Salt (28 page)
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ric pushes Connie as we turn out of St. Elmo’s Coffee Pub. They are arguing about who was hotter in the movie: Chris Pine or Bradley Cooper. I still think Zac Efron is the best of all of them.
“I don’t understand them,” Carter says, pointing between Ric and Connie. He presses his lips against my temple. I love being near him.
“Where to next, Con?” I ask. She snaps out of her argument and plasters on her smile. She has this whole day planned as a celebration for all three of us becoming Enforcers. None of us mention the whole halfway-to-hell thing, but I know that she’s secretly celebrating our survival of that, too. She and Ric know the whole story, the real one. No more lying to my best friend and my sister.
“Hot-boy movie is a check, so next it’s the park.”
“The park? You really suck at this whole ‘celebrate’ thing,” Ric says.
She waves him off. “Just wait. It’s going to be way more exciting than a normal day at the park.” Oh man, cue the freaking clowns. Or ponies. Or flying trapeze artists jumping over fire.
That last one could be cool.
It would be better than her other idea to have each of us break a big rule before we took our vows. We tried that this morning and the most dangerous it got was me having a triple shot in my latte. We party big.
Connie bumps into my hip. “I can’t believe two of my favorite people are going to officially be Enforcers.”
“That’s not nice. What about Carter?” Ric asks, looking over at her.
“I was talking about Carter,” she says. Carter chuckles, and Ric kicks at my sister before he hugs her. Idiots, both of them.
We turn the corner and Carter yells, “Detour,” before pulling me away from my sister and Ric.
“What are you doing?”
“Just a second,” he says. We run down the street, and I look over my shoulder toward Ric and Connie, but they’re talking about something else entirely. The magic is going too crazy as we move, but it’s only a few more blocks and then I realize where we are: our alley.
Someone cleaned all the glass from the ground, but aside from that, it’s still the same. Last time I was here, everything changed. I didn’t know anything about myself, and now I know everything. I’ve gotten everything I’ve always wanted. I toe the iron grate with my shoe—amazing that this small, unimportant thing made me whole. “Thank you.”
“Are you talking to me or the iron?”
“Both,” I say, turning to face him.
He smiles and pulls me in. “Witch,” he says, his lips on my neck, “you smell good.”
A smile plays on my lips. “That’s the smell of pure power with whipped cream on top.”
Carter pulls me around and his smile is large, his eyes glistening. I kick at his feet. “Your lucky shoes,” I say, pointing down at his bright blue Converses. “I didn’t realize you were wearing those.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know anymore. They keep bringing this girl around and she’s sort of a stalker.”
I gasp and hit him on the shoulder. He laces his hand with mine, then grabs my arm, pulling me toward him. He pins me against the wall with a smile and presses his body against mine. My hand slides up his chest, around his neck.
“I will always fight for you,” he says, his voice low.
I look into his eyes and I know, without a doubt, that I trust him. “I will too,” I whisper.
His lips are against mine, and my tongue slides against his. My fingers roam up his neck as the brick digs into my back. Carter leans into me. This is what I want. Carter and me. Everything else can work itself out. It doesn’t matter like this matters—like he matters.
He smiles against my lips. “You know what?” he says between kisses. His lips tickle mine when they move. “Maybe these are lucky shoes.”
I laugh. “I know they’re mine.”
He kisses me again, long and deep. Fire builds between us. Our bodies fold together; warmth seeps through the layers of fabric. I could get used to this. He moves away from me, and I moan under his lips. A soft kiss pecks my forehead as he trails his fingers on the bare skin of my arm, leaving goose bumps where his touch lingers. I smile, out of breath, and the air fills the small space between us.
“We should go back,” I say, but I don’t even mean it.
“We should,” he says, but he keeps me close.
His breath on my ear makes me giggle. I’m totally that giggle-at-her-boyfriend girl. “So we’re officially Enforcers now. That should be fun,” I say.
“Only if we get to spar some more.”
“You like that?” I ask with a smile.
“Not as much as this,” he says, leaning in to kiss me again.
I don’t like it as much as this, either.
Acknowledgments
Salt
has been a crazy journey, and none of it would have been possible without my three Boston boys. Joshua Sheena, who insisted that I watch
Supernatural
and meet the Winchesters because my life was missing something. It was, so thank you for showing me the errors of my ways. Derrick Pyle, who locked me in my room, talked me out of corners, helped me get out of my own way so I could write the things that had to be written even when I didn’t want to. Thank you for that, and for Vassago because he was all your idea. And Nathan Behit-Aharon, who was there to listen, to overanalyze male counterparts in YA, and to make me laugh with bad puns. You are like geometry: without you, life is pointless.
Without the three of you, I would have never written the first draft of this book.
To three women who have been in Penelope’s corner through this whole process. Jaime Arnold, my publicist, who read
Salt
and insisted that I sub to Entangled, and then fought for me in every single way. I hope you know how much you matter. Cindy Thomas, my crit partner, for being there the day I had this idea and spending a whole lunch developing it with me—and then reading, talking, and brainstorming with me over and over for months. This sort of feels like yours, too. And my friend, Amalie Howard, who after reading a single page of this story said it was something special and believed in it even when I didn’t. Glad you were right.
To my editors: Guillian Helm and Laura Anne Gilman for helping me shape this story and make it stronger. Liz and Stacy for letting me be part of what you are doing, and to all the other people at Entangled who give their time and energy to my little book: Thank you.
My other amazing critique partners: Christina Ferko and Patricia Riley for EVERYTHING and ALWAYS. Crystal Harris for the necklaces, the support, the laughter, the new ending, and the fangirling. Traci Inzitari for the enthusiasm and willingness to always help out. My amazing agent, Nicole Resciniti, for jumping in and taking charge and making me smile. Jennifer L. Armentrout for being so supportive and for the lovely blurb!
The HB&K Society for smiles and laughter and support. My, what a year! (Let’s repeat it.) All my friends in the DC MafYA, the Boston Gang, and the YADC group (you know who you are) for the adventures, friendship, and cocktails! Especially Jenny Adams-Perinovic for the amazing, amazing cover that I love so much!
My longtime friend Elizabeth Brown, who handed me a YA book before I knew what YA was, told me to read it, and subsequently helped me find my calling. Without your guidance through pages of stories, I don’t know where I’d be.
I have to thank some other friends and family in my life who get it and never questioned me or let me quit: Mom, Cierra, Papaw, Grandma Carrie and Grandpa Ed, Aunt Barb and Uncle Mike, Ashley Carmichael, Billy Eisnaugle, Hannah Hanrion, Tricia Howell, Meagan Pack, Andye Eppes, Katie Black, Kim Harrington, Victoria Schwab, Jennifer Rush, and other people I can’t list because that would take years. Thank you.
To my coworkers at One More Page Books for dealing with all my anxiety, tears and random ideas, and the revision brain.
To the (online and offline) YA community—all the fantastic authors, aspiring writers, bloggers, beta readers—for your support, tweets, pictures of cats and hot boys, and other randomness. All of you are the biggest group of enablers I’ve ever met. It’s pretty awesome.
To you—the amazing, beautiful person reading this book. I’m really thrilled to share this. I hope you love it! (And then you want more because there is more coming!)
And lastly, to my Nanan, who influenced this book in so many ways that aren’t even a fraction of how she influenced everyone around her. I miss her every day—especially the way she told us exactly what we didn’t want to hear but needed to hear anyway (and was
always
right about it). All you wanted for us was to find our dreams and live life the way you had: with joy and passion and love. This is my dream, and even though you aren’t here to read this book, I know you’re proud. Thank you for your love, unwanted lessons, and fire for living. You will always be my moral compass, my foundation, and my biggest inspiration.
About the Author
Danielle Ellison is from West Virginia, where she spent her childhood pretending to fly, talking to imaginary friends, and telling stories. She hasn’t changed much since then. When she’s not writing, Danielle is probably drinking coffee while fighting her nomadic urges, watching too much TV, or dreaming of the day when she can be British. You can find her on twitter @DanielleEWrites.
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