PLIANT, MERRY, MOROSE, ALL AT ONCE. FOR ME THERE'S NO LIVING WITH YOU, OR WITHOUT YOU. —MARTIAL CHAPTERTWO It was always the two of them. Dante quick and laughing, Dante the lead in the school play, Dante and the girls, Dante, Dante: his smile, golden. His touch, magic. ...And Jet always behind him, thin and dark as a shadow. Watching. Hardly real, the neighbors murmured to one another, glancing at the butterfly on his cheek. Already marked for some strange destiny. Only Dante was close enough to bully him, needle him, swap comic books, catch him crying at the end of Charlotte's Web. They grew up like twins together; to the rest of their little community on the outskirts of the city Jet was insubstantial, but to Dante he was always real enough to touch. He had felt Jet's wiry strength when they wrestled in the grass; tasted Jet's blood when they swore their brotherhood. Jet had saved his life. Of course that was only fair, after that day on the playground when Dante had lost his soul to save Jet's eyes.
