Page 212 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

Chapter 44

An Ode To You

DESDEMONA

I have nothing. I have Lucian.

I always had nothing. I never had Lucian.

Did he ever know me? Did Damien? Did anyone?

I thought I knew what it was to have nothing. But I think I was wrong. Because realizing that no one, in any world, knows who you are makes you question if even you do.

If knowledge is a weapon, then people knowing you is one too. But if I’m left in just as much pain as if I’d given someone the knife, what does that mean?

No one stabbed me in the back, but I stabbed myself, at least in the foot.

I’m alone by my own doing. I pushed everyone away because of my mom’s words. The words of a woman who never loved me. Was it deliberate sabotage? Or is she just as screwed up as I’ve become?

“Damien,” I cry again, with another weak-hearted knock.

“Girl,” someone calls. “What are you doing out here past curfew?”

Curfew? I turn to the voice, a keeper. I can’t help but think of Leiholan’s words when I see his eyes. With that Nepenthe in mind, it’s hard to hate this one.

“Family fight,” I mumble. If there’s a curfew in place, what do the homeless do? I try to think of my run here, and I can’t remember seeing anyone out. Standing up, I look at the door solemnly. Am I just giving up this easily? “I was just leaving.”

He pulls a long piece of metal from his belt. “What’s your name?”

“Catarina.” He steps closer again and then stops in his tracks before backing up. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I say, following after him. “Just… what have the Arcanes been doing here?” He’s turning away from me, and I take the last step between us, closing my hand around his wrist. “Don’t. Run.”

He lets out a small groan, and I let go, seeing a red mark the size of my hand. I think I burnt him. “Please. What’s happening?” I ask.

He practically wheezes when he says, “They’ve been rummaging the area. Looking for a Desdemona.”

“How long?”

Groaning again, he says, “A few months, maybe. They stopped not that long ago.”

“Thank you,” I push the words out. “The woman who lives here can help with the burn.” Then I run.

I remember being in such a similar position four months ago. Running from Damien’s house and knowing that I have to go while not wanting to. They’re looking for me, undoubtedly. Any hope that Eleanora was wrong is gone.

Can I stop them? I don’t know, probably not. But I think of Leiholan lying hopelessly in the hospital without his leg. Aralia, smoking a joint unknowingly when some red-eyed Folk comes into the room looking for me.

And Lucian going back, knowing what he faces and choosing to face it anyway.

For me, the truth is different. I have two options: stay here, or go back and fight. But there’s nothing for me here anymore. So when I make it to the portal, I make the same decision I made months ago.

I go back, heading first for Lucian’s suite but stopping when I see a body on the floor covered by his jacket. Walking over and kneeling down, I pull the jacket back and see Wendy.

What number is she?

She doesn’t breathe, but there’s no sign of grave injury so I lean down, put my lips on hers, and try to breathe life into her. Then I press her chest.

Seventeen times before she sits up, gulping for the air that she’s lost. She holds onto her throat while she wheezes and something wet trickles down the side of my neck. When I pull my fingers away, they come back black.

“What did you do?” Wendy asks weakly.

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