Luc was surprised; he had assumed the blind man and Mags lived there on the raft. The sail snapped as it caught the breeze, and Rhys turned the rudder so they aimed toward shore. They moved across the shadowed ocean, and Luc had nothing to do but watch the Figments undulate in rippling waves. Now that he knew what they were, he saw the sea differently. It seemed mysterious, and heavy with something like sadness.
Please, please. Let this be a dream. Let me wake up.
His alarm would go off and he’d wake up to find Jas sitting in the living room, safe and sound. She’d laugh at the crazy dream he had, especially the part where she was trapped in some blood forest, then they’d head to the Mission, get some breakfast taquitos and coffee at Philz Coffee. Cream and sugar.
Mags’s loud caw pierced his daydream. Still here. Still in this awful place, with the unbearable heat of the suns and the feel of sand underneath his nails.
They were only about fifty feet from shore. The same beach, the same cliffs stretched as far as he could see. In the distance, movement caught his eye. Luc shaded his eyes and squinted. A figure stumbled along, sinking every few feet to her knees before struggling back to her feet. Blond hair flashed in the sun, like a coin under the water.
Corinthe is responsible for your sister.
The words echoed in his head. Blood pounded in his ears.
“I need to get to shore,” Luc said abruptly. He couldn’t let her get away. He even contemplated jumping back into the Figments and swimming.
Rhys must have sensed his intentions. “Don’t try it,” he warned. “They might not drown you, but they wouldn’t let you out, either. We’ll be there in just a minute.”
Luc paced the length of the raft, impatiently watching Corinthe make her way to the cliffs. Rhys deftly managed the steering, apparently with the help of Mags’s occasional caws—the man and the bird seemed to have developed some way of communicating. Within a few minutes, the raft bumped against a sandy bottom.
Luc jumped out and landed in the red sand.
“What about the map?” Rhys called.
Luc hesitated. But Corinthe was already climbing. He couldn’t let her escape; she knew where Jas was. That was what the woman had said.
“Go ahead, go get her.” Rhys seemed to be smirking. “I’ll poke around for it. Just give a shout when you’ve done whatever it is you need to do. Mags will hear you.”
“Thank you,” Luc said, and broke into a run.
By the time he’d made it to the base of the cliff, Corinthe had already gotten halfway to the top. Framed against the looming mass of rock, she seemed so small, so fragile, and he steeled himself against a sudden twinge of pity.
Luc took a deep breath and grabbed a piece of the jutting rock over his head. His arms and hands were still aching from his earlier attempt at climbing, but he was fueled with renewed purpose. Corinthe had done something to Jas. She was obviously a psycho. He would catch up to her, and he would get the truth out of her, no matter what.
Just as he began to follow her, she turned around and spotted him.
Even from this distance, Luc could hear her short cry of surprise. Before he could react, a rock the size of his head came tumbling toward him. He jumped off the rocks and out of the way, and the rock thumped into the sand by his feet.
Several more rained down, each larger than the last.
Small and fragile. Right. Luc wouldn’t make the mistake of pitying her again.
Luc ran ten feet down the beach and started to climb. Hand over hand, he moved at an angle, safely out of the way of any more rocks Corinthe might loosen.
Thanks to the drink Rhys had given him, he felt strong even though there was still a faint pounding in his head. He climbed quickly, confidently, rapidly closing in on Corinthe. She reached the top only a few seconds before he did, and he launched himself after her, scrambling to his feet before she could attack him.
Luc tried to ignore the horrible welts marring her arms. Tried to ignore the cuts on her palms that were open and bleeding. How her feet were bare and covered with dirt, her jeans and T-shirt torn. She looked thin and pale and scared. Even her shadows looked short and huddled together.
What the hell had happened to her?
His resolve weakened a little.
And in that instant, Corinthe lunged at him, her teeth bared, like a wild animal. He easily sidestepped her attack and she fell past him, stumbling to her hands and knees, crying out softly. She turned over and tried to stand, but her arms collapsed and she landed on her back.
This time, Luc didn’t wait for her to recover. Girl or not, injured or not, she was still trying to kill him. He was on her in an instant, straddling her waist, the knife pulled quickly from his belt and pressed against her throat. Her knife. Neither moved. They breathed raggedly together, staring at each other.
“Where’s my sister?” he spat out.
She glared at him. “Let me go.”
He leaned into her a little more. “Tell me where my sister is or I’ll kill you,” he said.
“Then kill me,” she challenged. Despite her obvious weakness, there was fire in her eyes.
“Don’t think I won’t,” he said. But he knew that she could see it: he was not a killer.
Corinthe grabbed his hand, forced the knife against the pulse that beat wildly in her neck. Her eyes glistened in the suns, turning a haunting shade of purple. She arched her back, lifting her chin so she was even more exposed to him.
She looked alone and lost and wild and beautiful.
Protect her.
The crazy thought came out of nowhere.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Because if you don’t, as soon as I am strong, I will kill you.”
His hand shook, making the knife wobble. It nicked her skin and a tiny bead of blood welled up underneath her chin. He watched it roll down her neck and into her hair. His stomach twisted violently and he threw the knife aside.
He couldn’t do it.
“Just tell me where my sister is,” he said, “and I swear I’ll let you go.”
A look of pain—or disappointment?—passed over Corinthe’s face. Her body tensed for one moment underneath him; she opened her mouth.
And then her lovely eyes rolled backward, her body relaxed, and she lost consciousness.
“Well, now. Quite some lovers’ quarrel, ain’t it?”
Luc turned around. Rhys was grinning widely. Mags let out a single caw, as though in agreement.
12
A barely discernible buzzing floats through the air. Corinthe watches the fireflies in the purple twilight: thousands flicker over the river, mingling with the reflection of the stars on the water.
Sometimes, when she stares long enough, she can’t tell which is which.
Corinthe takes a step closer to the water’s edge. It is forbidden to touch the Messengers. But why? She thinks of the stranger who visited Pyralis once. “Don’t stop asking questions,” he had told her—and now she can’t stop. The question seems to burn a path through her mind, like the hot trails of the shooting stars that blaze across the sky. Why why why? And why do none of the other Fates wonder the same thing?
A strange hunger grows inside her. Hunger. A word she doesn’t even know yet. Why why why? Why can’t I touch the light? Then, suddenly, as though in response to her unspoken question, one of the fireflies darts past her. Before she knows what she has done, her fingers have closed around it like a Venus flytrap—a plant that grows both in Pyralis Terra and in Humana.