Page 25 of Xantera
Well, you didn’t exactlycommandit,she says innocently.
Get out of my head, Viv,I growl. If only it was as easy as taking off a necklace.
It’s not healthy,she insists.You need real food and a break.
I’m fine.
You need to shift back,Vivian bites out.And then you won’t have to listen to my scratchy voice in your head.
Yeah, but then I’ll have to listen to it in real life,I grouse.
A sudden burst of electricity powers through my veins. The hope gathers in my chest, but Saskia’s voice doesn’t follow. It was just a blip, as if someone brushed the vial with their pinky, and now I’m left wondering if I imagined it. An uneasy craziness settles over me. I know Vivian is right, I need to take a break, but I can’t. Not yet.
No, I want to be ready if she comes back,I tell her.She’s our only way in. Our last chance.
I must have been too hard on Saskia, pushed her too far. No one can process that much information all at once, especially someone who’s lived her entire life under the Guardians’ creepy pale thumbs, believing that their way of life is the only way.
Over and over, I’ve replayed what I said to her—and what I didn’t.
I didn’t tell her I’ve seen humans like her fall from the Wall dozens of times before over the last couple of centuries, and not because the Guardians throw them over to feed me like their stupid fucking myths say.
No, these humans jump, I’m almost sure of it. In a desperate attempt to escape that hellhole they’ve been locked away in, they fling themselves off the top, but they’re all dead as soon as they hit the ground. No human could survive a fall from that dizzyingheight. Saskia’s the only one I’ve been able to exchange more than a few words with, and I might have scared her away for good.
There’s just something about how her mind races that I can’t put my finger on. How her thoughts overlap and clash, as if the buried ones are trying to break free. How she suppresses them and only lets those that have been ingrained in her churn to the top—but she has gears. Rusty, sure, but they’re there, desperately trying to turn.
You’ll know, Lucan. As soon as the human comes back, you’ll know. Please shift, Vivian replies, empathy lining her demand.Come on.
I throw one last howl into the night before Itugat my form from the inside-out.
The shift is harder than usual after being in this monstrous form for four damn days. My veins twist and tighten. My bones scream as they snap inward, reforming themselves within my skin. My skin itself burns as it shrinks, as my claws retract and my body shudders into place.
Exhaling a shaky breath, I grit my teeth once more at the Wall before turning back toward the woods, away from Saskia and the parasites who keep her imprisoned.
This time on two human feet.
Diggory’s partner leads me to a housing unit almost identical to my own.
A mounted screen hangs between kitchen cabinets, its surface a glossy black in the present moment, although the loudspeaker above it is due to announce curfew within the next hour. Four doors lead to two separate rooms, a shared room, and a bathroom, just like mine and Malcolm’s. Boxes almost like cages that we shuffle in between without any originality. There’s even the same square table with the same ramrod chairs, which I sink into now when the woman gestures for me to do so.
I still don’t know her name.
“Belinda,” she says curtly, watching thatquestion brew in my eyes.
“I’m Saskia.” The answer has always been automatic, but for some reason, I feel the weight of my name on my tongue, as if telling it to the Monster the other night somehow gave it more significance.
“Would you like some tea, Saskia?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
I don’t ask which flavors she has. Tea is the one thing we’re allowed to keep in our cupboard beyond the meals we’re provided for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and the flavor is determined by the season. Right now, it’ll be red clover.
Belinda nods and begins busying herself with the shiny aluminum kettle that is, once again, exactly like mine at home. If I could choose, I think I’d like a golden one. Not that Malcolm or I use ours much—up until now, we’ve kept all our rigid mealtime conversations restricted to the required ones. I’m hoping this conversation will prove different.
“How did you know my partner?” Belinda asks with her back still turned to me.
The silver braid down her back sways, and her shoulders rise and fall quicker than they should, even as she pretends to breathe calmly and evenly.
“I was—am—his healer. I took care of him until he disappeared, and then I watched as they dragged him away.”
