Tell the Wind and Fire(4)

When the guards let me pass, I could almost believe we might get away with this.

“The only thing you can do is take us to the Light city,” I said, sounding as certain and casual as I knew how. “All of us.”

The guards parted and I could finally, finally see Ethan, my Ethan. They had knocked him onto his hands and knees, his broad shoulders were bare and his wavy, sleep-mussed head was still hanging, but he looked up as I stooped toward him. I gave him my free hand, and when his fingers closed around my shaking, sweat-slicked fingers, I felt steadier, my lost anchor regained, warmth and security a possibility once again.

Ethan got to his feet. A moment later, I had them both safe, keeping myself a step ahead, between them and the guards.

“Remember what I suggested earlier?” I asked. “Put us back in our compartment. Put a guard at the door if you like—I don’t care. And call Charles Stryker. Let the Light Council sort out this misunderstanding.”

They were off balance enough to do what I wanted, and uncertain enough now to listen to the name Stryker. When the guards ushered me, Ethan, and the doppelganger into the compartment that had been just mine and Ethan’s, the leader was already looking worried.

Another guard said, as he shut the door in our faces, “I didn’t know any of the Strykers had a doppelganger.”

The door closed, and I sagged against it. I watched Ethan and the doppelganger retreat to opposite sides of the compartment.

“Funny thing,” I remarked. “Neither did I.”



I was furious, but there was something I had to do before questioning either one of them.

“Come here,” I said, and advanced on the doppelganger. He took a step back and wound up sitting on the bunk, looking surprised and mildly irritated.

I held up my hands as if in surrender, though it was anything but. I held them so the doppelganger could see the Light magic rings glittering on all my fingers.

“I’m a trained Light medic,” I told him. “Now let me see your wrist.”

He gave me an unfriendly look, but he let me kneel down and snatch his hand again. I pushed back the worn fabric of his sleeve. The material tried to adhere to the burn, but I pulled it off despite the hiss of pain that slipped through the doppelganger’s teeth. I had to loop my fingers around his wrist, over the burn, thumb and middle finger touching. I concentrated, coaxing to life the light hidden in every sparkling stone, letting it form a bright bracelet over his skin and mine. When I let go, I knew the light would wash the burn marks away. I was able to help, because he was not too badly hurt. My mother had been able to save people on the brink of death, but I was not a tenth as brilliant a magician as my mother. I could only do this.

I blinked away the remnants of Light in my vision, like dissolving stars, until all that was left was his intent gaze.

“There,” I told him.

“Am I supposed to thank you?”

“No,” I said. “I’m supposed to thank you. You saved his life and I love him, so I owe you more than I know how to repay. Thank you . . . what’s your name?”

He hesitated. “Carwyn.”

“Carwyn,” I said, still kneeling, staring up into a familiar face with a strange name on my tongue. “Thank you. Buried how long, Carwyn?”

That was what citizens of the Dark city always asked each other when we met. That was what we called living in the Dark city: being buried.

He hesitated again, but when he spoke there was weight to his response, as if he had come to some decision. “Thirteen years, but I’m out now,” said Carwyn. “Buried how long, Lucie?”

So that answered that: he had recognized me.

“Fifteen years,” I said. “But that was two years ago. I’m out now.”

“They’re still talking about you in the Dark city,” Carwyn said.

I picked up the dress that was on the floor and pulled it over my head as quickly but with as little fuss as I could manage, lacing up the front. Ethan grabbed a fresh shirt out of his bag.

He came and sat with me on one end of the bed, taking my hand again, and I curled into him, chin tucked against his shoulder and my hand pressed in a fist against his chest. As if I could protect him, as if I could keep his heart beating.

“I didn’t know how to tell you, Lucie,” said Ethan. “About him.”

The train was in motion again. I leaned against Ethan, but I did not look at him or at the stranger who wore his face. I looked out the window. The train was speeding along the slender bridge that the Light Council had built fifty years ago, toward the Light city of New York. I saw the tall, bright columns standing in clusters, the Chrysler Building with its prismatic triangle of lights at the top, blazing like a beacon, and Stryker Tower, a steel line studded with huge stones shimmering with Light power and crowned with a spike.

We were almost home, my new home full of Light, the home where I had learned how to be happy. I did not jump in front of blades there. I did not see blood or horror: I was not that person, not anymore. All I needed to do was keep my head down and my life could continue the way it was now, the way I had made it. I could be safe.

I remembered how I had felt on the train platform, knowing for the first time that someone could hurt Ethan.

I said, “So tell me now.”





CHAPTER TWO