Alister
The crowd's noise worsens my headache.
Children's laughter pierces the air, and a mocking carnival tune winds through the crowd, its cheeriness grinding against my skull. The zoo is a blender of sound—parents barking orders, teenagers shouting—and I'm trapped inside, everything spilling out.
A sudden force collides with my side. Thin arms snake around my waist.
I glance down, already knowing who it is.
"Five seconds are up. Get off." I mutter, peeling her off like she's a piece of tape stuck to my coat.
Nora lets go with reluctance, stepping back just far enough to take the juice cup from my hand. The offensively pink shirt our mother made her wear stings my eyes.
My gaze involuntarily drifts to the lopsided space buns on her head; I've been trying not to let them bother me.
She catches me staring at her hair as she sips. "Is it right? I tried to make them even… like you taught me."
I gesture to the empty bench. "Sit," I say, already stepping behind her.
She lowers herself without argument, denim dungarees creasing at the knees. I begin to undo the slanted bun, fingers slipping through the dark strands.
A sharp peal of laughter nearby cuts into my skull.
"You know I hate places like this. Why'd you drag me here?"
She flinches. Her voice is small as she speaks, "I thought… it'd be nice. All of us together."
I hum, but it comes out like a scoff.
Sometimes, I wonder if I've truly outgrown the part of me that hated her. Hated her for being born. For coming into the family, like a stranger who didn't even know what she was replacing.
It wasn't the kind of petty resentment an older sibling feels when a baby gets more attention.
It was the hate that forms when you're stolen away, locked in a stranger's house for sixty-two days, and everyone moves on.
See how peaceful they look? Your mother's pregnant. They stopped looking for you. Why would they keep searching for a broken boy when they can just make a new one? She'll be their fresh start.
The night Miranda took me back—not to return me, but to show me. To prove her point, after watching me cry in my sleep for them.
I never cried for them again.
But apparently, the hatred didn't run as deep as I'd hoped.
All it took was the brat crawling after me as a baby, her tiny toddler hands tugging at my sleeve for attention, persistently asking me to play with her, following me around, room to room, like a lost duckling. Crying when I closed the door. Curling up against me, thinking I'm asleep.
And the worst part? I let her.
"It's done." I say, gesturing to her fixed hair.
She hops off the bench and runs towards our dad. He picks her up and kisses her cheek.
My fingers drift to my own, brushing the spot where I touched Clara's. Where our skin met, warm and real and...stupid. I shouldn't have done that after doing a good job of holding back. Not when I knew I'd have to turn everything into misdirection. Not when I knew I was going to lie with my eyes and half-truth her into confusion.
I recall her pained expression as she looked up at me like I'd betrayed her. Like I'd just carved a line between us that she hadn't realized was always there.
I want to say that idiot is too open. If she suspects something, she confronts. If she's mad, she shows it. If she's happy, she teases. I know just the right words to say to her. And the words she wants to hear. She's easy to read—but she wants you to think that. That's the trick. She's carefully transparent, letting you see just enough to make you believe you know her.
I don't like how much influence she has on me. Or how much I've allowed her to have. Still, I can only pray her overthinking did its job—spun the words around enough times to land on what I couldn't say aloud.
You're not the only one who can make people want things.
I didn't like the words. But I liked the voice that said them. Like honey-laced venom.
Clara is a storm in human skin. She stumbles, lashes out, softens, and smiles, all in the same breath. A thousand contradictions folded into a single, maddening soul.
I focus—try to quiet the static in my mind, to arrange the chaos into something useful.
Focus on the image of Keith talking to an unknown person on the phone and asking what to do with the gems.
On the video footage of the brother with the stones. Who ran away from the deal that was about to happen and gave them to someone else.
The main question was, if these people wanted to get rid of the items, why didn't they just break them? Why hand them over to someone else? It wasn't like it couldn't be broken. It was a single stone that got split in two.
No...it wasn't a matter of impossibility.
It was a matter of permission.
They couldn't because they were advised not to. There's someone working behind the scenes. One who doesn't want these things destroyed.
But why? What's their end game?
A powerful binding spell. One that's sucking the life out of you and seems to be regaining magic.
If what Rubecca said was true, then I suppose their goal could be wanting the gem pieces to be powerful again. Be recharged as it drains us of our lives.
And perhaps once they are 'recharged' and we're probably dead, the pieces could be joined together and become a single stone again with its original purpose.
I exhale as I massage my temples.
This curse is quite complex. There seems to be a lot going on.
But doesn't it mean we are being watched by that person? I desperately hope not. Since it makes no sense for them to forget about the valuable book. And even if they didn't know it was stolen along with the gems, if we were being watched, they'd have seen the book in our hands and made a move.
I pull out my phone and check the message I sent to George earlier.
Keep an eye on the fortune teller and Rubecca's house for three days. Let me know if anyone comes asking questions about us. Or about a book.
If someone does show up, we'll know we've been exposed.
A kid runs past me holding onto a candy apple. I stare at it as he runs to his family. Laughing and enjoying his youth.
"Have you ever made candies at home?" I ask Helena.
"What?"
"Years ago, Steph tried to teach me how to do it even though I never asked. She's great at it. Coming up with unique flavors and designs." I reply, staring at the apple as the kid bites into it.
"What the heck are you talking about?" She sounds frustrated.
"Nothing. I was just...craving sweets. I'll text her to make some for me."
I scroll through the group chat that was made at Simon's house.
Everyone's talking about the party, but it's Clara's rants that catch my eye. Long, excited bursts of messages to Steph about what to wear.
If I'm going to commit crimes, I'd prefer to do it in style, she says.
"Tell me, why do you even need them?"
She stands beside me again—uninvited, as always. "Didn't you used to handle things alone? Now you need to rely on friends for support. How pathetic. You must be going soft."
I let out a huff, not even looking at her. "You're a fool if you think I see them as friends."
"Oh?" She taunts, tilting her head. "Then what reason did you have for coercing all of them to join you on your little adventure?"
I frown. "They all joined willingly."
Her smirk says otherwise. She doesn't buy it. And worse—she's right to be suspicious.
I look away. "I have a role for everyone to play. It's as simple as that."
The man who owns the mansion is corrupt. He's the kind of man who doesn't breathe without someone watching his back. If we walk into that place, I need more than just strength and a good infiltration plan. I need leverage.
I knew Zach would never let Stephanie go into danger alone. Not when they've known each other since childhood. Getting her to make a commitment to help us, infront of everyone before Zach had the chance to privately talk her out of it, make her understand how there's a limit to how much they should get involved in our criminal activities was easy.
I admit, I was wondering how to involve Simon in all of this. I needed his hacking skills for what I had planned. Thankfully, he gave me a reason himself when he asked about the curse.
I finally speak aloud. "You can't play a game with only two pieces on the board."
She chuckles, amused. "And what about Clara? Surely you're thinking of how to use her too. Her little invisibility trick could be quite handy."
"…Of course."
But even to my own ears, it sounds hollow. Even if she is the sharpest tool I have at my disposal.
A bottle of Advil appears in front of my face. Mom smiles as she stands beside me.
"Here." She says. "Thank you for coming today."
I say nothing and begrudgingly take the bottle.
I look away at Dad, scooping up Nora and placing her on his shoulders for her to better see the elephants.
"I came because of her." I grunt. "And you're spoiling her. She thinks if she pesters you long enough, she'll always get her way."
Mom laughs. "Well, if it got you to be with us, I'd say it's worth it." She then turns toward me with a smirk. "At least you're a good brother. Even if you can't bother being a good son."
I don't argue.
I don't really consider myself a bad son. I know all this—her feigned concern, the half-teasing remarks—is supposed to pass as a mother's love.
That is… if it wasn't all tied to guilt. The guilt you feel being in bed with the neighbor instead of picking your son up from school, leading to him getting kidnapped.
We haven't forgotten. And I haven't forgiven.
Suddenly her phone rings. The way she immediately covers the phone and closes it tells me exactly what I've always suspected.
I've never been someone who shares how I feel. Never wanted to be. Real life isn't a game. Once the words are out, there's no undo. No restart.
"You'll never change, will you?" I don't raise my voice. I don't even look at Mom.
"Alister." My name leaves her lips in that guilty, trembling way I've heard too many times. "It's not what you think. He's the one calling me."
Excuses. Always excuses. Nora was her one chance at redemption—and she shattered it.
"Look at me." Her hands clamp onto my shoulders, forcing me to meet those frantic, pleading eyes. "I haven't cheated. I've changed—for you, for her. Why do you always doubt me?"
I recoil before her fingers can reach my face. "I don't care who you sleep with or—"
The slap comes fast. A crack of skin on skin. My head shifts with it, but the stillness afterward is mine.
I try not to laugh as I turn back. She's trembling, furious, and ashamed.
"The day Nora learns what you really are...or how her spineless father will never stand up for her, I'm taking her away."
She grits her teeth as her eyes turn glassy with tears. "You have no right."
"Watch me."
Nora suddenly reaches us, flushed and smiling. Thankfully not having witnessed that, unlike the other gawking strangers around us.
She starts tugging at my hand. "Let's go see the penguins."
I groan, letting her drag me away. "I'm not staying long."
"Just for a bit."
We weave through the crowd, her hand still wrapped around mine.
I wonder if she pulled me away because she saw what was happening. And knowing me, I'd have just ended my trip if I had enough of it. Perhaps, she wanted to separate us. Maintain the harmony.
If that's the case, she's growing surprisingly perceptive.
She lets go of my hand and runs ahead.
For some reason, I'm reminded of Clara comforting me in the field. Holding me tight as if I were falling apart. If she were here, I wonder if she'd do it again. Let me close my eyes and imagine everything as background noise while I only focus on her words and touch.
I shake my head, trying to think clearly.
Reaching up, I tug my collar lower, exposing the gemstone.
"What are you doing?" Helena beside me demands.
"Drawing flies," I reply, resuming my walk.
She steps closer. I watch how her short bob frames a face devoid of warmth, red eyes narrowing. "What if the wrong people see you?"
"I want them to."
I scan the crowd, eyes flicking from face to face. Someone will take the bait eventually.
She hisses beside me. "So that's your plan? Get yourself kidnapped again?"
I sigh. "First off, I already put five of them in the ground without using my powers. Second, I need to know if the curse-breaking artifact actually exists."
She raises a brow. "Rubecca said it doesn't. And you already have a ritual in motion—one that actually stands a chance."
"Because Rubecca's no fool." I murmur, eyes still roving. "If that artifact is real, we wouldn't need her expertise. No need for the book to stay with her. No reason to keep her in our circle. But a ritual—one complex enough to decode and perform—that guarantees her place. That makes her indispensable."
Her trench coat sways as she slows her pace. "And what if your plan fails? You'll end up captured."
"Let them try." I reply confidently, "I'll have blades to their throats before they even realize I clocked them."
She arches a snowy brow. "And if there is no artifact?"
"Then I kill the guy. And destroy his item. Either way, it's a win-win situation."
There's a moment of silence as we walk, the noise of the zoo growing louder around us.
"Isn't there something you should say to me?" she asks.
I know exactly what she means.
I turn to face her fully. "No. The memory spell didn't tell me anything about who you are and where you came from."
She lets out a disappointed groan.
"Cheer up." I tell her as we step deeper into the penguin exhibit. "Once the curse is broken, you can finally move on, just like you wanted. If the artifact exists, then it'll be sooner rather than later."
Ahead, I spot Nora standing on her toes behind a wall of people, too timid to push through for a glimpse of the penguins.
"Now," I say under my breath as I weave between a cluster of tourists and lean slightly on the railing. I extend a hand, beckoning Nora toward the small opening I've made. She spots me, her face lighting up as she scurries over.
"Let's discuss which streets I should parade myself in."