Fates (17 page)

B
y the time Lucas and Corinthe reached the mountain pass, the suns had sunk low in the sky.

Luc was having trouble judging how long they'd been walking and how much time had elapsed since he had woken on the beach. His phone was still no help. Not that he was expecting reception here … wherever
here
was.

The intense heat of the two suns morphed rapidly into a profound chill as both suns began to set, one just ahead of the other. Rocks quickly became dark shapes against the blazing sky above them, and the narrow mountain trail grew dimmer and harder to follow with each passing minute.

Overhead, the stars began to glimmer out of the deep darkness. Luc searched for constellations he knew—searched for Andromeda, Jas's favorite constellation. When he picked out the cluster of stars in the inky sky above them, a deep comfort settled into his bones and he somehow felt closer to his sister.

Luc understood now why Corinthe had said she needed him. She was obviously weak, though she was trying to conceal it. For the past hour, she had stumbled often, leaning on him frequently.

His own strength was rapidly waning. He hadn't eaten or slept since the night before, and he had taken only a few sips of water, from the canteen Rhys had packed for them. His feet were so heavy, it took a huge effort to keep lifting them.

He didn't want to stop, but stumbling over unfamiliar paths in the pitch-black would be crazy. So far, they hadn't seen any signs of animals, but that didn't mean there weren't any; and the path was so steep, one misstep could send him hurtling down a rock cliff to a broken neck.

“Let's stop here for the night,” Luc said. There was a small copse just off the path, in an area relatively flat and sheltered from the wind by a series of overhanging rocks. They could start a fire and stay warm.

Rocks.

Sticks.

Firewood.

He mentally checked off what he needed to gather. Back
before,
Dad used to take him camping at Big Sur, just the two of them. Luc loved those weekends. No Jas. No Mom. Just the guys. They'd set up the tent, roast hot dogs over an open fire, and finish the night with hot chocolate. Luc had only been a little kid at the time, but his dad had shown him what to do—taught him how to survive if he ever got lost. It had just seemed like a game to Luc.

Luc felt a twist in his stomach. He wondered whether he'd ever see his dad again. He wondered whether his dad knew how much he'd enjoyed those weekends.

Luc shivered. The temperature had plummeted. “Wait here, okay? I'm going to gather some firewood.”

Corinthe nodded. She dropped the pack Rhys had given them and sat down obediently, pulling her knees to her chest. Her long blond hair was a tangled mess, hanging down her back, and her jeans were splattered with red mud. But there was still color in her cheeks, and her eyes were alert.

There were still moments when he hoped—when he prayed—that this was all part of some long, screwed-up dream. He'd wake up in his warm bed, with the sun coming through his window and landing on the piles of crap all over his desk, creeping up the walls and making his old soccer posters glow. Jasmine would be sleeping soundly in her room, one arm flung across her eyes.

But that was the problem: he wasn't waking up.

He pulled on his sweatshirt to fight the chill, wishing he hadn't lost his Giants cap on the rooftop back in San Francisco. Rhys said it would be cold, but Luc had a feeling that
frigid
was more accurate. Every time he exhaled, his breath crystallized. He knew Corinthe must be freezing, not that he should care.

“I'll be back.” Luc knew he didn't have much time. The two suns were sitting perilously close to the horizon, like overripe peaches ready to fall from some invisible branch.

They needed to get a fire started or they would literally freeze to death overnight.

He cut through the trees and quickly lost sight of Corinthe. He didn't want to go too far, since the light was fading fast. He gathered whatever he could find on the ground—some twigs and what looked like dry pine needles, except a silvery-gray color and much longer—and managed to break off a few low-hanging branches. Even so, by the time he was done, the suns were completely gone.

Now he could hardly see his hand in front of his face. He could only barely make out the white glow of his sneakers.

He spun in a tight circle, completely disoriented. Which way was it? He hadn't gone too far. He
must
be close.

“Corinthe?” he called out. No answer except a distant howl that drifted through the darkness.

Shit.
Howls meant wolves and coyotes and other animals with teeth. Or some unusual predator he'd never seen before, fit only for this strange landscape.

He took a few steps and nearly tripped over a portion of underbrush. Stopped, inhaled, and listened. The wind had picked up; branches clacked together, arrhythmic, taunting.

He stomped his feet to keep the blood circulating. It got cold in San Francisco, but not like this. It had started to seep down into his bones, chilling him from the inside out.

“Corinthe!” He tried again. It occurred to him that maybe she'd just leave him out here to die. But no. She needed him.
She
was the one who would likely freeze without his help.

“Luc?”

The faint cry came from somewhere to his left. He inched toward the sound, stepping carefully so he wouldn't trip. This was how Rhys lived all the time, Luc suddenly realized: in total darkness. How did he do it? Luc's heart was drumming in his throat. He kept having visions of a sudden plummet down a steep hill.

And then, all at once, the sky lightened. Luc watched a covering of clouds break apart, and two crescent-shaped moons were suddenly visible over the peak of the rocks. He exhaled.

The campsite was only a few feet in front of him.

Corinthe huddled against the back of the rocky shelter, her arms wrapped around her knees. Even from a distance, he could see that she was shaking. He lowered the bundle of sticks he'd collected.

The way Corinthe looked—so small, so pathetic and afraid—reminded Luc of the first time Jas had gone off her meds. For two straight days she'd stayed up, talking a mile a minute, trying to wallpaper her room with old magazine covers. Then she'd crashed: Luc had found her curled in a corner, shivering, her fingers stained with paint and ink, the room stinking of glue and only half papered. As he sat with her, trying to coax her to her feet and to the doctor, the magazine covers kept detaching from the wall and sliding down around their heads, like some weird shedding.

The memory brought back a heavy surge of feeling: he was gripped with helplessness and grief.

“Corinthe,” he said. She didn't answer. He went a little closer, cautiously—he still didn't trust her. Christ, she looked cold. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were purple. Her breathing sounded shallow and slow. Not a good sign.

“Hey, Corinthe.” He squatted so that he was level with her. She didn't wake up. After hesitating for a second, he reached out and began to rub her arms.

Instantly, her eyes flew open. She let out a cry—of anger or surprise, he couldn't tell. He pulled away. He felt like an idiot.

“Hang in there,” he said. He was glad, at least, that it was dark enough to conceal his blushing. “I'm going to get a fire started.”

He stacked a dozen smaller branches into a neat tepee shape, just like his father taught him so many years ago, then reached into his pocket. The bright pink lighter belonged to Jas. He'd taken it from the wobbly kitchen table the morning after their talk, hoping she'd stop smoking if she couldn't find it. It was a stupid thing to do, totally irrational. She would have just bought a new one at the corner deli. It had been an impulse—powerful, deeper than words—like the time when Charlie Halley had called Jasmine a freak in fifth grade and Luc had punched him.

Love was irrational. Luc knew that. His dad knew that, too.

He wouldn't think of Jas ensnared in that horrible growth; he wouldn't think of Blood Nymphs or blood forests or blood anything. He would only think of finding her.

It took him a while to get the lighter to work. Finally, tiny flames licked at the dry sticks, catching and spreading quickly. He fed the fire more branches, watched the light grow gradually higher, felt the heat ever so subtly begin to emanate. Slow and steady. If he piled too many branches at once, he'd smother the flames and the fire would go out. Though he'd been too young on their old camping trips to actually build a fire himself, he'd helped his dad do it several times—had studied him closely. As a kid, he'd always been like that: an observer. He watched people. He noticed the little things.

How's it look, Dad? I did it myself this time.

I've never seen a better fire, Luc.

He stood up. The fire was good now, strong and hot. He stared at the flames for a while, allowed the warmth to flow through his chest, burn up his memories, turn them to ash. No point in hanging on.

Corinthe had fallen asleep again, curled up against the stone. He eased down next to her.

“Corinthe,” he said. “You have to stay awake until you're warm.” He tried to ignore the strange desire to touch her, to run his fingers through her hair. When she didn't respond, he took off his jacket and draped it over her like a blanket. “Corinthe.”

She moaned softly when he shook her. Still she didn't wake up. Fear began to gnaw at him. If she was too sick, if she didn't wake up …

Would he be able to save Jas without her help?

Gently, he reached out and eased her up and into his arms, pulling her onto his lap, keeping her wrapped in his jacket, rubbing her arms and shoulders. For a second, her head lolled heavily against his, and he could smell her breath.
Flowers.

She smelled like flowers.

Then she stirred and shifted in his arms. He knew the moment she became aware of him. Her body tensed and she let out a startled cry, half turning in his lap. Her hands found his chest. Her eyes were huge and silvery in the moonlight.

Luc couldn't breathe.

“I—I was trying to keep you warm.” His voice sounded distant, unfamiliar, as if someone else were speaking.

For one long second—time enough for him to think about kissing her, about bringing her closer to his chest, running his hands down her back and through the wild tangle of her hair—they stared at each other.

Then Corinthe pulled away, shifting off his lap. “What happened?” she asked.

He felt dizzy and—since he had given her his jacket—cold. And yet, weirdly, there was a wild heat racing through his veins. He stood up and moved toward the fire.

“You fell asleep. You were freezing.” He squatted and stoked the fire, trying to avoid looking at her.

But she came and sat next to him. The color was returning to her skin, and her lips weren't blue anymore. “You did this?”

“Yeah.” Luc leaned back on his heels, watching the flames twist up toward the sky.

“How?” Corinthe asked.

He glanced at her quickly to see whether she was making fun of him; but she actually looked interested. “My dad used to take me camping,” he said. He didn't like to talk about his family—had never talked about them with Karen, if he could avoid it—but here, in this crazy world, with two moons hanging above them, it didn't seem so bad.

“Dad,” Corinthe repeated, as though she'd never heard the word. Then, abruptly: “Did you like it?”

Her question took him off guard.

“I did,” he said slowly. “I loved it.” He tossed a couple more pieces of wood on the fire, and for a while, he and Corinthe sat in silence. Luc didn't know why, but he felt oddly comfortable sitting with her in the cold and the dark.

“This one time, we hiked ten miles to these hot springs Dad wanted to see,” Luc said suddenly. The memory had only just returned to him. “It took all day to get there because I was just a little kid and had to keep stopping for breaks. I was really pissed at him because he made me carry my own pack. He kept saying, ‘Trust me. It's worth it.' ”

Luc paused. He could practically
smell
that forest; the creeper moss and loamy earth, the smell of animals and growth, and that thick lemon sports drink he always chugged when they went camping.

“Was it?” Corinthe asked.

“What?” He had almost forgotten she was there.

“Was the hike worth it?”

He smiled. It felt like forever since he'd smiled. “Yeah, it was.”

Corinthe moved a little closer. Luc was suddenly hyperaware of the space between them: barely an inch separated their arms. “Do you still go camping together?”

“Nah, it's been forever. Since my mom left.” The words came out before he could stop them. He'd never told anyone about his mother. Only he, Jas, and their dad knew the truth.