GIRLS OF MIGHT AND MAGIC
DIVERSE BOOKS WITH MAGIC
CONTENTS An Introduction… Preface 1. Heartburn About the Author 2. Wind and Silk About the Author 3. Grace and Ghosts About the Author 4. Faith About the Author 5. The Outside About the Author 6. Chasing Waves About the Author 7. Funnel Cake About the Author 8. A Meeting in the Woods About the Author 9. Outcast About the Author 10. Daughter of Soil and Gold About the Author 11. Pretty Young Things About the Author 12. Sight About the Author 13. Serenity Dawn About the Author 14. The Cursed Gift About the Author 15. Memories of Magic About the Author 16. Check Yourself About the Author Afterword
Girls of Might and Magic An Anthology by Diverse Books With Magic All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, uploaded, or transmitted in any form without the authors' written consent. This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. Cover Art: Christine Gerardi Formater: Alice Ivinya Copyright@ 2021 E. M. Lacey Copyright@ 2021 Alice Ivinya Copyright@ 2021 K. R. S. McEntire Copyright@ 2021 Sudha Kuruganti Copyright@ 2021 C. C. Solomon Copyright@ 2021 Kendra Merritt Copyright@ 2021 Amanda Ross Copyright@ 2021 Nicole Givens Kurtz Copyright@ 2021 D. L. Howard Copyright@ 2021 Meghan Rhine Copyright@ 2021 LaLa Leo Copyright@ 2021 Tamika Brown Copyright@ 2021 C. I. Raiyne Copyright@ 2021 Courtney Dean Copyright@ 2021 Ashley Ford Copyright@ 2021 Kat Zaccard Created with Vellum
“If you ever find you’ve nowhere else to go, you come here to these books and find yourself.” ― J. Elle, Wings of Ebony
AN INTRODUCTION… When we launched the Diverse Books With Magic Facebook community, we had no idea that it would grow into what it is today. As an active group of 1500+ speculative fiction fans, we knew we could create something magical together. Within these pages, you’ll find stories featuring witches, fae, ghosts, vampires, dragons, werewolves, sea beasts, jinn, and more. The authors of the Girls of Might and Magic anthology are at various stages of their writing careers. Some have multiple publications under their belt. For others, this is one of their first projects. We are indebted to the diverse, female voices who paved the way in speculative fiction, ranging from the late Octavia Butler to emerging voices such as N. K. Jemisin and Tomi Adeyemi. We aim to put characters of color, characters with disabilities, and LGBTQ+ characters front and center in stories about strength and resilience. We appreciate your support and hope this collection of young adult and new adult speculative fiction reminds you of your own might and magic. Sincerely, The Diverse Books With Magic admins (K. R. S. McEntire, C. C. Solomon, Amanda Ross, LaLa Leo, and D. L. Howard.)
The collection includes: Heartburn by E. M. Lacey Wind and Silk by Alice Ivinya Grace and Ghosts by K. R. S. McEntire Faith by Sudha Kuruganti The Outside by C. C. Solomon Chasing Waves by Kendra Merritt Funnel Cake by Amanda Ross A Meeting in the Woods by Nicole Givens Kurtz Outcast by D. L. Howard Daughter of Soil and Gold by Meghan Rhine Pretty Young Things by LaLa Leo Sight by Tamika Brown Serenity Dawn by C. I. Raiyne The Cursed Gift by Courtney Dean Memories of Magic by Ashley Ford Check Yourself by Kat Zaccard
“They don't hate you, my child. They hate what you were meant to become.” ― Tomi Adeyemi, Children of Blood and Bone
I 1 HEARTBURN E. M. Lacey f someone knocks, don’t answer. Don’t open the door. Don’t even look out of the peephole. No one can know you’re inside. It’s best for us this way. Those were the laws of the Aarshin household. Rules nine-year-old Anala lived by until she didn’t. She made a friend, though she wasn’t supposed to. Since the COVID-19 pandemic, school wasn’t so crowded. Smaller classes shed light on the little shadow that was Anala. It surprised her when the popular girl, Summer Shea, started talking to her. It wasn’t long before they laughed and built their own secrets. Secrets like the one that drew Anala to break house rules. A secret she later learned was a lie. One that landed her inside the back of an unmarked blue van. It made a hard-right turn. Screeching tires drowned out her yelp as she slid across the floor. It jerked sharply, then straightened without reducing speed. The driver lay on the brakes, propelling her into the divider wall. The force of it snatched the breath from her lungs. She crawled unsteadily
to a corner, grateful it was slowing. Once there, she pulled her knees to her chest. The muted crunch of house keys inside her fanny pack deepened her longing for home. She teased the zipper, sliding it back and forth as she examined her surroundings. The van had no windows, and it smelled new. It slowed again, easing to the right. Rocks popped under tires as it pulled off the road. It rocked as it moved along a new path. Anala endured the rattling and shaking as the vehicle trudged along for several long minutes before it stopped. Engine still running, handles clicked, and both driver and passenger doors swung open. Rocks crunched beneath the weight of the men who stepped out. One was a stranger. The other was her science teacher, Mr. Bland. What did they want with her? She was broken. Her skin was brown. She wasn’t pretty like Summer with her pale blond hair, sky-blue eyes, and luminous porcelain skin. Summer was well fed, not skinny like Anala. Anala’s skin had the consistency of wax paper with some scaling in places from eczema. The only feature Anala liked about herself was her dark green eyes. Anala itched like crazy as her teacher and the stranger neared the back of the van. Her stomach gurgled. She scratched her forearms, worrying already cracked skin. She had medicine that would stop both the itching and reflux, but it was in her backpack, which lay useless in Summer’s backyard. Her stomach acid surged, rising to her throat, ebbing at the base of her sternum. She braced herself as a loud burp burst forth as the doors swung open. Anala was grateful for the darkness. Her eyes were not good with the sun. Plus, if she could stop shaking, the shadows would keep her hidden, if only for a little while. A hot beam of light passed over her skin. She threw up her hand to shield her eyes. “See!” Mr. Bland punched the stranger on his shoulder as he pointed excitedly at her corner. The stranger lowered the flashlight. “Did you see her eyes?” Mr. Bland bent slightly, laying his hands on his thighs as he tilted his head in different angles. He grinned wide, straightened, and punched the stranger’s shoulder again. “I told you.”
“Tapetum lucidum.” The stranger said as he waved the flashlight again. Anala jerked away from the light, turning her head to the corner. “They got that green glow like a dog or a cat.” Mr. Bland pointed again. The stranger grunted, sidestepping Mr. Bland’s next punch as he turned off the flashlight and slipped into the waistband of his pants. The stranger clapped his hands together lightly. Mr. Bland snapped out of his weird fixation. “We need to get her into the facility.” The stranger reached behind his back, dug around in his pocket, and pulled out a black square that fit neatly in the palm of his hand. He shook it out. It was a bag. Mr. Bland snickered as he climbed into the back of the van. The stranger followed, keeping a careful distance as Mr. Bland crept forward. Anala couldn’t believe she’d thought Mr. Bland was nice! He always had a ready smile and a stupid dad joke. “Look, Anala, I know you’re scared.” He used his teacher's voice. He approached her like an equation. Sizing her up, holding his hands out as if he were trying to keep her from running. He didn’t need to. Where would she go? “We’re not going to hurt you,” Mr. Bland said as he took the black bag from the stranger. He crept forward. “My friend here wants to help you.” He reached for Anala. She screamed, pushing deeper into the corner. Mr. Bland retreated. He looked over his shoulder at the stranger, who hadn’t recoiled. It was hard to make out his features, not because it was dark—her vision was fine in the dark. It was because she’d started crying. The stranger patted Mr. Bland’s shoulder and offered her a smile. “Don’t cry, dear.” He pressed his free hand on his chest, using Mr. Bland for balance. “I’m a doctor.” Anala sniffled. “I don’t need a doctor.” She scowled at the stranger. The bitter taste of stomach acid lingered on her tongue. The stranger checked his watch, released Mr. Bland’s shoulder, then jerked his chin toward Anala. Lowering his voice, he whispered something in Mr. Bland’s ear, then backed out of the van. Mr. Bland apologized to her before darting forward. He slipped the bag over her head, then dragged her out of her corner. She kicked and screamed as her stomach burned and her heart broke. There was a pinch in her neck. Her limbs numbed and so did her mind. Soon the darkness inside the bag became absolute.
Anala woke on the floor of a small, square room with no windows. Head pounding, she rolled onto her stomach, surprised it didn’t protest. It hurt to move her eyes, but she needed to figure out where she was. She glanced around the silver room. No furniture. Not even a toilet. She looked up, mindful of the sharp pressure along her temples. Carefully, she examined the corners for the tell-tale lights of cameras. She’d seen it on television, prisoners locked in rooms with cameras. There! She spotted a small one, the same silver as the room. A tinted plate lay over the face, dulling the light beneath. She checked the other corners, finding only one more near the front of the cell beside a thick glass wall, or was it a door? Anala checked both sides of her cell, noting the gleam to her right. A sheet of glass separated her from another cell, which was pitch-black. A sliver of light streamed inside from the hall. “Hello,” Anala whispered then broke into a fit of coughing. Her throat was still raw from her screams. She waited for the fit to pass before trying again. “Is anyone there?” A squeak of rubber soles against the floor startled her. She turned in time to catch a glimpse of powder-blue fabric. It sparkled in places as her neighbor moved deeper into the darkness. Masculine voices closed her mouth and drew her eyes upward. “The older woman’s blood is being tested.” It was the stranger from the van. She heard him move around overhead. “Depending on the results, the girl is going to be paramount to the development of our line of serums.” Mr. Bland giggled like a kid. “We’re going to be rich.” “Years of research validated.” The stranger sounded distracted. A tender clink of glass bridged the momentary silence. Their voices floated down through a grate in the ceiling. Anala tilted her head, pulled back a nest of dark hair, and turned her ear toward it. “Well, you know there are all kinds of creatures in Africa.” “The woman and her grandchild are Ethiopian. Do you have any idea what they are?” “No. I’ve compiled a list noting the particulars of various species. I’ve got someone running their ancestry. Surnames and geographical regions could prove helpful. Might narrow down both the lore and tribe.” Mr. Bland sounded frustrated.
“But you’ve observed the girl.” “She’s just a kid.” Mr. Bland must be sitting. His foot began tapping incessantly. “She’s extremely shy, barely talks.” He stomped his foot. “She doesn’t break the rules and has no friends.” “Good at staying under the radar,” the stranger commented. He murmured something else, but she couldn’t make out the words as papers flapped like wings. “Maybe the girl’s physical issues are particular to her kind.” My kind? Anala’s brows sank as she digested the conversation. Her grandmother, Emebet “Eme” Aarshin, was an Ethiopian national seeking citizenship in the United States. She was very human, just like Anala. Neither of them was a monster like Mr. Bland suggested. Anala had a few issues that made her feel abnormal, but she was normal. “Well, the senior subject will be harvested for Project Sovereignty. Once the tests are complete, we will do an autopsy.” “Autopsy?” Mr. Bland sounded like he was going to be sick. “Of course, how else are we going to learn what makes them tick? There’s no other way to discover what parts are good for what if we don’t perform an autopsy. Maybe harvesting will force a shift?” The stranger moved around overhead. “You killed her?” The stranger gave a how-absurd kind of laugh. “Of course not. We’re still taking samples and running tests. Once our donors are satisfied, there will be an autopsy.” “You never said anything about killing anyone.” The silence turned Anala’s stomach. Mr. Bland and the stranger were going to kill her grandma! Her hand fell from her hair. Maybe they were going to kill her too? Mr. Bland and the stranger began speaking again. Tones were harsh, but she stopped listening. What were they doing to her grandma? Were they hurting her? Her stomach sloshed with bile, and gas bubbled into her chest. She rubbed her chest, hoping it would stop. Despair lodged in her throat, forcing its way out as a loud burp. She wrinkled her nose at the rotten egg smell. That was new. Her burps were always odorless. Maybe her medicine stripped away the odor? “Gross.”
Anala spun in the direction of the voice. Her heart leapt at the familiar face. “Summer!” Anala crawled toward the glass. Summer remained motionless in the darkness. “They took you too?” Anala rested her butt in the curve of her heels. “It’s your fault!” Anala drew back, brows drawn. “I...” “You’re a freak! Your grandma’s a freak!” It took Anala a few seconds to find her words. “I’m not a freak. I’m like you.” Summer crawled into the light. She pressed her face against the glass. Dark circles were under her eyes. Her swollen lips had a cut on the top. The palms of her hands were an angry red. “No, you’re not.” “Why are you saying that?” Anala looked around her cell, her fingernails laying into her skin as she scratched. “We’re friends.” “I’m not your friend.” Summer’s venomous words cracked like a whip. Anala flinched under their sting. Summer sat back, aiming a finger at the ceiling. “Mr. Bland introduced me to that man. He had already met up with my adoptive mom. Offered her money. She took it, of course, and made me be nice to you.” “But you were going to show me the fairy forest and...” Summer tossed an unkempt braid over her shoulder and locked her arms across her chest. “Mom figured you liked fairies because of the stickers on your backpack, so she told me to tell you we had one.” “But...” “There is no fairy forest!” Summer screamed. “I can’t believe you’re so simple. My mom will do anything for a buck, but she forgot the rule of easy money.” Summer seemed to deflate. “It comes with a lot of strings.” She leaned against the glass. “Like all her stupid plans, she got me tied up in it.” She waved her hands wearily around her cell. “Now I’m stuck in this stupid cage.” She slapped the glass and pressed her head against it. “I didn’t mean...” Summer leaned away, tilted her head, mouth ajar as she studied Anala. She shook her head then pointed at Anala. “It’s your fault your grandma’s gonna die.” Her words stripped the breath from her lungs. Anala backed away from Summer and faced the wall. She stared at the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
She was breathing, so why did it feel like she was suffocating? Her vision wavered as fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Why was Summer saying mean things? She wasn’t a freak. She just didn’t get out much. Summer made an ugly sound, tempting Anala to look at her; instead, she closed her eyes. Anala wanted her grandma. She wanted to be back in their little house, locked away from everyone. Shhh, little star. Don’t cry. “Grandma?” Anala opened her eyes and scanned the small cell. Summer made an ugly face, smacking her hand against the glass before retreating into the shadows. Do not be afraid. Emebet Aarshin’s voice filled Anala’s ears. She crept carefully from her corner toward the front of her cell. She peered into the shadows. No one was outside. A warmth filled Anala’s chest. Shhh, little star. I am near. Anala opened her mouth, but her grandmother spoke again. Little star, I am in your heart and mind. A soft caress along the shell of her ear turned Anala’s head toward the grate. “How are you doing that?” she whispered. “Who are you talking to, freak!” Summer spat as she crawled back to the glass. Anala shrank away, sliding back until her body connected with the wall. She faced it, then stared at the glitter from her sapphire-blue nail polish and smiled. The last thing she and her grandmother did before their disagreement was paint their nails. They always started with the toes. Little star. Anala tilted her ear toward the grate again. Leaning in, lips grazing the wall as she whispered, “Grandma?” Shhh, little star. I need you to listen. Anala struggled to swallow. Do not fear, Anala. We will be together before sunrise. “Is someone coming for us?” No, little star. You will save us. “What?” Anala licked her lips then whispered, “I can’t.” You can. “How?” Anala lifted her arms, checking for muscles, finding only bones layered in thin, waxy skin. “I’m not strong.”
Her grandmother’s laughter reverberated through Anala’s insides, bouncing off bones, tickling her throat and tongue. Strength is yours. All you need to do is reach for it. Summon it. It will come. Anala’s heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings. A surge of gas filled her chest, dousing her grandmother’s joy, replacing it with a bitter acidic burn. Don’t worry. Trust yourself. Trust your instincts. “I can’t…” Heaviness draped Anala’s spirit. I am sorry, little star. I thought I was doing what was best by keeping things about us secret. Anala pressed her hand lightly on the metal wall. “I’m sorry for not listening to you.” Don’t be. “It’s my fault.” No. It’s mine. The warmth within Anala faded just as a bolt slid back. Soon the emptiness was filled with the echo of footsteps. The soft clink of overhead fluorescent bulbs coming to life joined the cadence of the steps. Light crept closer to her cell, creating a starburst. Anala shielded her eyes, not liking the bright lights. A sharp clap dimmed the lights. “Is that better?” an unfamiliar man said. Anala withdrew her hand, blinking away the sting. The man in the hallway wasn’t her teacher or the doctor. He was tall, with exaggerated musculature that strained against red scrubs. A utility belt was draped around his waist. It was the same red as his scrubs. The man’s face was as hard as his body. His eyes were pale and clinical. “Look, kid. Dr. Grigori requested I bring you to him.” The man stepped forward. His enormous frame was partially hidden behind the wall opposite the glass door. “Are you going to cooperate?” Anala’s stomach gurgled. She rubbed it as she nodded. “Good.” Beeps filled the silence as the man keyed in a code. A hiss followed. The glass slid into the wall. Anala got to her feet. The man in red scrubs motioned for her to join him in the hall.
It took some focus, but Anala moved her legs, progressing to the threshold one sluggish step at a time. Her insides trembled, but she numbed her face. She swallowed her nerves and stiffened her back but jumped at the thump of the cell door sliding shut. The man in red scrubs smirked but didn’t comment. He headed for the big metal door. She followed, her every step a dirge as they walked without words through the doorway. Everything had a smell. It’s what her grandma always said. But the long rectangular room she entered was odorless. Not even the scent of chemicals was present. The stranger from earlier was perched in the middle of the room on a silver stool. He wore black scrubs and a matching lab coat with no identification. Behind him, a row of examination tables. The man in red scrubs shoved her into the room. It was like her cell, only bigger. It had a skylight overhead, but no other windows. Mirrors composed the right wall while holding cells lined the left. Suspended lighting hung above the tables. The lighting was minimal. The stranger rose, bowing dramatically, laying his hand over his heart as he rose. “I am Dr. Dominic Grigori.” He stretched his arms out wide, twisting left then right. He flexed his fingers. “This is my lab.” Dr. Grigori was Hollywood-handsome. His hair matched his scrubs. Though he smiled, his dark eyes were cold. He motioned for her to introduce herself. Anala said nothing. “Ahh,” Dr. Grigori said. “I understand your reluctance.” He clasped his hands behind his back, taking a few lazy steps to the left. The table behind him had someone on it. Not just anyone. It was her grandmother! Mouth open, spirit hollow, Anala approached the table cautiously, keeping Dr. Grigori in her sights. She gave him a wide berth as she neared the table. Anala frowned at the tubes coiled from her grandma’s arms full of liquids: blue, green, clear, and the most terrifying was red. Machines on stands with wheels beeped and clicked as Anala’s gaze traveled the length
of her grandmother’s prone form. Silver manacles pinned Emebet’s wrists to her sides. Further down, a metal bar locked her legs to the table. She rose to the tips of her toes as she set trembling fingers to Emebet’s sunken cheek. “She’s alive.” Anala snatched her hand away and ducked under her grandmother’s table. She was small enough that Dr. Grigori would have a hard time getting her out without help. “What did you do to her?” “She’s asleep,” Dr. Grigori shrugged. He put distance between them, choosing to go over to the cell across from her grandmother and lean on it. “What did you do?” “I ran tests, like I will eventually run on you.” “Why?” Her voice trembled. Dr. Grigori squatted low, resting his hands on his thighs as he studied her. “I’m a scientist. It’s my job to study things I don’t understand.” He raised his right hand, aimed his index finger at Anala. “And you, I have yet to classify.” “I’m a girl.” Dr. Grigori flicked his eyes at her grandmother before they settled on Anala. “Her blood says otherwise.” “Where’s Mr. Bland?” Dr. Grigori smiled. This time it was genuine. “Mr. Bland is having difficulty with the process by which we do our research.” Dr. Grigori’s humor faded. “Tell me what you are.” Anala shrugged. “You didn’t answer my question. Where’s Mr. Bland?” Dr. Grigori reached into the pocket of his lab coat, pulled out a book, and slid it across the floor. It bounced against a wheel but stopped in front of her. Anala didn’t reach for it. To do so would mean taking her eyes off him. He waved his hand at it. “Take a look.” “What’s this?” “Bland’s journal. Most of his research is in there.” He pointed at Anala. “Your species is in there somewhere.” Anala pressed her hands to her chest. “I’m. A. Girl.” She enunciated each word slowly as she wrapped sweaty hands around the bed’s metal bars. Tiny pockets of gas rolled like marbles, launching into a long, ragged belch ending their stand-off. The man grimaced, throwing his arm over his face.
He shot to his feet and slapped his palms against the holding cell. Rows of intricate swirls flared white as a roar set the glass door rattling. Something scratched about before racing footsteps drew the cell’s occupant into the light. She’d only seen them on television, but a werewolf smashed into the glass. The strange swirls formed starbursts, muting all sound upon impact. Dr. Grigori pointed behind him. “That is not human.” He aimed an accusing digit at her. “Like you.” He turned that judgy finger back on the werewolf raging behind him. “That is in Bland’s journal.” He flipped that finger back at Anala. “That means you’re in there too.” “I’m not a werewolf! I’m a girl!” Anala wanted to rip her hair out. Who was he to tell her what she was? He was obviously crazy, but it didn’t help the growing nausea. Her stomach roiled. Stress always threw her offbalance. A headache bloomed. Her temples throbbed as her vision washed red. Her eyes were gritty. She blinked slowly. Cool, soothing moisture chased away the grittiness. She needed to calm down. Control her breathing, like her grandma taught her. No, little star. Her grandmother’s voice buzzed in her head like before. Trust your instincts. “Your immunity to silver confirms you’re not a werewolf.” He pressed his fingers on the intricate swirls. “The spellwork doesn’t bother you.” He shoved his hands in his hair and pulled. “What are you?” Anala’s headache intensified. Blades of pain pooled around the back of her eyes. She sealed them against it. Her gums tingled as the edge of her jaw popped. It itched more than hurt, and the popping wasn’t loud because the doctor didn’t seem to notice it. Anala waited for the sensation to pass before opening her eyes and addressing the crazy man. “You can’t do this to us!” Anala squeezed the bars, which dimpled in her grip. She snatched up the journal and threw it at him. It hit his left shin. Dr. Grigori withdrew a pale green square from the pocket of his lab coat. He shook it open, then flipped it over so she could see it. It was too far for her to read it but the crackling from earlier shifted to the bones around her eyes, the nerves tingled briefly. The tiny letters became as clear as if she were holding the paper in front of her. Official seals littered the bottom and there was a governmental logo at the top. She scanned the document, stopping instantly when she noticed Dr. Grigori’s attentiveness.
“You’re reading!” The man waved the paper at her. “No, I’m not.” Dr. Grigori flipped the document and began to read. “All non-humans shall be detained, logged into the U.S. Census database as Other, thus stripping them of human status. Non-humans will be classified as government property to be used as designated by the authorities.” He flipped the paper so she could see it, pointing at the section he had just read. He aimed the end of the sheet at the table, then at her. “You and your grandmother are not human. Which means you are not citizens.” Dr. Grigori stalked forward. “Which also means you have no rights here.” He swung the paper toward the door. “Or out there.” He crouched again, entitlement in his gaze. “Your kind has no rights.” “But…” Dr. Grigori chuckled. “This is America? How cute.” He made a rude noise. “Since COVID19, we’ve locked our borders and expanded our horizons.” Anala blinked but said nothing. “Science has free reign. Project Sovereignty has the backing of both private donors and government funding. Since COVID-19, medical research is of great interest to those in power. There are quite a few, like Bland, who are interested in myths and legends. They want to prove them real.” He waved the hand with the paper around the room. “Bland’s interest in legends and their potential to advance human medicine brought him to me.” Dr. Grigori crushed the paper in his grip. “We went to college together. I kept in touch. So, when he found you, he came to me.” “I’m human,” Anala whispered. Her words slurred as her jawbones crackled and shifted. “You look human, but your mask is slipping, my dear.” Dr. Grigori returned the paper into his lab coat. He clapped his hands as a rumble of footsteps filled the room. He aimed that judgy finger at her again. She’d had enough! Anala crawled out from under the table. She might be a kid, but she would stand her ground. She might fail, but she could bite, scratch, and pinch as many of them as she could. Dr. Grigori remained by the cell, but four more men, all in red scrubs with military buzz cuts, closed in. They surrounded the table. Anala stared at each of the men in red scrubs. There was no mercy in their expressions, only an expectation of submission. Her stomach knotted.
A succession of cramps pulled her to her knees as stomach acid burned like magma. Am I dying? Anala stared at the glossy silver floor. No, little star. You’re becoming your true self. It hurts. Anala groaned, clutching her stomach. Growth always comes with pain. Emebet’s words chilled Anala’s heart as the bones of her lower jaw cracked audibly. The surrounding men closed in; hands reached for her, but she rolled toward the bed. Instead of going under it, she bumped into the legs, heart beating wildly. Do not fear them. A wave of pain unlocked her jaws, which hung in a voiceless scream. Acidic vapor seeped into the air, filling the room with the scent of rotten eggs. Several long belches erupted. Something beeped. An alarm? The man who collected her earlier separated from the rest. He gentled his voice but not his face as he reached for her. “Why don’t you be nice and work with us?” Anala curled into the fetal position, gagged, then vomited. Bile splashed onto the floor. It sizzled. Anala raised her head, noting the magma-orange puddle. Her mouth stretched wide as her jaws lengthened. She rolled onto all fours; head hung low. Her hair obscured what was happening to her face. The beeps that started off slow intensified in both speed and volume. “What the hell?” The man in red pulled his hand away, looked over his shoulder at the wall. His tan skin lost its color as he stared at something behind him. Anala drew in the vapor streaming from her insides through pursed lips. It slid into her lungs, mixing with the acid. Set us free! She lifted her head as gas touched acid. A snick, like the turn of a spark wheel on a lighter, ignited something inside. She opened her mouth as wide as she could to accommodate the wave of heat filling her chest. Her gaze shifted to Dr. Grigori. His arrogance vaporized and terror set him running as alarms screamed. The men in red scrubs were already racing for the door. Their fear filled Anala with a need to chase them, but she remained by her grandmother’s side. The skin between her jaws stretched as bitter acid rolled off her tongue. Blue flame filled the room, devouring the oxygen. Masculine screams joined the snap of fire and pop of vials.
The fire she breathed muted the wails Anala yearned to set free as an excruciating spasm laced her back. It traveled along both her tail bone and spine, ending just under her shoulder blades. A loud rip threw her off balance. Whatever tore from her back was larger than her small body. She lifted the new appendages, spreading them wide. Anala closed her mouth, ending the flow of flame. The room continued to burn as she rose to her feet, casting a judicious glance over her shoulder. Wings as gray as an elephant and as jagged as a bat’s protruded from her shoulders. She stared into the melting mirror, glimpsing reptilian eyes and scales along her body. The pain of her transformation numbed what was happening to the rest of her. She looked like a mix of dragon and human. Was she a hybrid? Anala examined her wings and talons and blinked reptilian eyes. Her arms were scaly but still very human in size. She had to get them away from this place. Anala flapped her wings, angling taloned feet to take hold of the table her grandmother was strapped to. She focused on the skylight as she began an awkward ascent. Where would she go once she reached the sky? Home. Her grandmother’s longing elicited Anala’s high-pitched roar. She tightened her grip on the hospital bed bearing her grandmother. Turning her head away from the skylight, she broke through. Pressing her wings close, she shielded Emebet from the falling glass. Where was home? Anala soared into the cloudless sky. The tusks on her snout were tugging her toward something familiar. She banked in the pull’s direction, unafraid, as she wondered what her real home was like.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR E. M. Lacey is an author who writes about diverse characters set in dark urban and dystopian landscapes. She’s a coffee drinkin’, meme postin’, movie watchin’ author who loves to talk about all things books and movies. You might bump into her at local comic cons and other such nerd fests. Whenever she’s not getting her nerd on, she’s writing, reading, binge-watching Netflix, or communing with horror movie fans and other authors online. Ms. Lacey hails from Homestead, Florida, but lives in Chicago, Illinois. She is working on her next piece. Visit her online at www.emlacey.com.
“I don't want to be saved by some knight in shining armor. I'd like to be the one in the armor, and I'd like to be the one doing the saving.” ― Kalynn Bayron, Cinderella Is Dead
M 2 WIND AND SILK Alice Ivinya y hands were shaking, rattling the dainty gold chains that traveled between my fingers and wrists. I stared at the ceremonial jewelry, numb with shock, willing them to go away. Willing all of this to go away. The head maid tapped me on the back with her fan, making me jump. My heartbeat must have drowned out her footsteps. “Stand quickly. You can’t have them see you like this.” I used the arms of my chair to help me stand. My legs were weak today, weak enough for me to fall in front of all the people who would be watching me. And, worse, the man I had never met who was about to be my husband. I couldn’t let his first impression of me be a disaster. Not when today was meant to bring honor to my family. One of the maids scuttled forward with quick steps, her head bowed, and wheeled the chair away to hide it around the corner. I swayed and my heart pounded so hard against my chest that I felt sick. They hadn’t even let me have my cane. The head maid kept her voice low so it wouldn’t travel through the wall. “Stand up straight, girl. We all know you can walk fine when you put your
mind to it. All eyes will be on you in that room. You must not disgrace your father.” I nodded, the golden charms of my headdress dancing in front of my eyes. They caught the light as they swung and made it seem like sparks were spinning around me. I felt trapped inside. A tremor ran up my thigh, and I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry. “H...h… he will be angry w...w...when he f...finds out.” The maid frowned down at me. “Maybe. There’s nothing we can do about that, though, is there. You are who you are.” Her tone made it clear how unfortunate that was. “But you can still bring the Chi family respect. You will be saving the life of your father and keeping your sisters from shame. You are blessed to have such a role.” I nodded, the gold charms blinding my eyes and brushing my mouth. She pursed her blood-red lips, studying me with a mixture of pity and disdain. “Talk as little as possible. Maybe you can keep him from noticing until he’s gone. If you please him tonight; he might not care. He may be dead in a few weeks if the gods will it, anyway.” I looked at the elegant patterns formed by the wooden lattice of the rice paper wall. Behind it, shadows danced and murmurs echoed, expectant. Did I want my husband to die? Maybe this would all be easier that way. But I didn’t wish ill upon anyone. I blushed. My thoughts shouldn’t dishonor him on our wedding day. I would bring bad luck. I took a deep breath. This wasn’t about me; I needed to remember that. My father needed a soldier to go in his stead to fulfill the Emperor's decree, and my husband-to-be gained a wealthy family. Maybe they would both forget about me, and I could live in peace in the shadows. The doors slid open in front of me, and I suppressed a gasp as I was exposed. Heads snapped towards me and eyes stared. Every person was stood facing my path. Facing me. I looked at the polished floorboards and concentrated on each step, barely daring to breathe. Do not fall. Do not fall. Do not fall. A hand entered my field of vision, and I jumped. I had reached the front of the room. The outstretched arm pushed towards me impatiently, and I took it. Huang Chen, my husband. I dared to look up. And up. My heart raced harder. He was the largest man I had ever seen. My eyes were level with his chest, and his shoulders were easily three times as broad as mine. He was far removed from the willowy scholars and elegant officials that
usually came to our house. No wonder Father had chosen him to fulfill the order from the Emperor that every family in Y’Tian must provide a man to go to war. His dark eyes darted down to catch mine, and I looked to the floor, turning away. I pressed my free hand into my stomach to stop it from shaking. The monk intoned the words, but I could barely hear them. My knees felt weak. My back burned. Do not fall. Do not fall. They’re all watching. A maid lay the tea tray in front of us, and at last I could kneel, relieved to take the weight off my feet. My husband loomed over me as I performed the tea ceremony, and I tried not to think of his eyes studying my every move. I concentrated instead on letting my sleeves expose just the right amount of skin around my wrists. The elegant shapes of my fingers. Reaching the perfect color of tea. I had chosen jasmine for peace, fennel for strength, and limeflower for tranquility. I hoped he liked it. I knew nothing about him, and this would be his first impression of me. I presented the teacup and bowed my head. The weight left my hands, and I glanced up as he sipped. His face was stern, but he didn’t grimace. His lack of reaction puzzled me, almost as if he were vacant, his mind on other matters. My sisters were presented with beautiful calligraphy prayers for our well-being from the family and guests. They Sang each one over us, their gift making sure the words reached the Heavens. I suppose I was fortunate in my family in that respect. To have a real Singer at your wedding was a great honor, and I had three Singing over me. As the familiar rush of emotions from their beautiful voices squeezed my insides, I kept my face forward so my husband couldn’t see the stray tears. It was said that if a union was filled with enough joy, dragons would appear in the skies to bless the celebration, feeding off the emotions. I knew for certain that today the skies would be empty. After the Songs died, we were guided to our ornate chairs overlooking the room, and I let the tension wash out of my legs with a sigh. The comforting smell of sandalwood drifted around me as the dancers started their performance, wafting giant sleeves of silk. I dared another glance at my husband, wondering what my future would be like with him. His hair was tied back immaculately in a warrior’s knot. His chin was pointed below
thin lips. His deep-set eyes stared at the dancers, but the look was glazed. Maybe he was thinking about the war. Was he scared? Eager? There was no clue in his features. I felt very alone. The feast dragged, but I was grateful that my husband didn’t try to start a conversation. He merely asked me to pass him the rice wine and enquired whether I was enjoying my food. Neither required a verbal reply. My stomach twisted at the thought of him learning about my stutter and the weakness in my legs. Knowing my father, he would have done everything he could to keep my impairments a secret. Now the deal was done, he wouldn’t care. It was all I could manage to keep my face blank and my breathing steady. At the end of the feast, the guests made paper boats with our names painted on and blew them out onto the lake for luck. My handmaids ushered me away from the merriment to dress me for bed. I sat still and silent as they removed the golden jewelry and undid my hair so it fell unadorned to my ankles. They rubbed it with oils until it formed a smooth glossy sheet. Finally, they dressed me in a single white robe which fastened loosely around my waist. They bowed and left. I sat in my chair, alone in the center of the room, and waited for my husband. I twisted the silk of my robe around and around in my fingers. I knew there were duties I was expected to perform, but I only had vague ideas of what they involved. What I did know was that I had nowhere to hide now. He would find out about my speech and legs, then likely would want nothing to do with me. Just like everyone else. The gods were cruel. Of all the families I could have been born into, they placed me amongst Singers. Father Sung so well, he was personally summoned by the Emperor to Sing the nation’s prayers to the Heavens, and our family had become one of the wealthiest in our province. When he Sang, dragons and all sorts of Heavenly Beasts flocked to the skies, feeding off the emotions. People still spoke of the time the rain dragon landed on the palace roof when Father prayed for the drought to end. The image was painted in every temple in Y’Tian. It was a cruel contrast to me, his fourth daughter, Chi Fangying, who couldn’t even speak. My family could Sing so beautifully it pleased the Heavens. I could barely walk.
I tensed as I heard the door slide open behind me, and all my thoughts shattered. The cool breeze tickled my neck, and I licked my lips. Using the arms of the chair for support, I stood and bowed my head. Huang Chen stood with his arms folded, looking me up and down. Again, I was taken aback by the size of him. The strength of him. If he wanted to hurt me, I would have no defense. It had been a while since Father had slapped me. My second sister had more recently, and even the head maid felt she could. Most of the time now they simply ignored me. The true sting from their palms was the humiliation, since none of them possessed much strength. If my husband hit me, it would be far worse. As fear tightened my chest, I remembered what the head maid had said. I only had to please him for one night, then he would be gone to war. Just hide who I was for one night. One night. It stretched out in front of me like an eternity. “Look at me.” Huang Chen reached his hand up to my cheek, and I froze. Calloused fingers cupped my chin, lifting it so my eyes met his. He was also dressed in white robes that hung loosely around his neck, exposing more chest than I had seen before. A flush heated my cheeks and neck. His closeness made me uncomfortable. My eyes fled to the side. Just one night. “Can’t you even look at me?” my husband said in a low voice. I focused on him, and my breath caught. He raised his eyebrows. “I… I…” I took a deep breath and swallowed. He let go of my chin and looked away. “No, you don’t have to say it. You’re part of the noble Chi family. I am nothing.” He folded his arms. My eyes widened. No, no, this was all going wrong. How had I displeased him so much already? Men who were angry and felt belittled were more likely to be violent. “S… sorry. I… I don’t…” He sighed and looked down, his body tense, resigned. “Do you want me to leave you alone tonight?” He didn’t meet my eyes again. Hope and shame, fear and relief mixed together in a sickening tangle. If I sent him away, that would dishonor our family. It would be an unlucky start to our marriage and displease Father. But I wasn’t sure I could do this. Whatever ‘this’ was. The more I thought about it, the harder it was to breathe. I wanted to be far away from him and curl into a ball and hide.
I concentrated hard on my words before forcing them out. “I don’t know.” He raised his hand, and I flinched, taking a step back and raising my hands in defense. His mouth parted in surprise, his hand merely tightening his robe, and then he grimaced and his brows lowered in anger. “Who do you think I am? Just because I am not a lord, doesn't make me a monster.” His voice made me flinch again. He sounded like Father did before he hit me. I wasn’t sure how to improve his mood. No blows came, and I lowered my hands, looking down at the dragons on the carpet. How could I diffuse his anger when I didn’t understand where it came from? “I can see I am not welcome here. I will excuse myself.” My husband’s voice was very cold. He brushed past me, and I didn’t dare turn. I heard the rattle of the door sliding open. His footsteps paused. “However much you pray for my death, it might not happen, you know? You could be stuck with me.” The door clattered shut. I sank back in my chair confused, exhausted, and emotional. I had definitely not made a good impression. My relief was heavy, but also my fear of what Father would do if he found out. And beneath it all, was the unexpected sting of rejection. I felt more unwanted than ever. But I’d always known I would live this life alone. I would get through this. Six months later There was a tap at my door. My handmaid scuttled to answer it. Now that I was married, I was mostly left alone, so I looked up from my calligraphy prayers in surprise. I had spent the morning gathering spring flowers from the garden in my wheelchair and then arranging them in my room. The scent of magnolias
and cherry blossoms wafted peacefully around my room. My back was aching today, and my legs wouldn’t obey me. I wanted to be left alone. The maid opened the door and let out a startled squeak. I dropped my brush, splattering ink across the silk. I couldn’t see who she was talking to, but she tried to recover. “I am sorry, but Mistress is having a bad day. She doesn’t wish to be disturbed.” There was a clatter as she was shoved out of the way, and the head maid strode in. I hadn’t seen her in months. Her hands fluttered in her haste. “Fangying, you must come at once. Get up, get up. Your husband is here.” My body went cold. “W...what? But the w...war…” She looked annoyed and straightened her already immaculate robes. “I know. He didn’t even have the honor to call ahead and warn us.” I looked down at my chair. “I c...c...can’t stand today.” She sighed, and her jaw tightened. “Well, you have no choice. Come, quickly.” The months of solitude and peace being broken so abruptly made something inside of me bend and snap like a stalk of bamboo, leaving a sharpness I hadn't felt before. “N...no. You should u… understand your place.” I turned to my handmaid. “P...push me.” The head maid looked so shocked, she didn’t reply. I was wheeled past her and out of my pavilion, across the gentle slopes of bridges to the main house. My heart was pounding in my ears. What did Huang Chen want? The short time we had spent together had been a disaster. Was he seeking an annulment? That would bring great shame on my family. Father would be furious. My handmaid paused at the steps to the Men’s Pavilion and passed me my cane so I could climb the red and black steps. A servant ran over with his head bowed to move my chair out of sight. The head maid approached me from behind. “It would have been much better if we’d opened the doors while you walked across the gardens,” she hissed. “He could have admired your approach from afar framed by blossoms and reflected in the pools. A much more pleasing meeting, don’t you think?” I ignored her and concentrated on reaching the top of the steps without stumbling. My legs and back burned with every step. When I reached the door, I paused to catch my breath under the eaves, and my handmaid
handed me my fan. I wafted the stretched silk in front of my face, hoping my makeup would hide the redness in my cheeks. A servant announced my name and slid open the door. I straightened and gripped my cane as the breeze wafted my pale pink silk robes, nudging me inside. Huang Chen dominated the room as he spoke with my second sister. He was still dressed in his armor, the dark breastplate making him seem even broader than before. It formed wings on each shoulder, from which hung a black cloak. My sister didn’t seem to know what to do with him. Technically he was far below her in status, but also now related by marriage. She smiled and gestured aimlessly around the room, waiting for somebody else to play host and work out what was appropriate. At least Father was still absent. Huang Chen saw me and seemed relieved, bored of my sister’s attempts. I bowed my head as he strode towards me. His voice was confident and impatient. “There you are. Are you well? I’ve come to collect you.” I let my gaze drift over his breastplate, up his strong neck to his face. His eyes were too intense, and I let my gaze fall again to his chin. I needed to make a better impression this time or risk him discarding me. “S… sss.... so glad...” I couldn’t do this. “Are you shaking?” His voice was soft yet disappointed. I tightened my hands together and tried to think of the right words. “I am s… sorry. I am just n… nervous.” The words lurched from my mouth without grace. My second sister hurried up with her normal fake smile painted across her pretty face. “She is just shy and overwhelmed, dear brother. Your arrival is quite a surprise. Our father will be here soon to welcome you.” Huang Chen held up his hand. “Do not trouble Lord Chi. I have merely come to collect my wife, and we will be on our way. It is not proper for her to still live with her parents now she is married.” My heart plunged. I was leaving with him? I had dreamed for years of escaping this place, but every second with Huang Chen had been awkward and humiliating. There would be no escape. No way to hide my stutter or my muscle weakness.
I took a deep breath. “W… where are we going?” He turned to address me. “The front line is now well established. There is room at the fortress for you.” I went cold. He was taking me into the war. “Our carriage is outside. Your maids can send your belongings behind us in a wagon. We are traveling with the soldiers and don’t have long. We should go right away.” I felt myself nod. Sound became muffled, and I wondered if I would faint. My second sister was arguing and even the head maid was coming over, but it was hard to make out any of their words. Huang Chen’s arm hooked around mine, and he pulled me into the gardens towards the front gates. He was so tall, my legs barely touched the floor as he propelled me along. I was equally grateful not to be able to fall and overwhelmed by how quickly everything was happening. The servants opened the gates, and Huang Chen lifted me into a carriage. I untangled myself from the silk curtains and stumbled onto the cushions. My husband followed, his head bowed so it didn’t hit the roof. He shouted a command, and the carriage jolted forward. I gripped the faded cushions and closed my eyes. This was my husband. He had every right to come and collect me. What had I expected? At least he hadn’t made me ride a horse. I straightened my skirt, tightened the ribbon on my sash and attempted a calm, elegant exterior. “You know, Fangying, I had never ridden in a carriage before I married you. They made me an officer for being related to your father.” There was a bitter twist to his mouth, despite the positive words. I searched for something to say, but I couldn’t decipher the emotions behind his words. I parted the silk drape instead and looked out. “I’ve n...never seen outside our home before.” As the horses’ hooves continued their sharp clipclop over the flagstones, the streets became busier and busier with men and women in pale, drab colors bustling under the bright sun. Children ran and shrieked. They all parted at the sound of the carriage and the soldiers on horseback, craning their necks to see who was inside. My husband leaned forwards. “Never? Why not?” I moved back from the drape and stared down. “F…Father is very pr… protective of us.”
I glanced up to catch his reaction, and his lips were twisted in a smirk. “He’s not going to like the fact I’ve taken his youngest daughter to a war front then.” I shook my head. No. No, he would not be. Though not for the reasons Huang Chen thought. I didn’t think Father would care if I was killed or in danger. But he would care about me being exposed to all those eyes who would see my stutter and the weakness in my legs. My cowardice and lack of grace. I could potentially bring the Chi family much dishonor after all of Father’s efforts to elevate us. I was an obvious weakness in the impeccable defense he had built for his family against the world. Huang Chen shrugged. “Well, you’re my wife now.” He turned and looked out from behind the silk. “I assume you can Sing.” Ah, so that was what this was all about. He wanted me to Sing prayers of victory on the battlefront. What would he do when he found out I couldn’t? Send me back? Leave me by the roadside to find my own way? Goosebumps prickled my arms as I shook my head, expecting anger. Instead, he seemed curious. He curled a finger on his chin. “Why can’t you? Surely your father’s gifts were passed on?” I looked down to the side. “I st...st… struggle to speak well.” He fell silent, and I felt myself blush. I played with the silk of my sleeve, waiting for him to voice his disappointment. I could feel his eyes analyzing me. Lingering on every detail. I knew what his verdict would be. “Why don’t you like to look at me?” he asked at last. I licked my dry lips, trying to guess the intentions behind the question. I didn’t know how to answer. He sighed, rubbed his forehead with his hand and leaned forward. “I… understand I am not what you were expecting in a husband.” My eyes shot up in surprise as he took a deep breath. “I know I can’t keep you in the luxury you are used to. I might die tomorrow, and you must be cursing my name for taking you away from your beautiful home.” He shook his head with a slight smile. “But I do not take my word or my honor lightly. Since we are married, I wish for us to act like we are. Even if I have very little time left. Even if you think I am a monster.” I opened my mouth to attempt a reply but he held up his hands. “And yes, I understand that in many ways I am a monster. I have killed men in battle and you act like you expect violence from me.” He flicked his wrists and spread his fingers. “I suspect I
have poor manners compared with what you’re used to, and I stole you from your home. But, I didn’t ask for any of this, your father did, and I will fulfill his wishes of serving on his behalf in battle. I’ll admit I was originally angry, but I’m also grateful for the opportunity.” His eyes focused on mine. “I wasn't in a position to say no.” I stared at him in shock as the carriage jolted us. Nobody had ever talked so openly to me before. I could tell he expected something from me in return, but what did he want to hear? How did I convey the tangled mess of my feelings and know which ones were appropriate to reveal? “I c... can’t walk well.” I let the words spill out before I could think better of them. I couldn’t bear to have it hanging over us any longer. He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” “My l...l...legs. They are weak. Sometimes I c...can walk. Sometimes I c...c...can’t. And I c… c… can’t speak well.” I forced the last words out in frustration, hearing how pathetic and simple I sounded. I kept my eyes down on my lap, not brave enough to watch his reaction. “That’s w... why I struggle to look at you.” All sound in the carriage died. I focused on listening to the muffled sounds of the street. Fear slithered around my stomach, but I also felt lighter now that the truth was revealed. I heard Huang Chen take a deep breath and settle back on the cushions. “When you look down and tilt your chin like that, you look like a painting. I think you are very beautiful, Fangying.” I looked up at him, warmth and cold circling in confusion around my body. I simply couldn’t understand him. His eyes locked on mine, deep and serious. “Keep me company? For what time I have left. That’s all I ask. Casualties are high. I may not survive much longer. But I would like to get to know you before I die.” There was a strange, haunting emptiness in his eyes. I nodded, and he smiled. “You know, I had a cousin who stuttered when he was little. He grew out of it, but when he was young, it was worse when he was stressed. Do you still struggle to speak when you’re relaxed?” I shifted uncomfortably at the suggestion I should have been able to grow out of my impediment and considered the question. The times I relaxed were when I was alone with my handmaid. But then I rarely spoke at all. I didn’t even try. I hated the effort and the way I sounded. When I
spoke, I always saw Father’s frustrated eyes, or the head maid’s glare, even when they weren’t present. “I’m n...not sure.” Thankfully, we spoke little for the rest of the day, and I was surprised when we didn’t stop at dusk, but merely changed horses at an inn. I curled up on the cushions to sleep, Huang Chen dozing against the frame of the carriage. I was slowly coming to realize that he was as scared and uncertain as I was. I jolted awake to shouts, curses, and the clash of metal. Huang Chen’s sword was drawn, and he was looking outside the carriage. His face was pale in the early dawn light, and strange shadows danced across it. “The road is blocked. The fortress is under siege. We didn’t expect this until the roads had dried out after the rains.” He grabbed me by the hand. “You’re not safe here.” Before I could say a word, he hoisted me in his arms and ran away from the carriage. We entered a nightmare. Men in armor were everywhere. To my left, flaming rocks streaked across the pink clouds. Men on horseback thundered past, banners snapping on their spears. High in the sky, dragons rippled and swirled, tangling around each other above the battle, drawn to feast on the emotions radiating from the earth. Their long black, red, and brown bodies glittered in the sunlight. I could almost feel the fear, the exhilaration, the pain as a physical force around me, calling the dragons close. Huang Chen pulled me off his shoulder and placed me at the bottom of a rickety ladder. It leant against a basic wooden tower made from wooden posts roped together. “Climb to the top of the watchtower and stay up there. You should be safe if you hide until I come back for you. Destroy the ladder if you need.” His hands cupped my face, and I looked him straight in the eyes, seeing his fear, his longing for another life, his frustration. In that moment, for all his size, he seemed vulnerable and it made my breath catch.
He had come to get me because he was scared, and he wondered if I would make him stronger. Before I realized what was happening, his face rushed forward, and his lips crushed mine. The kiss was brief and fierce, and my stomach twisted, then he was running away from me, placing his helmet on his head. I turned and watched a man fall, an arrow in his back. As the dark dragons multiplied, they attracted black clouds that subdued the dawn’s light. A man on a warhorse thundered past me, shouting. Fires were everywhere. Arrows were springing into the sky. Dressed in my elegant pale pink silk, I’d never felt more out of place. I turned to the ladder and felt my strength drain away. My legs were too weak. I’d never be able to climb up there. But if I stayed down here, I would die. I couldn’t hide in the background and let others decide my life. This time I had to do this by myself. I gripped the rungs and concentrated on placing my first foot. As I pushed up, I pulled most of my weight with my arms. I took a deep breath and pulled myself up the next one, my arms straining. All my muscles were weak from a sedentary lifestyle. How was I going to do this? I pulled myself up two more rungs and had to pause for breath, hugging the ladder. My legs and arms were shaking. A stitch burned in my side. I waited but didn’t feel my strength returning. I wanted to sit down. An arrow thudded into the ladder an inch below my hand. I bit back a scream. The wind was picking up and fluttered my robes around me, as if trying to prize me free. I buried my face in my arm and squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t strong enough. I felt sick with fear but also with anger burning deep within me. Anger at myself. At my father. At the head maid. At Huang Chen for bringing me here for his own selfish reasons. At my life. At the Heavens themselves. I would die, and I had never once been happy. My legs trembled. I couldn’t hold myself up here for much longer. I had to keep on going or I would fall. I had no choice but to be strong. I moved my wooden legs up and gritted my teeth as I used the strength of my arms to pull myself up. One rung at a time. Up and up. Each movement became agony. Black shadows flickered around the edge of my vision, and the wind pulled my clothes, teasing me to jump into the abyss. If I let go, all of this could be over.
The top of the ladder came into sight. I was so close. But my hands refused to grip, my arms were floppy, my legs about to give way. Just one more step remaining, and I was unable to do it. I bit down on my lip against my panic and tasted blood. I shouted out wordlessly as I put all my effort into dragging my body up. My limbs sluggishly obeyed. I expected to fall any second. My chest was straining so hard, I couldn’t breathe. I rolled onto the platform on the top of the tower and sobbed. Every part of me was shaking and my vision was blurred. I tipped onto my side as my stomach heaved and vomited onto the rough wooden planks. Tears stung my eyes, and I blinked until my vision settled, longing for my heartbeat to calm so I could hear myself think. I stared up at the sky. Dragons and flying snakes wreathed and twisted against dark clouds. I had never seen them so close or so many. I thought of all the pain and fear around me. How this world was so dark and so terrible. How many people had died here this morning? How many lives were lost for a cause they didn’t even understand? Slowly, I propped myself up on trembling arms and looked over the edge of the platform. A mass of enemy soldiers crowded around the fortress ahead. Pockets of our soldiers, cut off from the safety of the wall, were being surrounded and cut down. Huang Chen… I looked over to the fortress and whimpered as I noticed the walkways swarming with fighting. By midday, all our soldiers could be dead. So many lives, destroyed in pain and fear. A man from every household in our province. I closed my eyes. How could the world be so wrong? I may have been shut away in shame my whole life, but I had been spared this. I had always concentrated on my own suffering, but what would happen if we lost this battle? All those people we had passed in the street. The children playing with sticks. They could all be swept away. This was about so much more than me. I wished I could do something. Anything. I remembered Huang Chen saying his cousin stuttered less when he was relaxed. I had never tried to speak when I was relaxed, so I didn’t know if that was true for me. I had never pushed myself. I had never tried to Sing either. Everyone assumed I couldn’t, including me. For if I couldn’t even talk, how was I supposed to Sing so beautifully it charmed the Heavens?
Looking at the destruction before me, I scrabbled for the thin line of hope. I had to try. I took a deep breath, but I was still shaking and only a strangled cry came out. I thought about how my sisters sounded when they Sang. What words they used. I mouthed each word, practicing the shapes. Then I concentrated on what it felt like. The stir of emotion deep in my chest as they captured each feeling and portrayed it perfectly. The way each note captivated you and made you want to cry. I concentrated on the emotions I saw and felt around me. The pain, unfairness, injustice. My own despair. The frustration in my husband’s eyes. My anger that the world shouldn’t be like this. I understood each emotion down to my very bones, and they burned inside me, consuming me. I opened my mouth and let them come out as a scream. The scream danced, hitting different notes… and became a Song. I dragged in each breath and Sang it out. With each emotion, my strength grew. I managed to sit and Sing to the Heavens. I had no prayers beautifully written down for me. No eloquent words or poetry. Just pure emotion at the unfairness of it all. I Sang for it all to end. There was a shift in the sky. The dragons drifted until they hung over me, gorging themselves on the Song as they continued writhing in their tangled dance. The clouds fractured, letting the sunlight break through, pure and golden. Something fell with the light. Something long and shining. Its head was like a lion’s with an elongated snout. Its body was like a snake’s but covered in rich fur. It had four short limbs, ending in clawed feet, and its tail whipped around and around in the sky. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. And then it plummeted straight to the tower. I barely had time to cry out before it crashed onto the platform beside me. The tower swayed, and I gripped into the rough planks, praying it wouldn’t topple over. The structure keeled to a strange angle, and the liondragon slid until most of it dangled in space beneath me. It lay still, its huge eyes closed. But its chest moved with each breath, and its long whiskers stirred in the breeze. Why was it unconscious? I crawled over and placed a hand on its cheek. The fur rippled strange patterns in the light, as if it not only reflected the sun but returned light of
its own. On instinct, I buried my face in its fur and let the tears slide from my cheeks. I didn’t understand, but goodness radiated from this beast. I had to resurrect it. “If you are our only h...hope. Come b...b...back to us,” I sobbed. I Sang again. This time I dared to Sing a dream. I Sang of laughter and freedom and safety. I Sang of the goodness found in each person and the ability to see beauty, so often drowned out by suffering. I Sang healing, resilience, and peace. The lion-dragon stirred beneath me, and I pulled back in surprise. My heart pounded, captivated by its beauty and raw power as it swung its great head and pressed its nose to my forehead. Its touch was warm and its breath tickled my cheeks. The world became calm and full of light as every other thing died away. I used the creature’s mane to pull myself to my feet and dragged myself onto its neck, pulling my skirt up so I could place my legs either side. I wanted to be part of it. Part of this goodness. Quick as a snake, it whipped its long body up, and we darted into the sky, its body rippling like an eel. Pure joy squeezed my heart as my stomach leapt in surprise. I felt alive. The wind rushed around me, pulling back my hair and robes. The smoky air became fresh. I wrapped my hands into the lion-dragon’s mane and laughed. Below us, the men had stopped fighting. Every eye was trained on us and every mouth was speechless. We circled the fortress and watched the fearsome black, red, and brown dragons melt from the sky, as the emotions they fed on disappeared. Men looked around themselves in confusion, and their weapons fell from tired fingers. Their rage was gone. I saw the tallest man on the battlefield kneel down in exhaustion as he stared up at me. Half his face was bloody. Huang Chen. He would not die after all. I grinned down towards him. I had brought peace and safety and everything he had longed for. I might struggle to talk, but my Song had brought down the Heavens. I might be physically weak, but I was the only one here who could fly. Next time we met, I would look him in the eye. I was in charge of my future now.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR Alice is a USA Today bestselling author. She is also an award winning, international and Barnes and Noble bestseller. She lives in Bristol, England. She is wife to Sam, mummy to their toddler and owns the best dog in the world, Summer. She has loved fantasy all her life and loves writing unconventional heroines in young adult high fantasy. When she's not off gallivanting in other worlds, she loves walking the dog and spending time with her church family. Alice hopes to change the world for the better, one word at a time. Visit her online and view all her books at alicegent.com
“What about the nobodies and the nothings, the invisible girls? We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to wring magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren’t chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway.” ― Leigh Bardugo, Crooked Kingdom
I 3 GRACE AND GHOSTS K. R. S. McEntire fell in love with reading when I was locked in a psych ward. In books light defeats darkness, love prevails, and awkward teenage girls with otherworldly abilities are heroes rather than freaks. My summer job at the bookstore provided solace from the real world—a world that often seemed to have more death and darkness than love and light. The repetition of stocking the shelves and cleaning the space allowed me to ignore reality. Here, I could pretend to be normal and spend my free time getting lost in worlds that felt better than the real one. My shift was ending soon, and I was busy organizing the shelves. Lost in my mind, I’d shut out the world. “Nice rack,” a husky voice said from behind me. I dropped the books I was restocking in my haste to stand up and spin around. A teenage boy stood before me in a button-up shirt and midnight blue ripped jeans. The line-up of his closely cropped hair accentuated his chiseled face, and his eyes seemed to hold all the colors of autumn. He looked familiar. I couldn’t figure out where I’d seen him before, but I was certain that I did not like him. I scowled at him. I didn’t have much of a rack to speak of, so I assumed he was teasing me. Hadn’t this guy heard the term harassment? People get
sued over comments like that, and I was one Google search away from learning how to sue someone. “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. I opened my mouth to lash out at him, to tell him just what I thought about unsolicited comments about my body, but my jaw hung open when I realized who he was. Cannon Carlton was the closest thing to a celebrity that you could find in my mid-sized city. He had the look of a typical thirst trap and possessed talent that made him internet famous. Cannon was a choreographer and musician who built a brand around music and dance tutorials. He’d shared the stage with A-list celebrities and appeared in a dance competition on MTV. Throw in a tragic backstory regarding his dead brother, and he had a more interesting life at seventeen than most guys had by age thirty. He attended my high school but never spoke to me. We didn’t hang out in the same circles, but fame doesn’t give anyone the right to disrespect me. I snapped my mouth shut, straightened my back, and held his gaze. “Excuse me?” I challenged. “What did you just say?” He slapped his palm against his forehead. “Oh, sorry … I realize how bad that sounds.” He gestured to the large wooden bookshelf I was stocking. It was painted to imitate Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Gold glitter sparkled and swirled on wood tinted deep ocean blue. My face grew warm with embarrassment when I realized I’d misunderstood. “It looks nice,” he explained. “The book rack, I mean.” “Bookshelf,” I corrected. “Right.” He scratched his head. Why did my mind rush to the worst-case scenario? I was so accustomed to people being rude to me that I was shocked when people spoke to me like I was an actual human being. Now I’d humiliated myself and had been unnecessarily impolite. I wanted to disappear. “Do you read?” he asked. “It’s just a summer job.” He nodded, running his fingers along the spines of Octavia Butler and H. G. Wells. My muscles tensed. Was he about to undo the work I’d put into organizing that shelf? I forced a tight-lipped smile, praying that he would go away. Instead, he lingered. “I have to go,” I said, moving forward. Cannon stepped in front of my path. My eyes narrowed.
“Where are you going?” He tilted his head to the side like a sad puppy dog. “My shift is over. I’m going home.” I looked out the bookstore’s glass door toward the bus station shelter outside. The city bus would be here in less than five minutes and I needed to hurry if I didn’t want to walk home. I sprinted over to the checkout counter, clocked out of work, and grabbed my purse. Cannon followed. “You’re Grace Jones, right?” I didn’t have a YouTube empire to speak of, but I had my own brand of fame. Cannon must have heard all of the rumors about me that were floating around the school. Maybe he’d come just to see how crazy Grace Jones really was. “In the flesh. Hey, do you need something?” I asked as I pushed past him and headed toward the exit. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” He followed me outside. “Of course you have,” I mumbled while pulling my bus pass out of my purse and entering the bus shelter. “I can drive you home.” He motioned to his black Mustang in the nearby parking lot, then dangled his car key in front of my face like a carrot. “No need. I like the bus. It’s quiet.” I turned away from him as I waited on my ride, hoping Cannon would take a hint. “You know, I never fault anyone by how others speak of them,” he said. “I learn so much more about people based on how they speak of others.” I met his gaze. The notion of a person not assuming that other people’s opinions were the gospel truth was a revolutionary idea. Everyone I knew seemed to have a hive mentality. If one person decided you were crazy, everyone else followed suit. It was easy for other people’s words to become your identity. His eyes sparkled with hope when he realized that he had my attention. “To be honest, I think it’s possible,” Cannon whispered. “Speaking to the dead.” Ah, I realized, Cannon was crazy, and he was hoping to find a kindred spirit in me. But I wasn't crazy. Not anymore. The bus pulled up and the door slid open; the gush of cool air was a welcome relief in the summer heat. Cannon’s forehead wrinkled with worry
as he looked up at it. His time to annoy the weird girl from school was coming to an end. “I can’t speak to the dead; I can’t see any ghosts. My mother died, and I was sad. I made it all up,” I said. “I lost someone too,” he said. “My twin brother. Man, if I could turn back time…” I already knew about his brother. Chris’s death, which happened about three months prior, had been the talk of the school. Cannon had been flooded with sympathy from both students and teachers. Local and international television stations had covered the tragedy. Drake, Lady Gaga, and Chance the Rapper had tweeted their condolences. When my mother died, it didn’t make a wave. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. The bus driver was glaring at me impatiently. “They said he took his own life, but I know him better than that.” Cannon’s eyes were wide, desperate. “So, if someone was able to communicate with the dead… maybe that someone could find out what really happened to Chris. I wish there was a way to talk with him.” I hopped on the bus. Cannon wanted me to play Ghostbusters, but I had absolutely no time. I handed the bus driver my card and watched Cannon from the corner of my eye as she swiped it. “Can I call you?” he asked, stepping on the bus behind me. The bus driver raised a brow, probably wondering why a guy who looked like that was worried about my phone number. My eyes grew wide in alarm. He had a whole Mustang. Why was he on the bus? “He was last seen alive on 48th and Cordsvill. Do you know where that is?” I knew exactly where it was. “No,” I lied. “It’s not anywhere close to where we live, that's for sure,” Cannon huffed. “And his car wasn't with him.” I quickly put my number into Cannon’s phone, praying he would go away. When I handed the phone back, he stepped off the bus. “Think about that, Grace. Who walks miles and miles just to kill themselves?” Cannon yelled into the bus as the driver slammed the door in his face.
I always sat in the front of the bus, and it wasn’t because I fancied myself a twenty-first-century Rosa Parks. I always sat at the front of the bus because I didn’t want to see what was behind me. The dead love familiarity. And what’s more familiar than a bus route? If I sat in front of the bus, I couldn’t see the ghosts that occupied this space. And if I couldn’t see the ghosts, then the ghosts weren’t real. City buses were always full of ghosts, and the living who rested behind the tinted windows were sometimes as forgotten as the dead. Not that I was complaining. I was glad to disappear. The forty-five minutes it took to get home from my job at the used bookstore were the highlight of my day. I wasn’t the crazy girl on the city bus. I was simply a pedestrian enjoying a quiet ride home. “Grace!” A boy with deep brown skin, a pager in his pocket, and a Walkman in his hand sat next to me. So much for peace and quiet. Cracked blue glasses sat across his broad nose, and he was dressed in the same red checkered t-shirt and loose jeans that he wore every time I saw him. “Greg, leave me alone,” I whispered through clenched teeth. I’d ceased talking to ghosts at the beginning of the year. I’d spent two months in a mental ward. I had no desire to go back to the hospital, which was exactly what would happen if people saw me talking to invisible friends. Now if only these ghosts, who I told myself did not exist, would stop talking to me. “Who’s that? He is fine!” Greg said. I’d already told Greg that ghosts did not exist to me anymore. Yet he insisted on existing. I let out a heavy breath and ignored him. “And he wants your number! Get it girl!” Greg cheered. I continued to look straight ahead and tried to hold a poker face, but I could feel my eyes rolling back. They couldn’t resist. “I know you see me, Grace.” He poked my shoulder. “You better not hold out on… what do you kids call it these days… the tea? Is the tea hot, Grace? Will you share some tea with me?” I covered my mouth as if yawning and whispered to Greg, “There is no tea. He just wants my help locating his dead brother. And I’m not doing it. Now please let me go back to being normal.” From the rear-view mirror, I saw the bus driver's eyes shift over to me. I cleared my throat and stared out of the window. “Don’t worry about her, Grace,” Greg said. “Let the haters hate.”