

## Celestial

### Anya Allyn

### Marijon Braden

### Jamie Campbell

### Zoe Cannon

### Sarah Dalton

### Susan Fodor

### Katie Hayoz

### Sutton Shields

### Ariele Sieling

### H.S. Stone

"Shadow" © 2014 by Sarah Dalton

"The Sleeping Goddess" © 2014 by Zoe Cannon

"Before the Pageant" © 2014 by Susan Fodor

"Comet Cotillion" © 2014 by Sutton Shields

"The Shadow Keepers" © 2014 by Anya Allyn

"Tragic Magic" © 2014 by Jamie Campbell

"The Greenhouse Gas" © 2014 by Ariele Sieling

"Project #45" © 2014 by Marijon Braden

"Moon Warrior" © 2014 by H.S. Stone

"Love Me or Love Me Not" © 2014 by Katie Hayoz

Cover Design by Sarah Dalton

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

## Table of Contents

Shadow by Sarah Dalton

The Sleeping Goddess by Zoe Cannon

Before the Pageant by Susan Fodor

Comet Cotillion by Sutton Shields

The Shadow Keepers by Anya Allyn

Tragic Magic by Jamie Campbell

The Greenhouse Gas by Ariele Sieling

Project Number 45 by Marijon Braden

Moon Warrior by H.S. Stone

Love Me or Love Me Not by Katie Hayoz

#  Shadow

### A Mary Hades story

### Sarah Dalton

I was born five months after Lila. The second grandchild. In my psychology class, theorists teach us that the order in which children are born affects our psychological health. As the second grandchild I should always be seeking approval, made self-conscious by the fact that my older cousin gets all the attention. It's true that Lila was more outgoing as a child. She was chattier and funnier. At Christmas she would sing songs in front of the television and make my Grandma giggle. But as the first, second, and last grandchildren amongst the Quirkes, and the only children in our respective families, we were able to seal an almost sisterly bond that could never be broken by petty rivalries or pseudo-psychology.

It was a prickly beginning to a beautiful friendship. One blue truck in a pile of red and we both wanted it. Lila won, and that set the precedent for us both. After the loss of the blue truck, followed by an afternoon tantrum, Lila brought me her last gummy bear, and all was forgiven.

The blue truck is my earliest memory. A few years ago I asked Lila if it was her earliest memory, too, but she said hers was us playing on Scarborough beach with a bucket and spade. This was after the truck incident. I remember it because our mothers had a row and I cried when Lila had to go home early. Lila told me not to be sad and hugged me, our chubby, childish arms grasping each other.

Mum is always arguing with Aunt Izzy. That's why I visit her alone now. They would make up for a few months each year, and Lila and I would spend blissful weekends on the beach, exploring coves and squealing at the sight of a jellyfish washed up by the sea.

I loved those weekends, but for some reason, when I think back to them, there is the itch of a memory, like a half-formed scab. I feel as though if I scratch the scab and let the memory pour out like blood, there will be something unpleasant lurking beneath. I shake the thought away.

It hardly ever rains when I am with Lila, as though the force of her personality can hold the weather at bay.

It's sunny now as I pack my belongings into the car. I don't need many; I'll only be staying the one night. Aunt Izzy will have most of the things I need.

I suppose I'll be staying in the guest room again, the one that's so much colder than the rest of the house. The one with the old fireplace that whistles when the wind runs through it. I never have liked that room.

Mum's face has hardly moved from the kitchen window. Her long black hair, as unruly as my own, is even more tousled than usual, and the circles under her eyes give her a slightly unhinged look. Seeing me leave for Izzy's, even for a night, is painful for her. She wrings the tea towel in her hands and looks away every time I glance in her direction. Each time a weight pulls down on my heart, but I lack the means to comfort her. We've never been good at comforting each other.

In frustration at our mutual stubbornness, and the same between Mum and Izzy, I slam the boot of the car harder than I intended. That has Mum rushing out from the kitchen.

"Do you have the maps Dad bought from the service station?" she asks. She is barefoot, and the bottoms of her jeans are torn. It's odd to see Mum like this. She's usually so pristine.

"And the sandwiches, and my mobile is charged, and I have that baseball bat hidden under the seat, although I still think it's ridiculous to take it," I reply.

"People these days," she says between tight, straight lips. "They'll kill for a packet of crisps." She pauses to look at me and her eyes become glassy. "I keep forgetting how tall you are. Look, you're as tall as me now."

I fold my arms and try to give her a reassuring smile. "I'm going to be fine, Mum. It's only a couple of hours and I've been on the motorway with Dad tons of times."

"You have packed your pills, haven't you?" she asks.

It takes willpower to stop myself rolling my eyes. "Of course."

"What are you going there to do, anyway?"

"We're going to watch the comet," I reply. "There should be clear skies over Scarborough tonight. It'll be lovely."

"You could watch it here," Mum says. Her eyes are so wide and pleading that those weights pull down on my heart again.

"No, Mum, you know why I'm going."

She drops her gaze and I think I hear her sniff, but I'm not sure. "Well, all right. You should get going to miss the traffic."

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Say hi to Dad when he gets back. Tell him I said bye."

"I will," she says.

I turn around to open the car door, and Mum catches my arm. "Mary, you are still taking your pills, aren't you?"

I swallow, preparing myself to answer. "Yes, of course I am."

Her eyes narrow just a fraction as she tries to suss me out. All her seventeen years of knowledge about me seem to be at work in that one glance. For a second I feel like we both know I'm lying, and we both know the other one knows it. But then I catch her off guard with a hug.

She squeezes me tight, and this time I do hear her sniff loudly. "Take care, sweetheart. Drive safe. Don't go over the speed limit."

"I won't," I say.

She lets me go and she backs away as I open the car door. The engine starts smoothly. It's a good little car, reliable and unfussy. What my dad calls a "good starter".

We wave to each other one more time as I put the vehicle in first gear. The pressure builds to not stall the car, and as I find the biting point with the clutch, there's a moment where I think I might. But I overcome it, and release the handbrake.

Mum stands and waves as I pull out of the driveway and onto the road, most likely watching the green L plates disappear into the distance. When I'm out of sight of the house, I let out a long sigh of relief. In some ways, saying goodbye to Mum is the hardest part of the journey. In other ways, what comes next will be much, much harder.

* * *

Lila was the first to learn to drive, but then, she was the first to do most things.

We were fourteen and I had gone to Aunt Izzy's for the night. My aunt is a nurse, and sometimes she's called away for an emergency night shift. When this happens, Lila almost always has a number of friends on call to make the most of the lack of parental supervision. During our mid-teens she was the master of sneaking out of windows and keeping boyfriends a secret from my aunt.

That night we were picked up by Lila's then boyfriend and his older brother. The older brother wore a baseball cap and drove with one hand on the wheel, changing gears with loud revs of the engine.

"Wheredjer wannago?" he asked us. His slurred speech and the way his eyes lingered on me gave me the creeps.

Lila sipped on a bottle of beer and looped an arm around her boyfriend. "To the stars!"

"'Ow much as she 'ad?"

"Can I drive?" Lila asked, leaning forward and pressing her cheek against the driver's seat.

"Only if yer sit on me knee."

As Lila climbed over into the front seat, I gripped the arm rest harder than I'd gripped anything before, so tight that my knuckle bones shone through my skin, and my fingernails left half-moon marks on the leather. I remember her high-pitched laugh as she took the steering wheel, and the screeching of brakes as she worked the pedals, all the time with my stomach churning and Lila's boyfriend's hand on my knee.

Somehow we made it home safely that night, but we never went to the stars.

* * *

There was a comet in the sky the night Lila was born. Aunt Izzy always told us the story when we went for fish and chips on the seafront.

"Oh, Mum, not this story again!" Lila would roll her eyes.

"I saw it, you know. I saw it moving through the sky, and I knew that the person inside me wanted to come out, and I knew that the person I'd created was going to be worth it all. And you are."

And as the two of them laughed together, their giggles infectious, I thought about how there are some people born for whom the world seems to stop. They are such a presence that they create a marker. They are a trail blazing through the sky. Izzy and Lila Quirke are those people. I've always been the girl grasping onto their tails, clinging to their particles with my fingertips, and by allowing myself to be dragged along with them, I bring light into my own life. Perhaps their brightness rubs off onto me sometimes, too.

And because they are such vibrant creatures, we forget to look deeper.

I've always thought this about the situation with my mum and Izzy.

Mum is the oldest, by seven years. She went to school every day. She did her homework. She went to university and studied maths, which was where she met Dad and the two of them fell in love. Mum has always lived her life like you're supposed to, by being good, working hard, finding the right man, and settling down.

It was Izzy who told me about Mum's troubles to conceive me. Right after University ended for my parents they were married, and Mum wanted to begin her family. She'd spent time looking after her young sister, and she'd always wanted to have a baby.

So when Izzy fell pregnant at sixteen years old, it was a dagger to Mum's heart.

It seems so trivial now. I am only five months younger than Lila, but for my mum it was a betrayal. Izzy had the baby first. Her irresponsible, spirited sister ended up with the responsibility first, and Mum was jealous. Those five months were fraught with tension. My highly-strung mother still lived with her parents, and Dad lived with them too. She refused to speak to my poor knocked up aunt.

When I imagine what it must have been like for them all, I can't help but wonder if neither of the two sisters could see the pain beneath the surface of the other person. A sixteen-year-old Izzy could never understand what it feels like to feel inferior. A twenty-three-year-old could not see how her naïve sister was afraid.

And when Lila was born, she had all the firsts Mum wanted for me. She breathed, walked, and talked first. She captivated my grandparents before me. I've never cared, but Mum did, and that tension has never gone from the two women.

And what an entrance my cousin had into this world! Izzy's labour was as unconventional as her conception. Drawn out under the night sky by the comet, a young and inexperienced Izzy had mistaken labour pains for Braxton Hicks all day and didn't think much of it. When her waters broke an hour after twilight on a hot summer's eve, she had only one choice—to try and walk home as fast as she could.

Lila was faster.

Izzy pulled her own baby out from between her legs on a grassy knoll under the trail of a comet. Back at home, Mum watched _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ on the lap of her husband, sipping a hot chocolate, with me snuggled and content in her womb.

So you would think it would be she who would grow up to be special. You would think Lila would have been granted the strange abilities I've been offered by the Universe, or the Powers-That-Be, or embedded in my genetics, whichever it may be. But no, that responsibility landed on my shoulders instead.

I told Lila all about it one day. It was over the phone. I called her out of the blue.

"Mary," she said. She always sounds so excited to hear your voice, and she speaks as though you are the most important person in the world. She's always shunned modern slang in favour of the way people spoke in old movies. "I'm so glad you called, I was just thinking of you."

"You were?"

"Of course! You're always two thoughts from my mind, you know that."

"Something weird happened to me today."

"Honey, you sound frightened. What's the matter?" I imagined her talking to me with the phone in the crook of her neck as she did something else with her hands, probably something glamorous like flicking through _Vogue_ or painting her toenails.

"You'll think I'm crazy."

"Well, I should hope so," she said. "I like crazy."

"I had some sort of vision," I replied. "I saw something, and I think it was dead."

She didn't even skip a beat. "Dead like how? Zombie dead? Or ghost dead?"

"Zombie, I think. But the thing is, _no one else saw it._ "

"I knew it!" Her voice raised as though she had just had amazing news. "I knew you had something like this inside you."

"You did?"

"Of course, honey. Remember when we were little and we walked through the graveyard of the church on Castle Road?"

"Yeah I remember that place. It was creepy."

"You just looked so at _home_ , darling," she said.

"But, I was just scared."

"No, you weren't. You held my hand, remember? And you said, 'it's all right, they're only sleeping'."

I remembered it the other way, but there was something about the way Lila spoke that made you want to believe everything she said.

"So you think this is something special?"

"Are you kidding? I think this is the _best_ thing that has ever happened to you. Big things are going to happen for you. I can feel it, and my instincts are never wrong," she said.

"As if. I'm nothing special, it's you with the bright future," I said, and I remember laughing, too.

"No, I see something very different for my future," she replied. There was something about her tone that stopped the laughter.

My head is full of Lila on the drive to Izzy's. Every song on the radio reminds me of her. Every flash of a smile from neighbouring cars makes me think it's her. Only when the motorway has me sweating with nerves do I begin to calm and concentrate.

That day when she told me that I would have an important future, she'd talked me back from the brink of fear. There had been a storm brewing inside me and she helped to calm it. I just wish she had been around to help me through a few other crises.

A sudden prick of tears fills my eyes as an angry driver beeps at me whilst overtaking in the centre lane. I hadn't realised how slow I was driving. Perhaps I am nervous to see them, and my subconscious has me slowing down the inevitable.

I shake it off and carry on towards Aunt Izzy's.

There was one thing Lila was right about when we discussed the Things I see. They are special to me now. They have progressed, too. It's not just visions of zombies. I can speak to the dead. Ghosts talk to me. Sometimes I help them, too.

The problem is: people think I'm crazy.

When I had a month-long stay in a mental institute, Lila would have really helped me. Instead, I had to deal with it alone.

But then there are times when Lila has had to deal with things alone, too. The thought makes my stomach squirm. _I should have been there for her._

We don't always look deep enough.

I'm as guilty as Mum was all those years ago.

It doesn't matter now. All that matters is getting to Izzy's without creating a pile-up on the motorway.

With my foot more confidently on the accelerator, the countryside whizzes past me in a blur. I was going to stop and eat Mum's sandwiches for dinner, but I decide to press on instead. The air is warm enough for me to have the window open, and the smell from the fumes spoils the summer afternoon. I should get to Izzy's for early evening.

Her house is isolated on the hills leading up to the cliffs. It's a small house, a three bedroom bungalow, with a long-reaching garden that seems to disappear into the surrounding countryside. It's hard to believe that once my grandparents, my parents and my Aunt Izzy all crammed into the house, all those years ago.

When we were children, Lila and I would run and run down the hill towards the neighbouring field, pretending we were the last remaining humans on the Earth as Izzy's cottage disappeared behind us. I wonder if Izzy and Lila still feel that way.

Only once do I have to consult the map, even though I have never driven to Izzy's before. I've come many times, but what child ever remembers the exact roads and turnings? They only stare out of the windows, making up stories in their minds, staring at the faces that go by in a blur, wondering what stories there are amongst them. At least I always did.

The narrow lane that leads up to Aunt Izzy's is one I remember with total clarity. I remember the shape of a strange tree that arches over the road, its trunk covered in creeping ivy. It always looked like a crooked Y shape, with a split trunk and two long branches extending out like spread fingers.

Once, Lila climbed that tree and hung from it like a monkey, her legs dangling over the road. I screamed and screamed at her, terrified that a lorry would come careening around the corner and kill her instantly. I remember how the image of her battered body popped into my mind and how my blood ran cold. But then Lila pulled herself up and climbed back down the tree, giggling the entire way. I'd joined in with her laughter, but it wasn't genuine. She was the only one who found that funny.

I shake my head now, as I think about it. She had no fear whatsoever. Dad always says that a little fear does us good, and I think he's right.

Is it better that I'm a little afraid now? I'm not sure which it is I'm afraid of, though, the past or the present.

* * *

They are both waiting for me as I pull up. Lila wears her favourite shorts, cut dangerously high up her thighs. As far as I know, she's never had a haircut. She doesn't need one. Her hair hangs loose and lovely, almost to her waist, so much glossier than the unruly hair Mum and I inherited. Izzy always said it was from her Brazilian father, who had come to Scarborough as a child prodigy football player and left the season after. But then sometimes she told us that Lila's father had been the son of a Russian immigrant who was killed by the Bratva. Either way, Lila has managed to skip our dark mess of hair, and has a brown curtain of loveliness instead.

One thing we do share are our dark eyes. We both have taupe eyes with chestnut flecks.

Izzy is like Mum, but with softer features. Her hair is long and wild, too, but not quite as thick as mine or Mum's. She always wears skinny jeans and loose vest tops, and at thirty-four years old she is as beautiful as she was at sixteen. I've seen the photographs. Her smile comes easily, and she's never still, but she moves in languid motions with her arms: a flick of the wrist to remove a stray hair, a sweep of her hand to get a crumb from her top, a stroke of her fingertips as she greets you.

Lila waves, but not just with her hand, with her entire arm, like a person lost at sea. Her eyes are bright in the evening sunshine. Izzy leans on one hip, a crooked smile on her face.

"Mary!" Lila shouts as I exit the car. I smile to her.

"What's cookin', good lookin'?" Don't ask me why, but that's been my Aunt Izzy's greeting for me since I was seven years old. We meet each other halfway and she runs a finger down the scars on my neck. "I'm so sorry, Mary."

I pull away. "It's nothing."

"What happened to you?" Lila asks. She stands next to Izzy with her arms folded and her brow furrowed.

"It's from the fire. But at least I got out okay. Not everyone did," I say.

"The one in the hospital?" Izzy asks.

I nod.

She shakes her head. "Su should never have sent you to that place."

"Mum thought she was doing what was right—"

"By sending you to a psychiatric ward?" She lets out a hollow laugh. "I should have talked her out of it. I would never send Lila to a place like that." Izzy's eyes fill with tears and I give her an awkward hug.

"I'll let you two catch up," Lila says as she walks away to Izzy's cottage.

"It's not your fault," I say. I pause and add, "My time in hospital wasn't so bad, you know. I met some great people."

She brushes away her tears and smiles. "You seem different. You're more grown up."

"I've made some decisions lately," I say. "I feel better for them."

"That's good, kid. Come on up to the house. I'll open some beers."

"Cool, I'll get my things," I reply.

Izzy is one of those "cool" adults who lets you drink alcohol before it's legal. I had my first beer at Izzy's when I was sixteen. I had my first vodka and Coke here too. Mum lets me drink now I'm almost eighteen, but I'm not supposed to with the medication I'm on.

Anti-psychotics.

I don't take them, so it's okay.

At the door I'm greeted by the over-enthusiastic wagging of a tail connected to the worst guard dog in the world—Bentley. Izzy's golden retriever. I lean down and scratch his ears.

"Aww, Bentley missed you," Izzy says. "It's been too long, Mares. I've missed you too."

"And don't forget me!" Lila rushes into the kitchen and goes to pat her dog, but Bentley backs away, his hackles raised and his teeth showing.

"It's so strange, he keeps doing this recently," Izzy says. When she reaches for his collar, he runs from the kitchen. "I just don't get it."

Lila sniffs her armpit. "Maybe I've been using new perfume or something. Crazy dog." She shrugs off the strange behaviour of the dog and climbs onto a stool by the breakfast bar.

Izzy hums as she opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of beer for me. "So what's new with you, chick? Tell me everything, boys, booze, bad behaviour, the lot. I want to live vicariously through you as I approach middle age a spinster."

I pull up a stool next to Lila, who has pulled her feet up and rests her cheek against her knees, sitting precariously close to the edge.

"There was a boy," I admit. "I met him on holiday."

"And?" Izzy asks.

"It's complicated."

"It always is," Lila says, with a wicked grin.

Izzy tosses a tea towel in my direction. "Is that all I get? You've not seen your Aunty Izzy for months and then you leave out the juicy details?"

I catch the towel and laugh. "It's really not that juicy. He had issues and it only lasted the week."

"Did you screw him?" Lila asks.

"I didn't screw him," I say.

The three of us burst out laughing and I toss the towel back to Izzy. "Oh, Mary, you're too sensible. You've got to throw caution to the wind sometime. Hold your hand out of the car window and get some air. Feel the world speeding around you." She points at me. "But always use a condom."

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Stop!"

"If you think this is bad, you should try living with her," Lila says.

Izzy sighs. "I am a little too much sometimes, aren't I? Sorry, Mary. I guess I just feel a little..." She chokes up, then controls herself.

"Like she needs a man," Lila mutters under her breath.

"Have you considered internet dating, Aunt Izzy?" I ask.

Izzy almost chokes on her beer. "Me? Internet dating? Honey, have you _seen_ the kind of men who live around here? And the ones on the Internet are the dregs. No thank you."

"Then let's move," Lila says, her head snapping up from her knees. "Let's move to a big city!"

"What's stopping you from moving?" I ask.

Izzy picks up her beer and moves around the breakfast bar in the kitchen. "Nothing exactly, I just..." She wanders out towards the window and I follow behind. "Will I be able to see the sea when I move?"

I follow her gaze out of the window. A strong breeze plays with the grass. Where the grass ends, the distant sea begins. It's grey in the slowly emerging twilight. It's funny, but whenever I see the sea, I _hear_ it, too. It makes no sense because we're too far away to hear any of the waves, and there aren't any windows open in the cottage anyway, yet still I can hear the gentle lapping, and the call of seagulls. My mind has a perfect loop of seaside noises, and whenever I think of the sea, those sounds pop into my mind and I instantly feel at ease.

"It is beautiful," I say.

"Not as beautiful as Manchester looks at 2am on a Saturday night," Lila calls from across the room.

I turn and offer a smile to her. But then, a feeling from the pit of my stomach has me turning back to the window. It's one of those gradual feelings that builds up as though something is very wrong. I turn back to the window and gasp. My fingers go slack, letting the bottled beer clash against the kitchen tiles. Broken glass bounces against the tops of my feet.

"Don't move," Izzy orders. "I'll get a dustpan and brush."

Suddenly I hear Lila's whisper by my ear. "You saw something, didn't you? We're not alone here, are we?"

"No," I reply. "I don't think we are."

I turn and face Lila and neither of us breathes for a moment. She's so close to me that I can see the freckles on her nose. We're almost exactly the same height. We have been since we were children.

"What did you see?" she asks.

"I saw one of them," I say. "I saw a _Thing_."

Sweat builds on my forehead as I continue to stare out of the window, my eyes locked on where I had seen it. The Things that reveal themselves to me are not ghosts or zombies or ghouls, they are warnings.

This one appeared as a woman, with a tattered dress billowing in the wind. Her eyes were sunken, and wild curly hair cascaded all around her. She might have been beautiful once, but now her skin hangs from her bones like melted plastic. I screw my eyes shut, wanting to forget, but I'm met with more images I'd like to discard from my memory.

They've never frightened me before. Sometimes they are a comfort. But there is something about seeing one of them here... It picks at that scab of a memory, something I saw as a child...

"What does it mean?" Lila asks.

"I don't know," I whisper.

"All right, I have a dustpan and brush," Izzy's voice sounds from the hallway. "I'll get that cleaned up in a jiffy." She strides into the kitchen. "Don't move a muscle." She bends down and begins clearing the mess. Lila backs up and stalks the kitchen, swinging her arms as though listening to her own music.

"Did something startle you?" Izzy asks. Her voice is laboured with the effort of crouching.

"I think it was a bird, or something," I reply.

"This place does that to you sometimes," she says. "I often see weird things late at night in my room."

I spin around. "What kind of things?"

"Whoa, Mary, be careful." She stands up. The dustpan is filled with glass, and there's a malty scent of beer in the air. "You almost stepped on the glass."

But I'm not hearing her anymore. I follow her as she tips the bottle into the bin. The distant memory claws at my skull, desperate to be released.

"What do you see in your room?"

She shrugs. "Shadows, I think. It's just my mind playing tricks. I thought I saw someone standing in the corner of the room."

My blood runs cold. My mouth goes dry. "Have you seen anything else like that?" I insist.

"Yeah, actually. When I was sat out on the porch, Bentley started barking and growling again like you saw earlier. His hackles were raised, and it was strange because it was just me and him out there. I think it was kinda late. I had a glass of wine on the go, I was relaxing after a long shift at the hospital. Anyway, like I said, Bentley seemed really upset about something. Then the door started rattling, as though someone on the other side was trying to open it, which is stupid, because why would someone be inside the house and trying to get out? Then, a few moments later, I thought I saw a shadow rushing across the fields." She gestures towards the window. When we're closer, she points to the field between her back garden and the cliffs. "Right across there. It had me going for a second. I thought it was someone coming towards the house. It was just my eyes playing tricks on me. It's amazing what a long shift will do to your head."

A shadow.

My heart hammers against my chest.

* * *

For the rest of the evening, I help Izzy make brownies while Lila sits and watches us on the stool by the breakfast bar. It reminds me of many other visits to the cottage. Izzy and I would cook or do the washing up, while a barefoot Lila listened to her iPod and danced around the room.

There were times when Mum would tut about Lila's laziness, and in those times, Izzy reminded Mum how Lila looked after herself on the nights when Izzy worked. That soon shut Mum up.

Evening slips away and soon the stars are twinkling. The weather forecast was right, it is a clear night. But as we make our way out onto the fields by the cliffs, we feel the cold nip of the sea air, and Izzy hurries back for extra blankets. When she's gone, I rush to my car and quickly open the boot. I have a small holdall there, which is empty except for one item.

A knife.

I don't hear Lila approach from behind. "What's that?"

The sound of her voice causes me to start, and I end up half brandishing it towards her.

Lila isn't scared. "It's fancy. I like the carvings."

"It's my Athame," I say. "It's for sending ghosts to the otherworld."

"Ooh," she says, leaning closer. "That's so cool. So you think there's a ghost here?"

"I do," I say. I swallow, thinking of a shadow.

"Do you think it will be dangerous?" she asks.

"I... I don't know yet," I reply.

When I hear the cottage door open, I tuck the sheathed knife into my waistband and pull my jumper over it to hide the shape. Then I hurry back into the fields.

"I was going to bring Bentley out, too, but he doesn't want to come." Izzy dumps a cooler box down on the ground, with the blankets on top. I open the deck chairs and Izzy sets to work on a small log fire.

When we're settled on our chairs, Izzy passes me an open beer.

The ownership of the field by Izzy's garden is one of grand speculation. She told us long ago that an Irish traveller bought the field as an investment. But when he wanted to sell it, the people who lived nearby refused to buy the property from him because they all believed he was a thief who had stolen the land, and a horse thief to boot. Apparently, my Granddad was the only person who defended the man, and in recompense, he gave the field to Granddad.

Lila told me that Mum spent so much time in the field that she'd earned squatter's rights to it, and that she legally owned it.

I suspect that neither is true. Whoever owns the field, they've never complained about the many fires started on it at night.

There have been camping nights, and then as we got older, there were raves, too. Aged sixteen, Lila invited her entire school via Facebook, and Izzy came home at 6am to find the field filled with drunken teenagers and empty cups, while I desperately ran around dragging a bin bag, trying to clean up.

She just sighed and walked away.

It makes me wonder if Izzy was right to be that sort of mother. I guess I just thought she gave up trying to tame Lila, that she knew some sort of stubborn Quirke streak had been passed down to her daughter and it was futile to try and quell it. Maybe she thought that letting Lila rebel would eventually calm that streak. I don't know. Maybe she got it wrong.

"Mum wanted me to stay at home and watch the comet there," I say.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says. "Did I cause a problem between the two of you?"

"No, I don't think so. But I felt a bit bad leaving her there."

"Su is a stubborn one." Izzy raises her eyebrows and sips on her beer.

"Don't you think it's time for the two of you to talk?" I say.

Izzy starts to peel the label from her bottle. "You sound so mature, Mary. I can't believe how much you've grown as a person. An actual, mature, grown-up person. You might be the first Quirke girl to make it as a grown-up." She lets out a hollow laugh. "I don't know. We're such children, aren't we? There's a lot of pain there. You can't stir up that pain without a good reason. I'm not sure I have a good reason yet."

I turn away from Izzy, back to the sea. My heart almost stops. There she is. The woman with the melted skin. This time I keep hold of my bottle, but my stomach lurches at the sight of her disfigurement. I look away and then back. She's gone.

What is she warning me about?

Lila stands up and stretches her legs. She wanders towards the cliffs, letting her hands run through the long grass.

"It's so dark tonight," she says. "Hardly any moon. Don't you think it's a good night to look at the stars? I do. I can't wait to see the comet." Lila stops stock still and gasps. She clutches her throat with both hands.

I'm on my feet in an instant.

"What's happening?" Izzy asks. She follows me as I make my way out to Lila.

"Something is here," I say.

Lila hurries towards me. "We're not alone. I... I felt it. It's in the dark somewhere." Her eyes are wide and bright. The moonlight highlights her skin so that it sheens iridescent. She's as bright as a flame in the darkness.

"What's here? I don't understand," Izzy says.

My hand rests over the slight bulge by my waistband, where I know the knife is nestled against my skin.

"You said you've been seeing shadows," I reply. "Well I think they might be more than that."

Izzy's mouth hangs open. "What are you talking about? You're not talking about _ghosts_ are you? Because that... that's..." She trails away and stares out into the distance. Her expression is one of a person who has figured out the answer to a puzzle, but who fears the outcome of that puzzle. She covers her mouth with her hand. "No."

"Now you know why Mum sent me to the psychiatric hospital," I say, my voice coming across as bitter, something that surprises me.

Lila moves closer to me, and a faint rub of static electricity comes from her proximity. "Mary, I know it sounds weird, but I can sense the presence of... something. Is it... is it really a ghost?"

I take in a long breath, drawing comfort from the salty sea air. "All I know is that I can see and hear ghosts when other people can't. Sometimes, I sense them, too. Aunty Iz, since I arrived here, I've felt as though something wasn't quite right." I shoot a glance in Lila's direction. "There is definitely a presence here that should have moved on by now."

"Is it hostile?" Izzy asks, moving her hand from her mouth. Her fingers tremble, and she tucks her hands beneath her armpits.

"I..." I begin.

The night air drops in temperature, and a shiver runs up my spine. Izzy hugs her body tighter, and the wind whips up her hair. I've been here before, in this instant. It's the moment before the bogeyman appears from out of the cupboard, the quiet second before the masked serial killer finds the girl hiding in the wardrobe. By now I should be able to quiet the stirrings of unease that begin with the hair raising on the backs of my arms, and grow until every muscle is clenched and my stomach is twisted into knots.

The gate to the field knocks against the fence post and all three of us spin on our heels, expecting to find the monster behind us. We're greeted by the solitary bumping of the gate against the fence. Lila lets out a nervous laugh.

But my senses are heightened, and I'm aware of some change behind me. I reach for the Athame, and turn slowly around. My heart beats so fast I can feel it in my teeth. My breath is loud and ragged.

_What are you?_ I think. _What do you want?_

The shadow is dark, so dark I cannot make out any features. I had expected to see it right behind me, close enough to breathe down my neck. Instead, it is twenty feet away down the field, and my brandishing of the Athame is pointless.

Most ghosts appear to me as a person. Some still have the wounds they died with. Some seem to be able to change into a different version of themselves, one that is more frightening than what they really are. I don't have the answers why, but I think it might have to do with how much humanity is left in them.

But I have never seen a ghost so dark and so featureless before. It makes me question whether I really am seeing the last remains of a human, or if this is something else. I don't believe in evil, but if I did, I might think of it as dark and lacking as this.

It's as though all the light has been absorbed into this one lump of coal.

"That's it! That's the shadow I saw," Izzy says.

Lila is quiet, her eyes are wide open, and she is so still I wonder whether she is breathing.

"You stay here," I say to them both, as I step forward towards the shadow.

I'd intended my voice to convey some sort of confidence, to reassure those around me. But as I walk on with wobbling legs, I wonder whether that was the case.

"My name is Mary Hades," I say. "I can see the dead, and I know you're here. If you have unfinished business with this world, I can help. You might want to tell me your story. I know most ghosts just want to be heard. I can do that for you, if you like. You can show it to me." The shadow remains still, unmoving and untouched by the wind. I approach it as I would a spooked horse. "I can help you move on from this world. You will find peace."

You can't know that.

I stop moving. My hand grips the handle of the Athame. The sound of the shadow's voice is so distorted that I feel the blood drain away from my face. That voice was not human.

"You're right," I say. I'm shivering all over now, and my teeth chatter. "I don't know that. But it has to be better than being stuck here, right? It has to be better than this."

No.

"You need to leave," I say firmly. "It's not right for you to stay, not like this." My palms sweat, and my knees tremble. The scab of a memory loosens and I find myself saying, "I know you. When I was a little girl, you used to stand in the corner of my room. Whenever I stayed here, you were there. Why?"

I like to watch.

I take a step backwards, sickened right down to my stomach. I have to force myself into focussing on keeping the knife in my hand. I can't lose it now. I must get rid of this creature.

When the shadow moves, I start and my muscles tighten in response. It rushes towards me, so fast and stilted that I hardly have a chance to move. I know that ghosts can hurt me. Some are powerful enough to strangle, or throw or bludgeon. When the shadow comes closer to me, I feel the power emitting from it. It's old power. This person must have been dead a long time.

I lift the Athame and carve a symbol in the air. The shadow is momentarily caught off guard and staggers backwards. It lets out a hiss, like a cornered cat.

"I won't let you hurt anyone," I say. With shaking arms, I turn to the right and carve another symbol in the air. The knife strokes sparkle in the night sky, illuminating the symbols in the circle of protection.

"What are you doing?" Lila calls to me.

"I'm trapping the ghost," I reply.

The shadow swipes an arm at me as I draw the third symbol in the air. Claw marks appear on an invisible barrier. I've seen ghosts tear flesh before. A shudder ripples through me. _That could have been me._

The fourth symbol goes into place, completing the circle of protection that traps the spirit. Izzy rushes to my side.

"What is happening, Mary?" she asks.

"This ghost has been in your cottage," I reply. "I'm sending it on with my Athame."

"You can do that?" Lila says. "You can force ghosts to move on?"

"How do you do it?" Izzy asks.

"I have to stab the ghost in the heart."

Lila gasps and covers her mouth. "It's so barbaric."

"They don't feel it," I add.

_Don't send me away_ , says the shadow.

Izzy steps back in horror at the sound of its voice.

"It's not safe for you to stay here," I say. "This is your time, now."

As I plunge the knife through the barrier and into the shadow's heart, it lets out one long hiss. But as the shadow begins to fade into the otherworld, a man appears. That man is tall, well-built and has a scar running across his face. His clothes are from another time, long ago. Simple and shapeless. The expression on his face causes me to back away, falling into Izzy.

"He was a bad man," Izzy says. "I saw it in him when he left. Thank you for sending him away from my house."

I wipe nervous sweat from my palms and return the Athame to its sheath. It's then that I turn to Lila and my eyes fill with tears.

"Shall we go back to stargazing now?" Izzy asks.

Lila and I don't break eye contact. We're both swimming in our unshed tears. My throat is raw with held-back sobs.

"Izzy," I say, keeping my voice very measured and calm. "There's something else."

"No." Lila rushes towards me. "Don't, please don't."

"She's still here, Izzy."

"No," Lila says, her voice almost a scream as she lets the tears come. "Please, no, I don't want to go."

Izzy staggers back.

"Lila," I say. "You can't stay here. Not like this. Not without a purpose. What are you staying for?"

When Izzy speaks, it is barely louder than a whisper, and it wobbles with grief. "Wh-what sort of joke is this? My daughter is dead."

"Mum, no!"

"Izzy, Lila's ghost is still here. I need to help her move on."

My aunt, my fragile, wounded aunt, grips my arm so tightly that her fingernails dig into my skin. She bends over me and sobs onto my shoulders, almost completely collapsed against my back.

"No, no, I can't say goodbye again."

"Mum." Lila reaches for her, but her fingers disappear into Izzy's arm. Izzy jumps back, sensing the electric shock of a ghostly touch. "Can I at least watch the comet with you? And you can tell the story again. Please, Mary."

I want to push the hair out of Lila's eyes and pull my cousin—no, my sister—into a comforting hug. But I can't do any of those things.

"Of course you can," I say, my chin wobbling as I speak.

"What did she say?" Izzy asks.

"She wants to see the comet, and she wants to hear the story one last time," I tell her.

Izzy only nods, and I suspect that she cannot control herself enough to say anything more. The three of us walk with our heads lowered, back to the smouldering campfire and the two deck chairs set out under the stars. I lift up my blanket and climb underneath, desperate for warmth. Lila sits on the grass at her mother's feet. She rests her cheek on her knee and gazes up at her mother as Izzy begins to tell the story we have heard so many times before.

"I knew about the comet. It had been on the news. The science teacher at school was insistent that we should go outside and watch it, because we might never find a night perfect enough for stargazing again. He was my favourite teacher, and I think if it had been anyone else I might not have bothered. So, even though I was nine months pregnant, I slipped out of my room, and I came out here to go walking. I walked all along the fields, across there, following the cliff line in the dark. I had no fear, because I have walked these fields for so long that I know them like the back of my hand. And somehow, I knew then, that when you came it would not be like other births. It would be more. It would be special."

She wipes tears from her eyes and continues. I've never been as proud of my Aunt Izzy as I was in that moment, brave enough to control her voice long enough to tell the story to her dead child.

"But even still, I didn't think you would come that night. I'd had some pains, but I thought they were the practice ones everyone talked about. It was a week before your due date and I'd spent the last nine months having everyone talk down to me and treat me like I was stupid. I didn't want to go to the hospital and have them send me away with a roll of their eyes. I know now that they would never do that. But at the time it seemed important. So I ignored all the warning signs and I went for my walk amongst the fields and stars, waiting for the comet.

"When I got to the top of the hill, right over there in the distance"—Izzy points to a faraway mound—"my waters broke, and I knew I was in trouble. Everyone told me that you have hours until the baby is born, even after your waters break, so I hurried back towards the house, hoping I could make it in time to have Dad drive me to the hospital. But as I hurried, those pains grew worse and worse until I couldn't walk." She laughs. "Oh, Lila, you were as impatient in birth as you were in life. You wanted to come out to this world so bad." Izzy chokes up, and Lila presses her face into her knees. I wipe the tears from my cheeks. "I dropped to my knees and I pushed and pushed and pushed, and then you were crying, and I was pulling you from me, and there you were, this squirming little thing, this gooey and gross little shrivelled baby. And as I lifted you up in my arms, you opened your eyes and stared up at the sky. And at that moment, the comet raced through the dark, with its tail gleaming behind. It was the first thing you ever saw."

Izzy's shaking hand clutches her mouth as the story ends.

"Then it will be the last thing I see, too," Lila says. She turns to the sky, but before that she stops and looks at her mum. "I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry I put you through this. I'm sorry for the partying, and the boys, and for not telling you where I was. I'm sorry for the things I put you through. But most of all, I'm sorry I took that pill. I wanted to live so badly, that I burned myself up and died. Mary, tell her. Tell her I'm sorry."

I tell Izzy, who only nods, still holding herself with shaking fingers, her red eyes filled with water.

We all look up to the sky at the same time and there it is, the comet, almost hanging in the sky like a large star. We become transfixed, consumed by the vision of this thing, this celestial being.

"It's beautiful," Lila says.

For a brief moment, the light from the comet lights up all of our faces. I watch Lila's eyes, filled with awe. I'd known she would still be here, but I don't know why. Perhaps I had sensed it. Perhaps it was coincidental. Either way, I'm glad I got these last few moments with her, and I'm glad Izzy did too. We gasp as the comet brightens for just an instant, revealing the long stretching tail, and then a cloud shifts across, obstructing it from view.

"I wish it had stayed longer," Lila says.

We stare up at the sky, but the clouds are heavy and unmoving.

Lila stands up and turns to me. "It's time."

Izzy notices the change in my demeanour. "What is it? What is she saying?"

"She says it's time for her to go," I relay.

"Are you going to stab her through the heart?" Izzy asks.

"Yes," I reply. "But she won't feel a thing."

Izzy lets out a sob before she composes herself. "I love you, sweetheart."

As I work around my cousin, drawing the same symbols from the circle of protection, Lila begins to light up brighter. Izzy gasps as her daughter comes into view.

"You look so beautiful," Izzy says. "I'm so glad I got to see you one more time."

I position the knife, but hesitate as I look into my cousin's eyes. I see the girl I grew up with, the girl who brought me her last gummy bear. This is not how it should be. I should be at her children's births, and visiting her when she's old and grey, not looking into the young eyes of a teenage girl who made one mistake that took her life from her. This isn't fair.

"Do it, Mary," she says. "It's okay. You were right. I don't want to end up a shadow like that man. I want to go now, while I still have the ability to choose."

I open my mouth to say goodbye, but it seems such an insignificant word to use. I don't know how to verbalise everything in my mind.

"It's all right," she says. "You can do this. You can do everything you want and more. I always knew you were the special one."

There's no malice, no bitterness in her voice, only hope.

I plunge the knife into her chest. She leaves us in a bright flourish of hair and teeth, her eyes closed, her face in ecstasy.

The tears come thick and fast as she leaves us in the dark. It's like we're empty without her presence. The night sky is devoid of its light.

Izzy reaches for my wet cheeks, her hands shaking and frantic. Her fingers hook around the back of my neck and she pulls me forward so that our foreheads touch and our tears almost mingle.

"We know—you and me—that there's something... that something happens after we... We've seen Lila, we know there are at least ghosts. We know that much. But this world, _this_ world, is worth fighting for. Don't you ever forget that. There is so much beauty here. Don't you ever let the dark take you away from love, and nature, and people. Don't ever let it make you give up."

"I know... I know, Aunt Iz."

She grips my neck tighter until it almost hurts. "No, you don't. This calling you're answering, it's a heavy responsibility for a young girl. I worry about you, so caught up in death, it's not healthy."

"I'm okay. Really, I don't think about it like that."

"Just don't ever give up. I want to believe my daughter is at peace. If only I know for certain that she's in heaven right now. To me, heaven has always been on earth. It has always been in the sunset and the wonders of the world. I don't want you to miss out on any of that."

"I won't."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

Izzy releases the back of my skull and leans back to full height. She wipes the tears from her eyes and picks up a bottle of beer from the picnic table.

Lila lived her life like the trail of a comet, burning fast and bright, and disappearing from sight in an instant. We're not all comets, but when we see one, it reminds us of how fleeting, and how dazzling life can be. Lila has always been my comet. Every time we were together, I felt as though some of her vibrancy rubbed off on me, lighting me with her spotlight.

Now I know the truth. We all have a spotlight—we just need to know how to find it.

# About Sarah Dalton

Sarah grew up in the middle of nowhere in the countryside of Derbyshire and as a result has an over-active imagination. She has been an avid reader for most of her life, taking inspiration from the stories she read as a child, and the novels she devoured as an adult.

Sarah mainly writes speculative fiction for a young adult audience, and has had pieces of short fiction published in the _Medulla Literary Review, Apex Magazine, PANK_ magazine and the British Fantasy Society publication _Dark Horizons_. Her short story 'Vampires Wear Chanel' is featured in the Wyvern Publication _Fangtales_.

_The Blemished_ series is Sarah's first full-length work of fiction. In a Fractured Britain, Mina Hart has to fight against the Genetic Enhancement Ministry to win back her rights.

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#  The Sleeping Goddess

### Zoe Cannon
I find the human prisoner standing by the window, as always. Staring out at a world he hasn't walked in three years.

"I keep telling you not to look. Wanting what you can't have will never bring you anything but pain." The cell door clangs shut behind me as I hold out the bowl of runny porridge. "Stop making yourself sick. Come eat."

As he turns to face me, the tear tracks on his face shine in the light of the setting sun. But his smile is bright, and when he speaks, he keeps his grief from his voice. "And what has the chef prepared for me tonight? Goose? Pheasant? I know—a thick, juicy slab of steak, dripping with gravy, tender enough to melt in my mouth."

His tears rip at my heart—they always do, no matter how many times I remind myself of what he is and what he has done—but his smile is worse. It asks too much. Promises too much.

Wanting what you can't have will never bring you anything but pain.

I lower my eyes as I press the bowl into his hands. I don't speak.

"What, no witty retort tonight? And just when I thought I was starting to break through that elven stoicism of yours." Concern crosses his face as I look up. "Is something wrong?"

I don't answer.

I have confided in him before—confessed my hidden resentments, my secret fears. I have spent too many evenings sitting beside him on that stone slab that passes for a bed as I tell him about the high priestess's endless daily demands, and about my nightmares filled with blood and death. But this is something I cannot share.

"Stay. Eat with me." Another of his smiles, another rip in my composure. "I may even share this delicious meal with you, as hard a sacrifice as that would be."

I want to stay. His is the only company I have apart from the high priestess's lessons and orders. Sometimes I suspect his voice is the only thing that keeps the silence of the temple from crushing me under its weight.

I want to stay—and I want to run from this cell as fast and as far as I can, until I forget who he is, who I am, what I know.

I shake my head. "I have my duties to attend to."

A tolerant sigh. "Of course you do. Well then, I suppose I have no choice but to keep myself entertained tonight with my own sparkling personality." His voice is light, but I don't miss the way he glances toward the window.

"Don't spend all evening looking out there. It won't change anything." Sympathy squeezes itself from my tightened throat. Sympathy for a human. For this human. I will spend an extra hour in meditation tonight. I need to clear my mind.

"I won't."

"Don't lie to me." I've grown too used to talking to him like this, soft and familiar, my reproach almost teasing. I have allowed myself too much time in this cell.

But soon enough I won't have to fight with myself over him anymore. Soon enough the temptation will be gone.

His smile changes, becomes wry and wistful—a silent acknowledgement of defeat. "You know me too well."

Yes. Yes, he's right about that.

"Will you tell me one thing, before you go?" he asks.

I wait.

"I gave up on trying to count the days a long time ago." He gestures behind him to the wall covered in hundreds of tiny scratches, his early attempt to track the length of his imprisonment. "But I know it's been years. And I know..." He hesitates; his smile warps, then slips from his face. "I remember what you told me. I know you aren't planning on keeping me around forever." His throat bobs as he swallows. "How long do I have?"

"The conditions won't be right for many years," I lie. "You have no reason to worry. Not yet."

I turn away so he won't see my face.

Over the past three years, I have come to care for my prisoner. More than any _Lura'e_ should care for a human. More than a priestess should care for anyone.

And tomorrow I will kill him.

* * *

Three years ago, the human armies marched into our city. They sliced through our armies, burned through our streets. They broke down the doors of our temple and profaned our holy ground with the stink of human sweat, with the shouts of human voices. With the blood of countless _Lura'e_ dripping from their blades.

The temple housed three hundred priestesses. Two of us survived.

I had been assigned to wash the temple's linens on the day of the attack. From the courtyard, I heard the first screams. Someone older, someone braver, would have run to help. I hid. I burrowed under a pile of sodden fabric, and didn't move until the last of my sisters' death cries had faded from the air.

I still hear their voices in my dreams.

When the soldiers had gone, I searched the temple for survivors. I tripped over the bodies of my sisters, my feet sticky with their blood. Every room held the same scene—until I found the high priestess.

She lay in front of the central altar, her legs all but severed from her body. When I saw her, I knew she was dead, that I was the only survivor. I knelt beside her body, bent double from grief, and found myself staring into her eyes, cloudy with pain but still very much alive.

Only the quick work of the healers saved her. But not even they could restore what she had lost. Since that day, she has remained confined to her bed, communing with the Goddess in private while I act as her hands.

Three years ago, I—the youngest of us—took over the high priestess's duties, and those of every other priestess we had lost.

Three years ago, our defending army captured a prisoner, a human soldier barely older than myself. At the high priestess's command, they delivered him to the temple, where I locked him in a cell I had never known about before that day.

Three years ago, the high priestess told me of the Sleeping Goddess.

Three years ago, I learned my prisoner's purpose, and my own.

* * *

A single candle burns in the high priestess's chamber, sending shadows slithering across the wall with every flicker of the flame. Incense burns in a small dish beside her bed, a strange spicy scent—sharp like a shrewd glance from ancient eyes, sharp like the edge of a blade. Aside from the candle, the incense, and a small table to hold them both, her bed is the only object in the circular tower. The high priestess prefers nothing to distract her from her visions.

"Elia." Her wrinkled voice, as tattered as the flags that fly above our ruined city, calls to me.

I pad across the room to her bedside. The sounds of my feet, of my breath, feel like an intrusion into the stillness of this room. "High Priestess," I answer, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Your mind is clouded. Doubts obscure your clarity of purpose. You come seeking confirmation of what you already know to be true." The words hiss out of her like wind passing through the husks of burned trees. "Ask your question."

It's no use pretending I only came to bring her nightly sleeping tea. I set the cup down beside the bed. "What have you seen of the war?"

She has not left this room in three years, yet she sees more of the world than I do. I have never left the walls of the temple. I know the world as my prisoner does, through narrow windows and glints of sunlight. The people of the city bring us whatever we require, but I am forbidden to speak to anyone outside the temple until my training is complete. I accept their offerings of food in silence, noting their protruding ribs and drawn faces, closing my lips on my questions. But the high priestess's mind ranges where she wills. She sees every battle, every bitter defeat, every inch of land the humans wrest from us. Only the human encampments are barred from her, blocked from her sight by the humans' foreign magic.

A disapproving sigh. "You did not come to hear our latest losses. One cannot serve the Goddess with a dishonest heart—you know this. Speak the truth, girl."

"Can we defeat the humans without calling on... on Her?" Not my goddess, the goddess I was given to the temple to serve. The other, the one whose name I am forbidden to speak. I should not even know of Her existence, would not if the human armies had not left me the only one capable of performing this duty.

"Those thoughts serve no purpose. In one more night, She will awaken, and the war will end."

"But if we didn't do this... if instead we studied human magic, and learned to use their weapons..." I swallow. "Would we have a chance?"

Another sigh, like the creaking of a hinge. "No."

My breath catches at her answer. But it is nothing other than what I expected. Nothing I didn't already know.

I push the cup a little closer. "I brought your tea."

"Thank you, Elia." She closes a trembling hand around the cup. Liquid sloshes over the side as she lifts it to her mouth. "You have served well, these past three years. And tomorrow night, you will perform your duty with no uncertainty in your heart. I have no doubt of this." But her voice holds a warning. She is not showing me a future she has seen. She is telling me what must be. What I must do.

I keep my voice from wavering as I answer. "I will do as She requires."

The cup shakes in the high priestess's grip. She lifts it to take another sip, but hesitates. "The war is not the only thing I see."

My heart drops to the floor. I wait, eyes down, hands clasped behind my back—the proper posture for accepting a reprimand. I already know what she will say.

"You are too familiar with the prisoner. You speak to him as if he were _Lura'e_ , as if he were a friend. You look at him in ways forbidden to you. These clouds in your heart are his doing."

I find my voice. "Tomorrow night, it won't matter."

Her eyes pierce through mine. "See that you remember that."

I answer with a silent nod.

Satisfied, she drains the cup. She sets it down on the bedside table before lying back on her pillows. "Leave me," she orders, her eyes already drifting shut. "You have the evening devotions to perform."

I nod again. But I don't leave.

The tea, as always, works quickly. It takes mere seconds for her body to relax, mere minutes for her breathing to deepen. But I wait longer than I need to, long enough to be sure. Only when a soft snore issues from her bed do I move.

Softly, my hands trembling as much as hers did a moment ago, I reach for her. My hands brush the parchment-rough skin of her neck until they close around the slender chain she wears. Not daring to breathe, I lift it over her head, smoothing her cloud-white hair back into place as the chain and the object it holds come free.

The key, warm from lying against her chest, sears my hand like an ember. Like a threat.

I don't let go.

With the key to the temple gate clutched in my hand, I leave the tower as quietly as I entered.

I have never stepped outside the temple gate. Nor have I ever mourned my lack of freedom. My place is here.

To leave would be to betray my goddess. To leave with the human would be to betray my people.

I cannot allow myself to think of what I might do.

* * *

From birth I have served Antara, sovereign goddess of the _Lura'e_. Our mother, our guardian, our guide and solace. The bounty of Her womb gives life to our world; the clarity of Her sight guides our soldiers' arrows; the warmth of Her arms comforts the brokenhearted and the dying alike. Her voice strengthens me in my darkest nights, and steadies me as I move through my days.

From birth I have served only Her. But there is another.

None outside the temple walls has heard the name of the Sleeping Goddess, the Dark Sister. None alive has witnessed the opening of Her Eye. For a thousand years She sleeps, then awakens for mere months before falling into another slumber.

But on the first night of Her waking, She is ours to petition.

Her language is blood. Speak in blood, and She will answer.

Tomorrow, I will call on Her with the death of a human, and She will respond in kind.

No human will survive Her awakening.

It is the only way to save the _Lura'e_ from annihilation at their hands.

I can still remember the look in the human's eyes when I answered his question on the day of his capture. When I told him his fate, omitting only the explanation of what it would mean for the rest of his kind.

I should never have told him.

I should never have spoken to him.

Sasha.

I should never have learned his name.

* * *

The prisoner jerks up from his bed as the cell door opens. He squints into the unsteady light of the candle I carry. "Elia?"

The key, though cold now, scalds my skin. I don't answer.

He sits, shivering, clutching his ragged blanket around himself. I wish I could do the same. His cell is as cold as the night outside.

I wish I could wrap my arms around him and calm his shaking.

He blinks the sleep from his eyes. "What are you doing here? You never visit this late." His voice is filled with unspoken hopes, unspoken fears.

I stand as still as ice. "Why did you become a soldier?"

"What?"

"You joined the human army. You swore an oath to eliminate the _Lura'e._ Why?"

He sighs. "Don't do this, Elia. Don't open a door that can't be closed again. Just let us have this time together, for however long... however long I have left." His voice catches, but he quickly recovers. "Here in this cell, there are no humans, and no elves _._ I don't want to ruin that."

His words cut me to the bone. "Is that how you think of me? That I'm not _Lura'e_? That I'm not the same as the people you killed?" He was right. My words have opened a door, one that will never close. A chasm yawns between us now, as wide and as deep as the river that runs between this world and the land of the dead. Between me and my massacred sisters calling out for vengeance.

"I didn't kill anyone. I told you that the day we met. I tried to follow my orders, but when I smelled the blood... when I saw..." A shudder ripples through him. "I hid in the guard tower, trying not to hear. That's how your people found me."

"Answer my question."

"My answer won't change anything. It won't change what happened to your temple, or what happened to me. Aren't you the one who keeps telling me not to dwell on the past?"

"I told you to answer me." Feelings I would rather not examine thicken my voice.

Another sigh, long and low. "Because we remember. We may not live for hundreds of years like you, but we remember. Your parents, your grandparents, dragged my ancestors in chains to your damned forests. Any human villages that resisted, you leveled to the ground, and planted trees to erase the fact that they had ever existed. But we never forgot. We never forgot how we labored for you, fought for you, died for you, so you could sit in your temples and keep your hands clean." His voice is rough with emotions long held back. "I was born the year my people discovered magic and used it to break free. But my parents made sure I knew our history. The eight hundred years we spent as slaves, the humans who sacrificed their lives so I could live my life in freedom. I joined the army to honor their memory. To ensure that my future children, and their children, could never be caged in the forests of the elves."

"There are no forests anymore." I can't look at him. Can't listen to the human hatred pouring from his mouth. "You burned them all."

"You'll only replant them. If we stop fighting, if we forget what you're capable of, soon enough the leaves will blot out the sun again like they did for eight hundred years."

"If you escaped, would you fight for them again?" My voice is made of stone. I wish I could say the same of my heart.

"Elia..." His voice holds a quiet plea. "El, don't."

But his appeals have come too late. They can't close the door I've opened. They can't silence these questions, can't lighten the weight of the key against my skin. "Would you?"

"I would never hurt you, Elia. Never." His eyes beg me to let that be enough.

"Do you think your armies would care? They won't rest until even the memory of us is gone."

"I would find a place for you. I would keep you safe."

"While you devoted your life to wiping out my kind."

The plea in his eyes dims. He shakes his head. "I can't say what you want me to say. I can't pretend I don't believe in the cause I fought for. We won't be your slaves again."

"And we will not be destroyed." With a silent groan, the chasm between us rips further open until I can barely see him. His face blurs before me as I turn away. "I shouldn't have come."

"Elia, wait. Please."

A tear runs down my chin and splashes to the cold stone floor.

"Elia, I..."

My hand tightens around the stolen key as I open the door.

"Elia, I love you."

The door falls shut behind me, and the temple is silent once again.

* * *

The moon is already bright in the sky, and I have not yet begun the evening devotions.

I swallow my grief as I approach the altar. My bare feet absorb the coolness of the smooth stone; they follow the dark rivers that snake across the floor, the bloodstains I haven't managed to scrub clean in three years of trying.

Here in this chamber, my thoughts should be on nothing but the Goddess. But sometimes, when I look at the floor, the unnatural silence fills with the echoes of their screams.

This is what I will avenge, when I take his life.

With shaking hands, I light the first candle. "Antara, Bright Mother..."

Sasha's face swims before my eyes.

"...who lights our way in the darkness..."

My hand hovers over the third candle.

I have performed these devotions a thousand times before. But tonight the words fly out of my memory, leaving me silent and empty. Tonight my head is filled with the ghost-screams of my sisters, and with the quiver in Sasha's voice as he spoke those three forbidden words for the first time.

The Goddess's face slips from my mind. The flames flicker and die, leaving me in shadow.

I fall to my knees before the altar. Hot tears pool atop the faded smears of blood.

"Find me another way," I whisper. "Antara, Bright Mother, who lights my way in the darkness... find me another way."

* * *

Every night for the past three years, I have dreamed the same dream. Every night I relive my walk through the bloodstained corridors on the day of the humans' attack. Every night the blood grows redder, the silence thicker, the eyes of the dead more accusing. And every night, the corridors stretch farther into the distance.

This dream is different.

Trees rise up in every direction, their upper branches brushing heights my vision cannot reach. Higher than the clouds; higher than the sun. Light filters through the leaves to shine in softly shifting dimples against my skin.

Above me, the world hums with life. Every branch holds another structure, each one unique, all straining upward toward the sun as they twist with the curves of the tree trunks. Their windows flicker with more lights than a hundred starry skies. Bridges of wood and rope stretch from one tree to another, and across them all, _Lura'e_ talk and shout and laugh as they hurry forward or stroll without purpose. This is the world of my parents, and their parents, and their parents before them. A world untouched by the humans' flames.

And before me stands a figure who makes it all look as worthless as the ashes the humans gave us in its place.

She shines with a light so dazzling I can only stand to look for a fraction of a second before I turn away. But that single glimpse burns her image into my eyes. She stands twice as tall as me, taller than any _Lura'e_ I have known. Her simple gown flows to the earth in waves of green. Her ears rise up in graceful points from a summer-golden waterfall of hair. And her eyes...

Her eyes contain worlds.

I prostrate myself before Her. "Queen and Mother, I offer myself to You—"

She shakes Her head; waves of radiant hair ripple down Her back. "There is no need for that." Her voice is soft summer sunlight on my skin. It is a blanket wrapping me in warmth on the coldest winter night. It is the laughter of my sisters, before they were taken from me.

My voice fails. My lips snap shut.

"Stand up." She speaks gently, as a mother to a child. Still, my pulse pounds through my veins as I scramble to obey.

Once again, I raise my eyes to Her. Her radiance sears itself into my vision, as if I were staring at the sun, as if I were adrift in a sea of fire. A cry of pain leaps from my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut. Apologies burble from my lips as ghostly afterimages dance behind my eyelids. "I... I'm sorry, I... I can't..."

"I did not come to hear you apologize for being mortal." Her voice echoes with quiet amusement. Her fingers brush my cheek; the touch burns like a brand. "I came because My servant was in need, and she called for Me."

In Her presence, my plea feels like presumption of the most dangerous sort. How had I dared to speak to Her? How can I dare it now? But the memory of Sasha's confession of love helps me to find my voice.

"You know the threat we face." I keep my eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

Her voice holds more sorrow than I could feel in a thousand lifetimes. "Yes, My Elia. I know."

"Without Your guidance, we will do the unspeakable—or we will die." My strength burns away into nothing under the heat of Her gaze. "Please." I whisper the word. "Help me. Help us."

I tell myself that by "us" I mean the _Lura'e_.

"Oh, Elia." Her words envelop me. "You are young. You do not understand." A gentle sigh, the music of a breeze through summer leaves. "I wish this did not fall to you."

From birth I have served my Goddess. From birth I have trusted Her. From birth I have loved Her.

Her presence cannot fill me with fear. Her words cannot fill me with doubt.

And yet a chill of uncertainty creeps through my bones.

The wind hisses through the trees, whispering secrets in a voice too low to hear. In front of me, the light of the Goddess burns as brightly as the flames that took our forests from us.

"You fear My sister. You dread the destruction She will bring." The love in Her voice should be sweet syrup on my tongue. Instead I taste only ash. "You were raised to serve life, not death."

I nod in answer. Everything She says is true—and yet it does nothing to banish the dread that courses through me.

"But life and death spring from the same root. Life cannot exist without death, nor death without life. When you call upon My sister, you call upon Me. From Her power, from the humans' deaths, your forests will grow green again."

She motions at the beauty that surrounds us. The heart of our people, the life the humans stole. At Her gesture, the trees bend in a graceful dance, scattering new patterns of light across my arms. But the sun's warmth no longer touches me.

The high priestess spoke the truth.

There is no other way.

From birth I have served my Goddess. From birth I have known my purpose.

What am I, if I do not obey Her now?

"Do not let your prisoner's fate trouble you." The music of Her words clashes with my thoughts, fills my head with disharmony. "Soon his kind will be no more than a memory, and the trees of the _Lura'e_ will fill the skies once more."

_I love you,_ Sasha whispers.

I take refuge in the words of ritual. "I am Your hands upon this earth. As You guide me, so I shall obey."

Although I cannot look at Her, I sense Her smile like a glowing coal against my skin. I feel Her love twist around my heart.

I open my eyes to darkness.

In place of the forest, the cold stone walls of the temple surround me. In place of Her voice, there is only silence.

Beside me on the mattress, the key gleams in the dim moonlight.

Before long, the sun will rise.

And when it sets again, the Sleeping Goddess will awaken.

* * *

I replace the key before the high priestess wakes.

I know what I must do.

* * *

There is no moon as I lead the prisoner into the darkness of the empty courtyard. No light illuminates the blackened carcasses of the trees that surround the temple; no shadows fall from their skeletal branches. Even the stars have disappeared tonight. The sky is an empty pit, with only one light to break the endless black.

Newly opened, still cloudy with sleep, the Eye nonetheless stills my breath. A pale orb, already brighter than any star, stares down on me with cold awareness. It blazes with the blue-white glow of the coldest days of winter or the hottest part of a flame. A trail of white fire follows in its wake.

The Sleeping Goddess has awakened.

Sasha mumbles as he trips over his feet. His eyes focus on nothing. The herbs I slipped into his food have done their job; his legs move, but he is no more aware than a sleepwalker. While I lead his body, his mind is lost in dreams.

I hope his dreams are pleasant ones.

I guide him up the steps of the circular platform that stands in the center of the courtyard. The platform is carved from dark wood, older than the temple itself and stronger than any stone. On an ordinary night, every inch glows with a silver light that emanates from the intricate symbols carved along its surface.

Tonight the light is gone.

Sasha sways on his feet. Gently, one hand cradling the back of his head, I lower him to the ground. He lies back without protest. His lips move silently, forming meaningless words.

Forming a name. _Elia._

I look away.

The Eye's cold light falls on my upturned face as I push myself to my feet. I try not to squirm under Her icy regard, so different from the summer warmth of my dream. A hush of anticipation falls over the courtyard—no owls call out through the night, no insects chirp, even the wind no longer dares to whisper. The world has gone still as it waits for me to speak the first words of the incantation.

I clear my throat.

And I begin.

The courtyard should be ringed with priestesses adding their voices to my own. Instead I stand alone under the burning white gaze of the Sleeping Goddess. The chant that should be heavy with power sounds like the mewling of a frightened kitten. My tongue stumbles over the alien words the high priestess taught me.

But it won't matter, in the end. She listens not to speech, but to blood. And I will give Her blood.

Sasha stirs. He groans. "Elia..."

My voice falters. Quickly, before I can lose Her attention, I pick up the thread of the chant again.

Sasha takes in the scene around him. His gaze returns to me, drops to the knife I clutch in white-knuckled fingers. "What are you..." The naked betrayal in his eyes tells me he already knows the answer to his unfinished question.

The chant comes to an end. The last halting word hangs in the air as the Eye sheds the dimness of sleep and shines down on us with baleful brilliance.

I see Sasha try to stand, try to run, as I kneel beside him. I watch his eyes fill with despair as his heavy limbs refuse to obey. Straining with the effort, he lifts one shaking arm in a futile attempt to shield himself against me.

"Elia." My name sighs from his lips with all the love and anguish of a hopeless prayer.

"I love you," I whisper.

And I slice the blade down.

It bites into flesh. A streak of red splits the palm of his hand.

He gasps—at the pain, at the realization that he is still alive. His wide eyes meet mine.

I raise the knife a second time, the edge still dark with his blood, and draw it across my own palm. I hiss as the skin separates, as the blood pools to the surface.

" _Rhysara!_ " I scream the forbidden name into the night.

The air thickens. My hair crackles as it lifts out from my face. Above us, the Eye glares down. For a moment, I see myself as She sees me—small, pitiful, unworthy of speaking Her name. I want to cringe away, to cower, to run until I find a corner dark enough to shield me from Her notice.

But I stand strong.

I clasp my palm to Sasha's. I raise our hands to the sky, to the Eye above us; our mingled blood flows past our wrists, down our upstretched arms.

"Our blood is one." His hand against mine gives me strength. My voice, no longer hesitant, rings out into the night. "Our people are one. As life and death spring from the same root, so too do humans and _Lura'e._ If the humans bleed, the _Lura'e_ will bleed. If a human takes the life of a _Lura'e_ , or a hundred, the human will fall alongside them."

Pain branches through me like a lightning strike. My blood is on fire; the Goddess fills my veins. Blood is Her language, and She speaks through mine, every silent syllable a rush of agony. Beside me, Sasha's scream tears the sky in two.

And then it ends.

I find myself bent double, breathing ragged, teeth clenched. Tears I don't remember crying run down my face.

Sasha's hand is still clutched in mine.

He stares down at our hands, at the blood that drips from the place where my skin meets his. His face is pale, his eyes as round as the Eye above.

For the first time, I wonder whether he will hate me for the choice I have made on his behalf. The choice I have made for his kind as well as my own.

He picks up the knife from where I let it fall. Before I can think to stop him, he jerks the blade forward; a neat slice opens in the center of my free hand.

He drops the knife, its hilt stained with his blood, to reveal a matching wound along his own palm.

I spoke in blood, and She answered.

I have betrayed my goddess.

I have betrayed my people.

I have ended this war.

Sasha studies the wound as if expecting it to disappear. When he turns to me, his eyes are full of wonder. "What is this?" I search his tone for condemnation, and find none.

"My people's survival," I answer. "And yours."

I can no longer feel the wintry stare of the Sleeping Goddess against my skin. The Eye's pale light is only light, no different from that of any star. I have no way of knowing whether I have angered or pleased Her. Perhaps She no longer sees me at all, now that the ritual is complete.

But it makes no difference.

I am finished here.

I drop Sasha's hand as I rise to my feet. "The humans need to be told. And the _Lura'e._ Before one side attacks the other and destroys themselves in the process." I pause, willing my voice not to catch. "The humans would trust a fellow human more than they would trust me. And I could use the guidance of someone who knows the world outside these walls." Despite my efforts, my voice slips away from me. I finish in a whisper. "And I would... appreciate your company."

I will not look at him. I will not torture myself with the look in his eyes as he refuses. Why would he do anything but refuse, when accepting my offer means aiding the _Lura'e_?

Wanting what you can't have will never bring you anything but pain.

His voice is barely louder than my own. "What you said back then. Did you mean it?"

"When?"

"You know when. When you—when I thought you were about to—" He raises his blood-caked palm in reminder.

But I don't need him to remind me.

I remember what I said. The three words I whispered, my final gift to him before my betrayal.

I love you.

These feelings are forbidden to a servant of the Goddess. But I no longer belong to Her. I severed myself from Her with the same knife stroke that bound _Lura'e_ and humans together.

"Yes." I still don't look at him. "I meant it."

He reaches for my hand. His fingers, still wet with my blood and his, close over mine.

"Then I suppose we're stuck with each other." From the corner of my eye, I watch a smile spread across his face. A real smile, unshadowed by captivity, as unlike his previous attempts at levity as the sun is to the moon. "I can't leave you to face the human army without my help, now can I?"

At last, I turn to face him.

He does not glow with agonizing brilliance. His touch does not burn like molten metal against my flesh. But his eyes warm something deep inside me, something that spreads until it extends out past my skin, until I feel as if I must be shining as brightly as the Goddess Herself.

For the first time in three years, I feel the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of my lips.

"We have a long road ahead of us." With a grunt of effort, he pushes himself to his feet. He gives my hand a gentle tug as he begins to walk on legs that have already lost most of their unsteadiness. "We had better get started."

I look past him to the steps that lead down from the platform. To the temple, every stone as familiar to me as my own heartbeat even in this darkness.

To the far end of the courtyard, and the gate that waits there.

I have never stepped beyond the walls of the temple. Since the earliest days of my life, the temple has been my home, my family, my purpose.

But I have a new purpose now.

Sasha casts a glance over his shoulder. Watching me. A hint of worry creases his brow.

I step forward to stand beside him.

In silence, we cross the courtyard together.

When we reach the gate, we stop. The twisted metal stretches to the sky like a hundred interwoven branches. Buried in the center of the tangle, a tiny keyhole winks.

I curl my fingers around the lock, as if my will could force it open. The gate remains shut.

I could go before the high priestess in supplication and try to persuade her of the importance of my mission. I could go before her in defiance and rip the key from her neck. I could attempt to climb the wall, balancing on Sasha's shoulders, pulling myself upward stone by stone.

But I do none of these things.

I close my eyes. My forehead rests against the cool metal.

"Antara, Bright Mother, who lights my way in the darkness..."

My voice stumbles as a thought enters my mind.

I will never say these words again.

"Let me do what I must do," I finish. "Let me go."

I push. On silent hinges, the gate glides open.

I can see nothing of the world that stretches before me. Only darkness.

I step out into the night.

The human walks beside me.

# About Zoe Cannon

Zoe Cannon writes about the things that fascinate her: outsiders, societies no sane person would want to live in, questions with no easy answers, and the inner workings of the mind. If she couldn't be a writer, she would probably be a psychologist, a penniless philosopher, or a hermit in a cave somewhere.

While she'll read anything that isn't nailed down, she considers herself a YA reader and writer at heart. She lives in New Hampshire with her husband and a giant teddy bear of a dog, and spends entirely too much time on the internet.

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#  Before the Pageant

### Susan Fodor

AUTUMN, 2066

"Ambrose, you can't dump me," Oliver stated, his brown eyes teasing. His brown-sugar-coloured hair was spiked, and even in his casual gold tracksuit pants and singlet he looked billboard-ready. "You do this before every announcement of the ranks. Don't worry; we'll still be wearing gold on the first of next month. With rumours of an imminent retirement, we will both be in _The Pageant_ soon and then we will be number one for life."

He crossed the room to put his arms around me, but I batted them away.

"I don't care if I'm a number one, and I don't care about wearing gold," I replied, my voice strong and clear.

"What is going on with you?" he asked, his eyes clouding. For more than a year we'd been working on making it into _The Pageant_ , my words had glanced across his ears like heresy.

"I'm telling you that I don't want to date you anymore, not publicly or privately or in any way," I replied, looking into his eyes and searching for understanding.

Oliver stared at me, his eyes unseeing. My heart was beating so loud in the silence I was sure he could hear it.

The mirror beside me showed a slim girl pinching the skin between her thumb and forefinger. She was tall and golden-haired with large, blue doe eyes and pale skin—traditionally beautiful. My eyes were drawn to the couple in the mirror, so visually compatible, but so wrong for one another.

The digital clock over Oliver's desk clicked over another minute. He continued to stare at me, uncomprehending. My gaze drifted to the window near Oliver's bed, which overlooked Tealé. The silver city shone in the afternoon sunshine.

Oliver's plan had always been for us to compete in _The Pageant_ , a live TV show where ten boys and ten girls ranked number one from the ten cities would compete to become the reigning couple of one city. Traditionally there would be five leadership challenges and eliminations till one couple would be named Potentates.

Oliver was completely unfit to be Potentate; selfish and lazy, he would drive a city into ruin.

Another minute ticked over on the clock. I was waiting for him to say something, to grant me permission to leave. When another minute had passed, I turned toward the door.

"Ok. Bye," I said. Three steps to the door. Freedom was beckoning. I had to get out of Oliver's room.

"Stop," he said, his voice low and menacing.

I had to keep moving. My hand slipped on the door handle. Oliver grabbed my arm and spun me to face him.

"We can fix this," he crooned. I'd heard it all before: his empty promises and lame explanations. He was exactly what my fraternal twin sister, Tamsin, had said: "An attractive empty dish."

"There's nothing to fix," I replied. "I just don't want to be with you." It was heartless, but I had to get away from the drama he was about to perform.

"Is there someone else?" he demanded.

I rolled my eyes. "I know all about Celeste," I responded.

"Celeste was a number two in the Lakes district. Our summer fling raised her status," Oliver explained. His way of assuring me that I was his main interest, provided I remained number one.

"She's still a number two," I replied, sarcastically.

"Don't be like that," he scowled. "Rank matters. We've always agreed our rank united us."

He was right; being number one had mattered, but that was before my family had spent the summer in the country on my uncle's farm. Meeting Liam had turned my thoughts inside out. His easy smile made me brave, which was a real achievement after being scared my whole life: scared of falling below number one, scared that Oliver would dump me, scared that I wouldn't find a place to belong ever . . . I had to break free of the fear, so I could have a future with Liam.

Suddenly, all Tamsin's complaining about the ranking system brainwashing people to breed began to make sense. Since the New United States had reformed after the war, only ten cities had survived. Population growth was our greatest challenge, due to latent radiation. Babies were more important than fidelity, and monogamy was an ideal people loved to espouse but few practiced.

"I don't care about Celeste." I sighed, my hands shaking. "Let's just make this as amicable as possible."

"If you want to commit social suicide, that's your choice," he warned. "Without me, you're a number seven at best. Then what kind of job or a future can you hope for? You won't be getting a news anchor position like your mother, or doing publicity like your father. You'll just be a secretary, answering phones and making coffee."

It was the argument that had kept me chained to him, despite my waning affection. He knew how to manipulate people and I'd been an easy target. Now his arguments were futile. "Milo, Μama's co-anchor, was ranked number seventeen," I responded. "Talent floats to the top. I'm not sure I even want to be a news anchor."

"No one tunes in to see Milo," Oliver replied, trying to downplay the truth. "What do you mean you don't want to be a news anchor?"

"That was what _you_ thought I should be," I said, putting my hands on my hips. "I don't know what I want to do, but I do know that I don't want to do it with you."

His eyes darkened. "Where is this coming from? Is that delinquent sister of yours getting to you?"

"There is nothing wrong with Tamsin," I snapped.

"She's ranked in the thousands; she's got to be a secretary's bastard," he scoffed.

I raised my hand to slap him, but he plucked it from the air. "Face it." He smirked. "Breaking up with me will dump you right beside her in matching undyed outfits."

"I can't wait," I spat through clenched teeth. My whole body shook with fear as he continued to grasp my arm. His hold had me staring into his handsome face. Oliver's features were chiseled to perfection, masculine and strong. There had been a time I'd found him intoxicating, but now the emptiness of his eyes repulsed me.

"I can see you need some time to think," Oliver dismissed me, releasing my hand. "I'll see you in the morning to drive you to school."

"No thanks," I replied, grabbing the door handle. "Now that we're broken up I don't want to ride to school with you, or spend any unnecessary time together."

"We're not breaking up," he insisted, his lips curling into a confident smile. "By morning you'll be over your PMS and things will be back to normal."

The weight of him constantly dismissing my actions pushed the air from my lungs. In the time we'd been dating he'd never cherished me, or treated me like an equal. Being seventeen years and eleven months old meant I had thirteen months to still qualify for _The Pageant._ But Oliver was six months from being nineteen, _The Pageant_ ' _s_ cut off age. The mean part of me hoped he'd never be in a Pageant; he deserved to be a former number-one on reality TV trying to maintain his status.

My eyes met his. The protein shake I'd drunk after school was threatening to repeat on me, but I forged ahead. "Oliver I'm seeing someone else, and now that I've been with a real man I can't be with a boy anymore. Don't call me. I won't call you. Goodbye."

Oliver's mouth swung open. The way he looked at me, like I was a stranger, renewed my courage. I smirked at him, feeling truly seen for the first time.

"You'll never get into _The Pageant_ without me," he squeaked.

"I guess we'll see," I replied, turning the doorknob and leaving his room forever.

* * *

In the hallway the elation hit like a semi-trailer. The smile on my face felt a thousand miles long. Instead of waiting for the elevator, I ran up the stairs to my parents' penthouse to retrieve the car keys. Mama and Papa wouldn't be home till late, which was a perfect excuse to see Liam.

The keys to my car were in the glass bowl beside the front door. There were countless perks to being a number one—Connie, my pink convertible, was a prime example of a number-one privilege. The car manufacturers begged me to endorse their vehicle, and after much pleading, my parents allowed me to accept the privilege.

Stuffing the keys into my gold jeans pocket, I approached the kitchen, expecting Tamsin to be in dinner demolition mode. Our family took turns to make dinner, and the nights Tamsin was on duty the kitchen always ended up an epic mess. While her cooking was edible, it rarely justified the clean up.

The mid-afternoon sun shone through the living room windows, illuminating our modern furniture and state-of-the-art entertainment unit. I took it all for granted; my parents being number-ones meant they would endorse products and in return receive free samples.

A pang of self-doubt reverberated through my chest. Choosing Liam would dry up the comfortable life I'd known. He lived in the farming sector, a world away from Tealé, which was considered the media hub of the nation.

Could I really give up my comfortable city life to pull weeds out in the elements?

My whole life had been consumed with fear. I'd been afraid of never being number one; afraid that I'd lose my status once I received it; afraid of being alone; afraid of disappointing my parents; afraid of never really loving anyone; afraid, afraid, afraid.

Dumping Oliver had been the first step in facing and conquering my fears. Moving to the country was a fear that I could face and conquer.

I leaned against the kitchen doorjamb, watching Tamsin spill the lasagna sauce onto the bench before she corrected her actions to get the sauce onto the lasagna sheets. The black marble bench was strewn with discarded ingredients and empty packets from Tamsin's cooking frenzy. The state-of-the-art kitchen was a mess.

Tamsin's light golden-brown hair was tied into a knot on top of her head, and tomato sauce was splattered all over her simple undyed smock dress and black boots. She'd already taken out her contacts and was sporting Granddad's thick black-rimmed glasses, which she had recycled deliberately to spite the fashion gods. Despite being twins, we were very different: her features were sharper than mine, and so was her mind. While I pretended to be outgoing, she was naturally extroverted and outspoken.

I wondered if Tamsin didn't deliberately avoid being part of the higher ranks. In our mid-teens we had shared top ten positions, but as my rank climbed higher, hers dropped. I worked toward gaining number one, and she actively engaged in socially disgraceful actions, like dressing in a pickle costume for Halloween rather than a sexy Disney Princess costume.

"Hello," I greeted, entering the kitchen once she'd put the sauce on the stove.

Tamsin's aqua-green eyes lit with her smile as I entered. "You look happy," she observed. "I guess you've heard the news, then."

"What news specifically?" I asked, dubious of what Tamsin would consider good news.

She grabbed a lasagna sheet and began to cover the sauce with it. The dimple in her left cheek was a sign she was deliberately toying with my interest. "Well, maybe you haven't heard the news," she mused, smirking. "If you had, you'd be bouncing off the walls."

Crossing the kitchen, I grabbed a lasagna sheet and placed it beside hers in the white dish. If I wanted her to cover for me, I had to endear myself to her. "Is this your way of announcing there's a sale on at Macy's again? Because you know that's not my thing."

Tamsin's laugh filled the room. It was hard to believe she was ranked so low when she was beautiful, smart and very brave. Nothing scared her. She was my polar opposite in personality, and the only people who knew it were our family. No one would ever guess I was the shy retiring one, and Tamsin was a loud outgoing personality. Both of us were pretending to be someone else for the sake of rankings.

"You've got to admit, the Macy's catalogue was very innovative," she teased.

"I don't know if Photoshopping animals heads onto the Top Ten's bodies was innovative," I scolded, mildly. Mama had found the magazine and grounded Tamsin, but it had been amusing since she'd attributed the peoples' characters to their own animal.

"I'm pretty sure Ana has never looked as good as she did with a fox head," Tamsin replied, chuckling.

"She is a vixen," I agreed, trying to say something positive.

"Please. She's pure evil," Tamsin corrected, filling a corner of the lasagna dish with pasta off-cuts.

"So what's this news?" I deflected, not wanting to listen to Tamsin's opinions of my friends. I was fully aware they were scavengers, willing to do anything to get to the top, but there was nothing I could do about it so I didn't dwell on it. I'd almost gone crazy the first few months I'd been number one, worrying about losing my place. I understood the game and how to play it.

Mama had secretly sent me to a counselor to get my head straight. My take home from the few sessions was to enjoy the moment. If I kept stressing about losing my rank, then I never would have enjoyed it. It was inevitable that I'd cease to be a number one at some stage, so I tried to make the best of it.

"I can't believe you don't know," she said, stopping work to look at me. "Maybe we should wait for Mama and Papa to come home."

She was playing me along, enjoying my discomfort. "Okay." I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant.

Tamsin took the pot from the stove. I stepped out of the sauce splash zone, before Tamsin poured the last of the sauce onto the lasagna sheets. Patience was the key to Tamsin's games; her outgoing personality meant she didn't have much patience for secret keeping. Her impish grin was a sign she was about to crack.

Meticulously we arranged the lasagna sheets before the béchamel sauce would go on. Tamsin was pulsing with news.

"Fine," she blurted, excited. "You're going to be a number one for life."

The smile dropped from my lips, my hands shook. "What do you mean?" I asked, too scared to imagine Tamsin was saying what I thought she was saying.

"They announced _The Tealé Pageant_ ," she squealed, jogging on the spot with excitement.

"No," I denied, shaking my head in disbelief.

"It's all over the news." She beamed. "You're going to be in _The Pageant_. I know I always bang on about what a total waste of time it is—and don't get me wrong, I stand by my opinion. But I know how much this means to you and I'm so so happy for you."

"How? Why?" I asked, unable to string a coherent sentence together.

"In celebration of Henrietta's Comet, the Potentates of Tealé have decided to retire and all this month's number ones will go to The Pageant on the fifth of next month," she enthused.

My knees gave out and I leaned against the bench to stay upright. Everything I'd worked toward had come to fruition; I'd be a number one for life. I didn't even have to make it to the end of _The Pageant_ ; one week in the palace and my rank was assured. I could move wherever I wanted and be guaranteed of getting whatever job I applied for. Number one for life.

"Oh my gosh," I exhaled, sinking to the floor.

Tamsin crouched down beside me. "Are you okay?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at me.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, and every muscle in my body was celebrating the victory by shaking. "I just can't believe it," I replied. When the cameras arrived I would be composed and confident, but in front of my twin sister I could be myself. "Everything is perfect. I . . . I . . ." There were no words for the relief I was feeling, or the satisfaction over Oliver being wrong. _The Pageant_ would ensure Liam and I had a secure future. I wanted to tell Tamsin all about it, but not now. After months of withholding the truth about Liam, I could wait a few more hours. "I need to go see someone."

Tamsin rolled her eyes and pulled me to my feet off the floor. She wrapped her arms around me, squeezing tight. "Fine, go see Oliver, but remember that you did it. You're the one that got into _The Pageant_ with your hard work."

I vowed to tell Tamsin about Oliver and Liam later. I could always rely on Tamsin supporting my pursuit of happiness.

"We were born under a lucky star and our dreams are going to come true." Tamsin grinned.

"We were born under a lucky comet," I corrected, laughing. "Thank God for Henrietta's Comet."

Tamsin released me, her eyes damp. "We should go up to the roof with the telescope and see the old girl tonight," she suggested.

"Absolutely," I agreed, bouncing on the balls of my feet.

"I'll pop the corn," Tamsin said.

"I'll pick up some chocolate ice-cream on the way home, to dip the popcorn in," I replied, beaming. "I might be late."

"Fine," Tamsin agreed. "I'll tell Mama and Papa you've gone out to celebrate, but we have a date tonight."

"Of course. Thank you so much. I totally owe you," I gushed, rushing toward the door.

"You totally do," she replied, returning to the lasagna. "Make sure you drive safe."

I was in such a rush to see Liam I didn't savor the moment. If I'd stayed home and finished making dinner and celebrated with my family, everything would have been different, but hindsight is a cruel instructor. That would be the last time I'd ever see Tamsin disheveled in her undyed dress, but I was too busy to appreciate what I had. All I could think about was Liam and the future.

* * *

The main street of Tealé was packed with people making their way home. The silver radiation-retardant panels reflected thousands of copies of adults in earth tones, and teenagers aged sixteen to nineteen in rank colors. After the war, children were touted as the future, and ranking was established to ensure the most promising young people led the nation. Everything in New America was geared toward procreation and population growth. Sexually-explicit billboards advertised countless products to attain higher rank. Airbrushed family portraits were beside the nude advertising, promoting the life everyone was to strive for. Life in New America was about rank and children. I wouldn't miss the billboards if I had to leave Tealé.

My stomach contracted with nerves. I squealed with pleasure. Breaking up with Oliver had set me free, and now the universe was blessing me with being part of _The Pageant_. Fear tried to steal my excitement, but I pushed it aside, focusing on the moment. Liam wouldn't have to worry about me losing my rank; in ten days, my rank would be certain for life.

Uncle Tody owned a small organic store located on the outskirts of the city. Two weeks after I'd returned to Tealé from the country, Liam had been assigned to tend stock in the store. He lived in a small apartment above the fruit and vegetable shop.

Like a lovesick stalker I drove past the shop every day, only allowing myself to enter twice a week so we wouldn't get caught. In the hour phone-time Papa allowed each night, Liam and I would spin imaginary plans for a future neither of us imagined we could have together. With Oliver out of my life and _The Pageant_ a certainty, a future with Liam was a possibility. If he still wanted me, our future could be as memorable as our past.

* * *

SUMMER 2066

The first time I saw Liam was in a berry stand on the way to Uncle Tody's farm. I was carrying two punnets of strawberries to the register when a tall guy with pale skin, ruddy cheeks and a shock of tight black curls called out. "Hey, nice strawberries."

He winked at me as he walked, his eyes never leaving mine till he strode into a cherry display, knocking the produce to the floor. I giggled, seeing only his mesmerizing hazel eyes and boyish smile.

Flustered, he crouched, picking up the cherries while I paid for the strawberries.

"Don't mind Liam," Thelma chortled, bobbing her grey curls toward the boy. She'd been running Uncle Tody's Silver Street stand since she was a teenager. "He's got more bravado than brains."

"I'll keep that in mind," I replied, taking the paper bag.

Walking slowly down the aisle toward the prone figure, I crouched in front of him and smiled alluringly. "Nice cherries," I purred, plucking one from his open hand and placing it in my mouth. Rising with deliberate grace, I walked out of the shop without looking back, feeling his eyes on my golden sundress all the way to my parents' car.

The memory made me blush. That girl was a far cry from the young woman I'd grown into over the summer. Everything I did before spending summer in Vidámpark had been about being ranked number one and being what everyone wanted me to be. But in the weeks since returning to Tealé, I'd been looking at the world differently.

The ranking system promised safety and opulence for number ones, but I'd never felt safe in my rank. The government touted _The Pageant_ as the ultimate stability and hope for a bright future, but what if you hated the male elected to be your partner? Being number ones didn't make Oliver and me compatible, and it certainly didn't make me happy.

All those discrepancies had inspired me to end my relationship with Oliver. I was finding courage to forge a path toward happiness, whether Liam wanted to go on that journey or not.

* * *

The second time I saw Liam he was working in a field, picking corn with some hired hands. Liam pointed to a tan guy's ripped abs. "I think you've been stung by something," he joked, eliciting a laugh from the group. "Do you need an epi-pen?"

"Dude," the ab-man retorted. "I was just about to ask you the same question."

Liam laughed good-naturedly. "This is all me, baby," he replied, proudly striping off his shirt to reveal a blindingly white puffy torso.

The other guys were laughing so hard they didn't notice Tamsin and I observing them from the fence.

Placing my fingers in my mouth I expertly catcall-whistled Liam. His face flushed when his eyes met mine.

"It's awfully hot," I baited. "Sure you don't want to take your pants off too?"

"Crikey," Tamsin exhaled, using her current favorite catch-phrase.

Liam deliberated for a moment before complying and striping off his pants to reveal work shorts. He threw the worn violet pants of the six hundreds at me. "I'm not going to say no to a girl who wants to get in my pants," he teased.

"I don't return boy's pants till they take me on a date," I retorted, slinging the trousers over my shoulder and sauntering away with Tamsin in tow.

The boys' laughter rang out around us as we made our way back toward the large, white colonial house. The sun warmed my arms, and I felt comfortable playing the flirt, despite it not being my natural role.

"Should you really be dating some country guy when you're with Oliver?" Tamsin chided, forever the maternal prude.

"What happens on summer break, stays on summer break." I shrugged.

"How will Oliver feel about that?" she persisted.

"Oliver is in the Lakes District surrounded by bikini-clad bimbos," I replied, bitterly. "I don't think Oliver will be thinking about much at all."

Tamsin gave me her tight-lipped headshake, which meant she was worrying.

"It's fine," I assured, wrapping a sisterly arm around her. "It's just harmless fun. Nothing is going to happen."

I was wrong.

* * *

As the sun set over the fields I watched Liam perform a dance on the steps of Uncle Tody's colonial home. From behind the white lace curtains I had a perfect view without being seen.

Liam squared his shoulders and marched up two steps before retreating to the path. After a few minutes of pacing on the footpath, he climbed four steps, then stopped dead-still before racing to the safety of the grass. His legs and arms were pink from working in the sun all day, his face was red with exertion. His peculiar behavior made me wish I were a mind reader.

"What are you doing?" Mama asked, seeing me hiding in the curtains.

"Just watching a boy," I replied, honestly.

Her mouth puckered before she joined me. "What's he doing?" she asked, fighting to keep the concern from her tone. Despite all the propaganda about needing to breed and the freedom in the law to include consorts in a marriage to optimize population growth, Mama and her family were staunch believers in monogamy.

"I don't know," I said, smiling at Liam's fifth failed attempt to climb the stairs.

"Is he here to see Tamsin?" Mama asked, unconvinced.

"Maybe," I shrugged, "or maybe he wants his pants back."

"You have his pants?" Mama asked, her hand flying to cover her mouth.

"I took them as a joke," I replied, widening my eyes innocently. "He was wearing shorts underneath, there was no gratuitous nudity or anything. It was a big laugh."

Mama searched my face with the same concerned look in her eyes Tamsin had inherited. "Is everything okay with you and Oliver?" she asked.

"We're having a break from our relationship over summer," I stated, as though I'd actually had a choice in the matter.

"I see," Mama replied slowly. "Did you both want this break?"

Leaving Liam to his dance I slumped into an overstuffed armchair. "I don't know what I want," I told her honestly. Living in a world where nudity was encouraged and everything was heavily sexualized had severely reduced the scope of awkward conversations. Even if it hadn't, Mama was a safe person who could always be relied on to support me.

She slumped into a sofa beside me, ever the willing accomplice. "Experience is a great teacher of what we do and don't want," she offered, "but so is quiet contemplation. If you feel you need to blow off some city steam to work out what you want, by all means do, but be careful where you place your affections."

"I know, I know," I teased. "Sex leads to dancing."

Mama laughed at my impersonation of Papa's talks about not dancing too close in case it led to other things. The culture may have been promiscuous, but my parents were old-fashioned and proud of it.

"You're a bright young woman," Mama said. "I trust your judgment and I will even fight for you when you're wrong, but life is too short to waste on things that don't grow us to be the best version of ourselves. Oliver is a wonderful young man who is number one, and even if you're on a break for the summer, do you really want to give part of yourself away to a boy who can't even climb the steps?"

There was wisdom in Mama's words, but there were also holes in her knowledge of how empty I felt with Oliver. She didn't know how he was a different person when we were alone, that he was forceful and manipulative. It probably didn't occur to her that Oliver and I used each other for mutual gain in the ranking system.

I opened my mouth to catch her up and gain her insight, but Uncle Tody entered with Liam in tow.

"Liam's been wearing a groove in the concrete outside trying to muster the courage to talk to our Ambrose," Uncle Tody boomed, his golden-blond hair made brighter by his tan skin. Tody was five years older than Mama, but there was no mistaking the sibling connection. Their features were freakishly similar, the blond hair and crystal-blue eyes, but Mama was cream skinned and delicate, while Tody was dark skinned and built like a tank. Mama's entire visage was _Pageant_ material, as though she'd been cloned for the event. My parents, in particular my mother, were the reason I was a number one.

"I was checking if the steps needed mending," Liam offered lamely.

"Do they?" Uncle Tody teased.

"They do since I wore that groove in them," Liam replied.

"Kristina, this is Thor and Villa's boy, Liam," Uncle Tody introduced, ruffling his hair. "I took him in and he works for me now. He usually lives in the house here, but with all the work that needs to be done over summer I've got him living down in the workmen's quarters, co-ordinating everything. One of these days he might even run this place."

Mama rose and shook Liam's hand. "I was sorry to hear about your parents. They were kind people," she said, apologetically. In January, Mama and Papa had mentioned Uncle Tody taking in an orphan whose parents had died in a car accident. I'd assumed it was a small child, but Liam blew that image away.

Looking undone by Mama's sincerity, Liam said, "Thanks. It was a terrible accident. I'm lucky Tody took me in."

"There's always room for a hard worker around here," Uncle Tody exclaimed, slapping Liam on the back.

I rose from the armchair, fixing my posture. "You wanted to see me?" I asked, playing it cool.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me," he prompted, blushing in front of the adults.

"Can you jog my memory?" I asked, coyly.

Mama shook her head, bemused. "Come, Tody," she said, taking her brothers arm. "Let the kids work out their property issues."

"But I'm enjoying Liam being speechless," Tody complained, laughing. "It happens so rarely."

"I have his pants," I loud-whispered at Uncle Tody.

"How did you come by those?" Tody asked, his face darkening. It was sweet that he wanted to defend my honour.

"It was a practical joke," Mama explained. "No nudity. Now, let's allow them to work out the terms and conditions of the release of said pants."

"That's fine," Uncle Tody grumbled, "but you keep your pants on from now on, Liam."

"Yes, sir," Liam replied, sheepish.

Mama and Tody left, whispering.

"May I have my pants back, please?" Liam asked, his cheeks red from the exchange.

"I told you the terms of getting your pants back," I replied. "No date, no pants."

He ran his fingers through his tight black curls, and exhaled. "Why would _you_ want to go on a date with me?" he asked.

"Why not?" I replied, shrugging my shoulders.

"I'm ranked number six hundred and fifty-seven, and dropping. Next month I'm going to be nineteen, and I won't have even been a blip on ranking history. You, Ambrose Addams—daughter of Kristina and David Addams lifetime gold members—have been ranked number one in Tealé for seventeen months, I know because your uncle is constantly bragging about it. So what use could you possibly have for me?" he said, matter-of-fact.

His honesty caught me off guard. I hadn't really thought through what I wanted to do with Liam. Was he just a fling, or was I looking for more? As a million questions raced through my mind, Liam stepped closer to me.

"See, I'm not the guy for a summer romance. If you want to slum it with a country boy, then find that guy with the hot chest from earlier. His name is Jai, and he is easy to find in the workmen's quarters," Liam informed. "I've lost too much this year already, and I'm not willing to put my heart on the line. So can I have my pants? Please."

My palms broke out in a sweat, and my heart beat in fast forward. For all the witty banter I'd made over the years I couldn't think of a single thing to say. "I'm sorry," I blundered, unable to move. His words struck deep, bringing to mind how lost I would be without my parents.

Liam blushed crimson. "No I'm sorry," he responded. "Keep the pants. I needed new ones anyway. Sorry."

He rushed out of the room as though I'd tried to set him on fire.

Hugging myself, I walked to the window and watched him walk out toward the workmen's quarters, shaking his head. I vowed to return his pants.

* * *

After dinner, I excused myself to go for a walk. The sun was shining high in the sky when I knocked on the workmen's quarters door. A bead of sweat rolled between my shoulder blades. The heat radiated from all angles, warming my gold-striped sundress.

"Well hello," Jai greeted, opening the door and leaning against the doorjamb. He was much better looking up close with his wet, blond hair and six-pack abdominals displayed above his silver pants, ranking him in the top ten.

"I'm looking for Liam." I smiled, looking past him.

"Liam isn't here right now," Jai supplied, "but I'm more than happy to take his place."

"I don't think you'd be able to fill his pants," I retorted with a sultry smile. It was typical conversation for people in the top ten, since our entire purpose was to breed.

"Where would I find Liam?" I asked, mistrusting Jai.

"He walks beside the river after dinner," Jai offered. "Would you like me to show you the river?" The hunger in his eyes made me recoil.

"No thanks," I replied, backing away. "When you see him, tell him I came looking for him."

* * *

Small plumes of dust rose as I made my way toward the river, and the yellow grass cracked under my feet. The river wound all the way through Uncle Tody's property. It was lined with ancient weeping willows and tufts of low brush. Finding Liam was slim with such an expansive shoreline.

Liam's pants were over-heating my forearm as I reached the river's edge. Waterfowl squawked in the shallows, washing off the heat of the day.

Being in the country made me realize how little I knew about the real world. Most of my education regarded social interactions, managing my image and maintaining my ranking. While I could list the top five ranked in all ten cities, I had no idea how to have an honest conversation with someone outside my family.

Finding shelter under the leaves of a weeping willow, I watched the interplay between the birds. Apart from intermittent squawking it was silent, no cars beeping, nor the bustle of people. Sitting on the ground, I closed my eyes, savoring the isolation.

"Are you okay?" Liam's voice interrupted me.

I kept my eyes closed, unable to fight the smile spreading across my lips. "I'm listening to the silence, thinking deep philosophical thoughts about the nature of sound."

For a long time there was no answer. I opened my eyes to see if Liam had left. Somehow he'd managed to sit beside me without interrupting the silence.

"What are you doing?" I asked, tilting my head to look at him.

"Just listening to the silence with you," he replied, honestly. "I'd hate for anything to happen to you down here alone."

"That's very chivalrous," I teased, enjoying the tone of his voice. Unlike the chiseled male bimbos I generally found myself with, Liam offered softness and honesty, which I found intriguing.

"I'm nothing if not chivalrous," he agreed, his lips curling into a shy smile.

"I came to return your pants," I told him, handing over the violet pants.

"There was no need," he replied, accepting them anyway. "I guess this means you still want that date?"

"Not really," I replied, lying. Liam may not have been conventionally attractive, but he had me interested.

A breeze blew across the water's surface, making me shiver. I moved slightly closer to Liam, hoping for more honest conversation.

"So, now I'm deeply ensconced in the friend zone," he replied, his brow furrowing.

"Absolutely," I agreed. "How are you at braiding?"

"You'd be unpleasantly surprised." He laughed, the sound echoing across the brown river.

"We can always paint each other's toe nails," I offered.

"That sounds swell," he agreed, sarcastic. "You know if I return to the workers' quarters with my pants and no date, I'm going to get sledged all summer."

"What do you propose?" I asked, enjoying the direction of conversation.

"There's a dance on the weekend in Green Valley. Would you like to go as friends?" he offered, meeting my eyes. His fingers toyed with a blade of yellow grass.

"Green Valley is a bit of a ways off," I replied, unsure if my parents would agree to me attending an event so far away.

"That's fine," he replied, blushing.

"I'll have to convince my parents, but BFFs have got to stick together," I teased.

His eyes searched mine. "Why are you doing this?" he asked. "What's your angle? Hanging out with me is not going to do any favors for your rank; I'm not exactly gold quality. Is it just summer slumming? What's going on?"

I plucked a blade of dry grass and broke it slowly into fractions, doing the math in my head. What was it about Liam that had me so intrigued?

Since coming of _Pageant_ age, I'd been utterly obsessed with being number one, but with each passing month it felt more and more empty. Seeing my image in the magazines had been thrilling in the beginning, but reading the objectifying comments made me feel like a possession. Being number one was supposed to set me free, but instead I felt trapped.

"Before you told me you didn't want to have your heart broken . . ." I started.

"That was not exactly what I said," he corrected, discarding his blade of grass for a stick to draw patterns in a dusty patch.

"Losing your heart and having it broken are synonymous," I reasoned. "You over-shared, so it's my turn. Shhhh."

"If you propose I won't cope," he joked, his eyes filled with apprehension.

"I have a boyfriend," I said, keeping my eyes on the river. His body tensed. "He declared we're on a break over summer, so I can do whatever I want.

"Oliver and I have a number one relationship; it exists as long as I'm number one. It made so much sense when we got together, and being number one is still important. I want to be in _The Pageant_. I need that security of being number one for life, but sometimes I'm discontent. I wonder if there isn't more to life than being really ridiculously good looking. It never occurred to me someone might fall in love with me. I just wanted to feel good, because being in Tealé makes me numb most of the time. Does that make sense?"

"You really are ridiculously good looking," he agreed, laughing at my lame attempt at humor.

"It's a blessing and a curse," I joked, my heart fluttering in my chest.

"How do I factor into your over-share?" he asked, examining me like I was a riddle to be solved.

"The few times we've interacted have been fun." I shrugged. "You're quick-witted, and your over-share was intriguing."

"So what do you want from me?" he asked, straight to the point.

"I don't know," I responded, blushing under his scrutiny.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm pretty sure you didn't want to be interrogated."

"It's kind of refreshing to have someone outside my family actually want to know what's in my head," I answered.

"Don't all your fans want to know?" he teased. "The number ones in Vidámpark are always giving interviews for their groupies."

I smiled, ruefully. "They claim they want to know the truth. Interviewers' favorite question is _how do you stay so thin?_ They don't want to know the truth: that I'm always on a diet, and I work out six days a week. What they want to hear is _I'm just blessed with a good metabolism_. Everyone wants to believe that being number one is effortless, but it's a lot of work. Nothing good comes effortlessly."

His hazel eyes looked into mine, making me feel awkward. "What?"

"You're not what I expected," he admitted. "I thought you'd be all shallow and one-dimensional, but you're a real person."

"That's kind of offensive," I pointed out, laughing. His honesty was intoxicating.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "I guess hanging out with Jai gave me a certain view of what top-ten people are like."

"Oh, I'm totally like that," I clarified. "If we were in a club being watched by the media, I'd be a totally shallow bimbo, but . . ."

"But what?"

"It's summer." I shrugged. "Everything is different in summer."

He nodded, but his eyes didn't agree. "You're a real mystery."

"The feeling is mutual," I replied, causing him to blush.

"Ambrose," called Tamsin, walking toward us. Her eyes brushed over Liam, "Hi," she greeted. "Sorry to interrupt, but Mama and Papa began to worry when you were gone so long, so I was sent out on twin retrieval."

"This is Liam," I introduced.

"I know," Tamsin replied. "Uncle Tody thinks the world of you."

"He's a great guy," Liam replied. "There aren't many people who would take in an orphan these days."

" _The Pageant_ makes people insane," Tamsin offered. "A community based on aesthetics and procreation will struggle to show compassion."

"That's an interesting observation," Liam offered.

"She's a fountain of politically-incorrect observations," I teased. "She's lucky she hasn't been arrested for insurrection."

"Ha ha," Tamsin replied, smirking. "We should go before the parents send out a search party."

I rose, dusting off my dress. "See you on the weekend," I told Liam.

Tamsin arched a brow, looking between us, but she was too diplomatic to make comment.

"I'll pick you up at five p.m. Sunday. We can grab dinner on the road," Liam said, rising.

I wanted to stay longer, to sit and watch the sunset and talk more, but I had commitments to remain number one. Mama and Papa were waiting to discuss public relations while we were away from Tealé.

"See you then," I replied, looking forward to Sunday.

* * *

By 4.45p.m. on Sunday I'd tried on twelve dresses. Being number one was an honor, but wearing gold all the time was grating on me. It was a country dance; all my dresses were very Tealé hip and totally over-the-top.

"Liam just arrived," Mama announced, stepping into my room and eyeing the pile of discarded garments on the four-poster bed. My room was decorated in traditional country style with a floral patchwork quilt, wrought-iron full-body mirror and floor-length lacy curtains.

"I don't know what to wear." I scowled, swishing the skirt of my 50s-style pale gold dress.

"When I was dating, my rule of thumb was to wear the dress I was in when my date arrived," Mama replied, smiling.

I swished the skirt again, examining my reflection in the mirror. It was the kind of dress that would easily make a front cover of a tabloid: understated and classy. "This is it then," I acquiesced, moving toward the door where Mama stood.

"You look lovely," Mama complimented. "You're lucky fashion sense is hereditary."

"Yeah, Papa's a pretty snazzy dresser," I teased.

"Hey," she laughed. Mama wrapped an arm around me and gave me a squeeze, before walking me down stairs to the living room.

Papa was sitting on the lounge with a case of guns open on the coffee table, talking to Liam.

"You look beautiful," Papa greeted, smiling. "I was just showing Liam my gun collection." Tamsin was sniggering in the armchair opposite the men. I rolled my eyes, used to my father's need to educate my date about being the alpha male in my life. "Did you know that with this rifle, I hit a rabbit one hundred meters away?"

Liam swallowed hard. "That's impressive. You'll have to show me one day."

Papa smiled, respect in his eyes. When he'd done the same spiel with other dates they'd often downplayed his skill or been intimidated by his gun collection. Liam offered a listening ear and was a willing admirer of Papa's prowess, which was commendable.

"You could shoot a few rounds now," Tamsin offered, ever the stirrer.

"Next time," Papa replied, "You'll have to get going if you want to make it to the dance by seven. I expect you back by midnight, and a phone call as soon as possible if you'll be late."

"We won't be late, sir," Liam assured. "Thanks for showing me your collection."

"Any time." Papa smiled, patting Liam on the back.

Tamsin rushed to the door to see us out to the car while Mama and Papa stood on the porch.

Liam opened the SUV door for me to get in, and waved to my parents as he tracked around to the driver's side.

Tamsin stood beside my window and shoved a backpack into my arms.

"What's this?" I asked, examining the violet dress in the canvas bag.

"You know how Mama and Papa are always talking about keeping your public image intact? I thought this might help," Tamsin conspired.

"You still haven't explained what it is?" I replied, smiling. Tamsin's energy was contagious.

"It's a six hundreds dress, so you'll blend in being Liam's date and no one will give you a second glance. You'll be incognito. I even put a wig in there," she said, with a satisfied nod.

Liam was sitting in the driver's seat, observing our exchange. "It is genius," he agreed.

"You're growing on me, Liam." Tamsin winked.

"What about the law regarding wearing clothes outside your rank?" I asked, dubious. "Not to mention, it's pretty insulting to Liam for me to dress down."

"I'm cool with it," Liam replied, shrugging. "I know how much work you put into being number one, and this will be less pressure for both of us."

"The law states you can't dress up ranks," Tamsin offered. "It doesn't say anything about dressing lower than your rank. I checked."

"I'll think about it," I replied, dropping the bag on the floor. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she replied, stepping away from the car. "Bye."

I waved to my family till they were out of sight, and enjoyed the warm breeze blowing through the car. All week I'd been anxious to be alone with Liam, and now that we had a two-hour road trip ahead of us I was picking at my cuticles and fidgeting.

"I'm sorry I didn't say it earlier, but you're stunning," Liam complimented, glancing at me.

"Thanks." I smoothed my skirt. "You don't clean up too bad yourself."

"I did have a shower," he teased.

"Being clean suits you." Liam laughed, running his fingers through his hair.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, expertly navigating the dirt road as it turned to bitumen. Fields in the process of harvest stretched out all around us. The closest town was thirty minutes north.

"I'm okay," I replied, still full from the bag of licorice bullets Tamsin and I had shared earlier.

"How was the rest of your week?" he asked, his eyes engaging mine before returning to the road.

I let my hand surf the warm summer air so I wouldn't fidget. "It was fine," I replied.

"I noticed you were picking corn." He smirked.

"Have you been Internet stalking me?" I asked, in mock horror.

"Will you jump from a moving vehicle if I say 'yes'?" he asked.

"I don't know," I deliberated, playfully. "Why? Did you do it?"

"I wanted to make sure I took you somewhere you'd like," he admitted. "There's not heaps of variety for dinner and I wanted to make sure I got food you'd enjoy."

"That's creepy . . ." I baited. ". . . and sweet. I have one unrestricted meal a week, so burgers would be excellent, and if there's anything you want to know about me, ask. Most of the stuff you find about me online has been spun, by me, or my parents, or all of us. My rank is kind of a family business."

"I'll remember that," he said. "Did you Google me?"

I blushed. "No."

"Ouch." He laughed. "I wasn't interesting enough for you?"

"No," I clarified. "I wanted to, but because of your parents' accident I figured there would be a whole lot of stuff about it in the local news. I didn't want the baggage of knowing stuff that you hadn't told me. I figured this way you have a clean slate. I'll know about you only what you want me to know."

"Now I feel really bad," he confessed.

"No need to feel bad," I assured him. "I'm really contemplating putting on that violet dress, and if I do, I figure that's worse than reading my social media."

"I think you should," he challenged. "For one night you can just be a pleb like me, instead of being extraordinary. It'll give you empathy for the little people."

"You are not a pleb," I defended. "I'm just an ordinary girl with a great P.R. team."

He shook his head. "You will never be ordinary," he disagreed.

"Let's see if you still think that at the end of the night," I said, playfully.

He smiled, making goose bumps rise on my arms. "I have no doubt we'll be BFF's for life," he teased. I hoped he meant it.

* * *

During the dinner break I changed into the violet dress. It was still sporting a label from a local clothing store.

Tamsin's ability to get things done was a constant source of amazement. She was smart and beautiful and extremely capable, but she still managed to drop through the ranks, which was beyond comprehension.

"That's a beautiful color on you," Liam complimented.

"It's kind of exhilarating," I admitted, running my fingers over the pleats in the skirt. "I haven't worn anything but gold for ages. It's nice to change."

"Enjoy your dress, Cinderella," Liam joked. "It's only till midnight."

I laughed. We settled into comfortable banter, sharing our thoughts and lives with each other.

The minute we walked into the dance, I realized it was the perfect outfit. Liam got me punch, and while a few guys ogled me, they were more interested in the trio of girls in silver dresses.

That night made me smile. It was the night I fell in love with Liam. At the time I assumed it was a passing infatuation, but time would change my reality. There was dancing, conversation and laughter, and for the first time I felt free to be myself without fear.

* * *

After the dance we drove home, talking animatedly and laughing at each other's stories and impersonations of people at the dance. As Uncle Tody's house came into view, tension crept into the car.

"Tonight was fun," Liam said, clutching the steering wheel.

"It was," I replied, spooked by the shift in mood. "We should do it again, sometime."

"As friends," he finished.

"Sure," I agreed, a lump of disappointment rising in my throat. "As friends."

"I'm not going to walk you to the door," Liam said, his eyes focused on the steering wheel. "I'd hate for your father to have to use his gun collection."

I forced a smile. "No problem," I said, opening my own door for the first time during the evening. I walked around the car, the violet dress back in its bag. Liam continued to stare at the steering wheel. Pausing for a moment, I took a deep breath to calm my wildly beating heart and walked up to his open window.

"I was just thinking," I said, my voice wobbly. Liam turned to look at me, his eyes stormy. I climbed onto the driver's step to be at face level with him. "Tonight was really fun, and I'd like to do it again. And I'm wondering if I'd be stretching the limits of our friendship if we did this sometimes." I leaned in through the window and claimed his lips with mine.

The warmth of his lips set off a volcano in my stomach. My arms shook when I pulled away, and his confused expression was priceless. "Just think about it," I suggested, stepping down carefully. "See ya."

I strutted away from the car, maintaining the persona I'd created. Even if he never wanted to see me again, I'd been true to myself in the moment.

Deep down I wanted him to chase after me, or say something. He continued to sit in the SUV, staring after me. Maybe that was the best I could hope for.

I mounted the house steps slowly. The car engine started. I fumbled for the keys, dropping them on the deck. I didn't want to bend down to get the keys in case Liam was watching; I wanted his last image of me to be confident, not the clumsy girl picking up her keys. He'd drive away in a minute and then I could retrieve them.

The sound of tires crunching the gravel filled the quiet night. I crouched down to pick up my keys. The sound of the car grew closer. Liam was driving the car on the lawn toward me. He stopped at the foot of the steps and jumped out of the car, mounting the steps two by two.

A witty phrase caught on my tongue, but was stilled by his lips crushing against mine. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close. The smell of his after-shave and the gentle way his hands sat on my waist overwhelmed my senses. When he pulled away the air between us was charged with electricity.

"I want to be so much more than friends," he breathed, "because you are worth having a broken heart."

"I'm going to do everything I can to avoid breaking your heart," I replied, lacing my fingers through his.

He smiled at me sadly, knowing summer was all we had. "Let's just agree to be friends, even after summer," he suggested.

"I'm a great friend," I assured, kissing him and fearing the end of summer.

* * *

Summer was not enough. A lifetime would not have been enough. After I got back to Tealé Liam haunted me: the memory of his smile, the way he laughed, his lips pressed against mine. Even though we'd agreed to give each other space, we started texting, then talking, and two weeks after I got home Uncle Tody stationed Liam in Tealé.

While I'd managed to keep my summer romance under wraps and even downplayed the relationship to my family, the tabloids had covered Oliver's exploits extensively.

The worst part of Oliver's trysts being in the tabloids was that I didn't care. When he kissed my cheek, he made my skin crawl. When we'd attended the customary firsts' ball on the first of the month, it had been colorless without Liam.

The passing weeks, and Liam's patience only made my malaise intensify till I'd finally dumped Oliver; I was finally free.

* * *

AUTUMN 2066

Walking into Uncle Tody's store, my heart raced at knowing I'd see Liam soon. The aisles were full of fresh produce from the farm. People meandered through the store picking huge heads of lettuce or bags of apples.

A lady clad in a black pantsuit smiled at me. "Congratulations, Ambrose. We look forward to seeing you in _The Pageant_ ," she gushed.

"Thank you," I accepted, accustomed to being approached by strangers. "Remember to vote, I'd be nothing without the people of Tealé." It was a boxed response; I'd practiced it my whole life.

"I will," she replied, turning to examine a purple cauliflower and allowing me to continue down the aisle.

"How can I help?" Tommy asked when I reached the counter.

"I need black bean sprouts," I asked, knowing they'd be out back.

"They're in the fridge," he replied. "Liam's out there doing inventory, he'll get them for you."

"Thanks," I said, following the familiar path to the back of the store. Boxes were piled high either side of the walkway, needing to be unpacked or recycled. I'd gained an appreciation for the inner workings of the produce store.

I slid the fridge door open, beaming with anticipation. Liam stood in the cold room, dressed in a climate suit and gloves, ticking items off on his clipboard.

"What do you . . ." Liam began, his words trailing off when he saw me. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," I replied, crossing the space between us and hurling myself into his arms. My lips met his.

After a few minutes of breathless kissing, he pulled away. "What's going on?" he asked, his brows furrowing.

"I broke up with Oliver," I declared, triumphant.

"Why?" he asked, surprised. "What about the whole number one relationship?"

"I don't like Oliver," I replied. "I wish I could say, 'He's a nice guy or we have so much in common,' but I can't. He's shallow, vain and manipulative and I can't take it anymore. I want to be with you. You're too good to be a consort, and I love you."

His eyes glazed with unshed tears. "I love you too," he replied, kissing me. "But what about _The Pageant_ and being a number one for life?"

"I don't care about it." I shrugged. "But my lucky comet, Henrietta, is orbiting, and a Pageant was announced today for all the current number ones. I'm going to be in _The Pageant_ ," I squealed. "All I have to do is be there for one week, get eliminated and we will be set for life. We can get married. My rank will open opportunities for you to go study teaching. This is our chance at happiness."

"Wow," he responded, scratching his head. "Many men would be emasculated by their wife providing everything."

It had never occurred to me that Liam wouldn't want me be the provider. My chest ached a little, but my plan hadn't included _The Pageant_ and I could live without it.

"I'll drop out of _The Pageant_ and we can get married whenever you're ready," I replied.

He stared at me, his mouth dropping open to form an oval. "I would never ask you to give up your dreams, even when you were dating another guy who made my blood boil. I'm not that guy who feels emasculated. I'm proud of you and I want you to succeed."

"Thank you," I gushed, kissing him. "I'm going to tell my parents about us tonight."

"Okay. I'm going to get the final things in order for my epic proposal," he replied, kissing my forehead. "Are you sure . . ."

My parents' ring tone echoed off the cold room walls.

"I got to get this," I said.

"Congratulations!" Mama and Papa yelled into the phone. "We're so excited! Where are you? We need to celebrate."

"I'm at Tody's shop," I replied. "I'll be home real soon. I need to talk to you about Liam."

There was silence for a moment. "We're looking forward to it," Mama responded, smiling. "Tell Liam he can come over and celebrate."

"Bye!" I said, feeling ready to burst.

"So, are you coming over?" I asked Liam.

"I guess," he agreed. "Just let me finish on my shift."

"Absolutely," I kissed him. "I better go; Tommy might get suspicious. We only have to hide for eighteen days and then we can be together in public."

"You're not going to be ashamed of me?" he asked, putting his forehead to mine.

"Never." I smiled, kissing him again before grabbing the beans. "Bye."

"Bye," he farewelled. "See you at dinner."

I waved, retreating into the warmth.

Neither of us would make it to dinner.

* * *

The outskirts of town whizzed by, the reflective mirrors almost blinding. The panels made the city brighter, but they were also boring to look at and a potential driving hazard when they reflected the sunlight.

My phone rang. Thoughtlessly I answered, assuming it would be well-wishers.

"I know you went to see him," Oliver said, his voice angry.

"Oliver, I'm single. I can see whoever I want," I replied, calmly.

"No you can't," he stated. "I got you this far and I can take you out. We will be going to _The Pageant_ together and we are going to win and become the Potentates of Tealé."

"Not going to happen," I responded. "My life is no longer your concern. We are over."

"You don't get to dump me, you stupid bitch," he screamed into the phone.

I hung up, my heart pounding in my ears. Clutching the steering wheel, I took some calming breaths. Henrietta's comet blazed slowly across the sky; my lucky star had heralded my break-up with Oliver and being in _The Pageant_ all in one day.

My phone rang again. Seeing Oliver's caller ID, I ignored it.

A text flashed onto the screen. "You don't get to dump me."

The sound of scraping metal filled my ears. I jerked the wheel, trying to regain control of my spinning car. Spraying glass, heat and the sound of crunching surrounded me.

Then it was dark.

* * *

TAMSIN

Mama and Papa were making salad to accompany the lasagna when the call came. Mama answered; she crumpled to the floor starring into space, the receiver dangling beside her as if it were a bomb blowing up our lives.

Papa grabbed the phone, and I didn't need to hear the conversation to know it was Ambrose. A dull ache had been pulsing through my body for the better part of an hour.

"Is she alive?" I asked, when Papa hung up the phone.

"Yes, she's at the hospital. We need to go. Get your mother's jacket. There will be media there. Don't say anything."

I followed Papa's instructions, my body on autopilot.

The flashing lights and yelling reporters barely registered as Papa pushed his way into the hospital lobby. The doctors kicked the paparazzi out.

The beeping monitors and white walls were too bright. The hospital atmosphere was bleaching the life from my body. The doctor was talking, but his words weren't registering. My mind felt like it was a helium balloon, caught by the wind and drifting further and further away.

"She was side-swiped, hit and run," the doctor said, apologetically. "She's sustained a severe head injury and there's swelling on the brain. She has minor cuts and bruises on her body, and some internal bleeding that we feel confident we can stop. We'll keep her comatose till we ascertain the full extent of her injuries."

"Will she live?" I asked, too burdened to understand medical jargon.

"We don't know," he replied, solemnly. "We're going to do everything we can to save her."

"Can we see her now?" Mama asked, her voice small and distant.

"Of course," the doctor agreed. "She is very banged up. Just be assured, if the brain swelling is reduced, she should recover fully."

"Thank you," Papa said, as the doctor directed us down the hall to a single room.

Ambrose lay on the bed, her arms and face covered in cuts and bruises. A tube was attached to her mouth and nose; she was surrounded by an army of machines, keeping her alive.

Her hand was so bruised. I dared not hold it for fear of hurting her. As Mama wept and Papa's ashen face stared at his battered daughter, uncomprehending, I vowed that I would find who did this to Ambrose and I would make them pay.

DEDICATION

For Henrietta Soos

1936–2014

You were the bravest person I've ever known,

and I will miss you every minute till we meet again.

# About Susan Fodor

Susan Fodor is the author of The Silver Tides series.

A dreamer. Wife. Mother. Friend. Dessert enthusiast. Theologian/Pastor. Australian. Passionate.

Bi-lingual—English/Hungarian.

Overly involved with fictional characters.

Avid supporter of International Talk Like a Pirate Day.

Has eclectic taste in music, food, and clothing.

Enjoys taking random photos of Tuvok her cat.

And always has time to look for the best in people.

For release dates, contests and random musings:

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#  Comet Cotillion

### (A Celestial Mini-Wave)

### Sutton Shields

**The Helena Hambourg House for Maladies, evening**. Today was a draining day...and by _draining_ , I don't simply mean the emotional kind. I spent a grueling twelve hours locked in a cold, gray room, strapped to a rotating table, with Madame Helena and one of her sadistic doctors hovering over me. With every flip of the table, they would stab me with scary-big needles and drain my blood. Now, I have the ever-fashionable hospital bandages decorating my neck, wrists, thighs, and temples. So not cute.

The Helena Hambourg House for Maladies housed unusual youths. Yes, I was, am, and will always be unusual...and apparently dangerous to world order. Insert epic eye roll. You see, somewhere along the way, humans evolved into something a little more than human—they started developing gifts, talents. Such talents—or malfunctions, as Madame Helena calls them—ranged from the relatively common practice of telekinesis to soul swapping with actual demons. In my not-so-humble opinion, we constitute a pretty kick ass subset of mankind. Unfortunately, our government doesn't agree. Thus, we have institutions like Madame Helena's. The simplest solution in the government's mind was to remove the freaks from society, shove them in an institution, and throw away the key. The real kicker? Madame Helena and all adults who head these institutions also have powers...and they may use them...against us. Nice, huh?

Institutions like Madame Helena's typically employ doctors who have zero problems partaking in unethical medical practices. The doctors usually perform gruesome procedures in an effort to remove our talents from our bodies. Some days, it was mental torment designed to convince us that our powers were evil; other days, it was physical torture...like today.

My talent? They classify me as a Reader. I can read the future in a regular old deck of cards—the very same kind you'd use to play a game of _Go Fish_ or _Poker_. Granted, it wasn't the fanciest talent, but when it can predict everything from war to impending tragedies, illnesses, and death...well...it really was kind of awesome. Thus, from eight o'clock this morning until nearly nine o'clock tonight, the doctors _tried_ to drain my card reading ability. Of course, their efforts didn't work; I have made it my personal goal to never let those prejudiced bastards win. Ever.

* * *

**Fifth Floor for the Especially Obstinate, Malady Room Eight, 9 p.m.** As exhausted as I was after a day at the 'torture spa', I always looked forward to spending my post-torture evenings with my equally 'malfunctioned' friends. Tonight, however, Madame Helena was holding a mandatory gala in the never-used ballroom of Hambourg House. Dubbed the _Comet Cotillion_ , this godforsaken event has made Madame Helena unusually giddy during the past few weeks. Seeing Madame Helena in a happy, almost carefree mood was like a nightmare come true; no joke...the woman could scare the ever-loving crap out of the devil himself.

Earlier this evening, Madame Helena's guards dumped tattered boxes of formal wear through drop slots in the ceiling of our room. The selection of dresses was less than stellar, let me tell you. Every dress was a combination of purple and lime, the official colors of Helena's institution of suckdom. And the color clash wasn't the worst part: the gowns were significantly frayed, faded, and smelled like mothballs, which meant...they'd been worn before.

As I twisted the butt-enhancing lime and purple plaid bows, I couldn't help but wonder what happened to the poor girl who wore this dress before me. I stared at my reflection in the cracked, moldy mirror and shook my head. Neon-red hair, aqua eyes, and severely pasty-pale skin kinda clashed with a lime-trimmed purple dress. I looked beyond hideous.

"I look like a glow-in-the-dark garden gnome," I muttered.

Polly Purdue added a clip to her bubblegum-pink hair, straightened the lime bow on her short purple dress, and said, "Yes, you really do. Honestly, Marina, you look absolutely ridiculous." Polly's talent was the ability to swap souls with demons. As such, she typically loses parts of her human soul and returns with demon replacement bits, thus making her completely socially inept. You never knew what might fly out of her mouth at any given moment. "At least you look better than Meikle. She can't pull off lime. Actually, she can't pull off any color. It's like her skin literally rejects color. Pity." Yeah, see what I mean?

Meikle Martinez, stroking her beloved purple sequined bag, glared at Polly from her corner cot. Meikle was one badass witch who adored all things dark. Even her voice was startlingly menacing. Seeing her in something as garish as a lime green frock was jarring, to say the least. Shoving her chestnut curls behind her ears, she said, "I don't do color. Color is my hell."

"Your bag is purple," quipped Polly.

Meikle clutched her bag to her chest. "My bag is the only color I allow." Polly eyed Meikle's bag and raised her eyebrow. "If you don't stop ogling my bag, I'll have it suck out your eyes."

"God, what is it with you and that damn bag?" asked Polly.

Petting her bag, Meikle said, "For me to know."

"Meikle's bag is special, Polls," I said. "You know that."

Polly shrugged. "So she says. However...it would match my gown for tonight, so maybe I could just borrow—"

"Not a chance in hell," growled Meikle.

"Damn. I'm gone for five minutes in the bathroom and you two start goin' at it," said Trey Campbell. Trey was my date for tonight's farce fest and my very best friend. He was one helluva good-looking guy, even in the God-awful lime polo and purple pants he was forced to wear. He had light brown hair, insanely gorgeous green eyes, and a svelte, yet strong build. "So, who started it this time, Squiggle? The witch or the pink-haired part-demon girl?" Oh, he so already knew the answer to that one! Trey was an intuitionist, meaning he could uncover truths better than a certain London-based, world-famous detective.

"Pink-haired part-demon girl," I said, winking at Trey. I loved when he called me Squiggle; it always made me feel like things would be okay, no matter how dire they appeared.

Polly crossed her arms. "That's highly inaccurate. I hardly glanced at Meikle's bag and WHAM! The witch goes ballistic...or as ballistic as a monotone, gloom-ball can go."

Trey laughed. "Yep, it was definitely Polls who stoked this fire."

Not wanting Meikle to curse Polly with some anti-demon spell, I quickly said, "Um, subject change approaching...Polls, did you ever decide on who you're going to the dance with?"

Polly sighed. "My options were less than thrilling: Marvin the boiling blood-douser or Terry, the human tornado who has a belching problem. Let's see, what would I rather fill my night with...boiling blood on my dress or burps in my face?!"

Trey and I lost it, while Meikle...well...she cracked a semi-smile. Yeah, Meikle wasn't much for laughing...or smiling.

"So, does that mean you decided against both?" I asked.

"Oh, no, I decided _on_ both. Yes, both will have the pleasure of escorting me," said Polly, flipping her hair. "Whichever one dances the best without either squirting blood or belching a juicy one might be allowed to grope me later tonight."

"You know who's gonna get jealous, right?" said Meikle, a very, very slight sarcastic grin curling one side of her mouth.

"Dreary Dann," I supplied. "He's had it bad for Polls ever since she arrived."

Polly closed her eyes. "I will never, under any circumstance, allow Dreary Dann to have the pleasure of even holding my hand. And I'm an excellent hand-holder."

Trey, flopping on the cot next to Meikle, said, "What's so wrong with him? Throw him a date and he might leave you alone."

Polly's eyes started turning black—a sure sign that her inner demon bits were growing very angry. "He's the most depressing creature on the planet. Just his voice makes me want to jump out the window! And then there's his talent..."

"Oh, you mean the phlegm-breathing thing?" I said, trying not to laugh.

"Bingo!" Polly screeched.

"Ah, yeah, that's pretty gross," said Trey.

"Oh, ya think?" said Polly. "The last time he attempted to ask me out, he spewed phlegm all over my shoes. Not enticing."

"ROOM EIGHT! EXIT NOW!" shouted a Retriever as the doors to our room flung open.

I led the way as Trey, Polly, Meikle, and the rest of room eight followed behind. The other rooms on our floor had already been emptied; there were two rows—boys to the right, girls to the left. I lined up behind Hatchet-Hand Gwen (seriously, her hands could turn into actual hatchets) and almost gagged: the musty, mothball scent from our old gala garb intensified as we collected in the hallway, triggering my sensitive gag reflex.

The Retriever, his net gun pointed at us, bellowed, "Top floor, last door on the right. MOVE!"

"Your tone of acceptance and warmth really touches my heart," I quipped.

Trey sniffed and feigned a whimper. "Yeah, I might actually tear up."

"Shut up and walk, freaks," said the Retriever.

Upon climbing the many creaky stairs, we trundled down the dark hallway and filed into the ballroom...if you could even call it a ballroom. True, I've never stepped foot in one, but I remember the fairy tale movies Mom would show me when I was little, where the ballrooms were bright, airy, golden, and fantastical. The ballroom in Madame Helena's institution was better akin to a morgue. The floors were slate gray, dull, and dusty; the walls were equally as lackluster with old purple floral wallpaper that was curling and peeling. There were no windows, no chandeliers. The lone food table sported such delights as moldy bread, curdled milk, and burnt cookies. An old-fashioned record player in the front of the aged ballroom attempted to play a scratched album of tunes from the fifties.

"They sure went all out for this shindig," I said sarcastically.

Polly huffed. "Well, what did you expect? Madame Helena doesn't exactly like our kind. Frankly, the whole concept of Madame Helena throwing a party for us is nonsensical."

"She's up to something, isn't she?" I said.

"It would certainly seem so," replied Polly.

Trey shrugged. "Maybe she figured a ball would highlight just how much our lives suck. You know how her world gets brighter when she's shoving it up our asses."

"Well, she's not failing, is she?" said Polly. "I mean, look at us! We look absurd."

"We look like something Polly's demon bits would vomit on any given day," growled Meikle.

Polly shot Meikle a displeased glance. "Though I wouldn't go _that_ far, Meeks does have a point. We look horrible and we smell worse, like some old woman's attic. The food is inedible, the music is warped...something isn't right about this."

"Something definitely stinks...besides us, I mean," I said.

Trey, looking around the room, said, "Wait. This can't be everyone in the institution."

"That's because it's only the fifth floor occupants," Meikle grumbled, stroking her bag.

"Ooooh, not good," I said, my stomach churning. "Madame Helena's gathering only her most bullheaded occupants and putting them in one room...and I doubt it's for square-dancing lessons and jovial fun."

"What do we—" started Polly.

"Hiya, Polly." Carrying his box of tissues, Dreary Dann shuffled up to us. "I'm reasonably pleased you came tonight." Dann had the most depressing demeanor known to mankind; even his voice was miserable. Still, he was cute...kinda like a cartoon bug.

"Good evening, Dann," said Polly, rolling her eyes. "We were in the middle of something, so if you could kindly lea—"

"Did you bring a date tonight?" he said, his forlorn eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

"Yes," replied Polly. "They're over by the wall, waiting for me to summon them."

Terry, the burp-nado, was a laidback guy with grayish-brown hair, caramel skin, and light gray eyes. He was actually good-looking, definitely flirt-worthy...until he unleashed an eardrum-blasting burp. Yeah, the constant belching kinda killed the whole flirt-worthy thing. Marvin, on the other hand, was meek and gawky with straw blond hair and deep blue eyes that would periodically fill with blood as he fought off blood-spurting surges. What can I say? We were a bizarre group of misfits.

"For obvious reasons, I don't want them near me," Polly added, brushing some dirt off of her dress.

Dann, never taking his eyes off of Polly, said, "I'm very discontented that they have the honor of awaiting your summons." Dann swallowed hard, undoubtedly choking down a phlegm-wad. "Perhaps tonight you might wish my company for—"

"Absolutely not," Polly said, snorting.

Dann nodded morosely and trundled off.

"I sort of feel bad for Dann. I doubt the poor guy has ever had a reason to smile in his life," I said.

"Marina, so help me, I will demon-out on you," said Polly, her eyes flashing black.

"Sorry," I muttered.

Meikle groaned. "If we could please back-burner the talk of Polly's many abysmal suitors and focus on the potential crisis we might be facing... What the hell could Madame Hell-ena be up to?"

The question barely left Meikle's mouth when the sound of doors slamming against the wall startled all of us. Sweeping inside was Madame Helena, the train of her purple and lime polka dot gown billowing behind her.

"Welcome to the Comet Cotillion!" she said, much too cheerily. Madame Helena was like a demented fairy tale villain with her extraordinarily long nose, perfectly coiffed lime hair, and spooky orange eyes. "Tonight marks a very special moment for me. As you know, our ultimate goal is to purge from you the unholy talents that make you unwanted in the United States. Unfortunately, some of you are less than cooperative. Thus, tonight, I give you...the comet capture."

Madame Helena swiveled on one foot, swinging her hand around the room; blackened claws burst through the walls and began grabbing partygoers. Screams pierced my ears; the room was a blur of purple, lime, horrified faces, and freakish vein-covered, charcoaled, claw-like hands. I lost sight of Trey, Polly, and Meikle. Something shattered behind me. Flipping around, I saw a charred hand shooting for my body. I dropped to the floor and rolled sideways, my hair fluttering from the whoosh of the hand as it flew over me.

The empty claw retreated towards the wall, where it paused and wiggled its fingers, readying itself for another attempt at catching me. Stumbling slightly when I stood up, I heard groans, screams, and whimpers. When I allowed myself to soak in the scene before me, I thought I might vomit: every occupant of the fifth floor for the Especially Obstinate was suspended above the floor, trapped within the clutches of massive, undead beastly hands.

Clapping from somewhere across the room caught my attention. Spinning around, I found Madame Helena sauntering towards me. She clicked her tongue in a 'tisk-tisk' fashion. "Clever move, Miss Valentine. But you won't be able to dodge it forever...will she, my friend?"

Damn. She distracted me long enough for the claw to successfully snatch me. Raising me off the ground, the claw squeezed my arms and middle so tightly, I thought I might pass out. To my left, Meikle was cussing up a hurricane; immediately to my right was Trey, glaring at Madame Helena. On the other side of Trey was Polly, who, with her darkening eyes and deepening voice, was on the precipice of unleashing her inner demon bits.

Posing in the center of the ballroom, Madame Helena observed her handiwork. "Now, then...that's not so bad, is it? Consider this a party favor." Polly started screaming in some demonic language. "I see Miss Purdue's inner demons are cranky. Don't worry, dear. Soon, you will be relieved of your malfunction. In fact, in a matter of moments, all of your malfunctions will be removed from your bodies. You are merely moments away from being regular, ordinary humans. At which point, you may return to your families, free of the malfunctions hindering your lives."

"Maybe we prefer life with our talents," Meikle growled.

"You mean 'malfunctions', don't you Miss Martinez?" snapped Madame Helena.

"No. I mean talents, you evil bitch," said Meikle.

Madame Helena smiled a frightening grin. "Quite a mouth on you, little witch."

"Oh...you have no idea," replied Meikle, an equally vicious smile stretching across her face.

"What do you get from this?" I asked. "Are you going to help all the other institutions rid their occupants of their talents? Is that what this is about?"

"Of course not! Goodness, Marina! You are naïve, child. I'm concerned about me, my institution. To be the very first establishment to effectively rid society of the worst malfunctions, well...imagine the recognition I will receive from your government. I will be heralded a hero."

Pulling a 'you must sniffing glue' face, I said, "You've got a seriously warped definition of _hero_ , lady."

Madame Helena bent forward, placed her hands on her knees, and cackled. It was disturbing as all hell. After a moment, a bright blue glow coming from a bracelet on her left wrist widened her mad eyes. "Oh! It's time! We're about to begin!" Sweeping her arm over her head, the ceiling disappeared, leaving only a starry night sky above us. It was amazing how something so beautiful, so freeing, could suddenly be so terrifying. "Shall we count down? Five...four...three...two...one..."

Madame Helena ran from the room and slammed the door shut; the sound of locks clicking in place echoed off the walls.

"Okay, that's troubling," said Trey.

"You mean aside from the crispy claws holding us in place?" I quipped.

"What do we do now?" asked Polly, her eyes fully black.

"I don't know, Polls. Oooh, let me go, you burnt piece of crap!" I shouted, fruitlessly fighting against the freaky claw holding me in place.

"Squirming won't get you anything but a stomach cramp and a pulled butt muscle," Polly muttered.

"LOOK! COMET!" screamed Hatchet-Hand Gwen.

A beautiful bright white comet soared slowly over our heads; as it did, an enormous orange cloud consumed the room. When the cloud dissipated, gleaming blue energy ribbons floated down from the comet and, one by one, inserted themselves into the skulls of each one of us.

"Okay. This isn't good," I said, watching in horror as Terry, Marvin, and Hatchet-Hand Gwen struggled against the pain, their eyes turning ghostly white as blood oozed out of their gaping mouths. "Really, really isn't good."

"The ribbons are getting closer to us!" shouted Polly. "Figure something out, Marina, because I do NOT fancy something stabbing through my brain!"

"Yeah, well, it's not exactly my idea of fun, either, Polls!" I growled, racking my brain for some semblance of a good idea.

"Uh, Marina?" said Trey. "Something's wrong with Meeks."

My heart lurched into my throat. I turned my head to face Meikle. "Oh, God...no."

Though the comet's ribbons had not yet attached to Meikle, its mere presence was having a dreadful effect on our favorite witch. Meikle's hair stood on end; her head tilted back and forth and side to side at an ungodly pace; her legs trembled, as if that part of her body was suffering a seizure. Suddenly, she became very still; her catlike eyes glowed yellow as they narrowed on the comet; a soft, shimmering snow emitted from her skin.

Clutching her bag, she said darkly, "Release me...now." The claw holding her crumbled into a fine powder. As a soft snow continued to rise from her skin, Meikle gently floated to the floor. Slowly, she walked to the middle of the room. Holding her bag to the sky, she cried, "Coristosh Meriaconk Fialwrb Klorsacprel!"

A huge blast of white light engulfed the room. Once the darkness of the ballroom returned, the comet's ribbons were gone. Terry, Marvin, Gwen, and all those who were in such agony from the ribbons were back to normal and safe. It was a wonderfully relieving sight to behold, though not nearly as astonishing as the vision of Meikle, calmly standing in the center of the room, holding the quivering comet in her bare hands.

"Meeks...how did you...when did you...I can't settle on a question," I said, gawking at my friend.

Smirking, Meikle purred, "Gwen, use your powers to break free from the claw. Then, help the others get down...unless you all can maneuver your talents and free yourselves."

Hatchet-Hand Gwen transformed her hands into hatchets and chopped through her restraints, sending chunks of stubby fingers thudding against the floor.

"Well," began Polly, "that would've been useful, Gwen. Could've freed all of us way before now. I suppose you couldn't have thought of going all hatchet-handy any sooner?"

"I _was_ a little distraught, Polly," said Gwen. "Honestly, I didn't think it would work."

"Oh, there's a fantastic excuse not to at least _try_ ," barked Polly, rolling her eyes. "I'm fairly certain we were all distressed, yet Meeks had the wherewithal to get witch-y and grab a comet."

Watching Meikle standing so confidently, twisting the comet around in her hand, I felt a sudden surge of empowerment. Strangely, the moment this surge coursed through me, the claw unfolded and dropped me to the floor.

"Hey, how'd you do that?" asked Trey.

"I dunno. I just felt totally encouraged by Meeks and starting feeling sorta kick ass and...it let me go."

Hearing my words, Dann said, "Marina has awakened something in me. For whatever reason, I now have an abnormally euphoric desire to kick some buttocks." Working up a massive wad of phlegm, he blanketed the claw in goop. Needless to say, the claw let him go, attempting to shake off some of the phlegm in the process.

One by one, we used our various talents to free ourselves from Madame Helena's claws. However, neither Terry nor Marvin could successfully free themselves, thus Dann and his phlegm-blanketing ability obliged.

"That's revolting," began Polly, eyeing Dann, "and yet...weirdly sexy." Polly allowed her inner demon bits to infuse her with the strength she needed to shred the claw to pieces. "That was highly enjoyable." Polly admired the demolished hell-hand scattered around her feet.

Dreary Dann hurried over to Polly. "I heard what you said...it gave me a flutter of hope. Do you think maybe now you might let me—"

Crossing her arms, Polly snapped, "What did I say earlier?"

"'Absolutely not'" said Dann, repeating what Polly had said to his previous attempt at courting her.

"Right, that is what I said...however, my position may be changing. We are now in full 'maybe' territory."

"Really?" Dann inquired, his eyes wide.

"Maybe," said Polly.

"Wait. Are we in the 'maybe' zone or are we maybe in the 'maybe' zone?"

"Yes."

"Oh...um...huh?"

"Really, Polls?" I said. She simply glanced at me through half-closed eyes and casually shrugged one shoulder. Jesus. Poor Dann. Polly was in the mood to tease, and Dann was the unlucky recipient.

The doors of the ballroom flew off their hinges, soared across the room, and crashed into the walls. Madame Helena stormed inside with a team of needle-swinging doctors. Stomping right up to Meikle, she growled, "How dare you!"

Holding the comet before her, Meikle said, "Comets do not like to be used for evil. You abused its energy. It wants payback."

Madame Helena eyed the comet and took one step back.

"In fact, I think we all want payback," I said, as Trey cracked his knuckles and Polly muttered in yet another distinctly demon language.

We all closed in on Madame Helena and the doctors. We knew she had powers beyond our comprehension. Attacking her could get us all killed, and we weren't about ready to forfeit in our battle against Madame Helena, the many institutions, and our government. But, it sure was fun watching her squirm.

Meikle loosened her grip on the comet. The comet blasted from her hand; stopping it merely an inch from Madame Helena's nose, Meikle said, "If I let this go, it will kill you...but that would make me no better than you." She turned and held the comet to the sky. "Go home." When she released the comet, it swirled around her gracefully and took its place back in the sky. Pivoting around, Meikle glared at Madame Helena. "Remember this moment, because the next time we meet like this, I won't hold back...and you won't win."

"Wait! What?! That's it!" yelped Polly. "Oh, don't do this to me, Meeks! That big-beaked bitch deserves some sort of retribution!"

In that instant, Dann unleashed a mother lode of phlegm all over Madame Helena.

Madame Helena removed a handkerchief from her bosom and wiped off her face. The fury bubbling behind her eyes meant trouble for us in the days to come. "Retrievers, escort the malfunctions back to their rooms. Tomorrow, you all will pay dearly. Prepare for...group _therapy_."

"Honestly, it was so worth it," I said to loads of laughs.

Madame Helena spun around and marched out of the room with her team of doctors scurrying behind her.

Turning to Polly, Dann said, "Where are we with that 'maybe'? Think we're in 'possibly now' territory?"

Biting her lip, Polly said, "Screw possibly. We're in the land of 'oh hell yes'...once you've showered, that is."

For the first time since knowing him, Dann unleashed a smile that stretched from ear to ear. Polly and Dann left the ballroom together. Lord only knows what she had in store for him. Whatever it was, he was sure to be a happy boy.

"Meikle, you were epic," I said, squeezing her.

"Thanks...stop hugging me."

I immediately let her go. "Oh, oops. Sorry about that. I forgot you don't do hugs."

"So, what hell do you think Madame Helena will put us through tomorrow?" asked Trey as we piled out of the ballroom.

Shrugging, I said, "Eh, probably the usual, only doubled or tripled...or quadrupled. Truthfully, I don't give a flipping fart what she does to us. Watching Meeks make that evil wench take a step back was a memory I wouldn't trade for anything. Plus, I'm kinda thinkin' we're stronger than we think."

"Agree with everything you just said, Squiggle," said Trey, tweaking my chin.

"I'm pretty sure we shocked old toucan nose tonight," I mused. "I don't think she ever expected us to stand against her like we did. I saw a speck of astonished fear in her eyes."

"Only a speck?" said Meikle.

"Yeah, afraid so," I replied. "It's going to take a lot more to make Madame Helena shake in her butt ugly heels."

"Huh. Well, then, perhaps we should make that speck a decent size puddle," said Meikle.

"What does that mean?" asked Trey, grinning.

"Meeks. What are you up to?" I felt those wonderful little bubbles of anticipation in my gut.

"Oh, well, you know...I may have captured just enough of that comet to make Madame Helena pee herself," said Meikle, stroking her bag.

Trey and I doubled over, laughing. "Oh, God, I love you, Meeks," I said.

"Goes for me, too," Trey croaked.

Swinging her bag, Meikle purred, "If you love me now, just wait until tomorrow."

We smiled confidently—bordering on cocky—as the Retrievers ushered us down the dank hallways and stairs. Maybe I'm wrong, but I have a feeling misfits just might rule the world one day. Man, what a crazy, wacky world that would be...and fun...lots and lots of fun.

# About Sutton Shields

Ms. Shields is a sports-loving, holiday addict with a seriously stupid cricket and grasshopper phobia. To highlight her membership in the dork category, Ms. Shields simply cannot bring herself to clean out a pumpkin because, to her, it would be like de-stuffing a stuffed animal. Despite her idiocy, Ms. Shields adores her parents and always hopes to make people smile, even if it means making a fool out of herself.

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#  The Shadow Keepers

### Anya Allyn

One

The front door hung open—that was never a good sign. Seven-year-old Molly Parkes dashed up the cracked concrete stairs to her apartment, tossing her school bag down just inside the front doorway.

Things were still. Too still. When Mama had one of her _crying times_ , she'd often be balled up on the couch with red eyes and scarecrow hair. But not today.

Molly tiptoed along the dark hall. It smelled of mold and dust, with deep cracks making the wallpaper peel and split. Every time Mama grew sad, she grew thinner and the cracks in the walls seemed to grow wider. Molly often worried that one day Mama would just disappear into those cracks.

Pushing open the door to her mother's bedroom, she peered inside. Her relief at the sight of Mama lying on the bed crumbled as she noticed the open bottle of tablets in her hand. Mama's skin glistened like the underside of a fish. When Molly stepped across and touched her, she felt cold and clammy. Panic ran in waves through Molly's small body. There had been twenty-six tablets left in the bottle. Molly had counted them herself a week ago. She always counted Mama's tablets—ever since Mama had taken too many one morning and had to spend days in hospital.

Three tablets remained in the bottle.

_Three_.

On the other side of the bed, the curtain rippled. Molly's jaw set rigidly. The window was shut. It had been jammed shut ever since they moved in here—the landlord refusing to fix it no matter how nicely Mama asked. No breeze ever came through a jammed-shut window. Ever. It had to be something else, something—

Then she saw her. An indistinct figure, standing in the folds of the curtain. Her hair was long and red, like her own. A girl of around eighteen. The figure stared back with large eyes.

"Who are you?" Molly's voice closed like a fist in her throat.

The Girl simply shook her head. She grew faint, so faint that Molly could see the palm-tree pattern of the curtains straight through her. She was gone, and Molly was alone in the room with her mother.

She wasn't sure of anything right now, except for one thing—one thought that exploded inside her mind: Mama was dead.

Two

On the afternoon of Mama's funeral, Molly stood waiting outside her uncle's house with two police officers. This was to be her new home. It looked the same as she remembered it. A broken window had a board nailed across it. Weeds poked through the brickwork. She'd only been to Uncle Devlin's house just twice before. He was Mama's brother, and on both visits, Molly had sensed that Mama was glad to leave.

Uncle Devlin opened the door, his eyes squinty as daylight fell across his face. He wore an old football jersey over his protruding belly, his hair faded like furniture that's had the sun on it for years. "Didn't expect her so soon," he told the police. "Haven't had time to clean the place up. Wish I coulda gone to the funeral, but I had too much on. You know how it is." Behind him, a trail of old clothes, shoes and car parts littered the hall. A woman stood back there with her hand against the wall, still dressed in pajamas, staring dully.

One of the police offers scratched behind his ear, seeming unsure of what to do next. "Well, Mr. Parkes, apparently we're meant to hand her over to your care today. You're the only family Molly has, and you already signed the custody agreement." He hesitated. "May we come in?"

A scowl crossed Devlin's face. "No, you damned-well may not. Just give me the kid and get out of here."

After people wearing black had lowered Mama into a deep, dark hole, police officers had put Molly in a police car. At first, Molly thought she'd done something wrong. People who got taken away by police were criminals, right? But when they'd taken her to get a burger and fries, the officers had explained they had to take her to another home now. It hadn't occurred to Molly that she wouldn't be going back to the apartment. She could look after herself. She always dressed herself in the mornings for school, made dinner for herself, and when Mama was sad—which was often—she knew how to order groceries over the internet. She didn't need to live anywhere else.

And what would happen to all of Mama's things? She just knew that Mrs. Hodge, the nasty-faced landlord, would throw all of Mama's special keepsakes away. Molly hadn't taken more than a bite of the burger that the police had given her. She didn't think she'd feel like eating ever again.

The police left Uncle Devlin's doorstep reluctantly. Molly watched them leave, and then followed her uncle down the short hall.

"This is Sashelle." Uncle Devlin gestured toward the woman in an off-hand manner. "We've been together for a few months now. You can help her get things in order around the house."

Sashelle tilted her head, her harsh black hair with its dark blonde roots falling over her face. "Know the diff between beer and bourbon? Dev drinks beer and I have the other, so when we ask you to get us a drink, you know what to get. Okay?" Her mouth hung open after she'd said her last word, and she raised her thin eyebrows.

Molly nodded. She didn't know the difference, but she could read.

"There's your room." Her uncle pointed to a bare bedroom that looked out on a yard. "We had a boarder in there, but we kicked him out so's you could have it."

"Thanks." Molly walked in and put her suitcase down on the bed. Her suitcase had been packed by strangers while she was at her mother's funeral. She clicked it open. Framed photographs sat on top of hastily folded clothing—photos of Mama and Molly together. Mother's Day cards Molly had made and Mama's little ornaments were stuffed down the sides of the suitcase. Whoever packed the suitcase had at least tried to make sure that Molly's memories went with her.

Fat, hot tears snaked down her face, running into the creases between her cheeks and nose. She sniffed, her chest shuddering. She hurt so bad it felt like there was some kind of fierce monster inside her.

Her uncle winced. "Yeah, anyway, why don't you get out in the backyard and find something to do? No point staying in here moping."

He stood back and let her find her own way to the yard.

She stepped out into grass as high as her waist. A lone tree stood without leaves, like it could no longer carry the burden of them. There was little else among the grass and weeds, apart from the rusting wreck of an old car and a buckled tool shed. Molly peered into the tool shed. It smelled bad—like grease and chemicals mixed together. Thin, looped rope hung from a nail. Old boards were stacked up in one corner. A random collection of rusted tools sat on a bench.

Molly knew exactly what to do.

She hammered together two of the boards until they looked like they might stay together. She used to help Mama fix things around their apartment and quickly learned how to use a hammer without hurting her fingers. She found two lengths of rope, then went out and tossed the pieces over the lowest branch of the tree. She knotted the ends of the rope around the seat of boards she'd made. It didn't look as good as any swing she'd ever seen—it was wonky and wobbly and lopsided—but it was a swing.

Perching on the swing, she slowly moved backward and forward, staring at a sky bleached of all color. This is for you, Mama, she whispered inside her head. One of the things that made Mama the saddest was that the apartment block they lived in had no yard or grass or playground. _When we buy a house, my little Molly-polly_ , she'd say, _the first thing I'm going to get you is a swing_. She worked hard at two jobs to save money. She was always worried about money.

Molly hoped that somehow, Mama would see the swing and it'd make her happy.

Dinner that night was egg-on-toast in front of the TV. Uncle Devlin and Sashelle had a fight about something, and Sashelle left the house, slamming the door behind her.

Night swung in, a wrecking ball that swept away any chance that the funeral had all been a mistake and that Mama would stop by in her little blue car and take Molly away. Kneeling on her bed, Molly looked out at the crooked swing she'd made for Mama.

Her fingers tensed on the windowsill. Someone stood in the yard. The Girl with the long red hair. The Girl stared mournfully at the house, the moonlight giving her skin the color of bones. She stretched out a slim arm toward Molly. Cowering, Molly balled herself under her scratchy blanket. There was no one here to run to, nowhere to seek comfort. She prayed the ghostly being away.

_Please, please, please. Make her disappear_.

Three

She didn't see The Girl again. But she kept her bedroom curtains securely closed at night, so she couldn't _really_ be sure if The Girl had come back or not.

When a counselor at her school had brought Molly to her office to ask how she was dealing with her mother's death, Molly had confided in her about The Girl. The counselor had replied that trauma can _make us imagine things_. Molly was handed a psychologist referral to give to Uncle Devlin—but he'd tossed it away without even looking at it.

Six weeks went by—each day a day without Mama. Molly was on a train speeding away from a mother she'd had to leave on the platform. And she couldn't get off the train. Not ever.

Molly learned that her uncle and Sashelle's interest in her was in how quickly she could fetch them things or clean up messes. If she wasn't quick enough, she'd get a tap to the head—which became slaps as the days went on. When they'd had so much to drink that their words went wobbly, their hands would turn into fists. Their words for each other were the worst—words as bitter, dried-up and hateful as Mrs. Hodge's expression whenever Molly used to bounce a ball outside her window at the apartment block.

As soon as her uncle and his girlfriend had spent the money Mama had saved up in the bank—all thirty-two thousand of it—Molly felt the change, like a wintry chill. They turned the loathing they had for each other onto her. She became their punching bag, their stress relief, their burden. They hadn't thought far enough ahead to realize that once the money ran out, they'd be stuck with a child.

Rubbing her right arm, Molly sat on the stool in her bedroom. Uncle Devlin had given her a sharp hit to the arm when she'd walked between him and the TV show he was watching, angrily claiming she was disrespecting him. There seemed to be a hundred ways in which she could disrespect her uncle. And a hundred ways in which she could annoy Sashelle. Molly didn't know the rules—couldn't even guess at them. All she knew was that a punch or a shove against a wall would come out of nowhere, and she was somehow to blame.

Uncle Devin had sent her to bed. But she knew by now that if she laid herself straight down in bed on a sore limb and slept on it, it would hurt even worse in the morning.

A crawling feeling wound from her legs up to the sides of her body. There was someone else in the room. Someone who wasn't Uncle Devlin or Sashelle.

Molly looked from the corner of her eye without turning her head. The Girl stood next to the window.

She wore jeans and a shirt, her long hair tied back. "I know you can see me. Don't be scared."

"You're not real." Molly moved her face until she couldn't see her. "You're not really there."

"It's okay to think of me as a dream," she said. "I just want you to listen to what I have to say. Can you do that?"

Molly nodded, a tremor zipping across the back of her shoulders. If listening would make the girl go away, she'd listen.

"Good. There's something I want you to do. Molly, you have to _tell_. You can't let your uncle and his girlfriend hurt you anymore. Do you understand?"

"I just have to learn how not to do the wrong—"

"No, you don't have to learn anything. You don't deserve to be hit."

"He told me that if I—"

"I know what he said," said The Girl. "But you must be brave. When we don't tell about the things that hurt us, it's like keeping shadows deep inside us. And each day, the shadows grow. Until we live in shadows. All of us are shadow keepers, Molly. We keep too much to ourselves. I want you to find someone you trust, and tell them what's happening to you. Good people to go to are your teacher—Mr. Harper—or the school counselor. Can you do that?"

Molly told her she could. But she wasn't brave. Locking her arms around her knees, Molly realized she was a little less scared of The Girl than she was a moment ago. Molly wondered how The Girl knew her teacher's name. "Are you a ghost? Or an angel?"

The Girl gave a small sad laugh. "Neither. I'm a person, just like you are."

"What's your name?"

"I can't tell you that. Not yet."

She vanished.

The room suddenly felt empty without her.

Four

For days and days, every time she thought she could _tell_ , something stopped her. Cold fear would wrap around her heart. Uncle Devlin said he'd bury her mother's photographs where she'd never find them if she told. Sashelle told her she'd hurt her in a way she'd be sorry she ever said anything.

Every day when she walked into the schoolyard, she'd see the other kids playing and laughing and wonder what was wrong with her. She did bad things that made Uncle Devlin and Sashelle angry with her. And she sometimes saw a strange girl who couldn't be real. It was like there was an invisible wall between her and everyone else. She couldn't get through that wall. She couldn't _tell_.

In her bedroom that night, she eyed the pictures of her mother she'd hung on the wall. Her favorite photo was the one at the carnival, taken just two months ago. It had been one of Mama's happy days. A day when she didn't worry about money or the future. They'd ridden the wild teacup ride together and laughed as they raced each other down the giant slide.

Stepping over to her chest of drawers, Molly pulled out the dress she'd worn that day at the carnival. It was denim with tiny white dots. She tore off her school clothes and slipped into the dress—and then climbed into bed still wearing it. The dress still smelled slightly of popcorn and of Mama's apple shampoo.

When she looked back at the carnival photo, The Girl was standing in front of it. But this time, Molly couldn't see through her. She looked solid, just like any real person.

Slipping from her bed, Molly stepped toward her. More than anything, she wanted The Girl to hold her. Just to hold her.

But The Girl shrank away, her cheeks blanching. "I have to tell you something. We must never, ever touch each other."

"Why?"

"Just trust me."

Molly crawled back into bed and rested her chin on her knees. "I couldn't—"

Sighing, The Girl nodded. "I know. You couldn't tell. It's the hardest thing to do." She stepped around to sit on a stool next to Molly's bed. "Can I tell you a story?"

"I'm too big for stories."

A smile indented her face. "It's not a story for little children. It's a story for the brave."

Molly didn't answer, because she thought she wasn't good enough to be told such a story.

But The Girl started telling it anyway. "This is the story of a girl who lived at the end of a lane with her terrible uncle. He was mean and angry and cruel. Years went by like this, when one day, the girl decided to run away. She thought she could run away and look after herself. But she fell into an even worse place—a dark place with no doors and no way out. Five years went past until she was freed. By then, everything had frozen, everywhere. Monsters had come to her world and destroyed it and made it turn to ice. Bad people helped the monsters so that they could rule the world. Some of the girl's friends turned bad, too. Because they were afraid. The girl tried very hard to never give up. She never ever felt brave. She was scared all the time. But she fought back, as best she could. One of her most treasured friends—a girl named Cassandra—told her that being brave doesn't mean you feel brave. It means that even though you're scared and shaking in your boots, you step out and do what you can to make things better."

"How does the story end? What happened to the monsters?"

The Girl hesitated, linking her hands together. "A story can be a circle, Molly. It can go on forever."

Molly shook her head. "Stories end." Her words burned her throat as she remembered the clods of dirt hitting her mother's coffin.

The Girl plunged her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "I want to show you where I live. Will you come with me?"

"I can go there now?"

"Yes."

Molly glanced at her dubiously. It was night, and if her uncle discovered her not in her room, she would get into enormous trouble. "Is it far away from here?"

"It's very, very far away. But don't worry, you can come back again."

Squeezing her eyes closed for a second, Molly nodded.

A tall oval of black smoke formed in the middle of Molly's bedroom.

"Step through," said The Girl, "and I'll follow."

Five

Molly walked out into a world of white. Large patches of ice floated on an immense lake. The smell of salt water and damp earth hung in the cold air. There were tall buildings—skyscrapers—on the land along the lake, all of them crumbling, with smashed windows and enormous holes punched in them. What looked like the scaly skins of huge creatures were piled in a heap next to the lake.

Molly stood on a hill of bare ground. Five strange structures circled the hill top—looking like oval mirrors. But instead of glass, black smoke swirled within the mirrors. The Girl stepped from one of the mirrors. She smiled. "We both had to come through one of those to get here from your uncle's house."

Molly felt her eyes and mouth widen. There was something terrifying about the shadows. "But what are they?"

"We call them the _Shadow Keepers_. The monsters had shadows that could roam free and hurt people. But the shadows could also be used by humans to travel through to faraway places. When the monsters left, we harnessed five of their shadows."

"But the monsters were just a fairy tale," Molly protested.

"No, they were _real_. The story I told you back in your bedroom was about me. I was that girl."

Molly understood then. She understood she was asleep and she'd stepped into a dream. Monsters and Shadow Keepers and girls who ran away and got locked away for years were not real. She'd been in bed when the girl appeared and she must have already fallen into a deep slumber. The girl hadn't wanted to touch Molly because she was just thin air. The school counselor had told Molly that The Girl wasn't real. She'd told her that dreams were your mind trying to make sense of the world. In dreams, you could be anything, do anything. Without consequence. Once, Molly had dreamed she'd bounced her ball straight into sour Mrs. Hodge's face and given her a bloody nose. Waking up from that dream, she'd felt _good_. And not sorry at all.

Right now, she was running far away from Uncle Devlin and Sashelle. And it felt good. A weight had lifted from her small shoulders. And she intended staying in the dream for as long as she could.

Staying a few paces away from Molly, The Girl led her to a field, where men and women worked the frozen dirt. "The ice is melting, but slowly. One day, the world will return to how it was before and we'll start again."

"I hope it stays frozen for a while. I'd very much like to play in the snow." Molly wanted to have some fun before she woke. The Girl was too serious to be much fun. Molly hoped there would be other children in her dream.

The Girl glanced at Molly quizzically, a pale eyebrow raised. But she said nothing.

A man with sweat trailing down the sides of his handsome face put down his hoe and strode across the field to them. Black hair was long around his serious gray eyes and strong shoulders. From behind, he closed his arms around The Girl's middle. He gazed at Molly. "Hi. I'm Parker. I'm glad you came."

The Girl rested her head of dark red hair against the man's shoulder and smiled up at him.

"Did you fight the monsters, too?" Molly asked.

Parker seemed taken aback for a moment, then he gave a rueful laugh. "No. I wasn't nearly tough enough for that. I'm nothing like my wife. But I'm trying to make up for that now."

More people came. People who seemed to know Molly. Of course they did. It was Molly's dream, and everyone in it would know her.

A woman with dark skin and silvery hair smiled widely. "We've been hoping you'd come. Welcome, child. I'm Nabaasa."

From the awed way the others looked at Nabaasa, Molly could tell they all looked up to her.

The people gathered around Molly in a circle, each saying hello and telling her their name. Molly was confused. If this was just a dream, why were people telling her their names? After all, she was never going to see them again. They were just imaginings, thin air—weren't they?

A small girl with sunny-brown hair and eyes grinned shyly. "I'm Frances. I'm seven, too. Hope we can be friends." Running over, she hugged Molly before Molly knew what was happening. She could smell the earth and snow in the girl's hair and feel the pressure of her thin body. Warmth tingled from Molly's fingertips to her toes.

"You touched me," Molly breathed. "I thought no one could do that in this place."

"It's okay to touch me. Just not _Molly_." Frances pointed to The Girl.

The Girl bowed her head.

Molly inhaled a gasp of icy air. "That's _your_ name, too?" she asked The Girl. " _You're_ Molly?"

The people went quiet.

The Girl nodded at Molly. "Yes, you and I share the same name. Come and walk with me, and I'll tell you everything."

Frances let go as Molly broke away to walk alongside The Girl. As before, The Girl kept her distance from Molly. _Because in the rules of the dream, they couldn't touch_. Together, they stepped back near the lake, where they'd entered this world.

"I have the hardest thing of all to tell you," The Girl said. "But here it is . . ." She breathed deeply. "I am you. And you are me."

Molly's head shot up. She stood dead still, staring at the girl.

The Girl drew her lips in. In the bright, whitish light, her freckles stood out on her pale face—one freckle at the corner of her left eye in exactly the same place as Molly's. Light blue eyes ringed with darkest blue, just like Molly's. She had a determined set to her chin, just like Molly's.

"That's not possible." Molly's voice came raspy and strained through her teeth.

"I know. It's going to take a while for you to accept. But listen to me. There are billions of worlds. In billions of universes. And in worlds beyond counting, you exist. At all different ages. Having all different kinds of lives. In some worlds, your life is unfolding exactly as mine did. Your life is one of those lives." She held out a hand toward Molly and then snatched it back. "I want to hug you, but I can't. If I touch you, you will disappear. Because we're essentially the same person."

Molly felt her ribs tighten. "No . . . ."

She didn't like this dream anymore. It made her afraid and confused. She could still feel Frances's touch on her skin—how could a person _feel_ touch in a dream? This wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to run and play in the snow and make snow balls—she wanted a happy dream that made her forget.

The Girl fixed her gaze on Molly. "I'm afraid it's true. It's very, very difficult to find other worlds through the Shadow Keepers. But I found you, and I wanted to help you."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this before we came here?" Molly demanded.

Bright tears edged The Girl's blue eyes. "Some things are hard to tell, because you know they might not be believed. But those are the things you _must_ tell. I don't want my story to become your story. Like you, I was seven when Mama died and I went to live with Uncle Devlin."

Sucking in a breath of air, Molly shook her head. " _That's_ why you were there with my mother the day she died. You didn't come to help me. You came because you wanted to see Mama again."

Pressing her mouth into a taut line, The Girl nodded. "Yes, I wanted to see Mama again. It was foolish, but I did. You weren't supposed to see me. But you did. And I knew I couldn't just go back to my own world and leave you there like that. Please understand that there are countless Mollys going through what you're going through now. I can't help all of them. And I can't even get to them."

Molly wrapped her arms around her chest. A cold, shivery tremor passed through her. "You would have seen Mama taking the tablets. Why didn't you stop her?"

"I was too late. I got there after she'd taken them. She saw me, when she was crossing between life and death."

"What happened when Mama saw you?"

The Girl wrung her hands. "She . . . thought she was seeing a vision. She said out loud that she knew you had no future with her—that she could never give you a good life. And she cried. It made me understand a little about the things that made Mama so sad and why she used to have so many crying times . . . ."

"Why did you even bring me here?" Molly cried. "If I am your double, what's the point of me being in this world?"

She bent her head. "I just wanted you to be safe. I told everyone here about you, and they wanted you safe, too. I thought maybe, if I took you away from Uncle Devlin for a while, you might feel strong enough to tell someone about him when you get back."

Molly walked away for a few steps, her feet making dark marks in the snow. A thought formed in her mind that was so immense and pure and wonderful it almost made her gasp. She pointed at the Shadow Keepers that stood on the hill. "How do they work?"

The Girl frowned at the sudden change in conversation. "The Shadow Keepers are dangerous to use. You have to completely empty your mind and focus on where you want to go. It takes time and training. A person could easily end up anywhere. Even an alien world filled with monstrous beings. I only brought you through one of them because I've learned how." She gazed at the cold sky. "I guess the reason we called the frames that we keep the shadows in _shadow keepers_ is because through them, we can go to our past, our future or any of a billion different presents. But all those other lives are just shadows of us. We have to live the life we've been born to and create the very best life we can, because the decisions we make in this life affect all our other lives. The stronger we are, the stronger every one of our lives become."

Molly nodded, but she was no longer listening. She was wondering why she was asking someone for instructions within her own dream. Surely Molly could make up her own rules? But The Girl had been useful—she'd just given her the tool she needed to get back to Mama. Even if just for one precious minute, Molly could be with Mama again.

All she had to do was step through a shadow door.

Molly started running. Cautiously at first, then at fast as her legs would take her. She raced away to the Shadow Keepers.

The Girl's voice rang out clearly in the crisp air, rising to a scream as she realized where Molly was headed. "Molly! No! _No!_ "

Molly stopped at the top of the hill, her hair blowing across her face as she glanced back at The Girl. "Goodbye, Molly."

The Girl shook her head violently, her expression pleading.

Molly let her eyelids close.

Make The Girl go away. I don't want to dream of her anymore.

Inhaling deeply, she stepped forward. The smoky darkness closed around her. Everything went black. She made her mind go blank, just like she did when Uncle Devlin was especially angry and kept hitting and hitting. She'd had lots of practice at making her mind so numb she could feel nothing. Molly only thought of one thing. She thought of Mama.

She walked out into a day so bright it hurt her eyes.

Molly remembered the day. The carnival day. She could smell the popcorn drifting on the warm air and hear the excited shrieks of children. Molly's heart glitched when she saw her. _Mama_. Holding a bunch of red and blue balloons, she stood by the Ferris wheel.

Molly was suddenly afraid. Shock needled the back of her neck and spine at seeing her again. So alive. _So real._

Mama turned in her direction, her mouth opening in surprise. She waved her over. "Molly! What are you doing there? I thought you were on the ride with Sophie."

On the carnival day, Molly's friend Sophie had been at there with her parents, and Molly and Sophie had wanted to go on the carousel together.

With the back of her knees trembling, Molly stepped towards Mama.

Mama's expression crumbled. "Molly—what's wrong? You're white as a sheet."

"Nothing." She managed a small smile. "I just tripped when I got off the ride."

She closed her arms tightly around Molly. "Poor baby. Where's Sophie?"

"Oh, around." Molly felt something, maybe like a whole ocean, release inside her. Enclosed in Mama's arms, Molly was whole again. Mama smelled like her apple shampoo, just like always. She was solid and warm. Not a picture. Not a memory. The tears she'd learned to hold back at Uncle Devlin's house squeezed from her eyes. She nestled her head against her mother's chest.

If she could stay here like this forever, she would.

"You must have really hurt yourself. And you're so cold—where's your cardigan?"

Molly shook her head, unable to speak.

Ahead, two little girls giggled as they jumped from the carousel—one red-haired and the other blonde.

She saw herself—the seven-year-old Molly of this world.

What were the rules of the dream? If Molly were to touch the other Molly, the other Molly would disappear.

And Molly could have Mama back.

All to herself.

She'd no longer be scared and alone.

The Girl's words flashed in her mind. About being brave. But Molly didn't want to be brave. She wanted the pain to stop.

But a shadow hung in Molly's mind, and she didn't want any more shadows in her mind. She didn't want to be a shadow keeper. She no longer knew for sure she was dreaming. And if she wasn't dreaming, then the other seven-year-old Molly was real.

One of Mama's co-workers from the supermarket ran eagerly up to Mama—a short woman with bouncy blonde curls. "Ooh, it's almost time!"

"Time for what, Jean?" asked Mama.

Jean clucked her tongue. "You look so tired—you work too much, love. Don't you remember the comet's passing through today?"

All around, people had stopped still, checking their watches and looking up. Molly remembered then—there'd been a comet on the day of the carnival. Her teacher had been excited about a comet that was bright enough to be seen in the daytime. But to Molly, when it happened, it hadn't really seemed like much of an event.

"You know," said Jean, touching Mama's elbow, "the ancients believed that comets come to tell us a message. They thought comets looked like a woman with flowing hair, sent as a symbol of sorrow by the gods. Imagine that! I wonder what she's been sent to tell us?"

Molly stayed holding onto Mama as a thin streak of light began to blaze across the wide blue sky.

She stared across the carnival grounds. While everyone was busy watching the comet, holding their balloons and stuffed toys and babies, Molly could steal through and tap the other Molly on the shoulder. That was all it would take. The Girl said so.

The comet caught the light of the sun. She wondered what message it brought.

Molly knew what to do next.

She unlinked her fingers from behind Mama's back and let go.

# About Anya Allyn

Anya Allyn writes mystery and horror. She lives near the beach on the east coast of Australia with her four boys. Her first novel is the YA Gothic suspense thriller, _Dollhouse_. She's currently penning an eerie mystery/ sci fi series.

Website

#  Tragic Magic

### Jamie Campbell

Chapter 1

I could not let him see me. If that happened, I was literally going to curl up in the fetal position and pretend I was dead. There was no way I could allow that scenario to play out.

Frantically looking around, I searched for my nearest escape route. There wasn't any. I needed to hide in plain sight. That was my only option. He would not confront me if I was with other people, he wouldn't dare. Not after last time.

I hurried over to the first person standing alone I could see – some random guy reading a textbook. "Hi, do you mind if I stand here and pretend to have a conversation with you?"

His eyes flicked up from the book, blue ones, like the Caribbean. "Uh, okay?"

"That's great, thank you. I'm trying to avoid someone so it would really help me out if we just pretended this was the most intense conversation of our lives. Think you can do that?"

"You must really want to avoid that someone."

"You have no idea." If it wasn't painfully obvious, it should have been. I would sooner pull out my own eyeballs and eat them rather than have Davis see me and think we could actually talk. That would only happen over my dead body.

"You can kiss me if you want," the guy said casually, so casually I wondered if I had heard correctly.

"Uh, what?"

His blue eyes pierced me. There was something intense burning behind them. "I said you can kiss me if you want to. That should help you hide better. You know, covered face and all that."

There was no way to tell whether he was joking or not. I narrowed my gaze. "I think I'm good, thank you."

He shrugged, finally smiling. So he was joking, that was a relief. "Fine with me, just trying to help. My name is Caden, by the way. In case you need to tell that someone how amazing your friend is, it's better to have details. Details always help with a lie."

For a second, I completely forgot what I was doing. Clearly, I had chosen the wrong random guy to talk to. I had chosen a weirdo. I searched around, seeing if Davis was still stalking me. He was nowhere in sight.

I breathed a sigh of relief and plastered on a triumphant smile. "Well, thanks, Caden, but I think I lost him."

"Glad to be of help," he said, weirdly sincere. "So, can I get your number?"

He wanted my number? That didn't seem like a good idea. "I already have one guy I need to avoid, I don't think I need two. Thanks for your help."

I started heading for class, but Caden called out after me. "Are you sure? I happen to be terrible at stalking people. I just don't have the patience for it."

Turning around, walking backwards, I couldn't help but smile. "Then you're going to have to get better at it if you want my number."

"Sounds like a challenge."

"Really? It sounded like a rejection to me." I turned around again and slipped through the doors, shaking my head. Who the hell was I just talking to? And how on earth was I going to avoid Davis for the rest of my life?

The classroom offered a little safety as I took my seat. Davis wasn't in this class so he couldn't _accidently_ run into me here. I had managed to avoid him for almost a week now, but that only meant his urgency would grow. He would try anything to get to me now.

Trying to focus on Economics, while also trying to think of a way to solve my Davis problem, was not an easy feat. I didn't accomplish either very well.

By the time class finished, I was no better off. I lingered afterward, moving in slow motion to pack up my things. I knew Davis was on campus, I had seen him that morning. He knew my schedule, he could easily have been hiding outside.

"Come on, why are you taking _forever_?" Mandy, my best friend in the entire universe, moaned. She waited beside my desk, shuffling from foot to foot with impatience. Frankly, I was surprised she wasn't pulling me out by my shirt collar by that stage.

"I saw Davis this morning," I replied. Her face turned from irritation to horror in about as much time as it took me to flee that morning when I saw my ex.

"Is he still following you?"

"And leaving me notes too." I pulled out the piece of blue paper I found stuffed in my locker that morning. That's when I first realized Davis had been there. I should have known when I had smelt his cologne lingering in the air.

Mandy read through my little _love note_. Or, more appropriately, the death threat. Davis wanted me back and apparently he thought the best way to do that was to scare me senseless. Clearly, he didn't know me very well. You'd think two years of dating would have taught him a thing or two.

She handed me back the note, folded now so I couldn't see the words again. "You need to tell someone about this."

"Who would believe me? Everyone thinks he's a seventeen year old boy. Harmless."

"Not everyone," Mandy replied. I knew exactly who she was referring to.

I looked at the floor, wishing all my answers would magically appear there. "I don't want to tell them. They'll make a big deal out of it. I can handle Davis myself."

"No, you can't. Are you planning on hiding from him for the rest of your life? You know he's going to catch up with you eventually."

Way to crank up the fear factor, Mandy.

I knew what I was getting into with Davis. I was well aware he wasn't the human he pretended to be. Unfortunately, I was thinking in a love struck haze at the time. Perhaps if he wasn't staring at me with his black eyes that day, I might have thought it through a little more. Hindsight's a bitch.

Mandy continued, ignoring my epic sigh. "You have to tell the coven, Lacey. It's the only way we can deal with him."

I finally finished putting everything into my bag, which meant we would have to move onto the next class. We started for the door. "The coven will think I'm an idiot for being with him in the first place."

"Better to be embarrassed than dead," she pointed out. It was a good point, actually. I had tried to deal with Davis myself and it wasn't working out so well. Perhaps it was time.

"Fine," I sighed. "I'll bring it up at our next meeting." If I stayed alive until then, anyway. Although, death was a bit of an extreme way to avoid an embarrassing and uncomfortable conversation.

As we rounded the door to the corridor, I ran directly into a male chest. We collided, my bag falling to the floor. My first instinct was that it was Davis and the cold panic spread through me.

Looking up, that panic completely disappeared. It was Caden. "Sorry," I mumbled.

"Hey," he replied, a stupid smile plastered across his face. Man, he had a nice smile – all lush lips and white teeth. "Oh, it's you. Stop stalking me already."

My face flushed red as I remained motionless. Mandy was standing there, enjoying this moment, I'm sure. "I'm not stalking you." I returned his teasing tone. "I was just leaving the classroom. You, on the other hand, were lingering in the corridor. I think you were stalking me. And after you said you wouldn't and everything."

I made the mistake of gazing up into his eyes. They were deep ocean blue, shining with amusement through thick lashes that any girl would kill for. "I was lingering?"

"Totally lingering."

"I guess I owe you an apology then," Caden replied. He did a mock bow to me. "My sincerest apologies for lingering and making you run into me." He reached down and retrieved my bag from the floor, sliding it onto my shoulder. "See you around, Lacey."

He walked backwards for a few steps before finally breaking eye contact with me and disappearing into the throng of people. I was dumbstruck, having no idea what just happened.

The only thing I could think of was how on earth did he know my name?
Chapter 2

I knew telling the coven about Davis was a mistake. We all sat around in a circle on the floor of the woods – our regular meeting place. They were talking about me like I wasn't there.

"I've heard Aethiens can live up to a thousand years."

"Why would an Aethien be here in the first place?"

"He was dating her, remember?"

"For two years!"

Yeah, the humiliation was a happening thing. After they got over the initial shock that I had been with an Aethien for two years, it was pretty much downhill from there.

"He must be using his powers to track her."

"He has my class schedule," I pointed out. We _had_ been together for a long while, of course he knew my habits and where to find me. It wouldn't take a genius to figure it out.

They continued as if I hadn't said a thing.

"There's no way to kill an Aethien. They're part of the immortals."

"There's got to be a loophole, there usually is."

"Aethiens can kill their own kind. I think I read that somewhere."

"It's not like we deal with them every day."

Except me, anyway. I saw Davis every day, got as close to him as any girlfriend could. I let the witches discuss the scandal as I tuned out, remembering the day we'd met.

I was in the library, picking up a few books for school – and some for leisure. I was carrying so many that I couldn't exactly see where I was going. I ran straight into Davis, books went everywhere. He made a joke about me needing to get out more and suggested he could shout me a coffee for messing up my neat pile.

The moment I really looked at Davis, I felt something. It was like an electrically charged spark that zapped through my body. I'd never felt so... awake. Alive. Invigorated. Of course, his chocolate brown hair and jet black eyes didn't hurt the cause either. I've always been a sucker for gorgeous eyes.

I remember stammering out some kind of agreement and he helped me out with all the books. After that, we got a coffee and talked all afternoon. It felt like something big was starting that day, I just had no clue how big.

Everything suddenly went quiet around me, pulling me from my memories. One glance around the room and I realized they were all looking at me. Finally, they'd noticed my existence. "What?"

Mandy rolled her eyes as she answered. "Do you feel Davis when he is near? Or does the magical stalking link only go one way?"

"I... uh... can feel him sometimes," I replied. Except, I didn't know whether that was just a couple thing, or something mystical. Two years was a long time to be with someone, and he was my first love, I wasn't sure what it was like to be with a regular human. Was I supposed to be able to sense him?

They went back to talking again, my part of the conversation done with. I sat there for another hour, eventually taking out my History homework and doing that.

As they were wrapping up the meeting, they moved topics to something I could actually be excited about – the upcoming comet celebrations.

Merrick's Comet was a once in a lifetime event, we had been waiting for it for years. As our beliefs were all about nature and the beauty in the elements, the comet was particularly exciting for us. We were going to have a special ceremony when it arrived.

"Everyone will need to wear their ceremonial robes," our leader, Heidi, started. "We'll meet at nine o'clock in the circle and start the celebrations. Everyone knows what to bring?" She waited until everyone nodded. "Great. Until then, we need to protect Lacey and work out what we're going to do about the Aethien."

I made my way home, the thought of my mountain of homework and the situation with Davis weighing on me. At least I could do something about one of my problems.

I went straight up to my room and started with Math. At some stage, I must have fallen asleep. Perhaps it was the Biology homework that did it, or the late hour. Whatever it was, I didn't get to sleep long.

The sound of laughter woke me up. My head snapped up in panic as I realized I was still seated at my desk. But that wasn't the troubling part.

Davis was there.

Laughing at me.

Fear brought me to my feet. "What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to determine if I could get to the door before he did. But where would I go? It wasn't like I could hide anywhere from him. I certainly couldn't tell my parents Davis was a demon and wanted to kill me. They liked him.

"You always were so cute when you slept," Davis replied. His chuckles started to subside as the darkness crept into his eyes. "You've been hiding from me."

My heart pounded in my chest, the sound echoing in my head. My body froze up, the fear gripping me in its claws. It was all I could do just to talk in small sentences. "I've been busy."

"Too busy for your boyfriend?"

"We broke up."

Davis laughed again. "I certainly didn't agree to that. Now, get dressed, we're going out."

"I can't. It's late." I wished my mouth would connect to my brain a little better so I could actually say all the things I wanted to. Like 'get out', 'I hate you', and 'I never want to see you again'.

He walked to my closet and thrust open the doors so hard they bounced back again. He went through my clothes, pulling out selections before replacing them again. He finally settled on a red dress and threw it at me.

I let it crumple to the floor. Not only because my arms weren't working.

"Put it on or we're going to be late. You know I don't like being late," he snarled.

"I can't go anywhere. My parents-"

"You are making me angry, Lace. You don't want me to be angry, do you?"

Davis angry meant things got broken. I didn't want to be broken, it was bad enough my heart was shattered. But going with Davis meant I might not come back. I needed more information. "Where are we going?"

"Get dressed."

To buy some time, I picked up the red dress and turned around to face the wall while I changed. Even without seeing him, I could feel Davis's eyes on me the whole time. Once, he would have turned away and given me some privacy. That was before I majorly pissed him off and ended things.

I shimmied into the dress. Before I could do the zipper, he was there. His fingers caressed the bare skin of my back as he slowly run the zipper upwards. I wanted to cringe but I didn't dare move. Once again, I was frozen.

"There, all done. Now, let's go," he said happily.

I turned around and repeated the question. "Where are we going?"

"To a party, of course."

He grabbed my hand and concentrated for a moment. It only took that moment for us to transport. I closed my eyes, feeling the usual nausea rumble through me with the action. I hated it when he did that. Convenient, yes. Fun, no.

When I opened my eyes again, we were standing in front of an old building. There was nobody around, not even a streetlight to illuminate the darkness. The only light came from the bright full moon above.

I didn't bother asking where we were, it was probably best I didn't know. We could have been in any corner of the earth, there was no way to determine it without listening to some people speak. Even then, I might not be able to recognize their language.

Davis started walking toward a door, the only one with a small glow above it. I would have paid someone a million bucks to not have to walk through that door. Anything could be behind it and I couldn't trust Davis with my life these days.

"Hurry up," he commanded me. I pulled my dress hem down a little further and raced to catch up with him. A coat wouldn't have gone astray.

He didn't knock on the door, just opened it and went in. I had to lunge to grab a hold of it before it closed in my face. So much for chivalry, clearly those days were long gone.

The noise was instant. Heavy, throbbing music pulsed in the large open space. The building must have been a warehouse at one stage and was now a nightclub. Strobing lights threw out rainbows across the crowd of people. It was standing room only.

"What are we doing here?" I shouted, still unsure if Davis could hear me over the music. I didn't recognize the song, I wasn't even sure if it was in English.

"I've got to see someone," he replied, leaning in close to my ear so his breath skimmed my skin. Before I could stop him, his arm snaked around my waist, pulling me hard against his side. There was no way I was going to get away from him, not with his grip.

Davis pulled me through the crowd. It took a moment to realize these weren't humans. Aethiens, werewolves, vampires, banshees, succubus, and demons appeared to be the only ones on the invite list. Yellow, red, and all-white eyes watched me as I passed. I probably looked more like food than a fellow partier.

I returned Davis's grip, not wanting to be away from him now. Alone, I was completely vulnerable to the others. I wouldn't last five minutes by myself in this place. At least with an Aethien they wouldn't kill me instantly, mistaking me for the complimentary buffet.

Davis led me through to the bar, ordering himself a drink before turning to me. "Want something?" I shook my head. Davis had told me about clubs like this before. They didn't drink alcohol, rather some kind of cocktail of paranatural drugs.

As soon as he got his order, we moved through the crowd again until Davis spotted someone he knew. He had to let go of me for a moment to shake hands with the man. "Rudy, it's been too long."

"Davis, good to see you, man. And you've brought someone special." Rudy, a six foot tall man with white-blonde hair and equally pale skin, flashed me a smile. His fangs rested on his bottom lip, he was a vampire.

"This is my girlfriend Lacey," Davis said, nodding my way but giving me no further acknowledgement or introduction. I gave Rudy a nervous wave, hoping he wasn't already wondering what I tasted like.

"She's hot. I didn't know you were slumming it with humans now."

"What can I say? I was bored." They shared a laugh together, the noise grinding on my nerves. If it was so horrible to be dating a human, Davis sure as hell hadn't mentioned it before. I wondered if anything we had shared had been real or just a mirage. I certainly didn't know the Davis of late.

"I bet she's delicious," Rudy said, looking me up and down like I was wearing nothing. I guess I got an answer to my earlier question.

"Not worth the hassle, my friend," Davis replied happily. "Not for the blood, anyway."

They clinked their glasses together and had another laugh at my expense. I shuffled closer to Davis when a succubus brushed past me, a little too close for it to have been an accident. My heart was pounding so hard, I was certain everyone in the club could hear it over the music.

The conversation between the guys was too fast for me to keep up with. Between their hushed tones and the music, it took too much effort to really listen to them. Instead, I stood there mute and prayed for it to be all over soon. I yearned to be home in bed, away from all the creatures of nightmares.

When I heard the word 'comet' come from Rudy's mouth, I tuned back in again. I knew why my coven was talking about the comet, but I didn't think vampires would care so much about it.

"Yeah, man, we're all getting ready for it," Rudy said, his eyes shining bright with enthusiasm. "We're calling it the 'Night of the Mirror', get it?"

"Yeah, I get it. It's only a comet, it'll come again soon enough," Davis replied. His arm had found its way around my waist again, holding me tight in his suffocating grip. As much as I hated having him so near, it was better than the alternative in the club.

"Not for a hundred years. I might not make it that far." Rudy's eyes travelled to me, remembering I was still there with my beating heart. "You must be pretty excited, huh? A real comet, and the most powerful one at that. Earth can only handle that kind of power every century. It's a once in a lifetime thing for a human, right?"

I mustered the best smile I could. "I'm looking forward to seeing it. What kind of party are you having for it?"

"Not so much of a party as catching up with old friends." For some reason, Rudy thought his words were hilarious and burst into fits of laughter. I waited for him to finish.

"You're seeing old friends?" I prompted, desperate to know what he was talking about.

"You don't know much about the comet, do you, Human?" He waited for me to shake my head before continuing. "All comets have special powers. This one dissolves the barriers between our dimension and other worlds. It will only last a few minutes, but for those few minutes, it will be amazing."

"Other dimensions?"

"Worlds that exist parallel to ours. There's thousands of them, man."

Davis suddenly squeezed my side. "We need to go. It was nice talking to you, Rudy. I'll see you around."

He waved us off while Davis pushed me through the crowd. I was going to have a bruise on my waist, there was no doubt about it. While people greeted Davis, he didn't stop to talk to anyone else. Whatever good mood he had before was now completely gone.

We reached a door and he pushed me through it. We were standing in an office, nothing but a few broken seats and a desk strewn around.

"Wait here," Davis said, leaving no room for questions. He stormed through another door and slammed it behind him.

There was nothing to do except stand there, praying Davis wouldn't be long. I was completely vulnerable without him. It really was a case of better the devil you know here.

I would have loved to use the opportunity of being alone to make a run for it. But with no windows, that meant I would have to find my way through the crowd outside back to the door. That was never going to happen. If I didn't end up on the menu, I would attract the kind of attention that would follow me out into the darkness.

And _then_ I would be eaten.

So staying and waiting for Davis was really my only option. I yawned, wishing he had picked on someone else to be his arm candy for the night. There was no point in me being there except for Davis to show off how he had a human under his control.

Being human sucked sometimes.

The door suddenly opened and Davis hurried out. He didn't say a word, just grabbed my wrist and pulled me away. We didn't stop in the main room, he continued his relentless pace and I was powerless to do anything else except try to keep up.

Outside, the cool night air rushed at me like a tidal wave. My skin prickled with goosebumps. Or fear. It could have been fear. "Davis, what was all that about?"

"None of your business," he growled back.

"Then why'd you bring me?"

"Because you're my girlfriend. It's what you're supposed to do. Remember?"

"I'm not your girlfriend anymore. We've spoken about this." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

He stopped abruptly, squeezing my wrist so hard I thought the bone was going to snap. I couldn't stop the whimper coming out, but I didn't scream. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

"Nobody breaks up with me," he sneered. "If you say that again, I am going to kill you."

I didn't doubt his threat.
Chapter 3

I managed to get through all my morning classes in my tired daze, but completely ran out of energy by lunchtime the next day. I got a sandwich and sat in the cafeteria, staring at the wall and wishing my answers would appear on it too.

Davis hadn't turned up at school. I didn't see him, and I couldn't sense him either. That either meant he was doing a really good job of hiding and stalking me from afar, or he wasn't there. I was betting it was the latter – he didn't have a reason to hide from me. It was the other way around.

"If you could just put your phone number on the form and sign, I'll get it to school reception for you," the male voice said, placing a white form on the table in front of me.

Wait... what?

My gaze travelled from the white piece of paper upwards to the hand, the black-sleeved arm, the broad shoulders, and then the face.

It was Caden. His beaming smile reflected in his sparkling eyes. Looking at the form again, it was a library card application.

"You're going to have to do better than that if you want my phone number," I said deadpan.

He straddled the seat next to me. "Aw, come on. Can't a guy get some points for creativity?"

The smart retort was on the tip of my tongue but I kept it there. He seemed so happy with himself, I wasn't going to shoot him down. There was something likeable about Caden, something I couldn't put my finger on. He was certainly good looking, there was no doubting that, but there seemed more there. He was... nice. Funny. Charming.

But I'd once described Davis with those same words.

"Okay, I'll give you some points for creativity. It might have worked too, if I didn't already have a library card," I replied instead, even managing a smile for him.

"Well, I guess I can only blame myself for that. I didn't stalk you enough to see you visit the library," Caden joked, slapping his forehead. "I told you I wasn't good at it."

"That's not a bad thing."

He studied me, his gaze sliding all over my face from my lips to my eyes. "I'm not getting your phone number, am I?"

God help me, I almost caved from the forlorn look on his face.

I couldn't do it though. Caden was too good to be dragged into my whole Davis mess. I didn't want to see what would happen when the Aethien found out I was seeing someone new. He'd probably skin Caden alive – literally.

I shook my head. "No phone number, no. Sorry."

Caden flashed me his bright smile again. "That's cool. Do you mind if I borrow your phone for a second? I left mine at home."

"Sure." I dug into my bag and pulled it out. It was half in his hand before I snatched it back. "Nice try." His phone was sticking out of his pocket.

"Damn it. So close," he laughed. I couldn't stop a chuckle myself. He was persistent, I'd give him that. It was another reason why I couldn't get close to him.

I tried to stifle the yawn but it came anyway. I really needed some sleep. I guessed my History teacher probably wouldn't allow me to take a nap during my next class.

The smile fell from Caden's face. "Hey, are you okay? You don't look so good. I mean, you're still smoking hot, but... is there something wrong?"

Besides my crazy demon ex-boyfriend? No, not really.

"I'm fine. I just didn't get much sleep last night."

"Ah, thinking about me, huh? Wondering how it would feel to kiss me? Whether my lips would be soft? Where my hands would touch?" He teased. For a moment, I _did_ actually wonder what it would be like to kiss him. The little butterflies in my stomach did a back flip.

I shook away the thought. "In your dreams."

He leaned in closer, whispering so nobody else would hear. His breath on my neck sent a shiver down my spine. "If you were in my dreams, I would never want to wake up."

Mandy chose that moment to sit across the table, dumping her lunch in front of her. "Hey."

I snapped out of the trance as Caden quickly pulled away again. He gave me a wink before nodding a hello to Mandy and leaving again. I watched him go, wondering how on earth he could turn me into a quivering mess so quickly.

"Hey, Lace. Snap out of it." I turned back to see Mandy snapping her fingers at me to get my attention. "He's a whole lot of yummy, huh? Have you given him your number yet?"

"No, of course not," I replied, pushing all inappropriate thoughts from my head. "Davis would kill him. The world needs people like Caden in it, I'd never forgive myself."

"Whatever you say." Her tone told me she wasn't convinced. "So what's with the dark circles under your eyes? Rough night?"

"Davis showed up. Kind of kidnapped me."

Mandy's mouth hung open. I told her the whole story of the party, right down to the vampire mentioning the comet and the way Davis had threatened to kill me. Again. He threatened me so often but it never lessened the impact.

"He's such a psycho," Mandy said when I was done. She wasn't wrong. "Maybe you should get the coven to cast a protective spell on your house or something."

"We don't have enough power against an Aethien, you heard what Heidi said. Davis is strong, he can pretty much do whatever he wants."

"Why couldn't you have dated a regular guy? _Anyone_ other than an Aethien. You had to choose the most powerful creature in the world, didn't you? An immortal, no less," she said seriously, but her smile gave away her teasing.

"He wasn't always like this."

"I know, honey."

Boy, did she know. Mandy had spent hours listening to me over the past two years as I gushed about the latest wonderful thing Davis did for me. The exotic flowers he surprised me with, the quick trip to Paris we took for my birthday, the gold locket he gave me. There were so many moments where I wondered how life could get any better.

Of course, that all happened before his Aethien partner was murdered. Nobody knew for sure, but it was suspected only another Aethien could have killed him. Davis's thirst and need for revenge changed him that night and I'd never gotten my boyfriend back again.

Aethiens only got one partner for life. They were never romantic partners, but lifelong friends – someone they could count on. Nobody knew who killed Sampson but Davis was making it his life's mission to find out. It consumed him.

Two people had died that night. In so many ways Davis was just as dead as Sampson now.

I struggled to get through my afternoon classes and almost shrieked with joy when the final bell rang. My body longed to go home and rest but I had an errand to run first. Mandy's advice about the coven putting a spell on my house had gotten me thinking.

The coven might not be strong enough, but maybe there was something else that was. If I could find a charm for my protection, then maybe it would help. Even if I could just keep Davis out of my house, I would consider it a success.

I drove down to Fan Street, parking, and entering a store that looked like a candle shop on the outside. Most people didn't even notice the small room at the back that held a lot more than your everyday pieces of wax.

"Lacey, it's good to see you again." The store owner, Mara, gave me a big smile as she stood behind the counter. Rows of jars were neatly lined up behind her, holding concoctions that I couldn't even pronounce.

"It's nice to see you too," I replied. "I was hoping you might be able to help me."

"Sure, sugar. What's the problem?"

"I need protection from an Aethien."

Her eyes grew wide with the surprise. "There's an Aethien in town? Lacey, do you realize how dangerous they are?"

Did I ever. "I know. He's actually my ex-boyfriend. We dated for two years and now... he's not exactly taking the breakup well."

"You dated an Aethien?" I had never seen Mara so rattled before. Perhaps I should have listened to Mandy two years ago when she told me to run away from Davis before we started dating. "Aethiens come from hell. They are the demons sent back in order to do the Devil's work."

"And some aren't as bad as others," I said defensively. Davis wasn't like the rest of them. If he had been, I wouldn't have fallen in love with him. And he certainly wouldn't have fallen in love with me. The legends said Aethiens didn't have emotions but Davis did. He wasn't a monster.

Mara regained her composure, getting back down to business. "Tell me what he's doing to you."

"Stalks me, threatens me. He thinks we're still together."

She turned around and ran her hands over the glass jars. Her fingers would occasionally stop and pull something out, resting it on the counter. "You're going to need something strong. The strongest of charms, really. Even then I can't guarantee it will work."

"That's okay, I'm willing to try anything."

"Does your coven know about this?" She sounded like my mother. If my mother had known about my secret magic life.

"I've told them. They didn't know about it during our relationship."

"You kept it from them?" She asked, like the concept of keeping anything from my coven should have been akin to treason. I guess, in a way, it was. We were supposed to be a team, a family. Dating a demon would have been a big deal.

I only kept it from them because I knew they would react the same way Mandy and Mara did. They wouldn't have believed Davis was different. They wouldn't see the goodness in him like I did.

"If it makes you feel any better," I started. "I'm not planning on doing it ever again. I've got a full disclosure policy now."

She finished with the jars and got to work mixing the items with a mortar and pestle. "And so you should. There's a reason Aethiens should be avoided. They're nothing but trouble."

Wasn't that the truth.

"Give me your hand, I need some blood," Mara said, holding out her own to take mine. I reluctantly held my hand above the bowl as she pierced the skin with a pointy knife. I winced with the pain as a few drops fell into the mixture.

She continued to mix until she deemed it finished and placed the mush into a small pouch. "Keep this with you at all times. When you are home, hang it in your window. But, like I said, I can't guarantee it will work against an Aethien."

I took it. The pouch was giving off a strong aroma of sage and mint. At least it didn't smell bad. "Thank you."

"Just keep yourself safe, sugar. You're dealing with the blackest of magic, Aethiens are relentless in getting what they want." Mara squeezed my hands before I paid, thanked her again and left the store.

Another warning about Davis, just what I needed.

I stepped onto the sidewalk, distracted by the pouch of magic in my hands. It hummed with energy, giving me some hope that it might work.

I ran straight into Caden. We collided... again. One of us was really going to have to watch where we walked.

The instant I recognized him, the anger bubbled up inside. I didn't need two guys following me everywhere I went. "Stop stalking me, Caden. Seriously, it's not funny."

"I wasn't," he replied. Which is exactly what he would say if he was stalking me.

"Yeah, right. Like you suddenly had to pick up some candles right across town from school. You've got no right to mess with me. I can do whatever I like, I don't need you trailing after me like a stupid little puppy." I let it rip, the words falling from my mouth even before my brain could form sentences.

"Lacey, seriously," he said, laughing a little. Great, so I was a joke now. "I wasn't following you. I've got a soccer match, right down there." He pointed to a field at the end of the block.

Sure enough, there were at least a dozen guys there in soccer uniforms. A few even had soccer balls.

Great. And Caden was wearing a matching uniform. Double great.

My face burned with embarrassment, my foot now in my mouth and unwilling to move. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things. I just-"

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's already forgotten. You can come watch the game, if you want. We really suck, but you know, it's fun anyway." All the humor had subsided from his eyes, leaving nothing but sincerity.

Caden was dangerous. He was reeling me in and I couldn't let that happen. If I saw him out on the field, being all hot and great, I would forget about my resolve to keep away from him.

That would not end well.

I shook my head, mainly to convince myself rather than him. "Sorry, I have stuff to do. Have a good game, though. I hope you win."

I flashed him one last smile before scrambling for my car and getting away from there. If Davis saw our little exchange, he was going to start getting suspicious. Even one conversation with Caden was too much of a risk.

There was no way I could let Davis kill him.
Chapter 4

Considering I spent so much time berating others for stalking, I was actually doing a pretty good job of it myself the next morning. I'd spotted Davis the moment I pulled into the school parking lot. He hadn't seen me though. Yet.

He was too busy talking to someone. A male someone.

They were standing close together, having a discussion that did not look friendly. Judging by the sneer on Davis's lips and the set of his jaw, he wasn't complimenting the guy.

I stood to the side, pretending to look through my homework but I watched them over the top. It wasn't exactly the best cover, but it was all I had at short notice. Davis was the stalker, I had only been on the receiving end before.

"Hey, whatcha doing?" Mandy gave me a freakin' heart attack. I almost dropped my homework. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

I nodded toward Davis, recovering. "What do you think about that?"

Mandy's mouth dropped open before she started shaking her head. "Uh-uh. This is not good."

A shiver ran down my spine as my stomach clenched in dread. "What? Tell me what you know."

"That's a Crevorn demon."

"Are you sure? How can you tell?" My voice was a few octaves higher than it should have been. Panic did that to a girl.

"You can see the top of his tattoo above his shirt," she pointed out. I looked closer, and sure enough, there were the tips of a sun tattoo on his neck. If he took his shirt off, I knew we'd see the sun in full glory over his chest.

Crevorn demons weren't as bad as Aethiens. They were more like puppets, prepared to do anything if someone paid them enough. Davis had plenty of cash, accumulated over centuries of living. If he was talking to a Crevorn demon, then he could be plotting anything.

And it probably involved me.

"I've seen enough, let's get out of here," I muttered. I didn't want Davis to catch us and I certainly didn't want to see the two demons any longer. With any luck, I could avoid them for the rest of the day.

Mandy went to her locker as I went to mine. I changed my books and headed out to Chem class. It was right across campus so I fastened my pace to make it in time.

As I left one building for the science wing, a hand clamped down on my arm and dragged me toward it. It was too strong to fight, but I did anyway.

Unfortunately, all it cost me was energy and a few bruises that were already starting to form. I looked up to see Davis staring back at me, his eyes all angry and crazy. I couldn't even remember seeing love coming from them anymore. It was too difficult to believe it had actually happened once.

He slammed me against the wall, using his body to press against mine and hold me there. Escaping his grip would be impossible. So much for the witch's charm hanging around my neck and hiding underneath my clothes.

"Good morning, darling," he sneered with absolutely none of the affection in his voice he once would have. "I missed you this morning, you slipped in without saying hello. Is that any way to treat your boyfriend?"

Reminding him again of our breakup would probably not have been wise. "I need to get to class or I'm going to be late."

"Class is the least of your concerns, baby girl."

"So... what? You're just going to kill me now?"

Amusement sparkled in his eyes. "Killing you is going to be long and drawn out. You're too much fun just to slice and dice now." He was suddenly distracted as he made a show of sniffing me.

The charm. Mint and sage. I could smell it myself like it was a horrible beacon of my betrayal.

He reached down my shirt, making me cringe for all different kinds of reasons. He fished around a little more than was necessary before his hands grasped the charmed pouch and pulled it out. "What's this? A lucky charm?"

He yanked it off, my neck stinging with pain. I clamped my mouth shut, refusing to tell him anything. He might change his mind on the whole slicing and dicing issue.

Davis gave it another sniff. "Pretty. You thought this would protect you? How many times do I have to tell you that witches are nothing more than broomstick loving bitches?" He threw the pouch onto the ground. "How can you do this to me, Lace? I thought we had something special. Something real."

Call it stupidity, but I really wanted to tell him the truth. "You changed, Davis. You changed the second Sampson was killed. I'm scared of you. I can't be with someone I'm afraid of."

For just a second, his face fell and I saw the Davis I used to know. The one who used to make my stomach flutter with cliché butterflies. The guy I'd lie with in the back of his truck, staring at the stars for hours on end with his arm around me.

In the next second, he was gone again. "Life changes, baby girl. I need to avenge my partner. And you're going to have to help me. Whether you like it or not."

His face was only an inch from mine. I wanted to recoil away from him but there was nowhere for me to go. The wall and his body prevented me from moving anything, not even a pinkie finger. I was trapped, utterly and completely.

And then it happened.

My worst nightmare, come true.

Davis was ripped away from me... by Caden. He stood there, glowering at Davis as he stumbled backwards. It was the surprise that had allowed Caden to get the upper hand, I knew Davis was immeasurably stronger than him.

"Caden, no. You have to leave," I shrieked. I didn't even recognize my own panic-stricken voice. I sounded like a banshee.

"You leave her alone," Caden said, standing there like a superhero. He was so very, very stupid. He had no idea what kind of a demon he was dealing with.

Davis recovered quickly, keeping one hand on my shoulder to keep me in place while facing Caden. "She is my girlfriend. _My_ girlfriend. Get out of here or I will kill you."

"I'm not going anywhere without her." Bless him, Caden actually thought he would win. It was so chivalrous, but so wrong. Davis really would kill him, I had no doubts about that.

But Davis would wait a while before he killed me. I wriggled out of his stronghold. "Caden, please go. I'm fine, we're just talking. It's not as bad as it looks."

He tore his gaze away from Davis to risk a glance at me. His eyes instantly softened when they met mine. "We need to get to class. How about I walk you there?"

"She's not going anywhere with you," Davis seethed. "She belongs to me."

Caden's attention returned to him. "Belongs to you? Lacey isn't anyone's property. She doesn't deserve to be treated that way."

Davis clenched his jaw. He was having trouble keeping it all together. He was about to go demon grade postal on him. "I'm going to kill you if don't leave right now."

Which was my cue to interfere. I placed my hand on Davis's arm, reminding him of some of the tenderness we used to share. "Davis, I'm going to class. I'll talk to you afterwards, okay? I'll see you later."

He didn't stop me. Which was a miracle in itself. I grabbed Caden's arm and rushed him out of there. We headed toward Chem class as quickly as my feet could take me.

Davis didn't follow us. Which was the second miracle of that morning.

We stopped at the classroom door, the hallway completely empty. Great, we were late for class too. "Caden, you have to forget about everything you saw back there. Davis is dangerous."

"Is he really your boyfriend?"

I shook my head. "No. But it's complicated. We dated for a while." A _long_ while. "And he's having trouble getting over the breakup. Please don't speak to him again. He's... unstable." And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the understatement of the century.

Caden let out the breath he was holding. "I don't want him hurting you."

"He won't. I've got people helping me."

He wasn't convinced, it was written all over his face. He did, however, agree to let it go. We stepped into class and apologized for our tardiness like there was nothing wrong with the world.

I didn't see Davis for the rest of the day and I purposefully avoided Caden. The final bell was a relief as I found Mandy and we drove to our coven meeting.

The night of the comet was only a few days away so we had final preparations to make for the big event. We were really only making sure we had enough food and drink for the festivities, but of course, the coven always turned it into a big deal.

"Have you got your robes ready?" Heidi asked. We all nodded. "Good. I've got a special spell for the night that will bring good fortune and good health for the next hundred years. It's going to be so much fun!"

Fun and my life didn't really go together at the moment. But, sure, whatever.

Heidi turned to me after everyone had gushed enough about the upcoming party. "Lacey, have you had any more encounters with Davis?"

"Yeah, I see him nearly every day," I replied, glad I'd covered my recent bruises with long sleeves. I wasn't going to mention the party, or the incident with Caden. I didn't need twelve women panicking along with me. Mandy was bad enough to deal with.

"I've been researching Aethiens," she replied, far less enthusiastically. "I'm working on protection but it's slow going. Most of the texts are in Latin and it's slow translating them."

"I understand."

We did a few general protection spells to end the meeting, everyone concentrating their energy to surround me with white protective light. It probably would have worked against everyone but an Aethien.

I dropped Mandy home but something was still bothering me. I kept thinking of what the vampire had said at Davis's weird midnight party. He said the comet was powerful, so powerful it only came around once every hundred years.

Maybe there was something there that could help me? Maybe it could boost the power of the protective spell so it would work against the Aethien?

It was worth a shot.

I turned my car around and headed for downtown. Our county library held a secret that not many people knew about. Way in the back, under the _fiction_ section was ancient books. Because they referred to vampires and demons, the librarian had classified them as mythology and fairy tales. All the witches in town knew better. They were more non-fiction than most of the biographies in the place.

Luckily, the building was open until late. I pulled out some of the oldest books on the shelves and carried them to a corner of the library. Turning on the desk lamp, I prepared myself for a long night of reading.

There had to be something about either the power of a comet or a how-to guide on dealing with Aethiens. Or perhaps I was just fooling myself and grasping at whatever straw I could.

Refusing to give up, I trawled through book after book. Considering the Aethien race was so old, I would have expected to find a lot more information than I did. It seemed they were an enigma to all researchers and writers.

There were a few references to comets, but not Merrick's Comet itself. If I wanted to draw on its power specifically, I was going to have to improvise. And I wasn't certain I was a good enough witch to improvise.

I closed the last book right on closing time and was the last of the public to leave the library. Walking to my car in the darkness made all my nerves stand at attention. I let my senses feel out the area but couldn't feel the presence of Davis. Hopefully that meant he wasn't around.

I tried really hard not to run to my car, but I couldn't stop my feet. They said to get the hell out of there so the rest of me had no choice. I jumped into the car, checking the backseat to make sure no serial killers – Davis included – was lurking back there.

By the time I pulled into home, I was nothing but an unending bundle of nerves. I didn't even pretend I wasn't scared this time, I ran into the house and firmly closed the door behind me.

Home. Safe.

I breathed a sigh of relief, said a quick hello to my parents, and hurried upstairs. My hands were shaking and it was all because I was psyching myself out. I needed to calm down or I was going to have a heart attack and do Davis's job for him.

Dropping my school bag on the desk, I started to change. And that's when I heard the voice.

"Hello, lover."

I spun around, ready to attack Davis. He was sitting on my bed, still flickering into physical form from his invisible state. I briefly wondered how often he spied on me in my room before pushing the thought away.

I didn't want to know the answer.

"Davis, you gave me a heart attack," I said, trying to hide all the fear his presence instantly provoked.

He stood, coming over to me slowly. When he reached me, the back of his hand trailed down my cheek. I used to like it when he did that, now it just made me cringe. "You're home late."

"I was doing some homework."

"You made me wait. You know I don't like waiting."

He was either too lazy to track me to the library or he couldn't find me there. I tucked away that information to process some other time. "I didn't know you were looking for me. You could have called me, or texted, like a normal boyfriend."

"I thought you might have been pouting from our little... encounter at school this morning." He made it sound like we'd had nothing more than a petty argument.

"No, just homework," I replied. "What are you doing here? Please tell me you don't have another creatures-of-the-night party to go to."

Davis laughed and just the sound sent a shiver down my spine. "Not tonight, baby. But I do want to spend Saturday night with you. We're going for a drive."

I inwardly groaned. Saturday was the night of the comet. I already had plans. "I can't. The coven is having a ceremony for the comet. I'm not allowed to miss it."

His face instantly twitched with distain. Davis and my coven didn't mix well together. "No, you're not. You're coming with me. I'm not taking no for an answer. I'll pick you up at nine."

Before I could argue any more, he was gone. There was nothing left of him except the lingering trace of his cologne. It reminded me of the scent of my doom.
Chapter 5

For two years, I had never defied Davis. I was the perfect girlfriend, always giving in to his whims and trailing after him like a love struck fool. No wonder our relationship had worked so well for so long.

But my perfect record was about to be broken.

I couldn't wait around the house until nine o'clock and play the dutiful girlfriend. If I did that, then I'd miss the comet ceremony with my coven and probably be banished from the group. They took their ceremonies seriously and this was literally a once in a hundred years opportunity.

Davis would probably kill me when he turned up and I wasn't there, but he would have to find me first. Hopefully, it would take him a while to do that.

And hopefully I'd be able to talk my way out of it.

I grabbed my ceremonial robe and left the house. I drove to the woods, clenching the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. A part of me still wanted to turn back and wait for Davis. But I had made my decision and I was going to stick with it.

The rest of the coven was already there when I arrived. Mandy rushed over when she saw me. Her face was full of concern. "You're late. I thought something might have happened to you. I was about two seconds away from raising the alarm."

I gave her a quick hug. "Sorry, I... was running late." I wasn't going to worry her even more by telling her about Davis's date request. This was my decision and I would deal with the consequences alone.

Heidi called us over to start the ceremony, leaving any further conversation on the tips of our tongues. I pulled my dark blue robe around me, enjoying the familiar feel of the velvet cocooning me. I wished it made me as safe as it made me feel.

We stood around the circle as Heidi lit the candles. The flames danced in the darkness of the night. The moon was full above our heads, casting shadows of all shapes and sizes onto the wood's floor.

"In this sacred circle, we call to thee Mother Nature," Heidi started, her eyes glazed over as she fell into ritual mode. "Tonight we celebrate the power of the comet and all the energy it radiates. May it fill us with eternal light, bask us in its beauty, and surround us with its protective arms."

We all spoke in unison, "Blessed be."

She moved around the circle, lighting candles on the ground to represent the four elements of the spirit. Air. Water. Fire. Earth. One after the other, the flames flickered into life, burning strong and bright in the glow of the moonlight.

"The comet is upon us," Heidi yelled, her face upturned to the sky. We followed her gaze, getting our first glimpse of the orange ball of light. It was like a small sun, speeding through the galaxy with a less bright tail following it.

"Blessed be."

"Let us feel the power of the comet. Let it wash over us like Spirit's shadow."

"Blessed be."

Laughter suddenly erupted from behind me. I jumped with the fright before spinning around. I was breaking the circle, something I should not be doing but I had no other choice.

Davis stepped out of the trees. He was dressed in a black shirt with black skinny jeans. He had even combed his hair down. My Aethien ex-boyfriend was ready for a date.

"Davis, I-"

He put a hand up to stop me. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say, lover."

"I command you to leave," Heidi shouted. She was still using her ceremonial voice, the one that intimidated the hell out of me.

Not Davis, however. "And I command you to shut up. But I guess we're both going to be disappointed." He dragged his gaze back to me. "You are going to pay for this, Lace. I hope you've said your goodbyes because you're about to die."

Before I could react, or even try to process what he was doing, Davis lunged at me. Our bodies collided as he swung me around, his arm snaking around my neck and holding me tighter than a boa constrictor.

Breathing was quickly becoming an issue. I clawed at his arm, digging my fingernails in to inflict any kind of pain I could. Davis didn't even feel it.

"Let her go!" Mandy yelled. "You're going to kill her."

Davis laughed again, his hot breath skimming across the back of my neck. "That's the point, little witch. Nobody makes a fool out of me, especially my girlfriend." He shifted us around so I was facing the rest of the coven. "And now you all get to see for yourselves what happens when someone betrays an Aethien."

There was horror written all over their faces. None of my fellow witches were moving, completely and utterly helpless against a demon as powerful as Davis.

Heidi moved first, holding up her hand and incanting a spell under her breath. A fire ball appeared in her palm, growing with size the longer she spoke. When it was as big as a basketball, she threw it.

Davis stopped it mid-flight. With a twist of his free hand, the fireball turned and headed directly back to her. She shrieked, jumping out of the path just in time. The ball only managed to singe her sleeve.

More spells were spoken around me, each of the witches trying their best to get a hold of the situation and wrangle the power back from Davis.

They wouldn't succeed.

Thousands of years' worth of history told me a witch had never beaten an Aethien. They had tried, many times. But the magic of the darkness was too strong for the magic of the light. Evil won every time.

Stars were starting to swim in front of my eyes as the edges of my vision started to blacken and creep in on me. It was all I could do to stay on my feet and remain conscious.

I was going to die.

If I didn't do something, I was really going to die. My life would be over. I would never get to do all the things I always imagined I would do. Graduate, go to college, get a fantastic job, get married, have children. It wasn't my past that flashed before my eyes but all the things from my future.

I could not die.

The comet was now blazing overhead. It lit up the sky with a flaming red brilliance that eclipsed the silver of the moon. It radiated as much power as Rudy had promised. I could almost feel it coursing through my blood like it was a part of me.

"Let her go or we will kill you," Heidi continued to shout. She had thrown every spell she had at Davis and nothing worked. She was resorting to threats that we all knew were impossible.

Davis pulled me backward. He wasn't going to strangle me to death, not in the circle. He wanted to draw it out, make it as painful for me as possible. He wanted to enjoy it.

My feet dragged on the ground, unable to keep up with him. Once he got me away from the meager protection of the circle, he would take me somewhere. From that moment onwards, the clock ticking on my life would start its countdown.

Instead of making it easy for him, I started fighting. My legs kicked out, managing to collide with his shin just once and his knee once more. I clawed so much at his arm around my neck that my fingers were soon covered in his blood.

"Bitch!" His arm fell away as he pushed me forward.

I stumbled but refused to fall. I caught my footing and gasped in the fresh night air. For just a moment, there was nothing I could do but breath and enjoy the sensation of having full lungs again.

Davis was bleeding from dozens of deep scratches on his arm. I didn't feel guilty. He wouldn't feel the pain, only the indignation I had caused him.

He stepped closer, coming for me again. I only had a few seconds and I was going to use them wisely.

With the comet burning above, I had only one weapon in my arsenal. It probably wouldn't work but it was all I had. I called up the words of the spell I had found in the library's fairy tale books. It didn't even mention a comet, but someone had drawn one next to it. It was a straw I grasped with both hands.

" _Inspir perai shudo bren. Gra theus incai perai."_ I repeated the words from an ancient language over and over again. I didn't know their translation but I didn't need to. The ancient spirits of our ancestors would know what I said.

Davis's face twisted with rage as realization hit him about what I was doing. He grabbed both my arms, using them to shake me. "Shut the hell up! You frickin' bitch!"

I didn't stop. The comet's power still sizzled through me, vibrating with energy. " _Inspir perai shudo bren. Gra theus incai perai. Inspir perai shudo bren. Gra theus incai perai."_

Through Davis's shaking and yelling, more voices filtered through to my ears. My coven sisters were repeating the words with me. Our voices rose higher, drowning out the demon's protests.

" _Inspir perai shudo bren. Gra theus incai perai."_

Davis let go of my arms and I stilled. His hands moved to my neck, both of them gripping tight and starting to squeeze. I could no longer talk as I clawed at him again. This time, he didn't care about the scratches.

I looked up into his eyes. They burned with anger, leaving no trace of the Davis I used to know. Staring back at me was an Aethien demon, a spawn from hell.

And he was going to kill me.

The spell had not worked.
Chapter 6

I wanted to beg and plead for my life, try to restore some of the love I knew Davis still held deep in his heart. But it was impossible. The Davis I knew was gone, replaced by a demon capable of nothing but vengeance.

My throat was crushed, my lungs burned for oxygen. My head was swimming with dizziness as the last of my breaths were squeezed from me. I closed my eyes, accepting my fate and refusing to look at his twisted features any longer.

And then... it all stopped.

My eyes flew open as my airways struggled to open again. Davis was staggering backwards. He no longer wore a mask of anger, but one of astonishment.

His body glowed, an orange light – the same color as the comet – emanated from within him. It was so bright I could barely watch. But I couldn't tear my eyes away either. I had to see, I had to know what was happening to him.

"The spell, Lacey, keep going with it," Mandy urged from somewhere behind me.

The words were now so familiar to me they were like a warm blanket. " _Inspir perai shudo bren. Gra theus incai perai._ _Inspir perai shudo bren. Gra theus incai perai."_

"Frickin' witch bitches," Davis said, just as the light flashed as brilliant as a million diamonds catching the sun. It burst forth before it started to shrink again.

When the light disappeared, so did Davis.

He was gone.

An eerie hush fell over us in the woods as we all stopped our incantations. I tore my gaze away from the spot where Davis had been standing to where my coven was waiting behind me.

"Is he really gone?" I asked.

Heidi nodded, her smile warm and gentle. "Thanks to you. What was that spell?"

"It was to send someone to another dimension. It could only work with the power of Merrick's Comet." I pointed to the sky, the comet now making its way across the galaxy. It had visited us only to lend its power. Now its job was done, it could leave and not return for another hundred years.

Davis wasn't dead, he would probably spend the next hundred years in another dimension planning his revenge. His rage would continue to build, as would his plans to inflict pain on everyone that had wronged him.

But his return could only happen when the barriers of the dimensions were weak again. And only Merrick's Comet would be able to do that. By that time, I would be gone and so would everyone he wanted to kill.

Heidi finished our ceremony by casting a purification and protection spell. I don't think she had planned on doing that originally, but it seemed appropriate after ridding ourselves of the Aethien demon.

Back home, I slept better than I had in months. It was like a dark shadow had been lifted from around me. I was no longer under Davis's watchful gaze.

He couldn't hurt me anymore.

For months, I had been living with the fear of what he would do next. I had altered my life to avoid him and was never prepared for whatever he threw at me. Davis had lived in every shadow, every nightmare, around every corner.

Not anymore.

I awoke refreshed, in the best mood I could possibly be in. The future that had flashed before me was now possible. I would have it all and I would be happy. Davis was my past and I refused to dwell on him. The Davis I knew had gone along with his partner, I accepted that like Davis should have.

Pulling up at school, my eyes didn't scan the lot searching for the dreaded face. I knew he wouldn't be there. All I saw were kids that were completely oblivious to everything supernatural that happened in our town.

I jumped out of the car and headed for my locker. It felt like a brand new era, one where I could be a normal teenage girl for once. I was definitely not going to get involved with any more demons. I was going to listen to my coven more closely.

"Hey. So the school is doing a charity bake sale. Can I count you in? I just need your signature and phone number." Caden placed a clipboard with a signup sheet in front of me, blocking access to my locker.

Hope had planted itself in his smile, making his eyes sparkle with mischief. There was something so joyous about his face that I couldn't help but return his smile.

"I'm not falling for that," I replied. "A bake sale? Seriously? How long have you been working on that one?"

He took the clipboard back and hugged it to his chest. "Hey, I'll have you know that it took all morning getting all these numbers and signatures to make it look real. Sarah Mackintosh is planning on baking red velvet cupcakes. She spoke about them for ten whole minutes."

A laugh escaped my lips. The first real laugh I'd had in a very long time. "Maybe you should call one of those girls then."

"Nah. They don't hold a candle to you, Lacey."

I held my hand out. "Give me the list."

His brow momentarily wrinkled with confusion before he carefully handed me the clipboard. I studied the names of the girls – and guys – he had managed to convince there was a real bake sale coming up. There had to be at least a dozen names.

I added mine to the bottom, including my phone number. Handing it back, I didn't say a word. I left Caden standing there, his face a picture of shock.

With my books in the crook of my arm, I headed to class. I wasn't even sitting down before my phone rang. I didn't recognize the number. "Hello?"

"Just making sure it works," Caden said. He hung up.

Smiling and shaking my head, I saved his number in my phone. I got the feeling he might be calling a lot. And I was already looking forward to the next one.

# About Jamie Campbell

Jamie Campbell discovered her love for writing when her school 'What I did on the Weekend' stories contained monsters and princesses – because what went on in her imagination was always more fun than boring reality.

Primarily writing Young Adult Romances of all kinds, Jamie also delves into murder mysteries and ghost stories. Basically, whatever takes her fancy - she lets the characters decide

Living on the Gold Coast in sunny Queensland, Australia, Jamie is constantly bossed around by her dog Sophie who is a very hard taskmaster and lives largely on sugar.

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#  The Greenhouse Gas

### Ariele Sieling

It was dark – ever so dark – and all she could think about was the vast emptiness of space that she knew surrounded them. The space inside the pod was cramped and uncomfortable; her foot had long ago fallen asleep, and every time she tried to move it sent a bolt of pain shooting up her leg. But for now – the darkness, the emptiness, and the space – these things were not important.

"Fedya," she said. "Fedya, wake up."

Her brother groaned slightly, and he tried to roll over. She gasped as he knocked against her foot and the tingling and pain started up once again.

"Fedya!" she exclaimed again. "Wake up!"

"I don't want to, Galya. Leave me alone."

"Fedya, this is not your cot. We are not on board our ship. Remember? Papa put us in this pod to keep us safe, and then he launched it. Fedya, you must wake up. I need your help."

"Why is it so dark?" Fedya asked, reaching out and touching her shoulder. "It is very tight in here, is it not?"

"I can't figure out how to turn on the engine," Galya said. "Do you know how?"

"Papa showed you," Fedya replied, and he reached out and took her hand. "Do you not remember Papa teaching you how?"

"I know he did," Galya said, "but I can't remember!"

The darkness of the pod was becoming deeper. What if no one came? What if they never saw Papa again? What if they died here?

"It is because you are feeling fear," Fedya said calmly, though Galya could hear a slight tremor in his voice. "You must not feel fear. You must feel hope. You must remember. I need you to remember, or else we may never find out what has happened to Papa. Take a breath."

Galya took a deep breath, pushing aside the little voice which said, " _if you breathe too deeply, the oxygen in the pod will not last as long,_ " and remembered. She remembered being woken in the night by Papa. He was whispering rapidly to her – something was wrong, men had boarded their ship. He made her put on her coat and took her to the pods – but they were the only ones. Where were the other families? Where were the other children?

He showed her the controls. _This one does this,_ he said, _and this one does that_. But which ones did what? Galya couldn't remember.

"I can't remember," she whispered.

"Try harder," Fedya said.

As they walked through the corridors, Papa had said to her, _Galya, my beautiful, I need you to take care of your brother, Fedya. And Fedya, you must help your sister take care of you. I will find you as soon as I can, but for now we must hurry._ And then Galya felt a moment of fear as she heard the booted footsteps of many men running down the corridors.

"He showed you the blue one first," Fedya said.

"The blue one, it was for..." Galya strained her mind.

"And then the black ones," Fedya added.

"The yellow button!" Galya exclaimed. "The yellow button was the lights."

"Where was the yellow button?" Fedya asked. He climbed over her towards where the control panel was.

Papa had said, _The blue lever will..._ that memory was blank. _The black levers..._ this memory was blank, too. _The yellow button, above the right black lever, that will control the lights, and the red button controls the shields. Do not put down the shields unless you have no other choice – please, my beautiful. Be careful. Take care of your brother._ Then Papa had closed the door behind them and launched them into the big, empty darkness. Galya had no idea how long she had slept.

"He said it is above the right black lever," Galya said.

Fedya fumbled around in the dark for moment, and then the pod began to glow in a soft blue light. Galya smiled, and leaned forward to hug her brother.

"Do you remember anything else?" he said.

"I remember that the red button is for the shields," she replied, "but Papa said only to put down the shields when we had no other choice."

"We have no other choice," Fedya stated, and then without hesitation, he pushed the red button.

The shields slowly lowered around the ship, clearing up the windows so the two children could see through. Galya gasped. All around them were ships – each one dead, a corpse, a husk. The one above their pod had a massive hole blasted through it; bits of debris floated in the vacuum of space silently, the wreckage of a once majestic fleet. Other ships hung at odd angles; a gas sprayed from the side of a great black Warrior class, pushing it slowly away from the others. This had long ceased to be a battlefield – it was now a burying ground.

"Papa!" Galya gasped. "Oh no!"

"Shhhh," Fedya said. "We don't know what has happened to him. We don't even know what part of the fleet we have ended up in. We need to go find him."

Galya gulped and nodded. He was right. They needed to find Papa, and she needed to take care of her little brother.

For a few more minutes, the sister and brother stared out the window. Stars twinkled far in the distance – if Galya knew how to read them, she would know where they were. An asteroid or some other kind of massive rock was floating on the opposite end of the destruction. Their pod didn't seem to be moving; or if it was, it was keeping pace with the debris around them.

"We should see what supplies we have in the pod," Galya said. "Because we're going to have to figure out how to drive this thing, and we're going to have to figure out how to get back to our ship."

"Okay." Fedya crawled into the back end of the pod, and opened the storage cavity. "I see twenty-five packets of food, a rope, a small tool box, a de-pressurizer, heat packs, a med pack, two oxygen tanks, and two suits."

"So, enough food to get us—"

Galya was interrupted by Fedya.

"Ewww," Fedya pulled back from the storage cavity and plugged his nose. "It's bad. All the food has gone bad."

"How?" Galya asked. "Aren't they supposed to replace it every two weeks?"

"This didn't get replaced recently, that's for sure." Fedya closed the cavity and crawled back towards Galya.

"Well, I guess that means we have enough food for... never," Galya finished grumpily.

"Maybe if we can figure out how to drive the pod, we can find food from the wreckage," Fedya suggested. "What else can you remember?"

Galya gazed out at the sea of metal in front of her. She wondered if there were bodies floating in the mess, if there were other children looking for their parents. She wondered if anyone survived. Then, she saw a flash of light at the other end of the debris field.

"Shields!" she gasped.

Fedya leaped forward and pressed the red button. The outside disappeared, leaving them in the blue glow of the pod's interior lights.

Closing her eyes, Galya saw the flash of light again – but this time it was Papa.

_The blue lever will signal anyone that is there to save you – but be careful that you are sure the enemy is gone._ He pulled the lever and a bright, white light flashed outside the ship. _The black levers are for steering. It's just like when you play video games! And the button on the top of the left black lever turns it on and opens the driving screen, to show you where you are, where you are going, and what detectable elements are around you._

"I remember," Galya whispered. She pulled herself into the seat in the front of the pod. Fedya took the seat behind her. "The black levers are to steer, the button turns it on..." A flood of memories rushed through her head – Papa had really taught her everything. All the levers and what they did, how to control the internal atmosphere of the pod, how to drive and steer, how to lock the magnetic clamps, and so much more. A small smile of relief spread across her lips. She could do this.

The pod began to hum lightly – a barely imperceptible noise, but enough that both children felt a strong sense of relief.

"You did it!" Fedya exclaimed.

"And you need to remember everything," Galya replied, "In case I'm not here to do it someday. Do you understand?"

"Yes!" Fedya nodded rapidly. "Can we go find Papa now?"

Galya thought for a moment. In school they had learned that before rushing into a decision, you had to consider both the likelihood of success, and the ultimate consequences. She recited to herself the rhyme: _What is around you? What will hound you? And how can you attain your goal and return to home completely whole?_ The older kids' version was simply the four Es: Environment, Enemy, End-Goal, Execution.

"First we have to figure out what we're up against," she said to Fedya.

"But everyone is dead."

"We don't know that. I suggest that we take a quick trip into the nearest ship, see if we can find any food, and find out if everyone really is dead or not. We can also look for a fleet map, so maybe we can figure out how to get back to Papa. Get the suits."

She took a deep breath and lowered the shields once more, gazing out at the graveyard around them. She squinted, searching the darkness until she found it; the light that had startled her before was simply a comet, its tail a glowing wake in the vacuum around them. She pushed the black levers and the pod began to move slowly towards the nearest ship. It loomed, a massive black shadow lit only by the faint rays of the nearest star. She pulled up slowly to the closest opening, and attached the pod to the larger ship with magnets. When she turned around, Fedya stood with the two suits in hand.

"They're in good condition," he said. "I ran the internal diagnostics for both."

"Good," Galya said, pulling the suit on. When both were dressed, Galya released the pressure from inside the pod and shut down the oxygen. They made their way to the hatch, and slipped out into the vacuum around them, hanging onto the rope, which they had secured inside the pod. Slowly, they steered their suits towards the bigger ship.

Galya landed feet first, the magnetic soles of her boots locking onto the massive ship immediately. Fedya followed closely behind. The corridors of the ship were littered with fallen beams and broken glass. The first body they found was ripped to shreds. Galya gagged and turned her face away – this was not going to get easier, so she had to get stronger. When she looked at Fedya, he was pale, and stared at the body as if unable to tear his eyes away.

"Fedya," Galya stated into the suit communicator. "Don't look at him. Keep moving."

They walked slowly towards the ship's bridge. They passed innumerable corpses. The ship was cold and dark – it was as if the ship had been dead for centuries, even though they knew it had only been a few days. When they reached the bridge, the computers were down, and no hard copy map of the fleet could be found.

"We should look for food now," Fedya said. "I don't think we will find any maps."

"I agree."

The two walked towards where they thought the mess would be, but the path was blocked by fallen beams and bare electrical wires. They turned back, and headed towards the pod.

"There are more ships," Galya said. "We will find something – we just have to keep looking."

"Keep looking" turned into hours, which turned into days. Every third ship or so they found enough food and water to keep them going – with careful rationing, the food began to turn into a small stockpile. They found additional oxygen tanks and clothing, and their little pod began to get cramped. The two children slept when they felt tired, ate when they felt hungry, and after the initial fear of running into aliens and their revulsion at the dead bodies, they began to enjoy their excursions onto the ships. It was like treasure hunting. But fear for their father began to wear on them, and they still could not find a map.

"Fedya," Galya said one day. "What if we never find Papa?"

"We will keep looking until we do," Fedya replied.

"But what if we don't?"

"We find him or we die trying." Fedya was reading a comic book they had found on the last ship. It was a collectible – worth a lot of money – and he was thoroughly engrossed.

"But shouldn't we come up with a Plan B?"

"Look," Fedya said huffily, putting down his comic book. "We haven't been out here very long. For all we know, there are pockets of people hiding all over this ship graveyard! Give it some time. We'll find Papa. I know we will." Then he picked up the comic book again.

"But what if Papa is dead?"

Fedya just glared over the top of the magazine and then kept reading.

Galya sighed and turned back in the pilot's seat. So far, they had been wandering aimlessly through the rubble, without trying to pinpoint where they were. True, she had never had much experiential knowledge about the fleet organization, but she remembered a few things. For example, the mining ships were all in a line in the back of the fleet. They were huge ships, and since she and Fedya hadn't seen any like that, they were probably on the opposite end from the mining ships. Somewhere in the middle were the high class ships – she didn't care much about those, except that they might be good places to find food. But the greenhouse ship – if that came through with minimal damage, it would be an ideal place to set up camp. Maybe they could live there – with green plants to produce oxygen, fresh food and vegetables, and lots of space to store the treasures they collected from their hunting trips. And chances were it was close.

She looked around them. Although many of the ships drifted in a higgledy piggledy fashion, most seemed to be pointing in generally the same direction. If she could fly the ship up, to get outside the bubble of ships, the greenhouse ship would be very visible as it would have a big glass dome on the top and bottom. And maybe, instead of hunting for a fleet map, they could make their own!

The pod hummed as she flew upwards slowly, higher and higher until she reached the tops of the biggest ships. Then she continued upwards, until she could see everything when she angled the ship downwards.

"Fedya!" she exclaimed, lowering the shields. She pointed. Below them the ship graveyard spread out in every direction, rubble, metal, glass, and wood, the debris field extending as far as the eye could see.

"Whoa!" Fedya exclaimed. "Is that the whole fleet?"

"We can make our own map!" Galya explained. "We know where we've been, and we can figure out what's where and make our own map!"

"That's a really good idea," he said, putting the comic book on the floor.

"And look," she pointed below them, "it's the greenhouse ship! If we're lucky, there's still food left!"

Fedya nodded eagerly. "Let's look! Maybe we can set up camp there."

Galya slowly guided the ship back down into the ship graveyard, and began to maneuver through the lifeless ships. The shields were still down, and Fedya gazed out the windows in awe at the massive floating buildings that surrounded them. It took a while, but eventually Fedya exclaimed, "Look! There it is!"

In front of them, the great dome of the greenhouse ship rose in front of them, shining glass. In addition, the lights were on.

"It has power!" Galya exclaimed. "And the glass is intact!"

The children grew more and more excited.

Galya parked the pod on the edge of the closest docking ramp. The two donned their suits, and using the rope system which had worked so well before, floated into the ship. Their magnetic boots moored them solidly to the ship, and they began to walk up the ramp. Both were extremely hopeful.

"Where should we go first?" Galya asked. "To the bridge or the vegetables?"

"Vegetables," Fedya said. "I'm hungry for something besides food powder."

Galya grinned. "Me too!"

This was the cleanest ship they had been in yet, and it seemed to have the least damage. There were no corpses, and most of the mess seemed to be the result of many people rushing from one place to another, or hurrying to escape from the vessel.

"Maybe some of these people survived," Fedya suggested as they headed down the corridor in what they assumed was the general direction of the main greenhouse center.

"Maybe," Galya agreed. She frowned slightly. There seemed to be some sound coming from up ahead. She motioned to Fedya to remain quiet.

Then, out in front of them stepped the biggest, meanest looking man they had ever seen.

"Children," he said. "I've found children!"

From behind them came the sound of cheers and clapping. Galya and Fedya turned to see more men, just like the man who had spoken, standing in a crowd behind them. Galya paled. These men – she recognized them. They were soldiers – the soldiers from the army that had attacked their fleet. They were the enemy.

"Bring them here," the leader said. "We have great plans for them."

Another cheer rose from behind them.

The lower class of soldiers, big lizard-like aliens with long snouts and beady eyes, came and picked the children up, carrying them quickly, deeper into the ship. Galya began to cry softly. She had forgotten all of the rules of engagement: Environment, Enemy, End-Goal, Execution. She had forgotten to check the environment for signs of the enemy and she had forgotten to consider where the enemy might hide. Why hadn't it occurred to her that the lights being on in this ship might be a bad thing? Papa would be so disappointed. She silently berated herself as the enemy soldiers carried her and her brother deeper and deeper into the ship.

Finally, they entered the primary greenhouse. It was still beautiful. Big trees grew up around the edges of the circular room, and acres of crops were spread out in massive beds, separated by narrow paths. The far end contained the hydroponic horn torus beds which, as far as Galya remembered, grew lettuce and other green vegetables. The lizard soldiers set them down in the workspace in the center of the room.

"I am Sa," the leader said, coming to glare at Galya and her brother. "And this is occupied territory. You are trespassing. Now tell me, why are you wearing that suit?"

"So we can breathe," Galya said hesitantly.

"The air is fine in here! Remove their suits!" Sa commanded.

Galya and Fedya felt the suits carefully being taken by a pair of soldiers.

As soon as the helmet was removed, Galya and Fedya took deep breaths of air – it will be nice to breathe something besides oxygen from a tank, Galya thought, but something was wrong. She took another few gulps of air and started to feel dizzy. She coughed, and crouched over, grasping her stomach. Nausea threatened to overwhelm her; then she noticed that everything looked blurry. She looked over at Fedya – he was suffering, too. There was something wrong with this air.

"Put their suits back on!" Sa commanded. "What is wrong with you weaklings?"

When the suits had been replaced, Fedya coughed, and then said in a strained voice, "Too much oxygen. We need different concentrations of oxygen than you. Less." He coughed again.

"How would you know that?" Sa demanded.

"I learned in school."

"School!"

The soldiers surrounding them began to laugh – it was sinister and strange, and not at all kind.

"School is for weaklings. Our young learn by living life!" The leader turned and began to pace back and forth in front of them. "You two are quite a treat. But before we go any further, tell me: where are the rest of you?"

Galya shook her head, still feeling dizzy from her attempts to breathe outside of the helmet. "We don't know. It's just us."

"You lie!" Sa exclaimed. "You expect me to believe that two _children_ —" he spat the word out, "—are out on your own and surviving after a battle that we won?"

"Not for long," Fedya mumbled.

Galya shot him a glare. "We don't know where anyone else is."

"Go search their ship!" He pointed at one of his soldiers, who went scurrying off.

The next few moments were excruciating. No one spoke. Sa paced back and forth in front of them, and the soldiers that stood behind the children were eerily quiet. They didn't sniffle or shift on their feet or cough. They said nothing; they made no sound. Even Sa's pacing feet seemed completely silent. Then, the soldier returned.

"Food," he reported. "Oxygen, clothes. An escape pod, not enough room for more than two people."

"Alone," Sa said, turning back to the children. "Well, I suppose we'll have to make the best of it."

The soldiers began to stomp their feet rhythmically and hum, as if in response to Sa's declaration.

"Prepare the meal!" Sa finally shouted, after a few moments of the stamping and humming. "And put the children to work – we will make the most of it!"

Galya and Fedya were dragged to the back of the room, to the controls of the lab. One of the soldiers stepped out of the group and pointed at himself. "Ja," he said. "You have learning."

The brother and sister nodded furiously, desperate to stay alive for as long as possible.

"Good. See this? This is for the food here. Food is dying – it is turning green. Good food is brown and yellow. Fix the food."

Fedya stepped forward and eyed the controls. He motioned to Galya.

"This is how it's supposed to be," he whispered. "No one has changed the settings since the attack."

"But it sounds like they want it..." She glanced over her shoulder, hesitant to say the word "dead." "...they want it _opposite_ of our food. You know. Opposite."

"Yeah..." Fedya glanced over his shoulder, too. "We're going to need some time to fix these controls," he said to Ja.

Ja nodded. "I will watch you."

They began playing aimlessly with the controls – turning the water up and down, the phosphorus up and down, and the nitrogen up and down.

"There are oxygen and carbon dioxide valves, too," Galya pointed out.

Fedya nodded. "I think I have an idea."

At that moment, Sa strode up to them. "You and you," he said, pointing at each. "You will be ready for dinner soon. How long until you finish fixing the food?"

The children glanced at each other.

"An hour?" Galya offered.

"One hour," Sa conceded, turning and striding away.

"Why are they feeding us?" Fedya asked.

"Probably fattening us up," Galya suggested.

Behind them, Ja began to laugh, or at least make a noise vaguely reminiscent of a laugh. "Give you precious food? Waste precious resources?" he began to laugh harder. "No, my alien bugs, you _are_ dinner."

Galya's mouth dropped open. "You're heinous! That's... that's cannibalism!"

Ja tilted his head in confusion.

"Actually, it's not," Fedya offered in a sort of intellectual daze, "because we're a different species."

"Well, it's still awful! You're a horrible, terrible...!"

Sa appeared behind his subordinate with a scowl on his face. "Is there something wrong here?"

Galya shut her mouth quickly and shook her head.

"They thought we were feeding them, instead of them feeding us," Ja explained.

Sa began to laugh uproariously, and soldiers all around the room, as they learned what happened, joined in.

It wasn't fair, Galya thought. All she had been trying to do was to take care of her brother, like Papa asked. How could Papa leave them like this? How could he? And what was she supposed to do now? Get eaten by a bunch of... of primitives? She scowled at the aliens and turned back to the greenhouse controls.

"Why should we fix this for you now?" she asked, not looking at them. "If you're just going to eat us?"

"Because if you don't..." Ja leaned his face in very over her shoulder, "we will eat your brother first, and make you watch!" The soldiers around him began to laugh again.

Galya swallowed and her eyes drifted to the massive fire they were building on the other end of the room. Not only had she gotten Fedya into this, but now she was going to have to watch him burn and die for her mistake. "Did you eat all the other people on this ship?" she asked.

"Yes, and they were delicious. But we're starting to get hungry again."

"How are two of us going to feed all of you?" she asked.

"We have an amazing chef who can make a little bit go a long, long way." Ja's grin spread across his face like a massive crack opening in a green iceberg.

Fedya came to stand over by Galya. "We're going to need some room, here," he called, "so we can work."

The soldiers surrounding them stepped back.

Galya looked at the controls. She had no idea how to properly mix any of this to do any good... or bad. Fedya pointed to the carbon dioxide. "If we turn this way up," he leaned forward so Galya could see his face. "Then..." he winked, "the plants will increase in the brown oxide..."

Frowning, Galya blinked at her brother. He wasn't making any sense. Brown oxide wasn't a real thing. He was making things up. "What do you mean?" she asked.

He rolled his eyes. "I mean, if we increase this, it will _slow down_ the speed at which the _plants_ , can oxidize and cause _napping syndrome_..." He pointed at the oxygen valve. "Then if we set the timer on this to flood the _plants,_ all we need to do is _get out of their way_ , and they will _burn up_ all that green in their systems and turn a nice healthy brown."

Galya tipped her head and thought for a moment. Changing the quantity of carbon dioxide and oxygen in the room wouldn't have any immediate impact on the plants as far as she knew – of course, her plant biology was limited.

Fedya tapped first his helmet and then her oxygen tank. "Can we begin?"

Galya's eyes widened in understanding. Increasing the carbon dioxide in the room would have the same effect on the lizards as if she and Fedya didn't have enough, and because they needed a higher concentration of oxygen, it wouldn't take much to make them start to feel drowsy. Then she and Fedya could run back to their pod. The timer on the oxygen would be set shortly after, and the whole ship would go up in flames when the additional oxygen reached the fire.

"Don't you think the carbon dioxide itself would do the trick?" she asked Fedya, winking back.

"No, because we don't know if there is enough of it left in the systems to have the _full effect_ ," he replied.

If the carbon dioxide ran out too soon, the soldiers would wake back up and come after them again. She nodded. "That could work."

"Get on with it!" Ja exclaimed. "It's almost dinner time!"

"Timer first," Fedya said.

Galya reached out and set the timer on the oxygen release after twenty minutes. Fedya opened the carbon dioxide valve. A slight breeze blew through the room.

"What did you do?" Ja demanded.

"What you asked us to!" Fedya replied in an irritated tone of voice. "And we're done now. So you can cook us or whatever. The plants will be brown by tomorrow morning. But remember, you promised to kill us at the same time."

"I promised no such thing," Sa boomed from behind them. "I just said if you _didn't_ do as I asked, I definitely would make your girl watch you die. Now, take them to the cook!"

The soldiers around them began cheering and chanting, stomping their feet on the ground in a loud thumping.

Galya's hands began to tremble. What if their plan didn't work? What if they got killed before the oxygen was released? What if the carbon dioxide put out the fire? What if they got blown up trying to escape? She closed her eyes and prayed to her father. _Dad?_ she thought. _If you're dead, please send your spirit to rescue us. And if you're not, please come rescue us in person. And Dad, if we die, I'm sorry I failed you._

When she opened her eyes, she noticed an odd thing happening. All around her soldiers were drooping – like plants without enough water. Ja led them to the cook, who glanced at them briefly and then said, "I'm exhausted! I think I'll sit down for a minute." Behind them, Ja nodded in agreement.

"Me too!" Fedya exclaimed, giving a big, fake yawn. "Maybe we can just take a quick nap before dinner."

"That's a good idea," Ja mumbled, slumping down on the floor behind them.

The two children stood silently as the large alien beasts began sitting down all over the room. As soon as they heard a snore from Ja, they began to carefully pick their way over the sprawled out bodies of their enemy. They quietly and quickly made their way back the way they came, but as soon as they reached the docking ramp, Sa appeared from nowhere. He was gasping for air, and clutching his throat, but he still managed to carry his massive body forward.

"Run!" Galya exclaimed. Fedya was a few feet in front of her, but he was slowing and turning. "No! Run!"

Sa made one last leap forward and grabbed Galya's arm.

"Let go!" Fedya yelled.

"Keep going!" Galya yelled back. "I'll be right there!"

"You won't get away with this!" Sa yelled.

Galya turned on her magnetic boots and dragged Sa forward, one slow, agonizing step at a time. He was coughing, but his grip was still as powerful as a machine. Fedya had reached the pod, and was standing with the door open, waiting for Galya to reach him.

"Hurry! We only have a few minutes left!" he called.

Taking a deep breath, Galya paused and looked at Sa. "You know you're going to die, don't you?" she asked.

"So... are... you!" he began to gasp for air.

"The closer we get to that door over there, the faster your death will come," she said. Inside she trembled. All she wanted was to escape. "The vacuum will kill you in less than twenty seconds. Or if you last longer, you will experience your body expanding and the moisture in your mouth boiling – vomiting, defecating, seizures – it won't be pretty."

"You... won't... scare..." Sa took several deep gulps of nearly non-existent air. Then, without warning, he collapsed, letting go of Galya's suit. Galya ran as fast as she could. Time slowed – she saw Fedya in front of her yelling, she could hear a large sound erupting behind her... and the next thing she knew, she was in the pod and they had launched themselves away from the greenhouse ship as quickly as the pod would move.

Both children turned to look behind them as the ship burst. Flames licked out of the ship; glass exploded and shattered into a billion fragments. But, rather quickly, the fire died down as all the oxygen was burned up, and vacuum quickly took the place of any atmosphere that had been in the ship only moments before.

Galya began to cry as she and Fedya removed their space suits.

"I only wanted to find Papa," she whispered, "and keep you safe."

"We will find Papa," Fedya said. "We will find him and anyone else who is alive in this fleet, and we will keep each other safe."

Turning, Galya gazed at the greenhouse ship. Aside from a slight glow from some still-burning chemicals, it now looked no different from the rest of the fleet – blackened, shattered, and broken. As she gazed out over the ruins of her city, she saw the light of the comet drifting through the wreckage, and she knew that this was her home; she knew that she would rebuild and repair; and she knew that one day, they would find Papa.

# About Ariele Sieling

Ariele Sieling has been a writer for her entire life, writing her first book as an eleven-year-old, called The Mystery House. Since then, she has pursued the art of writing in a variety of forms, from short stories and essays, to newspaper articles, newsletters, classroom curriculum, and novels. Sieling writes science fiction, and works to blend the potential for human capacity and future technology with a little bit of humor. She is author of The Clock Winked and The Lonely Whelk. She lives in New Hampshire with her two cats.

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#  _Project Number 45_

### Marijon Braden

For over two years now, Amy set her alarm so that she would wake up in the middle of the night, just to make sure the world hadn't ended. Again.

Of course, she was still alive, so the world hadn't _really_ ended. But The Brightness had seemed like the end, to her and to most of the people on Earth. So she set her alarm for two-oh-seven in the morning, just to make sure it was still dark outside. She flipped on her light and went to the window, looked up to the moon and said a silent prayer of thanks. Sometimes, she leaned her head out of the window to see other lights on, up and down the street. She wasn't the only one checking. Then, she went back to sleep.

It made it tougher to get up in the morning to go to school, but she didn't care. She was so grateful for school again that nothing could have kept her from going. In the weeks and months following The Brightness, there was no school for her and her brother, no work for her parents. There had been chaos. After all, it had been the end of the world, right? Why bother with going to school? Or work? Why bother doing any of the everyday things that made up a normal life when it was all about to end?

Her family had been lucky. For years, they had spent the summers at a sprawling cabin in the mountains, right on the lake, with rest of the Howard's. It was there they ran to, in the first, frantic days, and had stayed for almost six months. They lived off the vegetables in Gram's huge garden, fishing every day, Dad hunting for the occasional deer. Not all of Mom's family had made it to safety in the mountains. Aunt Marie and Uncle Dave had been killed in the riots. All of Dad's family had simply disappeared. They didn't find out until almost two years later how they all died. Dad's brother and his family had been killed on the road, trying to make it to the cabin. Someone—most probably a gang —had killed them for the minivan they had been driving. His sister's house had burned to the ground, and no one could say if the family had escaped or not. She was just never heard from again. His parents had killed themselves after the eighth day.

That's how things had been, after The Brightness.

"Amy, honey, get up."

Amy opened her eyes and looked gratefully at the pale speckled sunlight on the wall. "Coming," she called.

She could hear her brother in the bathroom. He always was awake before her. He never got up to see if the night was still dark. She glanced over. His bed was neatly made. Bear-Bear, the one remnant of his childhood that had made it through The Brightness, was sitting on the pillow, fake fur faded and turning gray, one eye missing.

She and Matt shared a room now. When her family finally returned to their home, it had been requisitioned by the government. They could still live there, of course, but they were only allowed two rooms, and access to the shared bathroom and kitchen. For over two years, the government had been trying to get the destroyed homes rebuilt, but it was slow going. While half of the population was eager to put The Brightness behind them, and try to move forward with some sense of normality, the other half had given up, did not go back to work, and lived on the streets, begging and preaching that the End was still Nigh.

Amy did not mind sharing her bedroom, although she was starting to feel awkward about her thirteen-year-old body. Matt was eight, and didn't care about walking around in his underwear. She did not mind sharing her house, either. She felt safer, surrounded by other families. Besides, she and Marianna had become friends. It was good to have a friend.

There were five families living in the house now. It was a big house — five bedrooms and three baths. Amy's family lived in what had been the dining room and den, on the first floor, right next to one of the bathrooms. Amy's dad, Paul, likened their situation to living in Russia after the Revolution, but without the cold. Paul had remained cheerful and optimistic throughout The Brightness and all that came after. Her mom, Susan, had clung to his strength and managed to come through relatively whole.

Amy was beginning to forget what it was like Before. She didn't know if Matt felt the same way. He didn't talk anymore.

The eight children living in the house gathered around the table, all crammed together. They held hands and bowed heads in silent prayer. Marianna's mother had wanted them all to pray out loud, but Steff and Billy Calder had objected. There was no God, Steff had said loudly. No God she wanted to worship, anyway. So prayers were said in silence.

Today was Billy's day to supervise, so everyone at the table was relaxed and chatty. Some adults insisted on silence. Some, like Amy's mom, read to them as they ate. Billy didn't care what they did as long as there was no food wasted or, as he joked, 'arterial blood spilt'. By now, they all knew and liked each other well enough. No more arguments over who sat where, or complaining about one child getting a larger serving of food. They had all become, after a fashion, one family.

Justin leaned towards Amy. "Want to know what JamButt said?"

Justin, at fifteen, often said he deserved to eat with the adults. He was too old and mature, he insisted, to have to eat with the 'little kids'. The adults in the house had all stood firm, mainly because when the adults ate together, the thing they talked about the most was The Brightness, and Amy's mom had told her that children should be children as long as they could, and knowing too much about The Brightness would choke the innocence away.

Justin, having been repeatedly told he was still too young, would often try to bring The Brightness to the kid's table, and the easiest way to do that was to quote Jameson Butterick, one of the loudest and most colorful theorists to emerge after The Brightness. No one with a lick of sense, Amy's mom had said, would listen to a word Butterick said, which was why Justin liked to quote him the most.

Amy, her mouth full of oatmeal, shrugged.

"JamButt," Justin said, "thinks that The Brightness wasn't about the end of the world at all. He says it was aliens checking out our planet."

Marianna frowned. "Checking us out? For what?"

Justin looked smug. "For possible annexation into their federation, of course."

"Are they going to?" Clark Winston asked. Clark was fourteen, and worshipped Justin. "Do this annex thing?"

Justin shrugged elaborately. "Who knows? Maybe we weren't good enough."

"Why would they take so long to check us out?" Amy asked. The Brightness had lasted almost two weeks—twelve days of continuous light that filled not only their solar system but also the entire galaxy.

Justin looked thoughtful. "Well, they were checking out, like, the whole universe, right? Not just us. That takes time."

Amy was not convinced. Like every other person left on Earth who had lived through The Brightness, she had her own set of ideas, but no one, not even the scientists or government, knew the real reason why—or how— it happened.

"Well, then where did they come from? If they were checking out the universe, does that mean they came from _another_ universe?"

"Course," Justin said, caught off guard. Usually, his pronouncements went unchallenged.

"But scientists say it was everywhere. The whole galaxy," Amy argued.

Justin shook his head. "They think, Amy. No one _knows_."

"'Cept JamButt," Marianna said, and giggled.

Amy caught her eye and giggled too. The littler kids all started chanting, JamButt, JamButt. Except for Matt, of course. He just smiled and rocked back in forth to the rhythm of the words.

"Okay guys," Billy finally said, loudly. "Don't get me in trouble here." The table quieted down, and breakfast was finished in silence.

Amy ran in to get her coat, and she and Marianna walked to school. Matt walked with the rest of the boys. No one seemed to mind that he never spoke. After The Brightness, a lot stranger things happened to people.

"Do you think it was aliens?" Marianna asked.

Amy shrugged. She liked talking about it, but knew her parents would disapprove. "Who else?"

"God?"

"Why?"

"'Cause it was time, and he promised not to send another flood," Marianna said seriously.

Amy remembered all the Bible stories too. Gram had read them to her every night, by candlelight, when they lived at the cabin. But when they finally came down off the mountain and saw what the rest of the world was like, Gram put the Bible away and Amy never saw it again.

"I don't think God did this," she said at last.

She and Marianna crossed the street and walked up the drive to their school. It wasn't a real school. It had been the recreation center for the neighborhood. But since there were no buses (there was no more gas—the oil fields were still burning) communities set up classrooms close enough for the children to walk to. Amy knew they were lucky to have such a large, sunny place to go to class. Her parents had told her of other places set up as schools, in the basements of churches, or smelly gas stations.

"So, if God didn't do this, who did?" Justin asked, coming up behind her. Amy found herself tongue-tied. It was one thing to talk to Justin in the house, where he was like a cousin or something. But at school, he was someone different. He was tall and super—cute and smart, and all the girls had a crush on him.

Amy swallowed hard. "Well, I don't know, but I don't think it was aliens."

Justin laughed. "No, I don't either, but JamButt says crap that's too good to pass over."

Amy lowered her voice. "What do the grown-ups say?"

Justin stopped on the stairs, and Amy and Marianna stopped with him. He shrugged. "Most of them say it was God. Some think it's all a government thing. The Calders? They're really weird. I mean, I like Billy, but Steff?" He glanced around. No one was paying attention to them, but he still leaned in. "She thinks it was Satan."

Amy felt a chill. It was one thing to talk about what happened to other kids, and laugh about all the crazy theories. It was something else to hear what an adult thought, and to realize the grown-ups had the same ideas.

"Hey, don't worry," Justin said, laughing easily. "I'll keep you safe."

"How?" Amy challenged.

He looked at her, his eyes crinkling with his smile. "Tell you what. Walk with me to the Reading on Friday night, and I'll tell you all about it."

Marianna nudged Amy with her elbow, so hard Amy almost yelped. But instead, she lifted her chin and said casually, "Sure. It's a date."

Justin nodded. "Cool," he said, and ran up the steps.

Marianna grabbed Amy by the shoulders and shook her. "Oh, my God, Amy! Justin asked you out!"

Amy found herself grinning. "Yeah. I know."

* * *

Kir had accepted the assignment at the Institute for only one reason—the chance to work with Diam. He had received a great deal of attention after his presentation at the yearly conference, but waited patiently until the Institute came calling, then jumped at their offer. But he found that Diam was not like the others at the Institute. She did not linger after lunch to talk to her colleagues. She did not pause in the hallways to join their conversations. She went to and from her lab, head down, walking quickly, obviously trying to avoid any interaction with her fellow scientists.

Kir asked the Director about possibly joining her team, but was told that her assistants had been with her for years, and she had no interest in replacing any of them.

After three months, Kir was beyond frustrated.

"She's the reason I came here," he griped to Ferro, one of the few other members that he had become friendly with. They were drinking joad together, and Kir was feeling the effects.

Ferro snorted. "She's the reason most of us came here. To work with the first person in history to actually create a life form? Who _doesn't_ want to work with her? But she's impossible to get to. She practically lives in her lab, and even the Director has to make an appointment to see her."

"So, let's just go. Knock on her door," Kir said, feeling brave and reckless. He gulped down the rest of him joad. "Come with me."

Ferro laughed and shook his head. "You're under the influence, Kir. You'll make a fool of yourself."

"Or, I'll get in to see the lab of the most important scientist of all time," Kir countered.

Ferro closed his eyes tightly, then opened them, drank down the rest of his joad, and stood up. "Let's go."

Her lab was on the other side of the compound. The two men walked quickly, joking, until they reached the looming, windowless building that was her lab.

Ferro glanced around nervously. "Do we knock?"

Kir pushed the door, and it opened easily. "No."

They walked into the silent vestibule and scanned their ID cards. The inner door opened, revealing a long, dim-lit corridor.

"What if she's not here?" Ferro whispered.

"She's always here," Kir said, and they walked forward.

There were doors on either side of the corridor, steel, windowless doors, with black writing above each doorknob. They passed a few of these when Kir stopped, turned a knob of Project #127, and went in.

It was a brightly lit room with hundreds of small, clear tanks sitting on shelves. On the front of every tank was written a series of letters and numbers. Ferro examined one of the tanks, then grinned excitedly.

"These are compounds. She's trying to create life by combining chemicals in various solutions." He glanced around. 'There must be hundreds in here."

"Six hundred and thirty two," said a quiet voice behind them.

They turned quickly. Diam was a tiny woman, thin and frail looking, with straight, gray hair and pale, blue eyes behind large glasses.

"You are trespassing," she said.

"There was no sign," Kir pointed out.

She smiled. "True. I never needed one before. Most people are too intimidated to come in here."

Kir smiled easily. "My curiosity won out," he said. "That, and joad."

She laughed. "Yes, joad will do that to you." She tilted her head. "Who are you?"

Kir introduced himself and Ferro quickly, adding, "From BioLab HH3."

She raised her eyebrows. "You are doing some very interesting things over there."

"Not as interesting as what you're doing," Ferro said.

She smiled again. "Would you like to see?"

Project #144 was a series of jipmar hearts, each lying in a different solution, pierced by a tiny electrode.

"Jipmar, as you know, have a very short life cycle," she explained. "We raise them out back, and have a constant supply of new hearts without ever having to actually kill one of them."

Project #45 was like a sculpture, thousands, possibly millions of tiny pinpricks of light, each with it's own brightness. They hung in complete darkness behind a thick layer of mizsa. Ferro pressed his nose against the mizsa and stared.

"They're moving," he whispered.

"Yes, some of them are," Diam said.

"Why the barrier?" Kir asked.

"It's in a vacuum. We've been growing it for years now, and several patterns have evolved." Diam explained. "This is one of my favorite projects. I don't think anything will come of it, but I like to sit here sometimes and watch."

Kir was squinting. "Wouldn't it be easier to observe in the light?" He reached back and touched the switch on the wall, but as soon as the light came on, Diam hit the switch again, returning them to darkness.

"No lights," she said. "But we have another, similar project, all under lights, if you'd care to see."

Project #176 was almost the same, but the brightness of the room took away the beauty of #45.

"Interesting," Kir said. "There is not the same dynamic between the particles."

"No, there's not," Diam said. "This is very inactive. No clusters have formed. The particles are generally uniform in size and color. No...movement. But let's go back down to the second floor. There's something very promising going on."

They stayed all night. Diam seemed tireless. Kir and Ferro both felt exhausted by the morning, but exhilarated as well. They had seen the master at work.

"If you should ever need more assistants," Kir said as they were leaving, "please keep us in mind."

She folded her arms across her chest. "You have no moral problem with working with me? Some say I'm comparing myself to the Mother."

Ferro shrugged. "I find nothing wrong with what you're doing. It's brilliant."

Kir nodded in agreement. "It would be an honor for me to wash the floors in any of your workrooms."

She smiled. "I'll think about it, gentlemen." Then she closed the door of her lab.

Kir and Ferro stared at each other, then both grinned.

"Amazing," Kir whispered.

"I know. And she said she'd think about it." Ferro threw back his head and whooped with laughter. "Oh, My Mother, could you imagine?"

"No, I can't," Kir said. "And now, I need lots of temir. I'm so tired I could sleep standing up."

They began walking back to the Center, Kir shaking his head.

"Amazing," he said, over and over.

* * *

Every evening, after the adults had finished dinner, Amy and her family had their private time in the bigger bedroom, the one shared by her parents. They sat on the floor by the bed in a tight circle, holding hands. Each would tell about one thing that had happened to them, and they would go around and around until there was nothing left to tell.

Her mother read a letter from Gram. Susan's parents had returned the lake house, living off the grid, but Gramp walked down to the local post office once a week. Someday, the government promised, the phones would be back. Not cellular, of course. Not at first. Amy had been looking forward to her first cell phone right before The Brightness. Her parents, she knew, remembered the older phone system, and from what they described—wires and dials, and being trapped in the same room as the phone outlet— it was awful. But anything would be better than the non-existent system they had now.

After the letter had been read, Susan squeezed Amy's hand. Amy took a deep breath.

"Justin is walking me to the Reading on Friday."

Paul looked puzzled. "Why would you need anyone to walk you? It's perfectly safe. And besides, we're going to the Reading. Don't you usually walk with us?'"

"Paul," Susan said carefully, "think about this."

He suddenly grinned. "Well, well, well."

"Dad," Amy pleaded, "don't start."

"Don't start what?" Paul said.

"Whatever you do," Amy hissed at him, "don't say anything about this to Justin's parents. Or anyone else. It's not a big deal, okay?"

Paul shrugged. "Okay. But if it's not a big deal, why can't I say anything?"

"Paul," Susan said, her voice sharper. "We need to respect Amy's wishes."

Paul rolled his eyes. "Okay. No teasing. " He leaned over and kissed Amy's cheek. "I promise."

"Justin is a very nice young man," Susan said. "Don't you think so, Matt?"

Matt nodded.

Amy squeezed her dad's hand. Paul looked suddenly serious.

"Someone from Rainbow talked to me today."

Amy's jerked her head around to stare at her father.

Rainbow was one of the hundreds of groups that had sprung up after The Brightness. Most of those groups had only lasted a few months, but Rainbow had not just endured, it had grown stronger. The members believed that The Brightness was an extraordinary celestial event, but was in no way supernatural. Just as a rainbow had been interpreted as a sign from the gods in ancient times, this group believed that there was a purely scientific explanation for what happened, but that scientists did not have the knowledge needed to know what that explanation was.

Rainbow also believed that its members should return to the urban centers and rebuild the cities according to a master plan that included all solar or wind power, with very little reliance on technology. If The Brightness had happened once, it would most certainly happen again, and if there was the same reaction a second time, self-sustainability was the safest course of action going forward.

"What did they want?" Susan asked.

"Paul shrugged. 'They said they could use my skills, and asked if I was interested in going north."

Paul had been an architect before The Brightness, a very successful and well—known architect who championed green living. Very few people worked at the same jobs they had before The Brightness. Doctors and nurses, of course, as well as engineers and those who worked in the building trades. Everyone worked for the government, though. There was very little private enterprise, and the government wasn't interested in architects who designed eco-friendly housing. Paul worked one of the road crews, finding and leveling destroyed homes, searching for usable objects.

Susan nodded. "It makes sense for them to want you. What do you think, Amy?"

Amy bit her lip. She had friends now, and was feeling that life was bearable again. And Justin had asked to walk her to the Reading. She didn't want to go somewhere to start over. But going north...there were better schools, she'd heard. Electricity was restored to a point that non—essential appliances like televisions and dishwashers could be used. Small, privately owned manufacturing plants had sprung up, making new clothes, and luxury items.

She lifted her shoulders, then let them drop. "If you think that's best, Dad, I say we should go for it."

Susan turned to her son. "Matt, what about you?"

Matt nodded.

"Well, Paul," Susan said. "It's certainly something to think about."

"Yes," Paul said, and squeezed Matt's hand.

Matt closed his eyes and leaned forward for a few seconds. When he opened his eyes, he looked around expectantly.

Susan shook her head. "I'm sorry, darling, " she said, as she said every night. "I didn't hear you."

Matt shrugged, and squeezed his mother's hand.

When the family was done, Amy went out and finished her homework on the kitchen table. The kitchen was the only common area besides the screened porch, and now the weather was getting cool. Amy dreaded the winter. True, the temperature rarely got to freezing, but everyone had to stay inside. Only one light was allowed in each room, with a single 60—watt bulb. In the cold months, it seemed they all lived in cramped semi-darkness.

Justin was there, reading, and he flashed her a smile. Something in her stomach tightened. He didn't speak to her—he rarely did— but she felt a connection. They were going to the Reading on Friday. Together.

When the community first formed, there was no television, of course, and radio was only broadcasting thirty minutes a day, all news. So Friday evenings, everyone gathered at the school, and one of the adults would read from a precious, salvaged book. Over the months and years, the entertainment changed. Sometimes, people sang. Some recited poetry. This Friday there was a play, a comedy. It wasn't fully performed, of course. There wasn't the time to put something like that together. But all the different parts were read to the audience. It was the best entertainment around, and often people from other communities would walk miles to attend.

Friday after dinner, Amy stood in the center of her room in tears. Her very first date, and she had nothing special to wear. All her clothes had been handed down to her. Justin had seen her in every outfit she owned. Marianna offered to lend her something, but Justin would have seen that as well.

"But, he won't have seen it on _you_ ," Marianna said, trying to make Amy feel better.

Amy just shook her head, dejected. "I wish I had something pretty," she said softly.

There was a knock on the door, and her mother stuck her head around the doorframe. "Can I come in?"

Amy nodded, and her mother came in, shutting the door behind her. "I have something for you," she said, and drew out of her pocket a small bundle of brilliant red.

"Here." Susan shook it, and a long scarf unfurled, and now Amy could see thin gold stripes woven into the red. Amy caught her breath. It was beautiful.

Susan stepped forward and wrapped the scarf a few times around Amy's neck, then tied a casual knot. She reached out and fluffed her daughter's hair. Amy looked in the mirror again.

"Where did this come from?" she asked. The red brought out the color in her cheeks, and made her eyes sparkle.

Susan watched her daughter and sighed. "I bought it right before The Brightness. It was in the bottom of my purse when we went up to Gram's. I'd forgotten all about it, and when I found it again, I wanted to save it for something special." She smiled. "Have a good time tonight." She backed out of the room and shut the door behind her.

Marianna jumped up and touched the scarf. "I bet it's silk, " she said.

Amy smiled. "It feels wonderful."

She met Justin on the front step. If he noticed her beautiful scarf, he never said, but it didn't matter. Amy felt happy and excited. They talked all the way to school, everyday kinds of things, exchanging words with their neighbors. The streets were full. Everyone went to the Readings. It was all there was to enjoy at the end of the week.

They sat close together during the play. By now, the group of actors who regularly appeared had gotten quite good, and everyone laughed and applauded. Afterwards, there was coffee and cakes, and people who saw each other almost every day, but never really exchanged more than a few words, could talk together. Amy saw her parents in deep conversation with an older couple who lived up by the water tower. Were they the ones from Rainbow?

"We may be going north," Amy said suddenly, watching her father and mother.

"What? Why?"

"Rainbow approached my dad."

"Whoa. Really? What did your dad do?"

"He was an architect," Amy told him.

Justin nodded thoughtfully. "I wouldn't mind going north and living in one of their cities," he said at last. "Of all the crazy groups out there, at least Rainbow has a plan."

"I like it here," Amy said quietly. "I feel safe here."

"You'd be safer in a Rainbow city," Justin told her. "And there are more doctors up north. For Matt."

Amy nodded. "Yes." She turned to him and grinned. "What does JamButt say about Rainbow?"

Justin laughed. "JamButt thinks Rainbow is a step above the Satanists."

She lowered her voice. "Is that what Steff is? A Satanist?"

Justin shrugged. "I'm not sure. But she's pretty hardcore about there not being a God anymore."

Amy sighed. "I still want to believe that there's someone out there looking out for us."

Justin sat quietly for a long time. "Me too."

She glanced at him. "So, how are you going to keep me safe?"

"What? Oh, that's right." He furrowed his brow, looking very serious for several seconds, then grinned. "Got it."

"Yeah? Okay, how?"

He leaned in and kissed her. Right on the lips. In front of anyone who happened to be looking their way.

And she kissed him back, thinking that if The Brightness ever did come again, at least she'd had this moment.

* * *

Diam rubbed her eyes. She was tired. She was feeling the long nights much more keenly now. Perhaps she should think about leaving the Institute, returning home, finally writing her book.

Mlo tapped on the doorframe. "Anything before I go?"

Diam nodded. "Yes. Disable the light in #45. It was turned on briefly. I doubt there was a consequence, but you never know."

Mlo laughed. "Why do you like that one so much? Granted, it's pretty, but do you really think any life form can grow in a vacuum?"

Diam shrugged. "I know, but you should sit and watch it. It's very calming. And those tiny bits of light are moving, breaking apart and coming together. Something is happening there. I wish I knew what."

Mlo shrugged. "Whatever you say. I'll disable the switch. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Diam said, and thought again of her book.

Then she thought of Project #45 and smiled to herself. So pretty.

# About Marijon Braden

Marijon was born and raised in New Jersey, which may help to explain her attitude towards charlatans and idiots. She started writing stories at an early age, her first literary influences being Walter Farley, author of the 'Black Stallion' series, and Carolyn Keene, of 'Nancy Drew' fame. That's probably why her earliest efforts involved a young girl detective who solved crime on horseback.

She had a very happy childhood, did well in school, and was a fairly obedient daughter until she went away to college. The original plan was to major in journalism. She wrote for the college paper until she realized that wasn't the kind of writing she wanted to do when she grew up. So she switched to education. That was not, perhaps, the smartest move.

Then, life happened. Jobs, rent, husband, baby, another husband, another baby, until she found herself a stay-at-home mom, about to chew her foot off if she had to watch one more episode of 'Barney.' So, she started to write again.

She still lives in New Jersey with her husband, daughter, two cats and a very spoiled cocker spaniel. Her older daughter is off in Oregon, fighting the good fight for the homeless. She loves to cook – and eat – and plays RPG games on her Xbox when she needs to decompress (Skyrim alone cost her months of her life). During the past few years, she has lost, and tragically found again, the same twenty pounds. Life is all about trying, failing, and trying harder.

She writes in her downstairs office, surrounded by her growing collection of gargoyles. Smoke, Wings and Stone is her first YA novel.

Marijon Braden is the pen name for Dee Ernst, who writes adult romantic comedy, and has lived an almost identical life.

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#  Moon Warrior

### H.S. Stone

Luna awoke with an ache in her skull. Her eyelids pried open through the crusted streak of blood on her face. She reached a hand to her forehead and quickly pulled back at the sting of her touch. Her fingers came away clean, signifying that the cut had closed despite its tenderness.

Pushing herself up, Luna inspected her condition. Aside from the cut on her head and scratches along her arms, she appeared to be fine. She tested her muscles and joints and found them uninjured. She considered herself lucky after the tumble she'd taken, which apparently had also rendered her unconscious.

A few feet away, her bow and quiver rested on a mound of sand. Luna counted the arrows in the quiver and, satisfied that all were present, slung it over her shoulder. The bow, to her relief, was also undamaged. She ran a finger along the polished wood and held the grip in her hand. Although she had owned the bow for less than a year, a gift bestowed upon her by her father when she turned sixteen, the familiar feel of the grooves in her palm comforted her.

Satisfied that she was all right, Luna peered up the side of the sandy pit in which she found herself. The top of the pit was taller than she was, but the slope was gentle. Stepping carefully on the sand, she planted one foot after the other, slowly ascending until she saw what lay beyond the pit's edge.

The sand dragon that had attacked her tribe left two bodies, one human and one horse. Already, scavenging birds were pecking at the corpses. Luna rushed to the dead human, scattering the birds hovering over it with her bow. She stared into the vacant eyes of Tyal, a fellow warrior five years her senior. With no time to mourn before the scavengers returned with more boldness, Luna pulled her companion's body toward the pit.

The pit had likely saved her from the sand dragon, she thought. She recalled the dragon's tail flinging her away from the fight, and her last memories were of crashing against the rocky ground. The depth of the pit must have kept her out of sight, or the creature surely would have killed her too. Tyal wasn't so lucky.

Luna rolled his body into the pit. She spied a chipped bowl among the debris left in the dragon's wake and scooped sand with it to throw over Tyal's corpse. After several minutes of hard labor, she covered it with enough sand to keep the scavengers from defiling his remains. She then whispered a prayer for his departed spirit.

The horse was too heavy for her to drag, so Luna left it where it lay. She circled the area once more to look for bodies and thanked the gods that she didn't find any.

The position of the sun indicated that she'd have another three or four hours of light left. It also implied that she had been unconscious for at least two hours. Luna didn't know how far ahead of her the tribe had traveled, but she doubted that she could catch up before nightfall. She would need water, and she would need to eat. Her water pouch had enough left in it to last her the remainder of the day, but she had no food.

Taking an arrow out of her quiver, she aimed it at one of the birds feasting on the horse. She let it loose, and her shot drove into the target. The other scavengers took to the air immediately, leaving Luna undisturbed to retrieve her arrow and the bird attached to it. She tied her dinner to her belt and headed in the direction of the rest of her tribe.

Tracks in the sand helped her follow their path without difficulty. From the number of lines winding into the distance, Luna determined that all of the wagons had survived. The warriors had driven off the sand dragon with the loss of only one human life. She grieved for Tyal, but she also knew that they were lucky that the dragon hadn't cost them more than his life and the life of his horse.

Luna wondered where the dragon had gone. At least there were no other tracks following her tribe. Perhaps it had discovered that her people were more trouble than they were worth and left them in search of easier prey.

The ground slowly turned from hard sand and rocks to a softer sand mixed with darker soil. Along the path, Luna now saw the occasional tree or bush. Still, the wagon tracks and footprints led onward, with no sign of her people in the distance ahead. Despite her warrior training, Luna tired under the relentless sun. She rested beneath the scant shade of a short tree and took a sip from her water pouch. She gave herself just enough time to catch her breath before continuing her journey.

As the sun fell, Luna's endurance began to wane again. She contemplated resting for the night but pressed on while she could. She drank more from her pouch until it was nearly empty.

When the light grew too dim for her to confidently make out the tracks in the dirt, she found a cluster of bushes near which to make her camp. She detached the bird carcass from her belt but then laughed in tormented irony as she realized she had nothing to make a fire with and no knowledge of how to do so with the branches and stones around her. For a brief moment, Luna considered eating the bird raw, but she decided against it. She'd rather stay hungry than become ill from eating uncooked meat. Besides, she thought, she would catch up with her tribe the next day. She could go without food until then.

Instead, Luna drank the rest of her water to keep her stomach from growling with emptiness.

Above her head, the moon was nearly full. The moon goddess was her mother's favorite, even prompting her to name her daughter after one of the moon's many titles. Luna felt no particular affinity to the moon goddess or to any of the other deities that her parents worshipped. She prayed to the gods because she was accustomed to it and because everyone else in her tribe did so. But the gods didn't keep drought from forcing them to leave their old homes, nor had the gods shown them new fertile grounds in the dry lands through which they had wandered for weeks.

If the gods really looked out for them, they would have saved Tyal from the sand dragon. They would have found a new home for Luna's tribe by now. They would have kept Luna from sleeping under the stars with no food or water. They would have reunited Luna with her people already.

* * *

Unexpected rain fell on Luna's face, waking her up like a slap. She shook off the disorientation of finding herself in a strange place. Then she remembered her thirst and opened her mouth to welcome the water drenching her body. After a few sips, she opened her water pouch to catch more rainwater.

The rain ended as suddenly as it had begun, however, leaving her pouch only half full. The sun's rays broke through the thinning clouds, and what moisture covered the ground quickly evaporated.

Luna checked her bow, arrows, and quiver before moving on.

To her despair, the rain had washed away the tracks left by her tribe! Luna searched frantically for any sign of their trail, even a lone footprint or hoof mark. There was nothing. The rain cleansed the ground as thoroughly as if no one had ever passed.

Panic surged within her chest. She was a warrior, not a tracker. How would she find her tribe now?

Luna thought of staying where she was and waiting for her people or someone else to find her, but she knew that was foolish. No one was coming by. At least not before she died of thirst or starvation.

She shook the hopelessness away. She was a warrior, she reminded herself again, and warriors didn't sit around waiting to be saved. Luna recalled the direction in which her tribe had traveled the previous day and hoped they hadn't changed their course. Continuing on the same bearing as before seemed like as good a plan as any. Perhaps she'd pick up their trail again later in the day.

The morning passed without any signs of her tribe. The ground grew uneven, and her progress slowed as she navigated the rougher terrain. Luna began to doubt that her people traveled this way, as the footing was too difficult for the horses and wagons. She veered in another direction until the ground leveled off and then continued on her former course.

By late morning, peaks rose up on her right, and she steered toward them. Thirst parched her throat, and hunger churned through her stomach. She took a sip from her water pouch, not daring to drink too much this time for fear that she wouldn't find more water before rejoining her tribe.

The terrain grew rockier as she walked. The peaks she had seen earlier turned into mountain ranges. They were too far away for her to reach before the sun set, but Luna headed toward them nonetheless. Without any other landmarks in sight, she believed that her people were as likely to trek toward the mountains as any other destination.

She rested for a moment on a shelf of rock smoothed by the wind, but she didn't drink from her pouch. Luna scanned the sky. The sun beamed brightly through wisps of clouds. Not a single bird flew through the air. There were no signs of life in the air or on the ground.

Luna didn't notice until then that the few trees and bushes she had seen earlier had disappeared. There was only rock and sand around her.

Pockets of green dotted the mountains, but they were still hours away.

She tried to imagine her people journeying through her present location, but it no longer made sense. They wouldn't choose to travel through such barren lands, even if the mountains beyond promised signs of life. Would they?

Luna found it difficult to think straight. The heat and thirst and hunger weighed on her. She could see for miles, yet there was still no sign of her tribe. She couldn't possibly have fallen so far behind. They must have changed course.

Which meant that Luna might never see them again.

She lay on the slab of rock and closed her eyes. She felt her soul evaporating like vapors under the hot sun, a sacrifice to the sun god himself.

_No_ , she scolded herself, _I will not give up_. She was still alive, still able to walk. Tyal had died while protecting the tribe from the sand dragon, yet she was spared. Luna didn't know which god had granted her a second chance, but it would be a shame to throw that gift away so soon.

She forced herself up onto her aching feet and trudged toward the mountains. It was her best promise of life among the barren surroundings.

Less than an hour passed before Luna needed to rest again. The dryness in her mouth grew unbearable, so she risked a gulp from her water pouch. Then she pushed onward.

The base of the nearest mountain slowly steepened, making her journey even more difficult. Her rests came more frequently, as did her longing to drink what little water remained. Occasionally, Luna's gaze took in the land around her in the faint hope of finding her tribe, but they were still nowhere in sight.

Twilight brought another long rest stop and the last sips of water. Luna was grateful that the air cooled with the disappearing sun. At least one less foe tormented her.

She was nearly to the first plants on the mountain. Luna remembered that plants sometimes gathered dew in the mornings. Some even stored water inside them. With a goal in mind, she stood shakily and staggered forward. With her full strength, she would have reached her destination in minutes, but the hike uphill took an interminably long time and all of her energy.

Luna collapsed beside a bush with green and yellow leaves. It was smaller than she had imagined when she first saw it. More bushes sat farther up the mountain, but her body refused to carry her onward.

Lying on her back, Luna waited to catch her breath before trying to walk again. Instead, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

* * *

Stars greeted her eyes when she woke up. Luna pushed her body into a seated position and felt the aches in her muscles from the long journey. She didn't feel so tired now, but she was thirstier and hungrier than ever.

She wondered where her people were. She hoped that her parents were safe. They must be grief-stricken, believing her dead from the sand dragon's attack. Otherwise, they wouldn't have traveled so far ahead of her. If they knew that she was still alive, wouldn't they have waited? Wouldn't they have stopped to look for her?

Luna pictured her mother praying to the moon goddess. _There's no need to pray for my soul, Mama. I'm still alive._

She lay back down and stared at the bright orb in the night sky. If there were a moon goddess, would she listen to Luna? What could the moon goddess do to help her? Bring her rain? Bring her food? Help her find her tribe?

Luna couldn't fathom how a light in the sky could help in any of those respects. Still, she prayed to any goddess who would listen to her. She asked for a way back to her parents, for water, for food, for a few more days of life.

Then she saw it.

It started as a faint streak just below the moon. A white line, like a cut in the night sky. It wasn't just a line, though.

Luna saw it move.

She had seen shooting stars before, but this one crawled overhead slower than any she'd seen. It was as if the star waited for her, beckoning her to watch its progress.

The moon goddess was showing Luna the way to her people!

Luna leaped to her feet, any remnants of fatigue exorcised from her body. She traced a line from the tail of the shooting star – no, it was a comet, she decided from its sluggish movement -- to its head and then onward in the direction it pointed her. It led her to the mountain.

She didn't question how the tribe could already be up on the mountain without her seeing them. She only followed the instructions of the light in the sky. Luna climbed higher, momentarily forgetting her thirst and hunger. Her feet slipped, but she stood back up and continued her upward march.

The comet led her along a path that wasn't too steep to climb. As she walked, excitement flooded her and pushed her faster.

Farther and farther she scrambled up the base of the mountain. It wasn't until she reached the wall of rock that she hesitated. The face of the cliff before her rose up as high as she could see. It was almost vertical, with a surface too smooth to scale.

Luna looked up at the sign in the sky again. It was directly overhead and still pointed in front of her, leading her to the cliff.

She grasped an outcropping that jutted from the face of the mountainside and pulled her body up. However, she soon as she lifted her feet, the rock in her hand broke off. Luna tumbled to the ground, grimacing in pain.

Overhead, the comet flared out of sight behind the top of the cliff.

She was foolish for following it, thinking it offered salvation. It was just another light in the sky like all of the ones she had seen before. Ordinary. Meaningless.

Luna examined the cut on her leg from the fall. She could make out the redness of the blood in the moonlight, but the color was darker than she was used to seeing, not as frightening as it appeared in the light of day.

Her eyes slid from her leg along the ground to the cliff again. There was a shadow that she hadn't seen before. Luna stood up gingerly and walked toward the shadow. It was a crevice in the face of the mountain. She couldn't see where it led, but renewed optimism rose inside her.

Luna slid into the crack. It was just wide enough for her to walk through. After a few steps, the gap grew dark, and she debated whether to continue. If the comet was indeed a sign from the moon goddess, then there must be an exit on the other end. She placed a hand in front of her to guide her way and continued forward.

A few more steps brought faint light into view ahead. Luna let out a breath of joy. She rushed toward the light and soon saw an opening. _Thank you, moon goddess._

Luna expected the other end of the crevice to resemble the end that she had entered. Instead, what she saw caused her to fall back in wonder.

Under the brilliance of the full moon, Luna saw a valley full of grass and trees. A lake shimmered below her like glass under a candle. Even the air smelled different, fresh and vibrant rather than dusty and dry. Mountains surrounded the valley on all sides, protecting it from trespassers. Luna felt like she was the first human to stumble upon a new world.

Forgetting her physical ailments, Luna rushed down the slope to the lake. The grass felt luxurious under her feet. She splashed at the edge of the water and then dove under the cool surface. She drank a mouthful of the clean liquid, letting it soothe her tongue and throat. When she had drunk her fill, Luna waded to the bank of the lake and sat down.

She looked up at the nearest tree and saw oval fruits on its branches. Her hunger immediately returned, and she plucked a handful of fruits. She devoured them as quickly as she picked them. Then she picked some more.

Finally satiated, Luna's face drew into a smile. _Thank you, moon goddess_ , she repeated. _Thank you for sending me a sign._

* * *

Luna needed the rest, but after a short nap, she was also ready to leave. The moon goddess had saved her from thirst and hunger, but she still needed to find her tribe. And bring them to this valley paradise.

Strapping her bow and quiver to her back, she climbed back up to the crevice. This time, she wasn't afraid to step through the dark gap in the mountain. When she emerged on the other side, the sun was peeking over the horizon. It lit the landscape with rays of orange and red.

From her vantage point, Luna could see for many miles in any direction. She didn't have to search for long before she saw the smoke. A thin tendril rose up in the distance, far from where she had traveled the day before.

Her tribe! They must have tried to circumvent the mountain by another route.

Luna ran toward the smoke. Rested and fed and with anticipation coursing through her limbs, she raced to the location of the campfire. She wanted to wave her arms and yell, but they were much too far away to see or hear her.

It was more than half an hour before she reached the bottom of the mountain, and she was only halfway to the tribe. Luna fought off her exhaustion and hurried onward. She made out the outlines of the wagons, arranged in a defensive circle surrounding the people within it. The horses were tied to one of the wagons. She still couldn't see anyone inside the ring of wagons.

As she closed the distance to her destination, Luna spotted a speck descending from the sky. It grew larger with every passing second, until a brown shape with wings became apparent. The sand dragon.

Luna shouted a warning to her people, but she was still too far away. The dragon swooped over the wagons, knocking one onto its side. Warriors poured through the opening in the circle with bows, spears, and swords in their hands. The sand dragon landed just beyond the wagons, its back to Luna.

She retrieved the bow from her back and reached for an arrow as she ran. The warriors were already engaged in battle with the dragon. They threw spears at it and shot arrows in its direction, but the monster's scaly hide deflected all assaults. A warrior charged with his sword, but the dragon swatted him aside before he was within arm's reach.

It still hadn't noticed Luna, and she planned to use that to her advantage if she could. She slowed down once she was within arrow range to catch her breath. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to still her body. When she was able to hold her bow steadily once again, she nocked an arrow. Taking a breath in, she raised the bow and sighted the dragon's head. Then, slowly releasing her breath, she drew back the arrow. With half of the air expelled from her lungs, she held her breath and released.

The arrow flew true. It struck the dragon above its mouth but glanced off without doing harm. The dragon turned toward its new enemy.

Luna heard someone shout her name, but she blocked it out. The dragon ignored the other warriors and singled her out. Luna grabbed another arrow and aimed it at the dragon's chest. Again, her aim was on target but the arrow was ineffective, bouncing off the beast without incurring a scratch.

The dragon now stalked toward Luna. She fired one arrow after another to no avail.

Every step that the dragon took brought it dangerously closer to her. The other warriors continued to attack it, but their weapons were as useless as Luna's arrows.

Luna refused to believe that she survived her trek only to die at the hands of the sand dragon. The moon goddess wouldn't have kept her alive and shown her the way to the valley if she wanted Luna to perish the next day. There must be a way to defeat the dragon.

When she reached into her quiver, Luna felt only two more arrows. She pulled one out and set it above her grip. She drew back the string, feeling the tension in her bow. _Moon goddess, guide my aim._

Luna saw a patch of darker brown on the dragon's neck. It looked like an old wound where the scales hadn't grown back in completely. She lifted her bow and pointed the arrow at the dark brown patch. The projectile flew from her hand to the dragon's neck. Unlike the other arrows, this one stuck in the monster's hide. It roared, stopping in surprise at the pain the weapon inflicted.

Without hesitation, Luna nocked her last arrow and aimed for the same spot. It landed inches from the prior arrow. Again, the dragon bellowed.

"The neck!" Luna called out to the other warriors. "Look for the dark brown patch on its neck. That's the dragon's weakness!"

The warriors circled the dragon and focused their efforts on the location Luna had told them about. Arrows and spears flew at the sand dragon's neck. It batted some away, but more found their target. Finally, a spear sent the giant creature tumbling onto its side.

The dragon's movements slowed as it tried to push itself back up. Blood drained out of its wounds. It roared once more, twitched its tail, and settled to the ground amid a cloud of sand.

A group of warriors rushed to the dragon to confirm its demise. Others ran to Luna, their faces stretched in joy at seeing her alive.

* * *

They brought her back to the rest of the tribe. Voices of celebration rang out, proclaiming the dragon's death and their lost warrior's return. Luna's parents found her in the crowd and embraced her.

"You're alive!" her mother cried. She held onto Luna like she didn't ever want to let go. Luna put her arms around her mother, returning the hug with equal fervor.

Even her father, usually stoic in hiding his emotions, let tears stream down his cheeks.

"How did you survive?" her mother asked. "How did you find us?"

"It was the moon goddess, Mama. She showed me the way." Luna's mother gazed into her daughter's eyes. It was the first time that Luna had attributed anything to her mother's favorite deity, but the smile on her face revealed her gratitude to the goddess. "There's something wonderful that I need to tell everyone."

"What is it?" her father asked.

"A new home for us. The moon goddess showed me our new home last night."

Luna pulled her parents along to the area where the tribe's elders stood with Kongzi, the leader of the warriors. As the elders saw them approach, Kongzi stepped forward and greeted Luna.

"The story of your courage against the sand dragon will be told for generations to come. Congratulations, Luna, and thank the gods for your safe return."

"Thank you." She then told them of her journey after the sand dragon's first attack. She concluded with a description of the fertile valley she had found, with its lake and grass and trees and fruits.

The elders couldn't believe that such a paradise existed within the boundaries of their barren lands. "Thank the moon goddess indeed," Kongzi said.

News of the valley spread quickly, and Luna's people readied their wagons for the short journey. With newfound hope in their hearts, the tribe set forth for the valley behind the mountain crevice, led by their moon warrior.

# About H.S. Stone

Even before he could read, H.S. Stone wanted to write a book. Fascinated by the stories that seemed to leap from his kindergarten teacher's books, he went home and wrote his own book, with illustrations and bound by staples. Of course, since he didn't know how to read or write yet, the book was full of gibberish.

Undaunted, H.S. eventually mastered the ABC's and continued to write throughout his grade school years, adolescence, and into adulthood. Despite earning a degree and working in a field not related to writing, he continued to pursue his writing passion.

H.S. Stone's publications include novels aimed at Young Adult and Middle Grade readers as well as several short stories. He currently lives with his family in the San Francisco Bay Area.

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#  Love Me or Love Me Not

### Katie Hayoz

I'm on the blowup mattress at Uncle Jared's staring at the ceiling and playing the game. Six months is a long time for me to be staying on an inflatable bed rather than in a real one, but neither I nor Uncle Jared wants to go out and buy something sturdy. Because then it would mean this whole situation is more than temporary.

I've got a decent list of Love Me's: Mom refusing to sell the painting she did of me when I was a baby. Dad letting me use the hot water for a shower in the morning and taking the cold without complaint. Mom making sand angels with me on damp, packed beaches. Dad searching out snails with me in the rain. Mom's patience when she taught me to sketch. Dad's patience when he taught me to plant a seed in black soil. The three of us, on the road, making home wherever we decided to stop. The three of us together, never needing anyone but each other.

For the past six months, I've been playing this game in my head: Love Me or Love Me Not. I pluck memories from my brain at random, and place them into a category. I'm hoping one day the Love Me category will be so full, it'll trump the fact that they left me. And left me with a secret.

I'm fifteen and I've attended eight different schools. Not because I'm a head case or anything. It's because Mom and Dad moved all the time. They put me into school when they had to, but mostly they taught me themselves so I could learn in the open and not be stuck inside concrete walls. They believed in freedom and experience and not in school system drones. Real learning, they said, was done through discovering new places. I can pass any geography test you throw at me, tell you where you are in the country by the smell and density of the dirt. I know swimming in a glacial stream is like the snap of fresh picked string beans and that swimming in the salty ocean is like the slow melt of butter in the sun. I can point out just about any constellation in the sky on a clear night. This is the kind of stuff Mom and Dad called the real essence of life. The essence you lost with your feet in one place.

So they were always on the move. And they always _always_ took me with them. Love Me.

Until the last time, when they didn't. Love Me Not.

That flash of memory starts me scratching. I drag my fingers up and down the length of my inner arm, expecting to feel the familiar sharpness and pain of my nails. I'm so focused on my memory I barely notice Uncle Jared come in. He sits on the mattress, his weight shifting the air in the bed and lifting me higher. He puts his hand over mine. His fingers are warm and thick and calloused.

I look down at my arm to see my handiwork. But Uncle Jared has made sure my nails are cut to the quick. There are no bright pink scratches to reward me. Just a dull ache from pressing so hard.

"Time to go," he tells me. "Your teacher said seven o'clock. The comet should be at its brightest tonight."

I start trying to scrub off my skin again, but Uncle Jared squeezes my fingers to stop them. "Star," he says. "I understand it's got to be tough to be with all these students you've only just met. You don't need to worry. I'll be there. Okay?"

I nod, even though it's not the crowd of students that's getting to me. It's the comet. But Uncle Jared wouldn't know that. Nobody knows but me. Love Me, or Love Me Not?

We drive over to the high school with a quilt, some hot chocolate in a thermos and Uncle Jared's camera. It's a clear, still September night, perfect for star-gazing. If I were any other girl, I'd be excited that just showing up will count for half of my participation grade in Physics. But I'm me. I don't care about grades or participation. I'm only trying for Uncle Jared. Because he says it's important once you're in the system. Thing is, Mom and Dad always said being in the system was a Bad Thing. And yet, here I am. Love Me Not.

There are blankets spread out all over the lawn in front of the school. A telescope is set up on a tripod in the middle. It's black and short and the lens is fat. It looks like it'd grab a lot of light. Like you could see as far as the particles that make up the tail of the comet. Talons of fear and anticipation claw at my stomach.

Kids are sprawled everywhere, pointing at the sky. I take a breath and look up. The comet is visible, even without the telescope. From here it looks like a bright streak. Like a long-haired star.

A memory hits me from when I was young: Mom running a brush through my hair in the back of the RV.

Mom painted sunrises, sunsets and the night sky. We drove around the country because it was her goal to get a series from every single state. Dad would take the wheel and drive until Mom saw a vista she decided would make a great canvas. We'd park and make it home – sometimes for a couple weeks, sometimes a couple months. While Mom set up her easel, Dad would put a hand on my head and say, "You see that woman? You see your mother? She's the next Georgia O'Keeffe. She's got magic in those fingers." His eyes would get that fuzzy look to them. "I'd follow her to the ends of the earth."

"You already are, Dad," I'd remind him. Then we'd smile at each other and laugh.

Mom and Dad knew I could take care of myself, so they let me. I wasn't like kids who needed adults for everything. I knew how to cook, how to hitchhike, how to avoid complication and to show up for the occasional class at a school when necessary.

Dad worked odd jobs when we stopped places. The jobs didn't last long. Supervisors had a problem with Dad and what he called his "free-living" attitude.

"You, your Mom and me, we're not like other people," Dad would say. "Other people, they see us coming and they get scared. They get jealous. People'll do all sorts of stuff when they're jealous of what you've got or who you are." He'd look at me, his dark eyes sharp. "Well, screw 'em. We've got each other."

He and Mom were always tangled in each other's arms, always touching like it kept them breathing. When Mom was away from her easel, she fussed over Dad. Cooed at him like a dove. She fussed over me, too, during those times. I let my hair grow long and wild, braiding it tight so I didn't have to brush it every day. Once she'd notice it, though, she'd pull the antique silver backed brush from the bathroom cabinet and sit me down. I never fought it because everything – from the gentle tugging, to the familiar smell of paint on her fingers, to the feel of her knees against my back – everything reminded me that we belonged to each other.

In the memory that comes to mind, I was probably six or seven. Mom sat beside me in the booth with the sticky vinyl seats that we used as both an eating and living area. I was turned sideways, my back to her, her knees warming the lower right side of my hip. She ran the brush through my blond waves, section by section, the rhythm of it making me sleepy.

"My long-haired Star," she said, her voice soft. "That's what they used to call comets hundreds of years ago. They used to think they were long-haired stars."

When I looked up at the night sky, it felt cold and lonely and way too vast. But when I looked at Mom's paintings the brightness of the stars were warm dots of fire and the dark sky was a cozy blanket. Maybe it was the colors she used. Maybe it was the way she spread the paint on the canvas. Or maybe it was how she felt about space. Not that it was an open, unexplored area, but rather that whatever was out _there_ was really the root of us all.

Putting down the brush and running her hand over my head, Mom smiled at me. "Don't ever cut your hair short, Long-Haired Star. That way, you'll always be my personal comet."

Mom's paintings of sunsets were beautiful, but her paintings of stars were amazing. They sold out right away at art fairs and galleries. And even they were nothing compared to her paintings of comets. Love Me, I tell myself now.

My breath is coming fast and quick, though I don't know why. The memory isn't a bad one. But my whole body starts shaking. I sit on the quilt, hoping to calm down while Uncle Jared sets up a tripod for his camera. I reach up to twist my braid, but instead my fingers meet the scraggly ends of my pixie cut. I hacked my hair off three weeks after Mom and Dad left.

In the months before they took off, money had been tight. Dad was jumping from job to job more than usual, and Mom's paintings weren't selling like they did before. And then Mom got the news that Grandma died. We'd been on our way to see her at the hospital, but we were still three states away when Uncle Jared called.

The sun was melting to a pool of orange in the sky and for once Mom didn't say a word about its beauty. She dropped her phone onto her lap, staring out the windshield as Dad repeated over and over, "Janine? Baby, are you okay?"

"Pull over." Mom's voice was rough and deep.

"But we're –"

"Park it!"

Dad pulled into a ginormous parking lot in front of an abandoned grocery store. There were no other cars or campers. Just a few birds picking at a small animal carcass near the handicapped spots.

Mom pushed through the RV to the back and started pulling paintings from the sleeping area that filled up half of the vehicle. It was where she kept everything she'd ever done. Her face was slick with tears as she kicked the door open and threw the canvases on the ground. She kept grabbing her paintings and hurling them out of the RV.

"Janine! Stop!" Dad tugged at her shoulders. "You can't do this."

"The hell I can't. Don't stop me. Don't you dare." She shook herself from his grip and rummaged through the drawer near the kitchen sink until she found a box of matches.

They sky had turned a bruise-colored purple when she hopped out of the RV, me and Dad on her heels. The heap of artwork in front of us reached my chest. It was everything, absolutely everything she'd ever done and hadn't yet sold. Mom lit a match, the scratch of it against the flint strip on the box loud in the still air. Dad yelled like she was setting him on fire. I watched with a tight heart as the pile of paintings turned into a bonfire on the blacktop.

A sob dribbled out of Mom's mouth and Dad took her into his arms. "What's the point," she said. "Why are we even here?"

Dad began to whisper to her like they were alone in the world. I stood close enough to the fire to feel it hot against my nose and cheeks and chest. The painting that Mom had done of me when I was a baby -- the one she'd always refused to sell despite the hefty offers – was already black around the edges. The smoke made my eyes water. Love Me Not.

Uncle Jared stops messing with his camera and looks at me. His eyes are hazel and his hair is near white blond, like my Mom's. "Hey?" he says. "You cold?"

I'm not, but I can't stop shivering. I hug my knees to me as he gets the thermos of hot chocolate out of our bag. Steam wafts out, the bitter-sweet smell of chocolate drifting upwards. I look down into the depths of the thermos then take a long drink, the heat of it scorching the inside of my throat.

"Thanks," I tell him. Not just for the hot chocolate. For so much more.

After Mom's bonfire, she insisted we keep driving. We didn't settle in one place for more than three days. Until we hit Louisiana.

The first night we were there, Mom spotted a handout tacked up to the local supermarket's bulletin board. It was glossy -- a brilliant picture of space with a glowing comet streaking across the middle. **You Have a Higher Purpose** was printed in a bold yellow font. She stood there, arms around a paper grocery bag and just stared at the paper. She wasn't used to doing the shopping. She was out of place in the aisles with the boxes and bottles; she'd looked at the products like she was confused or lost. Even the bulletin board was distracting her.

"Mom," I said. "Let's go. The ice cream will melt."

She pointed to the information stamped at the bottom of the paper. "There's a meeting tonight. Maybe your Dad and I will go."

"Fine with me." I shrugged and headed out the door. She and Dad had "date night" pretty often but this would be the first time since the bonfire. Since she'd stopped painting. Normally, when they went out, I'd get to stay in the RV and make myself popcorn for dinner rather than cook up something for the three of us. I'd read a book or watch a movie then listen to the crickets while I mapped out the stars. I liked being alone from time to time. And Mom and Dad were always happy when they came back from wherever they were.

That night they weren't just happy. They were giddy. Ecstatic. And the next night, Mom picked up her paintbrush. It was like the sun came out again after a long, hard rain. We stayed in Louisiana for enough time that I even had to enroll in school. Mom and Dad were busier and would leave me to eat popcorn alone more and more often. But they smiled all the time. Dad whistled and Mom hummed.

I never expected they'd just up and leave me.

Getting to and from school involved walking twenty minutes on the side of a highway to the bus stop. The day they left, the air was thick and sticky. By the time I got to the RV park, sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging them. I blinked and blinked, looking at the spot where our RV should have been. Gone. It was weird for them to take the whole vehicle to go into town – they had Dad's motorbike for that. I sighed and threw my backpack onto the picnic table in the grass behind our empty slot. I wanted a shower, but didn't even have a towel or change of clothes.

For the first hour, I flipped through my Math book and swatted at the bugs that kept buzzing around my head. I was hot and hungry. And ticked. Where were they that they took the whole freaking house? The second hour I started to worry. What if they'd been in an accident? I trudged across the park to the bath house/recreation center. There were a few people around; no one I knew. We never made friends when we went places. We kept to ourselves. I found a dollar in my backpack and got a Snickers from the vending machine. I downed it in three bites, but it wasn't just hunger that was making my stomach churn. I went to reception. The park owner's daughter was behind the desk, scrolling through messages on her phone.

"Hi. Um, I was just wondering if my parents left a note or something for me?"

She responded without even looking up. "Dunno. Just got here. Woulda been Dad that took any info."

"Well, can you find out?" Panic had already started clawing at my throat and chest so I spoke louder than I'd intended. The girl gave me a death stare then got up to find her dad. When she came back, he was with her, a long envelope in his hands.

"Star?" he asked.

When I nodded he gave me the envelope. It was plain white with my name in blue on the front. Dad's writing.

The park owner leaned on the reception desk. "They had to take off fast. They paid for a tent cabin for you to sleep in tonight. Normally I wouldn't let a minor stay alone, but I guess this once..." He studied at me, his eyes threatening. "They said you wouldn't be any trouble. You tell anyone I let you stay, I'll deny it."

He handed me a flashlight ("you might need it to get to the toilet in the middle of the night") and led me to the tent. Inside were two cots, stripped bare, and a table. When he was gone, I sat on one of the cots and slid my finger under the flap of the envelope. Inside was twenty dollars and a piece of lined paper, the left edge jagged from where it was ripped from a notebook. Mom's slanty cursive filled the page with an explanation written in red. Underneath was a telephone number and a line of Dad's tight printing in blue ink: "We know you can take care of yourself, but call your Uncle Jared. He'll be good to you."

It was like something ripped opened in my chest. Like there was a huge crater where my heart was supposed to be. It hurt and yet felt like absolutely nothing at the same time. I lay on the cot, staring up at the mildew spots on the tent ceiling until the sun came up.

I didn't go to school the next day. Instead, I called Uncle Jared. I'd only seen him twice in my life before that, but he flew down from Wisconsin to get me 12 hours later.

The first week after Mom and Dad left, Uncle Jared and I were still checking our phones every five minutes, still jumping up at the sound of a car door slamming. I hadn't shown him the note, but I told him where I thought they'd gone. He did his best to track them down, contacting police and hospitals and friends. Yet it seemed they'd disappeared off the map.

The second week, he was reassuring. "They've been under a lot of stress, Star. They probably needed to get away for a bit. It was stupid to leave like that, but they'll be back in the next couple days. You'll see."

A week after that, I heard him on the phone with his girlfriend. "I know my sister is selfish; she's been all about herself her whole life. But this takes the cake. I don't care what kind of money problems you have. I don't care who you're grieving. And I really don't give a rip what's involved in a spiritual cleansing. Who has a kid and leaves them from one day to the next? What the hell? I mean, really? What kind of person does that?"

While he was still on the phone, I took Mom and Dad's note out and read it again. Then I found a pair of kitchen scissors and tore through the blonde waterfall that fell to my waist. When I was done, I could have passed for military personnel.

I never wanted to be Mom and Dad's Long-Haired Star again. Love Me Not.

"Star!" Uncle Jared says now. "Come check this out!" He's looking through the school's telescope, waving me over. Next to him is my Physics teacher, Mr. Greene, who's checking off names on a clipboard, making sure everyone is there and accounted for.

I pick my way through the crowd, stepping between stretched out bodies. A couple of people smile as I pass; most just eye me in curiosity. I'm the new girl. Uncle Jared says I should make an effort to be friendly and fit in. But I don't smile back or say, "Excuse me." It doesn't seem to matter enough.

Mr. Greene gestures to the telescope and says to me, "Have a look-see. You just might be tested on this in the morning." He winks at Uncle Jared.

There are only two steps between me and the telescope yet I'm not sure I can breach that gap. My whole head prickles as sweat beads up around my hairline. I take in a breath and it's razor-sharp. My legs shake. I'm afraid if I move, I'll fall to the ground. Or even worse, I'll make it to the telescope and see it – the comet's tail, glowing brighter than it should be. Glowing bright with promise.

My feet inch forward, the grass squeaking under the soles of my shoes. I reach out to the cool surface of the telescope and stand in front of it, sweat now gathering in between my breasts and on my lower back. It takes a second when I peek through the lens to focus on the comet, but then there it is. It's a bluey-white fuzzy-edged ball, outshining everything else in the sky. And behind it is not a faint streak of a tail like those you see in textbooks. No. Behind it is a wide spray of light, with plumes like a feather. Behind it, the tail steals the show.

Mr. Greene is talking to me or Uncle Jared or maybe even everyone. He's going on about dust tails and ion tails and perihelion. I'm not listening. The nearly inexistent edge of my nails find the tender part of my skin and scratch and scratch and scratch. I'm keeping Mom and Dad's secret under my skin. It itches like hell.

It's only when I feel the thick wetness of blood on my fingers that I step away from the telescope and stop scratching. I look at Uncle Jared and feel for the note in my pocket. But while I do so, I'm playing the game.

The memory I pull forward is the most important one. I didn't know it then, but Z had already changed everything. Mom and Dad met Z when we came to Louisiana, when they went to that meeting about higher purpose that was advertised on the paper Mom saw at the supermarket.

I never officially met Z. The day after Mom and Dad went to the meeting, my stomach hurt and I skipped out of school early. My bed was in the overhead cab and I had the curtains pulled, so when Mom and Dad came in they didn't know I was there.

I was about to call out to them when I peeked through the curtains and saw they were with someone else.

He was thin and pale, his dark hair streaked with silver. He looked clean, almost sterile, his shirt pressed, his face glowing. His smile was small but he gave off a feeling of pure euphoria. His eyes were the kind of blue that made you blink it was so bright. The kind of blue that kept you captured.

Dad made him herbal tea while Mom sat across from the man in the kitchen booth. Their conversation was hard to follow most of the time, but I understood Z's name and that he was some sort of spiritual leader. His voice was like rich chocolate and I saw Mom's shoulders relax at the sound of it. He spoke of a higher purpose, of a higher plane, of a fulfillment of the soul's tasks on Earth. "Once our work here is finished, we must move on or wither. It is no longer family or friends who are important. It is the soul and only the soul."

Dad set the tea in front of Z and slid in the seat next to Mom. They leaned into each other and held hands. I saw Dad gently squeeze Mom's fingers when Z said Utopia could be found on the tail of a comet.

I knew about comets. We'd been studying them because the comet Promise was nearing Earth and had become visible to the naked eye. It was expected to get brighter over the next few months before continuing its trajectory away from us. A comet was like a big, rocky snowball. Not a road to paradise. I didn't understand what Z meant calling its tail Utopia.

Z stopped talking and gazed up at the overhead cab. I knew I was hidden, but I still felt his eyes spear me when he started speaking again. "Most people are limited in their knowledge. They only know what science tells us." The blue of his irises flashed under the florescent lights. "Even science agrees that comets brought life to this planet. I can tell you they bring life beyond it, too, because I've experienced it. The bright tails you see are souls. Giddy, happy souls on their way to a new level of existence."

The following day, Mom took the silver backed brush and her ruby ring from Grandma into town and came back with a telescope in their place. It was long and thin, and wobbled on the stand she planted into the grass next to the RV. It wasn't very powerful, but it worked well enough. That night she set up an easel and a canvas and painted the comet Promise. It looked like a tiny circle of light back then, but she brought out its mystery and grandeur in her painting. I didn't know what she and Dad did during the day – it's only now that I realize they spent hours with Z – but at night Mom painted the comet. For the next two months we saw the comet grow brighter in the sky as well as on canvas. Dad was nearly in tears when he looked at her new work. "It's her best ever," he'd say. "She's been touched by God."

I should have known something wasn't right. I should have wondered why we didn't move anymore and why Mom was no longer interested in the sun. But it didn't seem important, because Mom and Dad were happier than they'd ever been. And they were there every day when I got home after school.

Well, every day except that last one, six months ago. Love Me Not. Did they ever?

Now I take the note from my pocket. It's worn soft from me caressing it over and over these past six months, from me transferring it from jean pocket to jean pocket. I look one more time through the telescope. That fanned tail of the comet illuminates the sky like a firework. I kept their secret and I hope it did for them exactly what they wanted it to do. Tears prick the backs of my eyeballs as I make a choice and hand my parents' note to Uncle Jared. He takes in my bleeding arm and my wet face and his voice goes down a pitch. "What is it, Star? What's happened?"

I shake my head. "It's what's happening."

Uncle Jared knows about Z. He knows Mom and Dad took off to follow some man across the country. They'd left no forwarding address, no identifying information behind. Not even the name of the cult.

But he didn't know what they'd planned on doing. I've been keeping that knowledge to myself. Until now.

I hand him the note and hear him breathe in and out, a slight rasp on the inhale. He glances at me then down to the note again. "Star...what...what is this?" I don't answer. Instead, I wait for him to read it all. I keep my eyes on the comet, on its super bright tail. For me, there's no need to see the paper. The words burn through my brain. They live under my skin:

It is with infinite joy that we follow Z on the road to Utopia. We are preparing for the final ascension to a higher plane. In a few months, the comet Promise will be at its brightest. It will be a beacon to lead the way.

You must tell NO ONE, Star, or our path home will be thwarted and we will forever be plunged into darkness. You must tell NO ONE, for there will not be such a chance as this for hundreds of years. We are blessed to go together.

When Promise ignites the sky, gaze upon it with awe and wonder. You will see our souls illuminating its tail. Gaze upon it with joy and love, for we are going to the happiest place we shall ever know.

Uncle Jared lets out a moan like he's in pain. He shakes his head. "No. This can't be. This just can't... What does this mean, Star? Where are your parents?"

The comet Promise shines above us and for a split second I revel in how beautiful it is. For a split second I'm happy for my parents, hoping they got there, to their Utopia. That their souls are the reason the comet's tail is so amazing.

"Gone," I say to Uncle Jared.

I don't know how they did it. I imagine once the police find all the bodies – Z and Mom and Dad and maybe some others – we'll find out whether it was a lethal cocktail or carbon monoxide or suffocation. But I know that it's done. And that they wanted it more than they wanted anything else. Ever.

They went to what they believed to be the happiest place in the universe. They made their plans and set out for paradise. But they didn't take me with.

Love Me, or Love Me Not?

# About Katie Hayoz

Katie Hayoz is a popcorn addict and lover of YA fiction. She is the author of Untethered, which was a finalist in the Mslexia novel competition and the recipient of an Indie B.R.A.G. medallion. She is currently acquiring a taste for strong coffee while working on several new novels. Born in the Midwest, she now lives in Geneva, Switzerland, where she shares an apartment with her husband, kids and cats.

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# Collective Thank You

Thank you for purchasing our **Celestial** anthology. We hope you enjoyed the astronomical tales from all our contributing authors.

We always appreciate feedback and hearing from our readers. Your review of the anthology at the retailer where you purchased it would be greatly appreciated.

