Alone in the spare room, I listen to Celine and Luca comfort Alistair, an ache throbbing behind my skull.
The vampire doesn’t mean her harm, but my magic remains unsure about him. There are many colors inside Alistair, mostly shades of gray, and they’re constantly in flux. I’ve never met someone with motives so wholly changeable. Either he stands for nothing, or he hasn’t found anything worth taking a stand for.
He bears monitoring.
I sink onto the bed and massage my temples.
This burdenis heavy.
Celine dances and fights.
I watch and wait.
Dread is my constant companion. Checking every corner, suspicious of every shadow—my mind clouds and aches. I fear what comes next. What it could do to her. To me. To us.
So we train. And Celine progresses, reaching her goals, and then setting new ones.
It’s the only satisfaction I get, besides knowing she’s safe. As one day stretches into the next, and she remains alive and strong, I count my blessings.
The sun rises; I give thanks. It sets; I brace for the worst.
Celine watches me from the stage, a sturdy divot marring the skin between her eyes. I force a smile, but her frown only grows.
“Are you okay?”
I spin around on what I’ve begun to consider my regular barstool, surprised to see Celine’s friend Imani looking at me with concern. Since I revealed myself weeks ago, we haven’t spoken. Her intent toward Celine is deep purple—pure loyalty.
“I am in perfect health,” I say, dipping my chin respectfully.
Imani laughs, and the sound is oddly mesmerizing. “There are plenty of ways to be in perfect health and nowhere near okay. Ask anyone in here.”
I study the faces around me. Flushed with liquor, most of them smile and trade laughs with their companions. I’m tempted to judge them and find out if Imani is right about their hidden pain. Given how easily she spotted mine, I decide to save my energy.
“Celine said you learned English for her,” Imani says, hopping onto the stool beside me.
Luca passes her a bottle of water, then rushes to the other side of the bar where customers clamor for his attention. A drop of sweat beads on his temple, a near-perfect reflection of the condensation rolling down theglass in his hand.
Too late, I remember Imani asked me a question and I look at her.
She sips her water and smiles at me.
“I gave it my best. English, I mean.” I frown as the simple words come out thicker than they sounded in my head, like my tongue is swollen. I’m an outsider, and my accent makes it impossible for me or anyone else to forget. “I’ve never been good with language.”
Imani raises her eyebrows. “Really? That shocks me, honestly.” Taking another sip of water, she shudders. “It took me five years of listening to be brave enough to say more than ten words out loud. I’ve heard some Earth languages are easier, but English is a bitch.”
“You struggled?” I look at her more closely. She doesn’t give the impression of someone who encounters much difficulty.
“Hell yeah,” she says. “Celine makes fun of me for them now, but those word of the day things really helped me grow my vocabulary.” She pulls her phone from a pocket in her shiny green shorts, then shows me the screen. I move my lips slowly, mouthing the unfamiliar syllables.
“Try it out loud,” Imani suggests. “This is a weird one.”
“P-pereg—” I clench my fist as the end of the word gets tangled in my mouth.
“Peregrinate,” she says. “That one’s hard.”
“Wandering from place to place,” I read the definition she’s typed to the side carefully, my fingers uncurling as I realize she’s not judging me.
“Some would call that an adventure,” Imani says, screwing the cap back on her water bottle. She’s barely touched it. Combined with her dry tone, I’m positive she doesn’t agree.
