It's that stupid knot.
But it's too late. I close my eyes and he's right here. Lying on the floor beside me. Twisted and bleeding. His final breaths blackening his lungs with smoke. Arsen's fingers grip my throat, crushing it.
My chest constricts, another fragment of my heart splintering every time I remember. Acid tears stinging my eyes. Breaths shallow and uneven. The fork clatters against my plate.
I jump, reacting to it. "I'm fine. It's fine, I swear."
It's not fine, though. Not really. Seth reaches across the counter, his fingers slipping between mine. In a moment I feel his calm, a peace radiating in waves throughout my body. I inhale, lungs shuddering.
"I'm just tired," I explain, the words breaking before they even reach my lips. Another lie. And I can't hide anything from the one whose soul is connected to mine.
"It's not your fault."
But this—this is the biggest lie of all. "It is."
"It's not. You know by now there are things in this world you can't understand. You, of all people, Genesis. You know things aren't anything like they seem." His eyes travel back and forth between mine, studying them. "Stu is happier now than he's ever been," he assures me.
I grip his fingers harder, desperate to hold on. To keep him forever. "I just want him to know I'm sorry." The words come out a whisper, drenched in sadness and hurt.
"He knows."
THREE
My head pounds—an excessive beating—penetrating the darkness. When there are no nightmares, there is nothing. I prefer the nothing. I roll over on my side, groaning, working to push the sound away. But the hammering isn't coming from my head, or my dreams. It's the door.
"You know, I kind of admire him. He is nothing if not persistent." Seth wraps his arms tighter around my body, and my legs tangle with his. Sunlight streams through the window, warming the room. All traces of last night's storm vanished.
The knocking continues.
I wrench away from Seth's grasp, sliding to the floor, tottering as I work to find my balance. "You need to disappear for a minute," I remind him, voice thick with sleep. Explaining to Carter that I am living with a supernatural playboy is not high on my list of priorities at the moment. For now, at least, Seth remains a secret. An amazing and wonderful secret.
I head across the living room, unlock the deadbolt, and, wiping my eyes, pull the door open.
I blink back the brightness. "Carter, do you even know what time it is?"
Selena lifts her sunglasses, positioning them on top of her head, eyeing me curiously. "Yeah, it's lunchtime. We have a date, remember?"
Her swimsuit straps peek from beneath her shirt.
Saturday. The beach.
"Sorry. I thought you were Carter."
"Didn't mean to disappoint you," she replies smugly. "Don't worry. He's already stopped by." She snatches a pink and purple polka dotted "From the Desk of Kitty Fleming" note off the door and hands it to me. "He was checking on you," she says, forcing a smile. "That's so . . . sweet."
I skim the note before crumpling it between my fingers, eyes rolling. "Thanks."
Selena and I have a shaky past. We have a shaky friendship, actually, but a shaky friendship is better than no friendship at all, and a vast improvement considering it was on this side of six months ago she hated everything about me.
"You look awful."
"I know. Come in. I'll be fast." She follows me inside, letting her bag fall to the floor. She stops to examine the photographs hanging in the entryway, the black and white photos Carter won at the library gala months ago. Another lifetime ago, even. They're among the few possessions I brought with me to the pool house. Mom took the rest to her and Mike's new apartment across town.
I change into my swimsuit. My hair just is long enough to pull back in an elastic again, a tiny, if not pathetic, excuse for a ponytail.
"I'll drive," I tell Selena, slipping my feet into a pair of flip flops by the door.
Selena groans as we climb into my old Honda Accord, and I feel the smile tugging at my lips. It's good for her, every now and then, to see how the other half lives. Selena drives a luxury car—a shiny new BMW—given to her after she wrecked her old one in an accident I predicted. My car is her nightmare.
I bought it at a dealership just outside of South Marshall, paying cash with some of the insurance money from the fire at Ernie's. A settlement for not suing. Thanks, again, to the Flemings and their lawyers. The rest of the money is deposited safely in the bank. It won't last forever, though. I really need to find a new job.
"I can't believe how dead it is around here," Selena mutters, gazing out the window, the scenery blurring past.
"I thought you hated the crowds and how crazy everything is during the busy season. What did you call them? Tourist morons?"
"Tour-ons," she corrects. "And I do, but look at this place. It's like, everything that was good about it is gone. It's almost as bad as winter."
She's right. At one time, summers meant extra shifts at the diner, business for everyone, enough tip money to carry you safely to the other side of the slow season. It also meant traffic jams and overflowing parking lots.
It's mid-season, and The Strip is nearly empty.
We pass rows of colorful houses on the way to the beach, pink and teal and coral summer residences. Many are still boarded shut. A few owners installed bars on the windows. Alarm systems.
We see it at the same time.
"Whoa," Selena mumbles.
I crane my neck, slowing as we pass one of the newer homes sitting on a corner lot a few blocks from the ocean. The first floor windows are busted out, and black graffiti stains the front, an assortment of unfamiliar signs and symbols.
They think it's gang-related. After the fire at Ernie's, things started happening. The town hired a few more police officers, brought in some outside help, but it's not enough. I want to tell them that they can set curfews and patrol the streets all they want. It won't put a dent in the damage these "gang members" can do. They're destroying property, breaking and entering, stealing, killing. . . .
The beach isn't empty, but it's not crowded, either. Selena and I drag our bags and chairs to the water's edge, feeling the warm, white sand between our toes.
"Your head looks pretty bad," Selena says after we've set up. "Carter's not beating you, is he?"
"Why does everyone automatically assume I'm in some kind of abusive relationship?" I ask.
Because it's the only logical explanation for why you're always running around with black eyes and bruises.
An eyebrow lifts, accusing. "Well?"
I suppress my laughter. "Selena, no. I told you. It's not like that between us."
"So my other guess is that the massive purple welt on your forehead has something to do with a vision you may or may not have had."
Selena knows about my gift. Aside from the Guardians and the demons, she and Carter are the only ones who know what I see.
"Something like that."
"Keep it up and people are going to start asking questions."
"I wish you guys would stop worrying about me."
She shrugs. "I'm not worried. You can do what you want. I'm just saying it can't be worth it all the time—you know, getting beat up for other people."
Images of Stu flash through my head. Throwing hamburger patties onto the grill. Bringing me plates of scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast. Lying in a heap, bleeding, flames licking at his broken body.
"Trust me, Selena. It's worth it."
A motor hums behind us, and I turn in time to watch a police SUV cruise by. The mayor is enforcing a mandatory curfew until things settle down. We're urged not to go out after dark, to stick to groups of two or more. It's like we're living in a police state. No one is safe from anyone.
I follow the vehicle with my eyes, brake lights blinking as it slows, and I see something in the distance. Near the cabana. A flash of red. My heart pounds through my skin. Pulse edging a degree as I try to focus.
A bead of sweat trickles down my back, and I shiver.
She's here.
I spring to my feet, stumbling in the sand.
"Are you okay?" Selena asks.
"Yeah. I'm, um, I need something to drink," I say, thinking quickly. "Do you want anything?"
"I packed us a couple of waters," she replies, motioning to her bag.
"I know. I just . . . I need something with caffeine." I don't hear what she says next. I'm already walking toward the cabana. A wave breaks, crashing, sending cold water rushing over my feet. I poke around my purse as I hurry to the building, until I feel the solid handle of my knife.
"What's wrong?"
I refuse to stop moving. Every second wasted is another chance for her to get away. "It's Viola," I say, marching across the sand. "She's here."
"We're watching," Seth reminds me. "She's not here. We haven't seen her since the fire."
I breathe in the sea air. Some of the hair has already slipped out of my ponytail, and the wind lashes it against my face.
"Seth, I know she's here," I tell him, pushing the strands away.
I stop at the bathhouse, searching, hand wrapped tightly around the knife, out of sight.
If I could get her alone. If I could lure her somewhere else.
"It's too crowded," Seth says, as if reading my thoughts. "You'll never get away with it."
The snack station is bustling. Groups of college students, down for the day. A few families. The last of the locals unfazed by the terrorism that plagues our city. No Viola.
"What's up?"
I spin around. Joshua, his dirty blonde hair shining in the sunlight, stands behind us, hands stuffed deep inside the pockets of his swim trunks.
"I saw her."
Seth exhales beside me. "Will you explain to her that we've been watching? If Viola was here we'd know it."
Joshua shrugs. "We're watching, Gen," he assures me. "If she was around we'd know. I am on this. I promise."
"I know what I saw," I insist. "It was her hair. That . . . that red. I saw it clear across the beach. It was her."
"It's not an unusual color. You can buy it from the drugstore," Seth reminds me.
"She's here," I tell Joshua, ignoring him. "Let the others know. When you see her, come to me first. Do not let her get away."
I turn on my heel, trudging across the sand, heart pounding heavy in my ears.
Why am I always a second too late?
"I thought you were getting something to drink," Selena says as I plop back down in the chair beside her, tossing my bag to the ground.
"I was. It was crowded. I, um, saw someone." I turn back toward that cabana, staring into the distance, determined to see her one more time.
"Okay. I just wanna let you know that this is getting kind of weird for me," Selena confesses.
"Yeah, well, trust me when I say that it's even weirder for me."
I turn my face toward the sun, closing my eyes, skin tingling as it warms. A cool breeze blows off the ocean, tousling my hair. I open my eyes and gaze across the sea. Another wave crashes, tumbling to shore, pausing a few feet shy of where we're sitting. I study the horizon. The calm.
It's an illusion, though. Any water appears flat, smooth, from a distance.
She's here. I can prove it.
I rise, moving quickly.
"Now where are you going?" Selena asks.
"I just want to stick my feet in."
"After last night's storm? The water is freezing."
"I'll only be a second," I promise.
I reach into my bag and remove my knife, winding my fingers around it.
"Genesis!" Selena hisses. "Are you crazy?" Her voice is lost in the wind and the waves and ignored by the part of me that knows Viola is still out there, waiting for me.
I move toward the water, chasing the sea as it sucks back, foaming and bubbling. Another wave moves in, colliding with my ankles, splashing up to my knees. I gasp, feeling the icy water prick my skin. Behind the breakers, I lift with each new wave. They push against me, shoving me back to shore. I lose the sandbar, and, in the next moment, slip beneath the surface. Saltwater assaults my nose, burning. Eyes stinging. Above me the world is clearer, brighter, quieter, the sunlight reflecting diamonds on the water. My feet scrape against sand, and something slimy brushes my leg. I kick furiously, grappling for the surface as the current drags me along. I break free and inhale sharply. Gasping. Coughing. Sputtering. Lip trembling with cold.
Come on, Viola. I know you're here.
I tread water, waiting, moving with the waves.
This is where you like to play, isn't it? I dare you.
A band of seagulls flies overhead, squawking. One lands on a nearby post, eyeing me curiously with its beady black eye.
I turn back to the sea, expecting to feel her at any moment. Fingers wrapping around my ankle. The jolt that drags me under.
This is what she wants, isn't it? For me to die? I've made it easy for her. She could never resist this.
I wait. Watching. But there's nothing.
My legs grow weaker, shaking and numb with cold.
A few beats more and I turn, swimming with the next wave that moves in. And the next. I feel the sandbar beneath my feet and trudge back to shore. The surf carried me down the beach. Selena sits in the distance, waiting.
I cross my arms tightly against my chest, both warming myself and hiding the blade of my knife as I approach her. Seth is nearby, sitting on a towel in the sand. Sunglasses hiding his eyes. His jaw is tight. Angry.
I'll hear about this later.
"What was that?" Selena demands to know.
Seawater drips from my hair, rolling down my body. I wipe my nose, feeling the sun heat my shoulders. "Do you want the truth?"
"God, no. Just humor me."
"I was trying to catch your dinner." I toss the knife into my purse. "They're not biting."
"You're a freak, Genesis Green."
"Yeah, I know." I swallow back a smile, reaching for the elastic to fix my ponytail. But it's gone. I run my fingers through my wet hair, searching for it on the ground.
I eventually give up, turning my attention back to the sea. At whatever's out there. Waiting for me. Not waiting for me.
I am not afraid of you.
FOUR
"Why do you keep doing this to me?" Seth shouts, infuriated. "How many times do I have to tell you we're watching?"
I spin on my heel, flinging my beach bag to the floor. "You didn't believe me when I told you I saw her."
"I did!"
"You didn't!" I accuse. "You just wrote it off like I was imagining things. I am not crazy!"
"No one is saying you are, Genesis. But we didn't see her. And even if we did that's not a license for you to throw yourself into the ocean!"
My arms fold across my chest in defiance. "You're angry because you know it could've worked."
His jaw tightens, eyes flashing. "I'm angry because every day you find some new way to put yourself in danger. Do you want to die?"
"You know better than that."
"Then stop doing stupid, irrational things! Anything could have gone wrong today. The freezing water. The rip tide. Viola should have been the least of your concerns."
I swallow back a laugh. "Viola is my only concern."
"I know, and that's the problem. When you first agreed to work with us, it was so you could help people. You felt like it was your calling. Did I like it? No. But this is worse. Your visions, your actions, everything you do now centers around her." He steps back, head shaking, looking at me like he doesn't know who I am anymore. Like he doesn't even know the person standing in front of him.
And maybe . . . maybe he doesn't. Because neither do I.
I move into the kitchen, gathering empty take-out trays and crumpled napkins and pitching them into the trash can. Dumping dirty silverware into the sink. I fight against the surge of sadness swelling inside. He's right. I know he's right. But this is about more than him or me.
She killed my friend. For no other reason except that he was my friend.
"Genesis," Seth says, tone softening.
I force the sadness away, and, in its place, am left with a slow, simmering anger. "I can't let her get away with what she did. I can't."
"I know. And as much as I'd love to, I can't interfere with that choice."
"You left before," I remind him, voice edging on defensive.
His forehead creases, and an unexpected pain stabs at my chest. The words hurt him, and now me.
"I know. I did. I couldn't handle it and I left you. It's one of my many regrets. But I came back. I promised I would never do it again, and I'm not. I'm here, Genesis. For better or for worse, but I want to start focusing more on the better, if that's okay with you," he says, voice solemn.
I turn on the faucet and start rinsing dirty plates. "I can't. Not until Viola's gone." I concentrate on the task before me, what I can control. Rinsing each dish or fork or spoon or whatever and placing it onto the racks in the dishwasher. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Wisps of steam rise from the heat of the water. I gaze through the window overlooking Carter's backyard. His pool. The palm trees. The perfectly manicured plant beds filled with exotic flowers. It's own, tiny paradise.
The dishes clink against one another as I load the last few. I can feel Seth's eyes watching, boring into my back as I shut off the water.
"I wish you'd stop worrying so much about me," I say, glancing in his direction. He's leaning against the counter, arms folded. His eyes fix on mine, wounded, troubled.
"I don't feel powerful enough to protect you," he confesses.
I wipe my hands with the dishrag and toss it onto the counter in a heap. "This isn't about you protecting me, anymore," I say, moving closer. "I could care less who you are. What you are. What you're supposed to be." I spread my legs on either side of his, sinking into him. "All I care about is you. And that you're here with me. Forever."
I close my eyes as he tips closer, and a spark of energy passes between our lips when they touch. Electric. He kisses me slowly, stealing my breath. A flush crawls to my cheeks and he's everywhere, coursing through my veins, fluttering in my stomach. I move down his jaw line, lips brushing against his neck. He tastes like salt, like seawater.