Year of the Tiger (Changeling Sisters) (8 page)

I remained stony-faced, combing Colleen’s hair out with my fingers. “Guess we’ll see who has the knife, then.”

That night, I slept for one last time in the north tower attic. I knew it immediately. There was a flock of cawing magpies painted upon the sliding door.

Chapter 10: One Winter Afternoon

The first time we saw snow in Korea, Raina had refused to play in it. She’d tiptoed around the gleaming snow banks until I’d shoved her in. So began the snowball war we couldn’t seem to grow out of: hiding snowballs in the freezer to drip down each other’s back at night; sneaking powdery handfuls into first period. Now I walked through the first snow of the winter with just the sky to play with. It pelted my face with hard, icy bullets.

The decision about whether or not to send me to the Vampyre Court was in limbo. The pack was leaning toward sending me, but they wanted it to be
the operation
, which would gain us the upper hand. Like, knowing the location of Maya and Khyber’s bodies, so the pack could burn them together while I provided the distraction. It was the best we could do off of Raina’s information. Jaehoon refused to discuss the “Dark Spirits,” saying they were an older power no one with hope of redemption should consort with. Just knowing there was something out there older than Maya gave me the shivers.

“It’s better than we could have hoped for,” Rafael said, a heavy glove on my shoulder as he steered me toward a frost-crystallized gazebo. “We get an affirmative on Maya and Khyber’s location, and the game’s up.”

I was ready. The pain in my pinkie stump was a mere throb, although it was bizarre trying to reach for a keyboard key with a finger that wasn’t there.

“So where should we look?”

Rafael laughed. “You weren’t the one who got beaten black-and-blue. We let the pack alliance handle it. Those damn birds can finally be useful for scouting. Meanwhile, we need to get you into shape. You couldn’t even take on that underling vampyre in Hyeon Bin’s house.”

I was outraged. “I was drunk!”

“So you
were
drinking when you lost your finger. Your mom will be so proud you were telling the truth.”

I snorted, eyes drifting across the park uneasily. “She lifted my house arrest when good grades came in from Jaehoon. Said she was disappointed I insisted on lying to her, but supposed I was ‘turning eighteen soon enough.’ Don’t know how to read that other than ‘as soon as you’re legally an adult, you and your brother can go your own way.’ ”

“She’s casting you out with Miguel? Now that is doubly cruel.”

“Takes an asshole to recognize one.”

“When’s your birthday, anyway?”

I shot him a swift look, but he seemed more interested in the man trying to ice fish on the river.

“December 31
^st
,” I muttered.

“Nice. Hey, look at that!” The Amazing Ice-Fisher had succeeded in pulling up a squirming brown carp, and Rafael scrambled over for a closer look. The ice fisher seemed surprised, and then pleased that the tall, lean foreigner spoke reasonable Korean. Soon enough he was handing Rafael the pole.

I stood there stupidly for a second, and then mentally kicked myself. What had I been expecting?
“When’s the party? I’ll be there—without Yu Li.”
Maybe. Miracles could happen.

My hand fell upon the vampyre invitation in my pocket. I carried it everywhere with me, nervously awaiting this vampyre messenger who would “call upon me in a fortnight.” I brought it out for the thousandth time, eyes glued on the bold black characters upon the parchment, which still shimmered as if wet. My heart dropped down a bottomless chasm and there was no hope in recovering it. How should I play this? Should I go? Was I ready?

The letter was snatched from my hand, and I blinked up at Rafael. The ice fisher was limping home for the day, and it was just Rafael and I left in the snow-frocked trees. “
Yah!
Give that back!”

“ ‘Yah’? Now you think you’re Korean?” Rafael dangled the invitation high above my head. “A good old yah! isn’t going to stop vampyres from killing and stuffing you when you step foot in their palace.”

“I’ll make them give me what I want,” I growled, taking another swipe at the invitation. “Just like you’re going to give that back to me.”

“How? It’s broad daylight. No Wolf to fall back upon.” He backed away, eyes locked on mine.

“I don’t need to shift.” I took a quick survey of his rangy frame, lean muscles, and intense gaze, not liking my odds at all. He would be off-balance the second he took another step backwards. I watched his left foot slide, and then I tackled him at the knees.

The strong kick to my stomach was hardly what I expected. My vision burned scarlet-red, and then I scrambled up to center my weight. His fingers dug into my shoulders, and he jerked me back against his chest. My arms flailed around like a scarecrow’s, and then I jammed my fingers into his eyes.

A hiss of displeasure, hot against my neck. Yeah. He didn’t like that. I slammed one foot down on his vulnerable toes, elbowed him hard in the jugular, and then whirled out from his grasp so fast that he was forced to release the letter.

It floated to the ground unnoticed. I didn’t tear my gaze away from him. We ducked, weaved, and wrestled with one another, the crisp cold of that timeless winter afternoon broken only by the scuffle of our feet and our sharp gasps of pain.

At some point, the fight ceased to be about fighting and became about something else entirely: the sensation of his fingers raking frustrated lines down my skin; his harsh breath in my ear, here and then gone again; the way his hands clasped my waist, roughly, a bold challenge to see how far I would let him go before I broke. The boiling anger fueling my punches evaporated, leaving behind something hotter, quivering, and urgent.

I felt his arms curl around me, and that forbidden thing stirred inside. I couldn’t do this. I had to get out of here, before I did something stupid. I chose the low-blow route of twisting and kneeing his nether regions, but he caught my leg and swung me around. I heard his breath skip when his hand brushed my inner calf.

Newly emboldened, I chose to attack his low-level face with a roundhouse kick, but Rafael had had enough. He barreled into me, and we both smacked against the frozen dirt, our cheeks bruising against the ice. I did a back extension roll, seeking to flip myself up and out of danger, but he caught my legs mid-air and twisted me back down.

Pinning me to the ground, he placed each of my arms in an iron-manacle grip on either side of my head, and then raised himself up to look at me. I could feel his weight sink into my chest, knew he could feel my breasts pressed up against him, and worse—my heartbeat, thudding with all the subtlety of an oncoming freight train. His longish hair dangled around his chin, and the sunlight caught the copper of his hazel eyes, burnishing them a sparkling gold.

He reached for a strand of my hair, and I went completely still, not daring to breathe. Rafael seemed in a trance, too, head tilted as he watched his hand inch forward curiously, as if wondering if he would really do it. Then his hand dropped. It felt like the entire intensity of the sun had been weighing down upon me, but then suddenly, it was gone.

“That’s why you need to be ready.” His voice was low and gruff. “If Khyber or Donovan were to get you like that… Just promise me you’ll be ready.”

“I promise, Raf.”

He didn’t comment on the nickname like he normally would have, and simply huffed off down the trail, hands jammed in his pockets. I lay on the cold, dead ground, allowing the air’s chill to prick reason into me once more. I dared hope the fight meant what I thought it did, but then hurriedly brushed the feelings away, wretched with guilt.

It was too easy to be the other woman.

Chapter 11: Midwinter’s Eve

I put off returning to the sleeping chambers for as long as possible, before the cold finally chased me back.

“Well, well, well, looks like the blind mole rat finally came crawling back,” Natalya greeted me, not bothering to get up from her coveted spot in front of the mirror. The dark-haired Italian beauty had never liked me, even before she’d found out that we were both in line for Prince Donovan’s attention. She was trying on a glittering silver dress, which made her look like a shimmering moonbeam. Or a fish.

The vampyre Amrit, Donovan’s eldest wife, nodded to me from where she was lounging in the corner, sipping wine and watching the girls undress. Our numbers had dwindled down to twenty. And out of those twenty, half didn’t bother to mask their disappointment at my return.

“Where have you been? All snug and warm in a prince’s bed?” Jealousy darkened Natalya’s cheeks.

I stood motionlessly in the doorway for a second. My world swayed, but then my eyes snapped open upon Colleen’s bed. It had been slept in. Slept in, by one of these whisperers who had plotted my death. Stony anger crept up my throat, painful and thick. I thought again of that awful cold that had shut me up in the shower, while my only friend bled out not feet from me. I thought of the darkness Khyber had abandoned me to, and how when I’d opened my eyes, he hadn’t been there. Citlalli hadn’t been there. It had just been me. Alone.

Maya would never touch my Changeling Soul. As far as I was concerned, the Dark Spirits could take her and everyone else here.

“Maybe she’s mute now,” Natalya’s silvery-gold-haired friend, Lillian, whispered to her.

I grabbed her comb and threw it at the mirror. Glass shattered.

“Do I have your attention
now
?” The ugly words shook free from some place deep inside of me, and I couldn’t stop them. I pointed a shard of glass at the group. “Someone murdered Colleen. Someone took something very special of hers, thinking they could get away with it. And why not? The vampyres condone such behavior. Well, let me tell you this: If you’ve bought into their stories, then you deserve to be dead like them, too. Now,
turn out your drawers
.”

Natalya rolled her eyes. “Put the glass down, Raina. We have the Midwinter’s Eve Festival in three hours, and some of us don’t want to look like deranged lunatics.”

“Starting with you!” I swung the glass shard her way and made a swipe for her precious dress. Natalya raised both hands.

“Okay. Jesus. Why would I kill Colleen? We’re not in competition for the same prince— OUCH! What the FUCK?!”

I’d stabbed her finger. “Didn’t you say there were only three hours until the festival? Quit making pathetic excuses and turn out your drawers. NOW!”

“Lady Amrit!” Natalya whined.

“Hush, hush. I’ll take care of that for you,” Amrit cooed, raising Natalya’s bloodied finger to her lips and slowly running her tongue down the length of it. “Personally, I think the little do-gooder’s a lot more interesting now. Please continue your raid, Fuhrer Raina.”

The search didn’t turn up anything, like I’d thought, but I still felt a vindictive satisfaction at watching the girls flinch out of my way. Out of my numb sea of grief rose something reckless and wild, which could look a vampyre in the eye and laugh. My kidnappers might have killed my hope, but by the time I was done with them, they would desperately be trying to give it back to me.

“I’d like to sit there,” I said softly to the girl sitting in front of the other mirror. She scampered. I took over her abandoned make-up and painted my face. Red cheeks, to attract hungry vampyre glances. Black liquid eyeliner and mascara, to draw attention away from my bitter eyes. My silky-thin, raven hair, undone in waves over my bare shoulders. The magenta shade of apple gloss on my lips, to make them plump and inviting. Finally, a strapless golden dress that hugged my hips and not much lower. I stood up, feeling the cold air slide down the bare skin of my back like fingers, and panicked. I couldn’t wear something like this! Not without a cardigan! A light dress jacket, at least!

I took a gulp of Amrit’s wine and detached myself from the fretting child in my head. Then I strode from the sleeping chambers.

The view of the Grand Hall was enough to give me pause. Oak-thick red pillars thrust up to a ceiling glowing with large lanterns, which spun ponderously like far-off planets. They provided the only light in the vast hall. Smaller candles lit the faces of huge murals depicting moon spirits and setting suns. Twin curtains plunged like waterfalls on either side of an ornate gingko wood chair. Queen Maya sat upon the blood-stained throne, her cascade of black hair hiding her face. I could just make out those dusk-gray wings lying old and withered against her back.

I watched the steady stream of ghosts glide to and fro below, carrying huge platters on their heads, bearing fruit, wine, and the head of an enormous white boar. The drums began to pound, and then the
namsadang
troupe—singers, dancers, and acrobats of traditional Korean performance—danced out from the side door. Their shadowed faces formed a circle around the
pungmul nori
dancers who would commence the first performance of the night: the spinning hat dance. They hopped, skipped, and then ran around in a gradually faster revolving circle, moving their heads to flick around the white streamers flowing from their hats. The streamers spun shapes through the air like wisps of smoke: spirals, looping circles, zigzags. Then the dancers began to flip through the air and catch themselves on the ridges of their heels. The audience gasped and began to applaud.

With their attention on the ongoing performance, I felt safe enough to slip into the crowd.

I saw the familiar crow-black wings immediately, and I knew their owner saw me. Khyber’s eyes roved slowly from my plunging neckline down to the silk-thin hem of my golden bodice, and then back up to my face—which was now a shade darker than my blush. Without even a nod of acknowledgement, Khyber turned back to his conversation with an opera singer.

You look nice, too
, I thought sarcastically. And he did. While his back was turned, I admired the lean shoulder muscles rippling beneath the white suit, which stood in sharp contrast to his jet-black hair.