Page 66 of Shattered Stars
I need to keep thinking.
I knock my fist against my forehead, trying to force my thoughts into order.
I can’t kill her and I can’t kill him.
I smack my fist harder and shit, it works. The idea knocking loose and presenting itself.
I need to make him think she’s dead. I need to make him believe it. Lowsky has bigger issues going on. If he thinks she’s dead, he’ll forget about her. It’s not a permanent solution, he’ll work it out in the end. But he has bigger ventures going on right now, stuff to distract him. It’ll give me the time to work out what to do next.
I spit my gum to the ground.
“Ahh shit,” I say out loud. I’m going to have to kill him eventually. I’m going to have to find a way to do it to keep her safe.
For now, though – for now – I’m going to make him believe I killed her.
Which means I’m going to have to go see her again.
My leg stops jiggling and I feel my cheeks tug upwards.
Fuck yeah, I want to see her again. And this time I really really want to touch her too.
Turns out,seeing my little rabbit isn’t going to be as hard as I thought it would be. Turns out the enforcer and the werebeast are both out of town. Of course, there are still two others watching my little rabbit, but the odds are looking more in my favor this way.
The academy is protected by all sorts of fucking impressive spells; spells designed to keep people like me out.
Although I have to say – many of them are looking old, creaking around the edges, fissures running through their surface. They need replacing, repairing. I should tell her that. I want her safe.
It doesn’t matter either way, though. I’m not going in that way. I’m going in through the forest. The forest is impossible to enter through normal means, which means it’s not protected by spells like the rest of the place.
I can enter if I want. With a bit of effort.
I return to Lowsky’s compound to take a shower, brush my teeth, drag a comb through my hair and put on a clean t-shirt.
Want to look good for my girl.
I take a glance in the mirror. This older kid once said I had a pretty face. Tried to fucking stuff his hands down my pants. I broke his jaw, his hand and made sure he’d never father any perverted offspring like himself.
Since then, I’ve gained a fuck load of scars. I doubt my face is pretty any more. I run my fingers along the scar lines. Will she care? Does it matter?
I slam off the light, patting my pocket to make sure I have her knife as I stride back through the trees, ignoring all the busy little bees around me.
When I’m lost in the trees, I take a deep inhale and close my eyes. The noise is there, chattering in my head, but if I listen real hard – real real hard – I can make out that humming. Time. Space. It has a sound all of its own, like a note on a piano.
All I have to do is reach out and bend that string, twist the note higher or lower and slip through.
When I open my eyes again, I’m in a different forest. A darker, denser one.
Bingo.
I take a minute, rubbing at my temples. It hurts, always does. That’s why I don’t do it very often. The pain intensifies if I do it too much.
This was worth it though. For a glimpse, for a touch, to ensure she’s safe.
The forest is silent. Not a leaf stirring in the breeze. Not a branch creaking overhead. I snake through the trees, my heart doing this funky dance in my chest the closer I get to the boundary. Her place is right by the edge of the forest. I can see her window from the safety of the trees.
Her room is dark. The pig napping on the grass outside.
I click my tongue and snap my fingers and the pig lifts his head, his ears twitching. I do it again.
