Dare smiles and his smile is real and it’s bright and it penetrates my fog.
“You don’t believe that.”
“I don’t know what to believe.”
“Believe in me,” he instructs, and I do.
Because Dare is mine and he lives free.
“I want to live free, too,” I tell him.
“And you will,” he promises.
Days pass with nurses coming in and out, to make sure I take my pills, the colorful pills that will keep my body from rejecting Finn’s heart. I’ll have to take them forever and their waxy residue gets stuck on my tongue. But I take them, because I have to keep Finn’s heart alive. It’s the only part of him I have left, and he’s my brother and I love him I love him I love him.
Oakdale and its grounds look so much like Whitley. The halls, the rooms, and one day, one gray day, I find Finn’s journal.
It’s hidden in one of my bags and I know it’s his because it says.
The Journal of Finn Price.
The end is the beginning, one of the pages says. I don’t know about that, but I know the middle was jumbled up and changed and changed and changed.
But it can all be changed back.
I have to believe that.
Destroy the ring, it says. You have to you have to you have to.
And I have to believe that I can save my brother in the end, because serva me, servabo te. Save me and I’ll save you, Finn.
Destroy the ring.
How does one go about destroying a ring?
Dare and I sneak away into the forest, and burn the journal before anyone can see, before anyone even realizes we’re gone. They can’t see his words, they can’t see our story.
If they do, we’ll never get out of here.
We’ll never be free.
And we have to.
We have to live free.
“I can’t live without Finn,” I tell Dare on the way back in.
He holds my hand and looks at me, and smiles a sad sad smile.
“I know.”
We walk and walk, and Dare turns to me.
“I love you more than life, and I’ve been doing some research. Salome married her brother, and she became a necromancer. She wanted to live forever, but Phillip didn’t. Phillip has been trying for centuries to end the curse, while Salome wants it to continue. They’ve been at odds, and that has been born into twins in your family for generations. That has to be it.”
I’m dubious, but intrigued.
“Are we related?” I ask, and it’s a question I’ve been afraid to ask, afraid to know the answer.
Dare stares at me with his black black eyes. “I don’t know. But you can undo anything. Perhaps the answer is not to destroy the ring, but to change things so that it was never created in the first place. If you can do that… you can prevent everything from happening. You won’t have to change it. Surely that will end the cycle.”
“But what if it ends us?” I ask and I’m afraid. “If I prevent events from happening, maybe we’ll never be born.”
Dare shakes his head. “I don’t believe that. I believe in Fate, and we’re fated, Calla. We’re fated. I feel it.”
“But I won’t remember,” I tell him. “When I change things and I wake up, I never remember. What if I forget you?”
“Then I’ll find you, Calla-Lily. I’ll always find you.”
Hope leaps into my heart and his eyes are so sincere, so true.
“Do you promise?” I ask, and he smiles at me, and I’m afraid to hope.
“I do,” Dare says as he puts the ring in his pocket. “We’ll get this sorted.”
“What a British thing to say,” I say.
“That’s the meanest thing you’ve said all day.”
As we laugh, I feel like we’ve been here before, in this time and place and with these same words. But I’m getting used to that feeling. Because by night we are free, and things change, because we change them, and déjà vu is real, and we’re stuck in it.
Because of that, we’ll change things again, because time is fluid and malleable and it never stays the same. We’ll save my brother. I feel it I feel it I feel in my bones, in my hollow reed bones.
“Nocte liber sum,” I whisper to Dare.
He nods. “Keep dreaming, Calla Lily. And one day, we’ll be free.”
I squeeze his hand because I know.
After lights out, after the nurses have made the last rounds and given us all our medicine, I sneak from my room and into Dare’s.
“You can do this,” Dare whispers into my hair. “Think back to the beginning. Imagine it, imagine what happened. Let Salome die without creating the ring, without creating the curse. Let Phillip be her uncle, not her brother. Let them die without re-living over and over. Keep your mother from being with her brother, keep us from being related. You can do it. You can.”
His words empower me, and I believe him. I can do it, and I imagine what he says and I snuggle into his chest because his arms are home, and I close my eyes, knowing that I’ll dream.
And when I dream, I change things.
I sleep
And sleep
And sleep.
And when I open my eyes, it’s a beautiful Oregon morning, and my brother wants to go to group therapy.
I stretch and yawn and grouse, but he’s right. We should go. I roll out of my bed, get dressed.
“Drive safe!” my father calls out needlessly when we leave. Because of the way my mom died, among twisted metal and smoking rubber, my father doesn’t even like to see us in a car, but he knows it’s a necessity of life.
Even still, he doesn’t want to watch it.
It’s ok. We all have little tricks we play on our minds to make life bearable.
I drop into the passenger seat of our car, the one my brother and I share, and stare at Finn.
“How’d you sleep?”
Because he doesn’t usually.
He’s an insufferable insomniac. His mind is naturally more active at night than the average person’s. He can’t figure out how to shut it down. And when he does sleep, he has vivid nightmares so he gets up and crawls into my bed.
Because I’m the one he comes to when he’s afraid.
It’s a twin thing. Although, the kids that used to tease us for being weird would love to know that little tid-bit, I’m sure. Calla and Finn sleep in the same bed sometimes, isn’t that sick?? They’d never understand how we draw comfort just from being near each other. Not that it matters what they think, not anymore. We’ll probably never see any of those assholes again.
“I slept like shit. You?”
“Same,” I murmur. Because it’s true. I’m not an insomniac, but I do have nightmares. Vivid ones, of my mother screaming, and broken glass, and of her cellphone in her hand. In every dream, I can hear my own voice, calling out her name, and in every dream, she never answers.
You could say I’m a bit tortured by that.
Finn and I fall into silence, so I press my forehead to the glass and stare out the window as he drives, staring at the scenery that I’ve been surrounded with since I was born.
Despite my internal torment, I have to admit that our mountain is beautiful.
We’re surrounded by all things green and alive, by pine trees and bracken and lush forest greenery. The vibrant green stretches across the vast lawns, through the flowered gardens, and lasts right up until you get to the cliffs, where it finally and abruptly turns reddish and clay.
I guess that’s pretty good symbolism, actually. Green means alive and red means dangerous. Red is jagged cliffs, warning lights, splattered blood. But green… green is trees and apples and clover.
“How do you say green in Latin?” I ask absentmindedly.
“Viridem,” he answers. “Why?”
“No reason.” I glance into the side-mirror at the house, which fades into the distance behind us.
Huge and Victorian, it stands proudly on the top of this mountain, perched on the edge of the cliffs with its spi
res poking through the clouds. It’s beautiful and graceful, at the same time as it is gothic and dark. It’s a funeral home, after all, at the end of a road on a mountain. It’s a horror movie waiting to happen.
Last Funeral Home on the Left.
Dad will need a miracle to rent the tiny Carriage House out, and I feel a slight pang of guilt. Maybe he really does need the money, and I’ve been pressuring him to give it to Finn or me.
I turn my gaze away from the house, away from my guilt, and out to the ocean. Vast and gray, the water punishes the rocks on the shore, pounding into them over and over. Mist rises from the water, forming fog along the beach. It’s beautiful and eerie, haunting and peaceful.
We arrive at the hospital early, so we decide to get coffee and breakfast in the cafeteria while we wait.
I grab my cup and head to the back, slumping into a booth, while Finn buries his nose in a Latin book.
I close my eyes to rest for a minute longer because the perpetual rain in Astoria makes me sleepy.
The sounds of the hospital fade into a buzzing backdrop, and I ignore the shrill, multi-pitched yells that drift down the hallways. Because honestly, I don’t want to know what they’re screaming about.
I stay suspended in my sleepy dark world for God knows how long, until I feel someone staring at me.
When I say feel, I literally feel it, just like someone is reaching out and touching my face with their fingers.
Opening my eyes, I suck my breath in when I find dark eyes connected to mine, eyes so dark they’re almost black, and the energy in them is enough to freeze me in place.
A boy is attached to the dark gaze.
A man.
He’s probably no more than twenty or twenty-one, but everything about him screams man. There’s no boy in him. That part of him is very clearly gone. I see it in his eyes, in the way he holds himself, in the perceptive way he takes in his surroundings, then stares at me with singular focus, like we’re somehow connected by a tether. He’s got a million contradictions in his eyes…aloofness, warmth, mystery, charm, and something else I can’t define.
He’s muscular, tall, and wearing a tattered black sweatshirt that says Irony is lost on you in orange letters. His dark jeans are belted with black leather, and his fingers are long and bare.
Dark hair tumbles into his face and a hand with long fingers impatiently brushes it back, all the while his eyes are still connected with mine. His jaw is strong and masculine, with the barest hint of stubble.
His gaze is still connected to mine, like a livewire, or a lightning bolt. I can feel the charge of it racing along my skin, like a million tiny fingers, flushing my cheeks. My lungs flutter and I swallow hard.
And then, he smiles at me.
At me.
His eyes are frozen on me as he waits in line, so dark, so fathomless. This energy between us… I don’t know what it is. Attraction? Chemistry? All I know is, it steals my breath and speeds up my heart. I feel like I’ve seen him before, but that’s so stupid. I would remember something like that.
Someone like him.
I watch as he pays for his coffee and sweet roll, and as his every step leads him to my back booth. There are ten other tables, all vacant, but he chooses mine.
His black boots stop next to me, and I skim up his denim-clad legs, over his hips, up to his startlingly handsome face. He has a slight stubble gracing his jawline and it makes him seem even more mature, even more of a man. As if he needs the help.
I can’t help but notice the way his shirt hugs his solid chest, the way his waist narrows as it slips into his jeans, the way he seems lean and lithe and powerful. Gah. I yank my eyes up to meet his. I find amusement there.
“Is this seat taken?”
Sweet Lord. He’s got a British accent. There’s nothing sexier in the entire world, which makes that old tired pick-up line forgivable. I smile up at him, my heart racing.
“No.”
He doesn’t move. “Can I take it, then? I’ll share my breakfast with you.”
He slightly gestures with his gooey, pecan-crusted roll.
“Sure,” I answer casually, expertly hiding the fact that my heart is racing fast enough to explode. “And I’ll take a bite. I’m starving.”
“Perfect,” he grins, as he slides into the booth across from me, next to Finn, ever so casually, as though he sits with strange girls in hospitals all of the time. I can’t help but notice that his eyes are so dark they’re almost black. He cuts his roll into two and offers me half, and I chew the bites.
Finn barely even glances up from his book because he’s so absorbed, but this strange boy doesn’t seem to mind.
“Come here often?” he quips, as he sprawls out in the booth. I have to chuckle, because now he’s just going down the list of cliché lines, and they all sound amazing coming from his British lips.
“Fairly,” I nod. “You?”
“They have the best coffee around,” he answers, if that even is an answer. “But let’s not tell anyone, or they’ll start naming the coffee things we can’t pronounce, and the lines will get unbearable.”
I shake my head, and I can’t help but smile. “Fine. It’ll be our secret.”
He stares at me, his dark eyes shining. “Good. I like secrets. Everyone’s got ‘em.”
I almost suck in my breath, because something is so overtly fascinating about him. The way he pronounces everything, and the way his dark eyes gleam, the way he seems so familiar and I swear to God I know him. But that’s impossible.
“What are yours?” I ask, without thinking. “Your secrets, I mean.”
He grins. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Yes.
“My name’s Calla,” I offer quickly. He smiles at that.
“Calla like the funeral lily?”
“The very same.” I sigh. “And I live in a funeral home. So see? The irony isn’t lost on me.”
He looks confused for a second, then I see the realization dawn on him as he glances down at his shirt.
“You noticed my shirt,” he points out softly, his arm stretched across the back of the cracked booth. He doesn’t even dwell on the fact that I’d just told him I live in a house with dead people. Usually people instantly clam up when they find out, because they instantly assume that I must be weird, or morbid. But he doesn’t.
I nod curtly. “It stands out.” Because you stand out.
The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s going to smile, but then he doesn’t.
“I’m Adair DuBray,” he tells me, like he’s bestowing a gift or an honor. “But everyone calls me Dare.”
I’ve never seen a name so fitting. So French, so sophisticated, yet his accent is British. He’s an enigma. An enigma whose eyes gleam like they’re constantly saying Dare me. I swallow.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I tell him, and that’s the truth. “Why are you here in the hospital? Surely it’s not for the coffee.”
“You know what game I like to play?” Dare asks, completely changing the subject. I feel my mouth drop open a bit, but I manage to answer.
“No, what?”
“Twenty Questions. That way, I know that at the end of the game, there won’t be any more. Questions, that is.”
I have to smile, even though his answer should’ve annoyed me. “So you don’t like talking about yourself.”
He grins. “It’s my least favorite subject.”
But it must be such an interesting one.
“So, you’re telling me I can ask you twenty things, and twenty things only?”
Dare nods. “Now you’re getting it.”
“Fine. I’ll use my first question to ask what you’re doing here.” I lift my chin and stare him in the eye.
His mouth twitches again. “Visiting. Isn’t that what people usually do in hospitals?”
I flush. I can’t help it. Obviously. And obviously, I’m out of my league here. This guy could have me for breakfast if he wanted, and from the gleam in his eye, I
’m not so sure he doesn’t.
I take a sip of my coffee, careful not to slosh it on my shirt. With the way my heart is racing, anything is possible.
“Yes, I guess so. Who are you visiting?”
Dare raises an eyebrow. “I’m visiting a grief group. My grandmother died recently, and my mother wants me to attend group therapy.”
“That’s what we’re doing too,” I tell him, surprised and excited by his answer. Surely we’re not attending the same group.
“You’re going to a grief group? Is yours in the Sunshine Room, perchance?”
My heart slams, because it is.
“Is that your first question? Because turn-about is fair play.” I suck at being flirty, but I give it my all.
Dare smiles broadly, genuinely amused.
“Sure. I’ll use a question.”
“Yes, we’re going to a grief group in the Sunshine Room. Our mother died recently.”
“I’m so sorry,” Dare says, and his voice is soft and I can tell that he is… sorry. He nods like he understands, and somehow, I feel like he does.
He takes a drink of his coffee. “What are the odds that you and I would be going to the same grief group? I think it must be kismet.”
“Kismet?” I raise an eyebrow.
“That’s fate, Calla,” he tells me. I roll my eyes.
“I know that. I may be going to a state school, but I’m not stupid.”
He grins, a grin so white and charming that my panties almost fall off.
“Good to know. So you’re a college girl, Calla?”
I don’t want to talk about that. I want to talk about why you think this is kismet. But I nod.
“Yeah. I’m leaving for Berkeley in the fall.”
“Good choice,” he takes another sip. “But maybe kismet got it wrong, after all. If you’re leaving and all. Because apparently, I’ll be staying for a while. That is, after I find an apartment. A good one is hard to find around here.”
He’s so confident, so open. It doesn’t even feel odd that a total stranger is telling me these things, out of the blue, so randomly. I feel like I know him already, actually.
I stare at him. “An apartment?”
He stares back. “Yeah. The thing you rent, it has a shower and a bedroom, usually?”
I flush. “I know that. It’s just that this might be kismet after all. I might know of something. I mean, my father is going to rent out our carriage house. I think.”