Molly

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Ryan keeps her doped up. Every time she starts to wake, he injects her with something to knock her out again. Being a doctor sure comes in handy. That’s the only way to keep her from overheating. Seán and I lay low. Seeing us will prompt questions she doesn’t have the energy to ask…or incite a riot she doesn’t have the energy for. Either. Or. Frankly, I’m not ready to be probed just now. I’m feeling fucked in the ass enough as it is. Plus, I have questions of my own. For instance, why the flying fuck did Connor take Amber Tierney? What does the Tribunal want with her? More importantly, why did Connor abandon us? Why did he abandon me?

Our final destination ends up being Buenos Aires. The irony isn’t lost on me. Hotel Looking Glass is as close to Rebel base camp as an unallied Sumair can get. Traitorous as I feel for staying with my frenemies, I have fuck all desire to fully turncoat by joining the Rebels. Will that stop me from using them for help? Yeah, no. I mentally justify my actions with Sheyla as protecting her, which was my original and most important mission. Hard no on believing the Tribunal will buy that bullshit excuse. Phelan ruined everything. Fucking Cuntface.

During our stay, Sheyla spends a long time letting Tayte manipulate her. Tayte, who leads the Rebels, is the father of Matthew, who owns Hotel Looking Glass. There are also two twat daughters. Yeah, Soap Opera City up in there. Barry was right. Anyway, Seán and I fuck right off through all that. Ryan and crew feed us updates, along with making sure we’re generally cared for, but we’re banned from the hotel. Fine by us. We give zero shits about the endless hall of mirrors bullshit. So long as Tayte’s actively sponging her fire fuel, she’ll be very best. No flare-ups. The most fucking with her he’ll do is using her as a science experiment. That won’t last long. It never does with him. Nutty fucker has the attention span of a squirrel.

Matthew uses his Water Sumair specialty to slow the hunger within Seán and I, for which I’m genuinely grateful. After everything, I feel emptier than ever. Of course, I realize the emptiness is only partly due to my addiction. The other part is being so far away from Connor.

Despite the strength of Tyler’s tethers, I feel it all slipping away from me. The losses are debilitating. I’m not even capable of legitimately processing them. The loss of my brother. The loss of Brody. The loss of my Sentry status. Phelan going berserk. It’s all just a pile of hot garbage, courtesy of Miss Raging Dumpster Fire herself.

When the time finally comes to leave Buenos Aires, they still haven’t told Sheyla about Seán and I being here. These secret keeping motherfuckers. Swear to fuck, they might be bigger idiots than the Scholars.

“Not enough seats,” Tally snarks. “Right, Sheyla?”

Sheyla shrugs. Seems she’s figured out how to engage a shield of indifference. For the best, really. We were coming whether she liked that shit or not.

The plan is to charter a flight to Manaus. From there we’ll rent a boat, travelling south half a day in hopes the Amazon Coterie won’t send us straight on down the river. The Amazon Coterie is a group of four elementals working together as a single unit to coexist amicably with humans. Well, they don’t coexist so much as exist in the 1.7 billion acres of uninhabitable, Amazon rainforest. I’m not sure how they’ll feel about us arriving unannounced, particularly when what they’re best known for in Sheelin is their refusal to involve themselves in conflict. Their neutrality has always kept them low on the threat radar, even with their close ties to the Rebels. Ties is semantically correct. Dreyna, their Water Solathair, converted Matthew, then Tayte, then the fucked up sisters.

They seat me directly next to Sheyla on the flight. Seán’s behind us. I know Sheyla blames us for her mom being taken, but I hope she’s taking into consideration what I sacrificed in choosing to stay. We all have our extra baggage to carry. I’m carrying heavy loads of guilt, loss, heartache, and responsibility. I’m feeling everything she’s feeling. Feeling feelings is new experience for me, I’ll tell you that. Not a fan. Zero. Fucking. Stars.

“Can you do the thing with me you did with Brody?” I ask quietly.

She turns to face me. “What thing?”

“Breaking him free from the Sentry,” I remark.

“Is that what you truly want?”

I lift my chin in affirmation. I more than want it. I need it.

“But Connor…”

“Connor made a choice he’ll have to live with for the rest of his life” I state solemnly. “I can’t live for his choices anymore, Sheyla. I’m too tired.”

“What happened, Molly?”

“Every time we have to recharge, we run a risk,” I point out. “Every time we drain our tanks, we have to go through the whole cycle again.”

“Phelan went berserk,” she realizes.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I close my eyes and nod. What no one wants to acknowledge is it’s never just a single moment. It’s progressive. You can see the crazy coming from a kilometre away, yet there’s no cure for it.

“But why were you there at all?”

“Shane wanted you returned. The only way to guarantee you’d come peacefully was to take your mother,” I reason.

“So, Fire Supreme didn’t want my mom?”

Taking Amber wasn’t part of our plan. She was a last minute concession. She’ll wind up taking Barry’s place as a hostage, gaining leverage back from Sheyla. “She was just meant to be your security blanket.”

“Then why did Connor take her? You changed your mind. You stayed, and no offence, but you’d have been the last person I thought I’d see sticking with me. Why would he do that? Why did you?”

Fuck, this bitch really enjoys poking at sore spots. Keeping my cool is incredibly important, especially when an airline snack far better than honey roasted peanuts is sitting next to me. As if sensing that, she projects calm. It’s the strangest thing. It’s artificial, like Tyler’s tethers, but it doesn’t have nearly the strangulatory grip.

“That’s the question of a lifetime, it seems,” I note. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense, Sheyla. He was like…your biggest cheerleader, after what you did for him. I don’t know why. I guess the binds were just too tight for him. They’re tight for us all. They’re still there. It’s why I need you to cut the ties. I want you to trust me, and I want to trust myself. The only way I’m achieving that is if you cut the ties.”

“Are you prepared to leave Connor behind?”

“We can feel the people connecting us to the earth, feel them taut with resistance at times, lax at others, entangled in everything we are or could ever hope to be. The people around you are your gravity. You want to keep them all together, but you can’t do that. You aren’t meant to. You can’t force connections that aren’t meant to exist. The strain is too much. You’ll snap from the pressure of trying to hold on too hard. The hard truth is sometimes the people we love, cherish, and want to hold onto forever are exactly the ones we need to let go of.”

“What about your friend?”

“Please do him first,” I grumble. “If I have to listen to him whining and crying for another minute, I’m taking the leash and choking him with it.”

“I heard that,” Seán interjects from behind us.

“Good,” I mutter.

Seán was intended to be Brody’s replacement. It’s unfortunate his first mission featured a berserk leader, mass slaughter, familial dispute and separation, then finally the death of the Sentry Sumair he replaced in the same cloud of electrical discharge consuming said berserk commander. Then Connor fucked off without giving a second thought to waiting. Like it or not, Seán was stuck with the opposing side based on a split second decision he was forced to make in the heat of the moment. Fucker does not have the luck of the Irish aiding him. Best he shoves some four leaf clovers up his ass or something to compensate.

“Seán.” She turns around to face him. “Is this what you want?”

“Uh, yeah!” he agrees. “To be honest, I’d much rather just go back to doing what I was doing before all this happened.”

“I can do that too, a full reversion,” Sheyla advises him. “What were you doing before all this?”

With the beard, shaved head, and tattoos covering nearly every bit of exposed skin, Sheyla’s going to be surprised to find out the guy isn’t in a biker club or metal band.

“I was an accountant,” he says quietly.

“An accountant for who?”

Fuck, she thinks he cleans money for the mob.

“For the animal shelter.” He smiles. “I love kitties.”

I just shake my head when she seeks confirmation. “Not joking.”

“Don’t you do any sort of screening or anything?”

I shrug. “Evidently, we need to start.”

She turns back around to face Seán. “Can I have your hand, please?”

“Why?”

“Because it makes it easier,” she informs him. “It firms the connection.”

“I’d like you to hold my hand.”

She closes her eyes and starts her work. I watch her, frowning when the tears slide down her cheeks. Being dead inside is far less invasive.

“Are you positive you want this?” she prods. “A full reversion?”

“No, I’m not positive,” he hedges.

“No, he doesn’t want that,” I intercede. At this point, Seán doesn’t know what Seán wants. He’s very confused by it all.

“You can’t make his decision for him.”

“Trust me on this,” I persist. “He needs me to make this decision for him.”

“I sincerely do.” He nods emphatically. “Better just give the binding a quick cleanse, and we can revisit reversion when I have my feet on solid ground.”

“This is what you want?” she begrudgingly redirects to me.

“Even if it means I’ll have to spend every night for the rest of my life holding his hand, so he doesn’t cry himself to sleep.”

I feel the loosened threads pull apart completely, and she confirms, “All set.”

He wipes at his eyes. “That’s it?”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Burning. Pain. General fiery things, since you’re a fire elemental and all,” he rambles.

“Seems we both learned something about stereotypes today,” she accedes.

“Knucks,” he urges enthusiastically.

She tips her head to the side like a confused dog.

“He wants to fist bump,” I clarify.

When she fist bumps him, he makes an explosion sound, opening his fist. “He’s a work in progress,” I apologize.

She seems incredibly pleased with herself. Good time to slide myself in line for shackle shearing since she’s having a winning streak. “My turn?”

“If you’re ready.”

While Seán’s clearly pleased as peas to have his ties removed, it’s a little different for me. I know it’s something I want, but it means more than just disassociating myself from the Sentry. It means cutting the ties to Connor as well. Connor’s my everything. My gravity.

Sheyla knows my story. She knows what I’ve gone through. She knows why I stay in the Sentry. Without Connor, it seems foolish to keep holding onto it. “I need this,” I decide. “I need this more than he needs me.”

She takes my hand in hers. As she searches for the golden thread binding me to the Sentry, the sky resists by bouncing us around. It’s only minor turbulence, but it’s symbolic of the journey I’m taking. We’re gliding far above the clouds. What Sheyla’s offering me is a boundless drift through the crisp, clean air.

I want to soar.

I need to soar.

It’s time for me to cut the ties, even though it pains me. Without the release, I’ll start losing limbs, amputated by the restrictions cutting off my circulation. If I can’t fly free, I’ll be grounded eternally, standing in line for the berserk bus.

I can’t control what was taken from me, but I don’t have to let it weigh me down. While our futures are on unsteady ground, I want my heart to stay in the sky, safe and ever watchful. I hope Sheyla can give me that.