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Come back, my Gift whispers into the wind. Then with a more sorrowful, drawn-out note. You don’t belong here, but I can lead you home.
I’m not sure how long I play, the only indication of time being that my shoulders and back ache from holding the flute upright.
Nothing happens.
Nothing comes.
Eventually, either my Gift reaches the end of the tune or grows disheartened, because the music sputters out.
Blaise swallows next to me, blinking away tears.
I lower the flute, Blaise’s disappointment an external manifestation of the sinking feeling in my stomach.
“I’m sorry,” Blaise says, slinging the tears away with frantic swipes of her hands. “I don’t know what’s going on with me.”
I think I probably do.
“You were hoping to make it up to them, weren’t you?”
Blaise won’t look at me. She just sniffles then lets out a wry laugh. “Stupid, I know. As if anything I could do could fix what I’ve taken away from them.”
I bite my lip, debating whether to comment. On one hand, Blaise at least seems to be trying to make things right. I don’t exactly want to discourage her from that.
On the other…
I think back to conversations I’ve had with Marcus. Times I’ve almost let the guilt of my past pull me under, sinking its nails into my ankles and keeping me from staying afloat. I think of what he always tells me when I consider allowing the past to drown me.
“Shame is useful, you know,” I say, savoring the way Marcus’s words feel on my lips. “But only for a little while. Once it prompts change, there’s no need for it anymore, and if you let it sit, it only festers.”
Blaise snorts. It does nothing to hide her sniffle. “Is that one of Abra’s unsolicited pieces of wisdom she forced on you when you were her captive audience?”
I smile. “No, not Abra.”
“Well,” she says, flitting her hand. “It’s not as if I can just ignore it. Make it go away. I would if I could.”
“What’s the antidote for shame?” I ask, and I’m not even talking to Blaise anymore, but feeling Marcus’s steady arms wrap around me as he waits for my answer. One I’ve memorized in the cadence of his voice.
“Pride,” Blaise responds, so quickly it’s clear she doesn’t have to think about it.
“That’s what I thought at first, too,” I say. “But—”
“Piper,” Blaise says, whispering my name, urgency punctuating her tone.
I allow my eyelashes to flutter open, as much as it feels like rising from bed on a winter morning during a thunderstorm.
That feeling doesn’t last long. Not when my eyes lock onto what Blaise is pointing toward.
An Other, long and sleek and bright as the moon, slinks from the tree line.
It stalks from the shadows, its padded feet silent against the swaying grass.
I lift the flute to my lips and play.
My Gift buzzes inside me, heightening the tune, but I fight to keep it steady.
No sudden movements, no harsh notes.
Fear pulses in my heart as it takes a step closer, Blaise tensing at my sides, her fingers extended at her sides like she’s readying a set of claws for battle.
