I open my mouth to tease her about the book, make a joke, anything, but my throat has a knot in it. The damn thing bobs, and I struggle to swallow around it. When myfingers spasm at my side, I stare down at them, frustrated.
Sarah pushes to her feet, rounds the table, and wraps her arms around me. I sag into her hug. I’m a kid again, running to the shifter wing for comfort.
“Everything sucks,” I mutter. She tightens her hold, one hand cradling the back of my head. “I had something, Sarah. For once—or the start of something at least—and Dad couldn’t stand it, so he took it from me.”
“You can’t control his actions, sweetie,” she murmurs, leading me to the table. “You can only control how you react to them.” I sit down—in the same chair I used to hoist myself into when I needed my scraped knees bandaged—and watch as she pours me a glass of milk, then pushes the plate of cookies toward me.
“But there’s nothing I can do,” I tell her. “I’m not Ciprian to them anymore. I’m CiprianCasanell, and that name isn’t opening any doors on the Fringes.”
Sarah tilts her head. “Would you want it to?”
I open my mouth and close it. Do I wish my last name made things easier? I’m not sure, but neutrality would be nice.
“The performance...” I throw my hands up, then let them fall as exhaustion crashes over me. “I’m fucking tired.”
“Ciprian”—Sarah grabs my hand, squeezing gently. I look up and meet her warm brown eyes. “Have you tried being yourself?”
For a moment, with the smell of sugar and home all around us and no one to judge or criticize, I let myself imagine what she’s suggesting. Can I be myself? Drop the act... open myself up to the possibility that they hate not only my last name but who I actually am?
It’s exhilarating and terrifying. It’s also impossible.
“It won’t matter,” I say, my heart sinking. “Their minds are made up. It won’t change things for them, so why bother?”
“Because it might change everything for you.” Sarah pushes away from the table and pats my hair as she scoops up the tatteredpaperback. “Take the time you need to think it over, sweetie, but remember: the Ciprian Casanell I know is creative and brave. The edge of other people’s comfort zones is where he thrives. You can’t expect anyone else to see that unless you show them.”
She leaves me alone in the kitchen to think. It’s exactly what I need, and I stuff my face with cookies until my stomach hurts. It’s the best I’ve felt in weeks.
TEN
Unspoken rule of the Fringes #14:
If you act like a god, someone will find out if you bleed like a mortal.
CELINE
The week before the fight is the longest and shortest of my life. Mentally I’m ready, but physically?—
“You’re not focused.” Malach knocks me flat. Again. Air leaves my lungs faster than a tire exploding on the freeway.
“I’m plenty focused,” I argue, sucking in the sweat-tinged oxygen of the gym.
Night Shift is a no-humans-allowed training facility. You won’t find any Zumba classes, but lots of the better-off supernaturals on the Fringes train here. It’s pricey. Too pricey. Luca signed me up for two months without telling me, paying cash and claiming I’d get evicted if I kept attacking Malach at home.
He’s not wrong. The last thing I want to do is disrupt my living space. Scratch that. The last thing I want is to be murdered by my dad. The second-to-last thing I want to do is lose my firstfight at the Mouth of Hell. And the third-to-last thing I want to do is break my apartment.
“You’re not seizing creative openings,” Malach says, offering me a hand up.
Still gasping for air, I yank him down hard instead. He twists before impact—barely—and lands with a thud on the mat beside me.
“Fuck you,” I wheeze. “How’s that for creative?”
“An expletive? That’s not creative at all.”
I groan and close my eyes, breathing in the subtle coating of disinfectant that always lingers in the gym. There’s no one else sparring right now... and that’s become a pattern. They always happen to be leaving when Malach and I arrive. Something tells me Luca paid extra for that.
Since the staff at the front desk are tight-lipped, I have no way to confirm my suspicions. Luca refuses to discuss it, which tells me everything I need to know while also serving as a sneaky way to avoid directly tipping off my magic. Clever bastard.
There are two days left until I climb into the elevated cage again.
