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Some sick part of me is thrilled. I wanted to belong to them. And, oh, did I get my wish. It could be something fantastic to be like them, to be with them. Permanently.
But it could also be a curse. The way they were acting about it, so guilty and worried for me, sows the seeds of fear. I don’t know what this means. I don’t know what will happen. And my mind recalls what Caelan said about how badly being part human messed him up. The spiral of his pain, going so far to destroy himself.
I’m scared. Yet elated. But also exhausted and hurting, and is it any wonder I can’t think straight? That’s one hell of a bombshell they dropped on me.
Slowly, I come to a resolution. There’s nothing I can do to change it, and I’m only driving myself into a panic trying to think too hard about it all. Get up and get on with things, there’s no other option. There will be time to work everything out and process it at my pace later.
I head to the bathroom first. Splashing water on my face makes me feel a little more alive, at least, wiping the dried remains of my tears from my cheeks.
And I have to know. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I gingerly reach out to touch it. My eyes are red and puffy and sore, and I look a mess, but not any different. Not on the surface.Except…
I unbutton Elias’ shirt to see the site of the injury is very much still visible. There’s none of the black ichor left, no blood or scar tissue to indicate it was ever any kind of wound. It looks just like a tattoo, like vivid black ink beneath my skin, in an uneven starburst that reminds me of a gunshot exit wound.
I brush my fingertips over it, tracing the outline. This time Elias’ mark will be permanent.
Other than that, though, there’s no sign of any change. Not physically, anyway. Ever since I woke up, I’ve felt off. Pretty obvious why now. But it’s something so intangible I can’t even explain it to myself.
My vision is the most notable thing. Even that is incredibly subtle, but it’s enough of a shift to be unsettling. As though I’ve gone from watching the world on an old CRT television to seeing it in high definition, everything looks a little more vibrant, in sharper focus.
It hurts my head, like trying to adjust to new glasses that don’t have quite the right prescription.
Running a bath, I sink into it, closing my eyes, trying to relax and let the water strip away some of my doubts and fears. It doesn’t work. My hand keeps returning to the ink-like scar just below my ribcage.
After I wash, I dry off and get dressed before going downstairs, but picking an outfit is the last thing I want to do. I throw on my pajama shorts and a tank top. It’s not like I’m going out anywhere.
Elias and Caelan are in the kitchen. They said they were going to be anyway, but I can tell. I can sense them. Kind of, if I turn my attention to them. Their presence feels familiar, the cold static of Elias’ power or Caelan’s humming electricity. Just at a distance.
It’s odd, but not bad.
I mean to ask them if it’s something to do with having our souls entangled, but I’m immediately distracted by the sight of the living room.
“What the hell?” I ask, coming to a standstill at the bottom of the stairs.
The place is a mess. One of the sofas is overturned, and the other has a large gash carved almost the full way through it. There are slashes in the walls and the wooden bannisters, the houseplants are on their sides, spilling soil onto the wooden floor, and dark splattered stains that look uncomfortably like blood in places. The piano is the saddest sight of all. Half of it is crushed and caved in.
I can take a guess at what happened. They fought and fought seriously.
“My apologies, dear,” Elias says, emerging from the kitchen and drying his hands on a tea towel. “I haven’t got around to tidying up yet.”
Caelan follows immediately behind him and snorts. “You just don’t want to.”
It seems unusual for Elias to allow such a wreck to persist if it’s been five days. He must’ve had plenty of time to fix it up if he wanted to.
I see him tense, just minutely, and a pang of utter remorse flickers across his face again. “It still serves a purpose as a reminder,” Elias says shortly, before returning to the kitchen to keep an eye on whatever food he is preparing.
I furrow my eyebrows, turning to Caelan for an explanation since he’s usually more forthcoming.
Caelan makes a vague, dismissive gesture. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I was gonna kill him.”
That only concerns me more. “What the hell did you two do while I was unconscious?”
Caelan seems to realize I’m serious about the question, staring him down until I get a real answer, and he grimaces.
“Look, I waspissed. How could I not be? After he did that to you and just ran?” Caelan says acidly. “And I know he knows it. No amount of apologizing is gonna change the fact he was a patheticcoward.”
“Caelan—”
“Don’t tell me I’m wrong, doll. He would’ve let you die because he couldn’t face the consequences of his own actions!”
