Wildblood

Chapter 50

50

The aroma of smoked meat filled the small kitchen. An aged wood table, stone hearth, and a mint green fridge too small for a family crowded the small room. Eggshell walls surrounded him, the plaster stained with time and use.

Kai looked around the cramped apartment, the ceiling higher than expected. A woman stood at the kitchen counter as she sliced winter salami. Lush black tresses cascaded down her back, untamed and bristly like the shorn hair on Kai’s head. It’d been years since he’d trimmed it so short. She turned toward him, her eyes glimmering like garnets, echoing his own.

His mother.

The lines of her face were clear now, like a painting he’d finally gotten close enough to see.

“Misha.”

A man’s voice—stern but familiar. Kai turned toward the call, some long slumbering part of him stirring. It was the same man from the fields, his face no longer a blur. Hair the color of roasted coffee brushed across severe eyebrows, the rest of it messily cropped around his ears and neck. Broad shoulders, sable eyes, and harsh angles softened by the shadow of course stubble. He extended a piece of dark rye spread with white lard.

His mother gestured with her knife. “Zakonchi svoy obed.”

Finish your lunch.

Kai accepted the bread, realizing then how small his hand was. A child’s hand, smooth and unblemished by adversity. He raised the slice to his lips, the savory aroma of pig fat dizzying him with nostalgia. A stolen moment. Eyes drifting shut, Kai held the air in his lungs like he was clinging to life itself. Then, he allowed himself a bite. The bread was soft, its earthy flavor complimented by the saltiness of the lard. As the bread’s nuttiness rose to the surface, it took on a different taste.

Kai opened his eyes, the colors of his meal reversed—white bread topped with a thick layer of peanut butter.

“Finish your lunch.”

The voice was old and graveled, eroding his courage until he barely managed to look up. Alice stood by the window above an old sink brimming with dishes.

Kai soaked up the shoebox kitchen from his seat at the table—gnarled appliances and paltry counter space cluttered with a microwave and a half-busted toaster. Alice raised a cigarette to her lips, the tip aglow before she exhaled, and the smoke filtered outside. She clutched her cane, knobby fingers twitching against the worn grip. The runnels of her face were caked with makeup; she never cared that people thought of her as an old crone in red lipstick. Alice took her time with the bathroom mirror. She wore her age with pride, and she refused to stay out of sight or out of mind.

Kai glanced down at his peanut butter and toast. His hand was bigger now, that of a boy on the cusp of adulthood, but it was too soon…still far too soon. His breath hitched in his throat, dread drumming through his veins. He knew what came next.

“Thought you were fine, huh?”

Alice’s words cleaved through him, a sharp, lancing kind of pain.

“What?” The voice was not his own, and yet it was. A sound from the past—something that no longer existed.

Carmine lips stretched thin over yellowing teeth. Her frizzy hair was gray at the roots, the rest of it a faded, brassy orange that Kai knew had once been vibrant as poppies. “It’s okay, pup. We’re all a little fucked up, but there’s still love in the world, isn’t there?”

Kai dropped the toast to the table. There was no plate—only a piece of paper towel. “What love?”

Alice canted her head, her pale green eyes drooping with melancholy. I missed you , they said. “She loves you.”

“I know.”

Her smile turned wistful. “Do you?”

Before he could answer, the house tilted. Chairs slid from the table as Kai’s end of the bungalow lifted from the ground, the other weighted by steel. Scrambling for a handhold, he saw Alice move with the floor as it slipped out from under him. The house lay her down, her body flush with the soil.

Kai stubbornly resisted the near ninety-degree incline, his feet and elbows shimmied into the crooks where ceiling met wall. He searched frantically for his caretaker, but the kitchen had fallen away, leaving only a bare four-walled box before him. A casket.

Alice lay inside, her hands clasped gracefully across her stomach. Her face was serene but expressionless, her powderless skin wan, and her clothes moth-eaten but respectable. They’d been so poor, and funerals were expensive. Kai hadn’t been allowed to arrange it; the local church said they’d take care of it, but something told him it wasn’t out of compassion. They pitied him—another lost cause, another drain on their tax dollars. The gesture was little more than a self-aggrandizing pat on the back. No one bothered showing up to the wake, like it was revenge for all the years Alice had refused to play demure, to stay out of sight and out of mind. Now, they were determined to pretend she’d never existed.

Kai’s hands shook as he gripped the lip of the casket. Tears gathered somewhere behind his eyes, but he held them back. No one could see him cry; they’d only relish his grief. He balled up his fists and forced the trembling deep into his middle where it couldn’t be found—not even by him. With his hand finally stayed, he bowed his head and reached for Alice, eyes squeezed shut as his fingertips grazed her cheek.

“Don’t fucking touch me, freak.”

Shock flooded him, forcing his gaze up.

Alice was gone.

Blue fabric filled the space where her face had been, and Kai clenched it in a white-knuckled grip. He had someone by the shirt—an old classmate who was sneering, lurching forward. Knuckles connected with Kai’s jaw, and he stumbled back, tonguing the sore spot on the inside of his cheek. Rage ignited in his core—that rotten cavity that cradled every shred of grief over Alice. With a feral roar, he threw himself at his assailant. They fell onto the pavement, the boy on his back and Kai on top of him. Teeth bared, the bridge of his nose rippled as he snarled and crushed a fist to the boy’s face.

Freak.

He’d show them just how much of a monster he was. A beast. A zver .

Kai knew he was stronger, hardier. He pulled his punches during scraps; a little too much too fast could do more than bruise. This time, he didn’t care. He wanted to maim, to flay flesh from bone until only a gritty mass of slop remained—a carcass for the crows.

Blood sprayed across Kai’s face, painting him red. The wet smack of pulverized meat was barely audible above the ringing in his ears, but something broke through the fugue—the sudden absence of a hammering heart, the boy’s pulse fading to a slow, languid beat. His features were unrecognizable, distorted, limbs splayed, his body still—so completely still—a scarlet Rorschach butterflying across his tattered shirt.

Realization struck with a heavy hand. Kai flew back from the limp body, vision blurring crimson. He knew the boy had lived. The incident spurred his flight from Granite Falls, but the asshole had lived, even if just barely.

You couldn’t have known for sure , a voice in the back of his head reprimanded. He could’ve died just as easily.

For once, Kai had gotten lucky.

“Shit,” he muttered, wiping the gore from his face. It was in his eyes, his mouth, the smell of iron dizzying. When he finally cleared enough of it to see again, his hand came away with something clasped between bloodstained fingers.

A piece of lilac card, Alice’s words as clear as the day she’d written them.

Happy Birthday, Kai Donovan.

Cruel. Life was so fucking cruel, and it made his mind even crueler.

The pavement vanished. Kai teetered off balance, hitting something with his shoulder. The decayed brown walls of the train encased him, corpses swaying on dull meat hooks with every judder on the tracks. Kai’s gaze swung to the soldier who’d handed him the card. He was still seated on the floor, arm outstretched, his red-brown eyes unblinking. He stared at Kai as if waiting for him to realize something. What, Kai didn’t know. He was alone—a stranger on a prison train with only a ghost for company.

“What do you want from me?” The words left him as a whisper, barely seeping through clenched teeth. He’d been this man—seen through his eyes. But what was the point?

Slowly, the soldier lowered his arm. His head canted, and he peered past Kai’s shoulder at something behind him. Kai whirled into an abysmal tunnel of death and pestilence, the end as distant as the light in a cadaver’s eyes.

Then, movement. A shadow blacker than the rest glided forward like a plume of smoke, only it was a solid thing, filling the space between the walls. As it treaded closer, a glimmer of lavender pierced the pall—a mote in the murk. Gradually, edges formed, lines contouring into a familiar shape. A face Kai knew, a scent he sought comfort in.

Miya.

The dream stone hung around her neck—the source of the purple glow. She always said it helped her find her way. Kai never paid it much attention, but now, he understood. It was her lantern in the dark. Her muddy green eyes seemed brighter against the muted backdrop of the train car. They sparked with recognition, but behind her resolve, Kai glimpsed uncertainty about where she’d found herself: the inside of his mind.

The last time she’d stumbled into his dreams, he’d pushed her out—scared her off not with his darkness, but with his refusal to let her see it. This time, there’d be no huffing or puffing, no menacing howl from the Big Bad Wolf.

Little Red Riding Hood was here to stay.

Her fingers threaded with his, her skin somehow warm even in the damp cold of the dream. She squeezed his hand and smiled, then looked around the train car, her expression neutral as she passed over the bodies littering the grime-covered floor. Her eyes fell on the soldier, then tracked to the lilac birthday card Kai held.

“I think we’re related.” Kai flipped the keepsake between his fingers. “He’s not me, but he is—was…” he fumbled. “I don’t know.”

Miya dropped into a crouch, their hands still linked, and studied the man. “He has your eyes.”

The soldier tilted his head the other way, curious about the new passenger on his train. He was so quiet, so docile. Kai had no memory of this person, yet here he was, lurking in the recesses of his mind.

There’s a lot inside you. Not just your past, but your family’s too.

Miya had said those words to him. He never should’ve doubted her understanding. She too contended with a legacy disconnected from her by lifetimes—the Dreamwalker’s legacy.

We all inherit things that don’t belong to us.

Kai’s gaze slid to the woman who’d witnessed the worst parts of him and stayed. It wasn’t blind loyalty, he realized. She stayed because he’d carved out space for her when his world grew too small, too suffocating. And he’d done it because she’d asked. Because he loved her enough to try.

Kai nearly choked on the word. Love. It stuck in his throat even when it lived solely in his thoughts. Eventually, it would go down easier.

Iridescent feathers sprouted along Miya’s spine, her tell-tale shroud enveloping her in a violet and midnight sheen. “Let me help you,” she said from behind her bone-beak mask.

A frisson of dread wound through Kai’s middle. He clinched Alice’s card as though she could give him strength through a ratty old memento. Maybe she could. Hope swelled in his chest, pushing out his resistance. Then, he nodded.

Miya could shatter the boundary between realms. Why not the boundary between past and present?

She adjusted her grip around his hand, and with the other, placed her fingers across the soldier’s cheek. He watched, compliant and unconcerned that this feather-clad creature plumbed through his history. The dream stone lit up like a beacon, shimmers of gold, meadow green, and lavender warming the shadows. The cloak around Miya’s shoulders lengthened, the plumage extending like a tree sprouting new shoots. They devoured the floorboards sodden with rot, overpowering the scene set by Kai’s own mind.

It was terrifying, relinquishing control to the Dreamwalker, allowing her to be his conduit to a past he didn’t remember. Except he never did have control, did he? He’d only been hurt and refused to let anyone look too closely at his wounds. It wasn’t control, he realized; it was desperation.

The dank walls with their rusty meat hooks dissolved under the shine of violet-black feathers. Kai found himself back in the apartment with his parents, his child’s body confining him to his seat at the table. The soldier and Miya had joined him, both standing in the corner behind Kai’s father. The soldier’s eyes swept over the small room, then stopped at the woman who Kai knew to be his mother.

The rye bread in Kai’s hand was half eaten like he’d only been gone for a minute. He took in his mother’s appearance again, memorizing the lines of her face, her strong frame, the thin silver chain around her neck. An open locket with a broken clasp dangled at the end of those delicate links, but it was empty.

“Why aren’t there any photos?” Kai asked, his voice strange in his ears.

His mother blinked, then pinched the locket between her fingers, smoothing over the engravings on the outer shell. “My parents—your grandparents—gave it to me, but they had no photos to put in it. Everything was burned during the war, and after that, they were too poor to afford a camera.”

“Why were they poor?” Kai asked, and his father snorted on a suppressed laugh, exchanging an amused glance with his wife. Something about the bluntness of children, Kai supposed.

His mother dropped the locket and smiled. “Your grandpa was a soldier in the Red Army. One of the best,” she said, her face lighting up. “But he was a Crimean Tatar. Many of his people were deported near the end of the war.”

Kai’s face scrunched, and he folded his legs under him. “Why? Did they do something wrong?”

The woman shook her head, and she looked in the soldier’s direction, though she peered right through him. “Humans always fear difference. When times are good, we can suppress that fear and tolerate those unlike us. But in hardship, fear is like a virus, and no one is immune. That’s when people show their true colors.”

His father chimed in, “It’s easy being kind when your life is without worries.” He pointed at the half-eaten bread, silently instructing Kai to finish it. “If you want to know how big someone’s heart is, watch them when they’re in pain. Pay attention when they have something to lose.”

Kai’s mother fiddled with her locket, her voice somber. “Your grandpa did nothing wrong. He just happened to be a little different at a time when people were scared, suspicious, and their hearts were too small.”

Miya wrapped her arms around her middle, pain twisting her face. She met Kai’s gaze, and he wondered if this was hard on her—delving into secrets locked away by time and self-defense.

“So, he was deported?” Kai asked after his grandfather.

His mother nodded. “He was exiled to a labor camp in Western Siberia—spent nine years there. When he was released, he went to Surgut, where he met your grandma.”

“Was she also deported?”

The woman chuckled. “No, she was a Volga Tatar born here in Surgut.”

Kai glanced down at his bread. Only a few bites left. His attention flicked to his father. “Can you beat that story?”

His father threw his head back and laughed raucously, the tenor eerily familiar. Miya twitched in the corner, recognizing the maniacal sound as well.

“No,” his father said. “I moved here with my parents when the city was growing. I was just a kid like you. Lots of oil here, so my father got a job in the gas industry, and here we are.”

“Sounds boring,” Kai yawned. Two bites left.

His father tsk ed. “You take after your mother, and she’s far more colorful.”

The comment earned him a playful swipe from the woman, who then reached across the table and tapped her son’s nose. “It’s true. You have your grandfather’s eyes.”

Kai clamped his jaw, his gaze drifting to the ghost in the corner. He peered into the soldier’s eyes, seeing in them his mother’s garnet stare—a likeness Kai carried since birth. His mother’s side had been branded; it was why she’d yearned to flee. He remembered that now—the suffering inflicted from one generation to the next. Through her parents, she’d inherited something unspeakable just as Kai had. But that wasn’t all. By law, Kai would’ve been forced into compulsory military service for a state that’d harmed his mother’s family. She wanted better for him, and she wanted to get away. He’d held on to that truth his whole life; he just hadn’t known it.

Kai tentatively finished the last of his meal. In it, he tasted not only the flavors of childhood in Surgut, but those of his time in Granite Falls. It was supposed to be a better life, and perhaps it was, but it’d also violently severed Kai from everything he’d known to be home.

As he swallowed the last of his bread, the kitchen faded like wet paint bleeding down a canvas. Only Miya and the soldier remained. The soldier smiled and bid farewell to his grandson, now a man with years of youth unraveling before him.

Where the bread had been, Kai now held Alice’s lilac birthday card, no longer stained with the blood from his hands.