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A person trudges under the shade of a big tree at the edge of the park, an oversized hoodie covering their body. “Here is alright?” they sigh.
“It would be better under the sun, but here is a big step,” their nurse nods.
Halfway across the park, a woman leans toward a taller black-haired man. “Do you think she can do it?”
“I have never seen her being that specific, but I believe she can figure it out,” he breathes out.
A wavy, shoulder-length, brown haired woman occupies a chair with her eyes closed. She tilts her head away from the pair behind her, her left side leaning forward, and turns off her right hearing aid. The black-haired man brings an index finger to his lip, keeping his dark eyes on the seated woman.
The brown-haired woman tilts her head to the other side, waits a few seconds, and leans her left side forward again. She lifts her left hand at chest-height and angles it to a certain degree.
<Five to fifteen meters,> the brown-haired woman signs with her wrist-braced right hand.
The black haired man nudges the woman next to him with his elbow, inhales deeply, and exhales through his mouth a blueish white aura that takes a bow form within his hands. He draws the bow, an arrow forming in his left hand from the bow’s aura, angles it with his eyes on the brown-haired woman’s left hand, and infuses more aura on the arrow. He exhales and shoots it.
The arrow-shaped aura flies in a curve, the aura from the bow making a wake after the arrow until the black-haired man’s hands empty. The arrow lands at the center of the range given by the brown-haired woman in the direction her hand pointed at, and the aura disperses within a 10-meter radius.
The black-haired man lowers his hands, still holding an invisible bow, and watches his aura dissolve at the radius’ limit. “Clau?” he whispers.
The brown-haired woman lifts her head, turning it further to the right. The woman next to the black-haired man attempts a step and he cuts her path, intent in the seated woman.
“It vanished,” Clau announces.
The black-haired man exhales, his arms relaxing, and the woman next to him brings a hand to her chest, looking at the team mingling with the people enjoying the park on that sunny day; one of them raises a thumbs up.
“Terrific,” the woman whispers.
“Nik?” Clau calls.
The black-haired man stands next to her in two heartbeats, handing her an unfolded cane. She takes it with her right hand, helping herself up; Nik folds the chair she used while she looks ahead.
At the edge of the park, a teenager girl takes her hoodie off and ties its arms around her waist. “Would you mind walking with me?”
The nurse watches her with the mouth agape, “Definitely!” and closes the book in their hands. “Can we do it under the sun for a bit?”
“But we’re going under the shade as soon as it starts hurting me,” the girl points at them, waiting for them to stand.
“Sure!” The nurse raises their hands and puts the book in their bag. “Please tell me as well when you start to feel tired so we take a break.”
“Deal.”
The nurse and the teenager walk past Clau and Nik; Clau smiles at the thunk of her cane, glancing at Nik’s hand taking hers to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of her hand.
“Well done,” he smiles at her; she sighs. He smirks, “Bubble tea?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Why not an amaretto coffee?”
He chuckles, shakes his head, and throws his hair back with his free hand.
“If I did such a good job, why am I getting a bubble tea when I could be getting an amaretto coffee is all I’m saying…” Clau shrugs.
“I know how hard it is to be reunited like this for the first time without our late Chief Dachs. He left us so young. Please, let me start today's meeting by giving you my most sincere condolences, Mister and Missus Dachs,” the lawyer bows to the couple at one end of the table, turning to the other, “Miss Larrson-”
Saga raises her hand just above the table; the lawyer stops halfway, raising their eyebrows, and nods in her direction. “Chief Larrson,” she corrects them. “Missus Larrson.”
“I beg your pardon?” Missus Dachs looks at her.
Saga lowers her eyes to the table, resting her hands on her belly. “Even if Jev-” she inhales, exhaling a quivering breath, “-were still with us, it would be time for the House to change families.”
“Excuse me?” Missus Dachs insists.
Saga parts and closes her lips a few times, wetting and pressing them together. She turns to the lawyer. “Is it possible to change possession of the House today as well?”
“Look at me, missy, when I talk to you!” Missus Dachs hits the table with an open hand.
Saga closes her eyes, leaning her head away from the missus, and locks her honeyed eyes on the lawyer again.
They look from one woman to the other, grimacing. “Hm,” their eyes rest in Saga. “We would need proof of your marriage, Miss-” Saga raises an eyebrow and they clear their throat, coughing. “-us Larrson.”
“You can’t be for real!” Missus Dachs hits the table a second time, propelling herself up.
“Missus-”
“You can’t be considering this child’s words!”
Saga inhales with her eyes closed. “Jev and I got married the night he turned eighteen.” Those present in the room intake a breath. “I am with his child.” Saga rubs a hand in her belly and turns her head, looking at Missus Dachs. “So you will have to defer to me with respect, Missus Dachs, as I am no longer a child myself.”
“What is this bullshit?!” Missus Dachs trembles, falling back to her seat. “If she is indeed with child,” she faces Saga with a sneer, “there is no proof that is of my son.”
Saga gasps and tears well in her eyes. “I thought you loved me,” she whispers.
“I loved my son!” Missus Dachs cries out, doubling over herself.
Saga’s tears slide down her cheeks. “I loved him too! And he left me, too! He left me all alone! He left me alone with his son!” her voice breaks.
“You killed my son!”
“He-” Saga sniffles. “He… died… protecting us.”
Missus Dachs hits the table a third time and Saga jumps. “Don’t take a higher position than the one competing your station, missy.” Missus Dachs gets up, her makeup smudged. “We got you as a decoration for our son so he would keep up as he should.”
Saga places her hands on the table, leaning forward. “How did that worked out for you?” she hisses.
Missus Dachs scowls and leaps toward her but Mister Dachs catches her midway, returning her to the floor behind the seats. “That’s enough, Irma. You have more than crossed the line. If you keep this up, we won’t even be given the opportunity to meet Jev’s kid.”
“So you believe her?” Missus Dachs turns to him.
“I’m so sorry to have to say this, Missus Larrson, but…” Saga looks at the lawyer. “Unless we have some proof that he’s the father, we can’t grant you the House.”
An agent in a black uniform enters the room with a suitcase he leaves in front of the lawyer. “The will,” he informs, taking a resting position behind Saga.
She turns to look at him for a second.
The lawyer approaches the suitcase and passes his phone over the biometric scan. They gasp and sigh, turning the suitcase around. Missus Dachs approaches the table, taking her black gloves off; Mister Dachs holding her elbow. But the lawyer slides the suitcase toward Saga. They all gasp.
Saga looks up at the lawyer. “M-Me?”
They smile at her. “It was our late Chief’s wish.”
Saga sniffles, takes her left black glove off, and presses her index finger on the scan. It clicks and opens; Saga’s not the only one who sobs.
The lawyer retrieves the suitcase and takes the first set of papers; they cough. “The government approved a marriage certificate between Jev Dachs, afterwards known as Jev Larrson, and Saga Larrson.”
They leave it to the side and Missus Dachs stretches over the table to take it.
The lawyer glances at her, taking a second set. “‘The alleged father, Jev Larrson,’” they read, recovering Missus and Mister Dachs’ attentions. “‘cannot be excluded as the biological father of the tested child. Based on the analysis, the probability of paternity is-’” they look at the couple, “‘-ninety nine dot nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine percent.’”
Missus Dachs sobs, falling on her seat a second time.
“As to which,” the lawyer continues, “House Dachs passes to the Larrson family’s possession.”
The agent pats Saga’s shoulder and she looks up, her whole body against the back of her seat, to smile at him. “Thank you,” she mouths. He nods.
“I will take the liberty…” the lawyer clears their throat. “Due to the recent news, we will take a break of thirty minutes before reading the will. Mister Dachs, Missus Dachs, I can answer your questions in the guests’ living room.” They herd them out.
Saga closes her eyes and inhales in the silence. “Where’s Claudine?”
“It's not going to happen yet. I don't expect you to believe me.”
“It happened a long time ago. I don't expect you to-”
“It's going to happen long after I have been gone.”
The last miss stays longer, holding her position in her timeline stronger for the more than five seconds Jessenia keeps just staring at her. The miss rearranges her posture: recross a leg over the other, restraightens her back, replaces her arms on the chair's. The pale pink pencil skirt keeps her legs’ movement limited, her dark blue blazers remains folded on the edge of the table, the miss wearing a white turtleneck, sleeveless top.
“What do you say is going to happen?” Jessenia asks, leaning on the back of her chair.
“The white-”
“The dark-”
“The twin-”
“The Evil Twin kidnaps Selenne, the only Master Storyteller who has the power to weave stories into reality.”
“And why would he do that?” Jessenia crosses her arms.
“Because he wants to bring his brother-”
“-the white brother-”
“-the good brother-”
“-his Good Twin back to life.”
Jessenia tilts her head. “I didn't know he had a brother.”
“He does not.”
“He doesn't know.”
“He's mad-”
“He's bad in the head.”
“He had.” An older version of the miss leans forward. “No one ever knew. They were never born. He absorbed his own twin in the womb.”
Jessenia shudders. “It could have been another case of single miscarriage.”
The miss pleads to Jessenia. “He was born with claws.”
Jessenia straightens in her chair. “So,” she clears her throat, “he kidnaps your master storyteller to weave a new reality. What about-?”
A younger version of the miss scratches her arms. “He's going to devour the world with Monsters of Ink when he discovers that she can't.”
Jessenia's eye twitches and she drums a finger on the table. “Monsters of Ink?”
A knock in the door precedes a fellow detective’s entrance with a folder they leave in front of Jessenia, adopting a resting position behind her.
Jessenia opens it and lift two stapled pages. “How do you know that's going to happen?”
The first page shows a blood test’s normal results. Jessenia throws it behind the other with a hand movement.
“Oh,” the miss stops her hands and looks at her.
The second page shows no results on all system databases.
“I am not from your timeline.”
Jessenia looks at her, down to the paper, and up at her again. “What?”
But the miss watches her hands, turning them this side and that. “I am out of time.”
Jessenia's chair scraps against the floor when she stands up, pointing at the door. “We have to prepare for another attack!”
Her fellow detective exists in a rush and Jessenia circles the table to hold the miss by her shoulders, but her hands pass through her.
The miss looks up at her with honeyed eyes. “Now it’s in your hands,” she whispers and closes her eyes a second before her body turns into fireflies.
Content Warning: lot of swearing, mention of blood, blood loss.
First Part.
He blinked, tried to move, and groaned. “You must be fucking with me,” he breathed.
Placing his gloved hands on the snow around him, he pushed down, forcing himself upright. “Fuck my life, fuck everything, fuck you-”
“-fuck myself, but Serina,” finished his younger self's voice.
He looked around, closed his eyes, and exhaled, dropping his head. He shook his hair with a gloved hand, fishing his phone from his coat’s pocket, and winced, hovering his hand a centimeter from the back of his head.
“Fuck-” He turned, widening his eyes at the bloody snow's size, “-the goddess,” he whispered. “What the hell…?”
He gasped, straightened, and raised his eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t let me die, Serina.”
“I already have your blood in my hands,” the breeze brought her whisper to him.
“I won't have your blood on my hands,” he heard her younger self. “Especially if you could just bear some heat.”
“That wouldn’t have stopped you,” he turned to the trees on his right, sliding a finger through the side of his phone. “If you would have wanted me dead, you wouldn’t have closed my wound. You wouldn’t have stayed. You wouldn’t have watched over me. You wouldn’t have kept me warm. You would have let me die… a long time ago.”
“I already fulfilled my deed, why do you keep searching for me?”
“I’m going to bring you back home.” He spun the phone in his hand.
“I am no longer the girl you knew.”
“I am neither the boy you met,” he grimaced and turned to look across the red snow. “That doesn’t matter, you’re coming back with me.”
“I just hurt you.”
He chuckled. “That doesn’t matter. I was being an asshole, I’m sure I deserved it.”
“This is not a joke”—he shuddered—“, Calder.”
He jumped, kneeling to face behind him. The snow under him brightened with the light coming from his phone. His eyes rolled and he held himself upright with a hand.
“Stay put,” she scorned. “It mightn’t have been a lot, but you’re still suffering for blood loss.”
He giggled; the light of his phone died against the snow as he used both hands to hold himself. “You still care about me.” He sniffled, “I thought you would kill me this time,” he whispered to the snow.
“You already paid with your blood.”
“And you did with yourself!” He sprung himself upright and his eyes rolled back, his body slumped.
He groaned while falling. A breeze rushed by and a woman with a very light redhead turning ice blue past her shoulders caught him in an embrace. He held onto her, crying. “Goddess, Serina. I thought I was too late. I thought I had already lost you.”
She sighed, her breath ruffling his hair, and he hid his face on her neck.
“You overpaid your dues,” he sobbed. “You gave yourself. It took your life. It took our youth. It took our love. What more do we have to give them? They’re dead! You burned them to the ground, you iced them to hell. Why can’t I be with you anymore? We overpaid, you more than me. Why do you have to keep paying, isolated like this?”
She exhaled, fluttering her frosty eyelashes, and closed her ice blue eyes. “It’s not going to be like you remember…”
He inhaled on her pale skin, tightening his arms around her. “I don’t care.”
She sighed, a red line of her hair turning ice. “I’m no longer what you are.”
He pulled away; she looked at him, holding him even at arms’ length. “But you’re still Serina Sanz?”
She attempted a smile. “Sometimes.”
He brought her back into his arms. “That’s all I need.”
She scoffed and closed her eyes, only her roots remaining somewhat red.
“We truly didn’t know spirits were still born,” he whispered.
She watched the dark behind him, her ice blue eyes draining the last of its color. “It can still happens if the world needs it; if the Goddess deems it so.”
“What’s of you when the world no longer needs you?”
She looked up to the dark sky, a man embracing a pale figure of snow—white eyes, white skin, white hair. “I become a legend. I turn into snow, or burn to ashes, and I end up being only a moment in the history of time.”
He let go a trembling exhale. “I’m just asking for what’s left of your time.”
“That’s all I can give you,” she whispered, closing her eyes.
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He looked around, throwing his long brown wavy hair away from his face with a movement of his head. He bit his bottom lip and tsked, turning.
“Reena…” He went around a tree and tripped.
A hand, white like the snow, caught his winter coat and threw him on his back. He gasped, his condensed breath flying away from his mouth and morphing between her pale fingers with some of the falling snow, becoming an iced blade she kept by his neck.
He swallowed, her skin heating her surfaced layer of snow, showing a healthy tawny underneath. The ice in her hair crystallized, unable to keep in control her fiery roots, losing intensity down her back until the blue ice ends brushing her waist.
She scoffed. “What? Cat got your tongue?” Her voice rasped and he shuddered all the same.
He grinned, and the tip of the iced blade tinted red. “Something more deadly,” he breathed.
She raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to call for me one more time?”
“I didn’t have to, did I? I have never had to.”
She narrowed her eyes, the intense red overcoming more of her hair. The ice of her blade brightened with an extra layer while sweat rolled down his temple, he snorted.
“Turning to intimidation tactics now?”
She lifted him off the snow by his strangled scarf, shoving him back down a few feet away; his head thumped against the snow, his eyes rolled back, and the snow under his head absorbed a different color.
“You were saying?” She breathed on his face.
He groaned, blinking away.
“I’ll make you say my name for the third time one way or the other.”
He squinted at her and creased his forehead. “… Serina?” He whispered.
Her breath caught with recognition and the iced blade slipped from her grasp, melting and touching his clothes as heavy drops, the intense tones of her hair decreasing.
He closed his eyes with an exhale.
And opened them again to see a dark sky, no one else at sight.
Navy extended a hand towards her, but Cielo stayed on her place, constantly changing her weight from one feet to the other.
<Come on!> He smiled, saying the words as he signed. <I thought you said you knew how to skate.>
<Yeah!> She freed her hands from their embrace to sign. <In asphalt! In proper flooring! This is…> She pointed at the ice and shook her hands, no words coming to them.
<A new experience,> he supplied with a smile. <C’mon,> he offered her his hand again. <I'm going to be with you.>
Cielo pursed her lips, taking his arm. She stepped into the frozen lake and lost her foot, but he kept her steady.
<It's easy,> he told her while pulling from her away from the shore. <You're cutting my job short, you already know how to skate. You only have to find your balance in here as well.>
Navy chuckled at Cielo's eyes locked on his hands, so he stretched his arms to the sides, taking hers with his as she gripped his wrists. Her panicked glance found his eyes and he sighed, smiling to her; he circled his wrists to take her hands on his, distancing each other as long as their arms would let them.
“It's all right,” he mouthed.
She exhaled, closed her eyes for a few slides, and opened them again. With a confirming glance, she let him go and quickened her pace past him.
A wind breeze followed Cielo and she turned and twirled with it, her arms dancing around her, her feet changing at its rhythm, her face relaxed and eyes half closed as if seeing where to go didn't really matter.
Navy stopped and stayed behind, watching her go with a smile. That turned upside down when Cielo tripped and fell hands down on the ice.
“Fuck!” He speed towards her, but stopped at her raised hand.
Her eyes focused on small cracks growing larger under her. She took her mittens off, placing her naked hand over it, her eyes growing wide. Cielo slid away, lying her body flat, stopping when the cracks followed her.
She looked up at Navy, crouched down at a safe distance, his phone on one of his hands.
<It's alright,> he signed to her. <Everything is going to be alright.>
She inhaled and caught her breath, her eyes watering; she blinked the tears away.
<I know.> He swallowed and wet his lips. <Believe me. You're going to be alright.>
She raised and eyebrow and his smile trembled.
<When have I broken a promise?> He widened his smile. <I swear. I promise you're going to be alright.>
Cielo closed her eyes, wetting her lips. She parted her lips to exhale. When she opened her eyes again, someone slid behind Navy without skates; he stayed crouched down in front of her.
<I got help.>
The town came down to the frozen lake with a fifteen meters long pole. They kept their distance in a circle while passing the pole to the next person until it reached Cielo's position. They lowered it to the ground for her to hook on it and slid her to the lake's shore by passing the pole to the next person. On the shore, Navy and the town's Grandma waited for her to cover her on a blanket and give her hot chocolate.
The people dispersed from the weak middle point of the lake, returning to safety, not before retrieving Cielo's abandoned mitten. And they all returned together to their warmer cabins.
After an afternoon of cozy distractions by the fireplace, Cielo and Navy once again made plans to return to the lake to skate a few days later, when the middle got the opportunity to freeze properly and the town experts ensured it safe.
Saga straightened her back, buttoning again her green suit jacket.
Mister Dachs placed a hand on his wife’s knee, stopping the bouncing of her leg. “She already told us she doesn’t know, honey. We have to wait for Jev.”
Missus Dachs crossed her arms. “Since when we have to wait for him? We’re his parents.”
“Since we dubbed him Chief. Now he will be busier than us, so we have to adjust to his schedule.”
“He called for us!”
Saga drummed her fingers on her knees.
Steps came down the hallway and Saga looked up in time to see Jev entering while unbuttoning his suit jacket. His attendant stopped by the arch with a hardcover green book in their hands.
Missus Dachs sat properly and Mister Dachs straightened, both following their son going straight to Saga to kiss her forehead, then sit at her side.
“I know you both were about to start your new missions; I hope you informed of your delay, but I intend to be brief.” Jev signaled the attendant, who placed the open book the size of their torso on the small table in front of him, stepping back without a sound.
Jev glanced at the book and turned it around, pushing it towards his parents at the other end. Then, he rested against the back of the couch, wrapping an arm around Saga’s waist to pull her back with him.
His parents leaned over the book and Saga wet her lips, looking at Jev. His eyes locked on his parents.
“What is this, Jev?” Missus Dachs looked up at him.
Mister Dachs looked at the cover of the book before falling against the back of the couch.
“Chief,” Jev corrected her. “You’re not speaking with your son, you’re answering to your boss.”
“That’s bullshit. We have always been your parents!”
Mister Dachs signaled the attendant closer to whisper on their ear.
“That’s not why I summoned you, but we can talk about that on a future meeting.” Jev pointed at the book. “I should be the one asking that question.”
“I don’t understand, son.” Missus Dachs turned to the attendant, giving his husband a glass of whiskey. “Some water, please.”
The attendant turned to the Chief and his wife.
“A cup of valerian tea for Saga, please.” Jev ordered.
The attendant nodded and left while Saga looked at Jev.
“Chief,” Jev insisted his mother.
Mister Dachs let his empty glass in the small table, rubbing his mouth.
“Jev, for the love of-”
“Irma,” Mister Dachs turned to his wife, touching her arm, “stop. Look at him, we’ll go nowhere like this. Besides, the record exists; it’s not like doing like we don’t know will help us.”
Missus Dachs looked at him, “Then why did you did it?! We agreed to not let anyone else know about it. Why do you ruin us like this, Bernard?”
“The records are narrations of facts,” Mister Dachs explained, “and we have to do it even if we don’t like the facts. That’s what your mother entrusted me to do.”
“Ah, so now you do listen to my mother,” Missus Dachs gave him her back.
“I have always listened to your mother,” Mister Dachs muttered, ruffling his hair.
The attendant let the cup in front of Saga and circled the small table to let a tall glass filled with water in front of Missus Dachs.
“Thank you,” Jev nodded at them. “You may leave.”
He waited until the attendant’s steps echoed no more down the hallway to bring Saga the tea set. She kept her eyes on his while taking a small sip, then a longer one, readjusting herself with him once again.
“Does that mean Oma knew?” Jev asked.
Mister Dachs put his head on his hands.
Missus Dachs placed her tall glass on the small table with enough force for the water to spill out. “What were you doing checking past records?” she shouted. “It’s not your job.”
“I found it by chance,” he waved a hand. “What’s important is that I saw it and that there was no resolution whatsoever, so-”
“A resolution? Jev, are you asking us to answer for something that happened fourteen years ago?”
“Yes.”
“What is this bullsh-!”
“Yes,” Mister Dachs whispered. He looked up at Jev. “We needed help.” He stretched his arms to the sides, “It was bigger than us. Your grandparents were there, the whole Superior Circle was informed, it was submitted to vote. But we were the only ones involved,” he shook his head. “We made everyone believe there was no other option and swept it under the rug. We’re not proud of it.”
Saga turned to Mister Dachs and downed her tea, leaving the empty set on the small table.
“It was our only casualty,” Mister Dachs pointed at the book. “The only casualty in all my years as Chieftain. I didn’t know how to deal with it and it was not my decision.”
Saga covered her lips with her hand.
“What are you going to do now, son?”
Jev watched them, “Compensate them.”
The couple in front of him straightened.
“What?!” Missus Dachs blurted out.
Jev stood up, bringing Saga up with him, and buttoned his suit jacket. She imitated him while he closed and took the book. “That was all I wanted to know,” he said. “A vehicle is waiting to take us to the city, so I recommend you to finish your preparations to leave.”
Jev looked at Saga, who took his arm, and guided her to the hallway.
“Wait a moment, Jev!” Missus Dachs got up. “What are you going to do?! What do you mean, ‘take us’? What does ‘leave’ mean?”
Saga looked at him when Jev stopped in the entrance hall to give the book to the attendant, trusting him to put it back in its place. Then, he kept going, opening the door to Saga.
I can imagine her practicing her pirouettes with her eyes closed.
Jumping full of grace.
Turning on the tip of her toes, her wavy hair spreading in a circle around her.
Her quiet, focused voice blurred in my ears, visualizing her answering mumbles between breathes.
But when she yelps- She must have opened her golden eyes wide, scared for having lost her balance. But no other word slips out her lips. She closes up as hard as my heart beats inside my chest.
‘Cause I’m so far away.
Even being the quickest in the whole world, I would reach her always a second too late.
That’s why I don’t surprise myself when I hear my voice filling my own ears-
“Markus, if you don’t say something, I swear to the godde-”
“I have her,” he interrupts me with a calmness that makes my blood boils.
But I breathe. Because she’s alright.
I might not trust him, but I can trust him with her.
Luca stopped before entering the living room, a glass of water on his hand. He looked at Mimi, hunching over the edge of the couch, laser focused on the laptop's screen on the coffee table, biting her thumb’s nail.
He limped to her side, pulled her hand away from her mouth, opened it against her lap, and placed the glass on it, taking her other hand to wrap it around the glass. Her eyes stayed on the screen.
Mimi's right knee started bouncing and Luca sighed, sitting beside her and resting a hand on her knee. She stopped it and stayed quiet for a second. Then pushed Luca's hand away without looking at him and gave him the glass back. He took it, leaving it next to the laptop.
Mimi brought her hands to her lap, nails scratching skin around nails. Luca took her hands, winced when she broke his skin, and hissed when she pulled.
Mimi blinked, straightened, and looked at Luca. He squinted at her with a half smile and a bead of sweat sliding down his temple. She looked down at their hands and jumped away, letting go of his.
“Oh my goddess, I’m so sorry,” her hands hovered around his.
He chuckled with heaviness in his voice. “It’s alright. I rather you hurt me than hurt yourself any further.”
“That’s not-! That’s-! Please, let me help you with it!” She stood, taking his arm to pull him up.
“Sure,” he let her, standing too. “I just didn’t want to pull you back so abruptly.”
“You can’t let me take it on you either!” She nudged him towards the bathroom.
“Why can I say? I hate seeing you hurting.”
“As if I enjoy watching you letting me hurt you!”
“We can fix that together-”
The bathroom door cut off their voices.
The window on the screen updated with a new email in the inbox.
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“The coven”, as she referred to herself and her friends, already awaited him at a table with tall rounded glasses not even halfway down. Cielo played with the metal straw of her brilliant light blue drink with her free hand, Aurora took a small sip from her colorful orangish yellow drink, and Katia moved her hands around her tone down green drink.
Navy smoothed his shirt, circled the waistband of his pants, and readjusted his rolled-up sleeves. The green eyes of Katia landed on him and she waved. He cleared his throat, waving back, and looked at Cielo when she turned, her face brightening. He sighed.
He approached them.
<Let me guess your drinks,> he signed as he spoke, stopping at their table. He glanced at their glasses and looked at Aurora, the tallest of them all. <Spicy honey limeade?>
“What the fuck?” She chuckled, looking at her friends.
Navy nodded at Katia. <Matcha mojito?>
<Is that easy?> She lifted a corner of her mouth.
Navy, then, passed to Cielo, who looked up at him with bright brown eyes. He swallowed and wet his lips, smiling. <Blue Lagoon?> He raised his eyebrows a third time.
She pushed him with a smile. “You already knew them, I told you earlier!”
Aurora scoffed and rolled her eyes. “So you're a charlatan.”
Navy laughed, shaking a finger side to side. “Not at all. I was making an entrance and a memorable first impression.”
Aurora deadpanned. “That you busted.”
He gasped and pointed. “Cielo did!”
Aurora shook her head. “You took advantage of it.”
Navy sunk between his shoulders and looked at Cielo, who showed heart-fingers to Katia interpreting to her.
Katia kept her smile tight. <They both are looking at you to side with them.>
Cielo turned to them and smiled, bringing her glass closer to drink a long sip from her light blue mocktail. “She’s right.”
Aurora clapped. “Ha!” <Love you,> she signed to Cielo, blowing her kisses.
Cielo chuckled.
Navy touched Cielo’s shoulder and she looked back up at him, her face even more brightened. He inhaled. <Let me tell you: I’m wounded.>
“Who cares?!” Aurora extended her arms to the side and Katia stopped one from smacking her face. Aurora smiled at her, touched her head, and turned back to Navy. “Actually, who the hell are you?”
Navy stood straight. <My name is Navy Blue->
“I didn’t ask for your name,” Aurora crossed her arms. “I asked who the hell are you.”
Navy lifted an eyebrow and a hand. “I was going there.” He breathed. <My name is Navy Blue,> he eyed Aurora, who rolled her eyes. <And I am Cielo’s lover.>
Cielo gasped, covering her face with her hands. Katia choked while interpreting. Aurora brought Katia’s glass closer to her without looking away from Navy, lifting her eyebrow.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re excused.” He tilted his head towards her.
Katia sipped from her green drink.
“That’s not…” Aurora grimaced, stretching her arm toward Cielo to tap on the table.
Cielo shook her head.
Katia leaned forward to join Aurora.
Navy changed the weight of his feet, looking between them. “What’s happening?”
Cielo moved some fingers from her face to look at them.
“What were you trying to say?” Katia asked him.
“Why are you reacting like that?” Aurora asked Cielo.
Navy frowned. “Friends,” he repeated the sign and Cielo’s blush intensified. Aurora lifted both her eyebrows. “Is something wrong?”
Katia bit her lower lip, her smile tense. “This,” she showed him, “is friends.”
“Oh,” he blinked. “Then what did I say?”
Katia cleared her throat.
Cielo kept her head down and imitated his sign. <L-O-V-E-R-S.> She looked up at him between her lashes, cheeks all red.
He flushed and turned around on a full circle. Cielo looked away. He cleared his throat. “I will, uhm-” He coughed. “Go order my drink.” He left the table behind.
Aurora and Katia watched him go away, turned to each other, and glanced at Cielo before breaking out laughing. Both of them piled one hand on top of Cielo’s and she as well laughed to the seat.
Another tear slid down his cheek. His smoked eyes kept locked on her wine red ones, a trembling smile the end of his tears’ race. His throat bobbed against the sharp end of her falchion and a quick exhale escaped through his tight smile.
He wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue. “I swear,” his voice trembled, “on you, who are my goddess.”
She reaffirmed her grip on the falchion. Her back straight, her eyes watered. She held his glance and he whimpered.
“Can’t you trust in what we have had all this time?” he pleaded.
She looked away and separated her lips.
“If you’re going to say you can’t, do it while looking me in the eyes,” he demanded.
She gasped and looked back at him. He had leaned forward a smidge, cutting the skin of his neck; the edge of the blade tinted red with his blood, a red line slid down his neck under his shirt.
She widened her eyes and whipped her arm to the side, throwing the blood on her falchion to the tiled floor. He rose from a knee to a foot. She frowned, spinning her falchion around her wrist. He halted with tight lips when she brought her arm back, the blade threatening the side of his neck.
“You dare to play me?” She narrowed her eyes.
“Never.” He straightened his back. “I just have to make you see!”
“I’m seeing you clearly.”
He closed his eyes and threw his head back, groaning. “Not now! How can I make you see it was not me?” He looked back at her, his smoked eyes storming once again, “Why would I hurt you?”
“How would I know?” she lowered her voice. “Apparently, I don’t know you at all.”
“NO!” He tensed closer to the blade. “That’s not true!”
She tilted her head. “How are you going to prove that?”
He lifted his eyebrows, the smoke in his eyes stopping. “I’m really sorry I never told you before, babe-”
She closed her eyes, frowning, and her head jerked towards her shoulder. “Really, the worst moment for you to-”
“-I have an identical twin.”
She opened her eyes and straightened. Her eyes looked down at his rapid breathing. The darker half circle protruding at the side of his right eye. The red horizontal line on his neck and the red tears that escaped from the cut.
“What?” she whispered.
He swallowed. “It might have been my twin brother.” He gritted his teeth, “But I swear to you it wasn’t me.”
She tilted her head to the opposite side.
She withdrew the blade from his neck and stepped back.
She turned, spinning the falchion around her wrist with every step away.
“… Jess?” he whispered.
She stoppend and turned back, a scowl disfiguring her face. “I’m going to kill the bastard.”
His dark face paled and his smoked eyes widened. “What-” He wetted his lips. “What did he do?”
“Apart of the charges I accused you of,” She gripped the handle of her falchion. “He kissed me!”
He rose to his feet in a swirl of smoke, the handcuffs falling to the floor. He marched past her, a scowl of his own; veins popped in his temple, jaw, and neck, his fist tight close.
She watched him pass by, turning and following him with her glance. And blinked. He opened the door and stopped to look back at her.
“Are you coming?” He kept his voice level, but a growl escaped at the end.
She raised an eyebrow, dropped her arm, and tilted her head. “I will still kill him,” She approached him, the tip of the falchion scratching the floor, and stopped a deep inhale to touch him, looking up at his angry face. “But to see you like that?” She bit her bottom lip, purring, and exited their house.
You're about to read an unedited preview of the second chapter of Ethienne. You can find the first chapter on itch.io.
Rapid pulses.
Quick breaths.
Slow exhales.
Blood rushing down.
Wetting lips.
Rearranging clothes.
Readjusting positions.
Lips moving. Lips moving. Lips moving.
“She…”
“… Takeshi…”
“… and Flash…”
“… last night…”
Every single person looks up, to me. And I’m not even between them, being surrounded by them, and still my breath locks outside of me.
I gasp for the air I can’t get inside. Their faces may be blurry, but I know their eyes are set on me. Their lips still moving, still moving, still moving trace every one of my movements.
The memory of his hands bruises the spotless skin they see. Goosebumps mark their way upside; from the side of my sole, into the golden ankle bracelet, up my naked leg, under the waistband of my black semitransparent high slit skirt, within the three golden dots around my navel, inside the semitransparent black with golden long sleeved mesh crop top barely covering my breasts, overwhelming my throat and spreading to the sides of my neck like a ghostly hand.
I run.
My bare feet hit the invisible plank made of my vibrations and I let them lead me to an empty street. I cut the plank to jump behind a building, the golden bracelets at the end of the sleeves seize my wrists with the impact a centimeter of the ground.
I keep the height for the new invisible plank to protect my soles from the gravel and start walking.
Until I see something familiar.
The logo of the place of last night's hamburgers.
It's too quiet for it to be open, but it's not locked so I push the door anyway. The dim dark lights force me to squint my eyes; dark mahogany, reserved air, private even with the open space. No surprise Jessenia likes it.
“We open at five,” the man behind the bar announces.
He's the only person.
I approach him.
Black skin. Silver white bro flow wavy hair. Wine red gems earrings. White marked shirt with rolled sleeves.
Wide smoked eyes.
“E-Ethienne?!”
He clears his throat, backs a step, and bows.
“Please,” I smile.
He straightens.
I see why Jessenia likes it.
“The restaurant is closed, miss, but whatever you would like-”
“You cook?” I sit in front of him.
“I'm the chef,” he holds his hands, with a small towel, in front of himself.
I point at the bottles behind him with my head. “Just pour me a drink.”
He changes the weight of his feet. “Aren't you on duty, miss?”
I widens my smile, intertwining my hands. “Not really, I was just gathering data. In any case, fun fact:” I wink at him, “alcohol can't affect me.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Is that so? Then, please, allow me.” He turns and grabs some bottles, making the whole spectacle of juggling, mixing, and pouring drinks.
“I didn't order yet.”
“I would bet you will like it,” he pushes the glass under my hands.
I raise a brow, lifting my eyes from the drink to look at him. “What you would bet? Those garnets of yours?”
He lifts a hand to an earring. “You know what those are from a glance?”
I shrug, fishing a small block of ice. “A woman has to know her precious gems,” I hold the block of ice between my teeth.
He looks at my mouth with a straight line on his lips, changing the weight of his feet; he clears his throat. “I won't bet my garnets, they are especially important.”
I show my teeth with my smile. “I bet. I do a date.” I slip the ice into my mouth and down the drink on one sip; my waist-long hair warms my back once again.
“A-A date?!”
I get up, placing the glass on the counter.
“But- Miss-”
I go back to the door with a small smile.
“Miss Ethienne? I'm not interested in that date, miss!”
I chuckle and open the door. “I know! Did Jess ever told you to what she pairs the garnet with?”
His surprise is over all his face, and I don't even have to see him to know it. That being his strongest reaction tells me everything I would have wanted to know.
And Jess has a lot to say next time we meet.
Many days later…
“Why did you do that?!” Jess laughs.
“I don't know, I'm sorry, I panicked! And it's hard to turn off all those years of performing a persona! It's like my cursed talent, I couldn't help it!”
“You made him uncomfortable,” Jess chuckles.
“He's the first one ever,” I take a sip of my glass.
She stepped into her reflection, turned, and placed her hands under her flat belly. Sweeping her blonde hair behind her shoulder, she smoothed her gray tank top, her hand curving the slightest onto her belly.
Her honey eyes watered and she sniffled. “Hi,” she whispered.
She blinked her tears away, her nostrils flared, her breath quickened, and she swallowed.
A pair of arms enveloped her and she leaned into him, closing her eyes and sighing.
“Hi to me too,” he smiled.
She chuckled, resting a hand on his arm. “Yeah, hi to you too.”
He kissed her forehead.
She smiled and looked up at him, stretching an arm to put a brown lock on its place. “There,” she mouthed, returning her head to his shoulder.
He tightened the arm around her waist and moved a hand to her belly, touching air. He straightened, his body tense, and blinked, finding nothing between his arms.
He looked at his green wide-eyed reflection, his three-day beard, and wrinkled shirt. At the sleepy tiny baby wrapped on their yellow blanket on his arm. At the black line on the ring of his left ring finger. At the bobbing of his throat.
His eyes watered, and he blinked his tears away. “Hi,” he whispered.
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Milo had never met so formidable an opponent as a blank canvas.
He slouched before the pristine white square he had thrown on his easel—now in the corner of the library, on a grubby little island of drop-cloth. His laptop sat quietly on the kitchen island, emanating ominous vibes from the to-do list still drawn up there.
But yesterday’s illusion had been an overreach; he needed a day without magic. So, here he was, with a cup of tea and a half-decent sandwich and an incredibly evil, empty canvas.
He painted one single brushstroke and immediately hated it.
“Don’t judge me,” he muttered to the presence in the room. “I swear I went to art school.”
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