Vinny
I winced. He wouldn't believe me, but I hadn't wanted to do this to him. I hadn't wanted any of it to end this way.
Nura, beside me, shrunk away as I rose to my feet, her shoulders shuddering. I kept my eyes on Cian, watching him as he took a step back, then another, shaking his head. Tears budded in his eyes, a sorrowful spring shower just waiting to begin. I couldn't tell if he was more angry or devastated. All I knew was that he couldn't understand. He couldn't understand how much this took out of me, to hurt him like this. He couldn't understand.
"Cian," I said. I wanted to duck my head, to look away from the utter horror in his eyes, but I didn't. I lifted my chin, held his gaze. What I'd done hadn't been easy, but it had been right, and I knew it. "I'm sorry. I had to. For Lucie, for you, for—"
"I told you I didn't care," he hissed, taking another step back. Lucie, whimpering, caught at him, but he shook her grip away. "Vinny, I told you I didn't care! That I'd find another way—no—you can't be—you're not dead!"
"But Cian," I began, and never finished, because he was barreling up the stairs, past Nura and me and up to the catwalk. His shoulder should have knocked into mine, but it went through me, and I shivered. It had been so long since I'd been invisible. I'd forgotten just how hard it was.
"Cian!" I called, but he ignored me.
I turned, my eyes scanning Nura's before meeting Lucie's. Lucie was in a heap on the floor, her hands clutched against her chest, knees buckled. It would have been better, if she'd been sobbing—but she was silent save for a few horrid gasps, her eyes trained on nothing in particular. The despair within her seemed to be sucking the life from her; I watched as she sat there, giving nothing but broken cries as she struggled for air.
I closed my eyes. "Nura," I said. "Tell her I'm sorry. Please."
I stayed just long enough to see her nod, and then I was in my bedroom. I'd missed it, admittedly, being able to just appear places when I wanted.
Not that this was a time to really play around with any of that.
Caprice had broken the door down. Knobs, nails, and bolts all scattered across the wood flooring, my feet passing through them as I followed the rush of the running water and the chorus of weeps. Water was all over the floor, dripping, flooding, stretching outwards in little rivulets of clarity.
I came to the bathroom, the door to which I'd left swung open.
I wasn't sure what was more jarring: my body, lips blue, pallid eyelids shut, still streaked with water; or both Cian and my mother, cradling it while they trembled and cried.
Caprice was leaned against the vanity, half-turned away. She looked up as I came, and even in her gaze there was a quiet frustration. "Look what you've done, Lazarus," she whispered, and shook her head. "Oh, forget that. You're not coming back this time."
"It was the only way," I said, for what felt like the ten-thousandth time. But it was true. I'd started this, so I had to end it. "Please don't tell me you're mad."
Caprice scoffed. "Like you care how I feel, Vinny," she said. The fact that her tone was merely factual made it all worse. "Why would you, when you don't even care how your own brother feels? Your mom? Anyone?"
I sputtered. No. You did the right thing. "I—"
I was cut off when Cian let out a wail, pulling my body up against his chest, not caring about the lukewarm tap water soaking through his shirt. He squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in my pulseless neck, the ends of his hair turned dark and slick. I couldn't tell what was tears and what was bathwater. Everything was a hazy blur.
I sank down to the floor, beside him. Oh, how I wanted to reach out, lay a hand on his shoulder. But I couldn't. All I could do was make him shiver. "CJ," I said, switching my gaze between him and my sniveling mother, her cheeks rubbed raw. "CJ, please listen to me. Please?"
"You didn't have to do this," Cian muttered, not opening his eyes. He loosened his grip on my body a bit, settling it against his lap and stroking his hand across the tawny strings of my soaked hair. It was all more than a bit unsettling, how it was me and yet it wasn't. It was me: paler, bluer, stiller. "You didn't. I would've found another way. I would've. Why didn't you trust me? God, why didn't you—Vinny, why? Why would you do this?"
Frustration surged within me. My voice rose without my consent. "Why? You know why! It's the same why for everything else!" I shrieked. "Because I love you, Cian, and I don't care what you want. I've given everything for you and even if I could go back, I'd do it all again. I'd give anything for you, and as many times as needed. Because whatever you do, you are my blood and you are my brother and I love you."
Cian's eyes shot open, and he shook his head, his shoulders drooping. "No. Vinny, don't. Vince—please."
"You have fought for me," I told him, and I realized I was shaking, everything within me scraped clean and open and true. "You've fought for me ever since I took my first breath. Now let me give you my last one. Let me fight for you, Cian."
Cian shook his head again, his chest convulsing languidly, sickly. Water droplets splashed across the floor, turning white tiles to oceans and bitten fingernails to jewels. My brother heaved a long, trembling breath, brushing his hand across my cold, bloodless cheek. It was such a tender gesture that it broke me.
I'd already been fractured, but now I knew what it was like, really, to be shattered.
"My brother," Cian whispered, like there was nothing left, nothing at all. "My baby brother. I'm so sorry. I'm so...God, no. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. Not again, please."
I searched for Caprice's eyes, but she hid her face in her hand. A tear slid between her fingers.
I had fixed it. I had fixed the balance and brought everything back to center. So why did I stand here in these burning flames, in this horrible mess? I screwed everything up. It didn't matter. I screwed everything up.
"I can stay," I said, getting to my feet again. My gaze landed on my mother, but she was too out of it to care that I was there. She was curled between the tub and the toilet, her hand clamped down over her mouth, eyes unblinking and red.
I looked away. "I can stay," I repeated. "Just like last time, I'll tell the Order to link me to you. Then I won't be gone at all. Okay?"
"No."
I stopped, startled, dragging my eyes to Cian's. Though he still quivered there, my body in his arms, his expression was stern, unyielding. "No," he said again. "If you're really doing this for me, then you won't stay."
My eyes widened. "Cian, no..."
"If you're really doing this for me," he reiterated, "then you'll move on. You'll leave me behind. That's what you'll do."
This—this hadn't been part of my plan. I knew that I would have to hurt him, but it'd be okay, I'd stay here at his side, like always. But this, this wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to let me. He was supposed to let me take care of him. "Cian," I said, closing my eyes, like not looking at the graveness on his face was going to change anything. "Don't make me do this. I don't want to leave you."
"If that were true," he hissed under his breath, "then you would still be breathing."
Cian huffed, dropping his head again. "Caprice. Take care of him."
"Cian!" I yelped. "No—"
But it was pointless. Caprice had already nodded, her eyes regaining their usual flame as wings opened from her shoulders, black as a starless night, each feather glittering dully like obsidian. I wanted to fall on my knees, beg her to let me stay, but I saw it on her face.
This was the end.
This was my end.
So I was silent as she came towards me, her dark eyes half-hidden beneath tired eyelids. I stood there, trembling. I didn't want to be gone. It was everything I'd ever feared, and now it was here, inevitable.
Caprice's red lips were in a rueful smile. "You can still take care of him," she told me. "You always can."
Her wings circled around us, and I whimpered as her hand came down on my shoulder. There was bursting, white heat—then nothing at all.
And the end didn't hurt so much.