Chapter 33
Neverthorn.
Why did everything always bring me back to Neverthorn?
Only this time, I watched what was happening from the outside looking in. People passed by me and through me, as if I weren’t there.
I saw myself at sixteen, hair braided down my back, head down as I hurried toward my classes.
But more than that, I saw Typhon watching me, using runes to deflect runes cast at me by Nikita and her friends.
“I never knew,” I whispered.
Instead of following my younger self, I followed Typhon. But really, it was the same thing. Typhon tracked me through the halls, keeping me safe without me ever knowing. Even in class, I watched as he kept the teacher’s attention off me.
But why? What did I mean to him even then? I thought he hated me. We’d only met once I arrived at Neverthorn.
“It doesn’t make sense. Why when he didn’t even know me?” My voice seemed to send me spinning.
The world shifted, giving me a lurch to the guts, and I stood in the park across from my mother’s apartment complex that we lived in for my first five or six years. I didn’t remember it except from the pictures we had from that time.
The mustard-yellow buildings. The red slide that had gone silver from so many children using it, the swings that smelled like the rubber of the seats was burning in the summer.
I did a slow turn to see my much younger self at the top of the slide – from what I knew from pictures I was about four. My hair was in long silvery blonde pigtails, and I wore a pair of coveralls with a bright red shirt underneath it.
“I have a picture from this day,” I said out loud.
What was special about this day, to warrant a picture? What happened that had made my mom want to capture it?
My mom stepped into my frame of vision and held out her arms. “Harlow, I’ll catch you.” Her voice was sweet, sing-song, and it struck a note in my chest. Her voice before she got sick.
Wrapping my arms around my middle I clung to myself, as if it were her arms, still catching me. Still there when I couldn’t catch myself.
The little version of me didn’t slide on her ass, no, I stood up and ran down the slide, letting gravity help me pick up speed, until I leapt at the bottom, pushing off the lip of the slide.
I reached for her, totally trusting that I wouldn’t hit the ground, but instead would fly.
And my mother caught me, spun me around and lifted me high, both of us laughing.
I wanted to lock that sound away, keep it forever with me.
Instead, I choked on a sob, my chest burning with emotions that wanted to spill out.
“Why this?” I did a slow turn, blinking as a woman with long dark hair that fell to her waist in soft curls stepped up next to my mom, her olive complexion smooth and bright with vitality.
She looked familiar. How did I know her?
“When do you leave?” My mom reached out to the dark-haired woman, sliding her arm around her waist. “I’m going to miss you, my friend, even though I know you have to go.”
“I’m going to miss you too.” She had an accent. Spanish maybe. There was a pause, a single beat, and then she sighed. “Tomorrow morning.”
“All the way across the country.”
“As far as I can go to get away from him. He won’t be able to find us there. He won’t be able to hurt either of us ever again.”
They held onto each other as the little version of me swung on the swings, my legs pumping, getting pushed by –
My stomach flipped over on itself and I took a step. “Typhon?”
His hair was as dark as his mother’s, his eyes the same but not nearly as serious.
“Higher, Ty!” I yelled.
He grinned and pushed, running underneath me at the peak. How did I not remember this? Wouldn’t there have been . . . something? Our moms were best friends, facing down shitty baby daddies together apparently.
“Maybe they will find each other at school.” I turned as Typhon’s mom spoke.
“No. She . . . she can’t go to Neverthorn.” Mom rubbed her arms, not unlike I’d done earlier. “It’s not safe, not with . . . who her father is.”
Typhon’s mom let out a string of curses. “That bastard used you. You deserve far better.”
“I know that now. And I don’t regret it, not when I have Harlow. I will do what I must do to keep her safe. Just as you do what you must to keep Typhon safe.”
What neither saw was Typhon standing next to them, silent in his approach as . . . what, a six-or seven-year-old? “I won’t let anyone hurt her. I’ll curse them! With a huge curse!”
My mom dropped to one knee in front of him, pulling him into a hug. “Oh, Ty, you are a good friend to Harlow.”
“She’s my best friend. I won’t let anyone hurt her, not ever.”
My heart ached to the point that I thought it would stutter and stop, and my eyes flooded. Was this why we were so connected? Did he remember even if I didn’t?
Little me leapt from the swing and landed in a crouch, then ran across the space and . . . Typhon caught me mid-air, spinning me around as we laughed and tumbled to the ground, wrestling as only little kids can.
This was my past, though I’d been too young to remember it.
This had to be why Typhon and I were unable to let each other go.
A shared childhood of memories buried under two lives fighting for survival.
I drew a deep breath and found myself standing back on the path in the circle, all alone.
The scent of wax and smoke, the soft call of birds that didn’t truly exist, the feeling of wind against my face.
Limbs shaking, muscles quivering, I realized I had walked while I’d been seeing the past, until I stood in front of my next choice. But I could barely see the cups in front of me on the ground, not when the memories I’d experienced washed back over me.
I pressed my fingers to my forehead, swaying. “This . . . can’t be.”
Typhon had been in my life far longer than I’d ever known. I went to my knees, still not really seeing the next part of the ritual – only seeing the past and wanting to hang onto it a little longer.
The younger version of me had trusted him, throwing her body at him, and fully expecting him to catch her.
“He said I was his best friend.” I frowned and shook my head. “But in school he treated me like I had the plague.” Sure, he’d protected me, but he’d nearly murdered me in the process –
The truth hit me like a hammer between the eyes and the words spilled out of me. “He didn’t know yet that he couldn’t Draw magic from me when his Quirk first came on. He stayed clear to . . . to keep me safe. To protect me like he said he would.”
I struggled to swallow, my throat tightening as I said the truth out loud, and I closed my eyes, only to see him again in the halls of Neverthorn, see him again on the playground. Protecting me when I didn’t even know.
He’d been my shadow for so many years.
But I couldn’t stop there, I had to keep going if I was going to get through this.
A few more long, deep breaths, pushing the newly found memories aside.
Finally, who knew how many minutes later, I looked down.
On the ground at my knees, set deep into the sand, were two more cups, simple pottery again, rounded without handles.
One held a clear liquid with rising bubbles that made me think it was just a bottle of clear pop.
The other cup held a deep red liquid that moved slowly in a counterclockwise motion as if something swam within it, rippling and humping.
I did a slow look around. “What, no guide?”
You are the present guide. You are the only one who knows who and what you are in this moment. Don’t fight the tide. Let it carry you.
The words resonated through my head, but they were not from me. It sounded like Bryony.
I frowned. “Well, I’m not drinking something that has a swimmer in it.” There was really no other reasoning for me – I liked pop and didn’t want to bring something to my mouth that might try to bite me.
The clear liquid was cool, and fizzy, but warm as it washed past my lips which was . . . odd. I tipped the cup up, draining it to the last dregs, hints of lavender and lemon dominating my tongue.
“Lovely.” I set the cup down and moved to stand as a cramp slammed through my belly – pain arched through me, wrapped itself around my heart and squeezed.
I couldn’t breathe.
My heart felt like it was breaking, torn from my chest by dirty, ragged fingers.
The world spun, I flopped onto the path, watching my breath blow out across the sandy circle as my vision shifted away.
There was a moment when I was above treetops, through a forest, and then my spirit, or whatever I was made up of was being blown along on a winter’s wind, high above a dank, stone castle.
The second I laid eyes on it, dread filled my entire being and I nearly screamed as I was sucked into the cobblestone chimney.
A whoosh, and then darkness for a long moment before the light crept in again. The smell hit me first, unwashed bodies, rank fear, sweat, the coppery tang of old blood. I gagged and put the back of my hand to my mouth as I squinted, searching the gloom.
This was a place of darkness, the walls were cracked and as my eyes adjusted, I could see Dwimmers on their knees, casting a single rune, over and over, at a space on a blank wall that vibrated with black threads.
There were easily three rows of them, as if they were in pews at church only on their knees.
A gust of air filled my nose with the smell of rot.
Fighting back a gag, I made myself do a slow turn. Who were these people? Was it some sort of secret cult run by Nocta or the Senate? And what did it have to do with me and my present?
I buried my nose and mouth into the crook of my arm and moved closer. It was only then that I realized where the stench was coming from. Not all the Dwimmers were moving. Some lay on their sides at the feet of their brethren . . .
Dead.
Some were dead and already decomposing, their bodies turning into liquid mush that was leaking across the floor.
“Shit.” I gagged and stumbled back.
Gods above and below. This was a place of death and torture. But where? And why was I here?