Tangled by Erica O'Rourke

went to the kitchen and returned a moment later with a steaming teacup. “Want a little something extra?” He cocked his head toward the sideboard, with its cut crystal decanters.
    “No thanks.” Luc muddled my thoughts all on his own. I didn’t need to hand him any unfair advantages. I sipped at the tea, aware of his eyes on me, a shifting green gaze that reminded me of trees in summer, warm and beautiful and secretive.
    He sat down, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. He wasn’t quite touching me, but warmth radiated from him. It made me want to curl up like a cat. “Church was ... nice,” he said.
    “Church was a train wreck.” I inhaled the sweet, flowery scent of the tea, shoving back the memory of my mom’s announcement and Sister Donna’s “grave concerns.” “I’m screwed. You know that, right? I need those teacher recommendations to get into NYU.”
    “They’ll be falling all over themselves trying to land a girl like you. But the news about your daddy rattled you pretty good. Thought you were going to keel right over.”
    “I didn’t.” It seemed important to remind him.
    “I’d have caught you.”
    “What did the Quartoren say?”
    “You sure you’re up for it? Little worried ’bout you, Mouse.”
    “I’m fine.” Sort of.
    He stood abruptly. “Think you’re steady enough for a walk?”
    “You brought me nine hundred miles so we could take a walk? We have sidewalks in Chicago, you know. Lots of them.”
    “It’s a beautiful night. You could see my city. I’ve certainly been spending enough time in yours.”
    Reluctantly, I set my teacup down. “Where are we going?” He watched my hands instead of meeting my eyes. “The Quartoren’s willing to deal. But it has to be tonight.”
    “It’s only been a few hours,” I protested. “Why the hurry?”
    “It’s a bit of a pressing situation. Besides, what is there to think about?”
    We walked side by side down the narrow staircase, Luc’s hip bumping against mine. “They don’t like me very much.”
    “It’s not you, exactly.” He looked faintly ashamed, a rarity. “You’re not an Arc. And they’re none too fond of Flats.”
    “Shocking.” I’d witnessed that firsthand, when the Seraphim had tried to kill me in a bar full of Arcs and everyone had very deliberately looked away. “They’re bigots.”
    “What would happen if Arcs were revealed in your world?” We crossed the familiar courtyard, gravel crunching under our feet. He opened the gate with a word and a touch. “Do you think Flats would accept us? Or would they think we were dangerous? Call us witches? Burn us at the stake, press us under stones? Human race is a lot of things, but tolerant ain’t one of ’em.”
    We passed another couple on the street, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, goofy, love-struck expressions on their faces. They smiled at us, so caught up in their romantic haze they assumed we must be, too. I stepped away from Luc and kept my voice low.
    “I’m not just some Flat. I nearly died saving your stupid magic. And rather than return the favor—by helping one of your own—the Quartoren want to blackmail me? I’m having a hard time seeing them as the good guys.”
    “The Quartoren put the well-bein’ of the Arcs above everything and everyone else. They have to look at what’s best for all our people, not just a single girl. Whatever’s wrong with the magic is putting us in danger. It’s costing us lives . It ain’t noble, but if the Quartoren need to use Vee’s baby sister to convince you, they will. And they won’t lose sleep over it.”
    “These are the people who are going to take care of Constance? Maybe she’d be better off without them.”
    We turned down a brick-paved street, so narrow it was more like an alley. Luc had slowed his pace for my benefit, despite the strain between us, and I appreciated it. In the darkness, the streetlamps turned the candy-colored houses into something shadowed and