Fates

19

The sky was lit an unnatural, smoky color. Gray wisps drifted across the open space over Corinthe’s head. She wiped a thick coating of dust from her face with the hem of her shirt.

Miranda was gone. If Corinthe stayed here, underground, she would die with her.

Sirens still screamed all around her, mixing with frantic shouts. As she lay there, staring up at the sky through the broken-apart ceiling, a soft crying sound filtered through to her over the din of sirens and yelling—almost like the noise of a tiny kitten. She tried to ignore it, but it tugged at her insides, compelled her to her feet. She remembered that once, years ago, she had found a stray cat and wanted to keep it; Miranda had forbid her to do so, telling her that pets, obligations, affections, were too human and thus unbecoming of a Fallen Fate. Corinthe hadn’t been able to explain that animals connected her to her old world, to a place where energy flowed between beings, where she had felt safe and necessary.

Corinthe hadn’t thought of that stray kitten, and Miranda’s response, in years. She felt a pulse of sadness. She wondered whether the kitten had lived.

Carefully, she listened again for the sound of crying, cocked her head to isolate the noise. It was coming from the lagoon. Something inside her chest tugged, pulling her toward the sound. She clawed her way out of the rubble. At the edge of the water, half hidden under an uprooted eucalyptus tree, was a very young girl, maybe four or five. Tears had made tracks down her dirty face, and though she had her thumb jammed into her mouth, she continued to cry. When she saw Corinthe, she dropped her hand and lifted both arms to be picked up.

Corinthe didn’t hesitate. She reached out and gently scooped up the girl, who wrapped her arms around Corinthe’s neck. She was surprisingly heavy and smelled like something familiar, from Humana. Strawberries.

Suddenly, Corinthe had a wave of memories: summertime farmer’s markets, passing stalls filled with fruit the color of rubies …

Soap and clean sheets …

The smell of Luc’s shirt …

Corinthe forced the images out of her head. “Where’s your mommy?” she asked.

The girl shook her head, pointing a stubby finger back toward the fallen rotunda. Corinthe looked over her shoulder at the pile of broken columns against the backdrop of a burning city. How could anyone survive that destruction?

She couldn’t leave the girl alone. Corinthe remembered when she’d been exiled, how scared and alone she had felt before Miranda found her. She knew it shouldn’t matter what happened to one random little girl—she knew it wasn’t her business—but it did matter. At the moment, it mattered more than anything else.

“Let’s go find her,” Corinthe said.

They turned away from the water, and gradually, the girl’s sobs turned to sniffles. The girl’s weight was almost too much for Corinthe—she was so weak—but she refused to put her down. As they started across the lawn, which was torn apart now, gaping with fresh wounds in the earth, she felt a tickle against her cheek. The girl was brushing her fingers through Corinthe’s tangled hair.

“Pretty,” she said softly.

Corinthe managed to smile. “Thank you,” she said. She felt a prickling behind her eyes and blinked rapidly.

Now what? In the distance, the road looked mostly empty of people—overturned, abandoned cars emitted smoke in the street, but most of the damage, and most of the medical help, would be in more populous places.

Which way should she go?

Another aftershock rumbled through the ground. Corinthe ducked, shielding the girl with her body. Bits of floating debris stung her back and arms.

When the noise subsided, Corinthe pushed back to her feet and hefted the girl, now wailing again, to her chest. Then she heard a woman shouting behind her.

Corinthe turned around.

The girl lifted her head and began to cry. The woman ran toward them, arms outstretched, stumbling over the uneven ground. When she reached Corinthe’s side, the girl launched herself out of Corinthe’s arms and into her mother’s.

The woman wept, clinging to her daughter, murmuring, “It’s okay. Mommy’s here. It’s okay.” Then she looked at Corinthe. “God bless you,” she sobbed, and she threw one arm around Corinthe, drawing her in.

Corinthe froze.

She felt the woman’s gratitude. No one had ever hugged her like that before.

“Thank you,” the woman said as she pulled away. She reached up and tugged on something around her neck, then pressed it into Corinthe’s hand. “Thank you.”

The woman made her way toward the street, the child still clinging to her, sobbing into her shoulder. Corinthe looked down at the object the woman had given her. A St. Jude pendant rested in her bloodied palm.

The patron saint of lost causes.

She held it up by its silver chain, watched it twirl like the tiny ballerina in her music box. An ache started deep inside her and took away her breath. The pendant started to tremble.

All she’d ever wanted was to return home to Pyralis. That had been the reason for everything: the single driving force behind all of her actions. Every time a horn blared, tires screeched, or music blasted from a car stereo, she had longed for the serenity, the quiet, of the twilight world.

She had never wanted to be human—had feared it more than anything.

She had never felt human. She had never felt anything at all.

Until Luc.

He had made her question everything; he had made her see the world differently. He was stubborn and opinionated and selfless and loyal. She wanted to see him again, to tell him he was right, ask him to tell her more about his family, his friends, his dreams. She wanted to show him she understood, now, why he had to save his sister. That she knew what it was like to care that much for someone else.

She tried to swallow, but it felt like something had wedged in her throat. Pressure built inside her chest. She felt like she would explode. She opened up her mouth to scream, but nothing came out.

She felt her legs shake. She fell to her hands and knees. The pendant landed a foot away in the dirt. She gasped for air, felt her lungs burning. Then something inside her broke, and a sob burst from her throat.

A gut-wrenching, half-strangled noise.

She’d never cried before.

Tears ran down her cheeks and made strange patterns in the dirt. She stared, horrified and fascinated, even as sobs continued to consume her, as her chest heaved and pain clawed through her chest. She wondered if this was death. She had expected pain, but this was so much more. It went on and on, didn’t subside, just battered her until she felt nothing else, as though a deadly current had been unleashed inside of her.

She pushed to her feet, half blind, desperate. Without knowing what she was doing or where she was going, she stumbled toward the lagoon. Tears blurred her vision, but she could still see that thousands of fireflies were swarming around the choppy surface of the water.

She swallowed back a sob. Why didn’t they fall? They must complete the cycle; they must return to Pyralis.

Corinthe had waded into the water. Her thoughts had somehow become fixed on the idea that she could help, that she could restore this tiny bit of balance. When the water was waist high, she inhaled and submerged herself. Her arms and legs burned, but she ignored the screaming pain in her muscles as she kicked out and swam to the center of the lagoon.

She surfaced, spitting water. “Go!” she shouted. “Go before you’re lost!”

She swung her arm, lifting a spray of water toward the hovering mist of fireflies. But they had obviously lost their way and wouldn’t become submerged.

Tears stung her eyes. All of those fates would be lost forever. Would the whole world end, now that everything was chance and choice? Would everything fall into ruin?

Corinthe thought of Luc’s warm eyes, the way he said If you believe in fate. …

Was it chance that she had fallen in love with him?

Did it matter?

Corinthe drew in a mouthful of water, then spit it out, coughing. The surface of the small lagoon was choppier than it had been only a few minutes earlier. A vibration traveled across the surface, growing louder, until it swelled to a roar. The currents surged, tugged her in different directions. She took another mouthful of muddy water and spit it out, retching.

A wave crashed over her head, burying her in sound and tumult. For several panicked seconds, she was turned around. She surfaced to suck in air just in time to get another mouthful of water.

She went under again.

Her lungs burned and her legs felt like deadweight. She clawed for the surface, could barely breathe in before she was once again pummeled by a hard wall of water.

Corinthe let go. There was nothing left inside her, not a single ounce of strength to call on. She heard faint strains of music drifting softly on the current, felt something like wind on her skin. … Her music box was playing. …

Then she heard nothing but silence.