Level Nineteen

*MAGGIE's PoV*

Honestly, it was a miracle I didn't fall off the roof. My heart was pounding out of my chest, and my cheeks may as well have been on fire. I rested my head against Kindle's shoulder, breathing slowly, trying not to move an inch.

I was sure that if I so much as twitched a muscle, it would break whatever sort of magical haze hovered over us. So I stayed still. I memorized how the sky looked at that exact moment, the suddenly frigid early winter air—it was December now, wasn't it?—the intense warmth where Kindle's arm wrapped around me. His familiar smoke and spices scent, made stronger by our proximity.

But then Kindle coughed, and straightened, and I felt his fingers on my arm tense. He was rethinking his action, probably getting embarrassed.

To spare him, I popped up straight and smiled. "Oh! I finished the painting, do you wanna see?"

Without waiting for an answer, I turned and swung my legs back onto the roof. I hurried to my easel and took down the canvas, keeping the painted side faced away from Kindle.

He seemed a bit more relaxed when he stood and walked over. He nodded. "Alright, lets see it."

I glanced down at the painting once more, then took a deep breath and flipped it toward him. I wrinkled my nose. "Be kind."

Kindle blinked. "I—wow, Blondie. This is really good."

My face heated. "Oh no, that's almost worse than you making fun of me."

Kindle shook his head. "Sorry, there's not really much to make fun of here. I'm trying, trust me." Then he smiled. "Ah, wait, here's something—you sure put a lot of detail in my eyes, hm?"

I set the painting back on the easel and smiled stupidly at the ground. "Your eyes are weird. But like, good weird. Pretty."

Kindle chuckled. "So are yours. Pretty weird, I mean."

"Hey..." I shifted in place, still not looking up. "Will you teach me how to dance?"

"I don't know how to tell you this, but I've been doing that for the past month. Or have you not noticed? That would explain the lack of improvement."

I shook my head, finally meeting his eyes again. "No, I mean an Ignean dance. That was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Oh."

"Would it be disrespectful for a non-Ignean to learn?"

Kindle scratched his jaw. "No, it wouldn't, its just... significantly more difficult than waltzing."

I shrugged. "It just seems more up my alley."

"If you really want, I can teach you the prayer to Skhorekhi, that's probably the simplest of the bunch," he said. "I'll dance slowly and flip the movements, so you can mirror me."

"How many dance prayers are there?"

"Five. Our God, Naresharakh, is five in one, and each of their attributes has their own prayer. Skhorekhi, the Seeder, is the spirit of earth, new life... a few other, unimportant things." Kindle looked away and waved a dismissive hand.

I nodded. "Okay, so show me this Seeder Dance."

He coughed, looking embarrassed. "Perhaps we should start with something else, actually."

"Oh, ok." I furrowed my brows but didn't press.

"We'll start with the prayer to Imaporekhi, the Wanderer. Air, flight, freedom. Slightly more challenging than Skhorekhi." Kindle moved into a starting position that involved angling himself to the side and curling backwards with his hands reaching up toward the clouds. "I'll go through the dance once myself so that you can see what it looks like, then we'll start again and you can mimic me."

This dance was much softer than the punchy one he showed us in the dining room—the dance of the Illuminator. Imaporekhi's prayer was a lot of leaps, and reaches, and arms reminiscent of wings.

"Who taught you how to do this?" I asked while he moved.

"My mother was a Narakhisa—a priestess." He responded, before moving into a complex leap. "Every holy day she would go to the center of the market square in the capital and lead everyone in prayer. She could dance for hours on end, and she taught me everything."

I was silent for a bit longer, trying to pick up on all the subtleties of the dance, but another question gnawed at the back of my mind.

"Kindle," I began carefully, "who's Katia?"

He paused, his face awash with emotions I couldn't quite read. "Where did you hear that name?"

"When you collapsed in the hall, you whispered it in your sleep."

"My little sister. She was only five when Ignus was destroyed." Only five when she was murdered. He didn't have to say it, it was clear in his eyes. He had mentioned that he was the last, after all.

"I'm sorry..."

He didn't respond. A breath later, he took the starting position again. "Ready?" he asked.

"Yikes," I breathed, trying to echo his pose. Kindle made it look effortless, but I just couldn't bend that way.

Kindle laughed. He straightened up and moved to stand behind me. "Here, bend back."

I did, until a burning hand connected with the small of my back.

"Okay, now push your left leg back a bit further." He nudged it with his foot. "And reach up as far as you can."

I did as I was told, and accomplished two things simultaneously. When sliding my shaky leg back, I completely lost my balance. And when I shot my hands up—while falling—my palm connected firmly with Kindle's nose.

Kindle reeled back, his support on my back vanishing. I hit the ground with a painful thump and was momentarily disoriented.

Then Kindle was kneeling in front of me, one hand holding his nose, the other reaching for me. He was laughing more freely than I'd ever heard. It was infectious. I let him pull me to a sitting position, laughing along with him until my stomach hurt.

"You really will turn any dance into a brawl, won't you?" He took his hand off his nose—thank heavens it wasn't bleeding—and gently prodded the back of my head. "Are you dizzy?"

"I'm fine." I tried to quiet my giggles and touched his nose. "At least I didn't break it."

Kindle pursed his lips in an attempt to quiet his own laughter. "It did hurt quite a bit."

Just as when we'd been sitting on the wall, I became acutely aware of how close we were. My gaze bounced from his eyes, blazing as always, to his lips, slightly parted.

Eyes. Lips. Eyes. Lips. Back and forth. Each heartbeat felt like a lifetime of its own.

If I were to paint this feeling, it would be an abstract.

Maybe I would do that. Later.

"Do you ever shave?" I asked, wrinkling my nose. "This stubble was so hard to paint."

Feeling uncharacteristically brave—maybe I had a concussion?—I brushed my hand along his jaw. It was a mistake.

Kindle stood abruptly, and the coldness of the air caught me again. "I need to go."

I blinked. "Oh."

He moved swiftly toward the door, pausing only to add, "We should, ah, stop. Meeting on the roof, I mean." He stared out at the clouds. "It's getting too cold."

I stood and wrapped my arms around myself. "I could start wearing a cloak..."

"We need to stop meeting on the roof," Kindle said more firmly this time, then descended the stairs in a flash.

I flinched when the door slammed.

"Way to go, Maggie," I muttered as I packed up my paint jars, slamming them unnecessarily hard into the basket I stored them in. My eyes prickled annoyingly. Was I really going to start crying?

Yes, yes I was.

I couldn't believe I did that. Kindle was finally opening up to me, and I had to go and ruin it by being a total creep. Now he was retreating back to his carefully crafted shell, putting as much distance between us as possible. We need to stop meeting on the roof.

I swiped a hand under my eyes, balanced the basket of paint supplies and the newly completed portrait of Kindle on my hip, and headed down the stairs. I dropped the painting stuff in Faye's workshop, hoping maybe I could vent to her for a bit, but she wasn't there.

I took a few moments to breathe and shake myself out before heading down the hall to my room. When I reached my door, I heard a familiar giggle from Kindle's room next door. Lydia. Of course Lydia was there. Fighting my better judgement, I crept toward the door.

Lydia's voice, muffled slightly by the door, sounded amused. "She's that bad at dancing?"

"Utterly graceless," Kindle responded. I couldn't read the tone of his voice.

Lydia cackled. "Excellent, maybe Lumina's prince will realize his mistake in thinking her special and have her executed—it would save me the trouble."

I turned and started back towards Faye's room. I'd sleep there tonight. There was no way I was staying in the room next to Kindle's if Lydia was going to be there. Especially if she and Kindle—

Carlyle floated around the corner, interrupting my thoughts before they went somewhere unfortunate. "...Oh, Maggie, I was wondering where you were..."

I shrugged, trying to look casual. "Headed to Faye's, I guess."

"...Nope, you look miserable, we're going to the kitchen..." Carlyle informed me, "...I think I saw a tray of cookies in there earlier..."

I gave him a half-smile. "Cookies sound good. You'll have to direct me, though. I think I've only been to the kitchen like, three times tops."

Ten minutes later I sat at the little wooden table with a plate of cookies in front of me, pouring my whiny little heart out to a ghost.

"...Feelings are annoying, dear. Just renounce them, like I did..." Carlyle shrugged and his long copper hair rippled. "...Of course, you'd have to die to do that..."

I frowned. "On that subject, what do you even do all day?"

"...I float around the manor having a grand old time collecting dirt on all my friends. Not that I can do anything with that dirt. Only you and Kindle can hear me...." Carlyle sighed, then a slow, evil grin spread across his face. "...Do you wanna know what sort of dirty stuff Rhiannon and Isidor are into..?"

"Nope nope nopity nope." I waved my hands, horrified. I only knew Rhiannon as 'that girl who got stabbed by a soldier a few months ago,' I definitely didn't need to know about whatever Carlyle was hinting at. "Don't you have something less creepy to keep you occupied?"

Carlyle sighed. "...Ah, well, before I died I liked to read, but alas, I can no longer turn pages..." He wiggled his translucent fingers.

I bit into a cookie and said nothing. I obviously didn't have a lot of experience with ghosts.

"...Well, there is one way I can still read..." That evil smile was back. "...Do you wanna see...?"

I sat back a bit. "Not gonna lie, I'm kinda scared of whatever you're suggesting."

"...Its perfectly safe..." He chuckled. "...I can view people's memories by touching them..."

My eyes went wide. "I've known you for months and you're just telling me this now?"

He shrugged. "...It didn't feel important..."

"Oh by the way I can read minds, no big deal or anything," I mocked.

"...So can I look at your memories or not...?" Carlyle huffed, rolling his eyes.

I grimaced, but was still intrigued. "I guess? Go for something harmless, please."

"...Great, thanks Maggie..!" He beamed and reached a pale finger toward my forehead. "...Oh by the way, I can't control what memories I see..!"

"Hey no fai—" my words cut off when my vision blurred.

I blinked and found myself sitting in a familiar place, on the middle step of the staircase in my parents' home. When I was really young Abby and I used to sit there together almost every day, huddled close and quiet, listening to whatever our parents where shouting at each other about in the living room below.

But in this memory, I was fourteen. Abby had moved out last year. I was alone with my heart in my throat and my socked feet bouncing on the step.

"It was a party, people took pictures. That happens, Jacqueline, you don't need to make it a big deal," my father sighed. I could hear the clink of glass on glass, he was pouring himself a drink.

"I'm not making it a big deal, it is a big deal!" Mom seethed. Her heels clicked on the tile floor, paper crinkled in her hands. "You're on the front page of a god damn tabloid getting a lap dance from some teenage call-girl! And you know who's name is on the headline? Not yours, mine!"

I swallowed and twisted my hands in my lap.

More heel clicking. "All I ask—all I ask, Adam—is that you grow up a bit and stop dragging my name through the mud!"

"Oh for the love of god— your name, your precious name! You'd have me living like a hermit if it meant protecting your fucking name! Maybe I'm sick of playing 'perfect family' for your political circus. That's all for you. What have you done for me?"

Mom laughed, and I heard the thud of the tabloid hitting the wall. "I took in your daughter!"

My blood froze. I slid down a step, listening closer, feeling dizzy.

Glass hit wood. My father had slammed his drink down. "I never asked you to do that! I told the girl I'd pay for an abortion, the whole thing would have been solved just like that, but you got pulled in by her sob story. As far as I'm concerned, Magdalyn is your daughter."

"She may as well be, you heartless bastard."

No, no, no.

Not that memory, please, not that one.

I didn't want to live that again.

I didn't want to think about it.

My vision grew hazy and the scenery shifted. I was in Elle's room now, crying into a massive bowl of strawberry ice-cream while Elle walked in circles around me with a glittery notepad and pink gel-pen.

"The green eyes are the biggest giveaway. No one else in your whole family has green eyes," she said, tapping her chin with a pen. She sat in the beanbag chair across from me and narrowed her eyes. "You have your dad's hair color, but yours is a lot wavier. Your mom—sorry, sorry—Jackie's hair is pin straight, so's Abby's. And then there's your freckles."

I sniffled. "I can't believe they never told me. This is like finding out I'm adopted but, like, a bazillion times worse."

"Does Abby know?" Elle asked. "I mean, she has to, right? She was seven when you were born, don't you think she would've noticed a baby showing up without her mom ever being pregnant?"

"I don't know, I'm afraid to ask." I set the ice-cream down and curled onto my side, resting my head in Elle's lap.

"You can stay here as long as you want, obviously." Elle pet my hair—it was shorter then. "Dad already called your parents to tell them you're safe."

"Like they care," I muttered, fighting back another wave of tears. "I just found out my dad didn't even want me to be born—he was gonna pay actual money for me not to be born—so like, I really don't think they'd care if anything happens to me."

Elle's hand moved from my hair to my mouth. "Hey, shoosh. I love you, and I care what happens to you, so I'm happy you're here and safe. Let's just forget about your parents for right now, kay?"

I mumbled something unintelligible in response.

She went back to petting my hair, but nudged me a moment later. "My grandma got me a new video game yesterday and I haven't played it yet, do you wanna give it a try? It's called Shadows and Light, or something like that. It might be a good distraction."

My vision blurred again, no doubt moving to another memory. I fought against it.

No more, I was done.

I wanted off of Carlyle's wild mind-ride.

At the edges of my vision I noticed tiny flickering points of light. I focused in on one of them, reaching and pulling, and then I found myself somewhere new.

This memory was warmer. I was seventeen years old. Faye had just finished weaving flowers into my hair, and now we were chasing Seraphim down to do the same to him.

We were in a meadow a short distance from the Embraced Order's manor. Kindle rested in the grass nearby, watching us and smiling brightlyI hadn't seen him smile like that before.

We were so far away from the fighting, I could almost imagine it wasn't happening at all. I wished for that moment to last forever.

No. What?

That wasn't me.

That wasn't my memory.

Abruptly, I was back at the wooden table with a plate of cookies in front of me. I felt somewhat nauseous. "What was that?" I gasped.

"...I think I should be asking you that..." Carlyle responded, eyeing me warily. He flickered in and out of sight.

"What do you mean? That's your power."

"...Exactly, mine..." Carlyle emphasized. "...I see other people's memories, and sometimes they see flashes along with me, but you shouldn't see my memories..."

"Oh."

"...So how did you do that..?" He pressed.

I shook my head, still frazzled from being forced to relive That. "I don't know, I just panicked and wanted to stop seeing those particular memories, so I followed a little light to somewhere else."

"...Hmmm..."

"My thoughts exactly." I bit into another cookie. My mood was definitely worse than it had been earlier, but at least Kindle wasn't on my mind anymore.

"...Perhaps it has something to do with your ability to see and hear me when you technically shouldn't be able to..." Carlyle mused.

"Maybe." I didn't really want to think about it. Right now I just wanted to curl up in bed and wallow.

"...Okay! Let's do that again. See if you can go into my memories again..!" Carlyle reached toward my forehead, and I leaned back so fast that I toppled the chair over.

Luckily I didn't hit my head when the chair went over, or I really would have had a concussion. "No! I'm not doing that again, so keep your creepy ghost fingers away from me."

I glared. I stood up, replaced the chair, and grabbed one last cookie. "I'm going to bed now. If you try to do that memory thing to me again, I'll kill you."

"...Good luck with that..." Carlyle laughed, unbothered.

"I'll re-kill you."

I was already back to my room before I remembered why I had been avoiding it in the first place. Kindle's door swung open just as I was reaching for the handle of my own, and Lydia emerged in all her purple-hued, murderous glory.

Without even glancing my way, she ruffled her messy silver spirals and adjusted the neck of her silk sleep robe, casually—and no doubt purposefully—exposing the red love-bite on her collar bone.

I bit the inside of my cheek and tried not to crumble the cookie that was still in my hand.

Lydia grinned lazily and gave me a delicate wave before slinking down the hall and out of sight. 

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