A Lion in a Flower Field

They shuffled through town in uninterrupted silence; not even the preppy uptown folk running their errands for Light Festival prep could think of anything to say as the two teens trudged through the snow. Maybe it helped that Mira was sending out murderous glares to anyone who dared look at them, either with sympathy or malice.

Magic seemed acutely aware of the snow flurries the further north they got, hesitating more in his steps which required a bit more pulling from Mira to get him walking again. They crossed through Central Chrome quickly, passing into Northern Chrome not long after. As the chapel and the mining outpost came clearer into view, Mira quickened her pace, just to save her brother the trouble of thinking too much about the visit.

Unfortunately, he’d already noticed and planted his heels into the snow, stopping a few blocks short of the chapel and the outpost. Magic was shaking through his coat, but Mira didn’t think it was the weather that was causing him to shiver. “Mags,” she said, “we’re almost there. You’re doing good, bud.”

“No,” he mumbled. “No, I can’t—I can’t go there, I … Mira, I don’t want to go—”

Mira tightened her hold on Magic’s jacket sleeve; he’d started to turn away, back in the direction they’d come from. His knees faltered and Mira jammed her foot between his, propping his leg up with her knee. Had there not been an excessive amount of snow on the ground, she would have suggested he sit just to get his breathing back in order. The cold wasn’t helping his illness and she doubted his anxiety was helping, either.

“Remember what I told you when we left your house?” Mira asked, bracing him against her to keep him stable. “Magic, you don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to say anything. You don’t even have to look the outpost in the eyes if you don’t feel up to it.”

“Mira—”

“And I will be there,” she went on, “every step of the way. So will my dad. So will Amelia. You are not doing this by yourself.”

“Stay with me?” he asked.

“Always,” she promised. “If you want, I can stay a little ways away from you so you don’t feel like I’m hovering over you. I know you hate that.”

“I do.”

“Isn’t it crazy how well I know you?”

The tiny laugh that came from him made Mira beam. Her smile could’ve lit several dark caverns. Finally, she got some life out of him.

Magic pushed his glasses higher up his nose, motioning in the direction of the outpost. “I can see them,” he said. “Our parents. They’re standing there.”

“I know,” she replied. “I can see them. Again: we can take our time, Mags. There’s no need for us to rush. Do you need a minute?”

He shook his head and took a hesitant step forward, Mira following close behind. Once they were close enough to their parents, Magic tugged on his mother’s jacket to inform her of his presence; she instinctively raised her arm and pulled him into a side hug before sitting with him on the ground. Mira simply stood beside her father, hugging him at the waist. Benji planted a small kiss on the top of her head.

The four of them stayed like that in total silence, the only noise of Northern Chrome being the wind as it whistled along the tops of Jaggian Peaks, the brown rock a dark, shadowy giant overlooking the town. Even the birds were silent, their usual chatter replaced for an unsettling stillness. For once, Chrome enabled them to mourn in peace.

Mira’s eyes didn’t know what to focus on. First, she stared at the ground. Then, she looked up at her father. Eventually, her gaze wandered towards Magic and Amelia, who was whispering something at a volume only she—and presumably her son—could hear. Magic, silent and still, tightened his grip on the scarf so much that, were it a living thing, he would have strangled it to death.

But Magic couldn’t linger there in the overwhelming silence of the outpost. She saw it in every turn of his head, in the ever-tightening hold on the scarf. Then, he rose on shaky limbs and—to Mira’s horror—walked closer to the mountains.

Mira held her breath. Benji loosened his hold on her, as though he was primed and ready to leap into action if it was needed. Amelia only stared intently. Neither of them seemed willing to reel Magic back, less they detonate the silent walking bomb in front of the mountains.

Had Mira not been watching him so intently, she would have missed his whisper.

“Hi, Dad.”

Every nerve in her body buzzed with her. She looked up at her father who looked back down at her with the same anxious expression on his face. Benji nudged her forward at the small of her back and Mira lingered off to the side, watching Magic kneel slowly into the snow; he winced as it crunched beneath him, but he dug himself a hole just a bit in front of him and placed the scarf within it like an offering. And, of course, it was. An offering to a life forgotten. An offering from a guilty son.

“I’m sorry it’s late,” he whispered. “It took a while to make. I wish there was more I had to show for it. I hope that’s okay.”

“Magic,” warned Mira, “you don’t have to.”

Her advice went ignored; Magic paused, took a breath, and stared at the gift in front of him, grazing the scarf with his hands as though he were debating whether to leave it or take it back. “I’ve also been busy. There’s been less time. I’m in school now … I’m in the building.”

“Mags,” Mira said again, hoping to get his attention. “You can stop.”

Again, he ignored her. Again, he paused and took a breath before continuing again. “I really wish you were here … I know you wanted … to be there …”

Suddenly, his demeanor shifted. Mira watched him gradually grow more clunky, evident in his segmented speech. His hands seemed to pause their skimming of the fabrics and fell to the snow. Magic pulled them back, but not all the way like he wasn’t sure whether or not to keep them there. He’d been a little stiff on the way here, but he was twitchy now, uncertain of everything he did.

When Mira got closer and joined him in the snow, the cold seeping through the fabrics of her jeans, she spotted the vacant glaze in her brother’s eyes. The telltale sign that Magic was not mentally here, but somewhere else entirely.

And his eyes were slowly shifting up. Towards the mountain peaks. Towards the clouds.

The snow.

It’s why ash and smoke are such bad triggers for Magic, her father had said. And, anything that resembles it.

“Mags,” she whispered again, holding onto his jacket with the barest glimmer of hope that she could reach him. “Come back, Magic.”

And Magic did return.

Just not in the way Mira had hoped.

Magic scattered in the snow, struggling to stand. His limbs were jerky and mechanical; he fell over once or twice just trying to stabilize himself and by the time he was, he was already pushing Mira away with such force, she’d nearly forgotten he was also violently ill. Magic looked pained each time he moved, wincing and whimpering at the crackle of snow beneath his shoes. He was too hyper aware of his surroundings and not even the collective concern of Mira and their parents was enough to bring him down.

Amelia walked closer to her son, but Magic lashed out at her, too, slapping her away and flailing to create distance. “Stop!” he shouted, his wheezes audible in the droning silence of the north. “Don’t touch me! Don’t—Stay there!”

“I will, kiddo,” Amelia whispered, “but I need you to—”

“I can’t—I can’t be here. I—”

Mira gave a nervous glance at her father, unable to read the expression on his face before staring at Magic and his mother. She felt like she was watching two wary animals in a standoff with neither able to bridge the distance. And, based on Amelia’s soft, calm responses to her son’s outburst, Mira could only assume this was a yearly occurrence. “Magic, kiddo. Listen to me. You need to refocus.”

Magic stayed there, frozen. Mira heard the snow crunch beside her as Benji took a single step forward. A single step too much. Before she could process anything, Magic turned on his heel and bolted without warning or prelude.

Even with his ailment, Magic was fast; he ran as though he’d never been sick and that facet was just a figment of Mira’s imagination. She trailed him, screaming his name to try and get him to stop, but any of her words seemed to go in one ear and completely out the other. He couldn’t hear her and if he did, he showed no signs of it.

Mira lost him in the marketplace, watching him disappear behind a stand. By the time she rounded the corner to look into the alleyway, Magic had disappeared.

Like a ghost, she thought bitterly.

“Where’d he go?” Benji called from behind her. Mira only shrugged.

“He can’t be out here,” Amelia said, her voice taut and layered with a fear Mira had never heard before. “We don’t have long before—it’s an early release. I don’t know if he remembers … Benj, I don’t know if he remembers; he can’t be out here.”

“Where does he usually go when he gets like this?” Benji asked.

“Wherever he feels the safest. And that changes on the day.”

“The best way I can see this being resolved is by covering each portion of town. Three of us, one person each for Southern, Central and Northern Chrome. I can swing by the bakery just in case he popped by there.”

“He could’ve also gone home,” murmured Amelia, gnawing on her lip. With the nervous furrow between her brows, Mira thought she didn’t look too dissimilar from her son.

“Perfect,” said Benji. He patted his daughter on the shoulder. “That leaves you to cover here. Where would the two of you go just to hang out?”

Mira frowned at the question. “I mean, I know I enjoy the florist’s shop roof because I like the view, but if Magic had a choice in the matter, he wouldn’t go.”

“Okay, so that’s out. Where else?”

Mira crossed her arms, closing her eyes to scour through her head for any kind of information. Their most recent hideaway spot was the alleyway just outside of school, but Mira didn’t think he would’ve felt “safe” near the school while he was on the verge of a panic attack. It had Mabel, but there was no guarantee that the cat would be around. And that was closer to the southern part of town, anyway. She needed to stay central.

Think, Mira scolded herself silently. Mentally, she listed the places they hung out. There was her house. Magic’s house. The florist’s shop. The alleyway . . .

She perked up a little, moving away from Benji and Amelia to peer around one of the buildings. From her spot, the watchtower was a large, immovable guardian, standing sentry in the center of town. A large raven cawed loudly from its top.

Of course. Though they’d spent less of their time there recently, she and Magic had spent much of their youth inside the rotten thing. They gossiped, played games, shared family secrets, and made bets. It was the first place Mira vividly remembered having conversations with Magic out in public, but still hidden from the masses until he was comfortable enough to be seen.

It was the first place she ever remembered seeing Magic laugh. He had never done it around her before that point.

That was where their friendship began.

“I know where I need to look,” Mira said in a whisper.

“Good. And where is that, Mirabellis?”

“The watchtower. I have a feeling he would be there.”

“Perfect.” Benji gave Mira a tight hug. It didn’t last long; his arms were around her for a moment and she had barely the time to process the weight. “Mill, I’ll give you a ring on the verdict. Bella, if he isn’t there, check-in with Amelia and we’ll figure out a plan from there. Sound good?”

Mira nodded and, giving both of their parents a curt, determined nod, she bounded off in the direction of the watchtower without waiting any longer.

Walking through the snow was tiring, so she took to the roofs instead.

The porches and singles made her wish she’d brought gloves with her to withstand the bite of winter, but Mira was determined to get through her expedition without stopping for that assistance. Time was of the essence. She didn’t know how much longer she had until the bells rang to signal the end of an early-release work day. Regardless, Mira urged her feet to fly from rooftop to rooftop.

She spotted indents of footprints in the snow, newer flakes filling in the holes, just barely starting to cover them. Mira clambered down from the building she was on, kicking her feet to find safety. Once she made it to the ground, she trudged uncomfortably through the snow, following the marks directly to the watchtower, the trail ending just at one side of its broken base.

The watchtower looked the same as it always had. Like much of Chrome, it was consistent—Mira had to at least give it credit for being one of the few unchanging things in this town. It was nostalgic and welcoming in a strange way all at once despite its pungent-smelling rotted wood and the dank smell of stale water that stained the inside portions of the beams.

It was a common hangout spot for most of her peers and gained a reputation for being the home of many things: gossip, dares, make-out sessions, or other meetings if the occupants felt particularly bold. But for her and Magic, it had simply been a place for them to relax.

Or hide.

And Mira had no doubt that if Magic was here, that was exactly what he was doing.

Hands clasped together, she lingered outside of the towering structure, listening to the bird caw as if it were beckoning her. Go in. Go in.

But what would she find if she did? And was she prepared to face it?

It was the same anxiety she felt standing outside her father’s door after he’d had an appointment with a liquor bottle. What will I find when I get there?

Mira gripped the tiny opening in the broken base. She needed to be strong. No one else was going to do this for her.

She eased her way in, knocking on the wood with her usual. As much as she hated it, her anxiety lowered when she heard dirt move, accompanied with the sound of sniffling.

“Magic?” Mira whispered, squeezing through the space of the entryway.

Light filtered through the cracks of the boards enough for her to spot her brother’s rounded frame; he was completely engulfed by his jacket and if she looked at him long enough she could see Magic’s tremors. He shrank into himself, arms hugging his knees, face pressed against them.

She snapped a shard off a board to widen the space and Magic shrieked, scattering in the dirt with the same frenzied panic as a startled animal. Mira looked at him immediately. “It’s okay,” she said, holding her hands up. “It’s me. It’s Mira.”

He made no verbal reply, but he did stare at her, unmoving and frozen to the spot. There was nowhere for him to run; Mira crawled her way over to sit beside him on the dirt, effectively cornering him.

She did not ask him questions.

She did not tell him in advance.

She took her brother gently by the shoulders, and held onto him while he sobbed.

It was far more intensive than it had been on the first day of school, but Mira felt it would be useless to calm Magic down while he was in this state, so she kept her hold tight on him while he wailed and coughed, gasping for air. She touched her forehead to his hair, briefly registering how dry it felt against her face. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m sorry, bud.”

“I can’t do this!” Magic sobbed, repeating the phrase over and over again like a mantra. “I can’t do this anymore!”

“It’s okay. I know December is hard—today is hard, Magic. But you still have us. You always will. We aren’t going anywhere, my dad and I. Neither is your mom.”

“I can’t—I can’t lose it! I want it back!”

“Lose what?” asked Mira. “What can’t you lose, Mags?”

“The scarf!” he shrieked. “The scarf! I can’t lose it, Mira, I can’t afford to—”

“Why? I thought you were making it so that—”

“She got rid of it all!”

Mira paused. There was no need for her to ask him to elaborate. Magic did that willingly, his words an incoherent string of thoughts just barely held together through sporadic fits of coughs and wheezes.

“There’s nothing left! It’s all gone; it’s not even in her room anymore. It’s like he was never there. I didn’t—I asked her not to—Stars, I begged her not to. I wanted her to keep them! She didn’t—she wouldn’t listen to me! Everything’s gone! It’s all gone. And I tried—honest, I did. But I can’t find them, Mira, I can’t fucking find them …”

Something shattered in Mira’s stomach, a gut-punching feeling she felt in every single one of her nerves. Amelia must not have been able to bear the reminders of her husband’s passing—not because she wanted to move on, but because of the memories it brought back.

But Magic needed those. He needed those reminders, the proof of life for the father he was starting to forget. Mira doubted he’d ever told Amelia the reason for why he was so upset about her decision to pack up Bennett’s belongings, simply because he wouldn’t have known how.

She grappled with keeping her tears at bay. “When, Mags?”

“August,” he sobbed, rubbing at his eyes from under his glasses frames. “In August. Everything got cleaned out! I didn’t—I lost everything I could’ve used!”

Mira recalled as much of that last summer month, the fleeting moments before school started. The sudden shift in his demeanor the closer they got to September. The unexplained injuries he’d gotten walking out of the house. Mira assumed he’d stumbled into something. But then she thought about his bruises a few weeks ago, gained solely out of his own frustration.

She’d never stopped to think that those injuries were self-inflicted out of pent up irritation towards his mother.

Her grip on him tightened. “Is that why you were having such a rough time?” she asked. “At the end of August? Right before school started?”

The mournful wail that came from him was all Mira needed to know the answer to that question. The dam holding her emotions back vanished; she sobbed with him under the cover of the watchtower, holding onto Magic like he was a specter that would vanish, shielding him with her limbs to protect him from the world.

Mira felt exactly as she had back then, when the collapse first happened and she’d consoled a sobbing child in the entrance to the chapel. The same child she protected from passersby on the street who looked at them with eyes full of disdain while she sat with him through his outbursts, the one they called “difficult” and “misbehaved.” The same child she carried on her back to her home because simply being near the mining outpost and the chapel drove him into a panic.

She didn’t know how long she had been sitting with Magic in the confines of the tower, only that at some point she started brushing through his hair in rhythmic strokes to calm both him down and herself. It took several minutes for Magic to wind down and by the time his cries had faded for shuddered breaths, the raven on the watchtower began to honk, a ferocious sounding call. Each vocalization made him jump and Mira had to remind him it was just a bird until the sounds no longer bothered him.

When he calmed, she rested her head atop his. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “I know you don’t like to hear that, either, but I am. You feel a bit better, though?”

“The snow,” he wheezed.

“It’s not snowing as much from what I can see. You’ll be okay.”

“I needed to … I couldn’t … It made me uncomfortable. I can’t explain it.”

“My dad told me that the snow might bother you. And I’m glad you recognize that, just, I wish you’d been able to say something before you ran off. Especially since it's an early release day. Your mom was a bit worried.”

“Oh,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mags, I’m not yelling at you or anything. Just … It’s something to work on, right?”

Magic nodded. He attempted to make himself smaller, if it was even possible with the way Mira was holding onto him, but she felt him shift and adjust before growing unsatisfied and wriggling free of her hold. He sat just off to her left and rested his head between the crook of her neck and shoulder. “I didn’t mean to make everyone worry. I don’t like making people do that.”

Mira smiled, ruffling his hair. He made a small noise of annoyance, but didn’t move. “To be fair, you can’t really control that. Amelia is supposed to because she’s your mom. My dad and I just like to make sure that the two of you are okay like you guys do for us.”

“Where’d they go?”

“My dad is at home, your mom is by your house—we didn’t know where you were running to, so we went to the three places we thought you’d go to. And, since I haven’t gone back to your house to tell Amelia I haven’t found you, I think they both know that I found you.”

“Are they upset?” Magic asked, his voice a pitiful thing.

“Not upset. Like I said: just worried. You need some time before we get going?”

He nodded, covering his mouth with his arm to muffle a wracking cough. “A little. Everything still hurts.”

“I imagine that’s because the adrenaline is going away. When you’re fighting or stressed, it kinda … takes over that way.”

A small chuckle. One small victory. “You’d know a lot about that, wouldn’t you?”

Before Mira could come up with a reply, rubber rebounded off the wood, invading their conversation. She yelped before she was consciously aware of the sound leaving her mouth and Magic whimpered, flinching and grabbing onto her coat sleeve.

Oh, she could have kicked herself. This was what she got for letting her guard down, for being stupid enough to think that sitting under the watchtower wouldn’t draw a crowd. And with his screaming fit, Mira was even stupider to think people would hear it and move on. Everything in sight was tinged with red.

Eyes peered through the gaps in the wooden base. “Oh, look!” sneered a voice. “Love birds beneath the watchtower! It’s a bit early for that, don’t you think?”

“Not love birds,” laughed another. “Just a couple of sad saps passing the time.”

Mira heard her teeth grind. She rose to a crouch.

Magic tugged her down by the jacket sleeve. “Wait—” he started.

She brushed him off. “Mags, there is no version of this where we walk away from the watchtower without them starting shit.”

“But—”

“If they do anything to you, you run somewhere safe. Okay? My house. Your house. I don’t care. Just run somewhere safe, okay?”

Magic groaned, gripping the loose strands of his hair. “Mira, don’t be stubborn about this. We can ignore them! We don’t have to fight with them!”

“Exactly,” Mira said, and when her brother only stared at her with that judgmental, incredulous look on his face, she continued. “We are not fighting them. You are running. I’m fighting them.”

“No! I won’t—”

“This isn’t your choice to make, Magic.”

“It concerns me. Of course it is.”

Mira blew out an exasperated breath as another rubber ball struck the wooden base of the watchtower. It creaked and moaned; if they kept going, the entire thing was going to topple around them and they’d have more to worry about than just getting back home before the bells went off. And while she couldn’t force Magic to understand, though she desperately wished he would—that people didn’t learn until you taught them the hard way, that people were bullies and liars and two-faced and didn’t deserve submission—she waved her hands to dismiss him.

“Magic,” she pleaded, “I just need you to trust me. Can you at least do that?”

Her brother pursed his lips in a hard, stubborn line. Despite his resistance, he nodded.

“Good,” Mira said. “Stay by me as we leave. Say as little as possible.”

“Wouldn’t have to tell me twice,” he mumbled, following behind.

Crawling out of the tower found Mira face to face with five different kids—all of whom she recognized from wandering the halls. Two she didn’t know, but three she did. Bentley, Julia, and Hershel were glaring at her; Hershel was leaning against the watchtower when she and Magic emerged and waved a hand in her face, wiggling his fingers.

Mira snapped her jaws in an attempt to snag them with her teeth.

Hershel promptly pulled them away. “What are you so feisty for, Arbesque?”

Mira kept her mouth shut. Fortunately, so did Magic, though she could hear the crunching of snow behind her as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. She reached behind her, holding her brother’s jacket sleeve to reassure him.

Bentley was eyeing them up and down, his hands behind his back, his snooty sister off to the side with her arms crossed. After a moment of silence, the boy puffed out a breath. “How nice of you to join us out here in the open, Arbesque.”

“How nice of you to bring the watchtower down just to have me here,” Mira snapped back. “You must be dying for my audience.”

“It didn’t break—I don’t think it could if we tried to break it. And don’t get up on your high horse.”

“Then what the fuck do you want?”

Julia raised a brow. “How vulgar,” she said plainly under her breath, but loud enough for Mira to hear. It was an insult meant to be heard. “You talk that way to everyone? I thought you only did that at school.”

“I’ll talk however I want, thank you very much. I’ll ask my question again: what the fuck do you want?”

Bentley waved his hands around, as though he were dispelling an argument between Mira and his sister. “Heavens, calm down. Is that how you treat someone who’s found one of your missing things? It got a little beaten up on the way, though. Don’t hold it against me.”

With a flourish, Bentley took a hand out from behind him and held it out to the side. At the sight of it, Mira heard the distressed moan from Magic, who gripped onto her jacket for stability, his knees fitting into the crooks of her own.

Dangling from the taller boy’s hands were a pair of blue headphones, their metallic paint scratched, words and letters engraved on it. The band was broken and bent at odd angles and wires frilled from one of the earpieces, the other missing its cushions.

Magic’s original headphones. The stolen ones.

Mira felt her heart leap and pound furiously in her ears. “You are sick pulling shit like that.”

“I didn’t pull anything,” Bentley said, drawing out his words in what felt like mock annoyance. “I was just going to hand them back. Do the honorable thing.”

“I wonder who gave you that definition. Trishia surely didn’t teach you the same definition that I know.”

Now the boy scowled. “You wouldn’t know honor if smacked you across the face and blew smoke into your ears, liquor rat. But if you’re not looking to take them back, we can just get rid of them.”

Before Mira could say anything, Bentley let the headphones clatter to the ground and stomped on them once they made contact with the snow. She couldn’t see the aftermath, but the crack of the band was audible.

Magic dug his forehead into her back. “Mira,” he mumbled. “My stomach …”

Bentley lifted his chin, peering around Mira to eye her brother, frowning with faux concern. “You alright there, Cooper? You don’t look very good.”

Anger coursed through Mira’s veins; she took a hesitant step back towards the watchtower, forcing Magic to move back with her. “Don’t speak to him,” she snarled. “Do not think about even looking in his direction, or—”

“Or what, Mirabellis?” Bentley strolled over now, closing distance. “You’ll break my arm? Twist my wrist? I’ve heard all your threats before, but you’ve never done shit with them. You’re just a dog that barks without the bite to back it up.”

The other kids made mocking noises, howling and yelping as Hershel slipped away to give the taller boy space. This close up, she could see the slight bend in Bentley’s nose from the last time she’d fought with him. Something sadistic inside her sidled up with glee, demonic and raring.

Finally, a fight she could win.

“How willing are you,” Mira hissed, “to test that theory.”

Bentley tapped a finger to his chin. “Hm. I’m not looking to test that. But there’s something else that I think might be better.”

Hands snagged Mira by the ankles and dragged her to the ground, bringing Magic down with her. The snow broke her fall, but the searing pain from the cold was beyond irritating. Someone had lifted the weight of her brother off her back at the same time Mira felt her hair being pulled to keep her back. Like a panicked animal, she flailed, kicking out her legs and thrashing her arms.

“Stop!” cried a voice—Magic’s voice.

“Oh, be quiet, would you?” said another. “I thought graveyard ghosts didn’t make noise.”

“Please let me go! Don’t touch me!”

They planned on keeping Magic here. Having Mira around was just the icing on the cake for them.

The vicious entity slipped.

Mira craned her neck to find her assailant, Hershel, who had slipped away while Bentley was speaking, and rolled. The boy smacked his head into the watchtower and let her go. There wasn’t much she could do for Magic at the moment; Julia had him in a basket hold, her arms crossed along his chest and holding him at the wrist. If Mira did, the girl would only use Magic as a shield, so she did the only thing her brain thought to do next.

She redirected her anger in one smooth motion and strolled over to Bentley, cracking him hard along the jaw. He struck her back with a fist to the shoulder and she stumbled backwards, barely dodging a strike to the throat, only to take a winding hook to the side.

Mira did what she could to block the pain, though it radiated through her abdomen, and rounded on him, snagging his wrist and twisting it to drop him to the floor. Bentley went down easily, shrieking from the pain before she left him there to writhe. It was a temporary measure, but all she needed was the distraction so that she could yank hard on Julia’s ponytail. The girl shouted in surprise, her hold easily falling away.

Magic tumbled to the floor, shaking. Mira had barely the time to ask if he was okay before the outpost alarms rang.

Each and every person cupped their ears and crouched from the noise, but Mira knelt there with her brother on the snow, holding onto his jacket as he grimaced and groaned. In the midst of the noise, he looked at her, the fear in them a physically painful sight that Mira felt in her stomach enough for her to be nauseous.

Whether or not she’d lost him, Mira didn’t know. She could only hope he was still around to hear her instructions.

“Go somewhere safe, Mags!” she shouted through the wailing of the sirens. “Go! Run!”

He seemed to understand and nodded once before bolting north. One of the boys Mira didn’t know reached and snagged Magic by the jacket collar, effectively yanking him back as the sirens died down. The boy didn’t have Magic for long; Mira made three quick strides and fell him to the ground by knocking in his knees, one single chop aimed at the wrist, forcing release. Once Magic was freed, Mira grappled with the boy—who she recognized now as a junior—to ensure that he could leave undisturbed.

She prayed that he would find himself somewhere to hide out until she could find him later. All she had to do was hope he wouldn’t be in too bad a state.

But now the savage beast that had been desperate for a scuffle, some kind of fight since the early portions of the school year had made its way to the forefront.

Mira was not a patient fighter, nor was she a fair fighter. She did not wait for openings, she found and created them.

Hershel rushed at her with a ferocity she saw only during Shuffle matches in Gym class and she easily sidestepped him, tripping him into the snow but not before he snagged her jacket and brought her down with him. Without thinking, she headbutted her forehead into his, both of them cursing and muttering from the pain but it was enough to daze him and allow her the opportunity to run in the direction of her brother.

Someone caught up—Julia grasped at her arm and yanked her back. A punch connected with the right side of Mira’s face, enough to cloud her vision with stars, but there was no way in hell she was giving Julia the satisfaction of catching her unawares. They grappled with each other, exchanging kicks and knees into the other’s legs and abdomen. The pain was excruciating; it numbed her limbs, ached her bones. It was a guilty pleasure, the adrenaline rush, but Mira would be lying if she didn’t enjoy the satisfaction of punching them into submission.

Exhaustion soon caught up with Julia, too unused to the energy it took to fight until you couldn’t. Mira shoved her into the snow, one foot on the girl’s stomach. “Stay down.” The voice didn’t sound like hers. It felt unhinged Wrong. Sickeningly delightful. “Or I will give you the absolute pleasure of what it’s like to see the stars.”

“There is something seriously wrong with you,” Julia snarled, panting. She pushed herself up on her elbows. Mira pushed her back down, planting her heel on her stomach, relishing in the girl’s screams.

She wagged her finger in Julia’s face. “Uh-uh,” she taunted. “I never said you could get up. But trust me when I say you won’t want to be. Because the pain you’re going to feel will be far worse that way. Stay. Down.”

Julia grit her teeth, but did nothing as Mira took her foot away and ran off towards Northern Chrome.

Footsteps gained on her easily; the pain was starting to settle now and fatigue lay heavy in her legs and arms, an excruciating pounding in her head from where she’d headbutted Hershel making the journey all the more irritating. Why they couldn’t just leave her alone, she didn’t know. But Mira promised she’d keep giving them reasons to ignore her. Better to be the demon they feared than take their punches lying down.

A fist snuck up on her, ramming into her cheekbone. Snow broke her fall but that wasn’t the only thing Mira knew was broken; pain tingled around her left wrist and she poorly blocked a punch with her right arm before kneeing Bentley in the groin. He howled and rolled onto his side, guarding the spot with his hands. Mira pushed painfully to her feet, left arm cradled to her chest before kicking Bentley in the side for good measure.

Iron swirled around in her mouth; she spat out blood to her left, rubbing her uninjured arm across her face, spreading the red along her lips and chin. Some of the other kids were still swarming after her and Bentley, whooping and shouting, but Mira stood her ground and only planted her heel in the boy’s abdomen. That alone halted them in their tracks, and she swept an accusatory finger along the crowd, ignoring Bentley’s cries of pain beneath.

“You keep following me,” she shouted, “and I’ll fucking beat the shit out of you—out of every single one of you! I am tired of rolling over! If any of you take a single step forward, I swear to the high heavens, you will leave this part of Chrome walking like you have poles up your asses!” Bentley squirmed to free himself in the midst of her speech and Mira stepped harder on his stomach, squishing him like he was nothing more than a pitiful bug beneath her sneakers. She snagged his arm with her good one, digging her nails into the flesh. “I’m not done with you.”

Bentley screamed and writhed beneath her—it was music to her ears—and Mira glanced once at the other kids who stared at each other. Good. Let them watch.

“Stop!” he pleaded. “Stop! Let me go!”

“Why should I?” Mira hissed, twisting the boy’s wrist, eager to bend and snap it. Somewhere in the distance, a dog was howling and voices were yelling. A crowd was forming but whether it was of kids or adults or a mix, she wasn’t sure. “All bark, no bite, remember? Eat those words.”

“Stop! Stop, please, it hurts!”

“Ask me again, Bentley, I can’t hear you! What was that?”

The plea echoed throughout the entirety of Northern Chrome. “Let me go, Mirabellis, let me go!”

Mira almost considered keeping him there, considered watching him squirm and flail the way she had to. She relented and took her foot away as Bentley rolled onto his knees, forearms shaking. He glared at Mira from the side, the look in his eyes a mixture of fear hidden by burning anger. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She said nothing, only cracked her knuckles against her side.

“You weren’t raised right,” Bentley went on. “You’re a fucking monster.”

“Glad we’re finally on the same page.” Mira kicked snow in his direction, forcing Bentley to scramble to his feet. “Get the fuck away from my house or I’ll give you something worse than just some bruises on your face and ribs.”

The boy scoffed and hobbled away, one hand around his stomach, the other on his face. His twin sister came to aid him but not without sending Mira a venomous glower as they walked away. One of the kids kicked a Squiggle past her; it rebounded off a nearby porch, claiming a shrill scream from somewhere nearby.

One by one, the crowd petered out and once they were gone, Mira allowed a small sigh of relief. Rationality grabbed hold of the steering wheel in her brain and chained up what was left of the brutal, destructive desire. Now that she was alone, Mira went home.

It took everything in her to get her limbs to cooperate; they were numb, sore, tired, and downright resistant to every movement she forced them to go through. The snow made this trek worse, slowing her pace down considerably. By the time she got to her front door, Mira was grateful to be home, resting her forehead against it to catch her breath. Heavens, she could’ve gone for a warm bath right about now. Anything to get rid of the pain in her face and limbs.

“Bella?”

She felt her muscles sink into relaxation. Her father’s voice. “Yeah, Dad?”

“You alright out there?”

“More or less. Why?”

“Wanted to check in with you,” Benji replied. Then, he paused, cleared his throat, and said, “When you open the door, promise me you won’t freak out.”

No … “Why, Dad?”

“Trust me.”

Mira twisted the door open with her good hand, wincing at each motion of her left wrist. The small chime that normally went off was muted by her focus, which went everywhere in the small room that was their main floor.

The small tea tables were knocked over unceremoniously on their sides, the chairs still rolling on the floor from being pushed out of the way. One of the curtain rods dangled off its supports, askew and angled down allowing the curtains to drape along the tile with an ominous kind of grace.

Sitting beside the overturned furniture, though, was her father, cradling Magic in his arms, combing through his hair and speaking in low whispers to calm a new set of tremors likely caused by the bells as Mira entered. Magic had an ice pop in his mouth, shaking profusely as Benji rocked with him from side to side. Even from a distance, she could see the blood on his hands, hear his strangled groans and whimpers—signs of a mental struggle preventing him from coming back.

Her brain stopped. Mira didn’t know what to focus on first, but her body moved on autopilot. She sought out Benji and sat beside him; he pulled her in for a hug and pressed a long kiss to the top of her head. “Did you do what you needed to?” he asked.

Mira nodded. “I don’t know if it was enough.”

“I think you did plenty. If any of their parents come running in here like raging horses, I’ll—”

“Mira?” Magic interjected.

Even with her bruised and battered limbs, Mira shuffled to be within her brother’s line of sight, her heart sinking at the sight of the glaze in his eyes. She tried so hard not to cry. Not yet. Not now. “It’s me,” she said. “I’m right here.”

“Mira?” he repeated, as though she were invisible.

“You’re safe, Mags. You’re with us, you’re safe.”

Benji sighed deeply. “He was looking for you and Amelia since he started to calm down,” he said, unwrapping another ice pop. “It put him into another panic when he realized neither of you were here.”

Her father handed Magic the frozen treat; he dropped the old one on the floor, colored water spilling into a rainbow of reds and blues, and uselessly groped at the stick as if he couldn’t see. When the ice pop finally found its way into his bruised and blooded palms, Magic popped it into his mouth and began chewing on it. The noise of it grinding against his teeth made Mira cringe.

“He’s been doing this since I started giving him different foods to eat,” Benji said with a sigh, leaning to toss Magic’s discarded popsicle stick. “Amelia said he uses the different tastes and temperatures to try and come back. Get him out of his own head. I just hope it works and that he’s finished spitting.”

“Spitting?” Mira echoed, not taking her eyes off her brother. Despite being in his line of sight, he seemed to look right through her.

Benji nodded sagely. “No matter what I gave him—limes, lemons, ice—he just started spitting like he was cleaning out a bad taste in his mouth.”

Mira nodded and leaned against her father, gingerly rubbing her left arm in a futile attempt to rid herself of the discomfort. It did more harm than good and she hid a wince under a cough, bringing her good arm to her face. “You said you called Amelia?”

“Mhm.”

“Is she coming?”

“Promptly. On horseback. Miss Janesy called me in a wild panic asking if I knew about everything—which I did; I have Magic with me—but she very briefly explained that she was borrowing her husband’s horse to bring Amelia over. But I want to get him comfortable in the meantime.” Benji rubbed one of Magic’s arms, causing him to wriggle a little. “We can’t stay on the first floor forever.”

“You can probably carry him,” Mira suggested. “He isn’t really that heavy.”

Her father raised a brow and, with a deep breath, shook the boy in his arms lightly to grab his attention. All Magic did was whimper and turn to move away, but Benji held him tight. “I can only hope and pray you don’t continue doing this when I lift you,” he said, “but we’re gonna get you settled on the couch upstairs, kiddo. It’ll be more comfortable for you than the tile. Ready?”

Magic gave a feeble nod that looked more like it was swaying from side to side than it was an answer, but it was still something. Mira got to her feet slowly as Benji looped his arms under Magic’s knees and lifted him. She saw the realization on her father’s face in the pallor that accompanied his slightly opened mouth. “Oh, fuck, Magic,” he muttered.

Mira grimaced, following behind her father on the steps. “He kind of reminds me of how light he was on the day of the wake itself,” she said over the creaking of the stairs. “It almost kind of feels like he’s beaten that.”

“For his age, I really hope that isn’t the case.”

At that, Mira kept quiet.

She followed behind her father as he set Magic on the sofa, doing her best to ignore his whimpers and moans of distress. He was still gnawing on the ice pop which left its mark in the red and blue stains to accompany the black and purple ones on his palm, streams of it dribbling down his face. It was pitiful even looking at him like this when she damn well knew he would hate the sympathy.

Benji draped two blankets over Magic and propped his head up with a pillow, motioning for Mira to go into the kitchen. “Rag,” he said.

Mira nodded and did as she was asked, quickly scurrying to the kitchen and rummaging around the cabinet drawers for a towel before her father spoke again. “Second thing: on your way back, grab the medical kit from behind the bathroom mirror. The least we can do is clean him up a little until Amelia gets here so it saves her the trouble. And I can take care of your stuff, too.”

Mira was just returning with the medical kit when her father’s words made sense. “Huh?”

“What?” said her father with a small laugh as she handed over the materials and sat down beside the couch closest to Magic’s face. Benji went to work wiping away the remnants of the icicle. “You think I don’t know when my daughter’s gotten herself in over her head? I saw the way you were holding onto that arm of yours. Just let me get him settled until Amelia gets here and I’ll take you to the clinic.”

She nodded solemnly, wincing a little as Benji dropped the cloth and popped open the kit. Magic jumped, too, whimpering a little at the sudden noise that kickstarted his sensitivity again. “It’s just a box, Magic,” he said, gently tousling the boy’s hair and taking the popsicle stick away to toss on the ground. From where she sat, Mira thought she spotted deeply indented teeth marks in the cracked wood. “Don’t get jumpy on me now. It’s just a box. Here, Bella, tilt your chin up. I want to close the split near your forehead, but I need better light.”

Mira lifted her head and closed her eyes to brace against her father’s touch as he applied something to the injury. “I didn’t block that one.”

“I know. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have it. Who gave it to you?”

“Hershel.”

Her father made a low chuckle. She could picture him shaking his head. “Did you give it back to him?”

She felt a crooked grin on her face. “I smacked my head into him. Of course I did. At least, I hope so.”

“Atta girl.”

Mira was about to say something snarky in reply until her father pinched the wound shut and laid the butterfly stitch. She bucked her head back, tapping it against the arm of the couch with a hissed breath. “Shit.”

“I figured getting you talking would dull the pain,” Benji replied, dragging something cold over her face. She recoiled the first time, then trained herself to stay still the second, third, and fourth time it happened. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She opened one of her eyes to find her father dragging a wipe along her face, dirtied with streaks of mud and blood from falling on the snow. Mira leaned forward, allowing her father to cup her face and clean off the blood. He wouldn’t be able to do anything for her arm; that needed a professional’s touch. But she allowed her father the ability to do something she could have easily done herself. “When is Amelia coming?”

“Is your arm hurting that bad?” Benji asked, gently closing the medical kit as best he could.

“I mean, yeah. But I was just wondering because I don’t want you to feel like you have to choose between the two of us. I can handle my own injuries. I can walk myself to the clinic if you want to focus on Magic—”

“I’m more than capable of handling the two of you. You don’t need to guard me, Bella. I’m fine.”

She hated that phrase when it came out of her father’s mouth. That was what he said the last time. And that resulted in him drinking himself to sleep. “Dad, the clinic is down the street. I can walk myself there.”

“You’re not an adult, Mira,” he said, pushing to his feet with the coffee table as his only support. “They’re not going to take you unless I’m there, anyway. Leave it alone.”

“Dad, I still don’t think you should be stressing over me.”

“I wouldn’t be your father if I didn’t. Now, do me a favor, keep an eye on him for a bit. He’s shaking through those blankets, so I’m gonna see if he’ll take tea to calm his nerves. I don’t know what the hell he’s seeing, but it’s scaring him half to death.”

Mira said nothing, slightly annoyed by her father’s dismissal. Benji was starting to get stressed—it was the only time Mira had known her father to do that, and for his sake, she really hoped it didn’t get worse with Magic’s added toll. It didn’t feel right to call it a burden; Magic wasn’t a burden, but considering how little he could speak and advocate for himself, he certainly wasn’t helping the amount of responsibility Benji felt the need to take on in Amelia’s absence.

And Mira didn’t want to think about what that added weight would do to her father, so she focused on the task at hand. She combed through Magic’s hair, which seemed to soothe him out of his repetitive, weak muttering of both her and Benji’s names. For the first time since she arrived home, her brother was silent. It pained her to see him suffer in this way. It was nothing like how he was after the lockers or the bathroom stall. This was deeply ingrained, a reaction Mira had never seen.

One she felt horribly responsible for.

She took her hand away from Magic, grabbed at her curls and placed her face against the edge of the couch cushion as her father cursed softly at pots and pans from behind the kitchen counter.

The noise set Magic off again like a persistent, tired bird mimicking the same things over and over again. Despite Mira’s close proximity, he looked for her as if she were gone and every noise in the house made her heart-thumpingly anxious. She turned her head to try and spot her father. “Dad,” she said, “be careful with the pots. The noise is—”

“I know, Bella,” Benji replied, tone curt and rough. The edges of sandpaper. “I know.”

“Dad, if you want, I can get my arm checked out by myself; I can walk to—”

“Mirabel, stop—”

“But—”

“Mirabellis, please!”

Time slowed for five horrible seconds.

It took her a minute to recognize that the crying in the room wasn’t a figment of her imagination, either. That sound was coming from Magic, who wept in repetitive strains of names, prayers, and unintelligible pleas. The room felt tight, hot and thick with a primal fear that made Mira’s hands sweat. She couldn’t breathe in the pressure of the room. Benji didn’t raise his voice at her. The last time he did was …

Every nerve in her body itched to leave.

Mira willed her trembling limbs in place; she looked at her father until he rose and stared back. She felt her muscles shake despite her spot sitting on the floor beside the couch. Guilt was riddled all over his face; he placed his hands against his temples, elbows resting on the kitchen counter. Benji hung his head, ran his fingers through his hair and heaved a shaky sigh.

Mira swallowed hard, took a breath, and whispered into the silence. “Don’t yell at me. Not like that.”

Her father gave a simple, despondent nod. Which Mira would have accepted, if not for the fact that, when he brought his head up, his eyes flitted towards the forbidden black box.

When Benji dared look at his daughter, she only shook her head in short, quick bursts. Don’t you dare. He was doing so well. He couldn’t slip. Mira felt like a child for letting fear grab hold of her this way, for allowing it to give way to anger, to panic. But she needed her father and needed him here. Present and aware. Not drowning in a bottle. Don’t you dare.

Mira knew by the shake of his shoulders as he breathed that he was resisting every urge to tear at the lock of the box. And when he finally redirected himself and grabbed a pot from the cabinet to fill with water, her body relaxed and breathing felt a little easier.

Thank you, she thought, weariness creeping into and settling in her bones. A rush of emotions came over her. Relief coupled with lingering distrust, the fear that her father would eventually break and they’d have to start all over again. Mood swings, withdrawal, the physical pain it put her father through to avoid having a drink in his hand just to feel right. Mira felt tears coming and crossed her arms against the sofa, resting her forehead against them. Still she held them back, sniffling and pressing her closed eyes into her knuckles to keep them at bay.

“Mira?” Magic mumbled.

Mira didn’t trust herself to speak, less she started crying.

“Mira?” he asked again, his voice hoarse and a little frazzled. He sounded confused.

She took a deep breath, then took in the sight before her. Her brother was so vulnerable laying down on this couch with the layers of blankets Benji had tossed over him. His eyes were half-open, fatigued, and utterly devoid of energy. Magic was almost looking at her, but it felt more like he was looking right through her. A phantom of a girl instead of a living, breathing one.

Mira brushed through his hair again and his whimpers slowly faded, leaving only repetitive mumbles in their wake. “I’m here, Mags,” she said. “Dad’s finishing up some tea for you. He thinks it might calm you down a little since you’re so jumpy. What do you think?”

“Benji?”

“Yeah. He’s putting it into a mug right now and getting it ready. I think he wanted it to cool a little so that you didn’t have to worry. You’re at my house, y’know,” she added, as if the added detail would get him to talk more. Mira knew better, but she didn’t have many other options aside from the hope that maybe he would ease out of whatever ailment was keeping him this way. “You’re safe at my house on the couch. Your second bed, as my dad jokingly calls it.”

“Mom?” he mumbled.

“She’ll be here soon,” Mira replied, pausing. “She’s on her way.”

The answer didn’t seem to please him. He groaned, head moving back and forth against the pillow behind him as he sank further beneath the covers. “Mom,” he went on, pleas muffled by the fabrics. “Please.”

It took her a minute to realize he was crying again, so petrified by the idea of his mother’s absence that he felt frightened enough to hide, a tiny snail retreating into its shell. Just like how he was as a kid. Mira took up braiding loose strands of his hair again, combing through the dry, brittle strands that she may as well have been pleating wheat.

And as she did, every now and again tugging on his hair in a manner that would have otherwise annoyed him, Mira wished he would yell at her to stop. Wished for his snappy attitude and snark before grudgingly allowing her despite the common knowledge that he enjoyed having his hair braided like that.

“I don’t know why you won’t talk to us,” Mira said, pausing her work. “And I don’t know if you’re understanding us. But Amelia is coming. She isn’t leaving you here on your own.”

Magic gave no response. He closed his eyes fully and tucked his chin closer to his chest, which rattled as he sighed. Her heart shattered. He looked so tired …

Benji’s footsteps on the tile softened on the carpet, the creaking of the floor the only signal of his arrival, carefully holding a mug in his hands, a thin, blue straw poking out from just above its rim. He sat a little bit at a distance from Mira and she moved to adjust Magic so that he was more propped up. Benji wedged the straw into Magic’s mouth, startling him; his body recoiled and his head jerked back. Mira watched her father shush him, pause, then attempt a second time, gently putting the straw against Magic’s mouth. She waited with bated breath as Magic sat there with the utensil resting against his face before he eventually accepted and drank the tea with slow, tentative sips.

Mira and her father sighed with relief at the same time. She sought out her father again, sitting beside him as the tea’s soothing effects began to take hold, a tranquil state passing over Magic in a wave. His fretful tremors quelled and his whimpers died down. He couldn’t even hold his head up to sip from the straw as his breathing evened out and his head lolled, the straw turning out of his mouth.

Benji smiled ruefully, slowly moving the materials away and placing them on the coffee table behind him. Mira nestled against her father, the sudden need for reassurance and comfort hitting her all at once. She didn’t want this to escalate. The mere thought of it terrified her.

She promised.

Heavens, she promised …

And, as if he could read her mind, Benji held her tight and began combing through her hair, careful to avoid the knotted curls. “I don’t know what happens after this,” he murmured. “I don’t know where this path brings us. But wherever it does, we’ll walk that path together. All four of us.”

“All four of us,” Mira echoed, praying that they wouldn’t have to.