Aureate Fates

3

                    GHOSTS CAN BLEED, TOO

       —MARISOL—

Three weeks more of this madness, and yet she found some of it pleasant.

The first week was Lavender Festival—where Reds and Blues, alike in nationality, were allowed to mingle, dine, and dance together. The second week was the annual Shoot and Run. A game where teams were established, with the objective to eliminate as many opponents as possible.

Wooden pistols were dispatched to players, but the worst part of it was the amo, which consisted of paint. Paint that hurt like hell. Marisol despised the particular game, in fact, she wished she could have resigned from it altogether, but that wasn't an option.

The third week was the Jessetz Ball. An elaborate occasion that demanded finely dressed individuals. A farewell to the artificial solidarity between the feuding bloods. After it, Reds and Blues would scatter apart again, not dedicating a single thought to the unity they once shared.

Every four years, this was the routine. This was the first time Marisol truly participated in it, however. Jaak became old enough to seek it out.

This evening, Marisol wore a lavender flower in her hair, woven into her loose braid. The length of the braid reached just above her elbows.

She wore loose pants and a closely fitted purple camisole. Her eyes scanned the masses of people as they laughed and ate, as they mingled and swayed to the tunes being played.

A middle-aged woman, a Blue, regarded Marisol and Jaak with cold eyes. A sneer of stained teeth. Marisol tightened her grip on the small boy, though he seemed completely unaware as he surveyed the crowd with fire-lit eyes and wriggled his nose in pursuit of fresh pastries.

Marisol sent the woman a sneer of her own and nearly tapped into her sorcery, but she reminded herself that Lavender Festival was a time of unity. Picking a fight with a Blue would not embody that sentiment. And besides, she wanted to ensure Jaak's experience at the festival was a glorious one.

"Mari," Jaak said, tugging on her hand. "Where's Reese? He said he'd be here." The boy peered up at her with an oncoming frown, and all Marisol wanted to do was boil Reese's blood beyond repair.

Where was he?

Marisol gave him a reassuring smile, one that she hoped was convincing. The firelight that sourced from nearby pits and lanterns made the boy's curls appear like flaming coal. A worthy sight.

"He'll be here soon, Jaak," Marisol said, gesturing over one of the servitors. They were dressed in brown to separate them from the jubilant masses of lavender and green. The servitor offered Marisol the tray of lemon pastries and she took two, then kindly thanked him. He blushed a deep red and quickly ducked his head.

She huffed out a quiet laugh, but didn't give the young servitor a second thought.

Marisol knelt down to Jaak's level, and gave him his sought-after lemon pastry. He shoved the entirety of it into his mouth and did a delighted hop. "Very good," he praised, still chewing through the bread. Marisol wiped some of the sugar from the boy's mouth with her thumb, then offered him her own lemon pastry.

Jaak kissed her cheek and happily accepted it.

Fed and happy, it was all she could hope for.

Marisol's attention drifted to the right, where an erratic giggle could be heard near the reserved cabanas.

Rich green vines snaked up the wooden poles of the cabana, purple glowing lanterns casted shadows over the people within the space, and the most venomous man alive sat still, looking straight at her and Jaak. The gray of his eyes nearly knocked her to the floor.