Nine

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"I'm so sick of sand

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"I'm so sick of sand." Tage nudged the red grit with the tip of her toe. She couldn't get one

grain to budge. "Think. Come on. It's just a spell."

She paced the circle until her head grew dizzy and she needed to sit. Tucking her legs to her chest, she rubbed her chin on her flannel pajamas. Why is he doing this? Daspar never took off on her before. He shadowed her every move. Maybe he was frightened she would end up in the hospital again. Maybe he was afraid she would run.

After her parents died, there wasn't much left to live for. At least that's what she thought at the time. Soon after their funeral, she fell for a boy named Robbie she had met when she ditched her foster home. She knew now it wasn't Robbie she was in love with, but what he could do for her. He showed her ways to forget the pain—to forget she was living at all.

After a bad night of doing a lot of forgetting, she woke up in the hospital—alone. Her only visitors, a ticked off social worker and Daspar. He appeared out of nowhere, explaining he was her legal guardian. He knew intimate details about her parents and documents signed in her father's handwriting. Plus, Daspar was Tari, like her parents, so despite never having met him, she could trust him better than some nosy foster parents. Tari took care of their own. Though staring at the red sand surrounding her, she now had her doubts.

Her thoughts drifted to Halen as she twisted the silver bracelet. Daspar should have told her she was a siren. This cloak-and-dagger game of hiding Halen from herself was ridiculous. Halen should have known years ago what she was capable of. It was wrong to keep her in the dark. It was making Tage's task more difficult. Now Halen was missing, and she was stuck in some stupid sand trap.

She scanned the condo for anything within her reach. The vase of wilted birthday flowers sat beside her on the coffee table. She smiled. One leg of the table was within the circle, so whatever lay on the top should be within her grasp. Reaching, she tested her theory. Her fingertips locked on the vase, and she pulled it inside.

"Not so smart, are you, Daspar?"

One by one, she plucked the petals from the stems and spread them out to match the outline of the circle. She pressed the pollen from the stamen between her hands, coating her palms. Rubbing her hands together, she invoked an incantation to break his spell. Unlike the sand dart, which came easily to her, breaking a bound spell was far more challenging. But thanks to Daspar, she had been studying.

"Slipsillium, hectsonium." She whispered the spell under her breath, summoning the petals into the air, rotating her yellowed palms until the petals swirled to a storm of pinks and reds. With her feet spread apart, toes on the edges of the sand, she forced the petals back to the outer rim. At once, the sand rushed away from her. Having only a few seconds before the sand would rebind, she jumped onto the safety of the couch. The red grit retreated into a circle.

"Hah!" She pumped her fist in the air.

In the kitchen, she scrubbed her hands on the towel, fearful of turning on any taps. Without soap and water, her palms remained a sickly yellow-orange color. "Daspar," she hissed. She tossed the dishtowel on the counter and headed to his desk where his phone buzzed. It wasn't like him to forget his cellphone. Whoever had been trying to get hold of him wanted to talk real bad. This had been the eighth time they called. She pressed answer, but the caller hung up before she said hello. The screen displayed a missed call from E.

"Who's E?"

She ran her thumb over the screen when she accidentally hit the photo gallery. A picture of Halen and her standing side by side with forced grins illuminated the screen. She rolled her eyes. Swiping through to the next photo, her breath caught.

She zoomed in with her fingers. "What the hell?" The boy who chased them into the ocean sat at a coffee shop nestling a mug in his hands. She recognized the poster of a 1950s pinup girl standing beside an airplane in the background. This coffee shop was two blocks east of their apartment.

She swiped through the next few pictures: Halen at the same coffee shop reading; Halen walking down the street, the boy trailing right behind her. "So, you knew she was being followed." None of this made sense.

She scrolled through the next few pictures. Her jaw tightened when she found one of her window-shopping. She wasn't into clothes, but these leather boots were kickass, and not a lot of kickass came through Rockaway Beach. She spread the screen wider. In the window's reflection, the boy stood behind her.

"Damn it." She slammed the phone down. "That's it. No more secrets." She pulled an egg out of the fridge and a knife from the drawer. This time, she would use one of Daspar's spells to her advantage.

She had been so shaken up after losing her parents, afraid to trust him, terrified to lose him, that he taught her a way she could always locate him. She never figured she would have to use the spell because he ditched her.

As she rolled up her pajama sleeve, her birthmark rose with goosebumps. What would she say to Daspar when she found him—what would he say to her? It didn't matter; she would figure out the right words once she was face to face with him.

Wincing, she cut a small line along the edge of the swirls where her birthmark crooked at her elbow. It stung something fierce, but the information was worth it.

After smearing her blood over the top of the egg, she shook it hard and then cracked the egg open on the edge of the counter. Tilting her head back, she swallowed the yolk. As the goopy yolk slid down her throat, she gagged, but she needed to swallow it if she wanted answers.

Tage headed to the couch, crossed her legs up on the cushions, and closed her eyes. She brought Daspar's face to the front of her thoughts, his too-high cheekbones, his square jaw, and the little crescent moon shaped scar along his left eye. Drawing him further into her mind, she met his stare, his eyes like an alchemist's spun gold. She could see him clearly. All she needed now was patience.

 All she needed now was patience

Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.

Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
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