Between (18 page)

We stop at the landing outside my door, and I wave my hand to open it. Sunlight pours through the doorway, and all the table lamps illuminate as we enter. I pull the elastic from the end of my braid and unwind my hair as I walk inside, shaking out the thick waves as I drag myself further into the suite. The door clicks shut behind us. On my bed sits a box with a red towel draped across the top. I raise my eyebrows at Seth, and I swear I see a flush creep across his cheeks.

“I brought you something,” Seth says.

Birthdays and Christmases have always meant cards from Seth. An actual gift for no occasion whatsoever? Suddenly my head is in the library again, drawing lines down his arms with my fingers and wondering what it all means.

Wait.

“Seth, if it’s a thesaurus, I will throw it at you.”

He laughs and stands beside me at the foot of my bed. He smells nice—like an early spring morning with fresh-cut grass, wet earth, and sunshine—and I almost tell him so before I realize that might be a little weird. “Just open it, Charlie.”

I pull the towel away and my breath catches. All my loves are there—my worn charcoals, soft pastels, half-empty watercolors, pencils, paintbrushes—everything I need. He must’ve grabbed them from the mortal realm this morning. I bite my lip and dig through them until I find my sketchbooks at the bottom of the box. He’s remembered every single one of them, even the leather-bound one from the shelf over my bed.

I turn and throw my arms around his neck without thinking. It takes the longest second, but his arms finally come around me as well. One hand slides around my waist while the other moves up my back, pressing me closer.

Warmth spreads through me, as much a result of having my sketches here as having Seth’s arms around me. For the first time, I feel a little less restless, like this is a place I could get used to.

Ellauria as well as Seth’s arms.

Several seconds pass, and neither of us pulls away.

Seth and I have always favored the quick one-armed hug in the past, our bodies barely touching. Hugs of habit, not warm embraces. Like everything else here, this is different.

I close my eyes, inhaling him, and I feel his face turn into my hair, breathing me in as well. There’s a hint of lavender mixed into his fresh morning scent. It must be his shampoo. His breath on my neck makes me arch toward him. His heart beats against mine, and I relax, allowing myself to be wrapped in his strength, security, and all the things that are so very Seth.

It’s not that kissing Seth has never crossed my mind, but before it’s always been more about curiosity than need. I wait, all too aware of how close his lips are to my skin.

Kiss me
.

Seth releases me so quickly I almost fall. I take a step forward to catch myself and then force myself to step backward, coming down on my feet and tucking my hair behind my ears. Seth’s hands fall to his sides. I stare at his chest, embarrassed. Did he do that because I wanted him to kiss me? Am I completely misreading everything here?

When I finally lift my head, his eyes are already on mine. He clears his throat and says, “I brought something else, too.”

So we’re pretending that didn’t happen. Right.

Seth goes to my closet and reaches inside. When he turns, his hand is wrapped around the neck of a wooden acoustic guitar with a sunburst finish. A Gibson.

My hand lands on my mouth.

Sam’s guitar.

I release a shaky breath and run my fingers along the strings Sam had been touching only yesterday, and it’s almost like I’m touching him.

“So he’ll have it when he gets here,” Seth explains. He sets it on the floor at an angle, leaning against the wall and my dresser.

“Thank you,” I tell him. My bottom lip trembles, and I swallow the urge to burst into tears. “He’ll love it.
I
love it.”

Seth presses his lips together and nods. His smile is filled with compassion so touching that I almost lose it. He seems to realize this and brightens his grin before turning his attention to the box on my bed. “I’m sorry you had to wait. I hope I got everything.”

I press my hands to my cheeks. Don’t cry, Charlie. You can do this.

I turn to the box and take out each item, laying everything on my bed. I pull out the leather-bound book, the ones with sketches of my home, and ease onto my mattress. Seth sits next to me while I flip through them.

The worn white picket fence around Mom’s flower garden. She added something new to it every year, usually an herb of some sort, if she could dig out enough mint to find room. Wild strawberries grew in the corner of the garden, and when I was little I pretended they were there for the fairies living among the blooms.

Mom’s front porch, scattered with furniture and flowers. Wind chimes hang on the side above the bright yellow forsythia bush at the end of the house. I’d drawn Mom sitting in the wicker loveseat with her feet propped up on one of the tables. She loved that porch. I could almost always find her there in the mornings, sitting in the chair and drinking coffee, watching hummingbirds fight over the feeders in the yard.

I trace her with my fingers, and a teardrop hits the page below the front porch steps.

Seth’s arm curls around me, pulling me toward him. “You’ll see her again.”

I lay my head against his shoulder and turn the page.

Sam’s hands on his guitar, plucking its strings with one hand and gripping its neck with the other. I remember the day I drew this. He’d been working on a new song, but it wasn’t coming out right, and he’d spent hours playing the same tune over and over in various keys and rhythms.

I close the book.

What if this is all I have left? These drawings? These memories?

Will we have the chance to make new ones?

“How can I keep going, not knowing where they are or if they’re okay?” My voice is cloaked in tears, creating a raspy whisper. I don’t really expect an answer. I don’t know how Seth could say anything to make this better, anyway.

He rests his chin on my head. “Because that’s what you do. You keep going. You get up every day and you believe you’re going to see them. You live like they’ll be here tomorrow. Prepare for it. Get ready.” He pulls away and looks at my face. “You can do this.”

I swallow hard. He has more faith in my strength right now than I do. I rub the soft leather cover of the book and then hug it to my chest.

“Oh, while I’m thinking about it, here.” Seth reaches into his pocket and pulls out a royal blue ribbon—an aernovus. He loops it around his finger and presses it to his chest. The ribbon glows for a second, then vanishes. I feel a tiny pulse below my collarbone, and when I look down, the aernovus is glimmering against my white-and-gray shirt.

“Now you’re officially mine,” he says, then quickly adds, “my Apprentice, I mean.”

The aernovus curls itself against me before relaxing into a loop. I don’t feel any different. Seth says I’m official, but I still feel like a poser. To be honest, I still feel like a mortal.

I need some time to think, process, and unwind.

“I need to talk to Alexander about this fairy ring business,” Seth says. “You think you’ll be okay here by yourself for a few hours?”

I smile. We both know I want to be alone. I stand to place the sketchbook on my nightstand and pull one I haven’t used yet from the box. I could fill an entire book on today’s events alone. “Sure. I think I’ll draw for a bit.”

I’ll draw things for Sam. Mom, too. Even though none of this is new to her, she hasn’t been here for a while. It’ll be their welcoming gift.

Because they’re going to come home.

I realize I just thought of Ellauria as home and nod to myself. This is good.

“That’s perfect. If you take a break, there are some books on the coffee table for you. One is about sirens, and the other is a bestiary of mystical creatures.”

I turn to see two books on the table. One has a shiny red cover and the other seems older, bound in faded green cloth.

“Oh, and one more thing.” He reaches around me and pulls open my nightstand drawer.

I burst out laughing. Inside are bags and bags of peanut M&Ms.

Seth smiles. “I’ll be back later.”

“I’ll be here.”

His shoulders relax and he nods before flickering away.

I spend the next couple of hours marking up pages with my pencil. I love new sketchbooks. Pages and pages of possibilities, waiting to be filled with whatever I want. The hate-filled eyes and crooked snarl of the harpy. Clara painting her nails on the rock. Lulu’s sparkling wings. Seth’s arms.

I spend quite a bit of time on Seth’s arms, actually. Along with his eyes, trying to balance the seriousness of his stare with the sweetness of his smile. I round out his bottom lip and then rub my thumb across it, smudging the line for softness.

There’s a knock at the door and I yell, “Come in!” before I remember I should probably find out who’s knocking first. Stranger Danger 101. Seth would not be pleased.

The door slides open, revealing Keiran on the landing outside. He leans against the edge of the doorway, and sunlight shines around his silhouette.

Seth would most definitely not be pleased.

I slide my pencil into the spiral binding of my sketchbook and throw it on the bed as I jump up. “Keiran! Hi!”

“Hey,” he says, and steps inside. “Is Seth around?”

“No. He went to see Alexander about some fairy thing.” I comb my fingers through my hair. Why is Keiran standing in my kitchen? Do I have pencil smudges on my face?

Keiran’s eyes wander around the room before he looks directly into mine with a shy smile. “Well, I’m heading to the lake and thought you might want to see it. If you’ve had enough rest, of course.”

“Oh!” I’m about to say yes before I realize it’s not that easy. I bite my lip. “I don’t know.”

Seth will kill me. He will absolutely murder me.

I really want to go.

Keiran laughs. “No pressure. I totally understand if you don’t feel up to it.”

Seth didn’t technically tell me to stay in my room. And all I’d really said was I would be here when he got back. There was no direct order, and no promise of anything on my end. “Is it far?”

“Nope.” He pushes his lower lip out. “Maybe a fifteen-minute walk?”

Fifteen minutes there and back. Even if we stayed for thirty minutes, I’d be back in an hour. It’s not like I’m wandering around alone again. This time Keiran will be with me.

Keiran’s blue-gray eyes lock with mine, and a smile spreads across his lips as he watches my face.

That’s it. I’m going. “Sure. Let me grab my sketchbook.”

T
EN

K
eiran and I navigate through the darkest trees I’ve ever seen on our way to the lake. The trunks are black, and the leaves alternate between dark purple and navy. He stays beside me, his pace slow and steady, catching me every time I lose my footing. The ground here is covered in tree roots and vines. I try to watch where I’m walking, but I don’t want to miss a single sight. The dark canopy chokes out most of the sun, transforming Keiran’s golden skin to a blueish-gray slightly lighter than his eyes. I barely see sunlight bouncing off water through the branches ahead.

“What’s with all the butterflies?” I ask, tucking my sketchbook under my arm and batting at one of the bright yellow insects flitting near my hair.

“Butterflies? Oh, you mean the petits?”

I pull my sketchbook out and swat the butterfly again. “Petits?”

“They’re not butterflies.” He dips his head toward me, speaking quietly. “They’re petits, the smallest fairies of all.”

“Oh!” I drop my arm and lean closer to the petit fluttering around my face. The petit’s delicate features are twisted with anger. Her mouth is moving, but I hear only the tiniest hum. “I’m so sorry!” I tell her. “I didn’t know!”

He half-smirks, half-smiles. A smirkle. “Don’t sweat it. They’re fairies, so you pretty much annoy them just by existing.”

I raise my eyebrows and smirkle back at him. “So it’s not just Clara, then? All the fairies are like that?”

He nods. “Yeah. They can be a little unfriendly.”

I laugh lightly. A little.

The petit flies right up to my nose and glares. I still can’t understand what she’s saying, but I suspect that’s a good thing. “They really do look like butterflies,” I say, holding my sketchbook to my chest and looking over my shoulder as we walk away.

Keiran places his hand on my elbow, helping me step over a particularly thick growth of vines stretched across the ground between the trees. “Watch out for the gate.”

I stop, looking back to examine the vines.
“That’s
a gate?”

He bends down to wrap his fingers around the thickest of the vines and pulls upward. A shimmering portal lifts with it, like he’s pulling a window from the ground. I lean closer, dipping my hand into the opening. It vanishes, and my mind sees a detached hand floating on the other side in the Between. I pull my hand back and stretch my fingers, examining them.

“I never would’ve guessed,” I say as he lowers the vine to the ground.

“Yeah. Seth will go over all this with you soon, I’m sure. They make the gates hard to spot because of the less-intelligent creatures. We can’t have a troll getting loose in the Between and breaking into the mortal realm. Eventually, you’ll be able to see the things that don’t quite belong here. Like, look,” he points across the ground, “none of the other vines are that big or dense. The ones making up the gate aren’t even attached to anything.”