So what the hell happened?
“IT WAS HIM,” I said simply, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I know,” Asher replied softly.
His words were hits with a hammer to the thin glass wall between myself and the world—it shattered and reality came crashing down around me. Suddenly, I was livid with Asher for letting Blake leave in the first place. And then, as I stood there with my back to him, I realized something.
“How? How did you know it was him?” I demanded warily.
Obviously, I’d cyber-stalked Blake. But how would Asher know what Lark’s boyfriend looked like?
“He told me,” Asher replied, in a clipped tone. “Said he received Lark’s package. Apparently there was a note in it, asking him to bring something to this address. He didn’t know why, or what the significance of it is, but wanted to do anything he could to help find her.”
Still unsure of Asher, I kept my back to him, so he couldn’t see the suspicion in my eyes.
Something seemed off with his explanation. How long was I in the bathroom? The conversation between Blake and Asher didn’t seem like it was long enough to include all of that. Then again, I only caught every third word. Because I was listening through the door. Like a total weirdo.
“What is it?” I asked, still a little numb from letting Blake leave without a thorough interrogation.
At least you know where to find him, I reassured myself. You can go question him whenever you want.
“What’s what?” Asher asked, sounding confused.
“The item he brought over,” I said, finally whirling around to face Asher and giving him my best ‘duh’ expression. “The one that might help us find Lark?”
“Oh, right. Um, it’s a key.”
“To what?” I asked.
Asher shook his head.
“No idea. Blake didn’t seem to understand its purpose either.”
Again, I wondered how the two guys had covered so much ground in so little time.
“Let me see it,” I insisted, tossing aside my manners. As if that weren’t clear enough, I held out my hand, palm up.
When Asher placed it there, I immediately felt the cold tinge of metal. Peering down, there was a golden, probably brass, skeleton key clutched in my hand. If it was only the key, I might’ve discounted its importance. It wasn’t exactly the first key I’d found on this journey, after all—this was well-traveled territory. I had more keys than I did things to unlock.
But this one was different. Very different. As the sight of it sparked a memory, I swiftly recognized its importance.
It was dangling from a long, thin leather rope.
A cord that was meant to be used as a necklace.
I lightly ran my finger over the metal, tracing the outline.
In one of her journal entries, Lark wrote about giving Blake a gift. She’d been nervous that he wouldn’t like it, but, of course, her worry was unfounded. Blake loved the necklace. In Lark’s scrawling handwriting, she’d talked about tucking the leather rope inside his shirt, so that the key would touch his heart. Blake had teased that it was the key to her heart.
Despite the cheesiness of the gift and their banter, I was pretty sure this key did unlock something of Lark’s. Not her heart. But something she’d worn close to that important organ. Something she’d written about commissioning from the jeweler at the same time as the key.
The butterfly pendant.
“I think I know what this key goes to,” I said, staring up at Asher. He was, not surprisingly, looking at me like I’d lost my mind.
“Really?” he asked doubtfully.
That’s when I remembered that I’d told Asher the butterfly pendant was mine.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Because I was holding the necklace when I woke up, I’d used the necklace as my excuse for that unfortunate sleepwalking incident. In hindsight, the lie was so flimsy that Asher probably didn’t believe it anyway. But I’d told him that I had suddenly remembered hiding the necklace in my car and needed to retrieve it immediately. In the middle of the night. While not wearing shoes.
You’re a horrible liar.
At this juncture, I had two options. Perpetuate the lie and make up some fake clue I’d supposedly stumbled across that was just waiting for this key. Or fess up.
In the end, I decided on a combination of the two.
“You know how you found me in my car that one night, really late?” I asked.
“With feet that looked like you’d just walked through a cornfield?” Asher replied dryly.
“Yep, that’s the one. So…I wasn’t totally honest with you at the time. That necklace, the one I showed you with the butterfly pendant? It’s not mine. It belongs to Lark.”
Asher’s eyes went wide and, for a moment, he was speechless.
“Raven, I…. Well, shit. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me the truth,” he said, more distressed about it than I thought he’d be. “You don’t ever need to lie to me. Ever. No matter what it’s about, you can tell me.”
“I know, I know. I should’ve told you the truth,” I said quickly, hoping to brush over that part. “It’s just that I was in bed, reading her journal, and I saw something in there about the necklace. She wrote about hiding it in a car. And I figured that maybe, maybe, the car she was talking about was mine. It seemed like it was worth checking, at least, since I did find her journal in there.
“So, yeah, I was so caught up in the whole thing that I just ran right outside. When I found it, I was just so…shocked. I mean, that was the first thing that belonged to Lark that I found, besides the journal. Which was why I lied. It was so freaking weird. And then you were banging on the window, and it caught me off guard. I was still in shock, and I’d just met you, and had no idea if you’d believe this crazy story. Even as I’m saying it out loud right now, it sounds crazy.”
Wow, way to ramble. He’s totally going to see through that excuse, I thought.
“I see,” was all Asher had to say. After a deep breath, he seemed to regroup. “And what does this key have to do with that butterfly pendant? I feel like I’m missing something.”
“It’s sort of complicated,” I began, thinking about what an understatement that was. “Lark had this key made for Blake by the same jeweler who made her the butterfly. At the same time.”
“Okay…,” Asher said slowly. “I’m sorry, Raven, but I still don’t understand how that means they go together.”
“Can you just trust me on this? I can’t explain it. It’s just something I feel. Somehow, in some way, this key and that butterfly are connected,” I replied, fully aware of how crazy I sounded.
Despite that, my conviction was strong—I knew I was right about them. Lark said she’d given Blake the key because she wanted him to know how special he was to her. But from what I knew of Lark Kingsley, that was only half the reason. She was secretive. And scared. And she’d been hiding things left and right from those closest to her. Every key she’d left behind had a corresponding lock. So, logically, that meant that the one she gave Blake did, too.
“Only one way to find out,” Asher said, taking my rambling diatribe in stride. “Where’s the butterfly?”
Relieved that he was, once again, onboard my crazy train, I grinned.
“Inside,” I replied.
Pushing past Asher, I hurried inside to retrieve the butterfly pendant from my messenger bag, where I’d been keeping it. The same excitement I felt before every big discovery bubbled within me as I practically skipped back to the plush couch in the living room where Asher waited. Sitting side-by-side, a respectable space between us, Asher held the key as I undid the strings on the velvet pouch that held the gold and opal creation. As always, I was caught off guard by the weight of the pendant. It was inordinately heavy.
Jitters started in my belly, thousands of flapping wings beating against my stomach lining. Was there really something in the butterfly? The contents had to be small, that was for sure. The pendant itself
was only the size of my pinkie finger, if not slightly wider.
First spreading out the velvet cloth flat on the coffee table, I then placed the butterfly on top of it. I brushed my fingertip over the surface. The metal was cool and smooth, with no grooves or indents. Satisfied that there was nothing unusual with the front surface, I flipped the pendant over and examined the back side for the first time. After studying it closely for over a minute, I saw something.
Two interlocking circles, barely visible to the naked eye, were carved into the gold near the base. With the tip of my pinkie, I pressed down on them. The circles slid apart with a tiny click, exposing a small keyhole. The soft sound was like thunder in the silent apartment.
“I’ll be damned,” Asher whistled. “You were right. How’d you know?”
“I didn’t,” I sputtered. “I mean, not really anyway. Like I said, I just had a feeling the key and butterfly were made to fit together, since Lark had them made by the same guy. And because she and Blake each wore one, all the time. It’s sort of like…don’t make fun of me, I know it’s corny, but it’s sort of like the way they go together.”
My romanticism earned me a wry smile from Asher, but he refrained from commenting on it.
“Do you want to do the honors? Or should I?”
“I’ll do it,” I quickly answered, feeling as though it were my right.
Asher handed me Blake’s offering. Given the delicate nature of the pendant, I was careful to slowly ease the key into the hidden opening. It slid in without hesitation, but only a very little way. Evidently, the keyhole was quite shallow. Maybe because of what was inside?
What could that possibly be?
Out of nowhere, I began to have reservations.
I want to open the butterfly. I don’t want to open the butterfly.
I want to learn the truth. I don’t want to learn the truth.
I want to be an ostrich.
“Want me to do it, Raven?” Asher asked softly, cutting off my train of thought before it went completely off the rails.
“No. No, I got it,” I replied.
I did, right?
“Okay. Take your time. No hurry at all.”
I glared at Asher, before realizing that he was being nice, not condescending.
On edge, much? Just do it.
Finally, I took a deep breath and turned the key. Another soft click was followed by the bottom of the butterfly popping open, as if on a spring trigger. Tiny twin doors flipped out just barely, leaving the end of the pendant slightly ajar.
As my breath caught, I met Asher’s brown eyes. He nodded encouragingly.
Just do it!
Carefully, as if it was made of spun sugar, I picked up the heavy gold pendant and gave it a delicate, almost imperceptible, shake.
Since I expected something to fall out, I felt a wave of disappointment when nothing thudded onto the coffee table. No tiny scroll with the coordinates to ancient treasure. No slip of paper bearing some cryptic number. Not another key.
Nothing.
With a quizzical glance over at Asher, whose perplexed expression mirrored my own, I shook the pendant again, using just a touch more force.
Still nothing.
In case the item was stuck inside, I shook it insistently.
Nadda.
What the hell, Lark? You seriously went through all this trouble for nothing?
Unable to come to terms with such an intricate clue being a dead-end, I brought the pendant up to my face, to peer inside the darkness. The miniature hinged doors had popped open midway across the end when I’d turned the key, to expose the darkness inside the butterfly. Pressing as gently as possible, I eased the delicate gold flaps apart with my finger. They went all the way back, until the outside rested flush against the body of the butterfly.
What I’d taken to be empty space was actually the treasure itself: the dark end of a chrome-tipped flash drive.
The harmless little electronic device made my adrenaline spike, though I didn’t know why. One thing I did know was that this discovery held information. Real, concrete information. Instinctively, I felt sure that a note wasn’t waiting for me in its memory. It wasn’t an address or locker combination. None of those things would require an entire jump drive.
“Should we take a look?” Asher asked hesitantly.
He seemed nearly as awed by our find as I felt.
“Yeah…definitely. My computer’s right there,” I replied, nodding uselessly to the laptop in plain sight on the edge of the coffee table.
When I made no move towards the computer, Asher reached over and grabbed it. He gently pried the drive from my numb fingers and fit it into one of the USB ports on the back of the laptop. He chose the E directory and selected the lone file folder. A password box popped up on the screen.
My daze quickly dissipated and I came crashing back to earth with a groan.
“Of course! Of course the hidden drive within a necklace that was locked needs a password!” I declared with exasperation, throwing up my hands in defeat. “Nope, no way. That’s it! I give up. I’m done, done with all of this. I’m pretty sure this is simply an intricate plot to drive me insane. And it worked. Uncle!”
“Don’t be so quick to throw in the towel,” Asher chastised, hiding an impish grin as he grabbed my arm and gave it a little shake. Evidently he found my meltdown was amusing. “What’s that nine digit number you got from the Sudoku game?”
I brightened. Asher really was a very useful accomplice.
After finding the notepad where it was written, I rattled off the nine numbers in sequence. Asher input them.
Nothing happened.
For good measure, he tried again.
And nothing happened.
Well, shit.
“Maybe the reverse order?” I suggested weakly.
Asher shrugged. It was a gesture we did so often, it was a wonder we didn’t have giant shoulder muscles.
“Okay, shoot. Read ‘em off backwards.”
And again, nothing happened.
“Great,” I said, frustrated beyond belief. “Now I need to find another fucking password.”
Asher began to reach for my hands, hesitated briefly, and then went for it. His fingers wound around my wrists and he leaned into me. His face was serious and I started having déjà vu back to the other night. Then he—
Two lips across mine. Ten fingers down my spine. No space between us.
“Whistleblower!” I exclaimed.
“Huh?”
“Whistleblower! Try whistleblower. It’s the crossword clue I found way back.”
Asher grinned proudly. He squeezed my hands once before releasing them to return his attention to the laptop. His long fingers flew to the keyboard, typing in the single word with impressive speed. And apparently, accuracy. Because a heartbeat later, the computer’s media player appeared on the screen. Asher slid the volume bar to max and hit play.
BRIIING-TING-TING. Briiiiing-ting-ting.
The morning after my party I slept in, waking only when my text message alert was going off. My phone was lying next to my head, the frequent alerts penetrating my dreams sporadically, until this one finally woke me up. With a groan, I grabbed the annoying device and swiped the screen to life.
Eleven new messages. Ugh.
Scanning the blurbs on the message home screen, I saw several from Taylor, Cam and Ilan, all commenting on the party last night and what a good time they had. One was from Annie: Birthday brunch? Noon? Glancing over at the chrome clock on my nightstand, I saw that it was already 11:41. Whoops, that wasn’t happening.
I bypassed the rest of the messages from my Manhattan friends in favor of those from Blake. Four of the texts were from him; prolific as Blake was, he was rarely able to stay within the word limit for a single message. Warmth spread through me and I felt my lips curving into a smile as I read his words: Good morning, gorgeous. I love you. I dreamt about how beautiful you looked last night—you were radiant. Let me know if you ha
ve some time later and want to hang out, I’d really love to see you. But then I always love seeing you. Xoxo.
God I am lucky. I had a handsome, smart, funny guy who loved me and had no qualms about making it known. My guy friends, Alistair for instance, thought telling a girl that her boobs looked particularly large in her dress was a loving gesture. By comparison, Blake was like the hero from a harlequin romance. Only, my man was the real deal. Even outside of high school, beyond the time when boys turned into men, I felt certain I’d never find a love like his again. It was no wonder I was willing to do whatever it took to protect him and us from the cretins of the world.
I started to type a response to Blake, and then noticed one text was from a number that was not saved in my contacts. Odd. I didn’t give my number out to just anyone, and when I did meet a new friend and exchange information, I saved theirs as well.
The area code, 475, was in Connecticut, my old stomping grounds. Adam.
Seeing and spending time with him at my party had reminded me how much I loved Adam, in a totally platonic way, of course. But now, the morning after, when my thoughts were no longer fuzzy from champagne and liquor shots, I wasn’t sure how I felt about rekindling our friendship. Adam knew things about me that no one in my current world did. Things I even sometimes forgot, since it was another lifetime. Things I didn’t want to remember. Was mixing my past and present really such a good idea?
Do you want a future, Lark? If so, you have to face this. The voice of my therapist floated through my head unbidden. You must acknowledge what happened, understand the reasons why it happened, and process your emotions in order to heal. Continuing to hide the past is not healthy, and will cause it to manifest in frightening ways. Just as it did before.
Over half of my senior class at Gracen was in therapy, and openly discussed their sessions with one another. Cam and Taylor compared notes on a regular basis. Ilan used his to get of assignments he didn’t feel like doing. “My therapist says” are like magical words in our world that open a treasure trove of perks and possibilities.
“My therapist says that being forced to run the mile in under ten minutes adds unnecessary stress to my life, and that pressuring children to meet unrealistic expectations during our formative years only sets us up for failure down the road,” Ilan had told our gym teacher.