The night drew breaths of ice onto the village, and Alexa braced herself against the cold, reaching out to touch the snowflakes as they fell. As she held them in her palm, they didn't melt.

She was lying atop the village chapel, spread-eagled on the slate roof like a grounded bird. Most days she had more in common with a caged one. Looking up, she gazed at the greying sky, trying to imagine another world. Another life. A life where she was someone else, perhaps one of the nomad women who traversed country borders with nothing but a pony and a bundle of rags. Perhaps a stowaway on a merchant ship bound for tides unknown. Perhaps the New World. She crushed the snowflake in her palm. None of that mattered; she would never leave this village. As she turned onto her knees, a flurry of snow came flew out of nowhere and hit her square in the face. It dropped onto the frosted slate. With a very un-ladylike 'oomph', she lost her footing and slid off the edge of the roof and landed bottom first in the snow by an icy water barrel. Dazed, she glanced upwards. And she glared.

"James," she hissed at the shadow as he emerged from behind a pile of logs. His black cloak dangled like a limp spider in the snow. He almost blended into the dank walls of the inn. Her friendly darkness.

"Hello little sister," he smiled and held his arms out. She threw a ball of snow at him. James chuckled, wiping his cloak.

"Is that any way for a lady to behave?" he asked. Alexa narrowed her eyes. She knew very well he was trying to rile her up. She was anything but a lady, the farthest thing from it in fact. Her mother tried to deny it, but they all knew the truth. Of what she really was.

"I could say the same for you, brother," she grinned and jumped up, launching herself into his arms before he could reply.

"I missed you," she whispered.

"How could you not?" he said. She took great pleasure elbowing him in the ribs.

"I trust mother and father have not heard of my travels? I have tried to be careful, especially with the remnants of the army from that Spanish War lurking about," he said. Alexa peered at him, searching for any sign that he'd been away, but she found nothing. Her brother left no trace of his journeys for her to see or even smell. No fiery spices, no incense, no tang of foreign foods. Nothing. Sometimes he brought back the odd souvenir, but they were always taken and burned. Of course, it was perfectly fine for him to sneak out of the house every year, so why couldn't she? Alexa lowered her head. She didn't need to ask herself to know the answer because between all the suitors, all of those lessons on that god forsaken harpsichord, all of the studying, her parents would never let her leave the village. Some days they wouldn't even let her leave the house. They insisted there was something out there in the woods, beyond the four walls of her room. They told her they had to keep her safe from the world and all its faults.

"Alexa? Are you quite alright?" James was staring at her, his eyebrows raised. She laughed and shook her head.

"I am just fine, brother dear," she replied. "Despite your childishness".

"Childish? Me?" He gasped. "I do not know what you are talking about. How can you say such a thing?" Alexa rolled her eyes: one blue, one red. Her brother was lucky. His eyes, though red, were smooth and soft, whereas her own tended to drive away any suitors before she'd even opened her mouth. If they failed to flee, her words – too brash for their future wife – cemented her dismissal. Not that she wanted to marry. By the Gods that was the last thing she wanted to do with her life. Or death. She tended to get the two mixed up. Staring over James's shoulder towards the woods at the edge of the village, she sighed.

"Tell me," she began. "What was it like? Out there. I wish to know".

"Alexa, you always wish to know everything". Her brother smiled, taking her hand in his.

"Knowledge is power brother," she said. It was the same line their father had drilled into them since birth. James laughed. Then his eyes glowed and he swerved, a snarl wrenched from his stomach. Something was wrong.

"Brother? Whatever is the matter?" Alexa started forward, but he pressed his hand over her mouth and wrestled her behind the back of a hay cart.

"Mmmph!" Alexa grumbled. When James didn't remove his hand, she sent a thought across the telepathic link that had existed between them since she was born.

I will bite your fingers off, she warned. It wasn't a bluff either; she wasn't a child anymore. His velvet laughter echoed down the link, but little else. Which was odd, as normally her brother would send brief flashes of his journeys or the lines of her favourite fairy tales. Today, his mind was blank. Unreadable. Without warning, he released her, and the link snapped. Alexa, wincing, righted herself in the snow. Beneath her feet, it did not move.

"A carriage," he hissed, nodding to the dirt track that snaked into the village. "Three men inside". Alexa used her Sight to pierce beyond the woodchip houses, the trees and the coach, until she could see them too. Large figures, cloaked in black, like characters from her storybooks.

"They do not reign from this village, nor anywhere close," she remarked decidedly. James nodded. He bent low onto the snow, grabbed her arm, and pulled her deeper into the white. Around them, the air had grown stale, manure mixing with the tang of blood yet to be spilt. The snow crunched in anticipation. James kept a tight grip on her wrist, as if he could never let her go.

"Your hands are cold," she said, and he snorted. They were Halfbloods: being cold came with the territory. But, she noticed, his grip didn't loosen. She didn't know why he was worried – they were bound together. From now until the end of time. As the sky glistened, they watched in silence as the carriage came to a stop outside the village inn. The horses were ragged and the coachman looked... Alexa fought a cry as the coachman dropped onto the snow. The sound of his body hitting the ground reverberated through her head. She bit back a wince. She'd tuned in too hard. Her father was constantly warning her about that. If she listened, stared, sank too deeply into the surrounding world, she would never come out. James clasped her shoulder, fingers biting into the skin.

"Sssh," said James. "He is not dead. Just unconscious". As if that made everything better.

"Those men," Alexa hissed back. "What are they?" But he didn't answer. His eyes glowed sharply before he pulled back and readied his fingers. Blackness, faint and festering, crackled between them.

"Vaskels," he muttered – almost in passing. A Vaskel was the term widely used for humanoid creatures with demonic qualities. Most humans who were familiar with the occult called them Demons. Unoriginal, yet somewhat fitting.

"What in Half are they doing here?" Alexa wondered out loud. Her parents had told them that no other Natural would be able to find them. Yet here they were.

The people closest to us find it easier to lie, James's voice echoed through the link. Alexa felt a shiver run down her spine – and it wasn't from the cold. Why would he say that? Had he even meant for her to hear? She didn't have to speculate; the Vaskels began exiting the carriage. The metal steps sunk beneath their weight. Three males, dressed in heavy travelling clothes, sporting winter boots made from cow-skin. Three. As she assessed their movements, the cut of their flesh, she smiled. They were of a lesser Dynasty. Vaskels were beasts who lived in a natural hierarchy, with the highest-ranking Dynasties' having the smoothest skin, while the lesser Dynasties' had pinched cheeks crinkled by time. She turned to meet her brother's gaze. Their parents had defended their home for over sixty-years with James by their side. Now it was her turn. He offered her his hand and together, they stood.

"After you, dear sister". He bowed, grinning like the young man he appeared to be. A gentleman who wasn't a gentleman and a lady who wasn't a lady. Alexa smiled. Nothing would have made her happier. She drifted forward, her long black dress and white veil chasing her bare feet like a river. With her hands splayed, she could feel the power of her energy growing in the air. The moisture, the hidden particles, danced around her wrists.

"Good evening," she started. The Vaskels jumped back and one of them raised their claws.

"You do know you are trespassing, do you not?" she remarked, trying her very best to appear as imposing as her mother.

"Very frightening sister dear. I am sure they will reconsider attacking us," James called after her. She turned around.

"Brother, are you trying to hinder my efforts on purpose?" she said. She expected that one of the Vaskels would use the opportunity to strike while her back was turned. She wasn't disappointed. At least two of them shot forwards, while the other ran towards James. Snow flurried between. Alexa groaned, swerved left, then right and— The Vaskels had ducked. One struck the back of her head and she was sent tumbling into the snow. Her vision didn't blur like a human, nor did her head ring. Instead, the snow beneath her melted as if her skin was fuelled by the sun. Her body, her power, was irritated.

"Mother has not been training you, I see. Allow me," said James as he pulled his hand out in front of him. Alexa watched with glee as particles from the air became visible around his wrist, morphing into a semi-transparent blade. As she peered closer, black shards flittered within the glass. She'd never seen that kind of energy before. She shook her head. He had probably picked up new techniques on his travels. Who knew what other energies lay outside their village. Did other Halfbloods exist? Did they cower in the mountains, cooped up in villages, or did they hide in plain sight? She readied her own power, trying to copy his movements, just as James thrust the clear dagger into the first Vaskel's chest.

"Show off," she muttered, jumping up to face the others. They began circling her, but their eyes were fixed on James. Of course. Why was she even remotely surprised? That made at least ten separate groups of cultists and Demons who were obsessed with her brother. Why didn't her parents realise he was the one with the power? Compared to him, she was nothing. And she didn't mind being nothing.

"Why have you come here now?" James asked them. They looked at each other. Their eyes were embers, the colour so violent Alexa thought it would spill from their pupils. Eventually, one of them spoke.

"Itc i herr," he said, eyes glowing. Alexa knew the dialect, but she didn't understand it. One look at her brother told her that he knew every single word.

What did the Vaskel say brother? She asked through the link. He didn't respond. He only nodded and lunged. Taking that as her cue, Alexa shot forward, propelling her legs into the Vaskels chest and thrusting her chemical energy towards his heart. Halfbloods could manipulate energy as well as create or destroy it. Most chose to manipulate energies into physical weapons, but Alexa had not reached that point in her training yet. Yet. She could have laughed. Neither her father nor mother would teach her to fight. Every move she'd gathered, every technique, her brother had taught her. She thrust a lightning-white stream of energy from her hands, trying to straighten her fingers to hone onto her target. Before she could reach it, James intervened, having destroyed the other Vaskel quicker than she'd blinked. Dust and ash fell between them. Like the snow they used to chase. As James lowered his hands, the blade faded to nothing. It was as if it had never existed.

"And you wonder why I keep travelling," he grunted, and Alexa found herself laughing.

"What? What is wrong Alexa?" he said, cupping her face in his hands. She kept on laughing.

"You would not understand," she told him. James puffed out his bottom lip in mock hurt and Alexa chuckled. He always knew when to make her smile. Standing there, covered in snowflakes, reminded her of before. Those long afternoons spent chasing her parents through the garden at the back of the house. Playing chess with her brother, even though he'd always win. Afternoons that were so long, she knew she'd never wanted them to end. But they had.

"Trust me, James. You would not understand," she said quietly. Feigned a smile. He smiled back, but something in his eyes flickered. Something dark. Something that had been lodged in his expression for a long time finally reaching out to taste the surface.

"We should return home. Mother will string us up with the pheasants if we are late. Or worse," he blanched. "Make us peel her home-grown vegetables for a broth". Alexa made a face. But even between the horrors of her mother's cooking, she couldn't shake the feeling that James knew more about the Vaskels than he was letting on. Maybe they'd followed him from his travels or... She didn't know. In the end she found that she couldn't even begin to ask. Years ago, she would've asked him anything. But he'd been distant in the recent months – not only when he was away on his travels. At home. He wouldn't even play chess with her anymore and that was the one activity he'd never shied away from. Without another word, they headed for the lane which fed upwards to a small hill. A frozen river glittered alongside them, running all the way past their manor to the outside world. As they trudged up the country lane, Alexa imagined having a townhouse of her own, in London. All the hustle and bustle, all those expeditions towards far off places no one had ever seen before. All the life, the existence that she was missing. Even married human women had more freedom. James must have been listening in, because he cocked his head to one side, an amused glint in his eyes.

"Sister mine," he began as they headed towards the gates. Bracken dipped at their feet, as if they were royalty. "I heard about your most recent suitor. Mr. Farren, was it?" Alexa's head snapped to one side and she glared.

"We are not talking about that," she snapped, then caught herself. "Imagine I said that calmly".

"Whatever you desire sister mine," he said, trying to keep the smile off his face. She fought the urge to turn tail and run. To beg her brother to take her somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was away from here. Mr. Farren was one of the many, many reasons that masquerading as a human was pointless. Not to mention, humiliating.

"Anyway, it was a long time ago," she tried.

"Alexa, it was yesterday. I can see it in your mind. Goodness me, what a fellow," he said, and she punched him in the arm. He bit his lip, still with that smile. If only she'd known.

"Quiet!"

"Mmm. I wonder if Mr. Farren has a sister..." He broke off slowly. They both stared at each other and laughed. Mr. Farren had been the worst possible result of her parent's desperation: side-burns tapered with hob-nailed boots, shadowing the philosophy that women should be seen not heard. Or seen. Or acknowledged. Alexa dreaded to think of what the rest of his family might be like. She kept imagining herself being married to him, having to bear pretty little children that would grow up to be just as trapped as she was. James stepped forward as they reached the gates, panning his hand over the lock until the metal swung open. Alexa risked one look back at the village before taking her brother's arm and stepping into her prison. It had been a castle for the first three or four years, an entire world, but now that she was fifteen years dead – practically a woman – the grand mansion felt like one of the rowing boat shacks down by the river.

"James," she said. "Can you promise me something?" He peered down at her, his smile soft and strained.

"Anything, sister," he told her, soon adding,

"Unless you want me to marry Mr. Farren". She laughed.

"No, I... I want you to take me with you. Next time you disappear on your travels. I want to come". Gradually, James hung his head and sighed.

"Alexa, you know I cannot. Mother would never allow it".

"James! Alexa!"

"Oh dear. Speaking of," he muttered as their mother came careening out of the double doors. She was dressed in her usual sombre pagan attire, her hair pinned back tight past her ears. Every single part of her was tightened, even the worry on her face. Just like a human woman. It made Alexa's stomach roil. Their entire existence was a compromise.

"Where have you been son? Alexa, you were supposed to be home some hours ago," Sarah Frostbite scolded. Even though their last name was a farce, she suited it well. Her skin was iced-over, while her eyes caught the snow like starlight. She was holding a wooden spoon with an unidentifiable goo smudged on the end.

The broth? Guessed Alexa through the link.

Regrettably so, James replied, grimacing.

"Mother, I had business to attend to in one of the neighbouring villages. Do not worry, it was barely a mile away. Alexa came to tell me to come home. Please do not be angry with her," he said.

"I have been pacing since late afternoon worrying about you. Your father has heard reports of Vaskels near our estate. It is not safe to be outside at the moment". She bustled them through the doors. Their father, Archibald, was standing at the foot of the stairs, with rimmed spectacles that he didn't need sitting askew on the bridge of his nose. He was holding a stack of papers. A cosmic force trapped in the body of a regular man. Alexa clenched her jaw.

"Ah, James. My escapee. Alexa, my darling girl," he smirked. James chuckled, and Alexa momentarily gasped. Her father had known about her brother's travels? And he hadn't told her? He hadn't even let her go with him? She calmed herself before her words could betray her.

"Archie, this is not a time for jests," Sarah snapped. Archibald nodded, plodding over to the parlour room to dump the papers on a desk. The house was plastered with oil paintings from London, the furniture covered with embroidered cloths. Human paintings, human artefacts. Every addition to the house was to maintain the façade. Her father turned around, needles of pain knitting his brow.

"Your mother is right," he said grimly.

"It is the end of the world?" Alexa asked. She couldn't resist. Her father and mother both regarded her with their most famous in a long line of stern glares.

"Alexa, our Sky Hawk, you must understand," Sarah began. "We have a position to uphold here. I heard about how you turned Mr. Farren away yesterday. I bid you to reconsider. You need to marry to ensure your safety". Alexa let her blood boil.

"Safety? Safety from my freedom, you mean. You expect me to be docile, you expect me to be quiet. You except me to longue in a parlour, playing a pianoforte while raising children I do not want like all the other village girls. The human village girls, I might add. Have you forgotten what we are? What you have denied me?" The words came before she could stop them.

"Even I am not sure what we are, Alexa," her father cut in, massively. His voice seemed to dominate the room. "I am only sure of one thing: freedom is not worth the risk". Alexa felt black tears prickling at her eyes and she turned away, heading for the stairs.

"Maybe not to you," she said and with that, she left the room. She should have turned around, should have raced into their arms screaming, crying. Should have spent every last moment trying to stay with them instead of trying to run away. But she couldn't have known. So, she left.

She screams and clutches the place where her left eye used to be. It stings, and it burns, but she stands her ground. A change in the air startles her and a boot smashes into her stomach. She falls to her knees. Ready to beg. Her world has distorted, and her parents' faces have capsized. She remembers arguing with them in the entrance hall and heading up to her room and then... Then nothing. She watches black blood drip onto the stone. Looking up, she sees that she is standing on a bridge, the one hung over the ice, by the small boathouse, where her father used to carry her on his shoulders to drop sticks into the river. But the manor is burning, burning, burning. It is burning. Everything is burning, all around her. Again, she screams. Her voice is silent, but she calls for them anyway.

Mother!

Father!

The smell of smoke studs her nose, and her clothes are all but destroyed. Her Sight bleeds and her vision is blurred. She searches rapidly for her brother, trying to make out his shape in the haze. Why is she looking for him? She hopes he's dead— No, how can she hope for that? He's her brother, he's her freedom, her future. She doesn't know what to believe anymore. Holding her head, she lets loose a cry. It is burning like the fire, and it scorches her throat. Everything is burning.

"Sister". A word reshapes her world. It shakes it and rattles it. It makes her body crumble.

"James," she whispers, and she knows in that moment it is all his fault. She doesn't know how, and she doesn't know why, but it is the only thing she knows is true. The only thing she has the strength left to cling to. She lunges forward, hand still clasped to her eyeless socket.

"What have you done!?" As she runs toward him, she hears his voice in her mind. It holds no glee, no satisfaction, but it tears her apart all the same.

Oh, dear sister. I must take my freedom. I had to do it. He has shown me the light and now I will repay Him with your ashes. You do not understand. One of us always has to lose. Checkmate, little sister. It is you who needs to fall. Forgive me.

He holds the white king from their chess-set in his hand – the one her little fingers used to clasp - and then, finally, holds up the black queen. Her piece.

And then he lets it drop.