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The name on Artemis’ wrist is Wally. Jade teases her mercilessly about it--That’s a stupid name, Arty--so Artemis kicks her in the shins and then runs like hell, because Jade always wins.
Artemis can’t remember when she found out Jade’s wrist was bare, a blank slate from birth. It’s just a fact of life: Artemis’ soulmate is Wally, Jade’s soulmate is nonexistent. At home, Jade seems indifferent. But at school she always wears long sleeves.
Jade comes home one day with pen all over her arm--freak slut weirdo--and a black eye. Their mother starts to sob. But Jade is dry-eyed as Paula scrubs at her skin. “What are you looking at,” she snaps at Artemis, and she lifts her chin, proud and unfeeling as a statue.
When their dad hears, he smashes a chair against the counter. “Did she cry?” he growls, and Artemis shakes her head no. He buys Jade a pair of sleek leather bracelets and starts teaching both of them how to throw a punch.
-
Zatanna’s wrist says Artemis, which she thinks is just about the coolest thing ever. Artemis is the Greek goddess of the hunt, of the moon, of wild maidens, and of children.
The nuns at St. Cecilia's Academy do not think it’s the coolest thing ever. She overhears Sister Clara once, whispering, “What kind of boy is named Artemis?”
When she’s thirteen her father comes home from a parent-teacher conference fuming. “Worried about the locker room--what kind of nerve--Zee,” he says, “you’re transferring schools.”
Zatanna’s new school is a weird art institute in Manhattan. There’s, like, ten kids in every class, and the teachers all go by their first names. She can’t write or draw or sing, but she’s inherited the flair for show business from her father, so she joins the school talent show committee and is assigned the unofficial title of “general ambiance creator”. She meets Imani through the talent show, and teaches her how to cheat at cards. No magic involved, of course--her father has already impressed the need for discretion on her.
They hang out in the auditorium after school, Imani playing the piano and Zatanna offering a running commentary on the performances of all the other kids. Imani has purple hair, and her sleeves are always pulled down to her knuckles. Six months after they’ve known each other she rolls them up, shows the faded Greta on her wrist. “I never met her,” she said. “And now I never will.”
Zatanna isn’t sure quite what to say.
-
When Wally tells Artemis she’s his soulmate he sounds on the verge of tears. He tugs off his mask and looks at her, his eyes impossibly green. She can’t tell if he’s happy or nervous or frightened. His leg is jittering so fast she’s afraid he’s going to phase through the floor.
Wordlessly, Artemis slides off her gauntlet, rotates her wrist so he can see the name inscribed. He nods, lightning quick, and something flashes through his eyes. She can’t tell if she’s happy or nervous or frightened. Is she supposed to be in love with this gangly kid, with his freckles and his crush on M’gann and his unreasonable stubbornness? Will she ever be even fond of him?
She reaches up and tousles his hair and it feels all wrong, wrong, wrong. Her fingernails dig crescents into her palm. She can tell he’s going to bite through his lip.
They kiss tentatively, limpidly. It’s mildly pleasant. They pull back. They stare at each other. They try again. They pull back.
There are tears running down Wally’s face now, and he reaches up to scrub at them angrily. “Are we supposed to feel something?” he asks, hollow.
-
When Zatanna locks eyes with Artemis for the first time it’s like being electrocuted.
-
Conner and M’gann have nothing on their arms, no names to match. Just hands to fit together like puzzle pieces and lips to brush against pulses butterfly soft. Careful--careful. Are you okay? They are okay. They are soaring.
Artemis tries to pretend she’s not jealous, but it’s not really working.
“Girl’s night out,” says Zatanna, and smiles.
-
Zatanna is sweet despite her sharp tongue and so soft that when her father puts on the helmet, Artemis is sure she will shatter.
Sure enough, she cries. Some part of Artemis rears its ugly head to sneer at Zatanna’s tears and she squashes it back down, because she is more than her father’s daughter. But Zee’s never known what it is to hate her own blood. She has no scars and no memories but kindness. She has never wanted to be more than a Zatara.
So when Artemis finds Zatanna watching cartoons on the couch, curled in an oversized tuxedo jacket, she puts an arm around her and stays long after both of them fall alseep.
-
Wally and Artemis play twenty questions. They punch and elbow each other a lot. Sometimes they play video games. He’s such an asshole. He’s always late, to everything. He always wears his socks inside out. He loves chemistry. (“Which is kind of ironic, isn’t it? Since we don’t have any? Huh?” “No--well, yes. Yes. It is. I hate you.”) He met Robin was he was ten. His favorite color is red (so is Robin’s). His favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip.
They don’t try to kiss again. They kind of cuddle, though. That’s the only part of this that seems to work. They’re easy around each other. Comfortable.
“Do you think the universe just screwed up?” Wally asks once, during their Battlestar Galactica marathon.
“The fuck would I know? Pass the popcorn.”
-
“So, they’re soulmates?”
“Chyeah. Can’t you feel the aster?”
“Frankly?” Zatanna puts her menu back on the counter. “No.”
Technically, they’re on a date. Because it turns out Zatanna’s soulmate already has one, and because Robin has been flirting with her incessantly and detachedly. Zatanna didn’t really expect to have fun, but it turns out she is. Robin’s ridiculously enjoyable to hang out with. Like-a-brother hang out with, but. Semantics.
“Strawberry milkshakes are a cure for any broken heart,” he tells her, and his mouth doesn’t twitch but she can tell his eyes are smiling under those stupid shades.
“You sound experienced,” she says, and he says solemnly, “Didn’t you hear, Zatanna? I don’t have a heart.”
The milkshakes are really fucking good.
-
It happens like this: Artemis and Zatanna stare at the blinking neon sign and listen to the sirens for a full three minutes. Zatanna says, “We should go.” Artemis brushes her fingers over Greta’s grave.
“Zee?” she says. “Do you have any secrets?”
-
It happens like this: Wally whispers into Artemis’ hair, “Can you fall in love with someone who’s not your soulmate?” and Artemis whispers, “You can try.”
Across the room, Zatanna laughs at something M’gann said, her hair a waterfall of ink over her bare shoulder. It kind of hurts to look at her.
“Artemis,” says Wally mock-seriously, “do you think I’m gay?”
“I’m breaking up with you.”
“Artemis,” and his voice goes soft again, “I think I’m in love with someone else.”
-
It happens like this: M’gann says, idly, over a bowl of cookie dough, “On Mars we don’t have soulmates.” Zatanna threads her fingers through Artemis’ sleek ponytail. Robin smiles lazily.
“Sounds boring,” says Robin, acidic, and Superboy says, “I think you’re boring,” and somehow the whole thing devolves into a brief, glorious food fight. In the aftermath Artemis slumps back against Zatanna, who’s really squishy and solid and warm, and licks a stripe of batter off her cheek.
-
It happens like this: Black Canary folds her arms, says, “Artemis, finding your soulmate at such a young age can be very difficult. It’s an intense experience. Teenagers already feel helpless in so many ways. Having fate thrown in their faces is harrowing.”
Artemis says, “Wally and I are fine.”
Black Canary says, “Some people think the system of soulmates is fundamentally flawed. Some people think the words on our wrists are just suggestions.”
Artemis says, “No one thinks that.” Artemis says, “Why are you telling me this?” Artemis says, “Um. Where did you hear that? And can I see the source?”
-
It happens like this: Zatanna rolls up the cuff of her tuxedo jacket. It is so quiet she can hear Artemis’ breath. They’re in the trophy room, where the absence of Fate’s helmet is like a knife to the gut, and it’s possibly the least romantic thing ever, but Zatanna physically cannot wait any longer. She has been wanting this for as far back as she can remember.
And Zatanna has pictured kissing Artemis hundreds, no, thousands of times, but she has never pictured Artemis smiling so wide, so beautiful, like the fucking sun, has never pictured Artemis kissing her back, much less kissing her first. There are no words for the sensation of Artemis’ chapped lips, Artemis’ callused fingers, for Artemis. She kisses sloppily, searchingly, wild and tender at the same time, and when Zatanna grasps at her wrist, the name written there is already fading.
“Fuck destiny,” murmurs Artemis. This is what happiness is supposed to feel like--almost overwhelmingly warm, blinding, too good to be real. This is everything Artemis has never let herself believe in.
“Zatanna.” Say her name. You never have to stop.
Say her name.