Lucina
The sun is setting as we pass through town, taking the main street through the heart of the city.
Small shops and diners are lively with music and laughter, restaurant seats spilling out over the sidewalks.
String lights hang between streetlamps, illuminating the worn brick buildings.
The air is hot and sticky, rolling off my sunglasses and tussling my hair like a kiss from the coastline, leaving behind a salty residue so thick I can taste it.
The majority of East Draycott is coastline, at least fifteen miles of white sandy beaches, hugged by the swelling waters of Orto Bay.
The Barrier borders the bay, the shimmering boundary tempting me even a hundred feet from the shoreline.
It protects us from the Savage Sea—thousands of restless leagues that could sink ships and swallow survivors with a single crest of a frigid wave.
A silent death.
I think that’s what I’d want. Water sloshing through my ears loud enough to quiet my thoughts as the deep rumble of the ocean pulses around me, slower and slower, matching the tune to my heavy heart as I float lifeless to the bottom. However deep it goes.
But I’m sure I won’t have a say in death; Fate’s a bitch when she wants to be, and she doesn’t seem to like me all that much.
Ivy slams on her brakes, and I lurch forward, my seatbelt yanking taut; a vital accessory if you plan on surviving a car ride with Miss what's-the-point-of-a-blinker.
A young boy has chased a bright yellow balloon out in the middle of the street; his neatly pressed khakis and smoothed back hair tell me he’s from the West side of town, where their homes are opulent and gated.
His mother rushes out to get him, her navy blue and white sundress crisp and her designer perfume cutting through the salt-dusted air.
She tosses a scowl over her shoulder at Ivy as she gently ushers the boy out of the street, his balloon floating up higher by the second.
Ivy curses, edging her foot off the brake until a squeal emits so loud that heads turn in the open window restaurants—rich folk that aren’t used to hearing old cars.
The only benefit to summers full of stupidly wealthy families from the west is the money they circulate.
They come east for the rustic charm of a coastal town.
The money we make from tourists funds our economy through the off-season, but by the time spring arrives, we’re emptying our pockets for a can of soda. Turning mattresses over to pay rent.
Ivy takes the main road to the coast, and when we finally pull up to the Cove, the sun has fully sunk below the horizon. The windshield fogs up as we idle beside the other cars parked haphazardly over the dunes.
Aura’s Crossing happens once every few years when her planet passes Vita, flashing just a glimpse of the Elysian fields. Just a taste of eternity. I honestly can’t wait—
I see a black Pontiac across the dunes, and my stomach sinks…or maybe that’s me sinking…slumping down into the seat—
“Don’t you dare,” Ivy scolds when she sees where my gaze lingers. “This is Topher’s favorite place, Cin, and everyone’s here tonight. Aura’s Crossing has always been the clearest over the Cove.”
I inhale deeply, zipping the silver charm along my necklace and pressing the glass handle of vodka to my lips while Ivy scrounges around her back seat for a water bottle to pour it into. “I know.” I force a mouthful down my throat, gritting out as I swallow, “I’m fine.”
Topher Reeves. The first boy I ever loved.
He told me we’d leave town in that car, among other broken promises he never really meant to keep.
It always was a mind game with him, an addictive game that I’m lucky to have escaped when I did.
What we had was like knowingly drinking poison or walking over hot coals.
Surviving it was a rush so intoxicating, I convinced myself the injury was worth it.
That the lowest points, as shadowed as they were, didn’t burn quite like the highs do.
Topher was a dream that felt worth chasing, as fractured as it was. In a world where I didn’t have much else, I savored the destructive way in which we burned. I think I was addicted to it.
Fuck. That. Stupid. Car.
Ivy snatches the vodka from my hands and pours it into a crinkled bottle. “Want me to slash the tires? I’ll do it.”
And she would.
“No,” I groan, letting my head fall to the headrest. “You don’t get it.”
“You’re right, I don’t,” Ivy sighs, “and I hope I never do.”
Ivy’s never given anyone enough leverage to shatter that vulnerable organ in her chest. She’s never seen a familiar car and been reminded of all the times she sat in it.
She won’t understand why I remember all the times he and I crawled to the back seat, but find myself forgetting all the times I slammed the door shut and walked home.
“Whatever thought you’re lost in, get out of it.” Ivy snaps her fingers in front of my face, and my mouth opens to remind her that— “And don’t tell me I don’t understand,” she interrupts, confidently anticipating what I’d say.
“But it’s not—"
“Yes, Cin, it is that easy.” Ivy fluffs her auburn hair, unclicks my seatbelt for me, and tucks the crinkled vodka bottle under her arm.
“You’re wearing rose-colored glasses,” she blurts, turning in her seat to face me.
“Stop hoarding the shiny image you’ve painted of him; it doesn’t exist anymore. ”
It always burns when Ivy rips off my band aids.
She pushes the door open, swinging her legs out of the jeep, then she sighs when I don’t move, can’t move. My eyes burn, the lump in my throat falling and making my chest heavy. Chiaros, I wish I could rip this feeling out of my chest and shove it down his throat instead.
Ivy sucks on her teeth, my silence enough to confirm that I’m indeed…spiraling.
Down.
Down—
“Why don’t you picture what he looked like hanging off some other girl?” Ivy quips, catching me before I fall to where all my bad decisions take root.
I slowly roll my head to face her. “That really helps, thanks.”
“I’m serious.” She plants both hands on her hips. “Get rid of the way you used to see him and picture him all tangled up with someone who isn’t you. Remember how that felt?”
Like my world crumbling around me.
“Picture him,” Ivy spreads her arms wide, “laid back in that booth, not a care in the world—"
“Stop that,” I beg, my teeth grinding so hard I fear they’ll crack.
But Ivy continues, “Picture his arm slung over shoulders that weren’t yours.”
That mushy feeling in my chest hardens like stone, and the corner of Ivy’s mouth kicks up, triumphant.
I can’t help but picture it, the version of Topher that I saw at the Diner that day. A laid-back, calm, and slightly stoned Topher, who was dumb enough to think he could cheat in a small town and lacked the brain cells to hide it.
I clench my fists until my knuckles turn white, push open the door, hop out of the jeep on perfectly stable legs, and slam the rusted thing shut behind me.
“There she is,” Ivy grins, following me into the Cove.
The sound of voices and music fills the air as we crest the dune.
The Cove is a tucked-away corner of white sand, a wooden structure in the back with paddleboards, kayaks, and other random floats.
Some people have already taken to the water, legs dangling off the sides of their boards as they swim out past the cliffside to get an unobstructed view of the sky.
A bonfire blazes in the middle of the sand with worn, mismatched chairs set out around it.
Ivy and I melt into the thick mass of partygoers, cigarette smoke punching me in the face instantly.
She snags us some cups, scooping them through the beer ice and mixing our vodka with lukewarm lemonade.
We push our way through the crowd, snagging two empty chairs just outside all the revelry.
Ivy leans back, kicking a foot over her knee, and I scan the dark water before us.
Waves move at the whim of the moon, kissing the shore before sinking back to the deep. I search for the horizon line, it’s growing harder to see by the second now that the sky has been painted black, stars blooming across the dark canvas like tiny silver flowers.
If I squint, I can see the Barrier—the shimmering, iridescent reminder of everything I can’t see beyond it.
Like the Savage Sea with its ruthless waves, the barren plains of Griseo, and the once vibrant city in the north that belonged to the people Nana would tell us stories about.
Sol. Witches. Anomalies—our textbooks called them.
Freaks of nature, defying all laws of it.
Their extinguished city isn’t what people fear; it’s whatever had the power to snuff it.
I spot Topher peeling his shirt off and barreling into the water like a little fucking kid.
His dirty blonde hair is a mess, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and by the unsteady way he’s wading through the water, I can tell he’s drunk.
Seeing him so carefree pisses me off. I sort of hope he drowns.
“Stop that.” Ivy clocks my stare, effectively breaking it with the towel she tosses at my head. “Chiaros, you’re like a cat.”
“That was a hate stare,” I assure her.
“Well, I sure hope so because if—” Ivy’s voice trails off, her gaze cutting up to my brother as he sets a chair right next to hers, so close that the armrests overlap. Her mood shifts instantly, her shoulders tense and spine straight. “Can I help you?”
Jude’s tall, lanky self sinks into his seat, and then he flashes Ivy a big, goofy smile.
“There are a lot of ways you can help me, Ivanna.”
Gross.
And just like that, her lip is curled back in a snarl, her finger raised and pointed right between his eyes. “Call me that again and I’ll skin you alive.”
I laugh, and Jude swings his head in my direction, as if he just now realized I’m sitting here. It’s always like that when he’s around Ivy.
I smile at him. “Hi, Jude.”