Fates (26 page)

“I love you, Luc,” she whispered once more.

“I love you, too,” he said.

He leaned down and their lips met.

And for the first time in all the length of the universe, they kissed.

She tasted like wildflowers, like sunshine and honey, like the air before a storm. He wanted to kiss his breath into her lungs, kiss his blood into her veins, kiss his heartbeat into her chest. And in his head he saw little explosions, stars being formed and re-formed, worlds where time ran in deep, endless pools.

“Thank you,” she said. She pulled away, and closed her eyes again. “You made me … happy.”

He laid his forehead against hers. “Please stay with me, Corinthe. Be with me. Choose me. I need you.”

Her smile this time was the barest flicker, like a candle trying to stand up to the storm.

“I did choose you, Luc. Luc … I …” For a second a tremor went through her, and she inhaled, as though she wanted to speak.

But she didn't speak.

She didn't move, or breathe.

Luc felt as though a giant weight were crushing him from all sides. Tears blurred his vision. A low, animal sound worked its way out of his throat.

It wasn't fair.

He had finally found love, and then he had lost it.

And somehow, all of it had been fated: Corinthe's choice, his love for her, her sacrifice for him. Somehow, there was supposed to be meaning in all of it.

He pressed a lingering kiss to Corinthe's lips and cradled her body against his. “I love you,” he whispered urgently. “You are my Other.”

A distant memory ticked his mind.

A voice whispered through his subconscious.

There might be a way.

“That story Miranda told you—about a Radical who turned back time—it wasn't just a story.” His throat was so raw it hurt to speak. He knew she couldn't hear him, but he pressed his lips to her ear anyway. “Rhys told me there was a way. I'll have him do it again. I'll find him and he'll rewind time and everything will be okay. I'll go back and save you.”

Luc looked down at Corinthe's face, traced his fingers over the curve of her chin. He couldn't lose her. Not like this.

He pressed one last kiss against Corinthe's lips and gently eased her off his lap.

“I promise I'll find a way, Corinthe. I won't stop. Not for anything. Not ever.”

L
uc stood over Jasmine, watching the covers rise and fall with her breath.

Her dark hair spilled over the faded green pillowcase. Her eyelids fluttered as though she was dreaming; she was still pale, but her lips were losing the last of their blue tint. The flower's nectar had worked exactly as Corinthe had said it would: it had cured the poison in Jasmine's blood.

When he'd returned to San Francisco with Jas through a Crossroad, they'd emerged near the rotunda to find the city recovering from a massive quake. As he struggled with Jas, who was still too weak to walk back to their apartment, he saw signs of devastation everywhere: crumbled buildings, flipped cars, and streets with gaping crevices, like grins.

And though it felt like days—weeks, even—that he'd been gone, a flashing daily lotto sign indicated that only a day had elapsed.

How was it possible that only one day had passed in this world, when he and Corinthe had gone through so much?

What was it that Rhys had said about time? That it was fluid. That it flowed like water.

Thinking of Corinthe brought a familiar ache. She should be here with him. She would be someday; he'd promised her.

“How's she doing?” a hushed voice asked from behind him.

Luc turned and moved out of the room, careful to close the door quietly behind him.

“Better,” he assured his dad. “She ate a little bit of soup when she woke up this last time.”

His dad smiled, but it looked forced, and it did nothing to hide the shaking in his hands or the sweat that beaded on his face and neck. He looked sickly. Since realizing that his kids were nowhere to be found during the earthquake yesterday, he had stopped drinking. Now, twenty-four hours later, the withdrawal symptoms were catching up.

“Let's get you some water,” Luc said as he ushered his dad down the short hallway to the kitchen. It still felt like a dream. To see his father trying to get clean and sober and acting like … well, acting like a father was an incredible relief.

The kitchen smelled like soup and garlic bread. Luc couldn't remember the last time their dad had fixed anything besides a frozen burrito, but that was before.

Before Luc had brought a half-dead Jasmine back to their apartment.

Before Dad had come home and sworn things would be different from now on.

Before Jasmine had begun to heal and Luc had finally fallen into a deep and dream-filled sleep in which he saw Corinthe, smiling, leaning over to kiss him—and then snatched away suddenly by a wind.

He needed to find Rhys again. He had sworn he would. Now that he knew Jas was safe, it was time.

“I need to go out for a while,” Luc said. “If she wakes up, just make sure she eats some more soup. And she has to drink lots of water, too. I won't be long.”

“I know what to do, Luc.” His father stared down at his hands. They were shaking. “I know … I know I haven't been the best father to you, but I swear … I can do better.”

“It's okay, Dad.” The last word felt foreign on Luc's tongue, but in a good way.
Dad.
How long had it been since he'd said that?

“Do what you need to. I'll be here in case Jas needs anything.” A spasm of pain passed across his father's face.

“Thanks,” Luc said. He wanted to say something more, something deeper, but the words didn't come. Maybe someday they would.

Luc left the apartment and made his way down the stairs. Miraculously, their building had suffered very little damage, aside from some bare patches on the ceiling where the plaster had crumbled.

A few blocks over, the buildings hadn't fared so well. In the forty-eight hours since he and Jas had been back, heavy equipment had cleared the streets of the largest debris: sections of brick walls, massive chunks of concrete, tangled twists of metal that had once provided structural support. Glassless windows gaped at him, boarded-up storefronts lined the streets, and a thick layer of dirt covered everything. Luc's boots crunched on broken glass as he walked past Fiend. Jasmine would be devastated that her favorite coffee shop was just a pile of rubble now.

Could Luc fix this, too, if he succeeded in going back in time?

He clutched the archer locket in his pocket as he walked. He didn't want to think about what would happen if he became lost in the Crossroad, with no one to help him. He just had to focus—then he would return to the Land of the Two Suns directly. At least, he hoped so.

Luc passed by the building twice before he realized it was the right one. This was where Corinthe had chased him after she'd attacked him on the beach—this was where everything had begun.

But now, the brick façade had fallen. Only a corner of the front door was visible. There was a
no trespassing
sign hanging from a broken piece of metal just above a shattered window.

Luc's throat tightened. He had to get up on the roof—no matter what.

He climbed the pile of debris carefully, slipping a little on the splintered plaster, and looked once over his shoulder before slipping through the glassless window. He thumped clumsily to the floor inside, but no one called out to stop him.

The hall was patchy with light where the sun penetrated the half-collapsed walls. The stairwell had survived, thankfully, but Luc took the stairs carefully, testing his weight. They groaned loudly, but they held.

Finally, he reached the roof-access door and paused for a moment to catch his breath. But just for a moment. He was ready.

He pushed open the door and once again stood on the roof that had changed everything.

A cool breeze was sweeping off the bay. It felt good, like a murmur of reassurance. His gaze moved to the spot where he had stood and tried to reason with Corinthe.

Corinthe. Those violet eyes, the smell of flowers on her skin …

It was all for Corinthe.

He moved across the roof. But when he reached the spot where he had jumped, his stomach dropped to his feet. There was no laundry standing motionless despite the wind—just the fire escape, dangling at a strange angle from the roof and clanging against the side of the building every time the breeze picked up.

He scanned the area, trying to locate any weirdness, any anomaly that would indicate a Crossroad.

But everything looked normal. Damaged, but normal.

Could the quake have closed the Crossroad somehow?

Luc's palms were sweating.

Impossible.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the locket he had taken from Rhys. The archer sprang up when he flipped the release and began spinning in circles. Tinny music filled the air.

Luc waited, but the archer only kept spinning.

Luc circled the roof, holding the archer above his head like a beacon, and still it kept spinning. A sick feeling started in his stomach. It clawed its way up into his throat.

It had to be there.

Maybe he had the wrong building. His memory from that night wasn't a hundred percent clear. Corinthe had been chasing him with a knife, for Christ's sake. It was possible he'd gotten it wrong. He closed his fist around the locket, feeling the cool metal in the palm of his hand before tucking it back into his pocket.

Just need to go back down and retrace my steps. That's all.

But when he turned to go, something orange, buried in a bit of debris, caught his eye. He knelt and pushed bits of concrete out of the way. There, in almost the same spot it had fallen days earlier, was his Giants cap.

This
was
the right roof.

Luc straightened up slowly, filled with a sudden sense of hopelessness.

The sun had sunk below the horizon, and brilliant streaks of color painted the sky in bold strokes. The air had a violet haze to it. It reminded him of Pyralis.

Of Corinthe's eyes when she had said that she loved him.

He had made a promise to her. And no matter what, he would keep it.

There were other Crossroads in his world. There had to be. He had emerged with Jasmine near the rotunda. Didn't that prove it?

Crossroads everywhere …

He only needed to find one.

“I'm coming, Corinthe,”
he whispered into the wind.

And for just a moment, he could almost swear he heard the wind whispering back.

First I would like to thank Lexa Hillyer and Paper Lantern Lit for this amazing opportunity. Writing
Fates
was so much fun, and I learned so much over the past year.

I'd also like to thank my editor at Delacorte Press, Wendy Loggia, for taking a good book and helping me turn it into a great book. No matter how many times I read back over the pages, I'm still amazed at how awesome they turned out.

My agent, Mandy Hubbard, made my writing dream a reality, and without her dedication and support, I wouldn't be where I am. So thank you, Mandy!

And finally, to my family, who put up with dirty dishes and too many peanut butter sandwiches, so I could finish writing this book: I love you guys.

Lanie Bross was born in a small town in Maine, where she spent the next eighteen years dreaming of bigger places. After exploring city life, she and her husband and two young sons ended up going right back to the wilds of Maine. They live just one house down from where she grew up. Fate, perhaps? Lanie loves chasing her rambunctious kids, playing tug-of-war with her ninety-five-pound Lab, and writing for young adults.
Fates
is her first novel.