TENN DIDN’T KNOW how long they lay there on a stranger’s bed, staring at the shadows on the ceiling and talking.
Discussing the things they missed should have set Water off. Talking about the past should have sent him drowning in misery and regret. But, for some reason, the Sphere stayed closed. The memories stayed peaceful. For the first time in nearly four years, Tenn talked about what he missed, and what might have been, and what he would like to be, and Water stayed silent. The fact made him curl even tighter to Jarrett, made his heart warm even more. Jarrett was the ward against the terrible memories. Jarrett was the calm silence after years of inner howling.
Jarrett was warmth.
They talked until they ran out of words and the lamps ran out of fuel. It had to have been a few hours. And there, in the darkness, they stayed, Jarrett’s hand on Tenn’s hip, Tenn’s head on Jarrett’s chest. Tenn listened to the rise and fall of Jarrett’s breathing, though he wasn’t asleep. It was nice, though, to have a moment of quiet. To just exist. It felt like the way life used to be. The way life could have been.
Tenn’s pulse began to race. They were alone in the dark, and he was realizing he wanted more than anything else to reach up and kiss Jarrett, to lean against him fully, to see how their bodies matched. It wasn’t just lust, though, making his blood sing. It was something else. Something that tugged from his chest. Something that wanted to connect on a deeper level.
He hadn’t wanted that since Silveron.
Jarrett clearly felt it, too. He shifted his body slightly, curling in toward Tenn. He wrapped his other arm around Tenn’s back. He nuzzled his scruffy chin against Tenn’s forehead.
“I didn’t think I would ever feel this again,” Jarrett whispered.
“Neither did I,” Tenn replied.
Then Jarrett kissed the top of Tenn’s forehead.
“I want this to last forever,” he said. “But it’s getting late. I need to go check in on a few things before we go.”
It ached, that statement. Tenn hugged him closer.
“This is dangerous,” Tenn said.
“I know,” Jarrett replied. “And I don’t care.”
Another kiss on the top of the head. Then he slowly unwound himself from Tenn’s limbs. Every movement was slow. Every movement was agony.
This was why there was no room for love in this world. Loving always meant leaving. And leaving meant potentially never coming back.
Jarrett opened to Air, and Tenn didn’t have to ask to know it was so Jarrett could sense his way around the room. Tenn opened to Earth so he could do the same, the whole place opening out to his senses like sonar. He couldn’t see the room, any more than he could without Earth, but he could feel it. Much like he could feel his toes or fingers in the dark, the walls were simply a part of him.
“I probably won’t have time to meet up again,” Jarrett said as he walked to the door. “Even though I’d like to. Feel free to take a nap in here if you want—I doubt the twins would mind. Or, I don’t know, explore what’s left of the city.”
The thought of exploring both excited and scared Tenn—there was no way in hell he could fall asleep after cuddling with Jarrett. His nerves were on fire, and besides, he didn’t want to sleep through their escape. In a way, he almost didn’t want to see the truths of Outer Chicago. He preferred his fantasy of the place, where everything was clean and happy and possible. He preferred thinking the two of them could have a future here. Or somewhere better than here. The reality outside these walls wasn’t one he wanted to face.
Jarrett paused in the doorway, like he wanted to say something more.
“Midnight, then,” he said finally. He chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to start a mission before.”
Tenn laughed, as well. It was short-lived. Now that Jarrett was about to leave, he was reminded of everything he was about to do, and everything he didn’t yet know.
“Midnight,” Tenn said.
He felt Jarrett move, and then he was close again, wrapping Tenn in a quick hug.
“I’m glad I found you,” Jarrett whispered in his ear. He kissed Tenn’s cheek and left.
* * *
Tenn lasted about five minutes in the room before anxiety got the better of him. He kept waiting for Tomás to appear, to threaten him again. Tenn had been so, so close to telling Jarrett about the Kin. Then he’d remembered the sound of Katherine’s neck snapping, and the desire snapped with it. Now, without Jarrett there to keep the thoughts and demons—figuratively and potentially literally—at bay, his imagination was getting the better of him.
He kept open to Earth as he walked, using the element to map out the guild in his head. The place was a lot smaller than he imagined—just the gym and maybe a block or two of underground tunnels and rooms. The stories had made this place out to be a bastion of hope, the crowning gem of the resistance. This was where dreams were remade, where humanity held on and thrived.
The truth was pretty damn depressing.
He managed to walk past the kitchens and grabbed some bread and cheese and a carrot, scarfing them down while making his way outside. He felt naked without having a weapon in his hand as he left the building. But he was safe in here.
Tomás’s face flickered through his mind.
Maybe safe was a relative term.
The night was calm and clear, the sky scattered with stars and a gibbous moon. He half expected one of the guards to call out, demanding to know where he was going at this time of night, but no one stopped him as he walked down the street. No one seemed to be out. The town was eerily quiet.
Moonlight glinted off puddles covering the cracked streets, litter fluttering against chain-link fences like tiny ghosts. Although debris was everywhere, the place smelled a little better. The rain must have washed away the decay that seemed to linger here, the stench of a thousand humans slowly decomposing as they fought to stay alive. His foot hit something, and his heart stopped as a can skittered across the street. So much for being inconspicuous.
“Who’s there?” grunted a man’s voice. He knew that voice, even though he’d only heard it once. Once was enough.
“Caius,” he muttered under his breath, his blood immediately set to boiling. He didn’t stop walking, though. He wasn’t going to let a religious nutjob ruin his only night here.
Something hit the ground in front of him. The bastard was throwing things at him.
“I asked you a question,” Caius called. He kept his voice down, but there was a sense that if Tenn didn’t stop, this would get ugly real fast. He paused.
“Oh,” Caius said. The preacher shuffled closer. He smelled distinctly of whiskey. “It’s you. The newest recruit.”
“Yes,” Tenn said. His jaw was clenched. “What do you want?”
Caius shrugged. He was still in his suit, his hair mussed from sleep, or lack thereof.
“Just to talk, Hunter. Just to talk.” There was a slight slur to his words.
“I don’t have time.”
He took a step, and Caius’s arm reached out and stopped him in his tracks.
“Make time,” Caius grated. He let go of Tenn’s arm and stood back, brushing himself off. It was futile—the dust was as much a part of his suit as the fabric.
Tenn really didn’t want to stand around with this guy. He distrusted the religious fanatics on principle alone. He’d seen the posters in the year or so before the Resurrection, when magic was a new discovery. Magic had always been seen as the devil’s work, and many people died because of it. But not at the hands of the mages or the monsters.
Apparently, burning people at the stake hadn’t died out with the Puritan times. A new Church had formed in direct opposition to magic and the Dark Lady, a faith devoted to ridding the world of darkness and evil. One whose methods overshadowed the whole “love thy neighbor” thing.
The last thing Tenn wanted was to make a scene. Caius’s sheep were probably close at hand, ready to tear him apart. And Cassandra wanted this to be a quiet exit.
“You have two minutes.”
Caius sighed. “Impatient, impatient.” He took a hand-rolled cigarette from his pocket and brought it to his lips. From another pocket came a matchbook; he flipped it open, struck a match and lit his cigarette in one well-practiced movement. “That’s what got us into this mess.” He took a long drag and exhaled slowly. The smoke wafted up into the moonlight like a shade.
“What are you talking about?”
Caius’s breath might have smelled like the bottom of a whiskey barrel, but his hands didn’t shake and his eyes never left Tenn’s face.
“The Dark Lady,” Caius said. He spit, then took another drag. “She was human once. She was impatient, too.”
“I don’t have time to listen to your myths.”
“They aren’t myths,” Caius said, the smoke seething from his lips. “I know. I knew her.”
Tenn paused. The man could be out of his mind—it wouldn’t have surprised him, especially since he was probably drinking homemade moonshine—or just being a dick. But Caius wasn’t throwing slurs or railing against him. He seemed conversational. Rational. Except for the Dark Lady bit. No one from the Church would claim they knew the goddess that destroyed mankind. At least, not unless they were boasting that they were the ones who killed her.
“I know what you think of me,” Caius said. He gestured to his filthy suit. “I wasn’t always like this.”
“None of us were.”
Caius chuckled. “Of course, of course. You weren’t always doing the devil’s work. Might even say you were tricked into it. Too bad you’re going to hell for it.”
Tenn sighed. On that track again. It was time to go, then. “I need to—”
“Listen. For once in your godforsaken life, that’s what you need to do.” Caius flicked the cigarette to the ground. “Why do you think I’m here, huh? Why am I in a devil-controlled colony when there are perfectly good septs a hundred miles away? Do you think I like living among sinners and sheep?”
He had a point. Most of the old priests lived in the Church-controlled septs, the religious safe havens. They wouldn’t think of stepping foot in a place controlled by mages and Hunters, who were no better in their eyes than the monsters roaming outside.
“I figured you were like everyone else. You were here because you didn’t have a choice.”
“You’re right,” Caius said. “But not for the reasons you think. I knew things, things the Church never wanted me to know, and they tried to kill me. Sent their Inquisition my way in hopes of silencing me. So I came here. But soon, they’ll find me. And when they do, their deepest secrets will die with me.”
“I don’t understand,” Tenn said.
“You will,” Caius replied.
He stepped closer, so close Tenn could smell the rot of the man’s teeth.
“There’s a darkness stirring in the world, Tenn. A darkness that fills even the holiest of men’s hearts. It started years ago, in the heart of the light. You think you know hell, think you’ve seen death and destruction, but you know nothing. Not compared to the evils yet to come.”
Tenn backed up. How did Caius know his name?
“What secrets?”
“You aren’t ready for them,” Caius said, still whispering. “Once you know, you’ll have the whole of the Church with a dagger at your back. But you will know. God told me. You’ll know soon why the first Howl was born.”
Caius cleared his throat and looked around.
“Now, I believe you had somewhere to go.”
“I...”
“I’m tired of you wasting my time, Hunter,” Caius said, even louder. “I’ve got no use for heathens.” He spat at Tenn’s feet and walked away, staggering slightly.
Tenn watched him go for a moment. He couldn’t force down the chills that raced over his skin.
How many people in this godforsaken world knew him?
* * *
Tenn spent the next hour wandering, his nerves steeled for another confrontation. But the world was eerily silent—even in the outposts, there had been noise: the crackle of fires, the murmur of voices. Here, there was just the still air and glimmering sidewalks, everything wet and reflective, slick as nightmare.
These had been the suburbs of Chicago, but three years had changed them. The great wall circled the entire compound, and the houses closest to it were dilapidated and charred. But when he opened to Earth, he found they were still inhabited. Judging from the smell, well...they either hadn’t been cleaned, or no one ever left them, even after death. The thought made him wonder what they did with the dead. He didn’t see a graveyard, and the lake was still a mile or so away. Maybe cremation? He glanced at the wall, and the few ladders and ramps on this side leading to the top. He hoped cremation. He’d seen far too many commanders leave their dead for the Howls.
Closer in, away from the danger, the houses were nicer. They were still overcrowded, but at least these had been kept up. Some even still had all their windows.
Despite this—or because of it—those were the streets Tenn avoided. They felt too much like before the Resurrection. If he ignored the twisted streetlamps, or the makeshift sheds and yurts built on front lawns, he could almost pretend this place had never been tainted by magic or monsters. The streets were clean and wide, the cars gone—probably to be used as barriers outside, or locked eternally in the standstill traffic that clogged every highway in America, creating a veritable buffet for the undead. Mailboxes gaped for letters that would never come and hedges were neatly trimmed. The quaintness set his nerves on edge.
So he stayed near the town center, where the buildings were cramped and the laundry fluttered overhead like ghosts and everything had an air of ruin and despair. Shops were boarded up for the night, outdoor stalls were emptied of produce, litter clogged gutters. He hated to admit that those were the streets that felt the most normal. He hated how they made him almost feel safe.
The idea of safety sent another thought through his head. Without a weapon, he felt naked. He wasn’t as powerful as the twins, who didn’t seem to need a blade to feel safe. Magic always exhausted him. Power always ran out. And when the magic was gone, he was defenseless.
He passed by what was clearly the dump, or junkyard, or some mix of the two: a large lot that had probably once been for parking, but was now filled with trash metal and twisted bicycles and the overpowering scent of rot. He didn’t want to wonder what was decaying deep within the pile. He opened to Earth and used it to seek out something suitable. Finally, he found it—a piece of steel pipe a few feet long, thankfully along the perimeter of the mess. He wrenched it free and examined it under the moonlight.
It was heavy, and covered in rust, and bent in a few places. But it was the right size, and with a little work...
One of the hardest parts of the Resurrection was adjusting to the weaponry required to survive. Guns and nukes and the rest were obsolete, and the typical zombie-killer flair of nailed baseball bats and chain saws didn’t hold up to hordes of monsters. Weapons could be twisted by any mage. Bullets could be stopped, bombs disarmed. The only way to make a weapon your own was to infuse it with your own blood and magic.
He pushed through Earth, rooted down into the soil and through the pole in his hand.
Metal shivered and melted and reformed, rust sloughing off like snakeskin as the staff elongated, became smooth. He twisted the power and twisted the pole, made it sleek and straight, its weight even. He pulled a blade from each end, each curved and sharp as a crescent moon. He ran his thumb along the top blade, let it slice into his skin, the blade so sharp he barely felt it. Blood trickled down, and he used the power to absorb it into the metal, threading it through the staff and blades, until every inch of it was infused with his lifeblood. Another twist of power, and silver steel turned black.
He closed off to Earth and examined the weapon in the moonlight. It was nearly identical to his old staff, and when he spun it the blades whistled their familiar call through the air. But something about this one felt different. Something about it seemed to signal a new life. For a moment, the thought thrilled him. Then he remembered everything his new life entailed, and the excitement cut off, sharp as the blade he wielded.
* * *
The twins were already at the south tower when he arrived. It was clearly a new construct, made of magic-churned earth and bristling with steel spikes. It towered above the encircling wall, accessible only by a staircase that spiraled its way up through the center. The twins stood at the edge of the roof, their white coats glowing in the moonlight. Dreya’s coat was especially embellished, covered in more belts and buckles than seemed necessary. Devon’s coat was darker than his sister’s, like a cloud on the edge of a storm. The clean lines made him look like a military commander, though the burgundy scarf made him look like a commander with a cold.
“You guys look nice,” Tenn said. He didn’t know what else to say. “New coats?”
Tenn expected coldness from them, but to his surprise, Dreya smiled, the merest tilt of her lips. That was enough. Apparently, still being a newcomer had its merits.
“Has Jarrett been here?” he asked.
Hopefully she couldn’t see the blush that rose to his cheeks as he asked.
Devon shook his head, but it was Dreya who answered. “No. But I have no doubt he will be here soon. It is still early, and he is still covering our tracks.”
Tenn nodded and walked to the edge of the tower, staring out at what lay beyond the safety wall of the colony. The streets of the abandoned suburb were almost beautiful like this. Up here, away from the threat of, well, dismemberment and eventual death, it was easy to imagine how this place would have been years ago—families all asleep in their houses, dogs barking now and again in the yards. Easy to imagine, if you ignored the crashed cars and magic-pitted streets and the glitter of glass that swept across the debris-filled lawns.
“Do you ever think we’ll get it back?” Tenn asked, thinking of his earlier conversation with Jarrett. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud.
“This world?” Dreya asked. She stepped up beside him and put her hands on the steel banister that kept them from plummeting. The ground was a long, long way down.
She didn’t say anything for a while. Tenn knew from her expression that she wasn’t dismissing the question, but mentally debating the possibility. A small part of him yearned for her to say what he knew she wouldn’t. That lie would give him hope, the hope that someday he could entertain the idea of a boyfriend, or a husband, or a home. The hope that maybe Jarrett—back after so many years apart—would be the one to signal it. The thought made his heart ache and Water boil.
“I do not think so,” she finally said. Her words were barely more than a whisper. “But I wish... I wish it could be.”
She exhaled deeply. “But wishes do not change anything.”
“What are we wishing for?” Jarrett asked. He stepped up behind them, his sword strapped to his back and another bag of provisions in hand. He was back in his blacks—wool coat, black boots, black combats. The only color was a light-blue knit hat pulled down over his ears. It made him look like a Nordic elf. One into heavy metal.
Dreya, of course, said nothing. Tenn wondered if she was actually embarrassed.
“Everything set?” Tenn asked, doing what he could to cover the silence. Jarrett just raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” He set his bag beside the others. “I double-checked to make sure the changeover was still at the same time. Midnight. On the dot.”
“I still do not like this plan,” Dreya said. She looked at Tenn. “This will kill him.”
Jarrett bit his lip before catching himself.
“It’s dangerous,” he admitted. “But Cassandra insisted we don’t just walk out. She’d rather someone know magic was in use than have us identified. Over is the only way.”
Tenn turned and looked over the railing. The cars looked like toys. It would be a very long way to fall.
“What do you mean, kill me?” he asked. He couldn’t cut his eyes from the ground far, far below.
Jarrett sighed and stepped up behind him, putting his hands on Tenn’s shoulders. The motion felt so easy, so familiar...
“It won’t kill you,” he said. “It’s just...well, we can fly because we’re attuned to Air. For anyone else, it’s like being caught in a tornado.”
“That is an understatement,” Dreya said. “Do not try to soften the reality. For him, it will not be flying. The winds that bear him will rip him apart.”
“No,” Jarrett said. “We’ll stick close, shield him with our bodies. And, Tenn, stay open to Earth. Keep healing yourself.”
Behind them, deep in the heart of the town, a bell began to chime. Midnight. Jarrett scooped up the bags and handed them over.
“No time for discussion,” he said, slinging one on his back. “They change on the tenth ring.”
Tenn pulled on his own bag, and the twins crowded close, each wrapping their arms around his waist. He felt like a sandwich. Jarrett took off his hat and shoved it over Tenn’s head before wrapping him in an embrace. Tenn closed his eyes—despite everything, all he could focus on was Jarrett’s scent, the musk and far-off fragrance of soap. He wanted to lean forward into that embrace forever.
“Close your eyes,” Jarrett murmured into his ear. “It’ll be over soon. And whatever you do, don’t stop healing.”
Then the tenth chime rang, and the three of them opened to Air. The other two chimes were lost to the roar of thunder.