Aureate Fates

1

      ON ROOFTOPS UNDER RED SKYS
                          
        —MARISOL—

Reese was bleeding again.

A show of red oozed from his elbow. His grin resembled a thousand stars as he beheld his newly torn flesh. It matched his hair, a deep wine hue.

"You got me good," he said, patting dirt from his pants and taking up his fighting position once more. "My turn."

He threw a right hook towards her face, but Marisol knew better. She ducked and jabbed him straight in the abdomen. When she went for another blow, this time to his throat, he swiftly snatched her wrist and twisted. She felt a bright spark of pain.

"Bastard," she huffed, kicking him so hard in the shin, he stumbled. Her wrist now thrummed to a rhythm of twisted heat. Marisol also noticed that there was a red handprint where her skin was supposed to be. A whisper of Reese's magic.

She laughed darkly, and he gave a knowing smile.

I'll heal you later, his look said.

She lunged for him, ignoring the ache in her wrist. No knives, no weapons; save for her hands. It was how they liked to play. Reese's brown eyes widened as his feet where swept from underneath him. A kick coupled with a bit of her power landed him on the scruffy floor.

"Witch," Reese panted, observing another cut she had just given him. A trickle of blood slid down his left ear. Bright red. His balance was no good, at least not for a few seconds.

It was her favorite trick, and his least. Marisol swallowed as she felt the familiar nausea swarm her, warning her not to strain herself further. She curled her fingers into fists, then relaxed them.

Inhale. Exhale. Just like that.

She offered him a hand, and he took it with a scowl. "Not nice, Marisol," he said, before taking a swig of his ginger-rum. She nearly wrinkled her nose at the sharp smell of it. Marisol could not fathom such a drink, especially so early in the morning.

"Not nice," she agreed, after taking a drink of water, "but you pissed me off."

Reese smiled, then said, "I like when you make me bleed, Mari. Haven't I told you that it's the most glorious thing in the world, the red of it all?"

As her closest friend took her injured wrist in his hands, she let herself look at Reese's own injuries. Already healing, but unmistakably red—unnatural for a boy like him. But supreme in a place like this.

"Yes, Reese," Marisol said, watching, in wonder, as the handprint on her wrist faded back into her caramel skin tone. "Third time today."

Reese opened his mouth to say something, but a juvenile voice interrupted. A lovely one. "Mari! Reese!"

Marisol beheld Jaak's thick black curls and wide smile as he bounded up to them. His smile faltered when he spotted Reese's blood. Reese quickly pulled Jaak close to him and said lightly, "It's red, see?"

Jaak seemed to be relieved as he nodded. The boy sent a grateful smile towards Marisol. She gave his cheek a squeeze.

"Helena said to ready up for Lavander Festival," Jaak chirped, erasing all unease from his small face. "She also said no fighting."

"We weren't fighting, Jaak," Reese tutted. "Only playing. Right, Mari?"

Jaak turned to Marisol expectantly, his eyes wide and flecked with concern. She observed a faint purple hue beginning to form underneath the small boy's eyes—Marisol's que to balance his blood and make it cherry red again. Reese's blood would also need embellishment, even if he might have protested.