Page 102 of Shadows and Flames
Releasing our hold on each other after another purposeful squeeze, Elián crouched, hand to the ground. “The whole structure burned some time ago. Maybe a year.” He stood again, gaze unfocused on the present world and looking to the past. “It started somewhere inside. Somewhere above. The fire was already mature when it reached the foundation.”
He continued to assess the ground beneath the construction, scenting and feeling, but after a few moments with people streaming past us in the busy Nethras afternoon, he stood, shaking his head.
I gave his stomach a gentle touch, thanking him for gathering all he could.
Had a small part of me been holding out for this home I’d made years ago? Before I knew Elián, before my brother betrayed and tried to kill me. Before Soleil.
“I’d love to continue standing in the middle of the street, but there are at least two of us who need to get inside.”
I flinched and turned behind me, taking in Fenix’s fully cloaked form and Tomás’s slumped one. The former’s face was entirely covered by a low hood and a cloth he had tied around his mouth and nose. His hands were wrapped in gloves like mine, protecting him as much as possible from the light of the sun. He even wore a pair of nearly-opaque glasses, shielding his sensitive eyes as well.
Even still, his gait had been slow, careful to not accidentally expose himself to the sunlight. Tomás had been a bloody fucking terror as we forced him into a chair fitted with large wheels, as soon as we charted our own private ship to the Nethran ports.
Weeks. At sea. With a Vyrkos who begrudgingly traveled with us, even with every opportunity we gave him to leave, a proud Shadow who had not accepted that he was ill, and another Shadow who was chronically nauseated when his feet weren’t on steady ground.
My cousin’s sunny demeanor had even dimmed, as we reminded each other why it was not wise to pitch ourselves overboard and swim to the nearest shore.
Francie had been the only calm one, which worried me even still. The closer we got to Nethras, away from the human-ruled lands to ones where our kinds were more populous and her mate was waiting, she grew more subdued.
Now, she clutched Whitley’s handkerchief, shakily tightening it around her fingers, loosening it, then starting the cycle all over again. She stared off into the distance, an unsettled expression on her face that contrasted sharply with her long, brushed hair and new clothing.
“You wouldn’t happen to still have your apartment, would you?” I asked Tana.
She shook her head, dashing that last hope of somewhere familiar for us. “I would highly doubt it. I’d packed the majority of my things when I went back to Versillia to see Dad.” She looked down. “They’ve most certainly cleared the rest and rented it to someone else by now.”
Shit, I cursed to myself for the lack of options and for tipping my cousin into a somber place. For so long, she’d been propping me up, helping me through the loss of Elián and the death of my son. So much so that I wasn’t used to her displaying any negative emotion outside of mild annoyance.
“That’s okay,” I tried to reassure her. To Elián, I brought forth an option I knew he would not be keen on. He and Tomás already denied having homes in the city, and traveling to the nearest one either of them owned would take far too long. “Howabout Tana and I go with Francie to the children’s home, and we’ll meet you at the lodging house in the arts district?” From what I could recall, it was fairly reasonably priced while sporting comfortable accommodations.
As I’d suspected, Elián frowned, but he thankfully did not protest. Tomás began another fit of coughing, a sound we’d all grown accustomed to on the long sail here.
His condition had slowly worsened, leaving him unable to walk much longer than from the bed to the toilet. Even the journey back was tenuous.
Hence, the chair he hated.
Elián claimed my chin and dropped a kiss to my lips, quick and firm, before walking to his brother. He grasped the handles at Tomás’s back, listening intently as I gave him the directions he probably didn’t even need.
Fenix’s head followed Tana as she linked an arm through Francie’s, but my cousin didn’t notice. By the time she glanced at the three males, they were already heading in the opposite direction as we steered Francie toward Tulip Street.
We supported her, Tana and I, standing at either side of Francie and filling the time with supportive silence. Nethras was as busy as ever and would only get busier as the night went on. The Vyrkos would come out of their sleep, restaurants would be full with hungry patrons, and live music would fill the streets.
Other than the brief stop on my initial trip with Elián as my Shadow, I’d not been back here since the death of my friends.
Across the street, a group of three, the merry contrast to our solemn one, laughed while exiting a shop.
My neck twisted as I—that was Lee’s shop, wasn’t it? Where I’d spent many hours perusing the shelves, sitting in one of the coveted window seats and flying through a stack of novels. Where I leaned over the front counter, bantering back and forth over this new release or that special edition.
A tug on my arm, Tana and Francie pulling me back to the present, whipped my attention back around. Now, when Lee was gone, murdered in a horrible—and successful—ploy to shock me into going home to Versillia.
I’d initially intended to fill our walk with steady, pleasant chatter. Something to soothe Francie’s nerves. But my brief descent in the past left my mind reeling, and then we were turning down the quiet, familiar street. Francie’s breathing got even harder, body nudging mine as she twisted Whitley’s handkerchief in her grip. The fluid bends of her white mating marks flexed with the movement.
Finally, the children’s home came into view. The toys scattered in the grass surrounding were a different sort than the last time I was here—a red ball instead of green, small wooden swords amongst the ribbons and fabric animals. The spirit of it was the same, though there would be no cheerful little boy with red curls running straight for me.
From El and Tomás’s account, he was now an adolescent, gangly and happy to be living his dream as a Shadow acolyte. Had their letters reached him in time? Was he here?
There was a different adolescent sitting with a book out front, cross-legged and hunched in the grass. Upon our arrival, he glanced up, brows still furrowed from whatever he’d been reading. Francie gasped, clutching the delicate white fabric in her hands tighter.
The child, one I now was starting to recognize, fumbled his book closed and scrambled to his feet. “F-Francie?” he asked, revealing a set of fangs that must’ve just come in.
