From the Stars, to the Stars

From the Stars, to the Stars: Chapter Twenty-four

Lightning bleaches the air for a millisecond, making visible a marble breezeway lined with bronze plaques and small stone urns. Wind blows every which way, slinging rain into my eyes from the open arch, blurring my view of the young Dionadair crouching about a foot from me.

His caramel highlighted, shoulder-length hair is quickly getting drenched, as are his clothes: skinny jeans, and oversized shirt, lots of rings. He looks a couple years older than the triplets, and boasts the appearance of having some Asian ancestry. Suddenly I recognize him as the indie hipster kid from Vinyl that one day.

He scrutinizes my face, his mouth slipping into a cynical grin. "So you're the girl a Dionadair fell for, and the key to everything Huckleby wants. Too bad he got impatient with Door Number One, and was going to opt for Door Number Two. Hortense was bound to be disappointed her new toy would go to waste so fast."

I roll my eyes. "Lucky me, though," I say, then growl an expletive as the motion jostles my left arm. Tell me something I hadn't figured out already . . . like how he snatched me without anyone else catching up to him, first."

"Alphonse of Barely Any Spark came and went with you in tow before your gang had a clue. What's wrong with your hands?"

"Alphonse of the Barely Any Spark is also Alphonse the Iron Fist. He broke the left wrist Huckleby had already crunched." I take a moment to remove a small piece of glass from my other hand. It isn't easy. "I suppose you just happened to be in the neighborhood, looking for a good deed to put in your Boy Scout journal?"

He snorts. "Hardly. Let's just say I have certain talents. No one can track me, no one ever sees me coming, so before settling on Alphonse, Huckleby offered me the job. He thought my unique gifts might prove useful, and so they have. But I declined Huckleby. I'm not a kidnapper."

"Useful, but n-no-not to Huckleby." The adrenaline is beginning to wear off, and the fresh damp is replacing the heat with a shaky chill.

"Give me your hands before you bleed to death, or worse. I'm not into delivering damaged goods." He takes my bloody hand first, forcing inhuman heat directly into my nervous system.

My teeth stop chattering, my goosebumps retreat, and the oddest sensation flares in my hand. First the scratches and gouges in my first hand come back together, as if zipping themselves up. After that, my wrist begins to burn, the bones inside clicking and clacking back into place, fusing in the fire of the Dionadair's touch. When the last crack settles, the boy lets go of my hand, and backs away.

"What the hades did you just do to me? And couldn't you have warned me about the skeletal pyrotechnics? That bloody hurt!"

"Would it have made a difference in the pain level, sweets? Come on, we have to get you back."

This does not make any sense to me. "Wait, you're taking me back? What was the point of stealing me from Huckleby if you're just going to put me back into danger? A power trip?"

"Didn't happen to say who I'm handing you off to, did I? But you're right; I wouldn't give a damn about what happens to you normally, but I can't quite bring myself to do that to a guy who really knows what being alone is like, you feel me? As soon as they're finished,"—he tilts his chin toward what I realize is Thornrose—"you're free to go."

"When you say 'alone' you mean someone who knows how you feel, don't you? Are you a Third, too?"

He clenches his teeth so tight the hinge of his jaw pops. "No."

As if to emphasize his point, he prowls—no other word for it—back to me, the pressure of his energy tugging at me like the cold, stormy night. "Listen, your precious prince and I have just the one thing in common, so don't go thinking I'm a good guy. I'm as rotten as they come, princess, and it's best for everyone if you keep that in mind. Got it?"

I resent the conceit in his tone, as if he knows everything about the world, and I know nothing. I want to argue against the implication, but something cold and glistening, some aftertaste of him has left my mouth dry.

I swallow. He grins.

"Fine. I didn't expect to be lifelong buddies with you," I scoff. "Let's just get this show on the road."

"Not until I say, Highne--," He stops in the middle of running a burning cold finger over my collarbone. His attention has zoomed in on some faraway point. He grabs my arms and stares me down. "Damn. I hate express packages. Change of plans. You have to make them listen to you. Tell them it has to be you, and don't take 'no' for an answer. You're the only one who can do it, do you understand me?

"N-no," I stammer.

"You will," he demands, like it's an edict. "You'll need every one of them, but remember it won't work without you. He won't come back."

Then he Streams mewithout another word.