excerpts

“Halya? Come on, I know you’re there. Your boots are at the door.”

“I have more than one pair.”

“You’ve an unhealthy attachment to your deceased footwear.”

“…how’d you know I didn’t wear something else?”

“There’s a new book pile by the couch, and who am I talking to?”

“Rudzik.”

“The children have escaped you. Your scent after hoarding books like some scholarly troll revolts them.”

“Ayelya.”

“She’s your fictional creation. By that logic, I speak to her creator.”

“She’s grievously injured. I need to write her out of the mess I put her in.”

“I know that’s not what’s on your laptop right now, Halybear.”

The short list of witness statements blur as I pull my glasses off with a sigh, rubbing my eyes. I stare at the shaggy brown carpet between my pink socks, gathering strength before I finally stand

A book greets me when I open the door, Beneath The Pyramid presented like a gift of solid gold under my nose. “You’re into ancient Egypt nowadays, yeah?”

My eyebrow lift. “Are you bribing me?”

“If this doesn't work, I’ll feed the tigers for a week.”

“You know, that’s incredibly unfair of them,” I grumble as I skim the blurb. “I always shower after coming home.”

She smirks. “You’re going to have to give them extra snacks for cheating.”

“Cheating? Thom’s mother is at that store!”

“He has no clue what you’re talking about, only that you smell like another cat.”

“Why are you speaking for my cat?”

“Our cat.”

“Sofie, who’s the Soviet here? Don’t steal my lines.”

“The Soviet Union died before you were born, you shy baby.”

I, childishly, stick my tongue out. Sofie smiles, thunder grey eyes dimmed at the vague reminder of mamka. She lifts her arms. I waffle for a futile second, sigh, and give in.

Sofie closes me in a tight embrace, swaying us as I wind my arms round her slim waist. I press my nose to her shoulder. Her skin is warm, comforting as I breathe in coconut and blossoms from the soft blonde tresses tumbling to her shoulders.

“Are you clairvoyant?” I mumble. “Is that a thing now?”

“No, I just know you,” she replies serenely, breezing past the elephant crowding the space with us. “Let’s play games and chill the day away, yeah?”

“Sofie, sincerely, there is nothing remotely relaxing about horror games.”

“I might have been talking about a fun little tree-planting game.”

“No you’re not, because you love horror despite seeing it every day, everywhere.”

“Come on,” she wheedles. “We need the distraction. Her file won’t go anywhere.”

My eyes narrow playfully, chest tight. “What do you need distracting from?”

Her smile stiffens as she shrugs. “I just came back from the London casting. Michelle, the director, she liked my earrings. She asked for my store’s socials when I told her I make clothes and jewellery. I may perish from nerves.”

My mouth rounds in surprise. “Was that today?” I can't believe I forgot…I shouldn’t be surprised, though, given I can think of nothing but what Michael wants to talk about.

Sofie cringes. “Yeah, but I need to forget it happened so I can stop obsessing over whether she’ll like my designs or not.”

“You have nothing to worry about.” I turn my head, vigorously swinging so my pastel pink butterfly earrings twinkle pleasantly. “You’re gorgeous, and insanely talented with the bling. You’ll hear back either way.”

Sofie pulls back, arms on my shoulders. She’s as effortlessly breathtaking as always, even in a simple white tank and beige joggers, hair in a messy bun. Persistent smudges under her eyes give her a smokier edge that likens her more to a dark elf pretending to be a sun fairy, accentuated by an old scar slicing through the corner of her right brow.

“Thanks,” she says, the birthmark under her left eye crinkling as she grins. “Also, please don’t hurt Ayelya. I can’t go through that again.”

I groan as my head drops back, cradled on Sofie’s cupped palms. “This is why I didn’t want you reading Ink Stained until after I finished it.”

She shuffles us sideways, reaching for the door handle digging into my hip. “Too late, and I know where you live, so choose wisely.”

“I have two tigers protecting me.”

“You cheated on them. They’ll let me get a good few,” she clicks her tongue and mimes a knock upside the head. “Before they avenge you.”

I cast my laptop a last look before Sofie shuts the door in my face. She loops an arm round my shoulders and steers us to the living room through the patio corridor.

Quieter, she asks, “Do you want to make something for your dad today? You’ve got class on Monday.”

Papa’s anniversary is on February second. We always cook his favourite meals on or around it, but it’s not what twists my stomach to ribbons as I keep my expression neutral. “Do we have beans?”

“We always have beans. I live with scholarly troll in possession of a bottomless pit for a stomach and risk bodily harm if I don’t keep her favourite foods stocked.”

“Ha-ha. Let’s make ibiharage,” I decide, ducking to close the patio doors. “A food coma might help me survive whatever terror you’ve found for us.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Sure.” I bend to offer my fingers to the stocky white-and-peach tomcat that wends around my ankles with a gruff meow. After inspecting my scent, Thom promptly demands pets. “I’m not cleaning up if you projectile vomit at another jump-scare.”

“Listen, the giant leviathan got you too, and you love swimming.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” she scoffs, and retreats to the kitchen.

I linger with Thom, diligently cuddling him as I scrounge up sorely needed courage. Rudzik pokes her head out of her room in the playhouse that dominates the living room wall by the balcony. She meows, small like a kitten even though she’s seven years old. Thom leaps up to bother his big sister as I dawdle, scratching the fluffy calico under her chin while his tail whacks my cheek. Rudzik hisses when he gets in the way of her pets. He sits back, blinking at her. He twitches closer.

I leave them to it, dodging teetering book piles, and enter the kitchen. Sofie pats my wrist for a hair tie and puts on a playlist of pop hits as we weave around each other and start in on a hefty lunch. Every move is a practised dance we’ve perfected over the years, interspersed with periodic grunts of warning for knives and pointing fingers at desired spoons. A half-hour in, I turn up the volume to disrupt his slumber. Sofie pushes open the patio doors to air out the living room of the delectable scent wafting from the kitchen.

The words ripple out of me when she slides back in on a fading guitar riff. “When do you start training?” I sniffle, blinking as I dice onions. “What’s it even about, actually?”

Sofie pauses as she grabs another can of beans. “In a few days. They’re still making arrangements to stay here. Indefinitely.” She drains the beans and drops them in the large pot bubbling on the stove, eyebrows twisted. “I can't…say. What the training is about. I can't tell anyone, really.”

I give up the pretence, setting the knife down. “Sofie.”

“I know, I know what you’re going to say—”

“This is dangerous.” I gesture expansively, as if the inherent risks of a kitchen can encompass all that’s wrong with it. “Do you know how fast this can end up in—I don't know, some weird cult? They’re isolating you.”

She crosses her arms, hunching over. “They’re protecting us. You, especially.”

“There’s no ‘me especially’ about—”

“Halya,” she cuts in, stern. “Yes, there is. That’s the only reason I’d tolerate them after the shit Jhaan and Nol said.”

My lips purse. “Fine. They’re doing that, and isolating you. I get you need to prepare, but now they have you keeping secrets? And you’re not questioning it?”

“We did,” she reminds me. “There’s a reason for all of it.”

“Why are you so quick to believe them?” I exclaim. “Your family’s story can't be enough to just accept them at the drop of a hat.”

“On it’s own, no,” she admits. “But they’re here. It’s real. Not everything is a ploy, and we have to trust they’ll do what they said they will.”

I scowl, remembering what happened only yesterday. I rub a finger between my brows as I lean on the counter, defeated but reticent to admit it. “That kind of thing can go so wrong, so quickly.”

“Yeah, but you can't live in that fear forever. You have to take a leap of faith.” She sighs as I make a face, and hip-checks me to pick up the chopping board. She swings around, nimble as a sprite as she sweeps onions into the pan and returns to the counter to face me. “I’m here, Halya. I’m staying. You know I am.”

I look away, throat thick as I start chopping tomatoes, galled by her naïveté.

“I grew up accepting it as truth,” she continues. “And yeah, maybe that’s some kind of brainwashing in itself, but I’m not operating on blind faith. We aren't—we both saw Xavyír’s tattoo.”

We did. “That’s all well and good, now shall I go put on any documentary ever about cults? I’m sure we’ll find one or twenty with a messiah everyone followed to their deaths.”

She frowns. “I’m not a messiah.”

“No, just a god’s vessel, and the people who said that won't let you talk about it.”

“Ma can know,” she timidly offers. “Maybe pa.”

“Oh, so it’s just me, then?”

She grimaces. “No, any human.”

“Sofie, you’re human.”

The doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it,” I mutter, grabbing at the excuse to escape the rising tension.

She sighs. “Might be for me. I ordered silver for a set I’m working on.”

“Got it.” I rinse my hands and sling the mass of my hair done in eight thick twists into a bun at my nape. I shuffle out to the patio and left to the front door.

My stomach swoops when I open it, politely inquisitive smile falling. Even with my intestines in knots, I can't help the part of me that hushes at the sight of them.

Xavyír is a blend of light and dark between the two he’s brought, with ivory skin and mint green eyes, jet black hair in a half-ponytail out of his face, enough loose around his ears to conceal their slightly tapered tips. Jhaan and Nol are his opposites in colour, both rigid and annoyed; it’s no change to the last time I saw them, though.

Xavyír stands behind them, arms crossed and feet set like he stands guard to keep them from turning tail. He cocks an expectant brow—at them. When they remain awkwardly quiet, he sighs, and looks to me. “We have something we’d like to say.”

“Is that so.”

Unperturbed by my flat tone, he puts his left hand on his chest and dips his head in an oddly formal move. “I am sorry, Halya, for the way things started out.” He smiles mildly at my bewildered blink. “I think an apology is long overdue, don’t you?”

My shoulders loosen as I search his eyes. I find no mockery like yesterday. I find nothing at all; his smile is warm, but a wall remains, concealing all thought behind a polite mask.

I chew my lip, unmoored, wary. “Why are you sorry? You didn’t really say anything.”

Something sparks in his eyes, too quick to discern. It sharpens his smile. “That’s the problem, isn't it? I didn’t stop these two,” he jerks his chin at the mutinously silent pair. “When I should have.”

Nol stirs, looking up from where he’s watching Thom brush round my legs as Xavyír spoke. He’s the light of their meld, hair white-blond like pale fire in a long plait. A blue-grey ribbon stitched with a white mountain vista lays across his forehead. Nondescript gold hoops hug his earlobes, and his brows, grey slashes over sharp light brown eyes, straighten from a scowl with conscious effort.

“I am sorry,” he starts, accent thicker and different from Xavyír’s. “For the things I said. My behaviour was uncalled-for.”

“As was mine,” Jhaan says, voice husky like she smokes vanilla, accent markedly unlike theirs. “We got off on the wrong foot, and we should have taken Sofie’s decision better. We would like to start over.”

The trial of apology comes easier for her. Her skin is a deep bronze, hazel eyes ringed by curling lashes, her sharp features striking, with full two-toned lips under an ornate septum ring. Two violet dots mark her temples. She’s roughly Sofie’s height, though her leanness is more robust with muscle. Her chestnut-brown hair is in a fishtail braid with brass accessories glinting in the curls.

I glance at Xavyír. His arms are crossed as he runs his knuckles over his lower lip. His gaze changes when our eyes lock—from observing me like a hawk does prey, to gentling the keen edge with an easy smile. He angles his head questioningly.

I return to looking at the others. Nol watches Thom sit by my feet, calmly alert. Jhaan is half-turned back, as if to catch the look we shared.

“Do you mean it?” I ask. “Or is it because he’s making you?”

Both snap their heads to me, identically surprised. Behind them, Xavyír smiles.

Baffled, Jhaan asks, “Do you not believe us?”

“Should I? Because if you don’t mean it, I don’t want it.”

“Then what do you want from us?” Nol asks roughly.

“I don’t want anything.” I twist my ring as jittery nerves stream through my veins while I track his hands. “That’s the point.”

“We will be here for an indeterminate amount of time,” Jhaan says. “Regardless of your objections, we have to keep you safe as well.”

“You don’t if you’re not around me at all,” I point out.

“That works if you are not near Sofie.” Xavyír glances as Nol straightens. “Will yo—”

“No,” I snap, hard and vicious to cut away the hopeful glint in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. This is my home.”

“It would be in all our interests to set aside our differences,” Jhaan interjects, stepping forward as if to bar Nol’s temper from igniting. She stops when I shuffle back. “We hope you will accept us, so that we may move o—”

I hold my tongue as Sofie slings an arm around my shoulders, catching my startled jerk while she draws me closer. My nerves ease as I grasp her hand while she directs a severe look at our visitors. “Why are you here?”

Jhaan’s mouth thins, Nol’s shoulders lifting. Xavyír is unperturbed, and I follow his gaze to our clasped hands. He looks up, eyes icy, smile friendly. “We wanted to apologise. We shouldn't have taken our frustrations out on either of you.”

Sofie glances at me. I keep my expression bland and nod.

“Since we’re going to be in close proximity,” he loops his arms round Jhaan and Nol’s necks, pulling them in like they’re his unruly siblings. “Isn’t it better to mend the friction than let it fester?”

His captives nod solemnly. Jhaan tries for a smile that isn’t disingenuous, if awkward. Nol says nothing, mouth twisted like he’s swallowed a rotten lemon.

“Well.” Sofie sounds unconvinced, yet tentatively hopeful. “Fine. Anything else?”

“No. It was nice seeing you again, Halya,” he says, eyes dropping briefly to our clasped hands again. He tugs Jhaan and Nol back and says to Sofie, “We’ll begin training on Monday. Use tomorrow to prepare.”

She nods stiffly, stepping in to close the door as the trio head for apartment C3, directly across the hall from our A3. Then, without another word, she sprints back to the kitchen.

I stare after her bewildered. I sniff a mild, acrid odour in the air. “Sofie, what did you leave on the stove?”

“Pancakes!”

“What pancakes!”

The first batch of налянкі are scorched beyond saving. I banish a mournful Sofie to finish chopping tomatoes while I whisk the pancake mixture. Once doled out in the pan, I fold one of two she didn’t burn and take a large bite, watching Sofie hum along to a song as she dices the tomatoes.

She sighs as she sweeps them into the pan of browned onions hissing away. “Just say it, my tiny firecracker of a gremlin.”

I point the floppy half of my pancake at her. “Excuse me, but five-seven is a perfectly respectable height. And you already know what I have to say.”

“I’ll be careful, oké? If anything’s wrong, I’ll tell you. I promise.”

“Even though they said not to?”

“Especially then.”

My eyebrows knit. I wish I could push until something gives, but I reluctantly nod, sighing. “Where’s the chilli?”

Sofie’s eyes gleam in silent thanks even as she sidles to a cabinet and whines, “Halya, please. I’m as white as it comes. I can’t handle your spice levels.”

“Good thing my dad had no sympathy for such a bland, unrefined palette. Hand it over.”