Embrace, Entice, Emblaze (12 page)

chapter
twelve

“There are things even angels desire to look into.”

peter 1:12

On the fi rst day, I sat on my bed and watched out the window.

Out of sight. Lincoln stood, leaning against the bus shelter, twelve stories below. Waiting for me. It was exactly 6:30 a.m.— the same time we met every weekday morning. I had made it a condition of our early morning runs that he come bearing coff ee and we walk the fi rst kilometer so I could drink it. I hugged my knees tight and watched while, for more than an hour, he stood. Waiting. Coff ee in hand. Eventually, he tossed the cup in the trash, looked up toward my window, and left.

On the second day, it was raining, but there he stood, at 6:30

a.m., coff ee at the ready. He didn’t seek cover under the bus

shelter. He stood in the same place as always for more than an

hour, watching my window. I sat in bed— I hadn’t left it since the day before— and tried, unsuccessfully, to read my book. When he Embrace_FinalINT.indd 92

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dumped the coffee in the trash and walked away in the drizzling rain, my hand went to the cold glass window. It stayed there until long after he was gone.

On the third day, I stared at my alarm clock— 6:30 came and

went. At 7:00 a.m., I hauled myself out of bed. In fact, I showered and dressed: T- shirt, leggings, and running shoes, not that I had any intention of going for a run. I paced around the kitchen, made coffee, and didn’t drink it. Finally, I grabbed my keys and left the apartment. Outside, it was crisp and clear. It would be hot today. I looked in both directions before I allowed my eyes to veer toward the bus shelter. There was an old lady sitting down, knitting something that looked disturbingly like it would match the horrid green thing she was wearing around her shoulders. But that was all. He’d already gone.

On the ledge, near where he would wait for me, a to- go cup was tucked into the corner. I stepped toward it to make out the words written down the side. Just three words.

“I miss you too,” I whispered.

————

Determined not to spend another day cooped up, hiding away, I

went for a walk and eventually wandered into a café. Coffee was one thing that wouldn’t let me down, not to mention there was no food at home, unless you counted two- week- old Chinese leftovers.

I was starving.

The café, called Dough to Bread, was crowded with inner- city

types grabbing early morning goodies and to- go coffees. There were 93

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a dozen small tables at the back that were about half filled. I took the farthest one, so I could be as far from the activity as possible but still be able to watch. I needed to concentrate on something other than the crumbling foundations of my world.

I ordered a latte and pumpkin soup with a hot, crusty roll. The waiter gave my selection a disapproving glance from behind his

little pad. I couldn’t care less what he thought. I needed comfort of some sort and if there was a slim chance a soup and coffee breakfast combo was going to do it, then bring on the ladle.

I sat back and watched the mayhem. I imagined it was probably

the same customers in here every week, with the same staff ignoring them, and the same huffs and mutters being thrown around. It was almost soothing to be surrounded by such superficial chaos.

I pulled out my art diary and tried to sketch, but I kept getting distracted by the family sitting closest to me. He was reading the morning paper. She was giving their toddler pieces of toast and jam, which the little girl proceeded to wipe all over her face and the wall behind. The woman laughed as the toddler squealed, and he

couldn’t help peeking over the top of his paper every few seconds to watch them, admiring the view.

That’s
what it was supposed to be like. Two people meet, fall in love, and then do normal things. I knew now that I’d never have normal again, especially with Lincoln. He was a Grigori and glad of it. I could see in him that it wasn’t just something he did; it was who he was. It was a cruel truth to be faced with, that I had cared so much for him yet had never known the very thing that defined 94

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him. I had shared myself with him completely and in return had

not even been trusted with the highlights.

I tried to distract myself again and noticed a guy sitting on the other side of the room. He was facing my direction, and I caught him watching me before his eyes darted away. He seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place him. I was struck by his hair, of all things— at first look, it appeared black, but then I saw other colors rippling through it, shades of purple and silver. It reminded me of a rough opal. I wondered how a hairdresser could have managed such a

complex blend of streaks. It was beautiful and…vain.

He looked straight at me.
Shit
. It was my turn to be caught staring. I averted my eyes to the table and luckily my soup arrived to offer the perfect distraction. Maybe someone
was
taking pity on me out there.

Starving, I dunked pieces of my bread roll and shoveled them

into my mouth, only pausing to coat the top of the soup with

more salt and pepper, my weakness. I finished the meal quickly, enjoying the menial task of feeding myself and wondering what

kind of disgusted look my waiter would give me if I ordered

another serving.

When he came over to clear the plates, I settled for ordering

another latte. I had nowhere else to go. I chanced another peek at the guy with the opal hair. He was watching me, and our eyes met again. Normally, I’d be quick to look away, but there was something about him.

He stood up, still watching me, and started walking in my direction
.

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Shit, shit, shit
.

My mind raced, thinking of things to say to make him go away.

I’ve always hated these moments. I’ve never been one for “make

nice with the stranger.” Then he was there, standing in front of me, and I still hadn’t thought of a thing to say.

He was deceptively tall, dressed in jeans and a dark gray T- shirt.

He cleared his throat and I blushed. I
was
gawking, but not because I was into him; I wasn’t interested in him at all. But his hair…and something else…affected me.

“I’m Phoenix,” he said with a knowing smile. “I thought we

could share a table.” He gestured to the other tables, which were now mostly full. “It seems to be getting busy, and since we’re both alone…” He gave a half smile along with a slight squint of his eyes, as if daring me to say yes.

I didn’t bite. “Look…Phoenix? I’ve had the kind of week night-

mares are made of. Right now, I’d be the worst company in the

world.” I looked back down at my hands resting on the table,

willing him to disappear.

He pulled out the chair beside me but didn’t sit. “I
could
just sit here and finish my coffee. You could ignore me. If you can.”

I looked up and he was smiling. He was being nice and…
not

at the same time. One thing was certain: he was backing me into a corner.

“Whatever, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I mumbled.

He smiled in victory and sat next to me.

“So, Phoenix?” I asked uncomfortably.

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“Yes.” He was no longer smiling, but everything about the way

he was looking at me said he found me amusing.

“As in the bird? Bursts into flames and reborn through its ashes?”

“It does seem a vicious cycle, doesn’t it? Lucky for me, I’m used to a little fire.” He winked.

Please
.

“Now that you know all about my name, don’t you think you

should tell me yours?” he said.

“Oh, sorry. I’m Violet.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over us. Maybe if I didn’t

speak, he’d get bored and go away. I started counting the sugar packets in the holder. Twelve white, eight brown, and three

Sweet’N Low.

“Week of nightmares sounds pretty bad. If it compares to some

of my worst nightmares, it must be terrifying.” He spoke conversationally, as if we were old friends. It was irritating.

I tried to sound tough but failed. “You have no idea. I didn’t

even know terrifying could stretch this far.” I looked down, not wanting him to see the tears welling in my eyes.

“You’d be surprised,” he said confidently.

Yeah, yeah,
everyone
has
at
least
one
horror
story.

“Who is he?”

My head jerked up. “I beg your pardon?”

“Who. Is. He?” he repeated. “No woman can be in this much

pain without a guy having caused at least part of it.”

I liked that he called me a woman and not a girl, especially

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since he looked like he was about twenty. But I hated that it was so obvious to a total stranger that I was in pain. Exhibitions of weakness were not my lifelong goal.

“It’s not a…” I let out a long sigh. “Lincoln.”

“Did he betray you?”

“Betray?”

“Yes. Did he betray you? Mislead you? Was he cruel to you? Has

he abandoned you?” He waved a hand from one side to the other

with each option. “Of course, I could ask if he cheated, but we both know he didn’t do that. Perhaps he lied to you, the kind of lie that changes the way you view everything. You know, the kind that lifts the mask off and only leaves behind the terrible truth. There are many things he could have done…I’m guessing it was betrayal.

Am I wrong?” His eyes widened.

How had he known Lincoln hadn’t cheated on me? How had

he known any of it? It was as if he had looked into my heart and pulled out all of my feelings. Where did this guy come from?
No
one
spoke like this.

The waiter arrived with my second coffee, another perfect

distraction.

“Thanks,” I said.

In
more
ways
than
one!

I tore open a sugar packet and stirred it in, stretching out the action. I felt like Lincoln had done all the things Phoenix had mentioned. Of all the things though, betrayal was the most accurate.

“Let’s just say I discovered one of those terrible truths.”

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“And does it change how you see yourself?”

“Yes,” I confessed.

“Does it change how you see him?”

“That’s a little…personal.”

“I agree, but no more than the previous question. I would apol-

ogize, but then it’s only polite to inquire if you are already taken before I…” He smiled with intent.

A lump formed in my throat. This was not a moment I’d been

expecting. I shifted awkwardly in the chair, trying to think of something coherent to say.

Phoenix smiled, enjoying my unease, and recognition suddenly

registered, words flying from my mouth before I could stop them.

“You were at Hades the other night!”

He rapped his fingers on the table. “I was wondering when you

would remember our dance. Usually I’m a little harder to forget.” I ignored the comment. I wasn’t about to be distracted by his

ego. “Kind of weird, isn’t it? That we meet again today.”

“Isn’t it,” was all he said, completely unfazed.

I curled my hands around my coffee and started to lift it to my mouth, trying to buy time. I stopped short when I felt a hum of energy pass through my body. It was the same as when I’d held

Lincoln’s wristband. It passed, but just as quickly my mouth watered the way it does sometimes before I’m sick. I quickly put the coffee down and scanned the room for the bathroom. As I did, the sensation passed and was replaced by the taste of…apple, rolling through my mouth like a current. I swallowed and it was gone.

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“Violet?” Phoenix asked, watching me curiously.

I took a few moments before I gave a pitiful attempt at laughing it off. “Sorry. I just had this kind of déjà vu.”

“What
kind
of déjà vu?” His eyes narrowed.

“Don’t laugh, but I felt like I just had a bite of an apple. Weird, huh?” I said, giving a shaky laugh.

He smiled a smile of secrets that made me shiver. “I’ve been

known to have that effect sometimes.”

I didn’t know if he meant the apple or if he’d noticed my shiver.

Either way, my stomach suddenly twisted with unease.

I shook my hair away from my face and sat up a little, forcing a smile. “Can you give me your hand? Just for a second.”

I had tried for nonchalance but it came out a little pitchy. He stiffened. Something wasn’t right. He tried to cover it with another smile, but it wasn’t the same easy, relaxed smile; it was nervous. I’d made
him
nervous.

“Sure…if you give me your word to be gentle.”

“What?” Odd was not a strong enough word for this guy. But he

sat there and waited patiently, hands in his lap.

“Why do you want to hold my hand?” He almost sang the

words.

I gritted my teeth. “I promise to be gentle.”

He smiled as if he had won some small victory. He put his

right hand on the table, palm up. There was little explanation for why I felt a compulsion to touch him. It wasn’t sexual, despite the fact that I could barely breathe in the thick mist of sexual 100