From the Stars, to the Stars

From the Stars, to the Stars: Chapter Twenty

I loop the braid of Bronwyn's hair at the nape of her neck and pin it, then step back to take in the small orchestra of movement around me: Tristan and Matty, wearing tight black athletic shirts, tucking small mystery items into the numberless pockets of their dark cargo pants. Charles and Delia--in the Asian-inspired tunic and pants Delia had hinted about--helping each other inventory gear. Bronwyn, stretching her right leg at the counter, black spandex cat-suit outlining her long-lined muscles. She looks more like a ballerina warming up for dance class than a girl planning to kick butt.

Having heard my thoughts, she casually bows her body low over the extended limb and tilts her chin to the side. "Stop worrying, you little head case; you know my whole 'delicate flower' look is just for show."

I smile back weakly. "Yeah, 'course. You're a Venus flytrap. Pretty on the outside, man-eater on the inside."

The belts and buckles of the huge scabbard Matty straps on creak and clang as he gives them a last tightening wrench. I'm glad I'm not the one going up against him. The sight of Full-Battle Gear Matty would make any target change his political values in a hurry. No muss, no fuss, just your enemy peeing his pants and running home crying for Mommy, promising he'll be a good little boy from now on.

Bronwyn finishes stretching and straightens up, a teasing grin on her face. "I see we still have a fondness for pyromania, Matthias."

Matty pats one of the belts crossing his chest and grins. "Got a rep to defend, Ladybird. Wouldn't want to disappoint the fans."

"Speaking of 'fans'," Delia pipes, "we better get going. It's nearly 12:00, and we wouldn't want the little whipper-snappers thinking we stood 'em up."

The others agree. They shrug into jackets and fall into line behind Charles, who stands waiting by the back door. Delia blows me a kiss before slipping outside after Bronwyn. Tristan crushes me into a hug, my feet dangling, while Matty catches up with the others. He winks as he turns sideways to fit through the doorframe. The screen door bounces closed after him, leaving me alone in the kitchen with his brother.

Sebastien takes the pouch of hair ties from my cold, shivery hand, and draws the strings tight, then drops the bag on the bar and raises my chin with a finger. "Care to tell me why you've avoided me all evening?" he asks.

Tonight it's a jinx to stare, to memorize like I might not get another chance.

I hook a finger under the point of his collar and smile in a way I hope comes off as impish. "Oh, you know me, always conscious of any little style faux pas. I'm concerned this whole 'black-on-'black' look you're working will get you arrested by the fashion police. They're very strict about these sorts of things."

He's traded his languid rich boy facade for a beaten up leather jacket and a pair of well-worn jeans, leaving the top button of his sturdy black shirt undone. His sleek, silver-blond ponytail stripes white down the dark leather over his back.

Thunder crackles, rattling the windows in their frames. Sebastien grins at the ceiling. "Sounds like Mother Nature disagrees with you. The rain's a blessing, helps us see the Darks better and keeps us from trying to take out a tombstone by mistake," he says, sliding his hands into my back pockets.

"Well, at least the jacket works; totally retro, super Easy Rider."

"Good in a fight if the main threat's Bio-Shock. Leather doesn't conduct Dionadair energy very well." He kisses a line from my forehead, over each eyelid, along my jaw, and finally settles his lips over mine. "Please tell me what's wrong. Are you still angry I won't let you come along?"

"No, I get that. I mean, I don't have to like it, but I get it. I don't want you distracted out there. I want you to come back."

". . . And you're not convinced I will?" His expression shifts, grey eyes searching my brown ones. They trap me. "Jocelyn Elsbeth, I—a Dionadair—love you. That's a miracle all by itself. I swear to you, come a pale horse and his rider, no one will ever keep me from coming back to you."

"Okay," I whisper, swallowing.

Sebastien pulls his hands from my jeans and picks me up, setting me on the bar. I link my fingers behind his neck and hook my ankles behind his legs. Blood, adrenaline and something purely Sebastien rushes in my veins. My heart thumps in my chest as if it wants to be free of me altogether.

"Will I convince you if I use my Big Scary Dionadair voice?"

My laughter sounds more like a hiccup, but I smile.

"That's more like it," he says, tilting my face up with his knuckle. "Send me off with a kiss for good luck."

I do as he asks and walk him, my fingers loosely twined with his, to the door. He cracks the screen and calls out, "We're ready, brother."

Tristan breaks away from the group huddled under the porch and bounds up the back step, waiting for Sebastien and me to get out of the way. Sebastien gives me another quick, soft kiss on the cheek and leaves me to look at Tristan in confusion.

He spies a tiny first aid kit on the counter, said, "Hey, I was lookin' for that," and stuffs it into one of his pockets.

"Got enough storage in those cargoes, or do you need to run out and get some Hammer pants?" I laugh.

Tristan strikes a pose. "Can't touch this! Seriously though, don't hate on the Pockets of Holding. They might save your life someday."

I put my fingertips to my chest delicately and bat my lashes. "Oh dear me, my apologies, sir."

"I forgive you, madam," he says, crooking his arm. "May I have the honor? Asked Seb if I could be the one to take you home," he explains. "Didn't want him seeing you if you got all freaked."

"Tristan, I practically live across the street. You don't have act like I'm a child."

He shrugs, unmoved. "You know what they say. It's takes a village."

I fold my arms across my chest and plant my feet. "Oh, really? And our village thought its idiot was big enough to speak for everyone, did they?"

"Take. The. Arm, wouldja?" he sighs.

I hook my hand through, momentarily sensing the sea and sunshine as he Streams me back to my room.

Tristan sits on the footboard of my bed and then shifts his weight more to his feet when the old wood creaks in protest. "Listen," he says. "It's not fair, Sebastien trying to ground you, so if you want I'll let you hitch a ride with me." He taps his forehead.

"Really? You mean it?"

He spreads his arms wide, an invitation. "Best seats in the house up for grabs."

I jump up and throw my arms around his neck, squeezing as hard as I can, so glad I won't have to spend the whole night envisioning the worst. "Tristan, I don't care what anyone else says, you are the bestest meathead in the world!"

"Okay, okay, chickadee," he rasps. "How 'bout letting some circulation return to me?"

"Oh, don't pretend that underused brain needs oxygen!" I tease as I let go of him.

"Who'da thunk a tiny thing like you could talk such trash?" he wonders aloud, bopping my shoulder. Despite the fact that he'd done it 'gently' he still had to catch me when I stumbled.

Suddenly he stands up straight, his eyes zoomingto the ceiling and gives me a huge grin, saying, "Gotta go!"