Chapter twenty-one
We pack a few days’ worth of clothes and food. Aris needs none of it; though curious at first about the concept of eating, he’s decided that he hates swallowing, and he’s worn the same dark shirt and pants for months now, as they never dirty or wrinkle.
He carries the supplies in a rucksack we found, a gentlemanly gesture that makes me smile. I don’t think to protest that I should carry my own belongings and pull my weight; I am too charmed.
Aris waits for me on the porch, and, as we start walking together, I ask, “Are you sure you can do it?”
“I think so.”
We come to a stop at the edge of the forest, and I almost smile as Aris raises his hands. Before, his powers were used with half a thought; they were part of him, an extension of himself. Now, he’s standing like a superhero in a default action pose, brows furrowed like he seeks to shoot lasers from his palms. He looks inexperienced, and almost goofy
A few seconds pass, and Aris steps closer, touching the bark of one of the humongous trees. Immediately, the thing disintegrates, black ash the only reminder that it ever existed. The destruction sets off a chain reaction—like dominos, the surrounding trees erupting into dark confetti—and onward and on.
With the implosion of each tree, the forest clears, revealing flat, unassuming land. The once impenetrable darkness surrenders to sunlight as ash coats the ground and offers a new stain to the setting. The feeling of unease and nausea is gone.
“Aren’t you going to ask?” says Aris, turning to me.
“What?”
“If I am the same.” Aris reaches to pluck ash from my hair. “If I have become corrupted.”
I watch him, the gentleness in which he handles me betraying the answer to the question. There was never any need to ask. “Have you?” I say to play along .
His hand moves to my cheek, fingers curling as he works a single, cold stroke. “It was beautiful, in a disturbed way,” admits Aris. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and it stays put. “But I think you are more beautiful.”
“And more disturbed?”
Aris smiles, mischievous and delighted, and offers me a hand. We begin walking.
“Tell me.”
“Roller skating. Ice skating. Skateboarding.”
“A lot of skating. What else?”
“Bowling. I used to hate it, though. I always got gutter balls.”
“‘Let’s not do something that you hated. What else is there?”
“Libraries?”
“Too boring.”
“What? You like reading!”
“And you take forever to finish a book. Give me that something we can do together.”
“What about amusement parks? County fairs?”
“Better. Give me more like that.”
I think for a moment while Aris swings our interlocked hands. “We could see a movie.”
Aris rolls his eyes. “Because we haven’t done that already?”
“A movie in a theater ,” I say, giving him a playful glare. “With buttery popcorn and candy and a huge soda to go along with it.”
“That is different,” he says after a moment. “It would be nice to see something new, instead of the same movies over and over again.”
“You have a point with that one.”
“What else is there?”
“What about zoos? A big one, with all kinds of animals and a reptile exhibit. ”
“I like that. What else?” “How about museums? We’ve got all kinds: history, art, science.”
Aris doesn’t immediately respond, and I take some time to think of other places we could go, things we could do. All that he’s seen of the world is from television, and, once we’re out there, he wants to experience it all.
We’ve been walking for hours, taking breaks here and there so I can rest. At first, I wondered if we’d ever get out of this place, or if Jaegen really did put us in some twisted dimension. Now, my fear has temporarily abated; there’s a silo atop a green field in the distance, a sign of civilization.
“What if none of that is left?” Aris says, distracting me. “The broadcasts showed nothing but rubble.”
I glance at him, heart stuttering at his dejected face. I want him to be excited again. Demanding— what else, what else, Mary ?
“It’s possible,” I say carefully, “but people will make new things. We’re good at that.”
“But what about art that is priceless, or tablets carved centuries ago? They cannot be replicated.” He pauses for a moment. Our hands are no longer swinging, but he doesn’t let go. “When I released myself on those trees, I enjoyed it, but there are consequences to destruction. How could I not have understood that?”
“You did, but… you just didn’t care.”
“Why?”
I think of how we stood and watched cities burn. “People didn’t matter,” I say.
“But you mattered.”
I’m not sure, but I don’t say that. We continue in silence for a minute or two. Finally, he says, “Certainly, there is at least one zebra left. Two, hopefully. Then they can mate and make many more zebras.”
I look at him. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“ Zoos , Mary,” he says so emphatically that I have to laugh, and he grins as well.
“I’m sure there’s lots of zebras,” I tell him, relieved that his mood has lifted. “Rhinos, too.”
“Alligators? ”
“Oh, yeah. And crocodiles.”
“Elephants.”
“And a big ostrich.”
“Hippos.”
The two of us continue walking, listing animal after animal.
By twilight, we’ve neared the silo—close enough to see that it’s badly maintained. Abandoned, maybe. It makes sense; Aris poisoned the soil and killed crops. Why would any grain be left?
“You will have to sleep soon,” Aris points out. “What will we do?”
There is a chill in the air, abated by the jackets we packed, but the wind pierces the cotton. It isn’t cold enough to shiver, just mildly uncomfortable. The issue is that the temperature will drop throughout the night.
“We could sleep in the silo?”
He gives me a look that tells me exactly what he thinks of that. “I’m a god, and we’ve no choice but to sleep on the ground? Can’t I make us a bed, or take us somewhere?”
“You used to be able to teleport, but you can’t make things.”
Aris’ jaw works. Even now, decidedly less interested in his abilities, he doesn’t like hearing of his limitations. “We spent the entire day walking, and you’re telling me I can teleport?” says Aris.
“Well, you don’t know how to do it now , do you?”
He says, petulantly, “I could learn.”
“Before nightfall?”
Aris doesn’t respond, and we continue walking, passing the silo. And then: “So I’m supposed to have you sleep on the ground?” he demands.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, and he scoffs.
“And tomorrow, and the day after?” Aris asks. “We need a place where we can be safe and have a life together. I must relearn my power. Not because of avarice or because I am becoming who I used to be, but to provide for you. ”
“The rules we made are there for a reason,” I say meaningfully.
He lets out a quiet scoff. I know he thinks I’m being ridiculous; he believes he could never revert, but I didn’t invent the wonder in his expression when he mowed down those trees. Death and decay will draw him, always; they are what he is, the concept he was created to exhibit.
Now, he values art and animals. But what happens once he actually sees a zebra and the allure is gone? What will draw his attention next?
“What do you propose we do?” he says.
“What?”
“You have shot down all of my ideas.”
“Because they’re bad,” I tell him, my scorn half-hearted. Truth is, I don’t have an alternative. I think he knows that.
“What about your family?”
I stiffen and pull my hand out of his to rub at my arms. I haven’t told him about my parents—my mother, more specifically. It wasn’t like I was trying to hide things, but it isn’t something I advertise, either.
“I’m disowned,” I say simply.
A pause. “Because of me,” he states.
Not a question, so I don’t answer it.
“Do you blame me?” asks Aris.
“We’re getting off topic.”
“I see, so now you want to talk about our homelessness.”
I shoot him a look as we continue trodding along. We’re at the edge of what might have once been a crop field. Now, the soil is like brown sand, the nutrients completely drained.
“It isn’t really your fault,” I say once I realize that he won’t let up. “My mom always hated me.”
“I’m sure that isn’t true.”
“No, actually. She wrote a book about it. Called me a monster. So… no family. No friends. No one.” I cross my arms over my chest, thinking of Simon, and then Henry. I wouldn’t know the first thing about contacting them, and neither would be willing to associate with Aris after what he did. “What’s with you? You’re being quiet.”
“I’m thinking. ”
“About?”
“How hurt you are.”
I give him another look, which he returns with a keen stare. He halts in his tracks, and I stop walking, too, incredulous.
“What are you—?”
“Mary.” He closes the distance between us, hands going to my upper arms with a firm, solid flex of his fingers. “Let me take care of you. Let me be there for you. The way that none of them are.”
His eyes, so ebony they are soulless, bore into my own. In them, I see his emotion as plain as day—desperation so intent that it’s becoming despair.
“What is it, Mary? There’s more, beyond you believing I’ll revert. Why don’t you want me to use my abilities?”
I consider my words carefully, looking at the dead ground for inspiration. Finally, I return his gaze and say, “Maybe I want to take care of myself. Do you think I like having to rely on you—that, without you or Jaegen, I’m stuck sleeping in the dirt?”
Something passes across his face, and he nods slowly. “I see.”
I stare at him, jarred after having the humiliating truth pulled from me. “You see?”
“Yes. I see.”
He lets go of me so abruptly that the absence makes me gape, and I’m about to protest until he manages a clever maneuver—knocking my legs out from under me, making me spin and panic, hardly registering that I’m falling until he catches me safely in his arms, taking the brunt of the impact as we roll on the soil. When we come to a stop, he is on top of me, his legs wrapped around my own, arms propped beside my head.
“Aris!” I exclaim, breathless and uncertain and kind of turned on?
“Mary,” he replies.
His cheekbones and smile are accentuated by the setting of the sun, the pink and orange contrasting his harsh, black beauty. I look past how handsome and capable he is, annoyance burrowing. I just told him something vulnerable, a pain I haven’t acknowledged because I didn’t have the time, and he’s being playful .
“Aris,” I grit out.
“Mary,” he repeats with the same smile.
My face contorts with irritation and I go to fight him off—he’s let me go before, at least with his memory like this—but he shakes his head and I stall the movement.
He raises an arm from the ground, staying balanced with his knees and forearm in the dirt, bringing his hand to my face. Aris, I know, loves touching my face. There are many ways that he does it: casually, absently, to give me a sense of comfort. But now, it is ardent.
“You think you’re not powerful?” he says quietly.
The question triggers me. I shift in discomfort, my hips bucking against him, and he hisses, then laughs. “Behave, Mary.”
I flush, go still, and he settles, continuing to swipe his thumb over my cheek. Slowly, his hand lowers to my throat. His thumb continues stroking, this time on my windpipe, but he halts when he finds my pulse point.
I am not… afraid. Not exactly. But I am acutely aware of his strength. As I often do, I go back to his mindless shattering of stone.
Aris does not press down, but he keeps his hand there. At first, I think that he’s messing with me—mocking me, even, but then he says, “An actual god came to you. He did not ask for your help; his ego would not allow that, but Jaegen recruited you because he needed you.”
I stay still, listening.
“And me…” Aris sighs. He moves his hand back to my face.
“You?” I whisper.
He smiles. “Me. A god just the same, or close enough. Something that would end a world for you, save a world for you. Whatever you asked. Maybe that isn’t the kind of power you want, but it is power.”
The look in his eyes is disconcerting and hypnotic. The intensity makes me tight and loose.
We are laying in dirt, on land he destroyed, in a world he wanted to decimate. And with him above me like this, it’s as though he’s vapor again. Inside me. Under my skin. I feel him in my blood, strongest where my life is at its thinnest: wrists and throat.
“Whatever I ask,” I repeat.
He strokes my cheek. “Within reason.”
“Now you’re adding conditions.”
“Well,” tuts Aris, “what if you wanted something ridiculous? What if you demanded I kill you? I couldn’t do that, so, yes, within reason , Mary.”
I say nothing, and he continues, “You see now, how strong you truly are, so set your ego aside and allow me to provide for you.” “And if you get a taste for power?” I challenge.
“Then tell me to stop. And I will.”
We stare at each other, both stubborn. There is a bit of humor in his expression, hubris, as if he knows he’s already won. But… worry, too. He does care about me, and it is getting dark. I’m cold, and don’t I understand how difficult it is to watch me shiver when he could change that so easily?
“Maybe…” I say slowly, rolling my eyes at his slow-growing grin. “ Maybe you could teleport us somewhere. And get that smile off your face.”
“At once, Mary,” he replies and attempts to school his expression, but the ends of his lips still curl.
His eagerness is enough to make me smile back, and Aris’ eyes dip to my mouth before remembering himself, quickly standing to extend a hand to me. After a moment, I accept it, allowing him to haul me up.
“Where to?” he asks.
“I get to choose?” I say, raising a brow.
“Naturally.”
“Well…” I brush the dirt off of myself while studying him—of course, his clothes are still impeccable. The only time they were destroyed was when he was peppered with bullets in Berlin. “If I pick somewhere, how do we know we’ll be in the right place? Maybe you’ll land us in the middle of a volcano.”
“My navigation skills are excellent,” scoffs Aris. “There was an atlas at the cabin! ”
My smile grows at his playful indignation. I don’t really doubt him, but I need a moment to think. Truth is, the world’s a big place, and I have no idea where to go.
“Somewhere warm?” I say, trembling as the wind rushes past.
He nods in quick agreement and reaches a hand out for me.
I take it.
“Somewhere warm,” Aris tells me, and the world around us disappears and reforms.
The new ground sinks beneath my feet—sand, we’re on a beach—and I look out at a clear, turquoise ocean. The air is humid, but not enough to feel sticky, and at first I think we’re in the Caribbean—where else could the water be so clean?—until I notice the sun high in the sky. We must have gone west.
Aris and I look around, taking in the palm trees a few meters off and colorful foliage with leaves bigger than my head. By a line of planted palms is a beachfront villa, with a straw-like roof and a constructed path from the porch to the beach.
There are other villas, but the lights aren’t on in any of them. I look around for others, expecting at least one person in a line of twenty residences. But there are no footsteps in the stand, no voices calling out. It seems we’re the only ones.
Wordlessly, we explore the villa we appeared in front of, finding three bedrooms with fresh linens, a spacious jacuzzi, bare cupboards, and empty drawers. There are no photographs to betray a distinct owner, the walls littered with Polynesian art and carved tiki masks.
“Hawaii, maybe?” I say, Aris humming in agreement.
Though it’s decorated to inspire a rustic feel, modern luxuries morph the villa’s aesthetic into something clearly commercial: there are two bathrooms with large, walk-in showers with different settings and knobs, the living room has a flat-screen and leather couches, and there is a hidden thermostat with many buttons.
There is a welcome basket on the kitchen counter with champagne, chocolate, and toiletries. But beyond that and a fully stocked bar facing the beach, there’s nothing to eat .
“Do you like it?” Aris asks casually, but his pinched brows betray his eagerness to please.
I can’t help my smile. He’s too cute like this. “It’s great,” I say honestly. Before Aris came to this world, a week’s stay in a place like this would be worth a couple grand, easy. A whole honeymoon.
I don’t say that last part—for obvious reasons.
He nods, shoulders sagging with relief, and we promptly unpack. We brought enough food and clothes for a few days' travel, and everything else is largely provided for by our accommodations. We’ll have to go exploring for supplies later, the idea both daunting and exciting.
I have a feeling that, if we venture out, we won’t encounter anyone else. When I was with Aris on his apocalypse world tour, we didn’t go anywhere tropical, but surely he sent something this way—if not a disgusting creature, then Ryan or another follower. After all, there’s a reason that the counters are coated in a thin sheen of dust. Who is left to rent the villa? Who is left to clean?
By the time the sun begins to set in this corner of the world, we’re reclined in chairs on the back porch to watch, Aris’ arm snug around my shoulder, my head in the crook of his neck.
“It’s beautiful,” he remarks quietly.
I nod, proud that he’s noticed, that he cares , and sad, too, that we are the only ones watching it.