Page 2
No, curses were bound to befall all. Certainly all of them. And while their particular curse involved a man, she, for one, could not blame what came to her in the form of some faceless, nameless man.
On the contrary, what happened to her was of her own doing. The doing of the magic within her hands. She looked down at her knuckles, white from gripping the ferry railing, still raw from weeks of scraping off blood that she herself had spilled.
Nothing was left anywhere else in the world for her. Nothing but a picture of the Sacred Twenty, an official portrait. Her only proof that she had lived. And of what she had lost. Of whom she had lost. The face next to hers, serious, somber. Half-turned toward her, not knowing yet what she would do, how she would betray her.
Gwen Crowhart was fleeing to the only place that would still have her, carrying a medal and a photograph. And home? Home was the only place that would keep her now, after what she had done… She was coming home, guilty and bloody and haunted. Alone.
2
LARK, BEING LOST & BEING FOUND
SNOWMAGEDDON!
Dragonites and tourists, beware!
A snowstorm warning is in effect for the next three days over the island. We have yet to see a front moving this fast and targeting the island so precisely. The local advisory is to shelter in place and stock up on firewood and French toast. (We have seen the lot of you decimate the grocery store’s bread and milk aisles, so don’t pretend that’s not what you all are making—otherwise, why did everyone buy the town out of the two basic necessities that do not last very long with no electricity? Rhetorical question.)
Stay safe and stay out of the cold!
—Crow’s Caw
Lark wished she had gotten this bulletin before leaving the warmth of the bed and breakfast this morning. She wished she had gotten this bulletin weeks ago when she had arrived on the island. Heck, even a few days ago would’ve still been beneficial to her, in some wretched way. Though, would it have mattered?
She hadn’t had enough money to stay in that warmth. Her car was her shelter now, and it would have to do until she finally got a job. She had been looking every day. But much of Crow’s Nest was still hibernating within the ice and snow of winter weather.
As it was, she was stranded on the island, in the middle of the biggest, most surprising storm it had experienced in years, according to the weirdly chatty and irreverent newspaper. Lark had gotten a kick out of following the informative, funny or downright unhinged reports of the past few weeks. Whoever was behind them was extremely entertaining; she had to give them that.
Her phone pinged with another Extreme Weather Notice, and she wrapped the flimsy scarf tighter around her neck. There was not much she could do about the jacket. Old and threadbare, it did almost nothing at all to shield her. Lark tried not to think about the cold that was currently climbing under her clothes, little claws of ice scratching and making her shiver.
The cobblestone streets were beginning to pile up with nascent snow drifts, shoppers and shop owners alike spilling out to make it back to their cozy hotels or dwellings. Lark needed to get back to her car.
The small grocery store she had shopped at a few days ago had the CLOSED sign turned, and Lark sighed. Her car would hold her over, but she needed some water. And whatever snack was about to expire and thus be cheap. She had subsisted like that all this past week. She’d done fine.
Then she rolled her eyes at the blatant falsehood and the emptiness in her stomach. She pulled the scarf even tighter around her neck and agreed that she should not lie. Not even to herself. She wasn’t all that good at it.
With the grocery store no longer an option, she turned sharply, hoping that perhaps the restaurants would spare her something for the little money she had left. They would be closing anyway.
Something had to give. She hadn’t come to this island only to fail like this. Lark firmly believed she had been led here, first by the sheer force of her own fear and then by the news reports. So yes, as hopeless as her current situation felt and as much as she had been blinded by the snow and the wind, she refused to call this entire journey a failure.
Something would give, darn it!
In the best of fashion, or maybe the worst, the universe obliged. Lark took two steps, trying to keep her face protected from the squall, and something large and rotund, ginger and furry, tangled itself under her feet. She stumbled, trying to avoid the cat—since when did they grow this large?—and walked straight into someone, the shock of the hit sent her tumbling down, head over old sneakers. She felt her forehead smack the pavement hard, and the light, the snow, and the wind all subsided for a long minute into darkness and cold and apples.
Apples?
Lark opened her eyes slowly, her sight obscured by something red and blurry. She wiped a heavy, almost numb hand over her brow, the red mist remaining. Something hot trickled down her cheek, and the greenest eyes looked into hers with the gentleness of a savior who came too late. She lay on her back and watched as the most beautiful creature that had ever lived made a face and tsked over her.
Lark blinked and then blinked again. The ginger cat was gone. The woman, the vision before her, did not seem real. Surely nobody who was actual flesh and blood looked this way.
Ethereal.
She wanted to open her mouth and inquire if the being currently smiling at her was an angel. Mahogany hair slightly disheveled by the storm, and eyes of forest green basking in the sharp light reflecting the accumulating snow. The features seemed chiseled by the hands of a generous God, if said God was into sharp angles, martyred melancholy, and entirely unrealistic beauty.
Surely an angel. One before the fall. One who knows she will take that fall so and be forever changed by it.
“Well, that is the prettiest way anyone has ever described me.”
The voice carried a teasing lilt. Low and sly. If she hadn’t been prostrate on the sidewalk, Lark would’ve jumped a foot in the air, startled and embarrassed to find that she had actually said all that drivel out loud.
