Reflection Pond (26 page)

“What do I need to do?”

Rowan thought of what hid beneath his glamour and offered her a grim smile. “Glamour is nothing more than a mask. Once you realize that, the edges of it become visible. It’s like searching for a layer that’s always been there. It’s easier to ignore it than seek it out so our mind automatically skips over it.” He touched his jaw. “Here’s a good place to start. Focus right here until the lines of my face blur.”

He watched, amused, as she went cross-eyed staring at his jaw.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Focus,” he encouraged. When her eyes started to twitch, Rowan laughed. “Sto
p,” he said between chuckles, “before you hurt yourself.” He leaned back, enjoying her irritation. “My face isn’t glamoured.”

Callie glowered. “If you’re going to make fun of me, I don’t want to do this.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” he said, though the grin refused to leave his face. “I just wanted to see…” he trailed off. “Never mind.” Standing, he slid out of his shirt. He knew what she saw, tanned, smooth skin over muscle. Hard lines and angles. She saw exactly what he’d put there.

“What are you doing?” Her cheeks turned pink.

“This,” Rowan said, gesturing to himself, “is a glamour.”

Confusion washed her face and she glanced up, searching him. “Are you trying to tell me you’re actually fat?”

His lips quirked. “No.” He touched the edge of his ribs. Callie’s eyes followed his fingers and her gaze felt warm as a touch. “Start here.”

***

Callie inhaled slowly, held it, and let it go. If she didn’t know that glamour existed, she’d feel like an idiot. Rowan’s skin was perfect, spanning a flat stomach, layered over muscle and the sharp curve of bones. His waist tapered inward where his pants hung from his hips. His expression, stretched tight as though he wished to be anywhere else but ensconced in the dark with her, made Callie’s stomach tingle with nerves.

“Concentrate,” Rowan
said, voice tense.

He was edgy, and that didn’t make her feel any better. She fixed her gaze where his fingers rested against his ribs, glad that the exercise called for staring.
There was something about the boys of
Eirensae,
something that made them unbelievably attractive. Maybe it was a faerie thing.

This time, instead of only seeing skin and bone, Callie found a shimmering edge, a layer that didn’t belong. “I see it,” she said, excited.

“Good.” His words sounded off. “I want you to peel it away like the dead skin of a sunburn.”

Callie ignored her disgust. She imagined the thin, almost invisible layer curling, stretching, and pulling away from Rowan’s golden skin. She watched, fascinated, as the glamour obeyed, inch by inch. What lay underneath was littered with raised scars. They crisscrossed over the bone, angry pale marks that distorted his torso. She managed only a thin strip before the glamour fell back into place. Without thinking, she pressed a hand to his side. It was warm and firm under her palm, electric, smooth.

She glanced up. “What happened to you?”

Rowan remained frozen, so still she wasn’t sure he was breathing.

“So you did it then. Good.” He stepped away and moved to the fireplace, adding another log. The sound of fire devouring wood crackled through the room.

She stared at his back, now finding the edge of the glamour easily. It peeled away just above his shoulder blade, revealing more scarred skin. Nausea turned her stomach and she swallowed it down.

“Rowan?” She remembered being inside of his mind, seeing his flesh torn to shreds. It was true, then.

He tensed.
Balled his hands into fists. Callie’s steps scraped across the dirt floor. Rowan didn’t turn. The heat from the fire and Rowan’s scent hit her at the same time. She lifted trembling hands. They hung in the air between them, indecisive. She couldn’t breathe.

“Go ahead,” he said, hoarse. He lowered his head and hair fell across his face, hiding his expression.

Callie wished she knew what he was thinking.

She touched him gently, as though the scars still caused him physical pain. The glamour dissolved, and Rowan—the
real
Rowan—stood before her. Scars covered his torso and arms, some long and straight, others jagged as though someone had torn through his flesh with a serrated blade. She traced a thick, hard ridge in the center of his back and he tensed further. This scar had an equally ugly twin on the opposite side, just as wide and rough.

A deep desire to seek justice boiled inside Callie, bitter and burning, taking her by surprise. Her throat ached and she bit her lip, fighting emotion. Rowan’s memories swept her mind. His foster homes were not safe places to live.

Someone had hurt Rowan, and hurt him badly.

She moved closer, sliding her hands from his back, over the ridges of his ribs, until they stilled on his chest. The fire warmed his skin and their energy mingled with the contact. She flattened her palms, feeling the slight down of chest hair, the stilted rise and fall of his breaths, and underneath, the steady drumming of his heart.

Callie pressed her cheek to Rowan’s ruined back. She wished she could take it away.

Seconds passed, and then minutes. Rowan didn’t move.

Wetness pooled beneath Callie’s cheek, silent tears that slid from her eyes and trailed Rowan’s skin. The fire continued to crackle, the cheerful sound at odds with the emotions tumbling inside her.

His scars tore at her insides as though she’d experienced them herself. No wonder Rowan had walls to keep everyone
out. She knew exactly what that was like. If you let your guard down, even for a moment, you risked everything tumbling out.

And he’d trusted her with this. Fresh tears filled her eyes.

It was a long while before Rowan turned from her touch. She let him go, dropping her arms. They faced each other. Rowan’s expression was guarded and distant. Callie felt like she’d just leapt from a hundred-story building. Her stomach was in her throat when their eyes met. The glamour was back, she realized, his chest and arms now smooth.

Rowan brushed tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “Please don’t cry.” His voice belied the calm of his expression, too heavy and thick. “It was a long time ago. Don’t cry for me.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Rowan rested his forehead against hers. One of his hands traveled to the back of her neck. His palm was damp with her tears.
He pulled away too soon, leaving her lips parted and expecting.

She ached all over, her skin stretched taut as though it wasn’t quite strong enough to hold everything
inside. She’d felt powerless before, so inconsequential that she’d wished she would disappear. This was different. No amount of grief or words would heal the damage. She wished she were like Rowan. She wished she could touch him and heal it all.

She flashed back to when she was inside his mind, when he lay broken and bleeding. She wanted to ask why. The words scraped against the end of her tongue, but refused to fall.

How could she look at Rowan the same? She’d always know what he carried underneath, what haunted him. Part of her wished she could push the rewind button and unlearn.

“Don’t you want to see yourself unglamoured?” Rowan asked.

Callie wiped her eyes, feeling foolish. He hadn’t shown her his scars as some attempt to win her over, or seek her consolation; he’d shown her as a teaching tool. She sniffed and swallowed the thickness in her throat.

Rowan led her to the tiny mirror above the sink. The glass
was cracked in one corner and mottled her reflection. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks pale. Rowan’s face filled the space next to hers.

“This glamour is harder to peel away,” Rowan said, businesslike. “The one I wear is something I did myself, not as strong as the glamour given to us when we’re born and sent into the human world. It’s thick and durable, drawing from the collective energy of
Eirensae,
and involves much more magic than simply hiding a few scars. It doesn’t waver like mine would if I was injured or weak.”

Callie frowned and met his gaze in the glass. “So those scars—they aren’t what you really look like?”

“Yes and no.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “The scars are real, but there’s more. We’ll get there in time. Right now let’s focus on you.” He slid his fingers to the sensitive skin of her forearm. “Let’s start here. Your faerie form involves your entire body.”

“It does?” Callie said, remembering the alligator lady with green scales from head to toe. She hoped she wasn’t green.
Or scaly.

Rowan chuckled, obviously sensing her distress. “Don’t be scared. It’s not bad. I promise.” He lifted her arm, gently encircling her wrist with his fingers. “Find the edge of the glamour just like you did before. You’ll need more concentration to remove this one and it won’t work if you get frustrated.”

Callie’s arm looked the same as it always had. A small trio of freckles gathered on her wrist, and further up, she had a mole shaped like a heart. Her arm hair was sparse and bleached from the sun. But there, just at the edge, she caught the flicker of glamour. “Found it,” she breathed. Rowan remained silent as she tried to peel it away. The glamour was such a tiny difference that she had a hard time keeping hold of it. Every time she pulled it away with her mind, it snapped back into place.

She sighed.

Rowan dropped her arm. “You can’t get upset. Think about something else for a minute.”

“Like what?” she grumbled, feeling the first pains of a headache between her brows.

He narrowed his eyes. “Ash?”

“Seriously?”

Holding up both hands, Rowan said, “It’ll work. Trust me.”

She stared at him. Was he being obnoxious on purpose? “Fine,” she said. Closing her eyes, she pictured Ash, the endless green of his eyes, the way his copper hair curled at his hairline. She thought of the freckles that bridged his nose and the webbing between his fingers when he was unglamoured.

Her heart squeezed.

She was in over her head with all of it.

At least here, with Rowan beside her, she was safe.

Callie rolled her shoulders, ready to try again. She let her thoughts dissipate like smoke in a breeze. When she lifted her arm, she was pleased to see that it was easier to locate the line of glamour. She exhaled, finding the energy that curled inside her. She willed the glamour away, as she’d done with Rowan. Millimeter by millimeter, the glamour lifted. Brilliant blue light escaped through the tiny crack, nearly blinding her in the darkness.

She gasped, and the glamour slid back into place.

***

“I’m blue,” Callie said.

Rowan grinned. He focused on her until he saw what she did. Callie’s skin glowed gentle blue, her energy swirled just beneath the surface, wispy as clouds at sunset. She was pure power, so strong that her skin couldn’t contain it.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, willing his glamour away. The light from her skin turned his scars purple.

“Why?” she asked, relief evident in her expression.
“Why am I blue?”

“We just
are.
There’s not any one reason for our abilities.”

She turned her arm over. The skin was thinner there, and darker blue veins snaked under the surface. Her blood glowed, too, pulsating just beneath fragile skin.

“This is crazy,” she said.

Rowan hesitated, hand still resting on her arm. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Do you want to see me?” He wished he could take back the offer. But the words were there.

“See you?”

“Without glamour.
I can try to remove it for you.” He grinned. “Or we can get drunk. I have some wine.”

“Um…” She met his gaze in the mirror.

“Come on, live a little.” He gave her his most disarming smile, questioning why he bothered. He didn’t
want
to show her, did he?

She arched one eyebrow. “From what I understand, I’m nearly immortal. I don’t think I have a choice.”

“It’ll be easier if we drink.” He meant it’d be easier for
him
if he drank. “Just a few sips. Promise.” He saw Callie’s resolve wavering.

“Maybe we should just go to bed.”

He couldn’t help himself. His eyebrows lifted and he glanced at his mattress. “Oh, yeah?”

She sighed. He sensed victory.

“Okay,” she conceded.

Rowan went to the cupboard and retrieved a clear, long-necked bottle with a bulbous bottom. The brew fizzled when he uncorked it, emitting violet sparks like a mini firework. He took a swig, not bothering with a glass. The semi-sweet flavor of berries and flowers lit a fire down to his belly leaving a honey aftertaste.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said when he handed her the wine. She took a sip, and then a longer drink. Rowan watched her throat work as she swallowed. What it would taste like if he pressed his lips there. Flowers? Vanilla? Honey? When she was done a bit of the bright concoction dribbled from her mouth and Rowan nearly groaned. Already the drink was making his limbs warm and his thoughts fuzzy. It wouldn’t take long for his inhibitions to disappear. He took the bottle back and gulped.