Nothing perfect ever lasts, I found myself thinking.
I stood up, collecting the folds of the beautiful dress in my arms to keep from falling. I leaned forward into the wind, into the mist, as I took one step and then another. And then my feet hit something solid.
My heart beat fast, and I swallowed the wet air, bending to see what I’d stumbled upon. Feet, I realized. Those are feet. The mist drew out with the tide, and now that my vision was clear, dread descended on me. I was looking down at a body. It lay unmoving on the beach, but I couldn’t make out the face.
And then the mist returned, like the ocean was sucking its breath in with me, and the whiteness expanded into the sky, until it eclipsed everything else.
When I opened my eyes again I was inside, lying on a worn velvet couch, staring up at Ian.
“Hey,” he said, his freckled face expanding into a huge grin. “You’re awake.”
“Ian?”
“Welcome back,” he said breathlessly. “But give a guy a break, Skye. I already thought I’d never see you again, then I have to go and find you passed out in the street?”
I looked up, alarmed that he really was angry with me, but the grin was still plastered across his face. Before I knew what was happening, I was smiling and laughing and holding back tears while Ian scooped me up in his arms and held me against his chest.
“Oh my god,” he said, laughing. “I didn’t know if I would ever hear that laugh again.”
“I didn’t know if I would ever see those freckles again!” I cried.
He smiled and brought a hand to his face in mock self-consciousness.“What, these things? My mom says I’ll grow out of them by the time I graduate. She says then I’ll be ever so handsome.”
“No! Don’t you ever grow out of them,” I said. “They’re the most reassuring sight in the world.” Under his freckles, Ian’s cheeks turned red.
“Oh, man, Skye,” he said, taking my hand in his. “You’re really here, aren’t you? I’m not just dreaming this?”
“I’m here,” I said. I raised an eyebrow. “Ian, have you been dreaming about me?”
“Every night.” As with most conversations Ian and I had, I knew he wasn’t exactly kidding when he said things like that. I let my hand fall from his, and he noticed. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “Are you still, you know, with . . . ?”
“Yeah,” I said, dropping my voice, too. “Asher.”
“Asher. Right.” He looked up at the clock, probably just to avoid my gaze. Then he looked back at me. “You know, he wasn’t out there on the street when I found you. No one was. You were just lying there, passed out, alone. What happened?”
He’d been there, of course. We won’t reveal ourselves yet. They were here, watching everything. Asher would never leave me. But I couldn’t exactly tell Ian that.
“Skye,” Ian prodded. “I’m serious. What happened? Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” I said, suddenly really tired. I thought about all the questions that were awaiting me now that I was back. “I was awake and then . . . I was here.” I paused. “Maybe it was exhaustion. I was traveling. . . .”
“Traveling,” he repeated.
“Yeah.”
“Do . . . you wanna tell me where you were?”
I looked up at him again. There was a steaming mug of something delicious-looking on the coffee table next to him. Oh, Ian. He was always there for me when I needed him. Not for the first time, I wished I could be there—had been there—for my friends in the same way. But, no matter how hard I tried, I didn’t see a way that I ever could.
“I do want to tell you,” I said finally.
“But?” His smile was lopsided, a little sad. He knew me that well.
“I can’t. I’m so sorry. I wish I could.”
“Hey.” He took my face, suddenly, in both his hands. I was caught off-guard, and my body responded before I was ready. There was something so aggressive, yet gentle, about his sudden forcefulness. So unlike Ian. “You never need to apologize to me.” His green eyes flashed with an intensity I’d never seen in them before. “I know you need your space. And I know that, when you’re ready, you’ll tell me everything.”
I felt the tears well up in me again, and for a couple of seconds, I couldn’t say a word. Finally I whispered, “Thank you.”
In another surprise move, he bent and kissed me on the forehead. Something had changed about him while I’d been gone. He was the same Ian, but different. More confident or something. I could still feel his lips on my skin after he pulled away.
My mouth dropped open as I realized that I liked it.
“So,” Ian said, letting his hands fall to his sides and standing. He began to busy himself straightening up the Bean. We were the only people there. It must have been after closing already. “Am I the only one who knows you’re here?” I stood and followed him behind the counter as he opened the cash register and counted a stack of bills.
“Yup,” I said, hoisting myself onto the counter next to him. He double-checked the till to make sure he’d swiped it clean of money, then put the stack of bills down on the counter and ruffled through them nervously.
“You talk to Cassie?”
I straightened, fully alert now.
“She’s awake?” My heart was in my throat.
Ian smiled—a weary, relieved smile—and for the first time I noticed how tired he looked. Like he’d been through a little bit of hell.
“She’s awake,” he said. “Bruised and battered, you know. It looks . . .” He coughed. “It looks not so great. But she’s alive. She’s going to be fine.” He nodded, as if confirming this fact to himself.
“Oh my god,” I said, jumping off the counter and throwing my arms around him. I buried my face in his neck and let the warm scent of cookies and lattes wrap itself around my heart. The comforting scent of home.
“I don’t know what I’d have done if . . . if she hadn’t . . .” I couldn’t finish.
“Yeah,” Ian said quietly, running his fingers softly—almost tentatively—through my hair. “She was lucky. We all were.”
He put his arm around me tighter, and I let the stability of his presence in my life comfort me. He had always been there for me, and he always would be.
No matter what I did to him. No matter how many times I told him no.
“Been home yet?” Ian asked, pulling away.
“Not exactly,” I said with a sheepish smile.
“Wanna see her?”
“Yes,” I said, too quickly. “Definitely.”
“Cool,” he said. “Just give me a few minutes while I close up.”
Ian went off to the supply room, and I wandered around the coffee shop. The last time I’d seen it so empty was the day after my birthday party, when Cassie, Dan, and I had helped Ian clean up the mess. I shivered as I remembered the bitter cold air that had blown through the broken windows on that gray day.
As if brought back to that actual moment in time, a chilly breeze brushed my hair into my eyes, and I turned to see where it was coming from. The window in the back was open, the one by the couches that the four of us had sat on that very afternoon, our feet up on the coffee table as we surveyed the work ahead of us. I walked over to close it, but as I did, something caught my eye. Something that stood out against the drab, walked-all-over carpet and worn plush cushions of the couch. A single white feather was blowing lightly in the breeze.
My heart dropped, and the wind rushed in my ears as my knees gave way. I sat down on the low coffee table, hard. A white feather.
They’d warned me, hadn’t they? There would be Guardians here.
And not just Guardians. Devin, too.
I knew what to expect. But suddenly I wondered if I was ready.
Falling in love with you was one more thing I couldn’t help. Had he meant those words? How could the Order make someone such a hypocrite? How could he feel that way and still do what he did to me?
I couldn’t understand it.
I felt like I was wearing headphones with the music blasting at full volume. Above the rushing in my ears one sound struggled to get through.
“Skye!” My head snapped up. Ian stood over me, looking concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He went over to close the window, and I took that opportunity to shove the feather into my jacket. “Ready to leave?” I nodded. He cocked his head to one side. “Skye,” he said, his voice already making me feel better. “No one blames you, you know. For leaving. For any of it.”
I nodded grimly. I wished I could tell him that I hadn’t just left. That I would never abandon him, or Cassie, Dan, or Aunt Jo like that. They were my family. But there were so many things I could never tell him. “I think maybe I should just go home first. See Aunt Jo. If word got to her that I saw Cassie before I saw her, she’d never forgive me.”
“Good call,” said Ian. “You’re a way better person than me.” He clapped his hand on my back. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
As we drove, Ian and I fell back into our old banter.
“So what’s been going on since I’ve been away?” I asked.
He glanced over at me. “Are you pumping me for gossip?”
“I feel so out of the loop!”
“Well, I’m not as good at this as Cassie, so bear with me. You’ll have to get the full scoop from her tomorrow.”
“Pleeease?”
“Okay, okay. Well, you know about Cassie and Dan, I guess, right? How they’re . . .”
“Together?” I asked hopefully.
“Sickening.” He laughed. “Ever since she left the hospital they’ve been surgically attached.”
“Yay!” I said, clapping my hands, so excited, suddenly, to be surrounded by all the little normal things that I loved about my life.
“I think we have different definitions of ‘yay.’ I lost a bro this winter, Skye.” He bowed his head. “A true bro. One of the good ones.”
I laughed. “Hey, eyes on the road. So what have you been doing with yourself while that’s been happening?”
Ian glanced in his side-view mirror and switched lanes evasively. A police car passed us in the opposite direction. My stomach tightened involuntarily, as I remembered the sirens on the morning of Cassie’s accident.
“I’ve been finding ways to have fun.” He focused on the road as we neared my driveway and didn’t elaborate.
“That’s such a guy thing to say,” I muttered. “You’re no fun.” He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at me. There was a mischievous look in his eyes that he was not going to tell me about. Something had shifted between us, as quickly as a cloud passing across the sun, but I didn’t know what. “Home, sweet home,” he said. “Ready to face the wrath of Aunt Jo?”
“Ugh,” I said. “No. But I’m going in anyway.”
“You can do this.” He patted my knee gingerly, like I might slap his hand away at any moment. “She’ll just be so relieved that you’re home. She’s been frantic.”
“Way to make me feel better,” I joked halfheartedly.
“Just call me if you need anything,” he said. I got out of the car, and leaned down to stick my head in the window.
“Thanks, Ian,” I said. “I’m glad I saw you first.”
“Me too.” He grinned. “Just don’t tell Cassie. She’ll kill me for not bringing you straight to her.”
I zipped my lips and threw away the key.
“Our secret.”
He nodded and peeled out of the driveway.
The light from the kitchen windows spilled out into the front yard as I stood and stared up at the house. It used to be home. It still was, I guessed.
I took a deep breath and made my way inside.
Chapter 8
The front hallway was dark but for a faint light from the kitchen. It took me a moment to get my bearings before walking toward it.
What was I going to tell her? Where had I been?
The kitchen was deserted and still. The sink was clean and empty, the counters were spotless, the cleanest I’d ever seen them. The floor was so shiny that I could see my reflection in the polished wood. Was Aunt Jo out on a trip with Into the Woods? My stomach sank at the idea of coming home only to find myself alone again—like I’d been right before I’d left.
In all my life, I’d never known my adopted guardian to be such a neat freak.
Something was wrong. Something didn’t feel right at all.
But then I began to notice small hints of life here and there. A wet tea bag resting on a spoon on top of the microwave. A book with an envelope holding the reader’s place. Some neat stacks of papers on the kitchen table, with the topmost page pulled slightly askew, as if someone had been looking at it recently and hadn’t put it neatly back in place. I walked over to the table and picked it up.
My birth certificate.
Heart pounding, I riffled through the rest of the papers on the table. Xeroxes of my passport, Social Security information, and my adoption papers were sorted and stacked into piles, along with paperwork from the River Springs Police Department for filing a missing persons report.
I started when I heard a voice, and seconds later Aunt Jo came into the room talking on the phone.
“. . . about five five, black hair, gray eyes, a champion skier, sort of intense, but once you get to know her—” When she saw me, she stopped. She clicked the phone off and it fell from her hand and clattered to the floor.
“Skye,” she whispered. Her eyes filled with tears. There was such a mix of emotions on her face: sadness, relief, anger, regret.
“I’m . . . ,” I started, not sure what I was about to say.
“Oh my god,” she said, running to me and squeezing me in her arms. “Oh, Skye, Skye, Skye,” she repeated, rocking back and forth. “Are you okay? Where the hell have you been? You are in a world of trouble, young lady, but I’m too happy you’re home to be angry right now.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, burying my face in her hair and letting her hold me. “I’m so, so sorry. I missed you so much.” For the first time, I realized just how scared I’d been that I’d never see her again. She pulled away, looking me over as we both sat on the floor in the middle of the kitchen. She squeezed her hands up and down my arms as if checking for broken bones.
“What happened to you? Do you even know what you put us through? Do you have any idea how worried we were?” She wiped her eyes. “I should have been here. I should have said something, told you, I should have—”
“Aunt Jo,” I said. “Stop the crazy talk. It’s not your fault!”
“What happened?” she asked again, running her fingers over the cuts and bruises on my face. “My god, look at you. Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
The time for that had definitely passed.
“No,” I said. “I’m fine. Really. Just tired. I missed my bed.”
“Of course,” she said, pulling me in for an air-sucking hug again. “Of course. You don’t have to worry. You’re home now. You’re safe.”
But how could I tell her the truth? I wasn’t safe. The white feather told me all I needed to know. I may have been back in the house I grew up in, with Aunt Jo there to take care of me and make me my favorite meals. But everything about home was going to be different from now on. “Safe” couldn’t have been farther from how I felt.
Upstairs, I took a shower—my first shower in days. I let the hot water spill over me, washing away the dirt and the knots in my hair. Washing away every trace, every memory of what had happened in the woods that night. I let every betrayal, every thought of Devin swirl down the drain. Steam billowed up around me and I let myself get lost in it.
After I wrapped myself in a big plush towel and padded back into my room, I took my favorite T-shirt and boxers out of a drawer and put them on my bed.
“Skye!” Aunt Jo called from the hallway. Her voice was nervous and didn’t sound right. “Everything okay in there? Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine!” I call
ed. “I’ll be out in a second!” I turned to my full-length mirror and let the towel fall to the floor around me. My stomach was smooth and unmarked, as if I’d never been stabbed at all. I couldn’t believe it. I ran my fingers across my skin, but they felt nothing. Goose bumps prickled my arms and legs, and suddenly I had the creepy feeling of being watched. I quickly stepped into the old flannel boxers and pulled the T-shirt over my head. It felt like forever since I’d put them on, and I relished the feel of the soft cotton. I finished brushing my hair, pulling it up into a knot on the top of my head.
Suddenly I winced, pitching forward. The room seemed to spin and fade away into darkness. When I looked into the mirror again, I had to grab the dresser with both hands for support. A dark wet spot was blooming from the center of my shirt. Frantic, I lifted it, and what I saw made me scream out loud.
There was a gaping stab wound through my stomach, seeping blood onto my hands, the dresser, the carpet. My vision ran red with it. “Jo!” I yelled. “Aunt Jo!”
“What is it?” She came bursting into the room, and everything came back into focus. The light returned, and my dizziness cleared. “Skye?” she asked, coming to me. “Are you okay?”
“I—” I looked down at my hands, the carpet, my stomach. There was no wound, no blood. Everything was the way it had been. “It’s nothing,” I said. “I’m—I’m sorry. I thought . . .”
She looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. I had to stop dwelling on what had happened. I was home now. It was time to move on. “I’m fine.”
“Come downstairs,” she said. She looked so helpless, like she was running through a mental checklist of all the things she might have done to drive me away. “I made you something. We’ll talk.”
We sat across the table in the kitchen. Aunt Jo had whipped up my favorite snack while I was in the shower, and the warm, fresh-from-the-oven cinnamon cookies now sat, cooling, on a plate between us.
“I’m not going to push you,” Aunt Jo said. “You’re a good kid, Skye, and I trust you. You know that, right? I trust you to make your own decisions and not get influenced by a bad crowd.” She twirled the plate nervously in her fingers. “But I need to know where you were.” She paused. “And you’re definitely grounded.”