Chapter 1
The Riven Altar
This is it. This is how I die. Smudged and humiliated. Piotr will find me, step over my body and head to the gig without me.
I’m inches from the mirror, tongue caught between my teeth because thisstupideyeliner keeps going crooked no matter what I do. Why is it that the harder I try to lookhot,the more I look like Natalia in Mama’s makeup drawer?
“Kurwa!Even a six-year-old could do better,” I pout, already annoyed at myself.
Behind me, Piotr whistles. “You’re wasting your life in here. It’s a gig, not your wedding, siostra.”
Of course he’s ready, hair styled just right, leather jacket hanging open over a band tee. My brother looks older than eighteen, like he’s so easily part of the world I’m still desperate to get into. He smirks when he sees me struggling.
“What?” I snap, glaring at his reflection.
“You’re trying too hard.Here.” He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it at me. “Don’t get your makeup shit on it.”
I just stare at it. This is Piotr’ssacredjacket. I hold it like it’s a rosary blessed by the Pope himself.
“Seriously?” I ask, embarrassingly in awe.
He grins. “Don’t make me change my mind. Five minutes, then I’m gone.”
He’s downstairs before I can even say a word.
I pull it on carefully. The sleeves are way too long, shoulders ridiculously broad, but it still feels like armor. The scent of leather mixed with his cologne hits me first, then cigarettes and that cheap bar soap Mama and Tata buy in bulk. I glance at the mirror again and something flips in my stomach. I still look like me, but… more.Braver.Like someone who doesn’t apologize for being loud, someoneI want to be.
From downstairs, my grandmother calls out, “Kasiu! Your brother is about to leave without you!”
“I’m coming, Babciu!” I shout, still stabbing at my eyeliner with a q-tip like I’m in a fight to the death with my own face.
Tata calls up the stairs, “If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss your mysteriousnoise band. The one with all the screaming.”
“They’re calledThe Riven Altar, Tata,” Piotr yells back, laughing. He jingles his keys like a school bell and my stomach flips the same way it does when I'm not in my seat yet. It’s his signal that if I don’t movenow,he’s leaving without me.
“I don’t care what they’re called,” Tata mutters. “In my day we hada melody. Wonderful voices. Not thisnoisethey call music now.”
When I clatter down the stairs in my borrowed band tee, ripped jeans and combat boots, Piotr’s waiting by the door with one eyebrow raised like I’m already letting him down. “You done?”
Before I can answer, Babcia grabs my face in both hands, squishing my cheeks until I look like a panicked hamster. She plants a kiss on each side, her ritual blessing. I sigh, full of embarrassment. She taps my cheek once more before shuffling off, satisfied.
“Done asthisgets,” I say, throwing my arms out in a ta-da motion, trying to look confident instead of shaking with nerves.
Piotr groans like all sixteen years of my life have been a burden. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
In the car, I flip open my compact mirror and try to fix the smudged mistake on my face, using spit and a fingernail because I have no shame left.It’s hopeless.Every time Piotr hits a bump, I wobble and glare at him. He catches me scowling and grins, then reaches up to touch the cigarette tucked behind his ear. He slides it down, pops it between his lips, and lights it in one smooth motion. He shouldnotlook that cool, especially since he spent half of last night arguing with Mama about doing his own laundry.
“Quick stop first.”
The back door opens and Dominik slides in, trying too hard to look relaxed. He takes up more space now, not the scrawny idiot I shoved in the mud when he tried to steal my chocolate back in elementary school. He’s tall, broad, hoodie on, taking up space like the car is too small to hold him. He’s tried to style his wild honey-blond hair into something similar to Piotr’s, gel and an upsweep, but it’s already starting to fall. His knee bumps mine and he gives me an apologetic glance.
I groan. “You didn’t tell meNowickiwas coming.”
Piotr shrugs. “Yeah, we’ve got some friends meeting us there.”
Dominik smiles. There’s something different about him tonight, almost shy. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I don’t look up. I’m very busy pretending my eyeliner isn’t my latest failed art project.
