Author: Jodi Meadows

After she left, I sat on the stairs and hugged my knees. Pieces of me felt hollow. No amount of putting Sam’s house back together would fill them.

I’d killed Meuric. He might come back. There was a good chance he’d been dead before the temple went dark, but what if he’d writhed in pain for hours before finally dying? What if I’d destroyed him as Menehem had Li?

Sam sat down next to me. “I know you must live here, because things move when I’m not looking.”

“This is living?” Everything inside me wallowed in numbness, like I had leapt off the top of the temple and was still falling. Like I’d never again have a thunderstorm inside me. At least thunderstorms involved feeling.

“You told the medics you weren’t hurt. Did they miss something?”

“I wish I hurt.” I slid one hand up to my shoulder and massaged the muscles around it. Still tender. The wise thing to do would have been to let them look at it, but they’d have taken me away from Sam. Not that I’d hung around him once we got here.

I kept my gaze on my socks.

“Can you tell me what happened after you left the prison window?”

“Will it help?”

He hesitated, and I imagined the line between his eyes while he considered the best way to tell the truth. “Maybe. If you don’t want to talk about it, there’s nothing wrong with that decision. I’d like to know. It would help me to know what we’ll be dealing with.”

“What will happen to Menehem when he’s reincarnated?”

“It’s hard to say. I imagine he’ll be imprisoned for at least one lifetime. Probably more, considering . . .” Sam stared down into the parlor. “I’m sure they’ll want to know how he did it.”

“He was going to tell me.”

All those people, gone forever. Where did they go?

My voice sounded as hollow as the rest of me. “He thought I’d appreciate what he’d done, sacrificing Ciana so I’d be born. Sacrificing oldsouls during Templedark for more newsouls. But I don’t. I mean, I guess I’d rather be here than not, but I only have that opinion because I’m here.”

Sam touched my hand. “Yesterday, Sarit dropped off an envelope. She’d gone to Li’s house to find your things before the Council took them.”

“What’s in the envelope?”

“I didn’t look. It has your name on it. Menehem’s handwriting.” Sam’s voice was soft. “Do you want to see?”

Definitely not. But I stood and followed him into his room. He fetched the large envelope from a bookcase.

Inside, there were slim leather-bound journals, filled with notes and chemical formulas, drawings and photographs of sylph, and a map of somewhere east of Range; it was the place he’d done all his research, I supposed. I put everything away. It would take time to study, but Menehem had told me how he’d destroyed so many souls after all.

And how I’d been given a chance at someone else’s life.

I set the envelope aside and stepped toward Sam. He put his arms around me, kissed the top of my head, and whispered, “You didn’t have to sleep downstairs all week.”

“Stef was here.”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug.

Maybe he couldn’t understand how awkward that would have been, knowing his best friend and sometimes-lover was three rooms over. After lifetimes of awkwardness, they probably got desensitized. I pressed my cheek on his chest and listened to his heartbeat while he ran his fingers through my hair.

“I can tell you what happened,” I said at last. “No one else, though. Not yet.” I traced his fingers, his hand holding tight to my waist. “They wouldn’t believe me. I don’t want them to know about Meuric, either. I’ll have to figure it out eventually, but for now . . .”

“Okay.” He guided me to his bed so we could sit. “What-ever you’re comfortable saying, that will be enough.”

I told him everything.

The everywhere-light. The stairs and books and uncaring voice. And Meuric. When I slept, I dreamt about my knife, the pop and spray and slurp, the way I’d kicked his flailing body into the upside-down pit.

I’d killed him, been willing to kill Li and Menehem. Only eighteen, and already I felt a thousand years old. I should have been happy Li would never come back, no matter how many lifetimes I lived, but I wasn’t. It didn’t make any sense, but when I thought about it too much, the hollow chasms inside me only gaped wider.

Sam hmmed when I was finished. He didn’t ask questions or urge me to do anything about it, just breathed into my hair and tucked the subject away for a time when we could both deal. “So I guess we’re not leaving Range?”

“Guess not. Sine is the Speaker now. She convinced the Council it was Li who attacked us.” Li and someone we didn’t know yet. I doubted it was Menehem. Maybe one of Li’s guard friends, or someone Meuric paid. “But when you said you’d have come with me, that helped. It still helps.”

He gave me a light squeeze. “I’d go anywhere with you.”

My heart thumped, sending waves of realness through my limbs. I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t, to Sam, a mistake of no consequence. He’d never thought I was a nosoul.

I didn’t realize I was crying until Sam brushed tears off my cheeks.

“Ana,” he murmured, leaning his forehead on mine. If he tilted, or I did, our noses would bump, and then our lips would. I wanted to kiss him, but not while I felt so soggy. “Where’s your backpack?”

“Huh?” Not what I thought he’d ask. “Did you want the books?” We’d have to look into them soon. I wished I’d grabbed more, now that I knew there was something coming on Soul Night. We were in the beginning of a Year of Hunger now; Soul Night fell on the spring equinox of the Year of Souls. That was next year. It didn’t seem like enough time to prepare for the unknown, especially with so much work already piling up: figuring out Menehem’s notes, helping to rebuild sections of Heart, and preparing for potential newsouls.

In a year, I might not be the only one.

“Let’s leave the books for another time.” Sam slid off the bed, taking my hands in his. “You said some papers met with a fire. I thought we’d go down to the piano and start restoring your music.”

“Both of us?” The last time I’d touched the piano had been before the masquerade. It felt like ages ago. “I can’t—”

“You must.” Sam tugged me to my feet and swept me into a tight hug. “You’re the only one who can help me restore it.” He was serious. He wasn’t going to surprise me with a fresh, unburned stack of papers in the morning, music already written.

“I don’t know.”

“You can do anything.” He said it with such conviction, and I wanted to believe. I had to believe. I would believe, or I’d never be free.

I let go of my wings.

Not a nosoul. Not a butterfly.

A thousand years from now, even if I was never reborn, people would remember me: Ana Incarnate.