Sing Sweet Nightingale (25 page)

Taking a slow breath, I glance at Hudson. “Sorry,” I sign.

“Thank you,” he signs back.

I can’t imagine losing someone that close to me. As much as I hope to one day step into Paradise and never leave, the thought of never seeing my parents again, never listening to my mother play piano or my father talk about his latest design project, never playing Scrabble with them after dinner—it’s heartbreaking.

It takes a certain kind of strength to keep going after a loss like Hudson’s. When I look at him now, I can almost see it, see the iron will that keeps him going after the devastation he’s suffered.

And, the longer I look at him, the more I see that K.T. is more right than I want to admit.

He
is
cute.

“Ahh, Mariella,” Orane sighs as he folds his arms around me. “What is wrong?”

He knows me too well. I don’t bother pretending he’s wrong, but I’m hoping
I
am. Orane has told me before that I have an overactive imagination. I really want that to be the case this time, too.

Hudson and I were sitting outside with K.T. during lunch when I started breathing the way Orane taught me, expanding the pearlescent light and letting its soothing warmth relax me. Before the light had gotten more than halfway up my arm, Hudson glanced at me, flinched, and covered his eyes with his hand, like the light coming off the pendant was too bright for him to bear. Like he could actually see the glow from Orane’s world.

It had to be because the sun was reflecting off the glass pendant. He couldn’t have seen the actual glow. Orane always told me the number of humans capable of perceiving his world was exceedingly small. As likely as snow in Bali.

Taking a deep breath, I try to explain it to Orane. “There’s this new guy in school named Hudson and I think—well, I mean, it kind of seemed like he could see the light from my pendant, and he—”

I gasp as Orane’s hand tightens around mine so hard my bones grind together.

“That boy is becoming an aggravation,” Orane growls.

“What do you mean he’s—”

His eyes darken, and his grip gets tighter until I feel my bones might crack. I cry out, my knees buckling as tears stream down my face. My breath comes in pants that don’t hold any oxygen, and my chest burns. I want to scream and pull away, but I can’t move. I can’t think. My vision fades until all I see are Orane’s glowing eyes.

“It appears I must keep a much closer eye on you, Mariella.”

His voice echoes in my head like it’s being projected from speakers in a concert hall.

I gasp for air as the blackness takes over completely.

Twenty-Three

Hudson

Tuesday, September 2 – 3:36 PM

Because Dawn is a girl of her word, K.T. and I are able to go over to Stone’s Throw after school on Tuesday and pick up about half of what Dawn’s ordered so far. It’ll shore up the defenses at Horace’s, and I can send K.T. home without worrying I won’t see her in the morning. The stones Dawn ordered are larger, too, so they should be able to hold up against the demon’s attacks better, I think. I hope.

I managed to sneak a few more stones into Mari’s house when Horace and I went over for dinner. Not enough, though. I knew I wasn’t ready to storm the gates, so I kept quiet about the dreamworld and her annoying habit of sucking energy out of her glass birds. It was bad enough when Mari just had the one she kept in her pocket. Her addiction seems to have gotten worse since she got that nightingale pendant.

Through dinner and the Scrabble game afterward, Mari kept telling me how nice K.T. is and suggesting I spend time with her. At first it was hard to keep from glaring at her each time she brought it up—I felt like I was being fobbed off—but she was working too hard at it. In the last few days, whenever she didn’t want to deal with me, she was pretty straightforward about it.

It took me a few minutes to realize she was trying to play matchmaker. That made me smile. I didn’t think Danny would like it much if I hit on K.T., but for some reason, Mari decided she liked me enough to set me up with her only friend. Either that, or she felt sorry for me because of what happened to J.R.

Usually I like pity about as much as I like watching people flinch when they look into my eyes, but in this case, I think I’ll take it.

Tonight, I don’t know if it’s because the new stones keep the demon out or if he’s planning to attack when I’m off-guard, but her demon is a no-show. Whatever the reason, I get to school on Wednesday after another demon-free night. I even managed to get an hour or so of sleep.

But the little bit of hope I have that this might be a good day evaporates when I watch Mari get out of Dana’s car and look around like she has no clue where she is.

Shit. Again? I rub the back of my neck, kneading at the knots locked there.

Fuck this guy. Seriously.

But did I really expect anything else? Of
course
he wiped her again.

Never thought this was going to be easy.

So much for progress. Pity won’t matter if she can’t remember feeling it. At least the light show around her is in flux. Less than half of the glow surrounding her is blue, but every so often it flares stronger, gaining ground against the orange light of the dreamworld. Some part of her unconscious mind is fighting. Now I have to find a way to help that part of her win.

K.T. comes up next to me with a wide grin as she holds up a thick scrapbook. “Got it!”

“Good.” I grind my teeth and jerk my head toward Mari. “Look.”

Mariella passes K.T. and me without a blink or any sign of recognition.

“Ugh. Good thing Horace suggested this,” K.T. mutters, opening the scrapbook and pulling out the contract Mariella signed yesterday.

I tell her to hold onto the contract as a last resort. After three minutes, we’re ready to fall back on it.

As Mari reads the contract, I wonder how she’s keeping Dana and Frank from noticing her memory loss. If a couple of weeks is all she’s missing, it might be easy to fool her parents. People she met during that missing period—like me—are the ones who’d pick up on the loss.

“Before you go looking for a notebook, I know how to sign,” I tell her.

Mariella looks up and blinks, blushing as she signs, “Sorry.”

Something is off about the way she’s signing. Wait…she used her left hand instead of her right. And she’s wearing gloves. In summer.

Mari holds out the contract to K.T., wincing and dropping the paper when she has to move her hand.

Narrowing my eyes, I stare at her right hand. Each motion is careful and slow, like she’s trying not to jar an injury. I know what that looks like. I’ve done it.

“What happened to your hand?”

Her eyes widen, the honey-brown irises catching the early-morning sunlight and turning almost a golden color. She shakes her head and steps back. K.T. glances between Mari and me, lines appearing around her eyes. She hadn’t noticed yet, I guess. But then, she’s not watching Mariella as closely as I am.

“Nothing,” Mari signs.

“It’s not nothing. We should go see the nurse if you’re hurt.”

Mariella shakes her head again and tries to put her hand in the pocket of her hoodie. Her pinkie finger doesn’t bend in, catching the edge of the fabric. Mari gasps and folds over herself, her skin going pale.

“Let me see.”

She shakes her head again.

“Mari, let me see, or I’ll call Dana and tell her to take you to the doctor.”

Her mouth drops open. “You know my mother?” she signs.

“Yeah. I had dinner at your house last night.” She stares at me, still too pale. “And Sunday night. And Saturday night.
And
Friday night.”

Mariella stands frozen in front of me, but I know I have to see her hand. I reach out, gently holding her forearm and lifting her hand higher. After waiting to make sure she’s not going to freak out on me, I carefully pull off the oversized glove.

And as soon as I do, I wish I hadn’t.

Bruises so deep they’re black circle the center of her hand. Her pinkie finger looks swollen and distorted, like it’s broken or at least dislocated. Redness and inflammation spread from the bruise down past her wrist and up to the tips of her fingers.

I’m too shocked to move.

If this had been an accident, she wouldn’t be at school right now. Dana would have taken her to the doctor, and Mari would have a splint or a cast or at least a fucking Ace Bandage.

She doesn’t have any of that, which means she probably woke up with her hand in this condition, freaked out because she couldn’t remember what happened, and couldn’t bring herself to worry her mom.

It means her demon did this to her.

I already wanted to kill him for what his kind did to J.R., but now I don’t want to just kill him. I want to fucking obliterate him.

What did she say to make him this mad? Why would he hurt her like this and risk pissing me off? Unless…

Unless this was
meant
for me. A warning that he can get to her faster than I can save her. That he can hurt her and she’ll trust him anyway because she won’t remember a goddamn thing in the morning.

I will
kill
him. I will kill him myself. Tear him limb from limb and smile while doing it.

“Come on, Mari.” K.T. guides Mariella toward the building. “I think I can get you an ice pack or something.”

I see them glance over their shoulders at me, but I refuse to let myself move. Not until they’re inside. As soon as they disappear, I sprint toward the far side of the building where the forest surrounding the town butts up against the school.

The air against my skin is warm, but I’m so cold the contrast makes me shudder. My hands are shaking, and my vision is blurry. The forest is a natural obstacle course, so I have to channel all my concentration on keeping up my speed without crashing into low-hanging limbs or tripping on roots. I force my mind to empty while I run, and slowly the blind rage eases into focused anger. I push harder, sweat dripping down my face and into my eyes. I welcome the sting. It’s more of a distraction, and the blurring of my vision makes it trickier to avoid pitfalls. The shuddering chills get worse, but my head starts to clear.

The problem is, there’s nothing in my head I want to hear right now.

The image of that bruise comes up again and I scream, sliding to a stop and slamming my fist into the closest tree.

Chunks of bark fly off the trunk, and sparks of pain shoot up my arm. The skin over my knuckles breaks and blood drips from the wounds, but within seconds, the pain begins to fade as the skin heals. I watch it happen and wish this stupid power let me do more than heal my own injuries. I can’t help anyone else heal, and I can’t injure my own hand. At least, not for long enough to help me keep my mind off how bad Mari’s must be hurting her.

I laugh, the sound nearly hysterical, especially when it echoes through the empty forest.

Jesus. I am a goddamn master of getting myself in over my head, aren’t I? All these years and all the damage I’ve caused, and I still can’t keep myself out of other people’s fights.

Despite all that, I’m not going anywhere. I can’t. Mari needs my help. Even if she doesn’t see it yet.

I start a meditative breathing cycle and turn back toward school. Four in. Hold four. Four out. Hold four. Repeat. I block memories of the weeks Calease spent teaching me how to empty my mind and channel my energy. Where this skill came from doesn’t matter. What matters is using it to undo some of the harm the demons have caused.

Bit by bit, I regain control.

I can’t do anything about what’s done. I can only change what’s coming.

But I can’t stop the thoughts racing through my head.

Right now, Mariella’s strength is working against her. She’s a druggie raised to think addiction is a good, healthy thing. Or someone with Stockholm syndrome, convinced the person keeping them locked in the basement is really a kindhearted soul. Mariella has adapted to the way things are so much that convincing her to see the world another way feels nearly Sisyphean.

But I either have to find a way to get through to her or leave her to fight alone. And
that
I’m definitely not capable of doing.