Inherit (22 page)

I listen to my mother’s steady incantations and draw deeper, even as tremors bolt through my body over and over.

It’s like an orchestra of out of tune instruments playing with no harmony as loud as and long as they can, and the violence of the noise and the bright red blood splashes and midnight feathers floating like a thick cloud feel like they’ll take over and blot out every good, meaningful thing.

I scream over the deafening crash of it all, as loud and long as my lungs can bear, pushing every last spark of power out of me to hold those filthy, horrifying birds away.

And then, like a power cord that’s been yanked from the wall, it’s over.

It’s all so quiet.

My bones are suddenly no more supportive than strands of Silly Putty, hot in a little kid’s eager hands, and I sway. I expect to hit the floor, but my mother catches one shoulder, my father the other, and the two people I’ve spent the last few years resenting and missing in equal measure keep me standing upright, my own warm-bodied crutches. I lean on them hard.

“We need to leave, Robin.” My father’s voice serrates through our tender family moment and brings us right back to the blood-tinged, black-feather-spattered reality of our present. “They’re gone for now, but they’ll be back, and they’ll track her everywhere she goes from now on.”

“Who would have sent the
Kråke
? There isn’t a shieldmaiden with that kind of power in this area.” Mom presses her hands back into her hair, all gold and perfect even after a crazy crow battle.

“Magda lives in the area, Robin,” my father points out. My mother’s pretty face lines with stormy anger, and she dismisses the idea entirely, flicking her fingers like there was something disgusting on them she had to get off.

“Magda? If she even had the power, which is a huge ‘if’ all on its own, she’d never use it like that. Against me?” One manicured hand presses itself to her ample cleavage and she lets out a short, sharp laugh. “I’ve always been able to best her. Hands down. No issues. No questions.” With each insistent phrase, doubt settles heavier between her eyebrows and creases her smooth forehead with worry lines.

“Jonas said his aunt is super powerful now,” I offer. Mom’s head snaps over and she stares at me like I’ve just told her that I also wanted Magda to adopt me and that she’s the prettiest lady in the whole wide world. Strange how her little jealousy makes a warm happiness coil through my chest. “I’m not saying she is, but she must know spells, because she gave me this drink while I was there—“

My parents jump so close I felt the kind of claustrophobia I could imagine miners deep in the bowels of some dark cave experiencing. “What drink?” My mom’s voice is laced with panic, her fingers press my eyelids open so she can look at my pupils and squeeze my cheeks so I’ll stick my tongue out. “What kind of drink?”

I bat her hands away and back up. “Calm down! It was to
help
me. I passed out. I made some shields at school, and I didn’t really know what I was doing, so I passed out, but it was fine.” Every word I utter makes the panic spread across their faces faster, like lava spewing and pooling out of an active volcano. “She gave me something disgusting and bitter. I’m sure it was just roots or whatever. And I’ve been fine,” I insist.

My father paces and shakes his fist in front of his body absently. “It’s been a shieldmaiden’s tracking potion the whole time. I was sure it was Hina and that little demon-spawn, Sakura that alerted those damn birds with their black magic casts. I can’t believe it was one of you.” The words drop out of his mouth, unencumbered by any worry, but my mother’s strangled gasp changes that.

“One of
you
?” Her voice is a long, sharp icicle on the exposed nerve of a cavity-laden tooth.

My father stops pacing and makes a tiptoed attempt to backtrack. “Robin, that’s not what I meant. Not at all.” One hand tries to find its way to my mother’s shoulder, but she deflects before he can make contact.

Her words scrape and twist, a briar patch of trapped rage. “I’ll remind you, Ryuu, that this whole damn problem started when
your
father sent that animal to her. He didn’t even have the courage to bring it over and present it. As usual, our child gets the leftovers when there’s no other option, after Hina’s little idiot almost brings the Kochi house down on itself.”

“If my father didn’t come, I’m sure he has reasons. Good reasons.” My father speaks like a ventriloquist, his words filing out from between locked teeth.

Their fight makes my breath wheeze in long, labored pulls. The happiness I wished and fought for felt almost possible for a split second, but the fissures bursting through their unity make more sense. This is how my family functions: we don’t.

“It would have been
so nice of him
to let us know before we had to fight for our daughter’s survival.” Her arrow hits its target.

My father goes rigid between his shoulder blades. When he looks at her, his eyes are flat and hard. “You of all people should understand that just because you can’t be right there, it doesn’t mean your heart isn’t breaking.” They lock eyes and she swallows hard, her face suddenly too young and too scared, and it’s a face so vulnerable, it makes my heart ache. I want her mean and barbed again. He holds a hand out to her, and, though she doesn’t flinch away this time, they still don’t make contact. “I worried about you every single day. I thought a million times over that we’d made the wrong decision. That we should have stayed and fought for each other, fought for our family. There must have been another answer. If we looked harder, if we went beyond our families, I know we could have figured it all out. The day they cast that spell on you, part of me died, Robin, and now that I have you back, I’m not letting go for anything.”

My wheezing stops. His voice is like the forgotten lullabies of my babyhood, but I realize it’s also like love ballads to my mother’s ears, and I badly want them to fall for each other again. Whatever happened in the past, however screwed up we are in this present, I want them—us together.

My mother wraps her arms around him, lays her head on his chest and lets big, breathy sobs choke out of her throat on bitten-off gulps of air. She cries hard, and when I look at her face, it’s as gorgeous as ever. I’m pissed that, once again, my genetics managed to screw me in the inheritance department, because I look like an absolute hag when I cry.

But mostly, I’m profoundly happy that my mother is wrapped in my father’s arms, whether I really want to admit it or not.

Shivers run up and down my spine when I hear a caw. Or do I imagine I hear a caw? The thought of those huge, black birds and their talons is enough to send me hustling to Bestemor’s room. She’s still asleep despite the incredible cacophony of the past half hour, and I decide to head to my room and get some things packed before I wake Bestemor and head…where?

Where can I go? Where will my family be safe?

My cell rings, and I snatch it up in a sweaty hand, jarred by the suddenly loud sound in the eerie quiet. “Hello?”

“Hey. It’s me.” Jonas’s voice is exactly the sound I most wanted to hear, and I clamp the phone tighter to my ear. “There was…I felt…are you okay?”

I can still hear my mother sobbing. I think it’s weird my grandmother slept through the whole crazy thing, that my parents are fighting and working things out right in front of me, that huge, wild, black birds attacked our house, that I felt Loki but don’t know where she is, and the one and only thing I want is him. I want solid, strong, stable Jonas to hold me tight and tell me it’s all going to be alright.

My knees are so weak, they buckle under me and send me toppling onto my bed. My words buzz out on a long, pathetic whine, but I don’t care. I need help, and I’m not too proud to beg Jonas for it. “Nothing is okay. I’m not, no one is. Shit got really weird here, and I’m so fucking scared. Can you come here?”

“I’m already on my way.” I hear the clang of his keys as he scoops them into his hand. “Tell me what happened.”

“Huge crows came.” I close my eyes and pull air, still electrified from all of the energy that got thrown around today, in through my nose slowly, channeling to the truth and trying to grapple past the ridiculousness. “Enormous evil crows, and my parents are freaked out and my mom is/was crying. My gram slept through the whole thing like she’s in a coma. I felt Loki. Like we were connected by an invisible wire. Do I sound like a lunatic?” I press my hands to my temples and bite my lip to dam up the tears.

Jonas is silent for a long minute. “Huge crows?”

“Yes.” I hold full lungfuls of breath in and wait for his answer.

It’s one short syllable, but it communicates the frustration I was afraid he’d feel. “Fuck.”

“What is it? Do you know something? If you do, you need to tell me, Jonas.” My voice swoops and dives like a flock of predator birds over schools of doomed ocean fish.

He groans. “I promise to tell you everything. But can you do me a favor? Go to your parents. Tell them I’m coming. Tell them I said I ‘
kommer i fred
.’”

“You want me to tell them you’re coming with Fred?” Technically speaking, I have no business being uppity about any weird thing anyone says, considering the weirdness I’ve been spouting on a regular basis recently, but this is just bizarre.

“‘
Kommer i fred
,’” he repeats slowly. “And Wren?”

“Yeah?”

There’s a crackling few seconds where I remember exactly how it felt in the
boble
, exactly how close the two of us were, and every potential kiss that never happened puckers and smacks in my mind.

“Nothing. Just be safe. And please tell them. I’ll be there any minute.”

My anticipation is a bubblegum bubble snapped between the sharp, eager teeth of a teenage airhead.

“Okay.” Before I can say good-bye, the line disconnects, and I feel the aggravation that always seems to rear its head when Jonas is around.

I march to the living room where Mom and Dad sit, his arms folded over her, his eyes tired and lined. When those golden eyes flick up at me, there’s a flame of light I don’t expect, and it warms me to the center of my uncertain heart.

“Jonas is coming over.” At my announcement, my mother lifts her head and gives me a shocked look, her pink mouth a perfect ‘o’ of surprise. “And he said he was coming with Fred. No, wait. He said ‘
kommer i Fred
.’” I shake my head and roll my eyes, but my parents do not share my eye-rolling dismissal. “I have no idea who Fred is.”

My mom’s spine snaps up like it’s suddenly soldered stiff and straight. “‘
Kommer i fred
’? You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. He made me repeat it. Why?” Why, why, why? What is the point of constantly asking when they never, ever tell me?

“Would they send him as a diplomat?” my father asks, his mouth a hard line.

“He must be coming on his own. If the Maidens knew, he’d be dealt with severely. If Magda knew…” She trails off, not bothering to finish her thought and looks at me, her blue eyes bright, and answers with ceremonial formality. “We’ll receive him. I’m going to check on my mother.”

Dad’s arms fall away as she gets up, and he follows her with his eyes all the way down the hall.

I go to him, put my hand on his arm. “Dad? What’s going on?”

He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me so close, I can’t see his face. “So much, kiddo. But your mother and I are here for you now, and we’re not leaving. Tell me the truth, because I can tell you wouldn’t get all wrapped up in some guy if he isn’t worth your time. Can Jonas Balto be trusted?”

“Jonas?” I flounder for a second, not expecting my dad to ask about my crush.

“Jonas. He’s a magus, Wren, and a powerful one. If anyone might be able to block the evil that’s trailing you and lead you to safety, it would be him. But you have to answer me honestly, because a shieldmaiden’s instincts about a magus are so important; can he be trusted?” My father’s golden eyes are wide and intense, waiting on my answer.

Pride pinches my cheeks all pink because my dad thinks I’m one of those tough girls who doesn’t put up with boys’ crap and can judge them with steely eyes and a hard heart. Which is partially true. When I’m not leaning in and trying to kiss them over and over again.

“Jonas always does what’s right.” I know this is true all the way down to the casing of my cells. “He’s a stand-up guy, and I can’t imagine a reason not to trust him.”

I do trust him. But maybe it’s because I have to. I have a feeling that Jonas, maybe more than any other mysterious, powerful, incredible person in my life, holds the key to helping me figure out what the hell’s going on and how I can fix it.

Chapter 22

In the time it takes Jonas to drive over to my house, my parents and I have our bags packed and my dad’s Jeep loaded. I have no idea what I threw in my duffel bag, because I spent most of my time at Bestemor’s side, holding her hand and chewing on my thumbnail viciously. Bestemor worked with me for an excruciatingly long summer full of gross nail polishes and Band-aids, ice cream rewards and no dessert punishments, to get me to stop biting my nails when I was ten. I only ever nibble when the rest of the world is falling apart, and, since my world is exploding around me, I’m gnawing like a fiend. Secretly, I want her to sit up and scold me, tell me that she’s disappointed in me, and squeeze my fingers hard in annoyance.

Was it those crazy crows? Did they cast some spell or work some other kind of magic? Could it be Sakura? Has she managed to tap into Loki’s powers? Is it Hina or Magda? Not knowing just makes me chew more until my thumb nail is annihilated right to the quick.

Jonas’s voice echoes through the house, down the hall, and draws me away from my sleeping grandmother. I lean over her and kiss her forehead before I go. “I’m going to figure this out, Bestemor. I’m going to get Loki back. I swear to you, I’m going to make this all right.”

Her eyes move frantically under closed lids. Why? Is she dreaming? Is she in pain? What’s happening in her head?

If another unanswerable question runs through my brain, I’m going to scream my throat raw.