Tav rolled their face into the pillow to stifle a moan. They lost themselves to fantasy before sleep finally returned for them.
In the morning they had forgotten about the dream.
THE HEART
Eli was sitting cross-legged on the roof. It was early, and the moon still hung behind a shred of cloud even as the sun began its ascent into the sky. Eli wanted to bear witness to the funerary procession of the dead rock as it travelled around the Earth. She wanted to remind herself what was at stake.
She had woken from a nightmare and had been unable to fall back asleep. The dream returned suddenly — the sound of a thousand wasps, the sharp edge of a blade, and the eyes of a girl who had been trained to kill without mercy. Eli shook her head, sending the shadows of distressed dreams back into the corners of her mind. There was no daughter with hornet blades, and no one who could craft such an exquisite murderer save for Circinae, and Eli’s mother was gone. Eli had conjured this threat with her own fears. Or perhaps the Heart remembered a daughter long dead. Eli was struggling to keep her memories separate from those of the Heart that possessed her — they flowed together like mercury.
Eli watched the moon fade from the sky. There would be no justice for the moon or the remnants of its people, the ghosts that Eli had once hunted through the streets below. It was too late for that world, but not for this one. The Earth could still be saved. There was still time. Time to learn how to live in this body, how to be the Heart, how to harness the new power running through her veins.
Only a few days had passed since the confrontation in the Coven, and Eli was still learning the shape of her new body. She loved it; it was hers, and hers alone, and it was free. But sometimes it flickered in and out of existence, and now she could see magic everywhere, the world bursting into colours and light unexpectedly — not just when she switched to her magical pure black eyes.
Eli had grown up in a world of magic, but being able to see its threads, tendrils, shoots, leaves, feathers all at once — this was something else entirely. The constant movement and colour gave her migraines. Being in the human world, in the place the witches called the City of Ghosts, made it a bit easier. She couldn’t control these new abilities; they seemed to come and go at random. Sometimes it felt like this body was a garden and someone else was planting gardenias and calla lilies and bleeding hearts and turning the earth over with a blunt spade, cutting through roots and weeds, disturbing the worms underneath.
The clamour of the street rose from somewhere below her, and Eli closed her eyes and sighed. Time was running out. She knew that Cam and Tav had given her these few days to heal, but the Coven wasn’t resting, and every day they lingered, the Earth was dying. Even Clytemnestra’s fierce warrior-children, fighting desperately to wrest control of the City of Eyes, couldn’t suture the wounds that had been made in the planet.
Only Eli and Tav could.
Tomorrow, Eli decided, eyes opening like a pair of morning glories. She rested her hands unconsciously on a belt of blades strapped to her hips. When her fingers brushed a hilt of bone, the knife rang out with a melody that only she could hear. Tomorrow we start.
The moon was fading from view.
Eli faded with it.
Two
KITE
“I bring a message for the Heir Dormant.”
An underling appeared, a witch acolyte adorned in frail streamers of fabric, gauzy and pale, almost like smoke moving through the room. Low magic. A nobody. Kite was surprised they had been able to find her. Most were too afraid of the tomes in the library, the ancient books swollen with malice.
Kite looked up, blinking, an opalescent tear sliding down her nose and onto the book before her. Her hair was piled like a waterfall on her head.
“The Witch Lord has requested an audience.”
Kite bowed her head, causing tentacles of hair to fall over her face, unrolling across the floor. When had her hair grown so long? She had no concept of time.
“Thank you for telling me.” Her voice was musical, the lilting song of a harp. Dangerously gentle.
The Coven knew she spent most of her time in the library, poring over ancient histories and forgotten magic. The Witch Lord hoped to use her knowledge to increase the Coven’s power.
She had something else in mind.
The acolyte left. Kite stared at the lettering underneath her hands. Quickly, Kite ripped the page from its spine, shoved it into her mouth, and chewed, letting the ink run down her tongue. The words would confuse anyone who wanted to know what she had been thinking. Living in the library had its advantages. A sea of words, and she could put them together however she wanted.
Kite swallowed. When she smiled her teeth were stained black.
Then she rose and went to see her mother.
The room she was summoned to was dark, but Kite could smell the Beast. She sunk onto her knees and bowed her head. She could feel the Beast sniffing her out, testing her mind strength, tasting her aura. Then the smell faded, and a small whimper echoed through the chamber.
Kite suddenly felt weak. Looking down, she could see her material body peeling away, revealing her magical essence, the aquamarine light of her being; her true shape. Her most powerful — and vulnerable — body.
No one came hidden in skins to an audience with the Witch Lord.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Kite
