Chapter 9: This godlike act annuls thy doom, the death thou shouldst have died. – XII, 427-428

She hasn’t heard from Lissie since she ditched school with Rhys, and Holland would be lying if she says she hasn’t been stressed out of her mind all day. Sawyer might trust him now, but Holland wouldn’t trust her fellow chimera further than she can throw him. 

That being said, she isn’t blind. Everyone saw the way the two guys looked at each other. Everyone made fun of Sawyer for the dopey smile he’d kept getting on his face on and off all day.

Lying here, Holland has considered strongly asking Sawyer to grab burgers or something sometime, just to ask him about Rhys. Regardless of what everyone says, she still trusts Sawyer’s judgment. She’d like to hear him out.

Next to her, her alarm clock gives a soft beep, signaling 1AM. 

She wonders if she’s ever going to fall asleep tonight. 

This time, when she picks up her phone, it isn’t just to check if Lissie has finally dropped her a text. She pulls up the girl’s number and starts planning a text of her own.

A noise at her window has her abandoning that idea. Holland doesn’t get up immediately, though. In Pine Grove, no noise in the dead of night is ever innocuous. But then she hears it again. A knock. Quiet, but insistent.

She does get out of bed, then, letting out the claws on her one hand so she’s not completely defenseless. Her curtains are sheer lace, but the wintery moonlight shining in makes them opaque as anything. So, she moves them aside, quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

“‘Tsup, Weekes. Mind letting me in?”

Holland snorts, but opens the window and steps aside. “It’s the middle of the night, you know.”

Lissie tumbles through the window, most definitely earning herself a decent number of bruises, but she smiles from the floor, her dark eyes sparkling even in the dimness. “Well, you don’t do booty calls in broad daylight.”

“Shut up,” Holland says, helping her up. 

“You gonna make me?” Lissie teases, eyes flicking down to Holland’s lips before meeting her gaze.

“Dude, where the hell have you been?” Holland demands instead, letting go of the other girl and going to wrap herself back in her comforter.

She doesn’t even bother whispering. Valerie is still off doing what Lissie left to do, which means the apartment is empty.

“Looking for Curtis,” Lissie frowns, “like I said.”

She kicks off her shoes and moves over to the bed, too, making herself comfortable across from Holland, who hands her a blanket. 

“It’s after midnight,” Holland tries again to express her worry. “It’s not safe.”

“No one got hurt or lost. Whoever these people are, they only seem to have wanted your friend…” Lissie’s voice trails off, like she’s getting lost in a thought. “Maybe they don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” Holland says, successfully centering Lissie back in reality.

As a Banshee, Lissie is much dreamier than Holland remembers Logan being. Probably it has something to do with their different upbringings. Or maybe Lissie is just an enigma who feels much more like a protector than a prophet. 

Whatever the case, Holland has always felt safe with her. Even when she’s been the one who had to do the protecting. Elisapie Saunik has a power about her that far more people should fear, but instead she keeps it hidden in favor of being flirty and confident.

“Banshees and Hellhounds, we’re two sides of the same coin. One cannot function without the other. Where one exists, the other will come to join them. My dad always said that’s why Eli and I were twins. We complemented and completed each other. When he died… It was the worst pain I’ve ever felt. Like a part of me had been ripped away.”

Lissie clutches at the wax string necklace she wears under her shirt almost absently, her eyes brimming with tears. Holland reaches over and takes her free hand in both of hers. This earns her a sad smile. Still a smile, though, so Holland’ll take it.

After a deep breath, Lissie continues, “We have a natural sense of each other. Something about our energies being singular to us. We’re not dead, but we exist among them, but existing among the dead means we can’t be fully alive either… The elders of my tribe explain it way better. Thing is, I couldn’t find Curtis. I couldn’t even find a sense of him. Neither could Rhys or… Is his name Damien?”

“Yeah. Damien Sutherland. He’s a born shifter. Sort of like an elder to us, actually. He couldn’t track Curtis, either?”

Lissie shakes her head, thinking. “It’s police work now. Wherever Joel Curtis is, it’s beyond me. It’s beyond death.”

***

As he pulls up on Sawyer’s house, Rhys is about ready to take a load off when he sees people in the driveway. 

Miles and Kisho. They’ve probably been keeping Sawyer company. 

Rhys approaches slowly. He doesn’t want to intrude on any private friend stuff. He knows he’s not exactly popular amongst Sawyer’s people yet.

“Oh, thank god!” Miles says at the sight of him. “Dude, it’s bordering on 1AM. It is after curfew and past my bedtime. What took you?”

“The search party… only just… broke up?” Rhys frowns, thrown.

“Wait, seriously? Okay, you have to tell us everything tomorrow. Right now, I need sleep,” Miles says, inching closer to his car.

“Good lookin’ out,” Kisho says, thumping Rhys on the shoulder on his way to the passenger side.

“‘Night, guys!” Sawyer sounds up from… the roof? He’s sitting on the roof outside his bedroom window.

Miles honks once, lightly, as they back out of the driveway.

“Care to join me?” Sawyer calls down when they’re alone.

Rhys makes short work of the trellis and flings himself the rest of the way up.

“Show-off.” Sawyer rolls his eyes.

“Oh, that was showing off? Please. You should’ve seen me looking for Curtis. I lifted an entire couch by myself. Everyone was super impressed.” 

“And by ‘everyone’ you mean the two people who didn’t already know you’re a chimera?” Sawyer gives him a wry sideways look

“And Lissie!” Rhys adds. “Granted, she just thought it was cool how much power and control I had for being ‘manufactured’, but I’m focusing on the positives.”

“You’re an idiot.”

They both laugh.

“So, your friends trust me now?” Rhys asks, after a bit of quiet.

Sawyer mulls this over before answering, which Rhys appreciates. He prefers Sawyer’s brand of honesty: the truth, but never mean and with plenty of room to grow.

“They trust me,” he says finally, “and I trust you. So, they’ve agreed to be your friends too, until you give them a reason not to be.”

“Which is fair.”

“Plus, after that comment you made at lunch…”

If Rhys had a drink just then, he’d be fighting not to choke on it. As it stands, he recovers quickly.

“As far as I’m concerned, I was only complimenting my own taste,” he responds, wryly.

Sawyer, moving closer across the roof until there’s only a few inches’ space between them, smirks to himself. Rhys then notices that Sawyer is still wearing the fateful jacket and is wrapping it tighter around himself. 

Instead of making what would no doubt be an embarrassing comment, Rhys only reaches into his pocket for his cigarettes. Sawyer sees what he’s doing and rolls his eyes. 

“So, I assume no sign of Curtis?” he says after a beat, holding his hand out for Rhys’ smoke.

“It’s like the dude never existed,” Rhys replies, passing it to him.

It’s quiet between them again for a minute, each in their own heads as they share the cigarette. It’s only after a while that Rhys notices Sawyer worrying the edges of his jacket’s sleeves. 

Without thinking, he reaches over to still Sawyer’s fingers, but their hands become awkwardly intertwined – that is, until Sawyer decides otherwise and simply takes Rhys’ hand in his. 

“Promise you won’t disappear on me?”

Rhys can barely hear Sawyer’s voice, he’s so quiet. He grips Rhys’ hand a little tighter, though.

Flicking his spent cigarette away, he sits up and allows himself to move the tiniest bit closer before saying, as clearly and earnestly as he can, “I promise.”

They sit up there together a long time, comfortable, for now, in their newfound closeness.