Reflection Pond (16 page)

Rowan turned to leave, but Sapphire’s voice stopped him at the door, hand on the knob. He couldn’t make himself face her again, not knowing that
Eirensae
would never be his home. It shouldn’t have hit him so hard. He’d known it, but he’d always hoped it wasn’t true.

“And Rowan?
Just because it’s dark doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Hope is always greater than fear. Your lives intertwine like the branches of two trees trying to survive in the same space. There will be sacrifice, but also beauty. The fate of
Eirensae
is in her hands, and her fate? That’s in your hands. Protect my sister.”

***

Callie collected shards of the broken mirror, careful to avoid the sharp edges. She palmed the biggest piece, a triangle the same size as her hand, and peered into it. Several stubborn strands of hair had escaped her braid and hung limp. Her hand lingered at her neck, trembling, remembering Elm’s hand there. A sob caught in her throat. There, just below her ear, she fitted her fingers against the faint scars, almost invisible now. She traced their downward descent and shuddered.

The memory was like air. It crawled beneath Callie’s clothes and made her retch. She cried out, the sound a strangled cough. Suddenly she wasn’t in Sapphire’s cottage surrounded by broken glass, but underwater, hurting and screaming and drowning.

Dying.

“
Such spirit. Such spirit.”

Pink bubbles.
They stung her nose, made her gag. The smooth edge of porcelain was freezing against the backs of her thighs.

“Such spirit.”

A piercing dart of pain ripped Callie back to the present. Blood dripped between her fingers where she clutched the mirror. She dropped the glass. It broke in half, both sides smeared with red. Her hands flew to her mouth to stifle the cries.

“No, no, no,” she repeated
over and over, each one more desperate than the last. Callie forced her eyes wide, made herself see the shiny pieces of broken mirror, the worn-smooth wood of Sapphire’s kitchen table.

The shards exploded into tiny, glittering slivers. The scarlet of her blood turned brilliant, electric blue.

She was here.              

Not back in that tiny, cracked bathroom, small and helpless. She was here, where she had power beneath her skin and strangers who actually cared what happened to her. She was here, where the past couldn’t reach beyond the wards to find her.

Callie’s fingers curled inward, scraped down her cheeks. She bit the tip of her index finger, tasting metal and salt. Bit, until the pain centered her thoughts. The crying cut off and she took a deep breath of here, letting it fill her lungs, expand her stomach and shoulders, until nothing else fit beside
here.

“I am here,” she said.

Another breath.

She gagged. It was then that Jack strode through her door, dressed for the funeral, blond hair combed neatly to one side. Callie looked up at him from her knees. She couldn’t remember when she’d wrapped her arms around her middle, but they brought no comfort. Gagging again, she felt the hot tears on her cheeks and was grateful it was Jack, and not Rowan or Ash.

Jack shut the door with practiced calm. In two steps, he fell beside her, oblivious to the glass that cut through his pants and slashed at his knees. He pulled the bloody, sodden mess of Callie into his arms, held her against his chest like a small child. He didn’t speak, but she felt his energy everywhere, pale blue, warm, safe. The airy magic expanded in her veins and after a while, Callie’s breathing slowed.

She could think again. The cottage took shape, her mattress, the chairs, the kitchen, Willow’s ruined dress. A knock on the door had her flinching against Jack.

“Is she in there or not?”

“Hawthorne,” Jack mumbled into her hair.
“Just Hawthorne. I’m going to send him away.” He eased himself from her and was back in seconds, resuming his position.

She swallowed hard, breathed in his scent, citrus and sunlight, and closed her eyes, relieved when the memory did not resurface. She felt Jack’s fingers at her throat, gentle as he slid damp hair from her neck. He stiffened, and she knew he’d noticed the scars.

Jack swore.

“I can’t control it,” Callie said. “It’s inside of me and it always wants out. I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Jack said, trailing a hand over her hair.

“I’m going to hurt someone.”

Jack leaned away and caught Callie’s injured hand. He carefully dug out a lingering piece of glass while Callie sniffled. He tied her palm with a scarf from his pocket. “There is nothing you can’t overcome. You’re not broken.”

Callie looked away, unable to take the sorrow in his eyes.

He caught her face, bringing her back. “You’re not broken.”

“I don’t know how stop being afraid. They did this to me, you know? If I was just human…if I wasn’t
this,
” the glass rained around them, a shimmering storm, “it never would’ve happened. I might’ve had a family…parents. I wouldn’t have been…weak.”

“You’re not weak,” Jack argued.

“It was two years of my life, Jack. Two years of hell that I’ll always have inside of me. I’ll always have
him
inside of me. You know why it stopped? Because he died, not because I was strong enough to fight him off or the state finally realized what was happening. No. He had a heart attack and died in his sleep. He didn’t even suffer. And
they
did this to me. Everyone keeps talking about me being happy, about having a home here. They have expectations that I can’t fulfill for them. The fae can’t lie, but I feel it all around me. I didn’t ask for this.”

Callie closed her eyes as Jack’s arms came around her.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Callie said, curling her injured hand into a fist. “Ash thinks he wants to date me…and Rowan—oh god, I don’t even know. I don’t even know who I am.”

Jack sighed. “You are Calla Lily, the strongest faerie in
Eirensae.
If you have nothing else, you will always have that.”

Callie spoke, so softly it barely reached her ears, “But what if it’s not enough?”

***

Rowan arrived at the funeral just before Sapphire. Fae gathered in chairs left out for them, Elders surrounded the pyre and the small body of the prophetess. Dressed in gold, her body lined with flowers that spilled over the dais, she was beautiful. She’d lived 347 years, but her face was unlined and peaceful, and Rowan knew behind her closed lids, her eyes were the luminescent green of a holly leaf. He wished he’d had the opportunity to know her better.

Torches lit the path between the chairs and the pyre, bright spots against a dusky sky. Rowan searched out Callie, finding her next to Jack in the third row. She had a scarf wrapped around one hand. Was that another present from Hazel?
Something else to prevent Callie from leaving the city? He hoped so. She needed to stay where Sapphire could protect her.

Ash, Willow, Hawthorne, and Sai took up the seats behind Callie and Jack. He made his way toward the empty seat next to her. Callie spared him a brief glance before turning back to Jack. She looked pale, the skin around her mouth pulled tight, eyes puffy.

After the way their training session had ended earlier, Rowan did not expect a warm welcome. He felt useless, unable to offer comfort or kind words. He wanted to fill the darkness in Callie with light. He didn’t know
how
, and worse, he couldn’t fight a source he couldn’t see. He had to find a way to keep her inside the city walls. If Callie’s safe future depended on remaining in
Eirensae,
then he would make that happen.

No matter what it cost.

The gentle cadence of the Elder’s voices mixed with the smoke and flower scented air.

“The Elders are asking for her safe return to the earth,” Jack whispered to Callie. “When they’re done, Hazel will talk and then Sapphire will light the pyre and wish the prophetess farewell.”

Callie’s face paled further. The flame of the torches danced in her eyes. “Sapphire?”

Her voice was ragged and made Rowan’s throat ache.
Had he done that to her with his questions? With his touch? Had Hazel said something to her?

“It’s her duty to guide the prophetess over the divide.” Jack patted Callie’s leg and Rowan was envious of the other boy. “It’s beautiful, really.”

Sapphire was on the path now, dress glistening in the fading light. Her imprints seemed to glow as she slipped between the other fae, chin held high, gaze only on the lost prophetess.

“I fail to see how lighting someone on fire is beautiful,” Callie said.

“Domhan go talamh, luaithreach a luaithreach, deannaigh a deannaigh
.
”
Rowan said, catching Callie’s eye as she returned her gaze to the front.

She turned her back to Rowan and asked Jack, “What does that mean?”

“Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” Jack supplied.

“Is that from a poem?” Her eyes were wide now, the flames brighter.

“It’s from the Bible,” Rowan said.

Sapphire and Cypress embraced, holding each other for a long moment. Cypress’s shoulders shook and they spoke in words too low to hear. Finally, Sapphire stepped away and waited for Hazel to join her.

“Blessed evening,” Hazel said, words splitting the night. Behind her, the sun cast a final slant of light before sinking below the horizon.

“Blessed evening,” the fae murmured in response.

“We celebrate the life of our prophetess. Though short, her life was full. She devoted herself to her people, and served them well. We must not mourn, but celebrate the journey we took together.” Hazel placed her hands on the dead woman’s face.
“Codladh maith mo pháiste, go dtí go gcasfar le chéile sinn arís.”
She kissed her forehead, lingering, as though sharing a telepathic message.

By the time Hazel stepped down from the pyre, Sapphire had a torch. Rowan saw Callie’s face go green. He lifted his hand, intending to comfort her, but she tossed him a glance that made him curl his fingers and let them fall.

Sapphire kissed the prophetess’s cheeks, the flame held over them like a beacon.
“Slán, mo dheirfiúr,”
she said quietly before touching the fire to the dry tinder. The pyre lit with a whoosh, the fire consuming the flowers, higher and higher, igniting the prophetess’s dress. Soon, she was wreathed in flames.

Next to Rowan, Callie wiped away tears and finally, buried her face in Jack’s shoulder.

***

Callie returned to the cottage alone, feeling like a scraped out shell, tears still drying on her cheeks. She was sore from training with Rowan, the cuts on her hand stung, and the ache in her chest was no less painful. The funeral wasn’t as awful as she’d imagined, though it wasn’t pleasant to watch a body burn. Callie found some saturnine beauty in the fact that the prophetess would return to the earth as ashes. It had to be better than decomposing.

She’d wanted to say something to Rowan, apologize for acting so childish earlier, but she’d left the gathering before she could gather her nerve. Maybe it was better if she said nothing.

Stars shrouded the moonless evening in ethereal light. Sapphire’s cottage, though it looked identical to the day Callie had arrived, seemed lonely, nestled against the trees. Candles burned in the windows of the surrounding buildings and her eyes went to Rowan’s cottage. It was dark and just as desolate.

Stepping inside Sapphire’s—now Callie’s—cottage, she rubbed the night from her arms. A low fire burned, hardly more than embers. Callie added another log and tried not to remember the flames devouring the woman’s body. It made her feel like an out of control car, spinning and spinning, the world a kaleidoscope around her.

It had hit her all at once and she wished she could take it back. It was too much—the past, her new powers, Sapphire, all of it. She wanted to be strong, she wanted to smile and go on as though nothing was wrong, it was what
was expected, after all.

She went to the kitchen, stomach rumbling, trying to remember the last time she’d
eaten, amazed that she had an appetite at all. Without Sapphire to force fruit and vegetables into her hand, Callie had a hard time remembering to eat. Snagging an apple from the fruit bowl, she bit into it, the first taste making her mouth water and her stomach gurgle.

She should go to Rowan’s, apologize for acting so stupid. At this rate, she’d be lucky if she kept any friends. Half the people thought she was a liability and the other half, who actually
wanted
to get to know her, she drove away with her insecurity.

Callie felt equally enamored
with and terrified of Rowan. He was intense, and she couldn’t read him. Ash, on the other hand, she read all too well. Jack, she trusted. She had to, especially after he’d bandaged her cuts and helped her to the funeral.

Callie’s stomach
growled, an angry sound that reverberated. She set the apple on the counter and pressed her hands there, certain she was going to be sick. Hot pain lanced up her throat. The apple rolled and thumped on the floor, gathering a thin layer of dirt. Callie curled around the ache, bending in half and sliding down beside the apple.