Page 49 of Torn

Merry is ready to cup Wonder’s bare shoulder, to ask what’s wrong and whom the goddess is thinking of. But Wonder clenches and unclenches her fingers, which appears to soothe her. And so, Merry’s not about to intrude and resurrect that momentary pain.

She strips out of the robe and nightgown, wiggles her cumulus-clad feet through the sapphire skirt, and dons the Pisces tee, adding a baggy blazer to mix. Then she kicks off the slippers, finishing the ensemble with striped knee-high socks and her sneakers.

Wonder smiles at the discarded slippers. “If this works, and you return to the Peaks, please make sure to pack those. I’d love to see the look on the Court’s faces.”

Merry joins her on the bed while strapping her hair into a ponytail. “Did they attack because they know about the legend?”

The goddess sobers, her off-the-shoulder blouse sliding lower. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine how they would unless they’ve assigned a deity to spy on one of us. I’ll learn what I can. Promise.”

Wonder vows to drag Envy and Sorrow aside, to tell them everything once they’ve left the city. They’re her classmates, and they need to be careful.

This romance is entangling more souls than Merry had foreseen. But as agreed, she’ll do her part. She’ll be on her guard and rummage her kindreds’ territories for any news or rumors.

And she’ll do her best to court a rage god.

13

Merry

Three objectives harmonize in her mind.

One, woo Anger away from his unrequited past. Two, love him down.

Three, and most importantly, find out what the Fate Court knows, what they’re up to, and then evade the consequences long enough to succeed in One and Two, thus becoming immune to the Court’s ire and winning a ticket to the Peaks.

Actually four: Live happily ever after.

After Wonder leaves, Merry rolls her shoulders and fluffs her ponytail. Vaguely, she considers exchanging her outfit for something elegant and goddesslike.

But no. She may be unwanted by the universe, she may crave its acceptance—and yes, okay yes, she may be tempted to adapt for the stars—but she draws the line at replacing her sneakers and tulle, and certainly not her fishnet gloves. That would set an inauthentic precedent.

Merry wants Anger, but she’s read enough mortal books, listened to enough mortal music, and watched enough mortal movies in theaters. If there’s one thing she won’t do for Anger, it’s change who she is. If she’s gleaned anything about love, it’s that he has to want her forher.

If he’s truly her soul mate, he’d better.

Merry hops to it. She sets the stage, springing into courtship. Returning to the outdoor deck, she skips across the planks with her hands bundled behind her.

In the maze of hedges, Anger gropes the roof’s railing, his head bowed. His reclusive profile produces conjoined reactions, tremulous and excruciating. When he turns her way with a scallop of worry between his brows, it’s a slam dunk to the soul. Had he sensed her approach?

They stare at each other. He checks the perimeter of her face, and she counts his eyelashes, as thick as tassels. Someday, she might recline across those plumes of hair and drift into slumber.

He waits for her to speak, and she waits for the same thing from him, and this interlude goes on for so long—that they chuckle sheepishly.

“That was a calamitous sunrise,” she admits.

“Deplorable,” he agrees with a rueful expression. “I apologize for—”

“Me, too. After such a profound evening—”

“It would be a disaster to spoil things.”

“Utterly,” she says.

“Certainty,” he finishes, looking as though he wishes to kick himself, which is a mutual feeling.

“Soooo…” Merry screws her toe into the ground. “Everyone’s gone. Just us. You and me.”

“What did you have in mind?”

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