Firewalker (6 page)

Lily knew better than to pick a fight. “I am a giant pain in the ass,” she agreed.

“Is that you, Lillian?” Samantha asked expectantly as she wandered into the kitchen.

Lily felt Rowan's back stiffen. Lily's mom was the only person who called her by her full name. Lily had never really thought too much about it, but now that name had an entirely different meaning for her, as it did for Rowan.

“Hi, Ma,” Lily said, smiling, as her mother came over to inspect her.

Rowan deposited Lily in a chair at the kitchen table and Samantha fluttered over her. She pushed Lily's hair back and scanned her face, her eyes threatening tears.

“Will she always have these scars?” Samantha asked.

Lily drew in a shocked breath. She hadn't seen herself yet and hadn't given any thought to how she might be permanently maimed from the pyre.

Oh my God, Rowan. Is my face scarred?

“The marks aren't scars. They're graft lines,” Rowan said quickly, answering both Samantha's spoken question and Lily's mindspeak. “As long as Lily gives the new skin I grew her time to scaffold properly, it will heal evenly and there will be no scars.”

You grew me skin?

You can't save tissue if the nerves are dead, Lily. You have to start over and grow new nerves.

That's kinda gross, you know.

Much better than being skinless. I'm extremely fond of your skin, you know, and I have a vested interest in seeing it on your body.

Rowan suddenly bent down and stole a kiss. Startled, Lily looked at her mom and sister. She'd never been intimate with anyone in front of her family before, and she didn't know how to feel about it. Samantha didn't even seem to register it, as if she'd seen Rowan kiss Lily thousands of times before. When Lily considered it, she decided Samantha probably had seen them kissing in other worlds. Juliet, however, stared at Lily wide-eyed and Lily just knew she was going to get teased the second she and Juliet were alone.

Does it make you uncomfortable when I kiss you in front of your family, Lily?

I don't know, Rowan. It's never happened to me before.

I'll kiss you in private, then.

Promises, promises.

I'm good at keeping promises.

“Do you want some help, Rowan?” Juliet asked, unknowingly interrupting Rowan and Lily's telepathic flirting.

“No, you just sit,” he said with a warm smile, and began serving the turkey, mashed potatoes, squash, and green beans.

“Why are we having Christmas in January?” Lily asked, helping herself to only the vegetable part of Rowan's feast. She was still vegan, and after letting Rowan cut her hair to avoid drinking squirrel blood, she fully intended to stay that way.

Lily ran a hand through her hair, checking the length. It had been short to begin with and more of it had burned off in the pyre. Lily wondered how much she had lost. She ran the strands through her fingers and found it to be longer than expected.

“Because you missed it,” Samantha answered, smothering her mashed potatoes with gravy. Lily forced herself to stop touching her head and tried not to worry too much over her hair.

“And I like turkey,” Rowan said. “Haven't had wild turkey in years,” he added quietly.

“
Wild
turkey?” Lily asked.

“Yeah. I went hunting yesterday.”

“Why?” Lily asked, confused. “There's a grocery store right up the street.”

“It was Juliet's idea that I needed to relax. And hunting relaxes me,” he replied with a shrug. “Took me forever to find this bird, too. Not many left out here. Had to walk through the woods to this little stead called
Hop-king-ton
to find one,” he said, sitting down and tucking into his meal.

Juliet's jaw dropped. “Please don't tell me you went to the bird sanctuary out there? Right on the border of Hopkinton and Ashland?”

“What do you mean, bird
sanctuary
?” Rowan asked, alarmed. “Is turkey sacred in this world?”

Juliet shook her head, and Lily made a mental note to explain to Rowan later about endangered species and the shrinking wild—something he'd never encountered before.

“No, they aren't,” Juliet said, and Rowan relaxed. “Go on with your story.”

“It was a long hunt, but that small area was strangely plentiful,” he continued. Juliet nodded resignedly. A bird sanctuary would seem strangely plentiful to a hunter like Rowan. “After I moved to Salem my dad and I would hunt turkey on the weekends and I grew to love the taste. We spent summers out west where I was born, though, on the Ocean of Grass. No turkey out there.”

“What did you hunt when you were out west?” Juliet asked carefully, hoping it wasn't another protected animal.

“Buffalo, of course,” Rowan answered. His face suddenly darkened. “When we weren't overrun by Woven. Western Woven are much smarter.”

“So how far west did you get?” Lily asked, trying not to think of huge Woven chasing her across the open land of the Great Plains.

“Into the flatlands, past the
Misi-Ziibi,
but not much farther,” Rowan answered.

Juliet and Lily exchanged a confused look. “Do you mean the Mississippi River?” Lily asked.

Rowan laughed out loud. “In Algonquin,
Misi-Ziibi
means ‘Great River.' So it's like you're saying Great River-River. Forget it.” He waved it off. “I'm not making fun of you. Your accent is actually kind of adorable, Lily,” he said, taking her hand under the table and squeezing it. “My tribe spent a lot of time hunting on the edge of the Ocean of Grass, but no one's made it across to the far river, the
Pekistanoui,
since before the Woven Outbreak.”

“I think the Pekistan-whatever-he-said has to be either the Missouri or the Colorado River,” Juliet said in an aside to Lily.

“He means the Missouri,” Samantha answered, and went back to her squash.

“Thanks, Ma,” Juliet said with a quizzical smile. Lily shrugged. She had no idea how her mother knew that, either, but the sisters supposed they'd have to get used to their mother knowing random details about other worlds. Juliet turned to Rowan. “So the whole west is lost in your world because of the Woven?”

“It is,” he replied. “And the farther west you go, the bigger and more intelligent the Woven get, and we call them by different names, too. Almost like they've earned titles. The two worst are the Pack and the Hive, although the Pride can be dangerous, too. But the Pride never leaves the mountains and you can usually slip past them.”

“The Pack—is that like a wolf pack?” Juliet asked.

Rowan nodded. “The Pack is usually what stops Outlanders from going farther west than the Great River. And the Hive may as well be a brick wall. More like a legend, really—” He broke off, his brow furrowed.

“Hasn't anyone tried to study them and maybe find out how to get past them?” Lily asked.

“The Pack doesn't let you sit quietly and observe them, Lily. If they catch your scent, they
track
you. Then they come to kill you.”

“What about the Hive, then? They're like bees, I'm guessing.”

Rowan shrugged in a noncommittal way. “Sort of.”

“Bees leave you alone if you leave them alone. I'm sure there's a way to study them quietly while they … gather nectar or whatever.”

Rowan looked at her like she was insane. “Most people who encounter the Hive are never heard from again. There are two kinds that we know of—Workers and Warrior Sisters. I've seen a few of the Workers. They just look like large bees, but the Sisters are different. I think I saw one from a distance once, but I didn't stick around to study her, Lily. No one does. If you see any member of the Pack or the Hive, your best bet is to run.”

“So, no one knows anything about them?”

“We know that the Pack and the Hive are more organized—but no one knows why, exactly. The theory is the Pack adapted so they can coordinate to hunt buffalo. The Hive is just…” He trailed off and swallowed hard. “You just run.”

Lily could tell Rowan didn't want to talk about the Woven anymore. She leaned closer to him with a warm smile to coax him out of his dark thoughts. “About that. You hunted bison on the Great Plains? On horseback?”

Rowan shrugged. “How else are you going to do it? Buffalo are fast.”

God, that's so hot.

Right, Juliet? Wait—you just—

“You just did it!” Lily squealed out loud. “You figured out mindspeak!”

“I did! And you
heard
me, even though I didn't mean for you to,” Juliet said, her exuberance dampening. “That's pretty terrifying. My thoughts are, like, out in the open now, aren't they?”

Rowan met Lily's eyes and grinned. “You'll get better at controlling it, Juliet,” he said, eyes sparkling. “But there's always that chance a thought will sneak out when your guard is down. A clear conscience is your best defense when you share mind space with a witch.”

Lily suddenly darted forward and kissed Rowan—partly because she wanted to, but mostly to distract him. If he looked hard enough, he'd easily see that her conscience was anything but clear.

So I can kiss you in front of your family, Lily?

We'll make it up as we go along, Rowan.

Lily looked down at her plate, her appetite gone, while the rest of her family chatted happily with one another. None of them had anything to hide, but she did. Rowan gave of himself entirely, but she had secrets. She had Lillian in the back of her mind and a burning need to know more about her, no matter how much it hurt Rowan. In that moment Lily realized that Rowan was a better person than she was. She had to make sure he never found that out.

*   *   *

That night, Lily tossed and turned. Guilt kept her awake—guilt and temptation. She thought of what she was already hiding from Rowan, and as midnight came and went and she felt Rowan fall into a deep dreamless sleep, she somehow convinced herself that one more secret wouldn't make that much of a difference.

Lillian? Did Rowan bring the shaman to the Citadel?

He did. And the shaman told my mother that she had a talent that not many women have. Women gifted with power are almost always crucibles, and the best crucibles become witches. But she was a farseer. She could see into other worlds, like the male shaman can, which is very rare. He told me that I had that ability, too, and that it would get stronger as I got older. He also told me that if I didn't learn to control it I would end up like my mother.

Terrifying.

It was, Lily. I was so scared of becoming like her I didn't tell anyone what he'd told me. I didn't want anyone to think I was sick-minded, you know?

Yes, I know, Lillian. Sometimes I look at Mom and I see so much about us that's similar. All I can do is hope that I don't turn out like her. I'm ashamed that I think that.

I was ashamed, too. Which is why I started training with the shaman in secret. I didn't even tell Rowan.

Show me another memory. I won't tell Rowan. I promise.

Okay, Lily …

… I'm running along the wall. My Walltop guards see me pass, but I have no fear that they will tell anyone on the Council or in my Coven about the meetings I've been having up here. Walltop guards would rather die than betray me. That's why I chose this place over any other spot in the city. My secrets are safe here.

I arrive at the guardhouse and duck inside. It is a Spartan place. A fire pit blazes in the center of the bare-brick room and a few sticks of unpadded furniture bend under the thick bodies of my guards.

“Is he here yet?” I ask the room at large.

The guards stand as one and chant, “My Lady,” in perfect, deep-toned unison. Again, I am struck by how archaic the customs are up here. A room full of huge, rough men and women and all of them avert their eyes like I'm some kind of goddess.

It unnerves me to be so revered, but the more time I spend up here the more I understand it. I've learned that every warrior on the wall is gifted. Not one of them has opted out of being claimed by me, as happens sometimes with the city guard, and unlike my city-level guards they are much more talented—talented enough to feel the true power of my willstone. Apart from my mechanics, only Walltop guards can appreciate the kind of strength I can give them, and only they crave the Gift as much as a mechanic would. They are better warriors for it, but never entirely whole people without it.

I can feel the tug of all their minds, and tonight I can't help but give in to their craving. The fire bends toward me. A witch wind moans around the flames as I gather heat. I change the heat into force and fill all of their willstones with a few drops of my strength. It's enough. I watch as every eye droops with euphoria. Every mouth parts. Every heart pounds. I can feel my strength welcomed into them like rain in the desert.

This is the danger I must avoid—the lust to fuel an army. I will always want to possess them and fill them with more than just this little jolt of power. I will be tempted to build a pyre and fill them with the Gift.

I am one of the few who can go to the pyre and live, and I will always want war because of this. The history books are clear about firewalkers—also known as warmonger witches, depending on what book you read. I know the history of my rare kind, but still fight with myself. It feels too good to fuel an army to
not
want war. This is why I let so few of my claimed get close to me, and why I exclude all my mechanics except Rowan. I rein in my lust for violence. I will not allow myself to become a warmonger witch, like nearly every firewalker before me has been.