Martyr (15 page)

“Are you okay?” Jarrett asked. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

It was only then that the room swam back into focus. Sharp pain lanced through his hands where he'd fallen on shards of window. His blood had already turned the stained carpet crimson. He shook his head and forced himself up to sitting. Earth opened in his pelvis and healed the lacerations, tiny bits of glass plopping into the chilling blood like tears.

“What was that?” Tenn asked. He raised a shaky hand to his head. The ringing was getting worse, along with that train-coming-down-the-tracks vibration that always signaled a migraine.

“What are you—”

The twins ran into the room at that moment.

“We heard a crash,” Dreya said. Her eyes took in the scene in one quick sweep. “What happened?”

Tenn closed his eyes. The lights in the room were so
bright. “
I saw something.” The scene played itself out over and over behind his eyelids. It wasn't just a vision. He had been there, standing in the corner, watching the family die. He could hear them gasping. He could
feel
their panic, their dying emotions.

“What did you see?” It was Dreya. Her voice was closer. He didn't open his eyes, but he heard her kneel down beside him. She put one hand on the back of his neck. Her touch was cool and tingled with magic.

“I saw them die,” he whispered. “The family that lived here. I saw them get attacked. By a breathless one.”

Jarrett was on his feet in a second.

“Here?”

“No. I mean, yes. But not now. It was like a vision but stronger. Water opened up, and then I just saw it. I felt them gagging for air.”

“Emotional transference,” Dreya whispered.

Whatever magic she'd been working had done its job. The pain in Tenn's temples subsided. He opened his eyes and squinted up at everyone. The twins were lost in a silent conversation, staring at each other as though their expressions could convey stories.

“What?” Jarrett and Tenn asked at the same time.

Again, another glance between the twins. When Dreya spoke, she didn't look away from her brother. Devon's eyes were furrowed with concern, and he kept looking over to Tenn like he was new-found threat.

“Emotional transference,” she repeated. She sighed. “It's rare. Very rare. But sometimes, if you use a Sphere enough, it becomes sensitive. Normally, the Spheres respond to inner triggers—emotional responses, like fight or flight. But if it's sensitive enough, it can pick up triggers embedded in the nature of things. Strong emotions, memories engrained in the wood of a place.” She trailed her finger along the same dusty path he had. If she saw anything, she didn't show it.

“How do you know this?” Tenn asked.

“Because we get it too, at times,” she said. She sounded sad. “Fire and Water, they're emotional Spheres. They resonate highly with the pain and anger in the world. You're just able to tune into it more than most.”

“How do I control it?”

Dreya shrugged. “You don't. Any more than you can control your inner workings. When the world wants to speak to you, it will use whatever tools it has. And Water is the most vicious tool of all.”

“Can I stop it?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“How?”

It was Devon who responded.

“You die.”

14

Tenn
sat on a stool in the corner of the kitchen while Jarrett cooked. Pretty much everything in the house had expired, but they'd managed to find some canned carrots and dried beans that still looked good. Dreya sat at the island in the center of the room, idly chopping a few wild onions and fueling the fire simmering under the large cook pot Jarrett was stirring. Devon had gone out into the night—no clue where—but no one questioned him. Tenn had a feeling Dreya knew precisely where her brother was at all times, and that was enough for him.

He still couldn't force out the memory of the family's last moments. There was no telling what other horrors he would have seen if Jarrett hadn't snapped him out of it. In his limited experience, he knew that the higher-Sphere Howls didn't travel on their own; they almost always had an entourage of kravens and other cannon fodder. Once the breathless had drained the family of oxygen, he'd have left the corpses for the rest of his friends. Kravens weren't picky when it came to meat—kicking or no, flesh was flesh. How long would Water have held him there, trapped in the house's memory? How much gore would he have had to endure before the vision finally slipped?

He shuddered.

How the hell did the twins manage it? The Spheres grew more powerful the more you used them; Dreya generally stuck to Air but Devon almost always used Fire in battle. Did that mean he was always feeling the rage of a place? Was he always fighting off the hatred and bloodshed that had seeped into the fabric of the world? Tenn would have to ask the guy some day…if Devon ever actually started talking again, that is. He'd probably be waiting a long time.

For a while he could only sit there, imagining the rest of his life like this—falling apart whenever he stepped into a room touched by tragedy, reliving every nightmare. The States were scabbed with pain and hatred. There was no way he could manage if this emotional transference shit kept happening.

Still, if the twins could do it, so could he.
You're not as strong as they are
, Water hissed within him.
You'll succumb eventually
.

He pushed the dark thoughts from his head and focused on Jarrett. He'd taken off his coat and danced around the kitchen with his long white sleeves pushed up to his biceps. More scars laced his pale forearms. Tenn had never asked him if he'd received them in battle or done them to himself. There was never a proper time, and besides, everyone was facing demons, inside and out. He wanted to walk over and kiss each one of those scars. Even if it couldn't make the monsters go away, he never wanted to stop trying.

There was a silence in the kitchen, comfortable and calming—the sound of simmering soup, the chop of metal on wood. After everything that had happened, this alone threw him for the biggest loop. This was all so normal, so fucking
familiar
that it hurt worse than any stab wound. They'd driven here in a car and, sure, they'd used magic to get the car running and even now Dreya's chest was glowing red with the thin flicker of flame she funneled into the stove's burner, but it was so easy—the normalcy, the ability to forget that at any moment another Howl might burst through the window and try to kill them just as it had in Tenn's vision. They all knew the world was no longer safe. But this felt safe. It felt like nothing could possibly be wrong in the world. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

Tenn knew he should be helping, but every time he thought of moving, his head gave a revolting spin and he leaned back against the wall. The migraine might have been averted, but that didn't mean he felt human. So he sat and watched them cook and let himself sink into the hope that someday this would be his reality and not just an experience on the edge of delusion.

Jarrett came over holding a wooden spoon. Somewhere along the lines, he'd found a light-blue apron.

“Try it,” Jarrett offered, holding up the spoon.

Tenn took a sip and smiled.

“You make an excellent housewife,” he said.

Jarrett smiled back. He looked honestly pleased with himself.

“Always knew that was my calling in life.” He leaned over and kissed Tenn on the cheek. “Just needed to find the right man.”

Tenn grinned in spite of himself. That kiss still made his heart flutter.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Jarrett said as he went back to the stove. “Is Devon nearby?”

Dreya nodded. She was reading a cookbook she'd found on the shelf. It was the last thing Tenn would ever expect to see her reading. She seemed more like the Foucault and Kierkegaard type. Not that Tenn had ever actually read either of them.

“He's just outside. Rummaging. He'll be in soon.”

Sure enough, Devon returned a few minutes later, carrying a few sacks of stolen goods that clunked when he set them down.

“Food,” he said. “And clothes.”

“Good work,” Jarrett said. He ladled out a few porcelain bowls of soup and passed them around the island. No one suggested eating in the dining room. Tenn doubted any of them would go in there again.

“You seem quite happy, all things considered,” Dreya said to Jarrett, one eyebrow raised. She took a delicate sip of her soup.

Jarrett just shrugged.

“It's not very often I get to spend a day without having to kill something. I count every one of those days as a blessing.”

“The day is not over yet,” Dreya said. It was offhand, but she seemed to catch the actual weight of it seconds after the words left her lips. The rest of the meal was subdued.

“I love you,” Jarrett said.

They were in the upstairs bedroom. The sheets had been dusty but relatively clean, and a quick gust of Air had solved that little problem. Candles glowed along the mantel of a decorative fireplace, making the whole room seem warmer than it actually was. Tenn shivered even as Jarrett pulled himself closer. They'd piled quilts and comforters on top of them to ward off the chill, but the bed was still freezing.

“I love you too,” Tenn said.

They were words his lips still weren't comfortable forming. Speaking that love was like uttering a death wish. The world was no place for lovers. The world was very good at taking everything away. He curled closer to Jarrett, pressing in for warmth.

“You're freezing,” Jarrett said. He rubbed his hands along Tenn's back.

“I run cold.”

“So I've noticed.”

Jarrett sighed, like there was something deep weighing on his mind. When he spoke, though, he kept his voice light.

“So what do you think? Want to move to a city or the country?”

It was so absurd, Tenn laughed aloud.

“What's so funny?” Jarrett asked.

“Sorry,” he replied, but chuckles still built up in the back of his throat.

“I'm serious,” Jarrett said. “I figured you'd be more of a country boy—what with all that time in the backwoods. And besides, every Earth user I know prefers staying away from large groups of people.”

Tenn nuzzled his face against Jarrett's chest.

“Yeah, I think I'd like that,” he admitted. “A place in the middle of the woods, maybe a stream. Nothing too fancy, of course—I just need a fireplace and some trees and I'm happy.”

“Dog or cat?”

“Both.”

It was strange. They'd been together for what seemed like ages, and yet they'd never entertained this conversation. Tenn only had a few friends at the Academy, but one girl—Amanda—and he would go out for lunch every once in a while and chat about their dream houses. He'd always had this beautiful log cabin in his mind.

This was the first time he'd let himself dare believe that he and Jarrett could one day occupy it.

“I'd love a wolfhound myself,” Jarrett mused. “Don't know where you'd get one anymore, though.”

Tenn didn't want to wonder if there were any more wolfhounds left in the world, so he pushed the conversation down a different path.

“What about you? City or country?”

“Oh, I'd be okay with the country. So long as it was near enough a city. Culture and all.”

Tenn laughed.

“Yeah,” he said, “can't miss out on all those concerts and museums.”

Because, of course, those didn't exist anymore. Not in the same way.

“Hey, art's important,” Jarrett said. “Art and love are what we fight for.”

Tenn sealed his lips.
Fight for
was just a reminder that this little fantasy was just that—a fantasy. There'd never be a cabin in the woods or an apartment in the city, no black-tie affairs at the symphony or fancy dinner parties.

It made him sink even lower.

“Hey,” Jarrett said, noticing the swift decline. “Don't go down there.”

“Sorry,” Tenn replied. “It's just…” Jarrett nodded, their foreheads pressing together.

“I know,” he said. “But no matter what the future looks like, I'm still going to fight for it. So long as it includes you.”

Then he leaned in a bit further and kissed Tenn on the lips.

Tenn was still swirling down in the cesspool of his thoughts, but that kiss was a buoy, a tie to dry land. And he knew, so long as he had Jarrett, that line would always be there. There'd always be a way out. A way forward.

The war would always be worth winning.

15

Tenn
woke in the middle of the night. The candles on the mantel had gone out, and shadows closed in with suffocating darkness. His heart raced, but he couldn't remember his dreams or why he'd woken up with sweat drenching his skin. Jarrett sprawled out beside him, his breath deep and regular. So why did he distinctly remember hearing screams?