Pain shone from his eyes. He probably thought my silence was out of anger, and I wasn’t certain he was wrong.
“It’s not,” was all Oliver said. “We have to jump. But I know these waters—there aren’t any rocks below this cave.”
Without hesitation, I strode past the scene in my childhood bedroom and returned to the cliff’s edge. I stared down at the waves below, trying to make out any shapes in the depths, but there wasn’t quite enough light yet. Seconds later, Oliver’s shoes appeared next to my bare feet. I could feel him looking at me, wondering if I’d reach for his hand. This was our tradition and I had never wavered from it, not even after a big fight.
It had started when Oliver discovered his ability to influence reality. Or reality as he knew it, at least. The memory replayed as vividly in my head as the one we’d witnessed moments ago.
“I think I can do anything,” young Oliver had whispered to me beneath a velvet sky of stars. I think we could jump off that cliff, right now, and I’d be able to make the water feel like landing on a bunch of pillows.
Nine-year-old Fortuna had cocked her head and thought about this. “Let’s find out,” she decided.
Before Oliver could respond, she leaped to her feet and ran. He caught up within seconds, of course, his gangly legs easily overtaking hers. They reached the edge at the same time, waving skinny arms to catch their balance. They looked at each other, eyes bright from the thrill of our daring. Coming to an unspoken agreement, the younger versions of us started counting together. “One… two… three!”
Our delighted screams echoed through my head, and I blinked the memory back. After a moment, I refocused on the dusk-covered waves at the bottom of the world. I didn’t reach for Oliver’s hand or count.
I just jumped.
It didn’t feel like pillows this time, and the water wasn’t warm like it used to be. It wasn’t freezing, either. Without the magic that had once made this place so special, it was just… seawater. Oliver landed beside me, and before he broke the surface, I started swimming toward the closest strip of land I could see. The ocean lapped at my chin and roared in my ears. Oliver caught up with me easily, just as he’d been doing all our lives, and sunlight bounced off his wet hair.
Minutes later, we hauled ourselves onto the beach. My clothes clung to my body, which ached from fighting the currents. I’d barely been here an hour and I already longed for sleep. Giving in to the feeling, I sank down onto a dry patch of sand and released a heavy breath. Oliver’s footsteps halted. He stood there for a few seconds, then slowly moved to sit beside me. He rested his elbows on his knees and peered out at the horizon. I wrapped my arms around my legs.
Together and apart, we watched the sky give itself over to light and color. My drenched clothes and sea-sprayed skin cooled with every passing minute. I must’ve shivered, because Oliver suddenly pulled his sweater over his head and held it out to me. I accepted without looking at him, and as it settled on my shoulders, his familiar scent assailed my senses. A pang of nostalgia and sorrow hit me.
“In the cave, you said that was ‘one of my secrets,’” I said softly, still not looking at Oliver. “Do you have others?”
He threw a pinch of sand at the horizon. “Everyone has secrets, Fortuna.”
At this, I finally turned to him. I opened my mouth to argue… before I realized that he was right. Even now, despite my efforts to be honest with Oliver, there were things I had withheld. I faced the skyline again and decided to let him keep his secrets, just as he let me keep mine. At least he’d had the courage to share one of his tonight, and he did it knowing there might be a cost.
The sun rose, driving away what remained of the moon and stars, but for once I didn’t mind. There was something to be said for sitting in the light of day after spending so much time in the dark. It gradually banished the shadows inside me, until even the anger had dissipated, too. Sighing, I leaned my head on Oliver’s shoulder and enjoyed the subtle warmth of morning on my skin.
Neither of us tried to broach the silence again. I didn’t ask Oliver if he still loved me, and he didn’t tell me that he wished things were different. I thought of the memory I’d regained in the cave, and an image filled my mind of young Oliver, peering out from behind our tree with frightened eyes. Those two children no longer existed. We’d grown up. We’d changed. I didn’t know what our future looked like, but tomorrow didn’t exist, anyway. There was only now.
As if he were agreeing, Oliver pressed a kiss to my forehead.
And now is so beautiful, I thought.
I woke to someone tapping my nose.
At first, it was easy to ignore. Within seconds, though, the touch became more insistent. Eventually it forced me back to full consciousness, and pulling my mind from the darkness felt like tugging my foot out of a thick patch of mud. I couldn’t open my eyes. Not yet.
Despite this, I knew straight away that I was no longer in the dreamscape—I could smell the distinct tang of hair dye. The tapping hadn’t stopped, either. I scowled and yanked the covers over me, but this didn’t deter Emma, of course. There was a faint click in the stillness, and light streamed through my eyelids. I made an intelligible, furious sound Emma didn’t acknowledge.
“Up and at ’em, sweetheart. You’ve been asleep for fourteen hours!” she said. I listened to her bustle across the room and open the curtains. “Gil and Lyari both stopped by last night. Not together, of course. Lyari isn’t fond of vampires, is she? Finn, either. Poor Gilbert, it’s not as though he can help it.”
“Why do you hate me?” I mumbled, finally lowering the covers. My eyelids were heavy and reluctant. Once they were open, my vision clear, the first thing I saw was the sky. It was starless, as though the world was wearing a black shroud.
“Funny, isn’t it, how love can be so easily mistaken for hate?” Emma mused, walking past the bed again.
I sighed, wondering how much weed she’d smoked. A glance at the alarm clock revealed that it was barely six a.m. “It’s too early for this, Ems.”
The old woman stood on the threshold now. She wore her usual robe and slippers, but today her head was covered in a shower cap. I couldn’t see which color she’d chosen through the patterned plastic. “I woke you for two reasons,” Emma responded, ticking them off on her fingers. “One, you need to eat and hydrate. You may be descended from angels, but you still have human needs, my girl. Two, you have another visitor this morning, and he was very insistent. He’s on Cyrus’s porch. I tried to get him to come in, but he wasn’t having it. Stubborn, that one.”
Someone was waiting for me on Cyrus’s porch? Emma left before I could ask questions, but the affection in her voice had been unmistakable. It was also telling that Finn hadn’t bothered to get up from his bed in front of the fireplace, I thought as I followed Emma through the doorway.
To confirm my suspicions, I moved to the window at the end of the hall. It wasn’t quite as dark as I’d thought upon waking—there was a smudge of color on the horizon, the weakest of yellows, like the artist painting today’s sunrise had dipped their paintbrush in water before putting the bristles to canvas. Using this light, feeble as it was, I spotted a silhouette straight away. It was tall, slender, and familiar. Wings fluttered in my chest.