Page 93 of Blood from the Marrow
“But she was so good at home remedies.”
“I think natural proclivities linger,” her mother explained. “Judith’s twin brother never came into his power, but he went on to be quite the decorated college wrestler.”
For the first time Marisol considered what happened if a person didn’t sprout their wings. There would be no reason for them to live on the run. It wasn’t just Marisol who’d lost time with their family. Everyone in the caravan had probably cut themselves off from a parent or child or sibling as if to keep them free from contagion. To give them a chance at normalcy.
Clara finished ironing her hair straight, letting it fall just beyond Marisol’s shoulders, and asked, “What are you going to wear?”
“A simple white dress.” Marisol stood but didn’t move toward the bedroom where it hung behind the door. “It’s kind of gauzy. Feels appropriate for a magical binding ceremony.” Sheshifted her weight on bare feet. “It’s not like I found a guide online for what to do for this.” She chuckled, nervous about what felt like the natural end to their time together. Unsure that she was ready for it to end.
“Thank you,” Clara said, hazel eyes bright with her glossy emotion. “For letting me spend this time with you.”
“Do you want to see what it looks like?” Marisol blurted. “I mean, we’re not exactly getting walked down an aisle… I doubt there will be one of those,” she muttered to herself. “And I mean, maybe that would be weird anyway, but if you wanted to help me get dressed or, I mean, you don’t have to. You already helped with my hair?—”
“I’d love to,” she replied like she was trying desperately not to cry.
“Do you, um, the necklace.” Marisol reached behind herself. “I think Abi would’ve wanted you to have it back.” Before Clara could protest, Marisol barreled on. “Zuri told me about the memory. About when you took it off.” She unhooked the clasp. “It’s not mine to wear yet,” she decided before pulling it off and handing it to her mother.
Clara looked at the small pendant on a simple chain like it was the Hope Diamond. “It’s yours, I don’t want?—”
“It should’ve been yours,” Marisol insisted. “Will you please take it back? Until it’s my turn again?”
Clara bit the inside of her cheek, but that didn’t stop the tears from streaming down her flushed face. She took the necklace carefully, closed her eyes and cried. Unable to stop herself, Marisol lunged forward and hugged her.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
It had takendays of scouring every journal, notebook, and random note scrawled on the back of a pharmacy receipt for Zuri to learn the exact spell to enchant the binding ribbon. It had been Avani’s great-great grandmother who’d written enough of it down that between the three of them, they’d pieced together the rest. So there she was, standing ankle-deep in rushing ocean tides with a sliver of moon staring down at her like a celestial smirk. Holding her wooden bowl, she tried not to feel stupid waiting for Elena and Marisol.
What if they didn’t come? Zuri gripped the bowl holding the shockingly few items needed to bind three souls together. On top of the box of matches was a long, white ribbon. She’d steeped it in a mix of rose petals, lavender, rosemary, cinnamon, basil, and honey before sealing it in a jar and burying it in the ground for three nights.
The rose quartz she’d placed with it must have been a treasured find in the days before online shopping. She tried to think about the magic, about the work of the binding rather than the act, Instead of giving oxygen to the burgeoning fear that Marisol and Elena were going to change their minds.
Zuri shifted her weight, feet sinking deeper into the sand. She’d gotten used to the temperature until cold water rushing over a new segment of skin shocked her back to her body. Why had she chosen such a short, thin dress? It was practically just a bleached Ace bandage wrapped around her body.
The scent of Marisol’s blooming roses joined the fragrance of the spelled ribbon and slapped Zuri in the face. This was crazy. Stupid. Elena and Marisol were going to realize that, and Zuri was going to be the only moron who followed through and stood in the ocean in the middle of the night like a maniac. A naive?—
In the dark, it was impossible to see who was walking toward the beach from the house. Backlit, all Zuri had was an outline of a person. But she felt her presence nearing even before she distinguished wild, wavy hair swaying like kelp in a current. Felt the confidant swagger in the heat racing over her goosebump-covered skin.
Elena, in loose white linen pants and a matching untucked button-down, was heart stopping. Eyes fixed on Zuri, the smile that crept onto her moonlit face was more magic than Zuri was holding. It was the reason grunting cave-dwellers evolved into poets so they could translate the indescribable feeling warming Zuri’s chest into words. Why musicians invented new instruments because rudimentary tools couldn’t capture the song in their minds.
“You’re early,” Elena said, voice like soft leather and strong bourbon, soothing and intoxicating at once.
Her voice reminded Zuri that she wasn’t diving off a cliff—she was wading into comforting waters. She was choosing the only home that ever fit.
Elena slipped out of her loafers while pinning Zuri down with her gaze. Her eyes were as dark as the midnight sea and just as deep when she walked toward her. She didn’t stop to roll up her pant legs before she met Zuri in the ankle-deep water.
“You’re absolutely arresting.” Elena wrapped her arm around Zuri’s waist, hand on the small of her back when she pulled her in. Hovering over Zuri’s useless mouth, Elena inhaled her.
“Yeah, well.” Zuri couldn’t will the moisture back into her suddenly dry mouth. Standing in so much fucking water with her tongue feeling like sandpaper was cruel. “You’re kind of forced to say that on your wedding?—”
Elena cut Zuri off before she could formulate a self-deprecating joke. Lips on hers, Elena claimed her mouth with the confidence of night following day. Like it was just the natural order of things. It was gravity and electromagnets and golden ratios. It was baked into the very laws of nature. Her lips, her body, her heart. They all belonged to Elena. They always had. They always would.
“Jezebel and Cleopatra together couldn’t come close to your beauty. You shame the moon,” she muttered against her lips, holding her so tight when she kissed her again that Zuri didn’t move when her knees weakened.
All she could do was grip the sand with her toes like it might keep her from drifting away if Elena let go. But she knew, with terrifying confidence, that Elena would never let go. The thought was comforting rather than claustrophobic. Zuri settled into it. Breathed it into her lungs. Let it race through her bloodstream. Let herself go.
“I’m pretty sure we’re not supposed to be there yet.” Marisol’s voice was bright and playful. From her tone, it was clear she wasn’t upset that they’d kissed without her. To Zuri’s proud surprise, Marisol was obviously delighted to catch them in a moment. She trusted that they’d never leave her out. “Don’t all commitment ceremonies require you to wait to the end for the good part?” She walked into the tide in her loose, knee-length dress.
Elena scooped Marisol to her side with her arm around her torso, but her hold on Zuri didn’t falter. Holding the bowl tight in one hand, Zuri almost dropped it when Marisol pressed in close.
