of suspended light. Because of its turquoise nature, no one in the coterie could retract whatever was stored inside. The leaders strived to destroy the thing, but the enchants over it were too powerful. No one could get through them.

No one but me.

Those who knew about it tried to scare me off, warning that reaching in would mean to lose my hand, but I didn’t believe them, and one day, I mustered the nerve to submerge my fingers into the inky blue. The risk paid off. My fingers remained intact, and the lighted frame housed something invaluable—a scroll bound by a turquoise enchant.

I released the enchant and found the missing piece Kinley and I had been searching for.

The memory resurfaces, clear as the present.

The scroll did what none of our other records could—it depicted Feínne, first Wielder of the lightborne. It wasn’t a hole in a tapestry or smudge on a painting; it was actually her, donned in Victorian Artifact gear.

More importantly, though, it depicted Meínne, first Wilted of the darklings.

At first, we only paid attention to the Wilted. In the depiction, he sported a leather glove missing two of its fingers and with gears lining the wrist. I didn’t have to search hard for the glove. I found it in that very Artifact chamber and brought it to Kinley.

But when he put it on, the glove burned his skin.

When I tried, however, the glove lit blue.

But we had to be sure it wasn’t a fluke. I brought it to LaMar and instructed her to touch it. The result left her ornery at me for over a week, for the glove made her skin sizzle the way it had Kinley’s. I tried the same thing on Nekt, annoying rose brat, and got the same response. I found an amber and lavender to test it on, too, just to be sure, but no one could handle the glove the way I could. I didn’t make a lot of friends that week.

This is how we came to realize that I held the potential to become the Wilted.

So, I made a decision to become a sullen like Kinley. But the effort wasn’t as simple as we’d hoped. With Kinley, it had been chance. But my turning would take planning. We wanted to be sure that I retained as much of my turquoise power as possible, and if everything went as planned, I hoped to command my light and my shadow at the same time. So we started to introduce the darkness into my system, little by little, but Aiden caught wind, and cleared the endeavor from my memory, while at the same time, expelling the darkness from my veins.

So we started again. And again and again.

And every time, Aiden interfered.

And so, we focused our efforts elsewhere—on the other half of the scroll, where Feínne was holding an Artifact of her own—a ruby-encrusted staff. We figured that maybe if I had the potential to become the Wilted, I also had the potential to become the Wielder. Like the glove, the staff was almost too easy to find. I discovered it in one of the treasure cases at the towering coterie.

But when I tried to retrieve the glittering thing, it rejected me, sending me flying across the room.

So I couldn’t become the Wielder, though the possibility still remained for me to become the Wilted.

But with Aiden’s continued interference, I started to think dark thoughts. He was too powerful to hide from. As his ward, he knew my every move. He could pull power from me at will. He could find me at will. And he always seemed to show up just when we were making progress.

I began to wonder why he was so adamant in the first place. If I really was the Wilted, then maybe Aiden’s interference was a sign. Maybe Aiden was more than he was letting on. Maybe he was my natural enemy: The Wielder. I came to a dark conclusion: If he wouldn’t let me become a sullen, maybe our only option was to get rid of him.

But he was my waker, and I loved him, and though I talked a big game, I didn’t know how I could ever go through with it.

Kinley and I were out of options, and getting back up and running after each memory loss was getting harder and harder to do. It was exhausting. I was at the end of my rope.

Until I found him.

Pidd.

“I found Pidd standing in a field, staring off at the heavens through the lens of a camera,” I admit to Kinley, “though at the time, his name was something common. When I saw his dormant ear, I was jazzed. But I was even more jazzed after tossing him the glove.”

From the corner, Kinley gives a nod. “I noticed. He was wearing it when you came through the portal.”

“When I tossed it to him, he didn’t so much as flinch. It didn’t burn him the way it had you or anyone else in the coterie. At that moment I knew—there was at least one other person with the potential to become the Wilted. Even better, I knew that Aiden wouldn’t interfere with a stranger the way he did with me.” I lift a disobedient brow at my self-proclaimed big brother. “But I knew if I brought Pidd to the coterie in my current state, Aiden would immediately be suspicious and dispose of him.

“So instead, I gave Pidd a note and instructed him to meet at a future date. Then, I hid a similar note for myself, before going to Aiden and laying out a whopper of a lie. I pleaded that I’d been wrong in my pursuits. I told him I was done with you, and asked him to wipe my memory, as he had the other times; only this time, I asked him to wipe it all. That way, he wouldn’t suspect my intentions when I brought Pidd home a short time later.”

Kinley lets out a loud grunt. “I KNEW it! I knew you did something like that without bothering to tell me!” He thrusts himself forward. “You could have warned me, Bexley! Instead of leaving me alone with my imagination!” He wiggles his fingers sarcastically at the world ‘imagination.’

I smile at my darling spaz.

“I tried, Kindler. But you know me, I really hate confrontation.” I hold up a matter-of-fact finger. “Plus, I figured you’d come and find me sooner than you did. Incidentally, why didn’t you come looking for me before that bathtub episode?”

Aiden’s temple tweaks at the mention of ‘bathtub.’

Kinley frowns at my matter-of-fact finger. “Well, that’s because I was waiting for my contact to finish releasing the portal,” he says, foul. “I was waiting for an IN. And don’t try to change the subject, B. You’re still in a LOT of trouble.”

“Your contact?”

Kinley shakes his head. “That can wait for later. What I’d like to know is how you, most troublesome girl, justify your ac—”

I cut him off: “And can we talk about the fact that you’re even alive right now?” Overcome with a myriad of girlish emotions, I reach out a hand to his cheek, looking upon him with amazement—before glaring accusingly over my shoulder at the one responsible: “Ahem, AIDEN.”

Aiden maintains his eyes in the fire. “I won’t deny it. The blade was meant to kill him.”

“But?” I say.

He lets out an unenthusiastic sigh. “But it only expelled the dark. That blade was specifically devised to kill darklings. The light within him was strong enough to withstand a mortal puncture…” With distaste, he adds, “Apparently.”

“That’s what you get for being sloppy,” Kinley challenges.

Aiden turns from the fire, though fire remains in his eyes. He lifts a smile that mirrors insanity. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

Scary.

I step between the men and land an accusative finger in my waker’s direction. “Aiden! You’ve entered the forest at night. You’ve spoken with Erron. How can you still deny that the tree is dying?”

Aiden cocks his head. “When did I ever deny it?”

Oh.

“You… don’t deny it?”

“On the contrary, I agree with you. I’ve seen the withered roots firsthand.”

“So then, what the hell!? What are we waiting for?” I hold up the wrist where Pidd’s lightstream used to be. “Where’s my minion?”

Aiden places a haughty hand to his hip. “I’ve hidden him.”

“But you’re going to give him back, right?”

He beams at me excessively, and then, flatly:

“No.”

“Aiden!” I whine. “You are mean, mean, mean! You won’t let me become the Wilted, you won’t let Pidd become the Wilted, you won’t let us do anything to stop the destruction of the world. So why don’t you just admit what you are, take up that ruby staff, and do it yourself!?”

“Because,” says Aiden, “I am not the Wielder, and you, my joy, have it all wrong. The reason I’ve separated your ward from you isn’t to keep him from becoming the Wilted.” He turns his back to the fire fully, now, so that the flames border his silhouette. “It’s to force him to become the Wilted.”

He has barely gotten the words out when the whole of the coterie lights in rose-colored light.

21

When the Rose Light Hits

When the rose light hits, time seems to slow.

As pink haze floods into the room from the hall, the composition of the air changes. Weightless, my arms lift away from my sides, while my hair floats up around my face.

I am a sea anemone.

Blub, blub.

“What are you doing?”

Aiden, unaffected by the changed air, sees only me holding my arms up around my head and wafting them about.

“Don’t you feel it?” I ask. “The light’s all thick.”

“You’re overly sensitive, my joy.” The amber leader is already moving towards the door, pushing my hands down as he passes. Kinley, on the other hand, isn’t so unaffected. He snatches his glasses as they lift from his face, then watches his own hand as it glides away from him like a balloon.

Strange. Whoever’s outburst of power this is, they’re stronger than either of us.

With thinned sensation of gravity, I move to follow Aiden, but a hand on my wrist stops me. Kinley’s grip is firm.

“Bexley?”

I turn to find his djinn eyes set evenly on me.

Even after all this time, that gaze of his makes feel like an awkward human. Though to be honest, I’ve reached new levels of awkwardness over the past weeks. Those dark nights beneath the mortal moon seem so distant now.

How many versions of ‘me’ has my dark prince had to endure?

Bexley the Second.

Bexley the Third.

Each one worse than the last.

It’s embarrassing.

“You’ve been patient, Kindler,” I say.

“Hah!” He shakes his head. “No, I’ve been impatient. It’s been killing me. The whole damn time.”

Right. I bet. I choke over my response. There’s so much to say and not enough time to say it. I am a body with ten existences in one. Maybe even more. Each reincarnation fights for dominance. I want to find Pidd. I want to move the tree. I want to figure out who’s responsible for the air turned pink.

But more intimately, there’s the matter of Kinley.

I know him better than anyone, but to the fresher parts of me, he feels like a stranger. I’ve been with him all day, but I wasn’t myself. I didn’t know anything, and now I know everything. Of all the things there is to say, what gets priority?

I guess that’s easy—

“I’m sorry,” I tell him as he pulls me close.

We don’t have time to reunite the way we want. Not with Pidd missing. Not with that hullabaloo going on in the hall, and the end of the world confirmed, at last, by Aiden.

But I think it’s okay if I lay my head against Kinley’s chest—for only a sec, I promise.

“Mine.” I claim him. And I even get the urge to lick the side of his cheek—full-tongued, from top to bottom—to ward off the other awkward, squishy humans that might find his thick-rimmed glasses desirable.

I end up staying longer than promised, against his chest. At least six seconds pass. If I want to stay longer, though, I can’t. Kinley whispers something in my ear that shoots a spark down my spine—something impure—and the part of me that is ‘Bexley the Second’ flares.

My cheeks sizzle as I race away to find the source of the rose haze, and to confront Aiden regarding a certain missing ward. I have a hell of a lot of things to talk to him about, too.

“B?” Kinley calls after me, concerned.

“Don’t worry. I just need some time to unthaw.”

“You mean thaw.”

He grins because he’s corrected me on that at least a dozen times before.

With my hair drifting outwards from my head like a cartoon sun, I find Aiden leaning over the sixth-floor railing. His hands are outstretched, hovering beyond the railing and over the opening to the floors below. Out here, the haze is even denser. I struggle to keep my hands at my sides. All around the spiraling rail, others pop their heads over, craning to see the source of the light, which looks to be coming from below. Many of them are in the same boat as me—limbs gangly.

I can only make out the fifth and sixth floors from where I stand. The rest is lost, swallowed up by pink glow.

“What is this spell?” I ask my waker.

He shakes his head. I didn’t notice before, but his amber eyes are clenched tight in concentration, as is his mouth. His fingers are probing, like he’s feeling out the light of the air.

I attempt to do the same, but my hand floats away, sporting the lighted chain connecting me to Kinley. Technically, there should be two turquoise chains there.

I didn’t know it was possible to unbond a ward. I thought that only death could…

My chest gives a thud.

No. I shake my head. Pidd is still alive. Aiden alluded to this just moments ago. And… I think I can feel him still, distantly.

While Aiden continues inspecting the falling light, I rub my wrist, where the bond with Kinley is fresh. My wrist is warmer after warding him, but it still doesn’t feel quite right. I hate to admit it, but I’m anxious over the little punk’s absence, like that time I lost him to Nocturne.

“Aiden, about Pidd—”

“Not now, my joy.”

Bother.

I squint over the edge, into the abyss of rose. I’ve never seen a burst of light that lingers like this before. I press my sight further, trying to use my power to combat the haze. If I can see through it with my mind’s eye, I might be able to…

There! I begin to make out a figure far below, at the center of the hall. Its eyes glow pinker than the rest of it.

And they seem to be staring upwards.

In our direction.

In the words of my first ward: “Freaky.”

Then, out of nowhere—“Bexley! Get back!”—Aiden snaps open his eyes. Under the influence of whatever spell he’s been performing, they sear impossibly bright. Before I can make sense of it, he does something abrupt. He grabs me around my waist and begins to sprint. Away from the rail, away from the rose haze—as if I’m as light as a… a light person—until reaching the end of a hallway, where he tosses me into a storage closet and slams the door. I hear Kinley’s protests from beyond. I retaliate with protests of my own.

I am NOT okay with being tossed in a closet, willy-nilly.

To make matters worse, when I ram against the door, the space beneath it sears a line of amber.

I’ve been enchanted inside?!

“AIDEN?! I SWEAR TO THE MAKER IF YOU DON’T LET ME OUT OF HERE I WILL KILL YOU SO HARD!”

My threat doesn’t amount to anything. After a few seconds of muffled male conversation, a pair of footsteps trots away.

Only one pair?

“Aiden?” I knock against the door. Or maybe—“Kinley?”

He better not be the one to answer. If he’s decided to pair up with Aiden…

“KINLEY, I SWEAR TO THE MAKER, IF YOU WANT TO EXPERIENCE MY GIRLISH WILES EVER AGAIN—”

I’m cut off. Not by an answer, but by a loud sequence of blasts. The blasts continue closer down the hall, followed by the shattering sounds of glass-framed portraits as they fall to the ground.

“Not the man with the epic moustache!” I sympathize for that lovely, bushy stache that’s most certainly met its end. Again, I knock at the door. “Kinley? Aiden? Are you all right out there?”

The blasts stop, replaced again by shuffling footsteps. Instinctively, I back away from the door.

It was a good call. The line of amber along the bottom lights brighter before disappearing altogether. And then the door swings open with gusto.

I stand at the ready, both hands lit in blue glow, squinting through the pink haze at the person standing beyond.

No, not person. It’s two people. And both of them are decked out from top to bottom in Artifact gear.

The first is Sesha, sporting the same outfit I saw her wear previously in the treasure room. Once more, she resembles a light warrior, with metal headpiece clamped around her hair, pulsating with floating bits of amber light. She’s beautiful, and fierce, and bla-dee-bla-dee-bla. I don’t really care all that much. I’m more concerned with the person standing at her side, also decked in Artifact gear—this time of the rose variety.

…LaMar?

That’s riiiight, these two people very recently attacked my former self in the forest, even after shouting to them who I was.

By the way, what the hell was up with that!?

I release the glow from one of my hands, so that I can put said hand to my hip, mirroring Aiden’s earlier haughtiness. “LaMar, you should be rather ashamed of yourself, battling your best frien—” A burst of rose light pushes me against the wall. “Umpf!”

Knocked back, I struggle to put out the rose flames singeing at my body, by dousing them in cooling waves of turquoise light. It is at this point, as I stare up through the mix of light at the two fearsome women, that my perception of the situation changes.

‘Shh! It’s BECAUSE you’re you that they’re shooting!’

Kinley was right. Earlier, in the forest, LaMar and Sesha were intentionally attacking me. And now, they aren’t here on friendly terms.

Does that make sense, though?

Why would LaMar willingly…?

Ah. I remember. The memories were lagging in their entry, but I see them now, starting to materialize behind my eyes. The truth has been clouded by my most recent self’s affinity for LaMar, but now it comes back to me: LaMar hasn’t always been my friend.

In fact, I’m almost certain she used to despise me.

When did that change?

I press my mind, recalling memories from long ago.

‘BECAUSE you’re you…’

Because I have the potential to become the Wilted? Is that why LaMar hated me back then?

No. She hated me long, long before I ever knew about that.

The real reason she hates me is something pettier. Technically, there’s supposed to be one of each color watching over the coterie. Someday, it’ll be my job to replace the interim leader.

For now, the role is kept by Jobel, LaMar’s rose-colored boyfriend.

I remember the day Aiden told us. When we were still quite young. I remember the way LaMar looked at me afterwards. I remember the way her hatred was apparent with every dripping word, like poisoned nectar, up until the first time Aiden stole my memory.

Seriously, though, is that enough to attack me over?!

Whether or not it is, I know one thing to be true—when being attacked, the best course of action isn’t to run or to hide or to be forcefully shoved away in musty closets. When being attacked, the best course of action is to fight back.

And for a squishy, shortish being, I rather like fighting.

I don’t know what Sesha’s beef is, but it doesn’t matter. As she musters up a heaping of amber energy to take the place of LaMar’s diminishing light, I come at both of them, borrowing a helping of turquoise power through the lightstream connecting me to Kinley. He’s a strong one. I’m sure he can spare it.

They’ve got me cornered, but not for long.

I come at them with fists ablaze, so that they think I’m going to strike. They begin a defense, backing away while conjuring new light, but it won’t do a damn good. Unbeknownst to them, I don’t plan to ‘strike’ at all. I plan to set myself off in a bomb of light.

“ARRRRGH!”

With the cry of an animated warrior, I release the power—both that borrowed from Kinley and that of my own, and send both girls flying backwards against the wall with a satisfying thwack!

One last portrait that had survived their earlier tantrum drops to the ground to the left of Sesha.

Bullseye!

“Really, ladies, it’s rude to attack a person out of nowhere,” I say, dusting off my hands. “I mean, I guess if it’s some villain, but I don’t even have a moustache to twiddle.” I pantomime the motion. “Rude, rude, rude, especially when you haven’t even told me why you’re mad at me. Pretty passive aggressive, dontcha think?”

“We fight for the light, little peach,” Sesha purrs, clutching her sizzling body. “And we know you seek to steal it.”

Yeah, she said something to that effect back in Kinley’s apartment too, didn’t she? So Sesha’s motives differ from those of LaMar. Sesha is a purist. And I bet that time I saw her passed out in the treasure chamber, she wasn’t ‘testing out the Artifacts’ as Aiden suggested, either.

“You were trying to become the Wielder,” I say aloud.

Sesha doesn’t mean to answer me, but her face gives a tell. Her jaw quivers, slight but noticeable. Called it. If LaMar is in on the plot, though, she doesn’t show any sign. Instead, she’s busy muttering under her breath, in an attempt to extinguish the strings of turquoise that have latched on all around her.

With the pair preoccupied on their own wellbeing, I use what’s left of my strength to begin forming a hasty turquoise barrier to block them in at the end of the hall, closing them off from the rest of the coterie.

While LaMar can’t yet stand, Sesha’s in better shape. The amber Wielder wannabe anticipates what I’m up to, and she claws herself up the wall, before hob-gobbling over to the opposite side of the barrier and forcing her light against it while it forms.

But she’s too late. And too weak. Both of them will need time to recover before they’ll be able to break through.

“Sit in there and think about what you’ve done.” I give a cutesy wave. “Toodaloo, jackasses.”

I hurry through the pink haze yet streaming up from below and nearly trip over something. Not something. Someone.

“Kinley?!”

I drop to the ground over my fallen second ward. His eyes are closed, his hair mussed, and his skin smoking amber. Apparently he didn’t fare so well against the pair of missus. Crap. Does that mean I was drawing light from him while he was unconscious?! That makes me a very bad waker, not to mention a very bad girlfriend.

Kinley’s glasses are off his face, several feet away. I can only surmise that he was blasted against the wall.

Quickly, I move to return the light I stole, forcing turquoise power back through the lightstream, into his wrist, and up his veins. The motion lights his skin palely blue, quashing the amber smoke rolling off his skin. After a helping of seconds, his eyes snap open, effervescently turquoise.

“Kindler!”

I smother him before he can take a breath. He struggles to sift through my hair, afore reaching fresh air, where he begins to heave. “You’re-squashing-me-B!” he manages.

I don’t care. I give him two more nuzzles for good measure before releasing him.

“That’s what you get for siding with Aiden and helping lock me in a closet! But I can take care of myself, you know. I bested those two morons back there, both of whom are my elders.”

“They were the ones from the forest,” Kinley pants, rising up from the ground.

I nod. “I thought LaMar was my friend too. Well, Bexley the Second and Third did, anyway.”

“Bexley the Third?” Kinley isn’t privy to my nomenclature.

Too much to explain right now. I take his hand and pull him away from the turquoise barrier. I aim to take him downstairs, to find Aiden and figure out the source of the lighted haze, which hasn’t lifted at all, by the way.

But when I try to go that way, Kinley protests, instead leading me furtively down another back hallway. He’s in stealth mode, apparently.

“You said LaMar, right?” he says.

“Mmhmm. Jobel’s ladyfriend. After I lost my memory the first time, she buddied up with me. I guess it was all a ploy or something. Shame. I thought we were friends.”

For the first time since the attack, an emotion strikes me at the corner of my eye. Not ME, me. But Bexley the Second, mostly. She and LaMar were close. WE were close. When I tap into that part of me, I can’t help thinking that what just happened back there wasn’t real. That there’s been a misunderstanding. That I don’t know the full story.

Maybe I don’t. But there isn’t time now.

I wipe the distracting droplet of emotion from the corner of my eye and continue, “I don’t think LaMar cares all that much about the Wilted or the Wielder, but I know for a fact that she doesn’t want me interfering with Jobel’s spot as coterie leader. She’s ultra territorial when it comes to him.”

“That must be why she summoned me.”

I halt in the middle of the dusky pink hallway. “Say what?”

Kinley glances nervously over his should back the way we came. “LaMar was the one that weakened the portal in the woods from this side, so that I could finish the job from the mortal realm.” Anxious, he tugs me further down the hall.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what do you mean?” I say.

He shrugs. “She reached out to me because she wanted that portal reopened, but she couldn’t do it alone, and she couldn’t ask any of the other colors to lift their spells. So she asked someone from the other side to do what they could to break through it.”

“She ‘asked someone from the other side’? What the erff does that mean?”

“I mean that she used a talking board to connect to Nocturne, and I’m the one that picked up the signal,” says Kinley.

I’m not following. Am I dumb? Have I become dumb? “Okay, forgive me here,” I say, “but ‘talking board’?”

“Ouija board.”

That rings a bell.

Didn’t Pidd say something once about seeing LaMar with a Ouija board? Not that I’d been paying him any attention at the time. I had more important things on my mind. The breaking of my psyche, for one.

“Wow, didn’t know that was possible,” I say, “tapping into Nocturne via wooden board. Why would LaMar want to open the portal, anyway?”

Again, he shrugs, reminiscent of my first ward. “I didn’t ask for details. After all, opening the portal was in my best interest too. I agreed, as long as she promised to do me a solid, in exchange.”

We reach the end of this hall and Kinley begins tapping at the wall. It thuds dully in response.

“What was the deal you made?” I say.

Kinley turns away from his tapping to place the intensity of his emerald gaze directly onto mine. “IF Bexley Lightborne ever returned to the coterie, my contact was to give you a slip of paper, instructing you to meet me at a predetermined location. Disappointingly, she refrained from telling me that you were already FLIPPING there.” He returns to rapping his knuckles against the wall.

Geesh. So much finagling my dark prince accomplished in my absence.

Overcome with sticky, sappy emotions, I wrap my arms around him from behind, and he stiffens.

‘It’s you and me, remember? Even if the world burns, it will always be you and me.’

Normally, this is what I’d say to him in a situation like this.

But for whatever reason, my mouth refuses.

Because something is different. Because my throat is thicker than usual. Because even when I was her, I never fully came face-to-face with Bexley the First’s true motives.

But I think I’m starting to.

At the time, I believed I was being altruistic when Kinley and I devised our grand plan to save the races, but… looking back, I’m not so sure that’s true. Our mantra is proof: ‘Even if the world burns…’

To me, to the OLD me, more important than showing the lightborne the truth, more important than saving the tree, more important that humanity’s continued existence was…

The moonlit conspiring. The mentality of two versus all.

Our mission was ours and ours alone. It consumed us.

And when Kinley fell deeper and darker than either of us planned, Bexley the First liked it. The taste of his darkness was good. It felt wrong in the best way, in the pit of my stomach.

Because I am, and have always been, a glutton.

I realize this now, because I’ve experienced another existence: Devotion.

To Aiden.

As well as to Pidd.

My mouth refuses to repeat the promise made long ago to Kinley beneath the mortal moon, because there have been other promises made since then. Promises made by my other selves.

‘I’ll keep you safe until you can keep yourself safe.’

As it turns out, the bond of being both ward and waker is something powerful. Enough to make me contemplative—of all things.

In all honesty, can I still say that it’s Kinley and me only? That nothing else matters?

I hate to admit it, but I’ve been missing a certain little asshole. I got used to having him over my shoulder, challenging my every word, fighting back with nugget-like resolve. My wrist feels hollow without his bond there.

And… he isn’t the only one eating away at my thoughts.

In the last half-hour, I’ve checked my other wrist a dozen times to be sure that Aiden’s lightstream is still there.

It’s Kinley and me, sure, but it’s others too.

It’s Pidd.

It’s Aiden.

It’s LaMar.

…No, that bond was a lie.

In the center of my chest my heart winces. It’s confusing, putting oneself back together after being absent so long. Like a puzzle, where half of the pieces are soggy and bent. But I’ll do it, because I have to, and because I’m small in the grand scheme of things.

Is this what they call an epiphany?

Instead of the promise I’d usually recite, I say something new into the back of Kinley’s shirt:

“My most important person.”

Most important. That works. That is the truth.

I’ve just barely made peace with what version of myself I want to be, when Kinley’s fist finally finds what it’s been looking for. The wall, which has always been a normal wall ever since I can remember, lights blue, starting at the point where Kinley’s knuckles have just made contact, and continuing outwards in rippling waves.

“Found it,” he gloats.

Afterwards, the wall begins to slide.

><

“There’s a passage here?!”

It’s a stupid thing to question, being that we’re currently racing through said passage.

“I found it the night you and the kid tried to dispose of me,” Kinley says.

“Oh that.”

“Don’t ‘OH THAT’! If I’d tried to distinguish your light, I’d never hear the end of it!”

Ignoring.

“Where does this lead to anyway?” I ask.

Kinley makes a sound like a deflated balloon. “The reception chamber. We’re getting out of here.”

My feet plant themselves, and Kinley, who’s been pulling at my arm, sustains a small amount of whiplash. “But what about the rose glow?” I blub.

“That’s exactly why we’re getting out of here. Aiden said it’s dangerous. He told me they’d be coming for you.”

“Hence the closet.” It’s probably for the best that he can’t fully see my face through the stiff darkness of the passage. It’s an ugly one. “So, what? The whole coterie’s suddenly turned against me?”

“No idea. All I know is that Aiden was worried about it enough to leave you in my care—which means it’s something serious.”

He has a point.

“Is that everything?” I say.

Kinley is quiet.

“Kinley?”

“There is one more thing.”

22

The Wielder

I leave Kinley in the dark, as I race away, faster than humanly possible, propelling my movement with blasts of turquoise. He objects, racing after me through the dark, but I won’t be swayed.

His ‘one more thing’ was a big thing. It was a game-changer.

I need to get to the first floor of the coterie. Need to, need to, need to. Before it’s too late. Apparently, I’m not the only one the nameless, faceless ‘they’ are after. ‘They’ are also after Pidd.

And while he’s as stony an asshole as they come, I can’t let that happen.

“I can’t believe my ward is in the coterie and neither you nor Aiden bothered to tell me!” I reprimand over my shoulder at lagging Kinley—lagging because I’m stealing as much of his power as I want to fuel my bursts of speed.

Downfall of pissing off one’s waker.

“Aiden said he’d take care of it!” Kinley calls. “All I care about is getting you out of here safely! Aiden said they are after both of you, so who do you think I’m going to save?”

Enough with the ‘they.’ Who, exactly, are ‘they’? Sesha and LaMar are part of ‘them,’ but who else? Is it the entire coterie, or just a faction? And what’s happened to set them off after me and Pidd, all of a sudden? Last time I checked, none of them even knew what the Wilted and Wielder were—they were all still searching for the feínne, the big torch, said to seal all entry to the mortal world from Nocturne.

It doesn’t matter. What matters is that when Aiden said he’d ‘hidden’ Pidd—he really meant he’d locked him away somewhere in the coterie. Pidd: our waker-ward bond might be severed, but that protective instinct remains.

I will save him.

With Kinley’s shouts of protests resounding over my shoulder like a dull, annoying pain, I tear up through the passage, feet barely touching the floor. Down through the furtive corridor, I retrace our steps. Into the common balcony area, past the side hallway still glowing blue from my barrier, and to the top of the spiraling staircase. I start the corkscrewing descent, swimming through the pink haze, past the other confused coterie members.

That answers that question. It isn’t the whole coterie, but a faction. Good, factions are more manageable, I assume.

Torr—token loudmouth—blurts my name as I pass:

“Bexley?! Are you responsible for this?”

No, I’m not responsible, you dumbass. Do you think that I, a turquoise, have the potential to explode the coterie in ROSE-colored light? I ignore him and the other mouth-gapers as I speed down floors five, four, three, two—

The glow thickens the deeper into the coterie I travel.

And then it’s gone.

As I come to the bottom of the grand staircase, I breach the layer of pink. The glow was a barrier itself, rising to blind and fend off the upper levels of the coterie. Shroud-like, the layer hovers at ceiling-level over the first floor.

Below, the air is clear, devoid of rose influence. My hair falls to my shoulders, where it belongs. I don’t bother smoothing it out. Based on the scene before me, I have a feeling things are going to get even messier from here on out. In fact—

I remove the spare binder from my wrist and wrap it around a heaping of hair.

There. Wang-twang mode commenced!

By this time, Kinley, disheveled as all heck, has reached the lower floor. When he lays eyes on the room, he swears under his breath.

I agree. The meeting hall, usually white, pristine and ceremonial—and adorned with pompous golden ornamentation that’s totally pointless—is a different sight today. Like the warzone of a paintball fight, splashes of lavender, amber, and rose stain the slick floor and walls.

“There was a battle here,” I observe—rather obviously.

With a nod, Kinley pushes himself in front of me, knight-like. “Where did they go?”

There isn’t a trace of movement, aside from us. I strain my ears.

“Ugh. I can’t hear them. If only the coterie weren’t so massive!” I say.

“Bexley.”

“Hm?”

With a sigh, Kinley puts his hand to his forehead. “You know there are other ways to track them down, right?”

“Other ways…?”

Kinley wiggles his wrist. “Airhead.”

“Oh yeah!”

Of course. With a shameful, toothy smile, I put my fingers to my opposite wrist, sensing through the mixed chain. It isn’t as accurate as when a waker seeks out their ward, but it is possible for a ward to feel a waker’s presence.

Aiden… Aiden… Aidennnn. I concentrate on his aura, sensing through the lightstream until—

“Outside! They went outside!”

With that, I trot to the grand doors separating our coterie from the twilit world of Yggdress.

The other side is a sight even more shocking than the first.

With a backdrop of color-stained hedging, the courtyard is frenzied, overtaken by a flurry of people shooting bursts of light at one another. In the mix of chaos I see Cello, primary rose leader—a pretty girl with red hair; Jobel, secondary rose leader; Kray, short woman who is lavender leader; and Aiden, encompassed in a funnel of amber light.

The four leaders aren’t the only ones, though. Also present is a gaggle of rose-colored adolescents, surly teenager Nekt included. Ugh. I hate that guy.

Before I can make sense of what’s happening, swarms of rose light from various parts of the courtyard come whizzing at Kinley and me.

The ones from the left are combatted by a burst of amber from Aiden’s direction. The ones on the right are taken care of by yours truly. Unable to amass a large helping of light so quickly, I pelt the oncoming attacks with a few puny darts of turquoise. It isn’t enough to dispose of the rose attacks completely, but it is enough to divert them back enough so that I can leap out of the way. Meanwhile, Kinley uses the borrowed time to swell up a spell powerful enough to squash the remaining lashes of rose. After, I take the bottom of his shirt and yank him around the side of a marble statue.

I peek around the side of the figure—which turns out to be a naked man—and wince. I’m right at eyelevel of the statue’s… ahem. I give it a poke. How realistic! Kinley grumbles in my ear and pushes my hand down, before firing off a barrage of turquoise to cut off an impending sweep of rose.

It’s hard to tell who is against whom out there, but I’d say the roses, for one, are our enemies.

Well, maybe not all of them.

Aiden appears to be siding with lovely, rosy Cello, while the rest of the roses back up Jobel. A coterie divided? I dart from this statue to another—this time a marble tree, the top of which has been stained lavender.

Speaking of lavender, Kray also appears to be siding with Aiden to fight off Jobel and the gaggle of roses.

For the record, the formerly unnamed ‘they’ appear to be comprised of Jobel, Sesha, LaMar, Nekt, and a half-dozen other young roses. It’s a good thing Sesha and LaMar are still back in the coterie—hopefully where I left them. Aiden and the two female leaders are outnumbered enough as it is. Shielding myself with a bombardment of turquoise enchants, I rush from the statue of the tree, around the backside of a row of hedge that has a few tufts sticking oddly out of the top, and make my way in the direction of Aiden. Kinley trails behind, covering me with a second line of defense.

Once this is all over, I fully intend to get the whole story from my waker. For now, though—

“Aiden! Where’s Pidd?” I rush up beside him, commanding a swirling circle of turquoise around my middle. The spell does as planned. A rogue arrow of rose comes rushing at me and is eaten up by the blue light circling around me.

“You can’t do one thing right, can you!?” Aiden scolds, not at me, but over my shoulder to my dark prince who’s sporting a warrior’s scowl.

“YEAH? You think it’s so easy to stop this one?” Kinley lashes back.

Guys, I’m right here.

“Look, I don’t know if you’ve forgotten how this works, but I don’t need to be ‘saved’ by either of you. I’m no damsel.” To prove the point, I stomp out a wave of light, directed at the rose lightborne cluster, which has started to spread out. Cello appears to be fighting them with words, more so than magick. They, in turn, avoid her with their attacks, going right for those of us not of rose descent. I get it. They still have respect for her, and she’s using her position as rose leader to implore them to switch over to her side.

Unfortunately, these roses have already elected Jobel as their leader. Any others that might listen to Cello are back in the coterie, fearful of the lighted haze.

Wusses.

“Now,” I turn to Aiden. “What’s going on? Where’s Pidd? And why’s that rose light hovering in the coterie? Everyone else appears to be scared of it.”

“They aren’t scared of it,” Aiden corrects. “They can’t cross it.”

“What do you mean they can’t cross it? We got through just fine,” I say, sending out a zip of turquoise.

“Only because you were let through,” says Aiden, sending out a similar zip, only his is much denser.

“By whom?”

“The one who cast it—the Wielder.”

“You mean one of these people out here is the Wielder?!”

Aiden nods. “Although I don’t know which.”

With newfound understanding, I look through the darting array of rose lightborne. One of them is the Wielder? Bet it’s that dick, Nekt.

“If that’s the case,” I say, “then you know what needs to be done.”

Resoundingly, Aiden answers, “No.”

“Yes, Aiden! The Wielder is here to prevent the tree from moving. He or she will do anything in their power to keep it where it is. And if they know that Pidd and I have the potential to handle the Wilted’s glove, then their top priority will be to kill us. Let me become the Wilted. Let me do what’s needed! There’s the portal just beyond the tree line. I can pop over, find a darkling, and infuse with the dark. It’s the only way we’ll win! In the meantime, Kinley, you should go retrieve the Wilted’s glove from the Artifact cha—”

“NO.” This time, Aiden is more than resounding—he’s ferocious. “You will never corrupt yourself to become that thing. I forbid it.”

Forbid it, does he?

“I don’t think I need your permission, Aiden,” I say through my teeth. I take out my aggression on a rose teen that’s gotten too close. Meanwhile, Kray and Kinley are focusing their efforts on taking down Jobel.

“It doesn’t matter what you think. I’ll do whatever is in my power to save you from yourself, my joy.” He steals a glance away from the battle, and his amber eyes harbor something unfamiliar.

Fear?

“Ugh. It’s not that big of a deal, Aiden! Kinley became a sullen and he was the same person he’s always been. I won’t be able to freely enter Yggdress anymore, sure, but it’s not like I’ll be dead or anything. And if you were able to expunge the darkness from Kinley on accident using that blade back in his apartment, then maybe you can intentionally do the same for me once the tree is moved.” I revert to childish rebellion status. “I don’t get why you’re being so difficult about this whole thing!”

“It’s because you know nothing, Bex.”

In the midst of the battle, our argument wages. Or maybe it’s the other way around—in the midst of our argument, the battle wages. By now, four of the rose adolescents have fallen.

“Educate me,” I hiss.

“It’s because of your turquoise nature that I sought you out all of those years ago, my joy. No one else in our coterie would be so bold as to bond with a turquoise.” Aiden’s tone is subdued, even as he continues casting spells. “Do you know who my waker is, Bexley?”

No, he’s never admitted it to me. And a lightstream is only visible to those whom it connects—waker and ward.

Aiden doesn’t wait for me to answer. “My waker is a man named Erron.”

The revelation makes me drop my guard enough that a rose spell slips through our defense and grazes my arm. “Ah!” I clutch the wound, calling the concern of Kinley as he focuses his power alongside Kray’s. Aiden stands guard in front of me while I bid the gash to heal. I’ve exerted a massive amount of energy today. In trying to put out the rose light, I realize just how little I have left.

Aiden pulls me behind a fountain, out of sight of the others. “I was brought up knowing a different history than most lightborne,” he continues. “Which is why your scheming came as no surprise to me. It is because of your very inclination towards darkness—the nature bred into your veins—that I sought you out. I resolved long ago that moving the tree was the only option for the continued existence of our kind. Of course, there’s no way to know anything with absolute certainty, but it’s my faith that drives the decisions I’ve made. Just as yours has driven you.”

Faith, sure. Sounds better than lust, at any rate.

“I knew that only a turquoise had the potential to become the Wilted. And so I sought to raise you strong, in order to use your power when the time came.”

“Perfect. Looks like you accomplished what you planned. I’m hella strong, and rearing to—”

For a third time, Aiden refutes with a, “NO.”

Tch.

Aiden’s expression softens. “The longer you were in my care, the more I hoped you didn’t hold the potential. Not every turquoise could become the Wilted. According to Erron, there was only one. What were the chances that it was you? As the years passed, I hoped it wasn’t.”

“But there are two of us with the potential,” I say. “The Wilted’s glove responded to both Pidd and me.”

Aiden shakes his head. “No, the ability is yours and yours alone. But he shares in it now, because you’ve warded him. Apparently, anyone you ward inherits the potential from you, through your lightstream.” He tips his head in Kinley’s direction. “Even that one there could handle it now, I’d guess.”

Really? I think back on the first time I encountered Pidd.

“Not true,” I say, rising up now that my wound has filled with turquoise light, and readying a new attack. That pimple Nekt isn’t looking. He’ll serve as target. “Pidd could touch the glove before I ever warded him.”

“Mortals don’t succumb to the glove’s harm the way we lightborne do. Hand it off to any mortal walking the street and they would have no issue touching that or any Artifact, for that matter. We’ve uncovered mountains of treasure lying around at mortal-world yard sales. It is the magick awakened within our veins that either accepts or rejects the Artifacts.”

Oh. So that’s how it is.

I shoot the spell I’ve been nursing, in Nekt’s direction—a bullet of energy. Frustratingly, the scab anticipates, leaping out of the way just in time. I duck back down behind the fountain.

“Thanks to you, Pidd is no longer my ward, though,” I tell Aiden, frowning. “Does that mean he’s lost the potential?”

Aiden shakes his head. “He is still very much your ward.”

I look to my wrist missing one of two turquoise chains. “Then why can’t I feel him anymore?”

“Because, I’ve hidden him in a place your lightstream can’t reach. As soon as you know the truth, I assume you’ll want to run to him and spoil everything. For this reason, my joy, I can never let you find him.”

“What truth is that? You keep alluding to something, and it’s pissing me off. We don’t really have time to be beating around the literal bush, here, Aiden.” I motion to the row of hedging to either side of us.

Another spat of pink comes whizzing by, as if to prove my point.

Aiden rises, pulling me up alongside him. As we’ve been talking, the cyclone of amber twisting around him has been growing in mass. He’s been focusing his magick into growing it larger, taller, and now, with a great shout, he releases the full of it at Jobel, downing the rebellious rose leader, at last.

All that’s left is Nekt.

“Come at me, turkey!” he challenges, when he sees that my attention is set on him.

Gladly. I’ve been studying his movements.

First wiping the sweat from my brow, I bolt to the right. As expected, he counters, while leaping out of the way. Focused on his own spell, he doesn’t notice the line of light coming at him from the other direction—something I conjured minutes ago. It’s been lying in wait. I recall it now, with a snap of my fingers, as I’ve seen Aiden do so many times before. It works. I catch the weasel as he tries to dart away. With a satisfying—pop!—I land the hit I intended before. My light winds around him, forcefully taking him to the grass stained with all four colors.

I’m not sure that I’ve ever felt such a satisfying feeling.

Relishing the victory, it is now that I finally have a moment to recover my breath and survey the scene. Kray is also downed, hiding behind the statue of the chiseled man. She clutches at her side, attempting to fill the smoking parts with lavender light. On the other side of the courtyard, Cello remains intact. Rose cannot harm rose, and so the pain on her face is that of the emotional variety. There are less people out here than when we first entered. Looks like some of the rose teens defeated earlier have recovered, absconding back into the safety of the coterie. Kinley, my dark warrior, remains standing, though he looks worse for the wear. His glasses are nowhere in sight, and his shirt is torn in the places where singed by rose light.

We might be a ravaged crew, but we did it.

And I’m all gross.

Let me clarify: I am a moist human.

But that just proves that I pulled my weight.

I hurry to Kinley’s side, to help steady him. “Hey, B.” He gives me a weak smile that sets my chest in motion. I brush the hair from his forehead, before taking his cheeks in my hands.

“Have I told you lately how completely badass you are?” I say, grinning.

“You’re one to talk.” Battered and bruised, he looks at me through heavy lashes.

My chest thuds harder and hotter, and harder and hotter. I’m certain there’s fire inside of my blood, somehow. Oh my gawd, I want to kiss him.

Reallllly bad.

But I’m worried I might explode in another bomb of light, if I do. Abashed, I look away. Someday, I promise I’ll get over this awk-weird state I’m currently in. On that day, I’ll give my dark prince every bit of affection I can culminate.

For now, I’ll let it cultivate. Like a pearl.

A love pearl.

Heh.

Meanwhile, Aiden tends to Kray. But I won’t let the secretive leader off that easily.

“Tell me, Aiden,” I command. “Tell me what it is that you won’t say. Why won’t you let me become the Wilted? Why won’t you let me go to Pidd?”

But he won’t get the chance to confess quite yet.

Unbeknownst to the rest of us, someone has been watching. A presence so quiet, I didn’t even notice they were there.

I notice them now, for they have just stepped out from the twilit wood of perpetually shedding trees, donned from head to toe in rose-colored Artifact gear.

And they are clutching the ruby staff.

Of all the moments in my life, this might be one of the most unexpected. I know this person, but I’ve never paid them much mind. It occurs to me now that maybe they wanted it that way. That maybe their quiet presence was an intentional one.

As I stand face to face with the Wielder, I can think of only one thing to say:

“Meerkat?”

23

My Deepest Love

Ellie. Ellie is the Wielder.

…For real!?

But I’ve never thought of her as anything other than LaMar’s quiet, pink-haired sidekick!

Yet as she stands before us now, it’s apparent she’s something more. She’s celestial. Her body is wrapped in silky fabric that flutters around her ankles, though the air is still. It isn’t wind; it’s the resonance of her magick. I can feel it, trying to suppress my own magickal energy. My veins respond, thudding angrily in protest.

Ellie’s pink hair is pulled back from her pale face, framed in a metal headpiece decorated with parts that look to have come from the inside of a clock. Though I’ve never understood the point of all that mechanical gear before, I get now. Her power weaves along the metal of her accessories, winding around cog and gear, lighting her in pink glow.

They’re conduits, amplifying her power.

More important than any of that, though, is what she holds in her hand. The temperamental staff welcomes her touch, proving her the person responsible for the rose haze settled over the coterie. Also proving her to be my destined enemy.

With danger imminent, Aiden doesn’t hesitate to leave Kray’s side, instead rushing over to where I stand. He pushes me behind himself and begins to back us away slowly. Equally territorial is Kinley. His hands shake at the ready, as he looks sidelong at Aiden, anxious for a sign to act, his expression deadly-like.

Likewise, Ellie’s expression is one I’ve never seen her wear before, not even remotely. Her eyes flare with rose magick. Her mouth is stern. She is fair and frail, and at the same time, intensely governing.

Even so, I can’t think of her as real threat.

“Ellie?” I pop myself around Aiden, and give her a friendly little wave. “Well, this is great! If I’d have known it was you, I’d have come to you sooner!”

Eyes lit in eerie glow, Ellie says nothing.

“I’m relieved it’s you, actually.” I walk out from behind Aiden, but he hurries to push me back into place. “If I remember correctly, you’re a levelheaded one, arent’cha? If you just hear us out, I’m sure we can use our power to figure out a solut—”

Ellie’s glowing eyes sear, and the air instantly becomes charged with static anticipation, making me clamp off what I’m about to say. Uh-oh. Something bad is about to happen.

True to the air’s warning, the glowing girl plunges the ruby staff’s end into the grass and the whole of Yggdress responds by quaking. I’m thrown off my feet, along with Kinley and Aiden. Meanwhile, the limp bodies of Jobel, Nekt and the other fallen roses, fling into the air like ragdolls.

That’ll teach me to underestimate.

“CELLO! Get Kray inside, NOW!” With the gravity of the situation apparent, Aiden commands his allies to retreat. Cello gives him a determined nod before helping Kray totter away.

Surprisingly, Ellie lets them go. Her attention is centered solely on Aiden and me.

I paw my way up the side of a statue of an elephant, clutching its trunk for support, trying a second time to reason with the lighted being: “Ellie, seriously. You think you’re the good guy, but you’re actually the villain in this scenario. I know it’s not fair, as you weren’t even gifted with any sort of moustache to twiddle, but it isn’t too late to change all that. Well, not the moustache part, but the villain part. You see, the tree of light is actually dy—”

This time, the slamming of her staff makes the ground quake enough to disrupt the courtyard statues. A few pieces crack in half.

Holy cow. So she’s like, really, ultra strong.

Damn you, Aiden! If only you’d let me become the Wilted before now! I shoot him a silent scowl to let him know that he’s in deep shiz, but he isn’t looking at me. Instead, his eyes are fixated on the ruby staff.

“Bexley,” he says quietly. “I have something to tell you.” Then without a hint of explanation, he pulls himself to his feet, bows deeply to Ellie, and proclaims: “Great Wielder. We are ready to concede.”

“A-Aiden!?”

Like hell we are!

Kinley, too, starts a protest, throwing Aiden a glare crawling with homicidal intent. I’m on the same page. But it doesn’t last long. When Ellie opens her mouth—

“Where is the boy?”

—her voice isn’t any natural sort of voice; it’s a dozen voices layered over one another, channeled through this one petite girl.

‘That’s the epitome of freakiness!’

Yeah, Pidd would say something like that if he were here.

In the midst of this terrifying situation, my chest pinches. The minion’s had more of an effect on me than I ever expected. And Ellie is after him.

Left without an answer, the Wielder holds her ruby staff above the ground threateningly. “Where is the turquoise boy, Aiden?”

Eyes captive on the weapon, Aiden doesn’t hesitate this time: “He’s yours. Never liked him much anyway.”

He’s answered with my most menacing face.

LIKE. HELL.

He can’t be serious! After all that, he’s just going to GIVE Pidd to the enemy?!

Aiden doesn’t appear bothered by my face in the least, menacing though it may be. Calmly, he slides his gaze to Ellie’s before continuing: “I will give them both up, as long as you promise to henceforth protect our people from the darkness that eternally strives to bring us down.”

Oh.

I get it. He’s lying.

Aiden would never give me up like that. He covets me.

But if that’s the case, what’s he playing at?

“Of course we will protect you,” Ellie says, again speaking the voice of a multitude. “It is our sacred duty.”

Sacred, huh? So she takes this whole thing more seriously than I do. Are those her words? Or that staff’s? And if I become the Wilted, will I start spewing cheesy stuff like that, too?

I can’t really think of a worse candidate.

“I will tell you where I’ve hidden the boy,” Aiden continues, “but first I humbly ask that you allow me to say goodbye.” He places his smooth hand atop my head. “I’ve grown attached to this one.”

Ellie doesn’t blink or contemplate. “Three minutes,” she says diplomatically.

Meanwhile, Kinley has been silently fuming under his breath. He doesn’t know Aiden well enough to know how out of character this is. Little tufts of turquoise smoke keep popping out of the bottom of his feet.

I shake my head at him as microscopically as possible to let him in on the truth.

He doesn’t see it. There’s too much rage there, pulsing at the side of his temple.

Don’t do anything rash, my dark prince. Not until we know what’s going on.

Cautious, Aiden turns his back to Ellie. Then, before saying anything, he reaches out his arms and pulls me into his mane of hair. He smells like teakwood. I don’t know what a teakwood is, but the scent of it will forever be tied to him. As his gleaming strands fall all around us, reflecting the twilight magick of Yggdress, my waker lowers his voice and begins speaking rapidly into my ear.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen from here, but there’s a chance one or all of us won’t make it past the third minute. If that person’s me, I need your word, my joy, that you won’t become the Wilted.”

“Aiden, I—”

“I know you’ve been on this rebellious quest, but you need to admit that that’s all it was: rebellion. Deep down, it was more about the revolt than the act of salvation itself, wasn’t it?”

He knows me too well. I say nothing.

“The truth is heavier than you’re prepared to take on. The tree of light can’t just be moved, arbitrarily, Bex. The act is more meaningful than that. Great acts of power require equal sacrifice.” He pauses to breathe in my hair. “Uprooting Yggdrasil requires all the strength in a person’s body. Consequently, it will claim the life of whoever moves it, just as it took Feínne’s life. Once I knew the truth, I vowed that that life would never be yours.”

I don’t know if it’s possible, but I swear I feel my pulse stop for just a moment.

Is that true? I look up from Aiden’s chest to search his eyes. For once, they’re dull, but the way his eyebrows tip at the center of his forehead…

“A-Aiden?”

“Allowing you to become the Wilted would be to condemn you to your death,” he says with utmost sincerity. “And I would rather have you hate me than to let you die for something you don’t believe in.”

Again, he knows me well. I’m not eager to give up my life for the sake for the dying world, either. Because I am, and have always been, a glutton. At the shallowest part of me, the answer, of course, is to have someone else do it in my place.

But… that’s complicated. This wouldn’t be a nameless, faceless entity dying for a greater cause. It would be someone I care about.

…Care about? Really, Bexley? Blegh.

Pidd certainly isn’t the ‘altruistic’ type either. If it really comes down to it, and on the slightest chance that he’s willing, would I allow him to become the Wilted?

‘I’ll keep you safe until you can keep yourself safe.’

My throat clenches to stop the emotions down in my core from escaping.

Damn emotions.

If only I was a psychopath or something, the decision would be easy. But I’m Pidd’s waker, and that comes with a whole slew of new emotions.

That deep-rooted protectiveness—how deep does it run? Would I actually die for Pidd? I don’t love him. But my feelings for him are strong, influenced by an otherworldly bond bestowed by the Maker.

Aw hell. Now what?

Our three minutes are up. Ellie lets us know with a stomping of her staff—miniature compared to the others that she subjected us to.

Aiden isn’t ready to let go, though. “Of all my wards, you are most precious to me,” he whispers into my hair. “You are unique. Amongst butterflies, you are a mantis.”

Well, that doesn’t sound too great.

But to Aiden, it’s a compliment. Tipping his head, he places his mouth to my lips with a kiss that feels ancient and royal. I hold my breath. Afterwards, my lips tingle with amber power. “You hold my deepest love, Bex.”

“I…” The words are caught up, because those emotions are threatening to release again. This time, though, I can’t stop them. Aiden is blurred through the moisture of my eyes. “Aiden?”

Every instinct within me clamors for me to shout. Something is about to happen and I don’t know how to stop it.

I’m weak.

Small.

Squishy.

Ellie threatens us again, this time with a bigger ripple through the earth. Aiden catches me and steadies me, squeezing my forearms. “When I turn around, take your darkling and run,” he instructs. “I’ve stowed Pidd in a place devoid of magick. This is only a stalling measure. She will be back, and she will come for you. When that happens, don’t let it be you. You may go reclaim him, but please don’t die for him.”

Aiden, no!

I want to shout but my tongue is frozen.

“Goodbye, my princess.”

“AIDEN, NO!”

This time I manage the words. I reach after my waker as he dashes straight towards Ellie, his eyes firmly planted on the ruby staff. Amber light streams out of him from every angle until he’s almost too bright to look at. I’ve always thought he resembled an angel, but now, glowing all over in ancient, mystic amber, my beautiful waker is more angelic than ever before.

I don’t see what happens next, as Kinley takes my shoulders and spins me around, hurling me towards the doors of the coterie, but I see the explosion of light—amber and rose—and I feel the quaking of Yggdress, greater than ever before.

And afterwards, when we’re back in the meeting chamber, the rose haze is gone.

It isn’t the only thing.

For the first time since I was five, the mixed chain connecting me to Aiden is gone.

24

Finding the Nugget

Death.

Sudden. Definite.

Irreversible.

I’ve only felt, smelt, tasted the effects of death one other time.

It isn’t any easier the second.

I slump to the ground, broken.

It hurts.

All over inside, the hurt is throbbing. I want to go back outside, but I’m afraid of what I might find. The wrist that’s always connected me to Aiden is unnaturally bare. I hug it into myself and squeeze, to cut off the feelings.

Kinley doesn’t say anything. He just takes me in his arms, trundling me up.

Trundle-bundle.

In the corner of the room, a dying fire fights for life. It produces enough light to cast our shadows long against the floor.

How strange that even here, shadows endure.

Other than our shadows, the room is empty in the most offsetting of ways. It feels like a deserted mall or parking lot—vacant to an unnatural extent. The kind of vacancy that makes you aware of your body’s outline, in spatial relation to the rest of the world.

If I had to guess, I’d say the others escaped to the mortal world once the tremors started; if not through the reception room, through some other crack in space.

I’m sure they’ll return, little by little.

Before that, though, I’ll bask in the solitude of the space. If I push long and hard enough, I might be able to expel the ache from my center.

…

Time passes.

…

And then some more.

…

“B?” Kinley’s jade eyes are plagued. “I’m going to go check outside, okay?”

I don’t know what to say back.

How much time has passed? A long time, clamped in his arms. But still not enough.

“I’ll be right back,” he promises, releasing me gently, as if releasing a paper lantern into the sky. I float away from him, like one those lanterns, though I don’t actually leave the ground.

And then, he disappears to the outside of Yggdress.

A place forever now marked with destruction and death.

Death.

Death.

Death.

I force myself to stand. I can’t think of anything. But I have to think of something, or the hurt will force its way in. Deliberately, confusedly, I spin around, staring up at the spiraling floors above.

There’s no sign of life anywhere, but somewhere, Pidd is being held.

Pidd.

Pidd.

Pidd.

Pidd is what I’ll think about.

I walk three steps and then stop to double over, releasing a new outpouring of tears. I clutch my stomach because I can’t bear it. I’m not built for these emotions.

This sucks.

This is the worst.

This is incomprehensible.

So I tell my mind it isn’t real.

Aiden isn’t really dead. Kinley’s out there right now. He’ll find my waker, knocked out, or something, and he’ll bring him back. The Wielder did something to our bond. That’s why the chain is gone.

That wasn’t the last time he’ll ever call me his joy.

But deep down, a wiser part of me knows the truth.

So I force my mind to concentrate again on Pidd. Aiden said he was here somewhere, in a place devoid of magick. I’m spinning, looking to the ceiling for guidance. But the ceiling has no soul, and I don’t know of anywhere in the light realm devoid of magick.

Aimless, I begin to wander.

The clatter of my shoes against the ground echoes even more furiously than usual. Each tap pushes against my brain. Tap, tap, TAP.

Make it stop.

I lean against a door, marked with a brass frame and locked by a turning, cranking contraption. Oh. This place. Halfheartedly, I draw power into my right hand through the ball of light on my ear—the ball that’s nearly diminished. Then, I spread my palm and fingers flush against the center of the door, where lies a divot.

Power pulses from my palm and into the door, subconsciously. The door eats it up, lighting turquoise once full, and the cranking contraption begins to act. The turning of gears signifies the subsiding of heavy bolts put in place to protect the coterie’s treasure.

The first thing I notice: The place has been ransacked.

The second thing I notice: The Wilted’s glove is nowhere to be found.

I turn to leave, but stop as the air pricks my neck.

In the corner of the room stands a sarcophagus, painted to look like a sphinx. The air around the thing feels devoid of life. I usually try to avoid it.

But… distantly… I sense something tugging at my wrist, and I know I have to turn back.

Listless, I float to the eerie artifact and draw a turquoise cross over the front of it with my remaining power. Why? I don’t know. I just do it. And for whatever reason, it warrants a response.

While I look on in a diluted state, the door of the sarcophagus swings forward and out falls a baby-faced baby lightborne, wearing a three-fingered glove.

My heart, which has lain dead in my chest, gives a jolt. My lungs, formerly stale, give a great heave. A zap of energy strikes me, from my toes to my head, as the turquoise chain reappears around my wrist, sliding in place beside Kinley’s.

“Pidd!”

I’m unthawed. Or thawed. However you prefer to say it.

I touch my fingertips to the unconscious boy’s temple and feed him what I can of my light, though there isn’t much left.

Hungrily, he absorbs the light and the Wilted’s glove lights up in acceptance. A bated second passes, and eventually, his lashes begin to flutter.

That’s right. They flutter.

“What the hell?!”—the first words out of his mouth. He lurches up, smacking his forehead against my face. And then: “Bexley?”

He blinks at me three times before I manage to say his name in return: “Piddlywink.”

But the word is drowned out by a loud, obnoxious sobbing sound.

Oh. It’s coming from me.

Pidd doesn’t know what’s happened, and to him, I’ve just thrown myself onto him for no good reason. He protests, saying something about how I’m suffocating his insides, but it doesn’t matter.

This moment feels a little better than the past few moments.

After I’ve had a good cry, staining Pidd in salty, sloppish tears, I let out a sigh and fall back on my wrists, while Pidd cracks his neck. “What the crank happened in this place? And…” He looks up over his shoulder. “What the cripes is that thing for?” I see the shudder as it travels up his body.

Heh.

I put up a matter-of-fact finger. “That, my naïve ward, is a sarcophagus.”

“I KNOW WHAT IT’S CALLED!” he jabs, truculent. “WHAT I MEAN IS WHAT IS IT DOING HERE?”

“You really should say what you mean, Pidd.”

He releases a guttural growl in response.

Yes, that feels better. Bantering with him takes my mind off of the truth of what’s happened.

I let out an exhale longer than any I’ve done before and then I lean forward, placing my hands on his shoulders. He stiffens, looking foully down at where my hands are settled.

“You’re acting crazy weird,” he mutters. “I mean, you’re always weird, but today you’re really hitting it out of the park.

At that moment, a set of footsteps approaches down the hall, followed by a frantic—“Bexley?”

“In here, Kindler,” I call.

My dark prince finds us on the floor of the catastrophic treasure room. His eyebrow twitches when he lays sight on the minion.

In unison, my two wards speak of each other: “Oh, you’re alive?” Before they both fold their arms out of irritation.

I can’t help snorting. They’re more alike than they know.

But then…

Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

The word resonates, demanding my focus.

I wince, before searching Kinley’s face for an answer. What did he find in the courtyard? I already know the answer, but I need to hear it formulated into a tangible sentence. Something possible to swallow.

Delicately, as if plucking an eyelash from a cheek, he delivers: “They’re both gone.”

“Like… they both exploded into little fleshy bits?” I ask, cringing.

Pidd wrinkles his nose. “Nasty, Bexley.”

Kinley shakes his head and corrects: “There’s no trace of either of them. It’s like they both vanished.”

In that moment, the world seems to pause. The air around us is still, but it’s an alive stillness—as if the air is clashing against itself so ferociously that it has no choice but to cancel itself out.

It’s going to be okay. I know that Aiden’s probably dead… but I don’t know for sure. And there are a whole lot of other things I don’t know either. I don’t which of us is going to become the Wilted. I don’t know which of us is going die for the sake of the worlds. I don’t know how to move the tree or to defeat the Wielder.

But I know it’s going to be okay.

At least for now.

I hold my wrist before my face, now ignited with two searing chains of turquoise light. I tuck the other wrist away. It aches the sort of ache that can only be eased, in my experience, by one thing:

“Let’s go for bubble tea.”

The Bexley Chronicles, Act 1: END

Thank you for reading Lightborne!

If you liked this book, please write a review and tell a friend!

If you enjoyed the style of this book, you may also enjoy The Pursuit of Zillow Stone, The Death & Romancing of Marley Craw, or Heart of Farellah, also by Brindi Quinn!

Find out what comes next!

Nightborne, sequel to Lightborne, available now!

About the Author:

Never without a pencil close by, Brindi began her writing career straight out of college in 2011. Since then she has written over a dozen young adult novels, beginning with her debut epic fantasy series, Heart of Farellah. Brindi considers herself an avid fangirl, indulging heavily (when she can) in video games, anime, and good sci-fi TV.

Brindi loves connecting with other readers and writers on social media. Follow her at:

Twitter: @Brindiful

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Website: Brindiful.com

Cover artist: Facebook.com/VictoriaCooperArt