Chapter 40 #2
His gaze lifts to mine, and despite his claim that he didn’t want to talk about this, I get the sense that maybe he needs me as much as I need him right now.
We start moving again, emerging on the far side of the barrier and heading to the low stone sitting in the center. “Sometimes I wonder if someone left these here,” I say. “Some other Keeper who needed this spot, too.”
Rook glances around and then at me before he turns to the sky. We stand side by side, watching the small lilac bursts flashing in the distance.
We lean against the rocks, and Rook pulls something out of his pocket. It’s a tarnished metal circle with a lid, and he flips it open to reveal a glass face with a spinning dial underneath.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“A compass,” he answers. “You use it to tell what direction is north.”
He holds it out to show me, and I watch as it spins and then settles, pointing toward the Wastes. I remember that he has something similar tattooed on his arm.
“Is that how you got here?” I ask, and he nods.
“Partly, yeah.” He points to the sky, and I look up. “Also using the stars.”
“The stars?”
“It’s how they navigated the earth during the Warming Age before they had the right technology. And they used these.”
He holds up the compass and snaps it shut. “My dad got it off a scavenger a long time ago and gave it to me when he realized I was interested in stuff like this.”
“Stuff like this?” I ask. “You have those tattoos, too. They look like maps.”
He nods. “I’ve always been fascinated with . . . adventure, I guess you’d call it. With the places beyond that we lost.”
“Is that why you came here?”
He glances at me and then looks away. “In part.” He points to the sky. “You can’t see it because of the clouds, but if you look that way, you’d find the North Star, and there you’d find Ursa Major and Minor.”
“What are those?”
“Constellations. Basically, clusters of stars that ancient people believed were the manifestation of gods living in the sky.”
I blink up at the clouds. “Like pictures?”
“Not quite. They’re more abstract than that.”
“Do you have a favorite?”
He seems to consider the question. “Maybe Andromeda. Lately, I’ve become more interested in it.”
“Why?”
He shrugs and shakes his head. “I guess it reminds me of someone.”
I think again of some beautiful girl he left behind as sharp pins fill my stomach.
“That’s a pretty name. What does it look like?”
“I’ll show you a picture sometime.”
“Okay,” I say as I follow the direction of his distant stare, wondering what’s on his mind.
I feel small and insignificant when I stand under the sky like this. It stretches so far, and I again think of all those worlds that once existed. The countries and cities and billions of people who once crowded this planet. I wonder if it’ll ever be like that again.
“My home is comfortable,” Rook says, picking up the conversation from before like we never left it. “My parents are the best. My dad is my hero, and my brothers and sister are little pains in the ass, but I love them all.”
I wait, sensing he has more to say.
“But it hasn’t always been an easy life.” He waves a hand at the sky. “We’ve had to do what we must to survive.”
I sense something he can’t bring himself to say buried in that statement.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again. “I shouldn’t have assumed—”
He shakes his head. “I understand what you’re told about us, and why would you know any different?”
I sigh, yet again feeling like a complete ass. “You’re letting me—all of us—off too easily with that.”
He shoots me a dark look, softened by reflections of purple in the darkness of his pupils.
“We’re your enemy, Poet. Don’t forget that. My people would come into this city and take everything if they could. One day, they might.”
There’s no threat in his words, just a statement of fact. This is what we’ve always been told. I blink because that’s the first time he’s ever said my name, and I like how it sounds coming from his mouth.
But it also brings with it the reminder of who and what he is.
Of who we both are, and that we’re standing on opposite ends of a chasm.
Another flash in the distance draws both our attention.
“Who was Raine?” he asks, so softly I almost don’t hear it.
“How did—”
“That guy—he said something when you were arguing in the hall.”
“Knox.”
“Whatever,” Rook says. “I don’t give a shit what his name is. He’s a fucking asshole.”
I laugh because he really is.
“My older brother, Raine. He was a Breaker,” I say. “A group of Solitudes tried to sneak into the city via his Storm Tower, the Guard was overwhelmed, and . . . He was killed in the fight.”
I blow out a breath of a thousand shards stitched together. “I miss him every day.”
Rook is silent, and then he asks, “How old was he?”
“Twenty-two. Way too young.”
“I’m sorry,” he says after a minute. “There’s too much needless death in this place.”
My gaze jumps to his because this, too, is bordering on something he shouldn’t be giving voice to, especially now that he’s pledging to Aria.
He will be one of us soon.
But then I say, “Yeah. Maybe.”
Another bright flash draws us to the horizon as the storm moves closer, the clouds swelling and fighting for space. Glowing points of light grow larger, spreading out.
“It’s coming,” I whisper, and I feel him nod.
“Do you know anyone else . . . like us?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “Not quite like us.”
I stare at him. I remember the first day he arrived, when I caught that deep flash of purple in the midnight of his hair. I thought it was just the light, but now I realize . . .
“Is your hair natural?” I ask.
He huffs out a short breath. “It is.”
I offer him a smile. “Mine too.”
I press my lips together and then ask, “Do you think it’s because we’re . . .” I trail off, barely able to acknowledge it. Once I do, it’s real. There will be no taking it back.
“Maybe.”
After a pause, I voice a question I’ve always wanted to ask someone but never could. “So why aren’t they searching for us?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure. Maybe it isn’t a common enough trait for them to know about?”
“You think?”
“I really don’t know.”
We stare at each other. My pulse gallops, and I marvel at the mystery of Rook, but maybe he’s starting to feel a little familiar.
He breaks eye contact first, and again, we fall into silence as the clouds swirl and purple flashes illuminate the sky.
I tip my face up as the wind tosses my hair and wait for the storm to draw closer.
More flashes and more rumbles as the breeze picks up.
Without really meaning to, I move closer to Rook. He does the same until we’re touching, shoulder to shoulder.
I feel the brush of his hand against mine. I look up, meeting his gaze as he stares down at me. “I never thought I’d find someone else . . . like this,” I say. “A monster. A danger. A . . . curse.”
“Is that what you think you are?” he asks, tipping his head.
“Aren’t I?”
“You didn’t choose this, Poet Graves.”
“No, but I could turn myself in.”
He blinks and shakes his head, as if coming to some kind of conclusion, but he doesn’t say anything else.
“I thought I’d always be alone,” I add. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. It’s too much. It’s too open and vulnerable. The storm is working its way under my skin, making me reckless.
His mouth presses together, the corners tipping up in what might almost be a smile.
Then he does something I wasn’t expecting.
He lifts his hand and holds it out, palm side up.
“What will happen?” I ask. “If we’re touching?”
He shrugs. “I’m not sure, but I’ve always wondered. I only know what it feels like when I’m alone.”
“Like you’re being torn up from the inside?”
“Yes. Until it changes. Until it becomes . . . bliss.”
I smile, knowing what he means. “I crave it sometimes. Even though it hurts.”
“I do, too.”
Slowly, I slide my hand into his. His warm fingers close around mine. The wind is cold and the air is crisp, but I’m suddenly several degrees warmer. He licks his lips, and I’m again thinking about what it would be like to kiss him.
Maybe he’s thinking it, too, because he leans in as my heart pounds in my throat.
A blast has us both snapping apart as a burst of Spark hits the ground about thirty feet away. A plasma arc swells from the earth, crackling with amethyst energy. We both watch as it slowly dissipates, and the clouds flash and burn through the dark, endless sky.
More Spark hits the earth, and then I sense the moment I’m about to be hit. A pulsing stroke breaks from the clouds, hurtling toward us. It hits me, and I squeeze Rook’s hand as I brace myself for the impact.
But it’s different. There’s no bone-ripping agony. Instead, there is only the euphoria. That endless cotton-candy feeling when I’m hovering above the world, waves of golden light melting through my limbs.
My lips part as I gasp, and I watch Rook from the corner of my eye. He’s in shock. I can tell he’s feeling the same. That this is different. We’re holding hands, and it doesn’t hurt. What does it mean?
It might be the most perfect moment of my life.
Slowly, he turns to look at me as we’re engulfed inside the swell of the plasma arc. I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t think I could put it into words if I tried.
The arc reaches its pinnacle, cracking with energy, before it winks out.
Rook’s body shimmers with a net of sparks, glowing in his hair, on his clothes, even on the tips of his eyelashes. We’re still holding hands, clinging like we’ll fall through the earth if either one of us lets go.
A moment later, we’re left in relative darkness.
The sky continues to flash, but the storm is already moving away.
“What just happened?” I whisper.