How, as a little boy, he’d saved moths from bright lights, mice from traps, and me from myself.
Once, when I was seven and he was ten, I’d hidden in Jagger’s office thinking I might be able to kill Jagger if only I tried very, very hard. Being seven, I hadn’t thought about the fact killing Jagger would also kill me, Justice, and Griff. My plan had been to drop the poison Assassin’s Blade into his Furtig. Simple. Justice had found me in the office frozen in place. I’d been stuck like that for hours. I couldn’t poison Jagger, but I also couldn’t leave. Justice understood what had happened right away. None of us could harm Jagger. Not in any way. I was frozen in place with the active desire to harm him and the inability to do so. It was a fail-safe built into the peculiar symbiosis of a leggerock and a nine. I was going to be found out. We could hear Jagger coming down the hall. He would find the poison. He would know my intent. He would kill me. Instead of leaving me to Jagger’s wrath, Justice had grabbed the tiny bottle of Assassin’s Blade and swallowed enough poison to kill fifty men. He’d died, disappeared, and taken all the evidence of how and why with him. When Jagger asked Justice why he’d died, he told Jagger he’d poisoned himself because he wanted to see what it felt like. Justice had saved me from endless torture and a horrific death.
Thinking of it hurt. Thinking of our friendship hurt. My blood frothed and tried to devour it all, so I shoved it back into the locked room and didn’t think about the stories Justice had told Griff and me about our cabin in the woods, or about the illusion pictures he’d paint, or about him telling me he loved me.
Justice dodged a punched. He shifted, jabbed right, and left himself exposed. His chest was open and waiting for my knife.
He’d done that the entire fight.
Even as a whirlwind, he’d held back. A punch that should’ve broken ribs only bruised them. A hit that should’ve knocked me out only stunned me. A kick that should’ve snapped my leg only made me stumble. Justice made a fight look vicious, when in reality, he was being gentle.
While we circled each other and snapped and thrust, the creatures screamed with glee. None of them could tell that Justice was being careful with me.
This was Justice’s gift, and his gifts were always kind.
He fought like a wild beast, cornered, wounded, but also one who didn’t want to hurt when he snapped his jaws. He knew this was an execution. He knew Jagger had nailed a clock on his coffin and his minutes were ticking down.
So what was he doing?
He was fighting with me, just like Jagger had ordered.
But the fight was a dance. It was a silent conversation.
A thrust. Thank you.
A lunge. For being there.
A kick. For being my best friend.
A punch. I’m sorry.
A shallow cut. It turned out this way.
A stab. It’ll be okay. It’s okay.
Then, when Justice left himself open to me, his heart exposed to my knife, it was, I love you.
My vision dimmed, red and black wings flapping at the edges of my eyes. Coal-black heat licked at me, and my blood roared in my ears. Kill, it said. Kill.
I kicked Justice, slamming my foot into his right leg. He dropped to his knees. I shoved him to his back and landed on top of him, locking him in place.
He stared at me with clear gray eyes, and in them I saw our dream of the Catskills. The evergreen scent, the cool, loamy forests, a stream of sunlight drifting over a log cabin and painting it gold, with two kittens swatting at a white butterfly. Justice’s lips curled into a soft smile.
“I wish we’d had those two minutes,” he’d said.
I’d wanted those two minutes too. I’d wanted them desperately.
“Go ahead,” he whispered. “It’s all right. You have to be ruthless, Mari.”
Yes. I did.
I put Jagger’s blade to his throat. The heat of his skin scalded my fingers, and the blood and sweat made them slick. Justice swallowed, bobbing the blade, but kept his eyes on me.
This wasn’t the first time he’d died. He knew what to expect. It’s just, this being his final death, he didn’t know what to expect after.
I smiled at him. I knew, from the guttering, dying light in his eyes, it was my new, cold smile. In it, there wasn’t any warmth or any love.
“I would like very much to kill you,” I said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
