Authors: Erica O'Rourke
Tangled (17 page)
Why hadn’t Colin and the other kids been put in foster care? Why wasn’t Gaskill in jail? The caseworker’s notes were dated only a few days before the EMT report. Either the kids hadn’t been removed or they’d been sent back, and Gaskill had picked up where he’d left off. When he did, something had snapped, and Colin was the only one left standing.
It didn’t fit. I had this feeling of looking at a jigsaw puzzle, all the pieces laid out before me, but I wasn’t turning them correctly, couldn’t nudge them into place. Jenny had wanted me to see the whole picture, but my vision kept blurring. Neither the newspaper nor the police had mentioned Gaskill at all. Was it possible the EMT report was wrong? Was he still alive?
The last page was simply an address on the west side of the city. I put it aside. Nothing in Chicago interested me right now. It was what had unfolded in Denver, eleven years ago, that I needed to understand. I studied the papers again, scattered across my bed like leaves, a cold dread creeping over me. There were five people in that apartment. Four of them were badly beaten. One of them was shot. Either Raymond Gaskill had committed suicide—and he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who felt a lot of remorse—or someone else had pulled the trigger.
I knew, with a sudden, hideous clarity, who that someone was.
So much blood. So much loss, and Colin carried it with him every day. I wept for him, for the scared little boy he must have been, and the solid, fearless man he’d grown into. He’d survived and carved out a life for himself, and all I did was batter against it, demanding answers to something I had no business asking after. He’d been right. Billy had been right.
My mom knocked on the door. Hastily, I gathered the papers and shoved them under my pillow.
“I’m about to get on the road,” she said, sticking her head in. Even though she’d arrive in town after the prison’s visiting hours were over, she wore a nice skirt and pearls with her mock turtleneck sweater, the kind of clothes she wore for company and special occasions. “Are you sure you won’t come along?”
“Positive.” I kept my face turned away and my voice nonchalant, hoping she wouldn’t notice anything amiss. My ability to lie convincingly had improved in the last few months, but I was too fragile to pull it off now. “Have a good trip.”
The cheery tone must have been too much, because she crossed the room and sat down next to me. “You’re upset. Is it about this trip? It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“It’s not the trip,” I said, tracing the hand-stitching on my quilt. My dad’s return seemed simple compared to what I’d just read. “It’s ... complicated.”
She pressed her lips together. You could practically see her fighting off the urge to pry, but she smoothed my hair back from my face and smiled weakly. “I made a lasagna,” she said. “And there’s waffle batter in the fridge, so you and Lena can have them fresh tomorrow morning.”
“Sounds great. Thank you,” I whispered.
She squeezed my hand. “Could you do me a favor while I’m gone? The parts to fix the computer came, and I’ll need to do payroll when I get back. Can you see what you can do?”
“Sure.” It would be nice to try fixing something where I might actually succeed.
“Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll tell Daddy you said hello.”
“I ... sure.” She was trying. I could too, a little. “See you Sunday night.”
As soon as I heard our Ford Taurus shimmy to life, I turned on my computer and Googled “Raymond Gaskill,” but there was nothing. I’d already looked for information about Colin, but even when I added Denver and the year on the reports, I found nothing. They were all ghosts. I fumbled for my cell and dialed Jenny’s number, fingers slipping on the keys.
“Why did you send me this?”
“Mo.” Her voice was cautious. “You read both files?”
“I read Colin’s. You don’t know him,” I said, my voice cracking.
“Do you?”
The question caught me off guard. Did I know Colin? Or had I only known
about
him, the way people thought they knew about me?
about
him, the way people thought they knew about me?
“Colin didn’t kill your dad.”
“Maybe not. But he’s still connected.”
“And this is what I needed to unconnect him. Thanks.”
I threw the phone onto my bed and sat down on the floor, clutching the sheaf of papers. I didn’t need to read them again—every word was seared into my brain, and nothing would soothe them away. All I’d done was read a few reports. I could only imagine the kind of damage living it had done to Colin. My eyes filled again, and I swiped at them with the heel of my hand.
Why hadn’t Colin trusted me with this?
He knew all my secrets, all the dark and terrible things I’d done or lived through in the past few months. He’d watched me grieve for my best friend. He’d seen me plunge into magic and fight my way back. He’d seen me kill. And he’d stayed silent.
His silence
hurt.
Maybe it was selfish, to be thinking of my own pain instead of Colin’s, but I didn’t understand. He’d kept the most important thing that ever happened to him a secret from me. Worse, he’d told Billy. Even though my uncle was using Colin’s past to blackmail him, he trusted Billy to keep his secret, but not me.
hurt.
Maybe it was selfish, to be thinking of my own pain instead of Colin’s, but I didn’t understand. He’d kept the most important thing that ever happened to him a secret from me. Worse, he’d told Billy. Even though my uncle was using Colin’s past to blackmail him, he trusted Billy to keep his secret, but not me.
He didn’t trust me. He’d never trusted me, and he never planned to. I couldn’t possibly have made a bigger fool of myself.
I heard the door slam again, the creak of Colin’s foot on the bottom stair, his voice rising up from the living room. “Your friend’s here. You coming down, or should I send her up?”
“I’ll be down in a minute.” I scooped up the papers and dropped them on my desk, then threw on the first clean dress that looked like it might work—dark green jersey, edged with lace at the neckline and hems, a swingy skirt. Half as dressy as what everyone else would wear, but no one would care since I’d be sitting behind a table the whole time. I put on a very sensible pair of low black heels and pulled my hair back into a knot, jamming a clip in to hold it.
“Mo, come on!” Lena called. Her conversation with Colin sounded light and inquisitive. I took a grim satisfaction envisioning him trying to evade Lena’s questions. The smile dropped away as I peered at my blotchy reflection. No amount of makeup could hide my swollen, red-rimmed eyes.
Colin would guess that something was wrong the minute he saw me. I didn’t know how to keep this secret, so huge it eclipsed everything between us. I didn’t know how to look at him without pity for everything he’d gone through, and anger at not telling me about it. It was his past, but our future. At least, that’s what I had thought. Now I knew the truth—we’d never had a future at all.
I grabbed my purse, tossing in the essentials, and clattered down the stairs to meet Lena.
Colin was waiting in the living room, one hand on the banister, looking like he wanted to flee from Lena’s brightly persistent questions. He looked up, obviously relieved I was taking Lena off his hands.
“You okay?” he asked, relief turning to concern as I fumbled for my coat. “You look ...”
“She looks great,” Lena said, catching my eye. I thought she’d say something—she wasn’t the type to censor herself—but she grabbed my hand and reached for the door. “We should have left ten minutes ago.”
I struggled into my coat, shaking off Colin when he tried to help. “Ready.”
He caught my arm at the door. “Something’s wrong.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” I said, yanking away. Not a lie—if he didn’t understand why he should have told me, he wouldn’t get why I was so upset. And he definitely wouldn’t understand why I’d read his file in the first place.
C
HAPTER
27
HAPTER
27
L
ena’s little Chevy had barely made the turn onto Western before she broke the heavy, miserable silence. “You are clearly not okay. Did you guys have another fight?”
ena’s little Chevy had barely made the turn onto Western before she broke the heavy, miserable silence. “You are clearly not okay. Did you guys have another fight?”
“No.”
She waited for me to say more, but I pressed my icy fingers to my eyes, trying to erase the damage. After a few minutes, she glanced in the mirror. “He’s back there, you know.”
“Yep.” This was why it was pointless for me to try to make friends. I couldn’t tell Lena any of what I’d learned—not about Colin, or my uncle, or even why Jenny Kowalski was hounding me.
“He seems like a nice guy,” she said cautiously. “Like he cares about you.”
“He’s a great guy.”
“Who is making you miserable.”
“It’s not his fault,” I said.
She frowned. “Are you sure? Because if he’s hurting you, I can help. I know people who can help.”
I laughed once, the sound too close to tears. “You think he’s ... Colin isn’t beating up on me, Lena, I swear. If anything, he’s too careful.”
“Better than the alternative.”
I whooshed out a breath. “Can we talk about something else? Please?”
“Sure.” Lena prattled on, deliberately keeping the conversation light. I used the rest of the car ride to pull myself together.
We entered the school, and Sister Donna was waiting for us. “Right here,” she said, gesturing toward the table. “Mo, you’ll check people in. Take their tickets, check the IDs of the guests to make sure they match the names we’ve been given, and mark them off the list. I’ll come by once the dance has started, to make sure everyone’s accounted for.”
“Got it.”
“Lena, you can help test the sound system. People should be arriving shortly.”
“Later,” Lena said, waving a hand.
I sat down in the empty lobby, toying with a pencil. A book would have been nice. Or a video game. A manicure kit. A large stack of homework. Anything to help me pass the time and not think of Colin. It was only slightly easier when couples began to filter in, the girls in clouds of sequins and satin, accompanied by guys in dress pants and ties, looking uncomfortable. I worked as quickly as I could. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation, especially not when the topic was going to be why I was sitting out here doing an underclassman’s job when the rest of the seniors were inside dancing to Top 40 hits deemed appropriate by the administration.
And then, because my day couldn’t get any worse, Jill McAllister strutted in. She was surrounded by her entourage and their dates. Jill was always at the center of a carefully selected group of girls—pretty, wealthy, popular girls who would enhance her reputation but not overshadow her. Even tonight, in a shimmery gold dress that highlighted her spray-on tan, spiky heels, blond hair artfully messed—she was the sun, and everyone else orbited around her. When she caught sight of me behind the table, she brightened even more.
“Mo! Ready to celebrate? We’ve already started!” She twirled, giggling as her date steadied her. I sniffed discreetly, but I couldn’t smell anything on her breath. She threw the tickets on the table and made a show of examining me. “Nice dress. Did your mom pick it out?”
Did your pimp choose yours?
I wanted to ask. But I didn’t have the energy for Jill tonight, so I double-checked the guys’ IDs and waved toward the cafeteria. “Have a great night,” I mumbled.
I wanted to ask. But I didn’t have the energy for Jill tonight, so I double-checked the guys’ IDs and waved toward the cafeteria. “Have a great night,” I mumbled.
“Wait.” Jill held up a hand and the crowd rippled to a halt. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” She smiled, showing too many teeth like a horse. Then again, her dress was so low cut, no one was looking at her face.
I sighed. “What are we celebrating?”
“NYU! I got my letter today! Didn’t you?” Her eyes widened in mock apology, but her eyes glittered brighter than the sequins on her dress. “I forgot. You didn’t even apply, did you? It might be nice for you to go somewhere local. Stay here, spend time with your family. I’m sure your dad would love that. Maybe NYU isn’t the school for you.”
“Yeah, their standards have really slipped lately,” I said, curling my lip as I looked her up and down. “They’ll let any piece of trash in, if it’s dressed up shiny.”
Her face flushed as she leaned in, earrings swinging. “It’s not St. Brigid’s,” she said. “Your uncle’s money isn’t going to buy you a spot. And in New York, his connections aren’t going to matter. No one’s going to care if he’s Mob.”
That’s what I was counting on.
“Ladies,” said Sister Donna from behind me. “Everything going smoothly?”
“Perfectly, Sister,” Jill simpered, backing up quickly. “We were just going in. I don’t want to miss anything.”
“Indeed. Mo? Are we nearly done?”
I checked the paper in front of me. “Only a few left.” “I’ll take the list and start calling. They’re probably still taking pictures, but better safe than sorry. Stop by the office if our stragglers show up, please.”
I settled in to wait, alone with my thoughts in the dim hallway. Behind me, music drifted in from the dance. The massive front doors blocked my view of the courtyard, but I knew Colin was there. He was always there, the surest, steadiest thing in my life. And it turned out I didn’t know him at all.
“Doesn’t seem right,” came Luc’s voice from the darkness. I jerked, looking around, and saw him on the other side of the security gate blocking the stairwell. He tapped the padlock lightly, and it fell open with a sizzle and pop. I watched, openmouthed, as he pushed the gate aside, the creak echoing in the high-ceilinged lobby. “Pretty girl, all by her lonesome on a Friday night. Shameful, really.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You stood me up to sit in the dark by yourself? You ain’t exactly doing wonders for my ego, Mouse.”
“I told Niobe I couldn’t make it. You didn’t get the message?”
He chuckled, perching on the table in front of me. “Easy, now. She delivered.”
“Oh.” If he’d known I couldn’t meet him, why come here? “Is something wrong? Is it Constance?”
“She’s off trainin’. Niobe told her mama it’s a grief support group. I figured it might be nice to pay you a visit.” He tilted his head, studying me. “What’s eatin’ you?”
“Nothing.”
“Mmn-hmn. Does nothing stand about six feet, wear a lot of canvas, and think waving a gun will make all the bad things go away?”
“Please don’t. Not tonight.”
He held up his hands. “All done. How are you feeling? Magic-wise, I mean. Any more symptoms?”
“Not really.”
He gave a satisfied nod and prowled around the lobby, examining the trophy cases, pictures of distinguished alumni, and the portrait of the current Pope. Despite my wretched mood, I had to smile. Watching Luc in my world was like seeing a movie in 3D for the first time. Everything around him was two-dimensional, while he stood out, vivid even in the dim light.
“Music’s nice,” he said over his shoulder, peering down the corridor to the cafeteria. “You been to a lot of these?”
“Dances? A few. My mom’s not really a fan,” I said with a grimace. “What about you? Do Arcs have school dances? Do they even have schools?”
“Sure. Little different from yours, ’course. You can sit next to someone from Sri Lanka, and they go halfway around the world for lunch and back again before you’ve finished your sandwich.” His voice sounded strangely wistful.
“Do they have dances?”
He turned back to me, ambling down the hallway like he wasn’t the slightest bit worried Sister Donna might come around the corner. “No idea. I’d imagine so, but I couldn’t tell you for sure. I didn’t go.”
“You were homeschooled?”
“In a manner of speakin’,” he said. There was a lot about Luc that was a mystery to me, but in that moment, I saw him perfectly, how resolutely he tucked the pain away, cocking his head toward the music. “Sounds like fun. You sure you don’t want to pop in?”
“I show my face in there, my probation is officially over. And not in a good way.”
“Then we’ll have to dance out here,” he said, holding out one hand. His eyes traveled over me as he gave the slightest of bows.
“Luc, I’m not dancing.”
“It’s easy,” he said. “And you could use a bit of fun.” Before I could protest, he tugged me out of the chair. With a quick curl of his fingers, the music increased, swelling through the lobby, slipping irresistibly beneath my skin. Around us, tiny flames like fairy lights appeared, brightening the gold flecks of his eyes. As I peered at the nearest flame, trying to figure out how it worked, he slipped one arm around my waist and took my hand in the other. With practiced movements, he guided me through a simple box step, and I stepped on his feet.
“Sorry!”
“No worries.” He spun me out and back, and I stumbled, knocking into him. “Relax.”
“I am not really in a relaxing mood.” The press of his fingers through my dress wasn’t helping, either.
“One dance. You been carryin’ the weight of the world for as long as I’ve known you. You can set it down for one dance, right?”
I exhaled slowly, feeling a bit of the tension flow out of me, as if he was drawing it away.
“Better already. See? You just have to trust your partner.” He kept the steps simple and his hold firm, and for a few minutes, there was nothing but the music and the rhythm of our breathing. He eased closer, narrowing the space between our bodies, and I resisted the urge to pull away.
“Why were you homeschooled?”
He sighed, the exhalation stirring my hair. “Long story. Let’s just say the Quartoren decided it would be better.”
Maybe. But something had made him look so unhappy earlier. It made me reluctant to push, but I needed some part of him, something to hold on to. “Tell me something about you. From before we met. Tell me something true.”
“Something true,” he mused. He drew me closer, until my cheek was resting on his shoulder and I could smell him, cinnamon and saltwater. After a moment, he said, “You’ll like this. One of my favorite things when I was little, five or six years old, was learnin’ my letters. Arc kids grow up learning both kinds—yours and ours—because it’s good to get the language of spells down before you actually cast ’em. Less of a mess later on.”
“I can imagine.” I relaxed into the cadence of his words.
“You practice by tracing on glass slates with the characters carved in. You follow the paths of the letters with a brush. One of the most beautiful sights in the world,” he said, lost in memory. “The ink glows like jewels, and the light shinin’ through the tablets makes patterns of the spells. On a sunny day, there’s words of power on every surface—the walls, the floor, your skin, the dust in the air. Like you’re inside the spell.”
He looked sad again, and I squeezed his hand gently. He blinked, seemingly dazed.
“It sounds amazing.”
“I’ll show you someday.”
“I’d like that. Why did the Quartoren pull you out?”
The slightest tension rippled through his body. “Once fate lays out a path for you, best to start walking it, even if it’s not what you planned for.” His eyes, a dark, bottomless green, met mine as he twirled me out and back in again. He stopped moving completely, catching me off balance amid the golden lights and lush music.
“Sometimes, the two overlap. The life you’re supposed to have, the life you’re dreamin’ of ... they come together. It’s a rare thing.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “ ’Bout as rare as you, I’d bet.”
“Luc ...”
“I could dazzle you with magic,” he said softly. “I could wrap you up in our binding, shower you with diamonds, set a spell to make you forget everything in the world but me. There’s a hundred different tricks I could use to convince you about us.”
He brushed his mouth over mine, a whisper of a kiss, and stepped back, breaking all contact between us. With a short, sharp gesture, the fairy lights vanished. The music he’d brought into the room went silent, only faint snatches audible from the other end of the hallway. The hint of magic that had skimmed over me ceased, and the room felt vast and intimate at the same time, as big as the world and small enough that it contained nothing but us.
“No tricks this time. No magic. Just me, and you, and the truth, for once. Truth is, we’re right.”
I couldn’t take my eyes from him—hair falling into his face, shining like water in moonlight. His lips parted as if he were about to speak, and he reached across the space between us, beckoning. I looked at his hand for a moment, those long, clever fingers that could wield magic like a weapon or a caress, knowing exactly how they would feel. He wasn’t trying to persuade me, he was stating a fact. This moment was about us—no one else, no magic or fate or excuses. Just us. It was a challenge, and an invitation, and it was as vulnerable as Luc had ever let himself be in front of me.
I slipped my hand inside his.
His smile blazed as he yanked me toward him, as if he couldn’t wait any longer to close the gap. I stumbled into the kiss, his mouth searching, shockingly hot. The world fell away in a rush, like we were flying, and I kissed him back. His fingers tangled in my hair, traced down my neck, and it seemed stupid that there was any space between us at all. I pressed closer, biting his lip, and he made a noise deep in his throat, contentment and hunger at the same time.
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