Dark Star (14 page)

Well, when she put it that way …

Another thought struck. “Is that what your fight with Mr. Alvarez was about?”

“Did you really think we were arguing about logarithms?” She wrinkled her nose. “He’s some kind of Guardian leader, so he thinks he knows what’s best for everyone. He kept trying to tell me it was my heritage. I told him it was none of his business. I hear that enough at home.”

“He knew about—what happened,” I said, then looked away. Neither of us had wanted to mention the attacks.

She waved it away. “He said it was more reason I should accept the Kin. Thanks for telling him I’m a diabetic with anemia and a family history of fainting, though.”

I grimaced. “Heard about that, did you?” When she just raised her eyebrows, I shrugged. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me any of this.”

“I’d rather not know any of it. So if you go all Kin-crazy, please, please, please keep it to yourself.”

Which was as much as she was willing to say on the subject. When I tried to bring it up again, she pretended to be engrossed in my book. I decided to let it go for the time being.

By Sunday night, I had other things to worry about. My week of illness and rest had only been a reprieve, and Mom hadn’t forgotten that I’d lied to her and gone to the Drought and Deluge.

“You broke my trust,” she said. “And like it or not, now you have to deal with the consequences.”

Part of this, Esther had already told me: every Monday and Wednesday for the foreseeable future, I would head to St. Paul directly after school.

The other part involved being grounded for a month. That meant no after-school activities, no friends coming over, and no sneaking out to clubs frequented by demons, even if they did have free-appetizer night.

I thought my sentence a little unfair, but Mom wouldn’t hear any arguments on the subject. Instead, she repeated her warning. “I meant what I said earlier: you’re not to talk about any of this.”

I assumed she meant to Gideon. “Yeah, I know. Keep it in the Kin. Esther said the same thing.”

“For a reason. This isn’t about my secret. It’s not about selfpreservation, or protecting you. It’s about protecting the people we care about. Humans who get mixed up with Harrowers have a tendency to end up dead.”

On other subjects, Mom remained annoyingly silent. Whatever reason she had for keeping me in the dark about the Kin, she wasn’t willing to share it. When I asked, she simply told me it was her decision, and she stood by it.

“But don’t you think I should be, you know, prepared?” I asked, following her out into the approaching twilight. She zipped up her hoodie and turned to face me.

“Esther will tell you about the Kin,” she answered. “She knows everything there is to know about our history. Trust me, she’ll be the better teacher.”

“I’m not talking about the Kin.”

In the blue shadows along the porch, Mom’s eyes met mine. “I never wanted you to have to face that,” she said.

“But I did. And I completely froze up. I don’t want that to happen again.” Much as I never wanted to meet another demon, if I did, I wanted to know how to handle it. How to escape. If necessary, how to fight.

“You could try listening when I tell you something.”

“Mom.”

She reached a hand toward me, her fingers feather-light on my shoulder. With that touch came a glimmer of memory, fleeting impressions of the day we’d arrived in Minneapolis. I felt her anxiety, knots of fear in her stomach—not for her safety, but for mine. Now, her voice hushed and worried, she gave a slight nod and said: “Esther will teach you about the Kin. I’ll teach you about Harrowers.”

***

I was behind on schoolwork, but thanks to Gideon dropping off some of my assignments the previous week, it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. I had a book report due in English and I’d missed a chemistry test, but mostly I had to catch up on reading.

It was strange being back in school. I felt altered, as though I’d been gone for months. Though I was still frightened, there was excitement in me, too. Suddenly, I was part of something secret and a little thrilling, something larger than the mysteries my mother kept hidden. It wasn’t just superheroes in dark outfits, the hushed rumor of Morning Star. It was an entire world. A history of folklore and fairy tales, and the truth beneath them. You are special, Esther had told me. You’re Kin.

Unfortunately, not everyone agreed on that count.

“Whitticomb,” Mr. Alvarez said, stopping me after class. “When it comes to this class, you’re a student first and Kin second. Whatever else you have going on, I expect you to have your homework in on time.” But then he got a worried little frown, asked how I was doing, and told me not to push myself. I nodded and dashed away. I knew I owed him my gratitude, but I had difficulty reconciling the strict, no-nonsense math teacher with the leather-wearing rebel Guardian who had stood in my house and argued with my mother. It was unfathomable.

True to her word, Tink stayed silent about the Kin, even when we were alone. I realized it must be something she was accustomed to, just as I’d grown up with Morning Star and all of Gram’s whispered secrets—and I remembered that Tink wasn’t nearly as open as she seemed. I recalled those flashes that slipped away during her readings, hints of what she kept hidden. She’d probably been given the same guidelines about secrecy that I had. Still, I found it difficult to believe she’d kept so much from me for so long. Tink couldn’t go ten minutes without finding something to gossip about.

At the same time, I understood. And even though I didn’t like hiding things from Gideon, I did as Mom and Esther had instructed and didn’t tell him about the Kin.

There were other things I couldn’t keep from him. Monday afternoon, Iris appeared and sat by us at lunch.

“I promise not to be an obnoxious relative,” she said, giving me a slight smile as she set her tray down beside mine, “but it’s not every day I get a cousin.” Then she looked directly at Gideon. “You’re the one my sister likes. I’ll tell her you said hello.”

That had taken a bit of explaining. But at least long-lost cousins were a safer topic than demons lurking in the city streets—and though the addition of Iris had been unexpected, I was curious about my new family. Tink, who must have known Iris was Kin, looked annoyed, but said nothing.

Gideon managed to take it in stride. “Next time you tell me my family is strange,” he told me later, “I’m reminding you of this moment.” And he didn’t question me further.

***

After school, Mom drove me to the St. Croix household. I stood outside, surveying the property. A circular drive spread outward from the house. Tall fences curved down toward the street. The lawn was still green and looked carefully tended, with trimmed hedges and a small pond off to one side where smooth gray rocks formed a garden. The house itself was so tall it seemed to blot out the sun. Dark windows stared down at me.

The door opened.

“I hope you’re not mad about lunch.”

Iris stood in the entryway, smiling softly. She took a step back, gesturing for me to enter.

“I don’t know that many people at school yet,” she continued. “And I can’t pass up an opportunity to embarrass Elspeth. Even when she’s not there.”

I decided I was glad she was my cousin and not my sister. But I grinned at her. “No, you should sit with us,” I said. “At least until the novelty wears off and we start hating each other.”

“I give it a week, at least,” she said, and turned to lead me into the house. “Though it would be a shame. You’re the only cousin I’ve got.”

She led me out of the entryway, down a long, narrow hall, and into a parlor with softly blue furnishings and the clinging scent of roses. Crossing the room, she moved to each of the windows and tugged them open one by one.

“I never had cousins before, either,” I said, though I couldn’t say I’d really felt the lack. But there was something both strange and familiar about Iris, as though we’d shared secrets long ago. For the briefest of moments, I could see what it might have been like if we’d known each other as children: the two of us with our heads bent in the garden, whispering, turning to flee the long shadow cast by an adult. I saw our hands cupping butterflies in fields overgrown with wildflowers. An almost-history, a what-if that lay between us. Then it was gone, replaced with the image of Iris as she was, her dark hair falling down her back. There was a sadness in the way she held herself.

But that smile warmed her face. “It is nice we’re at the same school,” she said. “Though I guess the odds were good. Grandmother wouldn’t let me transfer unless I went to another Kin school.”

“Kin school?” I repeated.

“Most Kin students attend one of a few schools around the Cities. Whitman is one of them.”

I supposed that explained Mr. Alvarez teaching there. “Where were you before?”

“Private school. It—wasn’t my thing. Elspeth loves it, though. She threw such a fit when she found out I was transferring. She’s a bit of a baby sometimes.” Iris laughed lightly, shaking her head, her hair shifting across her shoulders. I looked at her, assessing. Iris was short and thin, fine-boned as a bird. She wasn’t beautiful like Elspeth, but there was an elegance about her that I envied.

In the cool evening light that poured in through the windows, I saw again the triple knot on a chain at her neck. The silver pendant dangled at the hollow of her throat, just above her collarbone. Watching my gaze, she lifted her hands behind her head and unclasped it.

“It was a present from my boyfriend,” she said, handing the necklace toward me. “You can look at it.”

“The symbol of the Astral Circle,” I said, taking it in my palm. The triple knot was light and cool against my skin. It wasn’t silver, as I’d first thought, but some other metal I didn’t recognize. I handed it back. “It’s beautiful. I guess you’re dating one of those eligible Kin boys Esther was telling me about?”

Iris continued smiling at me. “Is she already starting with that? Don’t let her bother you. Just pretend you’re letting her manage you, and then do as you please.” She paused, closing her hand around the triple knot.

I turned away and moved to the windows. A low breeze pushed at the curtains.

“You live with Esther?” I asked.

“My parents passed away two years ago. Elspeth and I have lived here since. And our brother, when he’s home from school.”

A sense came to me then. A sudden, clear image, as though it had been drawn on the windowpane in front of me. Iris dressed in black, her hands folded, grass beneath her feet and the long sad length of a graveyard; her eyes were lowered, and when she looked up—there was something broken and haunting within them, a grief so sharp and sudden I had a physical reaction to it. I stepped back from the window to take a long breath.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, and hoped she knew I meant it.

I turned, and Iris caught my left hand, folding it neatly in hers. “Audrey, I owe you an apology,” she said. Her eyes, the same gold-brown color as Esther’s, were wide and worried. “I was at the Drought and Deluge the night you were attacked. I was in the alley, but I got scared. I panicked, and I ran. I’m sorry. I should never have left you there.”

The sudden wind, I thought. Iris’s long hair disappearing down the dark hall.

At least I knew I hadn’t been imagining things. I couldn’t blame her for panicking, not after I’d spent the past week hiding in my bedroom and trying to pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“I’m fine,” I said. “You don’t have to worry.”

She smiled and released my hand. “All right. I’ll leave you to Grandmother, then. I have plans tonight, but I’ll see you at school tomorrow. We’ll talk.”

***

According to Esther, my grandfather Charles was overseas on business and wouldn’t return until December. I had another cousin— Iris and Elspeth’s brother—and somewhere in Los Angeles I had an uncle. Eventually, I would be given an introduction to the rest of the Kin. I would then be expected to take my place as an active member of the community, or so Esther informed me.

“But what about my father?” I asked, an uneasy knot forming in my stomach. “Where is he?”

Her mouth tightened into a thin line. “New York,” she said, and would say no more, no matter how I pressed. When I asked what he was doing there, she said, “Business.” When I asked if he ever visited, she said, “Rarely.”

Instead, she told me about the Kin.

There were many of us once, she said, when our ancestors first crossed over from Beneath to live as humans, letting their powers sleep. Our gifts were echoes from the past, a force running through our blood, binding us together, making us Kin. But as time passed, our people fragmented, wandered, scattering across the earth. The bloodlines thinned.

“And then,” she said. “The Harrowings began.”

The first of the Harrowers crossed over, and they were no longer like the Old Race, gentle beings of wisdom and peace. They were hungry, vengeful, distorted by their hate. They hunted the Kin. And the casualties were staggering.

“But we were not defenseless. Among some of our people, the sleeping powers woke, creating Guardians. Those who were called gained strength, speed, resilience—and the power to fight our enemy. We survived. We prevailed. And we were no longer scattered. Now, we band together where the Circles lie, protecting them as they protect us.”

“The Circles,” I repeated.

“You will have sensed ours, no doubt.”

I nodded hesitantly; it wasn’t constant, but it was something I still felt now and then, at the edge of my Knowing. A quiet presence.

Esther’s voice grew solemn. “You won’t have seen it, however,” she said. “The Circles’ energy manifests as glimmers of light … and ours has been dark for some time.”

I nodded again. Gram had mentioned that, as well. “But what exactly are they?”

“The Circles are shields. Barriers. When the Old Race crossed over, the fabric that separates our world from the Beneath was weakened. Our ancestors could not seal their points of passage, you see, and in the areas surrounding their crossings, the fabric had grown thin. So they created the Circles, to hold back the dark. To bar the way, as best they can.”