“Let’s make a deal.” She leans her head to one side and begins braiding her mocha tresses. “I’ll give you what you want, and vice versa.” When the braid is finished she secures it with a black tie from around her wrist. “We can be sure the other will follow through because we’ll seal the promise with a Kiss of Accord. Fair enough?”
A Kiss of Accord? Hmm. “How do I know this isn’t a trick? How do I know you can help me?”
“I guess you don’t. But let me add this, sweeten the deal a bit. I’m aware you didn’t just come down here to chat about Callings, or even Gage’s interrogation.” She doesn’t miss a beat when she says, “You want to know where Rhyen is.”
I blink, keeping my expression as neutral as possible despite the thudding in my chest. This confirms my intuition was correct. Ebony won’t tiptoe around me. She’s exactly who I need. “Where is he?”
Ebony clicks her tongue. “Do we have a deal?”
Before I can weigh the pros and cons of her offer—and there are most definitely more cons than pros when it comes to Ebony—the ground shakes. The cell doors rattle on their hinges and rubble tumbles from the ceiling. My half sister’s face turns ghostly, contrasting against her pink lips and darker-than-mine hair.
Our eyes meet. She pounds the unaffected glass. “Get me out.”
I glance over my shoulder. Then back at the transparent wall separating us. I could book it or even attempt to mirror walk to a safer place. Alone. Without her.
Would serve her right.
“El, come on!” Her shrill plea only grates my nerves. Where was she when I needed her? When I was the one in trouble and could’ve used a real and true friend?
“El, pleeeassse.” The ceiling in her cell begins to crumble. She covers her head with her arms.
I consider her for another second. Then I groan and press a palm to the glass, clear my throat. My song is scratchy, off-key, and breathy and barely a melody at all. But it’s enough. A sensation like having the air knocked out of me takes over. It’s as if my lungs are being squeezed through a pipe. Normally the transition from here to there is smoother, and not at all painful. This is so not a good sign.
Once I’m inside the cage, Ebony flings her arm toward me.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I should leave her here, make her pay.
“But that’s not who you are,” Ky says, and I swear that’s a smile in his voice.
“Get us out of here,” Ebony screeches.
With her hand in mine, I return to the glass wall. I begin my song but my voice is so raw, I might as well be lip-syncing for the amount of sound coming through my lips. I swallow, shake my head, begin again. Pain shoots up and down my throat and I cry out, making a noise like a beaten donkey. It’s not working.
“Because you’re relying on the wrong thing.”
Ky? Sigh. Help me.
“Think, Em. What did you learn at Nathaniel’s the first time you passed through a mirror?”
I close my eyes and picture it. The musty attic. My cynical grandfather in his ratty old bathrobe. Ky encouraging me, believing in me.
How could I forget?
My eyes open and my soul jolts. Preacher stands on the other side of the glass, his face wrinkled with a mixture of anger and disappointment. He’s pointing a finger at me, commanding me to come out. An all-too-familiar guilt returns and prick, prick, pricks my chest. Preacher’s mad because I lied to him. Because he’s trying to protect me. Maybe Ky was right and Preacher isn’t so bad.
“Finally she gets it.” Ky laughs in my head. “When are you going to learn I am pretty much always right?”
I roll my eyes.
“Reflections to El.” Ebony snaps her fingers in front of my nose. “Now is not the ideal time to pursue a career as a space cadet.”
Where was I? The attic . . . my song . . . the way I felt . . .
Love. Not song alone, but love. I wonder . . . could it work?
Only one way to find out.
This time when I close my eyes and press my palm to the glass I don’t open my mouth. Instead I experience the music, the lyrics, within. I allow the notes to glide across my soul. I feel their reverberations around my heart. They fill me up and undo me at once. I think of Mom and my new sibling. Of Makai, and of course Joshua. And then . . . then I think of Ky. I see his face. Feel his hand in mine.
That’s when the song comes alive, as if it’s awakening my soul. The glass turns liquid beneath my touch.
Ebony and I step through.
ACT II
Poor Unfortunate Souls
FOURTEEN
Joshua
The air on Lisel Island is thin and briny. I breathe deep, my chest expanding as I take it all in. This is where I grew up. Here I am at home.
“Do you think he’s expecting visitors?” Wren asks.
“Nathaniel Archer raised me. I’ve no need for an invitation here.”
“If you say so.” She shrugs, leaving a substantial amount of space between us as we contemplate the remodeled brownstone.
One of my first tasks as interim king was to have a team fix it up, and a fine job they did. I have not had a chance to witness it since the remodel. The caved steps have been demolished and replaced, the door repainted a deep shade of green. The windows are quartz clear, their sills sanded and coated with fresh varnish. Even the planters have been cleared out, at the ready to host flowers come spring.
If only I could have worked on it myself. Perhaps when this is over I can build one for El. She would love that. A place for us alone, away from duty and responsibility. My father had this one built for my mother. A grand gesture would be just the thing—
Wren coughs and I consider her with a sideways glance. She rubs and rolls her neck, breathing deep and stretching. She had a more difficult time than usual transforming into her Mask state tonight, and even then her griffin didn’t appear quite right, her feathers thinned, her beak not fully grown. It was a relief she was able to shift at all. So far it seems Physic and Ever are the only two Callings that have vanished completely, but some of the others have also begun to show signs of wear. Stormy’s shaky Magnet and now Wren’s off-kilter griffin. What will fail next?
Grinding my teeth, I bury my anxiety. My new mortality has made me more cautious as of late, holding me back like a cage. This is why we have come. Nathaniel will have answers.
Wren proceeds up the steps and I follow. Blueprints for El’s country home occupy my brain, filling me with hope for our future once more. She will require a room for her music, a space magnificent enough to house a grand piano. Would she want a sound studio as well, a place where she can record her own music? Where we can record together?
I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. First things first. If I desire a private haven where El and I can be us again, I must stop what’s happening to the Callings and Thresholds before it ventures too far.
Wren knocks on the front door. I chuckle and move past her, twisting the knob and walking straight in. The foyer is not at all how I remember. The wood floor is clean and buffed, the ratty rug removed. “Nathaniel?” I cough and wait. When no answer returns I try again. “Nathaniel. It’s Joshua. Are you home?”