She schooled her thoughts and focused on the battle instead of her internal conflict. Out in the clearing, Rowan stood at the center of a pile of growing carcasses. The Woven had to climb up the dead to come at him. Several times one or two peeled off from the main group and tried to get past Rowan to the cabin. Rowan was vigilant and stopped all of them before they got close to Lily. Their numbers seemed to be endless.
As the fire behind Lily began to sputter and fail, the witch wind buffeted her unevenly, knocking her around like a doll. Lily gritted her teeth and waited for it to be over. Finally, the howls and squeals of the Woven ended.
They’re all dead, Lily. Now we have to burn them.
I’m so tired.
We must. Or more are sure to come.
Still using the strength Lily was struggling to pour into him, Rowan pushed all the carcasses on top of the pile in the clearing and then set it alight. As the bonfire began to rise and Rowan’s need for superhuman strength ended, Lily allowed herself to sever the loop of power she was channeling. The uneven witch wind stopped blowing, and Lily fell out of the air in a heap. A fatigue she’d never felt before hollowed her out from head to toe, leaving her motionless on the cabin floor.
She saw Rowan’s boots coming toward her and thought about how she’d seen them up close like this before—when he had found her in the grate after chasing her through the streets of this other Salem. She wasn’t in any better condition now than she’d been then, and the similarity made Lily chuckle.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Rowan said gently. “Don’t cry.”
Lily wanted to tell him that she wasn’t crying, but her throat had closed off and her eyes were blurry with tears. He picked her up. His skin was wet and cool. He carried her to a cot and propped her against the wall, his fingers stopping to press several points on her body like he was reading something written in Braille under her skin. His hair was wet—all of him was wet, she realized. Lily ran her hand up his arm and over his bare shoulder, smoothing the beads of water away.
“Did you bathe because you were covered in blood?” she asked. Rowan nodded grimly and met her eyes. She had to look away, down at his chest where her hand had come to rest over his heart. “You’re all scratched and bruised.”
“I’ll be fine. But you’re exhausted and you need energy.” Rowan stood and went to the pantry, returning with the jar of blueberry preserves. “Told you it was a good idea to save the jam,” he said, a smile creeping onto his face.
“Jam,” Lily repeated, the word flying out of her, halfway between a laugh and a sob.
* * *
Lily dreamed she was a man.
Her dreaming self didn’t think it was strange at all to look down and see a flat, firm chest. Her hands were large, and she could feel the difference in their heft as she walked down the hallway of Salem High. She was tall, and her center of balance was higher to compensate for her thick shoulders and her narrower hips. She felt strong and healthy. She liked this body. It had smooth, caramel-colored skin that she wanted to explore.
Lily woke alone.
“Rowan?” she called out into the cold light of early morning. The smoky air smelled like burned hair and sizzling grease. She swallowed down a wave of nausea at the thought of all the burning bodies outside and got out of bed.
The cabin was too small to require a search. As soon as her eyes opened, she knew he wasn’t there. At some point, he’d replaced the knocked-down door with a flap made of the same material as the rebel tents, but it didn’t do much to keep the cold out. Lily stood in the middle of the frigid cabin, feeling raw and damaged. She really wanted her sister, but she didn’t dare try to reach her with mindspeak. The last time she did that, she’d put Juliet in danger.
“Rowan?” she called again shakily.
She heard a noise
outside and the flap raised. Rowan ducked under it quickly and placed a rock on top of the bottom edge to keep out the smoke as best as he could. He was wearing a piece of cloth tied around his nose and mouth and carried a large bucket of water. His jacket was dusted with ash. Watching his wide shoulders tip around the flap as he entered the room, Lily was taken by the sudden urge to run to him, but when he looked up at her, she couldn’t meet his gaze. She felt strange and empty inside. Like she’d given him too much of herself the night before and didn’t have enough self left over for her.
Rowan put the bucket near the fire and pulled his mask down until it rested under his chin. His dark eyes darted around. Lily realized that he was having as much trouble looking at her as she was having looking at him. He motioned to the water with one hand and rubbed the back of his neck absently with the other.
“So you can wash up. Are you hungry?” he asked. Lily shook her head. “We can’t stay here. The smoke out there can be seen for miles around. And you used up a lot of salt last night.”
Lily nodded, aware that she was craving salt like crazy. “Are we going back to Salem?”
“We have to.”
“Do you think it’ll be safe?”
“It’s been a few days since the raid. And your hair is so different.” He looked away. “I think I can sneak you in after dark.”
“Okay.”
Rowan turned to leave but stopped by the entrance. “Listen. I know you weren’t ready for that. I wasn’t either. I never meant to do that with you.” He glanced at her, his eyes wide and uncertain. He shrugged, running out of words.
“Thanks for the water,” she replied, shrugging back at him. She didn’t know what to say, either. What had happened between them was done, and it couldn’t be undone. He put his hand on the flap, but suddenly Lily didn’t want him to leave. “Is it always like that?” she blurted out, stopping him. “Is it always so…” She couldn’t find a way to describe it. Earth-shattering? Humiliating? Amazing? They hadn’t even touched, but it had been the most intimate thing Lily had ever experienced.