Darksoul (36 page)

“Don’t say anything.”

“Look—”

“What the fuck did I just say, Hazel? Don’t say anything.”

I searched his face. He felt me studying him and, turning away a little, tugged on the rim of the cap. Again.

“Okay,” I said.

Vaguely, I was aware that the garden was slowly coming alive, as if awakened by his presence. A couple of the winged fluffy balls rolled around the pond, coming to rest by his boots. He looked down. One of them jumped and clung to his leg. The other happily tumbled around him, letting out a squeal and giggling in a language I couldn’t understand. The leaves of the trees stirred, and out of them burst unearthly birds with tapered wings, silvery curls trailing behind them.

And suddenly, we were surrounded. Through the trunks, I
saw spindly creatures that had faintly humanoid shapes: two arms, two legs, a head—but their feet were bulbous curls of light, and their long, soft fingertips trailed after them on the ground like abandoned ribbons. Their eyes were wide and innocent and they had no mouth. More beings huddled behind them, of so many shapes and sizes that I couldn’t possibly identify them all.

“Did you…” Wonderstruck, I looked at Hunter. “You didn’t create these. Did you?”

“No. They’re demons.” The furry ball shuffled up his leg and settled around his waist, clutching his shirt. He reached down to gently pat it on the back. “Harmless demons, but demons nonetheless.”

I hugged the towel tighter around me. “Can they sense that I’m…
”

“They were afraid of you. But then they saw us interacting and decided you’re not the enemy.”

Which was why they’d taken so long to come out. “What about your brother? Did he know—”

“Nikolas isn’t
—well. I suppose he is.”

“You suppose?”

“More accurately, he’s my
zohv
.” Hunter looked down at the caterpillar-like bug that was crawling across his left boot. “My replacement. In case anything happens to me.”

I stared at him, speechless.

The side of his lips gave a faint twitch. “But he’s an independent being, and our relationship certainly mirrors that of brothers. Though you saw how well that’s working out.”

From just that one interaction, I
saw everything. But I decided to keep this to myself.

“You’re…” I closed my eyes. Opened them again. “You’re going to have to give me time.”

Hunter’s gaze, bloodshot as it was, remained steady on mine.

“The whole thing with the…” I gestured with my left arm. “With the—you know—the—”

“Yes.”

“It’s none of my business but I have to accept it. And it’s just—it’s not easy to digest. Okay? So—” I stretched out a hand toward him. “To put it in caveman terms: me, you, friends. Huzzah.”

After a long pause, he slipped his fingers in mine. The garden stayed deathly still as we shook.

“And do
me a favor?” I said softly. “Take off the cap.”

He hesitated. I did
n’t think I’d ever seen Hunter hesitate. Then he reached up, pulled it off, and it barely made a sound as it hit the snow. The butterflies that had been playing with my hair picked it up and took it to the white-leafed trees, where the demons playfully scrambled to get their hands on it.

“Much better,” I said, and smiled as I nodded my head at the rest of the garden. “Mind giving me your little friends’ names?”

We sat by the pond, and he absentmindedly drew his fingertips across the water as he pointed each demon out to me. The deadly fish swam close to the surface and followed the movement of his hand, not unlike lost puppies. I watched them. Then I looked at Hunter, who didn’t seem to be aware of the effect he had.

Willa and Ash joined us soon thereafter. The little girl stopped at the sight of me, clearly surprised, and then dashed to her brother’s side, her long sleeves fl
ying behind her. I said hi, gave her a hesitant smile. She squealed and ducked behind Hunter, and I thought I heard Ash laugh quietly to himself. The demons had stilled at the sight of his monstrous wings, retreating farther into the trees and huddling out of sight. The garden went quiet. Hushed sluggishness fell over it again. Ash pretended not to notice and lit a cigarette.

Willa eased up and allowed herself to play with me. As she tugged me around, pointing random things out to me, Hunter and Ash shared a cigarette by the pond.
I flopped on the ground and made snow angels with her. She giggled and grabbed my hand, and I smiled.

In the corner of my vision, far up in the ro
oftop, I thought I saw Nikolas. He stared down at us, his hair whipping in the wind.

Then he
turned away and didn’t look back.

A week later it was
as if nothing had happened.

Two weeks passed and Hunter was as unreadable as he’d ever been.
We didn’t talk about his job. About Nikolas. I kept my distance for a while. But the images had since faded, and the only thing I saw when I looked at him was a bruise stretching across his jawline, or the scars on his hand, or Willa’s expression when she saw him—which was always one of happiness or little-sister annoyance. And slowly, I caved in. Started edging closer again. Until there was almost no distance between us anymore.

The coolness between Ash and me subsided.
We were all right—sort of. But one night, I had to get something off my chest and urged Io to take me to Aiere, worrying my bottom lip. She purred and complied.

Hunter was laying on the grass when I showed up, eyes half-closed, cigarette in his mouth and a sleeping Willa curled up against his side. A puppy was running around him, and the rest of the silvery
animals were playing on the grass, unmindful of me. I rushed over and kneeled over him and blurted, “I told Ash to go fuck himself.”

Hunter didn’t look the least surprised to see me. He closed his eyes. “Unfortunate,” he murmured sleepily, letting out a stream of smoke.

“No,” I said, straining to keep my voice low so Willa wouldn’t wake up. “No. You don’t understand. I told him—” Swallowing, I sat next to him, bringing my knees to my chest. “I told him his heart was a piece of shit.”

Hunter opened his eyes. In the moonlight, the hazel flecks in his irises stood out starkly against the gray. “Ah,” he said softly.

“D-Do you think I—”

“Yes.”

“Hurt his—”

“Yes.”

My chest deflated. “Okay.”

A long moment passed. Clumps of ash sizzled off his cigarette. Willa shifted, clutched at his shirt. A winkling butterfly fluttered closer and rested on her sleeping head.

Hunter’s voice was quiet and even. “He feels just as much as you, Hazel.”

“I—I know, but—”

“Do you, really?”

I stopped. He stared up at me, eyes steady flints in the night.

“Do you really know how much he feels?” he asked.

Pushing against the rock in my throat, I said, “Well—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No. You don’t.”

His tone wasn’t stern or overtly mean. It was cool. Unreadable. Like it always was. But somehow, I
felt as if I’d been reprimanded, and I mumbled, “Okay.”

“He made some mistakes. And he ask
ed for your forgiveness.” Hunter’s lashes fell. “It’s your turn now, little mouse.”

And that was h
ow I ended up going to the store, buying two Milky Way boxes, and showing up at Ash’s apartment the next day. As soon as he opened the door, disheveled and shirtless and barefoot, I jabbed the boxes at him and moodily looked away.

“Here,” I said. “
This is overdue, but you have nice—lungs. I mean—” Damn it. “The thing that’s—responsible for lasagna, yours makes nice lasagna, and—”

This was possibly the lamest apology ever.

Ash’s face softened with amusement. “Come in,” he said, stepping aside. A hushed melody wafted from the living room. Oh, Jesus. It couldn’t be.
Meditation from Thais.
That was my shit, and from what I could hear, the soloist was a cellist.

I hesitated. Behind him, his apartment looked blissfully empty, but I wasn’t about to get my hopes up. “Are you…alone?”

“No.”

I felt myself deflate. “Oh.”

“Panther,” he said, the side of his mouth tilting up. “She’s in the bathtub taking a shower. Sometimes she likes to think she’s human.”

No. Why did my heart just lift? Why did a warm feeling spread across my chest and trickled down my stomach and—? Fuck. No. Not this again. Please.

Putting the boxes in his arms, I said, “I should probably…” I cleared my throat. “I should g—”

“I made flan.”

I was already inside the apartment. Laughing quietly, he closed the door.

And then I stopped.

“Whoa,” I whispered.
Ceahel
sculptures hung in the air, small and senseless and painfully abstract—definitely not Hunter’s handiwork. There was something sharp and exact about them, and as they turned slowly, they seemed to follow the rhythm of the music, the gentle rise and fall of the notes, the swell of the piano—
Ash brushed past me, gathering them as he went. “Sorry about
these. And about the music. It’s just—”

I rushed to stop him. “Wait, no. They’re…” Taking a deep breath, I looked up at the remaining ones. Sunlight trickled in through the windows, outlining them in liquid gold. “They’re beautiful, Ash.”

He tugged on one of his gauges. I thought I saw the tips of his ears go red. “It’s nothing. I was just—bored. My hands—they kind of—” He scratched the back of his head. “Flan?”

Before I could respond, he turned and went to the kitchen and busied himself with rummaging in the fridge. I watched him
, keeping a tiny smile to myself.

Later, after the d
esserts, we lay on the floor with our arms crossed behind our heads, watching the
ceahel
sculptures turn languidly in the air. In a slow, soothing voice, he explained how he created them: breaking a
ceahel
pane, putting it back together, calculating where the pieces could be attached;
a cluster of tiny equations
, he said. I let my lids fall half-shut. The sun was setting, and the walls had taken a sleepy glow. A soft melody played through the room.

“Zel?” he murmured after a long while. Outside the windows, the faint suggestions of stars were beginning to appear.

I closed my eyes. “Mm?”

Seconds passed. Then a minute.

“You mean a lot to me,” he whispered. “You know that, right?”

“That’s…”
I yawned. “That’s nice.”

Silence. I curled up on my side and settle
d in, wishing I had a blanket. Moonlight had started to trickle through the glass when, finally, he said something in soft Russian. I didn’t try to ask. Sleep already had me in its clutches, and I let myself be dragged into the dark.

This wedding was
going to be the bomb.

Or, at least, I’d make sure of it.

These last few weeks had been stressful enough with the Hunter-Ash-Willa-Nikolas deal. But we’d straightened everything out, and I’d put all of my energy in helping my mom with the ceremony, since she and Allie hadn’t gotten a planner. It was fine—I’d been more than glad to oblige.

T
he temperature was nice and warm but not stiflingly hot. An outdoor wedding would go to shit if the weather didn’t work out, but today the sky was a cloudless blue. The florist arrived early and right away got to work—apparently Saturday weddings in June were a thing, and she’d have to leave to help another stressed bride.

Didn’t matter. Everything was perfect and done by
noon. The actual reception was at five, so there was plenty of time in between. Mom was flying about. Allie kept pacing around the venue, wearing nothing but shorts and a shirt. I laughed and pushed them out.

Everything went fine. Makeup, dresses, gigglin
g, nervousness—it was all fun. Later, after showering and getting dressed, I returned to the place and saw that some people had already arrived. I greeted Sumi with a big hug and didn’t let go of her for what seemed like an hour. She laughed and returned the embrace. The book she was holding jabbed into my back.

Guests trickled in. Mom hadn’t invited a lot of people—her family was out of the question—but Allie had taken the freedom to fill up the party. I
couldn’t help but notice that her side was very mixed. An Indian woman with a scar across her neck was holding the hand of a small girl. A friend, maybe. But the rest were just like that: different people of different races, young, old, light-skinned, dark-skinned.

How cool. A super-diverse family. The food must be awesome.

I floated about, introducing myself and giving out kisses, acting like a courteous teenage girl for maybe the first time ever. Mom and Allie weren’t due to come for half an hour or so. It was the time to mingle, to meet and greet and shit. A bit annoying, if I was honest. Sumi had buried her face in her book and was excitedly squealing at what she was reading. Lucky girl.

I continued going around.
And then, finally, just when I’d started to wonder where the hell they were, Hunter and Ash arrived.

I was standing beside t
he snack bar, making sure everything was where it should be, when they came in. They were wearing tuxes—the occasion was black-tie, after all—and, yes, they looked so polished and so damn handsome that I briefly wondered if they stole other guys’ handsomeness for the fun of it. Honestly. Such attractiveness should not exist. I was about to go and say hello, tell them to please let me borrow their genes, when I realized.

Something was wrong.

As soon as they walked in, Allie’s guests stirred. The lady with the scar scowled so severely that nonexistent wrinkles appeared on her face. Several of the men tensed. Some of the women frowned, reaching for something at their hips. I scrunched up my eyebrows. What the hell was going on here?

“What are the chances of us not getting
shot in the next five minutes?” asked Ash as he came up to me.

“Zero to none,” said Hunter.

Allie’s family was still tense. They were chatting, sure, but they kept looking at us, narrowing their eyes at me before glancing at Hunter and Ash again.

I crossed my arms
and turned to them. “Is this because the two of you look good, or is it because of something else entirely?”

“The former,” they said. At the same time.

Dear Lord. “Right. Go and sit down and try not to get your heads bitten off.”

“Only inexperienced
girls bite,” said Ash.

“And, shit, does it hurt,” muttered Hunter.

“Oh, hey, look,” I said, pointing at the empty air in front of me. “There’s the fuck I don’t give. Take a slice for yourselves, guys. Go on. Enjoy it.”

Ash coughed into his fist to cover up what sounded like furtive laughter. Hunter pursed his lips, and a dimple surfaced on his cheek.

I went around again and made sure our guests were all right. Some of them gave me wary looks but overall I was received with grace. Hunter and Ash sat with Sumi but made the wise choice of leaving her alone, excited as she was with her book. No trash on the grass yet. Good. Chairs filling up. Good. Allie’s family relaxed once they saw that the guys weren’t here to make trouble. Guess the tattoo on Ash’s neck and the ink poking out of Hunter’s collar wasn’t too reassuring. Let’s not forget a certain Englishman’s piercings.

I was bringing water to the DJ when
a bridesmaid—Mom’s friend—ran up to me, looking alarmed. “Hazel?” she huffed. “I need you. Right now.”

“What—”

She’d already
grabbed my hand and yanked me after her, and I struggled to keep up. When I saw where she was taking me, my stomach dropped.

I’d convinced Mom to hire a cellist and a pianist to do the wedding march
song. Gone were the days of the ugly grandiose melody—the one we all know—that could split anyone’s ears in half. Something soft and sublime, I told her. Something that would catch the fragility of the moment. Not some ugly pre-recorded thing. I certainly hadn’t wanted that—not for her, not for Allie—and maybe it’d been selfish of me, but I’d suggested the cello instead.

They’d agreed. The piano had come earlier today, and it’d already been tuned and set up. The cello was set on its side next to it, along with a chair. Everything had been fine. But now, looking at the scene before me, I suddenly realized I’d made a mistake, twisting their wants to my own whims.

The pianist, Ms. Lindsey, was here. She was sitting in the backseat of her car, her face buried in her hands.

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

“The cellist,” Mom’s friend rushed to explain. “He—”

Ms. Lindsey
lifted her head, visibly trying to compose herself. “I’m afraid he’s going to be late.”

“You have three seconds to tell me why,” I said. I was stressed out. I needed this to be perfect. For Mom.

“He got into an accident.” Taking a deep breath, she rose. “On his way here, I’m afraid.”

I felt as if my heart had been punched out of me. “No,” I said. “No, I’m—firstly, I’m sorry, and secondly—”

“No, no,” Ms. Lindsey said. “He’s fine. The car isn’t totaled. But he now has to take care of things with his insurance company, and…” Her cheeks were splotchy. “I’m sorry. He and I have always worked together. He’s the only partner I have.”

“And he’s
going to be late,” I murmured. Mom was on her way here. They were due any minute now. They would walk down that aisle and there would be no music. It couldn’t be. Ruined. My wedding was ruined. “Why did you come separately?” I demanded. “Why in hell did you come separately?”

I was now lashing out at her and I didn’t care. She sighed and reached up to massage
the bridge of her nose, a crease between her brows. She was just as stressed as me. If not more.

Behind me, a smooth British voice said,
“What’s going on here?”

I swiveled around just in time to see Ash come up, a stream of smoke billowing out
of his lips. Hunter followed behind him, a cigarette in his mouth. I immediately rushed toward them and grabbed their hands and led them away. The bridesmaid tried to calm down Ms. Lindsey, who now had tears of frustration in her eyes.

As quickly as I could, I explained the situation to them. Hunter remained calm as I pushed my hands through my hair and talked and talked and cursed Haelvia and Sielae and everything in between. Ash let out a contemplative
mmm
and took a drag of his cigarette.

“You’re a musician,” I said, reaching out and grabbing him by
the vest. “Tell me you know someone who plays the cello. Please.”

Ash stared down at me.

“Is it bad that I find this both amusing and sad?” said Hunter, blowing out a puff of smoke. Giving us a nod, he turned on his heel. “I’m going to see if I can pull Ms. Takahashi away from her book. An impossible task, I’m sure.”

I took a moment to
glare at him. “Touch a hair on her body and I’ll skin you alive, Slade.”

“Of course,” he said smoothly.

Right away, I twisted toward Ash and grabbed his shoulders. “Please, Evans,” I moaned, shaking him a little. “Work some magic. Make a cellist appear out of thin air. Come on. You’re an angel. You can do it. I know you can.”

He
remained silent. Then his lashes fell, obscuring the hazel-gray orbs of his eyes. “What an unfortunate turn of events,” he murmured.

Ugh. “Tell me about—”

I cut off when he reached down and grabbed my left hand. Lashes still lowered, he brought it to his lips and pressed a light kiss against the black gem on my ring finger. I held back the urge to take a step back.

“
Y-You know, sometimes,” I said, giving a nervous laugh, “you have, like, these weird gentlemanly fits, and—um—”

“I’m going to take care of it,” he
whispered against my knuckles. Before I could respond or give him a thousand hugs, he let go of my hand and made his way to Ms. Lindsey. Mom’s friend looked wary of him, her eyes flicking from his eyebrow piercing to his cigarette to his tattooed neck and back. I nervously ran a finger along my bottom lip and glanced at the street. No sign of them yet. Good. We still had some time.

Taking a deep breath, I went
to join Ash. He was speaking to the pianist, who’d shot to her feet, her eyes filling with tears again.

“—and I could show you, if you’d like,”
he was saying, his voice steady.

“Yes, yes!” She
grabbed his arm and steered him toward the main reception area. Mom’s friend and I shared a glance before following. I gathered my pale green skirts and struggled to keep up with them.

Ms. Lindsey furtively took the cello and led Ash to a grassy pat
ch behind the gazebo, where we wouldn’t be seen. She handed him a bow and set out a chair, and I froze. My brain scrambled to catch up with what was in front of me. With what I saw. Ash. Sitting down. Putting the cello between his legs and taking the offered bow. Stroking it once, twice against the strings, reaching back to lightly twist the tuning pegs and tilting his ear to catch any changes in pitch.

“Pachelbel’s Ca
non?” asked Ms. Lindsey, managing to look hopeful and distraught at the same time.

Ash’s eyes flicked up to hers. “Who the fu
ck doesn’t know Pachelbel’s Canon?”

“Lovely language,” muttered Mom’s friend.

Her words flew over me.

As Ash began to play, letting out a low, smooth sound that was all polish and grace, I was reminded of his words, the ones that used to be in Hunter’s voice but were now in his. After a certain training session. Months ago. So many months ago.

They say that when he came to the earth, he got so obsessed with music that he learned to play almost all instruments.

Obsession with music, I thought, feeling faint. In his apartment. All those CD’s. All those vinyl records. The drums. The viola. An uncomfortable prickling danced around my nose. It couldn’t be. Ash—Lucien—it couldn’t be.

Even the cello?

Especially the cello. According to th
e stories, it was his favorite.

When he finished,
Ms. Lindsey swooped in to give him a long hug. Mom’s bridesmaid took the instrument and made her way to the main reception area. The pianist followed soon thereafter.

And
then Ash and I were alone. Behind the gazebo. With nothing for company except some manicured bushes and a pretty tree that gave us plenty of cover. Everything looked plastic and bright and too perfect and I focused on the toes of my heels. His polished shoes were only inches from mine. Too close. I suppressed the urge to step away and never look back.

“The iPods
,” I said quietly. “The ones full of cello music. That you gave me.” I glanced up at him and found that the world was watery at the edges. Damn tears. “Was that you playing?”

He stared down at me, and then lowered his eyes.

I let out a blubbery laugh. “Is it bad that the only thing I’m thinking is,
Wow, the fucker can really play
?”

Did his ears just go red? Tugging at one of his gauges, he
muttered, “It was just a couple of notes. No big deal.”

“There were hundreds of songs, Ash. There were literally tens and tens of composers, and—” Suddenly, I cut off.
“Unless…” I searched his face. “Did you happen to write some of the pieces?”

Okay. Yep. His ears were definitely red. “Only half.”

I stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Of 198.9 percent
,” he said.

Oh, my God
. Practically all of them. “I don’t mean to—to flatter myself or anything, but did you happen to write them for…” My throat closed around the word.

“Skip.”

“Skip? Skip what?”