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Twelve more seconds and the scrapers would’ve drained her fully.
Twelve more seconds, and they would’ve relieved her from the burden that has weighed her down since she was nine and her head had exploded with sadness when the boy that lived next door fell from the tree they were trying to climb.
Twelve more seconds, and she would’ve been free.
Just twelve more seconds, if not for Riven and his sudden savior complex.
———
Musa wakes up alone in one of the beds in the greenhouse, and for a moment she thinks it worked. The Specialists are training outside, and a gust of wind wraps around the corner of the building every now and again, but it’s quiet otherwise. She basks in it. The bandaged wounds on her arms sting like hell, her stomach growls with hunger, but her chest feels lighter than it has in years.
It hadn’t been a premeditated plan. She’d genuinely wanted to help Sky and Riven find Beatrix, protect them from the Blood Witch magic, be useful.
But she hadn’t been useful. Yes, they had found Beatrix, and she had been able to tell them that Andreas wasn’t himself, but one small glimpse inside his head and it had been clear that she was nowhere near powerful enough to fight off a Blood Witch. One word from Riven and she’d left them to their own devices, racing down the stairs like a coward.
Still, she’d fought off the scraper that attacked her as soon as she reached the ground floor, and when Flora had explained that the effects from a single scraper bite were temporary, that had felt like a good thing.
Until her head had gone silent. Dead silent, even quieter still than the gentle, lapping waves whenever she had been alone with Sam. No Andreas and whoever the rage-filled person leaching off of his mind was. No Sky and Silva and their carbon copied desperate anguish.
It hadn’t been a premeditated plan, but for a moment she thinks it worked, and she’s happy.
———
“You’re lucky Riven got there when he did. According to my calculations, it would’ve only taken about twelve more seconds for the scrapers to drain all of your magic.”
Terra’s still mad at her. Even if she couldn’t blatantly hear it, she can tell by the way her hands are just a touch too rough as she circles fresh gauze around her bicep, but there’s also relief in her roommate’s tone. Three days ago, she would’ve felt like she deserved it — she never meant to hurt Sam, never even knew that this was a way in which her magic worked — now she doesn’t want it. It doesn’t feel right for people to rejoice in the avoidance of the worst case scenario when the worst case scenario is the one she’d wanted.
Musa’s been called lucky by every single one of her visitors in the past day. Flora had even gone so far as to say the stars had aligned for her, and she’s glad Stella had rolled her eyes at that, because she couldn’t. She has to keep up the facade, pretend she’s relieved she hasn’t suffered the same fate as Beatrix and all the other fairies who ran into the scrapers.
She can’t tell them she’d cried herself to sleep the previous night, her eyes flickering in harmony with the low-thrumming baseline of other people’s emotions building up in her head.
“I still can’t believe he carried you the whole way back on foot.”
Neither can Musa. Riven has shown no issues with leaving people behind when their presence doesn’t serve him anymore, and even if they’d found some common ground in being on the receiving end of the same person’s hateful glares that night at The Grapevine, they aren’t friends.
She shrugs. “Really going all in on this ruse to convince Flora he’s a knight in shining armor.”
Terra mimics a gag. Musa fakes a chuckle.
———
“You said I was the strongest mind fairy in this school.”
Rosalind raises a poignant brow at the lack of knocking or greeting, but she doesn’t seem surprised to see Musa in her office. She calmly dips her pen back into the ink stand, then rests her elbows on the mahogany surface of Headmistress Dowling’s old desk, fingers clasped.
She doesn’t realize what’s going on, at first. There’s no violet in Rosalind’s eyes, or barely a change of color at all, and the full extent of Musa’s focus is zoned in on the plea that she has prepared and practiced in her head until it felt like those are the only words she knows, so it takes her a while — too long, really, for a mind fairy, and perhaps that is what truly seals her decision — to notice.
It’s pins and needles crawling up her brainstem, a disturbed nest of baby spiders scattering through her neurons, and then all of a sudden it’s an iron fist around her synapses, a complete hostage situation of her nervous system.
On instinct, her magic lashes out — one big explosion as it jolts out of its slumber and then pushing back, back, back like she’s shoving a physical attacker against the chest. She’s panting by the time the pressure slackens, swaying on her feet when it finally releases.
The fact that she doesn’t turn and leave the room on the spot is proof that she’s dangling off of the far end of her rope.
“I take it you’re ready to adjust that attitude, then?”
———
“I’ve seen you in there every day,” he says, and if she didn’t know better, she’d think he sounds concerned. He should be, considering he’s leaning against the doorpost of a ladies’ bathroom where the relentless pounding in her head just made her empty her stomach until she dry heaved.
Rosalind had said it was her best session so far.
She avoids Riven’s gaze in the mirror and pretends to swipe at a smear of mascara instead of at the tears that have begun pooling on her waterline.
“She got you doing mind control shit?”
“She’s teaching me to be better with my magic,” she corrects. “She thinks I can be vital to help you guys fight the Blood Witches.”
He shifts uneasily, and she can’t tell whether it’s in reaction to the idea of fighting Blood Witches or the thought of her magic. He’s opted out of training with the mind fairies every single time, and she’s not sure why Rosalind is letting him. She’s been in Dane’s mind so often at this point he doesn’t even fight her anymore.
“Anyway, I have class,” she states, and moves to pass his body in the doorway, but her feet refuse to follow her brain’s instructions and she stumbles. He moves in a reflex, hands on her arms and his torso twisted so her front collides with the side of his chest instead of the floor.
“Thanks,” she croaks out as she straightens up. He definitely looks concerned now, green eyes narrowed with unspoken questions. Don’t ask, she thinks, scrambling for a distraction. “Uhm, that’s twice.”
She lets him joke about being delicate with her next time like his heroic rescue isn’t the reason she’s cracking straight down the middle.
———
Rosalind doesn’t believe in foregoing the extension of her powers in favor of control. “Control limits you,” she deadpans whenever Musa brings it up. She learns not to. “There’s a war on the horizon, Musa, and you can play a deciding part in it. What you need, is power.”
The thing is, she genuinely does get stronger. After two weeks of private lessons, Musa has about a fifty-fifty chance of succeeding in pushing Rosalind out of Dane’s mind, after four she can do it consistently. Almost simultaneously, she starts being able to talk to Rosalind without actually uttering words when they’re occupying the same mind — hers or otherwise — and move small objects from a distance, albeit with varying levels of property damage.
It just comes with a steep price.
“Welcome back.”
She blinks her eyes open to a dark room. Which is strange, because the sun had been high on the horizon when they’d started today’s lesson, and yet it isn’t, because this is the second time this has happened this week.
“You’ll need to get better at this. The Blood Witches will push your limits far more than I have so far.” Rosalind is at her desk, looking completely unperturbed at having a fairy sprawled across her office floor. “Sleep it off. Come back tomorrow.”
She staggers back into the suite and manages to flop down onto her bed, ears ringing, head spinning — or maybe the room is spinning, or both, she can’t tell — and clammy all over.
Once the girls make it back from dinner and gather in the living room for more plotting against Sebastian, her mind is flooded by their emotions, even though the wall between the rooms would usually be enough for her to block them out.
———
She’s on her knees, grinding her teeth as she fights to keep her walls up through the onslaught of Rosalind’s assault, when the knock echoes through the room. The immediate disappearance of the second presence in her mind nearly makes her collapse straight forward.
“Yes?” Rosalind barks at the glass.
She’s not sure which one of them is more confused that it’s Riven who swings the door open, although they could both feel him coming. His eyes find hers first, widening minutely when he has to look down to the floor for it, but he recovers fast enough to give Rosalind a fairly neutral stare.
“Sorry for interrupting, but Silva was asking for Musa. He needs another debrief about what happened at the lodge.” Riven nods his head towards the hallway.
“That man’s timing is utterly ineffable,” Rosalind mutters, and yeah, Musa knows a thing or two about people like that. “Can’t it wait?”
“Don’t think so,” he insists. “Something about an upcoming call with the Commanding Officer of the Solarian Army?”
“Bavani then,” she sighs. “Fine, you’re dismissed, Musa. We’ll make up for lost time tomorrow.”
She smiles apologetically at Rosalind as she gets up. It’s early enough in the lesson that she can actually manage without having to hold onto a desk or the wall. Riven holds the door open for her and falls into step once he’s closed it behind her.
“What does Silva need to know?” she asks when they've cleared the stairway.
“Nothing. I just thought you could use a save.”
He grabs her elbow, leading her away from the East Wing — where Silva was likely to be found — and towards the tree line on the opposite side of the building from Rosalind’s office. There’s a lone training mat on the grass, and a bo staff resting against the nearest tree.
“Still miss being physical?”
———
“Come on now, Pixie, your legs being short is no excuse for sloppy kicks.”
Musa freezes, brows knotting together as she processes something other than a mocking ‘mind fairy’ rolling off of his tongue. It’s their fourth time sparring together on the day she’s not expected in Rosalind’s office and he’s only called her by her actual name once or twice, but this is new.
“What?” he questions at her silence, “You want me to go back to Red Flag?”
“Takes one to know one, Grumpy.”
“Excuse you,” he points the tip of his bo staff at her accusingly, “I’m a delight.”
She barks out a hearty belly laugh that makes him snort in response. “Yeah, okay, thanks for that. Now kick me like you mean it.”
She’s more than happy to oblige and puts more weight onto her base foot, lifting her kicking leg much higher than the previous attempt. He still blocks it easily, but at least he’ll be able to tell she’s listened to his input on how to improve.
“Better.”
“Wow, I get a new nickname and a compliment?” she manages between heavy breaths, “What’s got you in such high spirits? Or should I ask who?”
He releases her leg. “Don’t read into it, gotta throw you a bone now and then to make sure you don’t throw in the towel.”
“You saying you want me around, Riv?” she asks, circling him.
The corner of his mouth quirks. “Just wanna save you the humiliation of having to admit to everyone that you couldn’t keep up with me.”
“A new nickname, a compliment and a save,” she grins menacingly. “You’re definitely getting laid. Is it someone I know? Wait, is it two people again? It is, isn’t it?”
He kicks her, then, straight to the gut, and she goes down like a brick.
“You’re the worst,” she croaks from the mat when she’s able to regain her breath.
He hovers over her, hand already extended to help her back up. “Whatever you say, Pixie.”
The nickname sticks. Her kicks get better from that point onward.
———
When she opens the door to find Riven already in Rosalind’s office, she knows it’s bad news.
“We have a volunteer today.”
He’s standing in front of the curiosa-filled display cabinet, arms folded behind his back and pointedly avoiding her gaze, keeping his eyes on Rosalind and looking exactly nothing like he’s here by choice.
“Actually…I prefer working with Dane. He won’t mind, I can text him right—”
“Dane does not pose a challenge for you anymore,” Rosalind interrupts. “His mind is weak, easy to slip into. This one put up quite a fight, last time.”
Musa has no idea what ‘last time’ Rosalind is talking about, because they’ve not trained with Riven once, but she can tell how much he’s biting his tongue by the purse of his lips, a pale, straight line.
“What about Luke, then,” she tries again, “or Mikey? It’s just that Riven doesn’t like me getting into his head.”
“He’s a soldier,” Rosalind counters as her eyes light up. “He will do as his superiors tell him.”
His body goes rigid, but she feels just as frozen on the other side of the room. She remembers his snarl when she read his emotions last year like it was yesterday, but seeing him under Rosalind’s control tugs at something visceral inside of her. Going into his mind is both the rock and the hard place, but before she can decide which one is the lesser of the two evils, Rosalind speaks again.
“Riven likes keeping secrets, did you know that? Do you think we should tell her one, hm?”
“Don’t, please,” she grimaces, but he’s already talking.
“I lied before. You weren’t unconscious.”
Her next breath catches in her throat. “What?”
His eyes flick to her for the first time since she entered the room.
“I got there a few seconds before you were attacked. Saw you come out. Saw you…give it up.”
———
Twelve seconds is nothing. She can barely lace her boots up in that time, it takes their suite’s shower longer to reach a temperature resembling anything like warmth, and it’s not quite enough to run from the greenhouse to the courtyard without getting caught out if one of those Solarian spring showers decides to pour down, either.
She’s taking cover under one of the Bastion’s carports with Stella and Aisha, sheltered for the moment but already so drenched they may as well just have continued sprinting. Rain drips into her eyes from the tips of her fringe until she brushes the strands back with a huff, and her clothing clings to her skin uncomfortably. The Specialists scheduled for training that hour don’t get to take refuge from the downpour, all raised platforms occupied.
It’s the loud thud accompanied by a clattering of a metal that pulls her attention to him. His chest is heaving, his hair weighed down by the rain that runs in rivulets through the slots between the plates of his armored vest. He’s in his element, dual swords out and his opponent bested, and she looks around for the source of the resentment that washes over her much like the rain had done, before she realizes it’s an actual emotion of her own for once.
Twelve seconds is trivial to him. It’s a couple of hits of his swords against that of the guy he’s sparring with, a few sips from his water bottle while the other Specialist crawls back onto his feet. Those twelve seconds haven’t made an impact on his life at all.
It would’ve changed hers forever.
“I couldn’t care less about what’s got Riven’s knickers in a twist, but if he’s resorted to asking me to convince you to speak to him, can we agree it’s probably at least somewhat important?” Stella doesn’t look up from her pocket mirror while she speaks, but it’s all futile deflection considering her curiosity is coming off of her in waves.
“It’s not,” Musa assures.
“Not to him, or not to you?” Aisha questions.
Their eyes meet when he turns back to resume his starting pose. When he moves as if to approach her, she dashes off towards the courtyard, ignoring the torrent.
———
“That was decent.”
Blood is dripping from her nose onto the hardwood and it’s the only way she can tell up from down right now, but somehow Musa thinks Rosalind actually sounds somewhat impressed.
She hasn’t addressed the fact that Musa would’ve voluntarily given up her powers at all, except for one comment the next time she came in for training that she was foolish, and selfish. “But I suppose neither of those things can always be helped at seventeen,” she’d added, and never mentioned it again. Instead, she’s ramped up their training, making Musa come in every day of the week.
“I would’ve preferred it if you’d been a little faster, but it’ll have to do.”
“Do for what?” she asks, hands on her knees to stay upright.
“Round two.”
The fourth-year Specialist whose mind and mouth she’d just controlled, making him confess to cheating on his admissions exam for the Solarian Army, whimpers from where he sits shaking on a chair at the table.
“No, not you,” Rosalind sighs without looking at him. “Go back to your dorm. You might be hearing from the Solarian Royal Board of Admissions in the next few days.” He’s out of the door before she’s finished her sentence.
“Sebastian has evaded all of our set-ups so far,” she continues now that they're alone, sitting down on the corner of her desk. “Luckily, Bloom has finally reached the point where she’s willing to seek him out alone.”
Musa’s eyes widen. “Wait, you know about that plan?”
Rosalind shakes her head at her in a way that would be considered fondly if she were anyone else. “When will you girls accept that I know everything that goes on in this school?”
“You want her to go,” Musa catches on.
“I do. And I want you to follow her. Unseen.”
She has more questions than she can wrap her overloaded mind around, but Rosalind anticipates the most important one: “We need him gone, Musa. And you’re going to be the one to make that happen.”
———
Terra comes out to them before their practice run with the convergence crystal that Stella weaseled out of her mother to help Beatrix, and they’re wrapped in a group hug that does indeed feel really nice, and yet Musa feels horrible. Bloom is pressed into her side, arm firmly around her back, and has no idea about the role she’ll play in the escalation of the Blood Witch war later that afternoon, nor the fact that one of the girls she’s clinging to so tightly is going to be the catalyst for it.
It’s an awful plan, but well thought out, which is on brand with everything she knows about Rosalind at this point. It won’t be much longer until Sebastian’s drained enough strong fairies to rival the Dragon Flame. It’s powerful, but it’s still only inside one fairy. They need to act now, when Bloom’s still got the advantage and the Blood Witch mole hasn’t gotten their hands on any other crucial information that would give them the edge.
But Sebastian’s got Bloom right where he wants her: annoyed enough at his constant evasions to want to meet with him alone, yet desperate enough for information about her birth parents and Aster Dell to need him alive.
If she knew the truth, though…
If she knew what the Blood Witches had wanted to use her and her powers for, and knew that Sebastian had known about her birth parents all this time and kept that from her…
And she can do that now, go into someone’s mind and make them spill their secrets.
It all makes sense. It’s still an awful, awful plan.
———
She reads emotions, not the future, but nevertheless she should’ve seen this coming. He’s been watching her ever since the bathroom incident — since the lodge, really.
It’s harder, locking onto someone’s mind with a wall between them and her, but it’s possible. It feels possible, her magic humming in anticipation in a way she’s never experienced before. She’s crouching behind a semi-trailer, staring at the two shadows behind the half-curtain she knows are them. Bloom’s been in there for only a few minutes, but there’s no telling how long Sebastian will be interested in sticking around for. He’s slipped through their fingers too many times already. She steels herself, decides to count down from ten, then from twenty.
Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve…
Her powers jerk away from the diner like they’re being pulled on by a hurricane, spiraling towards its eye instead — an all too familiar stormy disposition.
She whips her head around. “What are you doing here? Get back to Alfea!” she hisses.
Riven sneaks across the last bit of tarmac and presses himself against the back of the truck next to her. “Yeah, about that…Barrier’s gone solid for some reason. No way back. I don’t suppose that has anything to do with why you’re sneaking off into the First World after Bloom?”
“None of your business.”
“Come on, Musa.” He sounds as exasperated as she feels. “This seems like a pretty fucking bad idea.”
“You’re free to leave and have nothing to do with it. Very welcome to, in fact.”
She reaches out with her magic until she can sense them again, and she panics for a moment when they’re further away than she expects. They’ve moved, but they’re still in the vicinity, a few extra feet away. She shuffles closer to the front end of the truck, ready to follow.
“I’m sorry.”
His voice is not much more than a whisper, but his low timbre makes it impossible to miss. “I…I don’t remember what happened, in her office. She does that, deletes the memory of whatever she does to me when she’s in my head. But I know it’s something you deserve an apology for. I can feel that, at least.”
Guilt curls up behind her ribs. She can feel his eyes on her but doesn’t meet them, lowering hers instead. “I can’t do this right now, Riv. I need to—”
“Do what, exactly? Follow Rosalind’s orders? Let her use you as a pawn in some maximum stakes chess game with absolutely no regard for your opinion or wellbeing? Been there, done that, Musa, and it’s not worth it.”
She works her jaw, fighting back the tears she can feel welling up. “You have no idea how hard it’s been. My whole life, I’ve never—”
“Of course I don’t. Nobody does,” he interrupts, and she glares at him. “I told you once that they don’t care about what you want to be, at Alfea. But that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t, either. Your life is your life. You can live it how you want. Stop acting like you have no choice.”
“I had a choice!” she snaps, struggling to keep the volume of her voice reigned in. “That night, at the lodge. I made a choice, and you’re the one who took it away from me.”
———
His sigh cuts through the silence like a knife. “That’s what I did, then? I told you the truth?”
The tears rolling down her cheeks are an answer in itself. He lowers himself from a crouch to fully seated, resting the back of his head against one of the truck’s wheels.
“Look, I would’ve let you. I got attacked myself, and by the time I fought them off, I thought it was already over. But they weren’t letting go, there was blood everywhere, and you were screaming…” He shakes his head. “It was bad, Musa. Really bad.”
She knows about the wounds, of course. It’s taken meticulous work by Terra to get them healed as nicely as they have, but she remembers their ghostly pale faces as her friends recalled the parts of the story of that night that were missing for her. They would’ve never believed her if she’d confessed that she’d chosen to subject herself to that kind of pain, but then they didn’t fully understand the torment her magic brought her every single day.
He had seen it. He had known. So even if she understands why he stepped in, she can’t bring herself to thank him.
“You didn’t chuck me,” is what she says instead, wiping at her cheeks.
“Obviously,” he snorts. “But you’re right, I did take that choice from you, and I’m sorry. This isn’t the answer, though. You think I haven’t figured out what Rosalind needs a mind fairy for? She isn’t helping you, she’s using you.”
She turns her head, meeting his shimmering green eyes. “Does it matter? He needs to be stopped.”
“At what cost? Turning your friend into a murderer? Making her blow up this diner, this entire roadside town? She has the Dragon Flame, I assure you we’re not at a safe enough distance if she loses control. And Rosalind’s not gonna shed a single tear over either of us, in case you’re wondering.”
She lets out a humorless laugh, looking up at the sky in disbelief. She hadn’t even considered that. And he’s right, there’s no way that Rosalind hasn’t. That’s why she’s not here, herself. That’s why she’d suddenly been so invested in training a fairy she’d not looked at twice before.
Riven nudges her with his shoulder. “She thinks you’re expendable. If you’re interested in proving her wrong, I can train you, instead. You’re not half bad with the bo staff, I’ll convince Silva to let you try a sword. And in return, I could uh…use some help keeping actual red flags out of my head?”
He holds out his hand, and she doesn’t hesitate for more than a heartbeat before slotting her palm against his.
Suddenly, his eyebrows knit together, and he peeks around the grill.
“Hey, Pixie? Where’d Ginge go?”
———
Twelve more seconds and she would’ve lit the fuse.
Twelve more seconds, and her deeply-rooted aversion to the element she was born with would’ve turned her into collateral damage, an acceptable casualty in a grand scheme, a lost battle on the road to winning the war.
Twelve more seconds, and she would’ve been dead.
Just twelve more seconds, if not for Riven and his persistent savior complex.