Dark Halo (An Angel Eyes Novel) (22 page)

“They blackmailed you,” I say.

“They did. But we loved Ali, and there was every indication that we really were her best option. She came to us malnourished and underweight, but my brother agreed to come over from England to help us with her. He’s a doctor. Thankfully, she sustained no permanent damage. Not that it did her much good in the long run.”

She picks at a tissue in her hand as she speaks, cottony snow falling to the arm of the couch.

“The truth is we wanted to keep her. Horribly. It was devastating to learn we couldn’t conceive, and adoption is such a sticky process, especially if you try to do it by the book. My immigration status here made things even more difficult. Everything was drawn out. Everything took years. At first Manny was unwilling to use his legal ties to move us up on lists—said it wasn’t fair—but after a while he gave in. He felt responsible, you see. But even that wasn’t enough. Red tape. Red tape everywhere. We fought and fought to make it happen. By the time we found out Madison was dirty, we’d fought ourselves out.”

There are seven silver buttons lining the collar of Serena’s expensive elbow-length blazer. I concentrate on the light bouncing off each of them, trying to make sense of the story she’s telling. I thought we were free of trafficking—after the warehouse. But I should have known our one little foray didn’t solve the problem everywhere. Of course it didn’t. Maybe it didn’t even solve all of
that
problem.

“So you stayed silent,” Jake says. There’s no condemnation in his voice, but I watch as fear sparks like a firecracker in Serena’s chest. Black tar is splattered everywhere; I’m hit in the face with it and immediately feel its effect. Goose bumps pop up on my arms.

I turn to Jake, but his eyes are on Serena, his lips moving silently. He’s praying. He reaches across the arm of the couch and takes my hand. I watch as the fear on my arm hisses and spits, smoking as it dissolves.

“We did,” Serena says, gripping her hands tightly together. “I’m not proud of it, but we did. We didn’t want to lose Ali, so we kept our mouths shut. Manny made it his life mission to get the firm shut down.”

“Did he?” I ask.

“Yes. It was several years before he had enough on Madison to turn the tables and force the swine to walk away from family law.”

“You blackmailed Henry?” Jake asks, his voice a mixture of awe and concern.

“My Manny did. He never would tell me what he held over the man, but whatever it was, Henry walked away from the law. His departure destroyed the firm. To the day he died, Manny considered the death of Madison and Kline to be his greatest accomplishment.”

The fear in Serena’s chest is no longer sparking, but a steady stream flows from her sternum to the floor. Jake’s prayers seem to be keeping it from the two of us, but I stand and pull Serena closer, wedging her between Jake and me. The fear on her forearms hisses in anger.

“Why are you bringing this to me, Serena?” I ask gently, carefully.

“Because I have to know . . .” She curls into herself, misery and regret reverberating from her tears. I squeeze her against me. “Did my baby girl hate me?” Her tears soak through my shirt, but she doesn’t sob this time, and it’s not fear pouring from her chest any longer, it’s sorrow. She leans forward and lifts the papers from the table. “I found these in a box of books the school had packed up after she was killed.” Her eyes go all wonky and unfocused then, but it’s only a second before she’s recovered. “Anyway, there were several boxes like this—books and scripts, old homework assignments—things I just didn’t have the heart to go through after she died. Going through her clothes was hard enough. You saw me, Elle, I was bonkers. But now that Manny’s gone, I can’t stay in that house any longer, and
before I can move, the boxes must be sorted. It’s a horrible kind of misery, going through both of their belongings. To know I have to be the one to do it because there’s no one else left.”I’m not sure I𠄚

I squeeze her hand. Why hadn’t I thought of her? Why hadn’t I done more? Because she always looked so together. So polished. And she had Manny.

But clearly things have changed.

“Serena, I can help. I will help.”

“I may take you up on that, love. Goodness, you’re warm.” She pats my hand, and I watch the goose bumps on hers vanish. She takes a breath that hitches once or twice, but when she exhales the sound is clean and smooth. “We haven’t talked about her pregnancy, have we? Or her anemia. But after the truth came out about her death, they had her body exhumed and a proper autopsy performed.”

I knew about the exhumation. I’d read about it, seen it on the news.

“So, I know. And I think it was her pregnancy that led her to search for this information about her birth parents.”

“Why would you think that?” I ask.

“She called me once, from school, asking me about her medical history, if I knew how to contact her birth mother. She’d never asked before, said she was perfectly content not to know, but now she was asking, and I’ll admit I was unprepared.”

“Did she give you a reason?” I ask.

“Said she needed it for some kind of assignment. I told her I’d see what I could do, but didn’t know how long it would take. I figured she’d just talk her way out of the assignment. She was always good with words.” Her voice is bitter now. “It was daft of me, wasn’t it? I should have known she’d go searching herself.”

I pat her back, wishing I could ease her regret, but I’m sure Serena’s right about Ali’s intentions. It’s so like her to want to have her ducks all in a row, to want to understand her own health history and what she could be passing on to her child. Especially with the unexpected complication the anemia must have caused.

“You were her best friend. Your opinion meant so much to her. You can be honest. Did she hate me?” Tams to speak t

23

Brielle

S
erena doesn’t stay long. She wants to get back to Portland before it’s too late, she says. But she looks embarrassed. I try to convince her to stay for dinner, but she’s decided. I promise to visit soon, and like that, we’re alone.

Jake and I.

Really alone for the first time since I called him a liar.

Without Serena between us, the old couch caves, and one shift of my hip throws us together. Not that we fight it. On the contrary, we elbow the bunching material out of the way and move closer. Should we talk about Henry? Should we talk about Jake’s trip to the city and the picture of the tattoo the Throne Room sent us? Should we talk about the Prince? Maybe. ’Cause there’s this knot of sickness in my stomach, and I’m so afraid I’ve messed up somehow. I want Jake to tell me I haven’t. That there was nothing I could do. That leaving with the Prince’s halo was inevitable.

But Jake’s$

I let myself get lost in that. In the possibility of it. Regardless of what it means, regardless of what it costs.
We
are a possibility. And it’s wonderful. For approximately seventy-eight seconds. I wasn’t counting; I was busy. But I’m a pretty good guesser these days. And seventy-eight seconds is not quite enough oblivion.

Jake pulls away, moving back toward the arm of the couch. His lips are plump, his face flushed. And then he’s not sitting anymore. One bounce and he swings his feet over the back of the couch.

“Where are you going?” I ask, sprawled across the old sofa.

But Jake’s down the hall already. “I’m checking the chest.”

“Now?” I groan.

“If there was ever a time for an engagement ring to materialize, now’s it, Elle. Right now.”

I stand and follow, a silly grin pulling at my face, my lips feeling just as full and rosy as Jake’s look. I move slowly, straightening my shirt and purse, braiding my hair. I let myself consider the happy possibility that it was that simple: a little chat with the Prince, his halo zipped away, and my engagement ring is suddenly and inexplicably returned.

Canaan’s door stands open and I enter, but Jake’s sliding the lid back in place. He drops to the chest, the grommets on his jean pockets scratching at the finish, his elbows on his knees.

I don’t say anything. I don’t have to. The disappointment is mutual and thick between us.

He drags his hands through his hair. “I’m not sure what we need to do, Elle. What we need to be. If I knew, you know? If
we
knew . . .”

“We’d do it. Whatever it is. Without hesitation.” I kneel before him. “But we don’t know.”

I keep my eyes on his as he moves a hair out of my face. He just looks . . . lost. I search for words to make him better, but he’s the fixer and it’s only his words that come to mind. I regurgitate them now because they’re all I have.

“You told me once that we’re God’s creation. Not the other way around. You said we can’t make God into what we want Him to be. And I guess He wants us to wait. To trust.”

With a warm hand he traces a line from my forehead down to my jaw. And then my lips. He traces them lightly and a huge, tragic-sounding sigh rattles him.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Why are you sorry?” I ask.I’m not sure sinow

“Because I couldn’t keep the Prince away from you.”

I narrow my eyes. “Did you just apologize for being human?”

A smile pulls his lips into the crescent moon I love so much. I lean in and kiss it.

“I think I apologized for not being
superhuman
,” he says.

I feel my face stiffen at the memory of the Prince suddenly there before me. On that salt platform. Like he owned the place. Like he owned me. “I don’t even think a superhuman could have kept the Prince away. He wanted to talk.” I shrug. “I listened. We’re done.”

I want that to be true. I want to be done with him, with everything he has to offer, but something like a sick eel swims in my gut and I can’t convince myself.

Beyond the window, the sun is wrapped in amber clouds, and the filtered light it dumps into the room gives Jake a gritty, almost commercial quality. Like all those filtered Instagram
pictures. The green in his eyes is near impossible to see, the russet taking over. I search for the brightness of the jade, but in the amber light all I see is wood smoke and fire.

He sees through me. He must.

“You saw his halo,” I say. “The mirrored cuff, you saw it?”

“I saw it.”

“I didn’t mean to take it, Jake.”

He drags a hand over his chin, the scruff scratching. “I believe you.”

“But I have it,” I say, shrugging out of the purse slung around my body like a quiver of arrows. “I thought Canaan should have it.”

Jake stares at the bag clutched in my hand like it’s a grenade and I’ve just pulled the pin. “Why?”

“Because the temptation’s too much,” I say.

He’s trying hard not to let his disappointment show, but I’ve memorized every line on his face, studied every curve. And right now the softness is gone, the lines are too many.

“What do you see?” he asks, the purse still hanging between us. “With his halo?”

I shake my head. “He said I won’t see fear any longer. I won’t see pain.”

“It takes your celestial eyes from you, and you’re
tempted
?”

“He promised me you,” I say, standing. Needing more air. Moving away.

“He what?”

“If I took the halo with & jowpD;me, if I gave it a try, he said he’d guarantee us a lifetime together.”

“Why not three or four lifetimes?” Jake says, standing, his voice scratching out sarcasm. “He doesn’t hold forever in his hands, Elle. He can’t promise that.”

“I know. I do. I just . . . With my ring, with it . . .”

“Missing.”

I close my eyes and try the sentence again. “With my ring missing, the idea of it—his promise caught my attention is all. I know he can’t make good. I know that. I just . . . I hesitated a moment too long and then the Prince was gone. And I had this.”

I hold the bag out to him again, but he still won’t touch it. Won’t really look at it. His eyes meet mine over the black zipper on top.

He blinks four times before he asks, “Have you put it on your head?”

I shake my head, debating whether or not to open my mouth, whether or not I should tell him everything. Tell him the whole truth. I nearly talk myself out of it. But he waits. And he waits. And even though Jake found a way to lie to me once, I don’t think I have it in me to do the same.

I clench the bag to my chest, my arms tired of holding it out. Everything about me sags. “I slept with it under my pillow last night.”

I resist the urge to let my eyes drop from his, to look away in shame. I need to know how badly I’ve messed up. But his face doesn’t move. No twitching brows, no clenched lips.

“No nightmares?” he asks, his voice as unknowable as his face.

“No nightmares,” I answer.

His head drops. “Okay, but is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “No, I don’t think so. But it
felt
good. It felt nice to actually sleep through the night. Especially after Danakil. But Canaan told me to dream. So, take it. Please.”