Icarus, p.1
Icarus, page 1
Dedication
Some of us lead lives that would require suspension of belief from others. The strange, the magical, the devastating, and the unbelievable. You deserve to have someone walk beside you. You deserve outstretched hands. You shouldn’t have to live to house secrets. You should be allowed to just live.
Love,
Kayla
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Wednesday
Icarus filiformis
Bounty
Him
Breath
Time
Tenth
Boon
Julian
Bide
Luca
Celestina
Grit
Trick
Rock
Spin
Dry
Bone
Strict
Humdrum
Vessel
Strike
Title
Gong
Huff
Ike
Brush
Blur
Ream
Steam
Analysis
Shark
Sabbath
Smart
Blush
Sorrel
Flee
Crime
Tough
Crack
Tine
Drown
Burr
Wrath
Three
Brown
Flush
Great
Drake
Rise
Light
Rush
Cry
Move
Ream
Roth
Lim
Brush
Speck
Trip
Thrum
Brow
Institute
Feed
Monday
Blowing
Sweet
Tuesday
Cost
Dry
Meat
Svelte
Wheat
Torch
Flow
Dawn
Spell
Lost
Bright
Pink
Worn
Inhale
Plucked
West
Ripped
Tight
The First Night
Swan
Crunch
Rub
Hush
Stun
Proof
Haze
Blood
Eden
Eggshell White
Sting
Filth
Scrub
Sanctus Deus
Ripe
Plum
Feathers
Toy
Blind
The Beginning
Seventeen Years
Boiled
Through
Taught
Check
Line
Draft
Ambrosia
Choke
Cotton
Chateau Latour Bordeaux
Rush
Orion
The Sky
Stark
Burnished
Stress
Blue Smoke
Haystack
Stream
Hue
Rust
Euphoria
Strain
Foam
Saturnalia
Tazienki Park
Butterfly
Silent
Swallow
Nightshade
Whisper
Pant
Check
Comet
Home Star
Rough
Burn
Whole
Weeds
House
Gut
Shroud
Wine
That Night
Weak
Back
Mud
Detail
Flutter
Lower
Grief
The Rest
Sin
Frill
Brick
Fall
Tech
Tithe
Breathe
Nose
Green
List
Leap
Akeem
Bite
Soft
Stray Cat
Maple
Born
Kiss
Burn
Love
Saturday
Settle
Eve
Day
Boötes
Ariadne
Metamorphoses
Eurydice
Helice
Orion
Delos and Paros
Lebynthos and Kalymnos
Icaria
Hypnos
Fly
Pasiphaë
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by K. Ancrum
Back Ad
Copyright
About the Publisher
Wednesday
It was dark in this house.
The air was still and warm.
Cat burglars rarely wear shoes. Instead, they wear socks. Icarus’s were old and wool and his father had hand sewn fine black leather to the bottoms for traction.
Icarus crept across the edge of the main hall, then slipped into a drawing room.
Mr. Black’s house had many useless spaces, many alcoves filled with junk. It was a monstrosity of metal and wood. Icarus had been here thousands of times over the years and he never felt comfortable. It was not a home; it was as empty and lifeless as a dollhouse.
Above a desk—protected from light and dust by a thin sheet—was Warhol’s Red Lenin.
Icarus scanned the area around the painting, searching for the glint of a camera lens. He checked every time, like each visit was the first. It wasn’t good to get too comfortable. Icarus crossed the room quickly and began dismantling the installation. He placed small tacks and screws on the floor, turned the protective glass pane onto its inside face to avoid disturbing the dust on the front. Then, Icarus pulled the black, flat case he carried off his back and unpacked his father’s work: Warhol’s Red Lenin.
It wasn’t an expensive print, but Mr. Black was familiar with his belongings. He knew the works in this home. But Icarus’s father knew Mr. Black and that made all the difference.
Icarus framed the forgery and hung it on the wall. He packaged the original painting and slid it into his carrying case. He backed out of the room, stepping into his own impressions, brushing back against the grain to erase his footprints. Then, he pulled the door softly closed.
Icarus left the house, scurried over the fence, shoved his feet into his Chelsea boots, and walked quickly home.
Icarus filiformis
Icarus was his father’s son.
They were of a height, they had the same wiry frame, the same limp black hair, the same big ears, the same deep-set brown eyes, the same unhappy mouth. Icarus thought his father was ugly, so he knew he must be ugly too.
They were both artists, though Icarus was slightly worse.
Both thieves, but Icarus was faster.
Both quiet, but Icarus knew how to talk to other people.
Both friendless, but Icarus knew how to make people like him.
They walked at the same pace, moved with the same grace, had the same size hands and similar handwriting.
They both knelt in penance, chins to the sky, fisted rosary. His father liked to keep his eyes closed. Icarus needed to keep his eyes open to stay tethered to faith.
And wasn’t that just the way?
Angus Gallagher shut tight like a sarcophagus. Icarus Gallagher, eyes open, mouth open, waiting.
Bounty
Icarus and his father lived in a small apartment in a part of town that had been nice maybe forty years ago.
The inside of their home smelled strongly of wood, linseed, minerals, herbs, and canvas, so that’s what Icarus smelled like too.
The lights were all dim specialized bulbs designed to reduce light damage to paint. There were landscapes and portraits, repeated theme. A woman in green, brushed over and over, smiling, laughing, lying among them, her face an open secret. The only room where the walls weren’t dotted with paint or paintings was the kitchen. In that room, where the sun was brightest, there were ferns in every corner that could house one.
In a few years, when Icarus and his father didn’t live there anymore, a little girl from the new family who moved in would tell her parents there was gold dust in the cracks of the wood, gold left over from years of gilding.
They wouldn’t believe her.
It was an artist’s house. A studio with beds. Crammed full to bursting.
Him
Icarus slipped in and closed the door.
He slid across his own floors and made his way to the cold storage room.
This room should have been Icarus’s bedroom, but their art needed the space.
Icarus swung the case off his back and prepared Red Lenin for storage. Delicately smoothing the paper out onto a backing its size, slipping it into a protective sleeve, labeling it in fine print, and placing it in a storage locker with other originals of its size and environmental temperament.
“Is it un-damaged?”
Icarus whirled around.
His father, Angus Gallagher, never wore special socks but he was silent as death, alwa ys.
“It’s fine, I think,” Icarus replied. “I didn’t inspect it. The air felt heavy . . . like I wasn’t alone.” Admitting his negligence made him nervous.
Angus grunted in disapproval and opened the storage unit.
Icarus stood there, cheeks blazing, as his father undid all of his work, pulling Red Lenin back out into the light.
He scrutinized the print. Sniffed it, peering closely at the detail with the small retractable microscope he kept on a loop at his waist as Icarus waited. When he was finally satisfied, he resealed the painting.
“This is one I’ve seen in person. It was one of the first Mr. Black purchased. He had it in his room when we were in school . . .” Angus trailed off without elaborating further. “I’ll re-review security around the perimeter of the building. We’ll break for two weeks, then start again if there aren’t any discrepancies. Anything else out of the ordinary?”
“No, sir,” Icarus said, eyes to the floor.
Angus Gallagher hummed low in his throat, then thrust an envelope under Icarus’s chin.
“Your pay for the repair work you did on the frame of the Rothko. Spend what you need, save what you don’t.” Angus left as quietly as he arrived.
Icarus deflated with relief.
Breath
Icarus’s bedroom was a walk-in closet. He kept it very clean because he had to; there wasn’t enough room for mess.
The small space was taken up by his twin-size bed and the shelves that lined it. At the foot of his bed the shelves were neatly packed with his books, trinkets, and work supplies. On the shelves at the head of his bed, his clothes were rolled tightly, military style, and organized by type and color. They were black or neutral so that it wasn’t noticeable that he didn’t have a wide selection. All pieces of impeccable quality.
When Icarus was fourteen, he had painted the ceiling of his closet-bedroom the colors of the sunrise. Now that he was planning to leave, he was considering a repaint.
Icarus tossed his backpack onto his bed and changed his clothes in the hallway. He crept into bed, closing the closet door behind him.
The envelope his father had given him was bulky and exciting. Icarus spread out the stack of fifty-dollar bills and counted them quickly, separating out $1,000 for savings, $500 for new supplies. Normally Angus didn’t give him this much, but his work was getting really good. He had taken his time. His cheeks pinked with pride.
Icarus tucked most of the bills into his small safe and put the rest in his spending pile to be taken to the bank. He had just under $7,000 but he wouldn’t feel comfortable until it was $10,000. Couldn’t feel safe until it was $15,000. Couldn’t feel free unless it was $20,000. Enough to start over anywhere in the world.
He curled up under his quilt and went to sleep.
Time
Icarus and Angus Gallagher had been stealing from Stuart Black for years.
Icarus’s father had started alone, of course, but when Icarus was old enough and well trained, Angus began bringing him along.
Then, after a time, Angus made Icarus do it alone.
It was such a normal part of Icarus’s life that he didn’t think about it much anymore.
When he was in elementary school, he used to whine about not being able to have friends over to their house. He resented the gymnastics lessons and having to outwit their home security system to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
By middle school, he was irritated because it was obvious that they didn’t need the money. His father’s real job was art restoration and he got paid a pretty penny for it. Most of which he spent on the stupid replications they shoved into Mr. Black’s house.
By the time high school started, breaking into the Black house was so easy for Icarus that it was just like any other extracurricular activity. The last time he’d almost been caught was in freshman year and he was a senior now. His spirit had settled on the matter.
More, Icarus was now old enough to know why they were robbing him.
Tenth
The one other thing that was a constant negative was this: Icarus was only allowed to have friends that stayed at school.
Everyone understands how friendship circles work. You have your four tiers:
People you talk to in class, gym, maybe after-school sports.
People you’d hang out with if no one better was around. You might get stuck with them after school, then depending on how that goes they could move up or down a tier.
People in the same direct social group as you who aren’t your absolute besties. You’d let them sleep over at your house as a group but you wouldn’t go to a solo sleepover at theirs.
Friends that feel like siblings.
Icarus was only allowed acquaintances—people to talk with during class. Everyone else tended to start asking questions that Icarus was not allowed to answer.
This was a negative for obvious reasons. The worst of which was that Icarus wasn’t unpopular.
He wasn’t a wallflower, shy, or awkward. He didn’t eat by himself at lunch and stare pensively out the window, or curl up in the library to read alone because he had to.
He was funny and outgoing, girls and guys liked him, he got invited to parties. He just wasn’t allowed to go.
It was lonely. He hated it.
Boon
He made one acquaintance in every class.
First period was Julian. He sat directly in front of Icarus in history and had moved all the way from across the room to do it. He had bushy brown curls, a round freckly face, and braces. Sometimes, he brought Icarus coffee in the morning. He was rude but he’d been the one to start talking to Icarus first.
Aspen was second period, math. She was a horribly unpopular girl, with long red hair, who wore grungy military-inspired clothes and didn’t like talking to anyone. Icarus regularly let Aspen cheat off of him by holding his tests up so that Aspen could see the answers over his shoulder. Aspen was a gamer geek and much better at science and English than math. Algebra was her Achilles’ heel and Icarus felt a bit bad for her.
Third period and fifth period were both Luca: English and gym. Icarus had him in both classes and couldn’t get away with talking to him in one and completely ignoring him in the other. Luca was tall, brawny, and a bit of a party boy. He always greeted Icarus by pushing him, punching him, or flicking him on the back of the head like the world’s gentlest bully. He was easy to talk to and liked to complain about his girl problems.
Fourth-period history was Celestina, and Icarus was very glad she and Luca didn’t know each other. She was Luca’s type and that would mess up the entire system. Celestina was pretty, with long black box braids and brown skin, and she picked on Icarus in a flirty way. He always blushed when she bothered him and he valiantly tried to suppress it.
Sixth period, and last of the day, was Sorrel. A gentle, quiet boy with white-blond hair. Icarus could tell he overwhelmed Sorrel just as much as he delighted him.
It was a perfect roster for the year.
Everyone was in distant social groups and would never come together to ask him to hang out.
Julian was too geeky for Celestina and Luca, but too forward for Sorrel and Aspen. Aspen and Sorrel were so far outside of Luca’s and Celestina’s social circles that they probably didn’t even know each other’s names. It was stable. Efficient. Devastating.
Julian
“Today you get a chai latte,” Julian announced, then turned back around in his chair. Julian brought Icarus stuff, but he never let him choose. It was always random and a lot of the time it was stuff he 100 percent didn’t like.
Icarus drank it anyway.
“Did you finish the notes for last night? I was super busy and didn’t get to them.” Icarus leaned forward on his arms and tried to look apologetic.
Julian scowled; he wasn’t impressed. “Perhaps if you spent less time doing whatever it is you do all night instead of homework, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Come on, please,” Icarus griped.
Julian thankfully didn’t push him and just handed his notes backward. Icarus immediately began copying them.
“You can’t keep copying off me, Icarus. Eventually someone is going to notice,” Julian murmured.
“I know, I’ll keep it to a minimum.”
Icarus managed to finish before their work was collected and handed Julian back his notebook.
“You know they can cancel your acceptance to schools if you mess up senior year,” Julian said. “I knew someone who got into Brown and got their offer rescinded. It does happen.”
Icarus rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the warning.”
Julian scowled ferociously and pulled Icarus’s drink away.
“Dude, come on. I’m actually not doing bad in my other classes, I’m just not a morning person. I promise I won’t ask again.”
