Windswept

3. Skin Deep

3Skin DeepA row of trees stands between Vanessa’s house and me. The window I leapt through yesterday has been replaced. No shards of broken glass sparkle from the wet lawn below. Nor is the grass crushed flat where I landed. In true fashion, Vanessa has erased every sign of my temporary victory over Asher and her.

Maris said first light was the best time to move, but standing here waiting for the sun to rise, I disagree. A cloak of pale gray settles around me, shifting as the swaying trees cast their long, dark trunks across the lawn. Any one of those shadows could be Asher, who can fade into the same transient black as easily as he can breathe. What if he’s hidden Lucas the same way, demanding he change into the black blur of an Unseen? Hiding him from me in plain sight, in any corner of Vanessa’s unlit house? I might walk right past him and never know it.

I pace from tree to tree, and dash my gaze from one window to the next, searching for movement, for the flicker of a light. Suddenly I realize I’m wincing, bracing myself for a scream to slice the approaching dawn in half.

Lucas, where are you? I wonder. Where are the others? What’s waiting for me in that house? Should I charge inside? Should I stay away?

The uncertainty is maddening, my thoughts traveling unaided to the deep end of a dangerous pool. Without exerting any effort, Asher and Vanessa are gaining ground.

My toes curl into the dirt with the effort it takes to keep myself from running back to the river, to Jayce. Or even farther. To Wildwood. To my mother’s house. The places I once felt safe. But nowhere is safe for me anymore. Wildwood is in ashes. The home I grew up in is bare.

Wherever I go, Asher will find me. I’m sure of it.

I choke back a sob. Dad . . . Daddy, I’m scared. A single image fills my head, a memory of my father coaxing me back onto a horse after I’d taken a bad spill. I told him I was afraid. His answer: he was scared sometimes too, and if I didn’t have a speck of fear inside of me, I had no idea what kind of risk I was taking every time I climbed on the back of something ten times my size.

I would give anything to have a horse to climb on right now—the speed, the height, the confidence. In Spera’s memories, I witnessed Asher pale in the presence of horses, the only time he ever showed a sign of being afraid. I don’t need Jayce, Maris, or even my mother. I need Harbor . . . I need my horse.

My breath catches in my throat as I realize where she might be at this very moment: here. We have hundreds of horses to match . . . Vanessa’s words from yesterday come roaring back. Dana and Vanessa must have stolen all of Wildwood’s horses the night of the fire, including Harbor. They have to be keeping them somewhere close, and Vanessa has an empty barn with state-of-the-art security. It would be the perfect place to stow part of a stolen herd.

I stumble from the trees and into the open. I inhale, wanting the earthy scent of hay and horsehair to fill my lungs. But all I smell is the ice in the air, the promise of snow in the days to come. I can’t smell Vanessa’s barn at all.

I inch toward the crest of the hill, glancing back at the house every few seconds to make sure I haven’t given away my presence. Ahead, where a small, spectacular farm stood hours before is now nothing but a slope of grass still slumping from yesterday’s storm. The barn is gone, vanished off the rolling lawn.

There has to be some kind of mistake.

Disbelief floods through me, accelerating my heart and urging my feet down the slippery hill. I break into a run, even though I’m sure the empty field is an illusion and I’ll slam into something solid any second. My foot catches on a slick patch and sends me sprawling to the ground. My knees take the brunt of the hit, meeting a hard surface before I can get my hands in front of me to break my fall.

I stifle a cry and roll to my side. There, sunk in the ground like a gravestone, is the blank metal name plate that once hung over the entrance to Vanessa’s barn. It’s not blank anymore. She’s engraved the plate with Asher’s brand of three interlocking circles, and three words: “High Harbor Farm.”

“No,” I whisper. My pulse roars in my ears, even though my heart has shuddered to a chilly stop in my chest.

High Harbor Farm. The name I’d chosen for my own farm, one day. Vanessa knew. It must be a message, and it can only mean one thing. Either the horses are dead, or they will be soon.

I stare at the plate, heaving and empty. My mother’s words drift back: the less they have to use against you, the longer you can hold them at bay. Vanessa knows how much Harbor means to me, and she’s an artist when it comes to using Tenix. She could probably turn a rock into a horse. Even if Harbor were to gallop up to me right now, I wouldn’t wholly believe it was her.

Harbor trusted me. Only me. When Lucas came along, she trusted him too. No one else. But if I saw her now, I wouldn’t trust her. Wouldn’t chase her. I’d let her go. I’d have to.

I have to let her go now, before that moment comes. I have to let her go while it’s still my choice.

My mother was right: there’s one way to fight back. I have to leave the idea of retrieving Harbor behind.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying as memories of Harbor flash behind my eyes—seeing her for the first time. Our first ride, and how quickly she threw me off. How I forced myself to climb back on, terrified and tear-stricken. The flood of victory when she began to respond to me instead of fight. The power of our first jump. Our first show, our first win. The first time she nickered a greeting upon seeing me. The scent of her coat—warmth and earth and cedar.

“Good-bye.” I barely whisper the word. A staggering breath leaves me. It has to be this way. It has to. If I allow her room in my heart, Vanessa will take it and use it to inflict another wound. Even if Harbor is alive, I don’t have the first clue how to find her, and if I did . . . I would deny her. I imagine her approaching me, soft, copper eyes lined in black skin and rimmed with long white lashes. In my mind, I see her black-tipped ears prick with recognition, nostrils flaring with breath, with my smell. She would stride forward, recognizing me, sensing safety, sensing home. And I would have no choice but to turn my back on her and walk away. Finding her . . . finding her may be a more painful fate than staying apart.

I want to hit something. I want to lie down on this piece of metal and never get up. I want to run until my lungs give out. I want to walk off this piece of godforsaken property and find some town full of people that don’t know me, that have never heard of Spera, that see the clear air all around us and don’t have any idea how full it is, how deadly. I want . . . I want . . .

The thoughts in my head blur to sound, the drumming of my heart roars above it. In my mind, I hear the river, I watch Dad and his horse plummet over the edge of the cliff and into the water below.

I throw my head back and scream. The sound of it is shrill and deep at the same time, propelled by the emotions and memories coming to a boil within the cauldron of my ribs. My blood responds, and heat floods my limbs. My fingers tingle. My legs beg for movement. My chest rises and falls faster with every heartbeat. I can feel the horse’s wild blood within me, driven to riot . . .

And baited by Vanessa.

This realization blows the fight and panic from me like breath on a candle flame, and I am left shaking and hollow.

The Vires blood must be taking over. I am a human soul in a human body, but nothing else about me feels familiar. The blood is the captain, my body the ship. The black stallion’s will is more tiring to suppress each time it assaults my self-control. There will come a time when I will lose my grip on its reins. I will break, and it will break free. When that happens, I have to make sure that it counts.

I cast one last glance at the empty meadow and mentally let go of every piece of what I used to want and who I used to be. This is my truth now.

Awareness washes over my body like waking from a dream. The ground is beneath my feet. The sun is moments from the horizon, casting a platinum glow along the edge of the earth. Spera’s white dress from a thousand years ago, tattered, blood-stained, and wrinkled, is plastered to my body.

And something that does not belong is on my hand.

The telepathic ring Vanessa gave me rests on my finger, dull under a film of her husband’s dried blood. Is Vanessa wearing the matching band? If so, can she still hear my thoughts?

My pulse rises, spooked by the idea that she’s been lurking in the shadows of my mind. Listening in.

Vanessa, I think, hissing her name, and listen to the silence within, daring her to answer. The buzz is there, the line between us open, but she doesn’t acknowledge me. I glance down at her ring, wondering if she can see through my eyes, or if she’s already seen this coming in one of her psychic visions.

Watch this.

I twist the ring off and heave it downhill, turning away before it lands. I take a step. The nameplate shimmers in the grass, bringing me pause. I lean forward, tempted to trace the word Harbor with a finger, and then quickly close my hand to a fist. A tear rolls from my eye, down my face, and strikes the plate, mixing with the sheen of old rain. In the east, the sun breaks the horizon, announcing the new day, and at last I have the light. I exhale hard, force my gaze uphill, and leave everything I thought I knew behind.

David’s car sits across the driveway, silent and awkward, the driver’s side door flung wide on its hinges. I catch myself staring at it, speculating how long the dashboard protested the open door before the battery gave out. My hands tremble at my sides, and bile laps the back of my tongue. I imagine him springing from the low-slung car, sprinting for the doors, taking the stairs two at a time, all to find Vanessa . . . to save her . . . from me.

I close my eyes, shuddering, and then fling them open again the moment I remember where I am. The black Ford truck Vanessa bought for my use waits on the other side of the circular driveway. She must’ve moved it overnight. I’d bet money the keys are in the ignition, meant for me, but I won’t leave without Lucas.

I ease into the open and cross to the front of the house. The fountain’s been cut off. Yesterday, the copper statue of a woman spun in a glowing pool. Flames and water dripped from her raised hands. Now, she is still and dry, allowing me to see the unbridled terror carved into her face. Her wide-set eyes search the sky. Her fine jaw hangs open, suspended from the sharp lines of her cheekbones, and her wild hair fans away from the fiery pool at her feet. The recognition comes sharp and sudden: Spera’s image burns eternally in Vanessa’s front yard.

The muffled squeak of rubber soles on polished stone spins me around, the creature within me alert and ready to fight. Jayce is a step ahead of me. She backpedals when I whip in her direction.

“Sorry,” I mutter, and drop my fists.

“I shouldn’t have come up behind you. My fault.” She moves to my side and stares at the fountain. “That chick is evil.” She shakes her head. “And you are dead wrong if you think you’re going in there to face her and Asher alone.”

“No. This is my fight.” I stare her dead in the eyes. “You’re here. You kept your word. If you go in there, you probably won’t make it back out.”

Jayce follows me to the cover of one of the stone pillars lining Vanessa’s porch. “You think I’m a liability,” she scoffs. “I can take care of myself.”

“You don’t have to prove it to me. You’ve camped on Vanessa’s property without anyone finding you, pink hair and all.”

“What, you don’t like it?” She smirks.

“No, it’s very bold. Very you.” I scan the entryway. A sliver of the grand foyer is visible through the gap between the French doors. Vanessa’s house is enormous by any standard. Searching it won’t be a simple task. Several rooms have balconies and other places for ambush. Neither one of us should set foot inside this house, but it’s becoming clear neither one of us is leaving.

“It’s your call. Just don’t get yourself killed,” I concede.

“I was about to tell you the same thing,” she retorts.

We creep onto the porch. A new welcome mat has been placed in front of the doors.

“Just in case we didn’t realize that we’re walking right into a trap,” I mutter under my breath.

“Wait,” Jayce hisses, and pulls me to the side of the door frame. She steps in front of me, slides her hand into the opening between the doors, and flips open a compact mirror in her steady palm. Her face twists as she considers the foyer’s reflection. “We’re good,” she whispers and tucks the mirror into the front pocket of her bag.

“Stay behind me,” I order. She tucks her small frame neatly inside my shadow and follows me in.

We creep into the maze of hallways. Most of the doors are closed. I don’t bother opening them. Vanessa does everything on purpose, and she’s obviously leading me somewhere. Ahead, the hallway opens into Vanessa’s favorite part of the house, a circular room with a forty-foot ceiling. Half of the room is rung with balconies, and the other half is striped with floor-to-ceiling windows. Sunrise glares bright and traitorous through the panes of glass, and casts a blinding glare on the polished floor. I pause just shy of the threshold. Once we exit the hall, we’ll be completely exposed. Anyone could take aim at us from above, and we won’t even be able to see them.

“I don’t like this,” Jayce whispers beside me.

“Me either,” I admit.

“Let’s go back to the staircase,” she says in my ear. Instead of answering, I draw in a breath and step into the light.