We don’t really talk, the three of us. Instead, we share two bottles of red wine and sink back into the sand. After the day we’ve had, there’s really not much space to say anything. All any of us are after is the calm that comes from good company and contented silence. Halfway through the first bottle, Melody lays her head in Kingston’s lap and stares at the stars while he runs his fingers absentmindedly through her hair. Something turns over in my chest when I see that, some memory of comfort and love I can’t quite place, but I don’t say anything. Now that I know it’s entirely platonic, I’m only filled with the hope that maybe, someday, he’ll act like that with me. I’m already tipsy before I can start thinking how I feel about this, this sudden knowledge that I have a sliver of a chance with Kingston. I can’t tell if it makes things easier or worse.
“I really don’t know what’s wrong with you,” he whispers to Mel, and he seriously sounds sorry about it, like it’s all his fault. She reaches up and touches his arm.
“Don’t worry,” she says with a small smile. “I’ll be fine.”
I turn back to watch the tide, my head filled with thoughts I wish I could share but can’t bring myself to voice. The man from the Summer Court, Lilith’s disapproving glare. My contract. It hasn’t even been a month and I feel more confused than when I started, like maybe things were simpler before I came here. Whatever “before here” actually entailed. The wine is not making it any easier to think.
A few minutes later, I look back over at the two of them, watch him run his fingers through her hair. Mel’s eyes are closed and her chest is rising and falling in rhythm with the tide. She looks peaceful like that, fast asleep. Even peaceful when she lets out a soft snore. Kingston’s looking out at the moon, his eyes distant. I’d give anything to switch places with Melody, to have him run his fingers through my hair.
He looks to me and smiles. Just that is enough to make my stomach warm.
“Why do you look at her like that?” I whisper, the wine making me bolder than I should be. Melody doesn’t stir.
“Like what?” he asks. He doesn’t stop twining his fingers through her hair. Yeah, I’d give anything to switch spots.
“Like you’re responsible for her.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
I huff and lean back into the sand.
“I could be here a while,” I say. “You might as well get used to the fact that if I don’t understand now, I will eventually.”
“What do you mean?”
I think back to my conversation with Penelope, though the memory is a swirl of wine.
“I don’t know how long my contract is,” I say.
He says nothing to that, but he doesn’t look away. It’s me that has to avert my gaze; there’s an intensity in those coffee-colored eyes I just can’t match.
“I
“What?”
“Melody. I’m responsible for her.”
“She’s twenty-two,” I say.
“Age is deceiving,” he replies. I know he’s not just talking about Mel. He looks away. “I found her, much like — ” he stutters, “much like Mab found you. If not for me, she wouldn’t be here.” He brings his gaze back down and traces a finger along Mel’s forehead. Maybe it’s the drink, but I swear a faint blue light swirls beneath her skin, a pattern I barely glimpse before it’s gone. “If not for me,” he whispers, so soft I can barely hear it, “she wouldn’t be getting sick.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say, though the defense sounds weak. He doesn’t say anything, so I try to make an actual point of it. “I mean, Mab brought me here and some crazy shit’s gone down, but I don’t regret it.”
I look back to the tent, to the Shifters milling around. The sides are being pulled up now, the skeleton gaining skin.
“This is better than whatever I came from,” I say, though even as the words are leaving my mouth, I know it’s not true. I have no idea what I came from. I can’t even remember what street I lived on. The thought infuriates me for a moment, makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs and rip everything apart. And then it’s gone, and I don’t know what I was thinking about in the first place.
He laughs, and I look over.
“What?” I ask. What were we talking about?
He’s smiling. It looks genuine.
“You’re cute,” he says. “Drunk is a good look on you.”
“I’m not drunk,” I say. I realize a little too late that it sounds slurred. I chuckle and fall back in the sand.
“Get some sleep,” he says.
I don’t want to, but after all the running around today and the lack of sleep last night, it’s hard to resist.
I close my eyes and listen to the waves as I sway with the heaviness of wine. I want to tell him he’s beautiful, that he isn’t responsible for everyone. That Melody’s lucky no matter what because she has him looking out for her. I don’t say any of this; the words just won’t piece together. I’m drifting when I feel something brush through my hair. I don’t open my eyes to see if the fingers are real or just my imagination.
“Shit,” Kingston says, and I’m pulled from dreams of nothing. The sun is just rising, the pale light making everything pink and purple and beautiful. But that’s not enough to mask the screams coming from the tent. I sit up, sand stuck to every inch of me. Both Melody and Kingston are pushing themselves to standing.
“You don’t think?” Mel asks, and Kingston closes his eyes. Although he looks much more well-rested than yesterday, there’s a weariness around his eyes that seems to grow by the minute. If it weren’t for the screaming, I’d be sorely tempted to tell him to go back to sleep.
“I don’t want to find out,” he says.
My heart is sinking into the dirt. A crowd gathers by one of the trailers, and the scene from a few days ago is playing on loop in my head.
“Come on,” I say, and head toward the chaos.
The two of them are right behind me, and it’s not ’til I’m running up the grassy slope toward the field that I realize Melody’s lagging behind. I turn back. No, not lagging, limping. One arm is around Kingston, her face twisted with pain. She must have slept wrong or something. I don’t slow down. I want to see this before Mab takes over.
When I reach the trailers and push my way to the front of the crowd, I’m immediately glad I haven’t eaten anything yet.
It’s Roman. He’s naked, except for socks and boxers, like he’d been killed in his sleep. Except he was clearly awake for this; his eyes and mouth are wide open and his body is arched back, supported by six swords piercing his spine, the tips just poking out the front of his torso. He’s covered in thick blood that drips down his arms and pools on the grass below. His powder-blue mohawk is stained purple. Flies are already gathering.
I push aside the nausea and look around, scan the crowd, try to find someone who’s missing, something out of place. But everyone’s there, and everyone looks horribly shocked. Everyone except for Lilith, who’s nowhere to be seen.
The crowd parts like a sobbing Red Sea the moment Mab arrives. She isn’t even trying to look mortal, now. She glides over the ground like a wraith, the grass beneath her long, black, smoke-like dress turning to ice. Her green eyes are blazing, and I swear her nails are talons.
“What is the meaning of this?” she hisses, and the crowd draws back. She moves forward and reaches out, her hand hovering an inch above Roman’s face. “Roman,” she whispers, the intensity of her rage dimming with her words. “Who did this to you?”
She turns back to the crowd and points. Again, they part, all of them except Sheena, the purple-haired girl who was working the novelties booth two nights ago. She seems rooted to the spot, her eyes locked on Mab’s. I can tell she’s not afraid, but she looks wary.
“Come here, girl,” Mab says.
