Chapter 58
The wind had known many things in the infinite expanse of its existence.
It had known that humans, for all their failings, were wondrous beings too.
When they were born, the wind rode on their first cry, and when they died, the wind traveled down their final exhale.
The space between that first inhale and that final exhale was filled with what humans called life.
A human’s life, though, was a strange thing.
There was a nameless, unwhispered, unacknowledged longing inside them.
For what? For whom? From birth, they were strangers abandoned on the doorstep of a world where they didn’t belong, and where the spirit of them could never be truly known.
They watched a sunset and marveled in its beauty, but the sun never acknowledged them.
They heard the cool water’s murmur and wept at its promise, but the water flowed past, ignoring their tears.
They stood in the firelight of the stars and longed to reach them, but the stars remained aloof, untouched, and the humans remained unknown.
They longed to be seen. To be known.
They only wanted to find their way home.
There was beauty and splendor in this world, but what did it matter to a human if that splendor never knew them? Never knew they’d walked the hills, traveled the seas, or wondered at the stars.
So they longed, and mostly, none of them spoke out loud what all of them knew. They were exiles in a strange land, longing for the home where they were known.
Where, once, they had been loved.
The boy’s chin was tilted toward the sky, his green eyes the color of a northern forest on a cloudy day. His mouth was turned down at the corners as he stared pensively at the newspaper-covered window in the rundown brick building.
Across the narrow, shadowed street, an old, toothless woman sat behind a table of coyly waving plastic cats, gold-trimmed lace fans, and windup toys that clattered noisily in the late morning.
She’d been watching the boy since he’d left the citrus and pearl dust scented woman’s apartment.
The wind had seen her before. She’d warned the trickster not to enter the building, because people went in but never came out.
She smelled human. Not conjurer. But that didn’t mean anything.
There were no ordinary humans; all of them were capable of infinite good or infinite horror.
The wind brushed against the boy’s cheeks. There were no tears there, but he looked as if he’d almost reached the gates of paradise and had been told he’d have to turn around. That he wasn’t allowed inside.
“Do you think she’ll forgive me?”
The wind huffed. The citrus and pearl dust scented woman was not known for her forgiveness. It wasn’t a quality the Bards valued. The trickster was rare in that he’d forgiven the girl for the basement and the cage, but then he had killed her in retribution.
The wind swirled around the sidewalk, pushing the stagnant air and stirring up dust.
“You’re right. Of course you’re right.” He sighed. “Today didn’t go at all like I planned. Do you think she would’ve liked my gift?”
He smiled, and the wind shoved at his knees.
“You think?”
Of course he should still give it to her. Why not?
The boy nodded. “Why not?” Then he looked at the swirl of dirt the wind had made on the sidewalk. “You’ll stay for a bit? Let me know what she thinks?”
The wind sighed. It would stay.
The boy hurried away, hands in his pockets, a small smile lifting the corner of his lips. As he passed the waving plastic cats, the old woman cackled. “Who were you talking to? Huh? Take my advice, child. Don’t whisper what you don’t want overheard.”
The wind bounced on the plastic cats’ swinging arms and then zipped under the apartment building’s door. It rushed past the figment on the stairs, rode the curve of the banister, and slipped inside the citrus and pearl dust scented woman’s apartment.
They were awake.
The wind tingled at the veil of illusion they’d pasted over the room to keep out unwanted eyes and ears. No one ever considered that the wind could slip through illusion.
“Have you lost your mind? A Ward. You brought a Ward into—”
“Do you think I don’t know? Don’t realize my mistake?”
“No! I don’t think you realize. First, you go and retrieve the lyre for him. A favor. Fine. I didn’t agree with it, but I trusted you knew what you were doing.”
“I did! I kept my word. I owed him.”
“You played right into his hands! You brought the Ward into our safe house, and he rummaged around in our minds and learned who knows what. I yanked a monster out from under the bed who could swipe through my conjurings like she had a pair of scissors and was cutting my guitar strings. She’s dangerous.
” The musician jabbed a finger at the woman, and she flinched.
“And then the front door slams open, and in you stroll with Jacob Ward. Are you kidding me, Lia? Do you want to die?”
The wind swirled around the room, fluttering the pages of the magazines. The woman gripped the magazine the girl had written on. The message was crumpled in her hand.
“Of course not.”
“You could’ve fooled me. Jacob Ward knows we’re alive. The creature that crawled out from under my bed knows we’re alive.”
The woman started to speak, but the musician cut her off.
“And if you think that isn’t related somehow, then you’re kidding yourself. The Ward knew the little monster. He took one look at her and attacked me. He attacked you. The biggest mystery right now is this—why aren’t we dead?”
“I don’t know. Maybe . . . maybe that’s not what it was about. Maybe . . .”
“Stop. I know that look. He’s a Ward, Lia.
They play mind games. It’s fun for them to make people believe things that aren’t real.
He had you trusting him. I don’t know how.
” He held out a hand. “I don’t want to know.
You’re smarter than this. You know Wards get their kicks from twisting people’s minds.
Why would you voluntarily . . .?” The musician narrowed his eyes and peered at his sister.
“Was it voluntary? Or has he used compulsion? Some Ward trick—"
“No! No.” She shook her head, and at the musician’s skeptical look, she added, “You’re afraid of him.”
The musician’s eyes widened. “And you’re not?”
The woman’s lips thinned, and she didn’t answer.
The musician laughed. The wind rolled around in the wild waves of his baritone. His laughter was the sea crashing against the sharp cliffs of a volcanic island.
“Of course I’m afraid of him. He just turned my mind inside out and locked me in a nightmare more horrifying, more sickening, than even the most demented, evil being could imagine.
It feels like he drove a rusted nail through my skull.
It hurts. I couldn’t fight him. He cracked my brain open in half a second, and I had no defense.
He had no pity. No compassion. I could feel him in my mind.
He could’ve killed me with a thought, and you know what?
He didn’t care. That’s a sociopath, Lia.
That’s the Ward. So yeah, I’m afraid of him.
You should be too.” He narrowed his eyes.
“Or did he show you something different? When he knocked you out cold, did he show you hearts and flowers? Was it a sweet romance?”
The woman flushed.
“Really, Lia?”
She threw the magazine at the musician, and it smacked him in the head. The musician blinked and then scoffed.
“I thought you were smarter than this.”
“I am. He didn’t show me romance. It was . . .”
“What?”
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“What, Lia?”
She shrugged. “I was at the seashore. The tide was in, and the surf was washing over my bare feet. The beach was soft yellow sand, and there were tiny pink seashells, and purple and white ones too. It was warm, but the water was cool. I bent to pick up a seashell, and when I looked up, there was a pod of dolphins swimming by . . .”
The wind traced the soft smile on the woman’s face. Her muscles had relaxed, and her gaze had softened as if she were staring over the water, watching the waves roll in.
When the woman looked back at her brother, his face was pale, and he was shaking his head.
“What?” she asked.
“He caught me in a nightmare, but yours was worse. I know what’s coming, but you’re blind to it.
Ask yourself this—if the Ward could kill his sister and not regret it, what makes you think he won’t kill you?
He knew that creature. He chose her over me, and over you.
No matter what you think, you aren’t the Ward’s priority.
If you get in his way, he will kill you.
It isn’t a question. He will. And trust me, he won’t regret it. ”
The woman dropped her chin to her chest and let out a long sigh. The wind tapped the crystal drop hanging beneath her shirt. It was warm against her cool skin.
“I recognized her. She was at the harbor when Jacob called the tsunami. I think she’s one of the leggerock’s creatures. But does that mean Jacob and the leggerock . . .? Or . . .?”
The musician made a gruff sound, neither acknowledgment nor disagreement. The woman nodded, seeming to understand.
The wind sniffed at the spilled coffee, and then the woman finally asked, “Are we going to the wedding?”
“It’s probably a trap.”
“Of course it’s a trap. Dear Dad’ll be there. The Clarks—”
“Jacob Ward.”
“But Luvic . . .” Her cheeks paled, and the wind fluttered down her arm and rested on her trembling hand.
She smelled weaker than usual. Her citrus and pearl dust scent was faded, like a flower that had been picked and only its perfume remained behind. There were bruises on her arms and hollows in her cheeks.
The musician sighed and then closed his eyes and rubbed the lines forming between his eyebrows. “No. If he wanted our help, he would’ve asked for it.”
“Raggie.”
“He can take care of himself.”
“Ragnor Lucindius Vittorious Bard.”