Page 110 of Fallen Thorns
I watch his lips flicker slightly, content with his name being spoken aloud. Hmm. Nowmymind wanders. Even after all these years of trailing the earth together, he still has so much to learn.
* * *
The black-haired boy cries out,his pain seemingly infinite. Even as I stand, having never been in a true human state, I will never understand why she pushed this far. The boy had done nothing to her, so why did she waste her time with such brutality? She expects a grand audience, this is plain to see. And a grand audience she will receive.
In the night, I watch over him. This night, my form fills out the doorway as I look at him, a worn-out mass, curled in a foetal position across the cold, hard floor. Clothes barely covering his back. He whimpers into his hands, spine and ribs exposed. He does not notice my presence, not even as I step into the lightless room, candle in hand, and place it at his feet.
You see, the trouble is, I know who he is. I know of his significance. I won’t interfere with her actions — it is, after all, nothing to do with me directly, so I can’t let myself get too involved.
I slip over so that my body shadows his and I watch his shallow and rushed breaths. His bloody and bandaged hands are not empty. In them, he holds onto that silver cross: his remaining fingers fumble over the feeling of each point as he mumbles inaudibly. Hmm. I have never understood religion.
Slowly, I reach a hand down to brush aside his mop of black curls, and only then does he flinch with the realisation he is not alone. As he turns to me, I startle back onto my hands, body catching my wings between my back and the ground so that I slip to the floor with a thud.
“Who is it?” his voice cries out, sorrowful and edged with agony. I go to speak but all I can do is stare. I stare and stare at the two raw and hollow pits that once held such vivid green eyes and the jagged, almost clown-like, bloody scars slit down his cheeks.
What has she done?
I think back to watching his lover scour the city on his own for hours — days now. He’s probably out there right now, hopelessly traipsing and searching for any sign of him. I think of my family, for they are a family of a sort. My Moon, my Star. How I would move time itself to keep them safe.
Is this me growing sentimental?Never.
“Please,” he continues to helplessly cry out, “I’m not telling you anything else. I’ve given you everything I can. What more can you possibly want from me?”
I flee before he speaks anymore.
So this is the true capability of one who seeks revenge.
Arlo
“Still no luck?”Rani entered the room with Carmen at her tail, the two of them flustered from the cold. Mars must have contacted them once we left, I had no memory of evenconsideringgetting in touch. My headached.
We had spent the rest of the afternoon and well into the night searching. Yet we found no clues. I kept Mars by my side, allowing them to lean into me as we continued through the trees. I could not wrap my head around how quickly they laid down their life for me, without even knowing for sure if they would help, and yet they still tried. I kept catching a glimpse of their deathly hollow face and weary eyes. A pang of guilt pierced my throat.
I caught them through their stumbles; held them back when they pushed too hard. Not once did they look at me, but I couldn’t blame them, and part of me was grateful. We continued through the sludge in silence.
My head continued to throb. The back of my head ached from the crack while the front felt heavy, a sign of Arlo’s — the true Arlo’s — waking fatigue.
Rani sat herself onto the nearest chair and wrapped her scarf even further around her neck. She exhaled, breathing out clouds of cold air, her nose bright red. “We checked around the train station. I know it’s not much and there realistically isn’t anywhere there that we could find anything, but I couldn’tnot.” She folded her still trembling arms, feet trapping together. “I mean, it’sBen.He’s…” her voice dropped. “I don’t even know…. I just can’t believe it.”
“She has to be teasing us. They’ll be constantly moving.” Carmen came up behind Rani and rested her hand on the back of the chair, standing as tall as she could. Maintaining her last remaining essence of composure. “If I had to guess? She’ll deliver him right to us before long and blame us for not trying hard enough.”
For a while, no one responded.
“You might be right,” Mars piped up. After we returned, Marianne didn’t even stop to question why we were both covered in blood. She simply looked at me with understanding eyes and ushered Mars into a separate room. My head was looked at by someone and Marianne came back out before long, telling me I didn’t even need to explain, and that she was just glad that we had sorted things. She didn’t elaborate and I didn’t even think I could have ifItried.
Now Mars sat wrapped in a blanket, still devoid of their usual energy, but looking a lot less… ill.
They stared at the floor when they spoke. “Or she’ll bring us directly to them. Pick her spot. Make a scene.” They sipped their drink: an apparent concoction of blood and herbs, given the smell. “That’s what Isiah did.”
Carmen stiffened at the mention of his name. She knew, of course, that Marianne had figured out the relation. But seeing her react in person shifted something in me. Isiah was the sole reason this was how her life turned out, and now he had returned in the form of his sister. It was like watching history repeat itself through her eyes.
Rani rubbed Carmen’s wrist, which now firmly gripped the chair head in a claw. They looked at each other, reaching a silent understanding between them.
“I wish we could justknow.I feel like we’re stupid for not being able to figure this out. It’s notthatbig of a city; there are hardly infinite spaces for a vampire and hercaptiveto hide,” I piped up with whatever hung on the tip of my tongue. It also just felt good to hear myself talk… to feel my voice match up with my mind.
“If only,” Mars spoke again, still staring at the stone ground.
At that moment, the door burst open and Casper swooped in… his face gaunt and cracked from tears. His gloveless hands were clenched into fists and his long coat —Ben’s coat —frost-bitten and mud-dragged.
