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But they are strangers I kissed. And I press my fingers to my lips as the truth hits me. I want to kiss the rest of them, too. My body thrums with desire just sitting here looking at them. And even that itself is insane. Wanting to kiss all of them. Yet, I do.
I watched them rehearse all day, my body burning with heat, with desire. I want them and even if it’s crazy, it’s the truth.
I felt it the moment we met. And I feel it now, stronger than ever.
“Help me understand,” I say. “I’m not scared of magic, but this? This seems more than magical.”
“It is,” North says. “Gaia sent us to you. She told us not to talk about her. And we’re loyal to her.”
“Sounds complicated,” I say, not really knowing where the truth begins and ends.
He shakes his head, looking at me with his steel-grey eyes. “This is stupid, she’s not gonna get it.”
“Try. Her mom’s a witch,” Brecken says. I look at him, annoyed.
“What?” he asks. “I told you last night, one for all, all for one.
You don’t get me without the rest. And vice-versa.” “But it’s my story to tell.”
“Then tell it,” he presses.
“I don’t know what my mother being a witch has to do with anything,” I say matter-of-factly. Just thinking about her gets me tense. Last night when I got home from my taco date, she was seething–livid that I’d not called. I’m not calling her now either.
She’d gotten paranoid about the hawks perched outside again, telling me they were evil birds, not to be trusted. I shouted at her, louder than I ever have before, letting her know that she isn’t to be trusted either. I slammed my bedroom door, fell to the floor sobbing into my pillow.
Even after everything she kept from me, she still wanted to keep me locked in the house.
How dare she.
My fingers run through my long black hair, separating it into three parts, and I begin braiding to distract myself from their piercing eyes.
It doesn’t really work. My heart is beating hard, wait for them to tell me more. I’m not going to be the one to speak first.
But they are more patient than me. So, finally, I speak my thoughts aloud, “Okay, so Mother Earth sent you... but why you? How do you even know one another?”
The question itself seems so unbelievably ridiculous. Mother Earth. Sending men. To me.
“She... well, she’s our guardian,” Sawyer says. “Look, dove, maybe some people don’t need her help as much as we do, but we were alone, orphans, and she helped us understand what we are... who we are.”
“And what are you?” I ask.
“Have you noticed hawks outside your window?” Arrow asks. I tense at that– how would they know? About where I live ...
about my window. Fear snakes its way up my skin. “Gaia sent us to you.”
“What does that have to do with hawks?” I ask, thinking about my mother’s warning. She said the hawks were bad.
But she said a lot of things.
“It was Gaia’s intent for us to be in your show, so we could surround you for however long she thought you needed our protection. Something is happening, though; something big. We don’t know what, but it’s growing–a force of nature.”
“We’ve spent our life watching, observing. We’re trained to see what others miss.”
“And what is missing?” I ask the question with tears burning in my eyes. “Because I need to understand... because... I’m missing something,” I say, wiping my eyes with one hand. “Maybe a lot of somethings. Parts of my story. And I just want to know. I just want to understand what I am. Who I am. Where I belong.”
Sawyer reaches for my hand and squeezes it. It’s such a simple gesture but it’s comforting to know he hears me, my fears, and my worries. He doesn’t let go.
Arrow clears his throat and runs a hand through his black hair, his dark night eyes on me. “Our natural habitats are compromised. The natural disasters sweeping our globe are moving at a pace Gaia doesn’t understand. There are changes in our ecosystem, and Gaia knows you are a piece of that. To the puzzle.”
I twist my lips, more lost than ever. “I have nothing to do with the natural disasters happening in the world.” I scoff at the ridiculousness. “You know how crazy that sounds right? I’m just a girl in a city. I do acrobatic tricks and fly across a stage hanging onto a trapeze. I don’t know anything about weather patterns.”
“You don’t have to understand things in order to belong to them.”
“What does that even mean?” My heart, though, clings to his words because something deep inside of me knows he isn’t lying, isn’t spinning stories. I look at the men who say they were sent to me and know I do belong to them.
