Unchanged (12 page)

I wondered if any of this stuff could give me a clue about Ahaziel, but I quickly dismissed the notion. He wouldn't have allowed history to record him, I knew somehow. There wouldn't have been anything to record. But how could he manage that? He had to have been born somewhere, sometime, and so there
had
to be some kind of record for him. He was a person, after all.

What kind of person lives for a hundred years?
I asked myself. Was he like me, saddled with a past life? Or had he been here all along, never dying?

After a few minutes I came across an old, browning photograph of a girl and I knew it was the one Joy had mentioned. The image was somewhat faded and stained, but still her resemblance to me was undeniable. She looked a couple years younger than me, but my own light eyes stared back at me, their expression shuttered. Except for the dated hairstyle and clothing, I could have been looking at a picture of myself.

Abruptly I tucked the picture back among the other papers. I couldn't get the box back on the shelf, so I left it on the table, grabbed my book and turned to go, convinced more than ever of my past life theory. What I didn't know was why I had remembered my past life, or if there was a reason for my reincarnation. Did this happen to other people?

There was only one person who could give me answers, if I was brave enough to ask for them.

It was still early afternoon, but a thin mist had settled while I'd been in the library and it seemed to have turned Victoria into something of a ghost town. Everyone had apparently decided it was better to stay inside—everyone but me. A few clouds and a bit of rain weren't enough to lower my spirits. Lower them even more, anyway. I eyed the red and green lights twinkling on houses, hardly able to believe it would be Christmas soon.

Suddenly I stumbled over an uneven piece of asphalt and pitched forward ignominiously. The book flew from my grasp. My hands absorbed the impact of my fall and I clenched my teeth hard. With ginger care I pushed up and looked at my scraped, stinging palms, dotted with tiny beads of blood and embedded with bits of black gravel. Hot wetness gathered in my eyes but I blinked it back, sternly telling myself not to cry.

Swallowing back a shuddery breath, I retrieved the book, brushed dirt off it, and entered the alley a few feet ahead of me. When I reached the other side I turned left. Going right would have taken me home but left would lead me to the woods where I'd first met Ahaziel.

Just keep going
, I told myself.

I hope this isn't a mistake.

I kept thinking he would step out from behind a tree, or materialize in the distance out of the fog. He didn't so I kept walking in the direction of Havelock Point. Maybe I'd find him and maybe I wouldn't. If I didn't, I wouldn't get answers and that would be that. And if I did . . .

What then?

My legs were trembling by the time I reached the edge of the woods in front of the lightkeeper's house and it had nothing to do with the distance I'd walked. I stood half behind a tree, staring at the house, feeling it stare back at me. Ahaziel didn't live there, yet I found myself trying to detect movement behind the windowpanes. Was he watching me? Or was it a ghost's eyes I felt?

Are you an idiot?
The answer to that question, at least, was clear.

Leaves rustled behind me. I whirled and found myself face to face with Ahaziel, muted in the misty afternoon light. I was startled, though not surprised. He didn't seem surprised either to find me standing in the woods outside an abandoned house for no apparent reason. He was silent, eyes resting upon me. Had he been waiting for me, anticipating my arrival? But how would he know I was coming? Even I hadn't known that when I'd left the library.

He stood patiently, perhaps to see if I would run away. I didn't plan to.

I was afraid, though. Not much, but it was there. Fear of the unknown, fear of the truth. Fear of him. No, not of him . . . of myself. Of how I was reacting to him, my mouth dry, my hands shaking.

"Let me show you something," he said, satisfied I wasn't going anywhere.

He held out a hand to me and when I didn't take it he started walking. I followed. We left the woods and trod down a patchy dirt footpath that led to the Point. The sky here wasn't cloudy but a clear, grayish blue. The wind was strong beyond the trees, the air icy.

The lighthouse was bigger than it looked from a distance, though shorter. But I had already known that. It appeared sturdy enough despite its age and disrepair. Rusty yellow patches stained the pale surface. A black metal railing encircled the top. My eyes drifted downward, following the descent the lightkeeper's body had taken one hundred years ago.

Skirting the lighthouse, we walked to a little cliff jutting over the beach. The violently frigid ocean greeted us, bashing with relentless persistence against unforgivingly sharp rocks.

"Lean out," Ahaziel said, "and look to the right."

I glanced at him, wondering if he meant to push me.

"It's all right," he assured me. "I'll hold on to you."

I didn't know what made me so sure I could trust him, but I did as he said. As I leaned forward, my toes sent a spray of pebbles over the cliff's edge, but I felt strangely secure with Ahaziel's hands on my shoulders. I craned my neck, my eyes scanning the rocky beach for whatever it was he meant me to see. Then, far to the right, I spotted dark areas on the rocks, openings, high up so a person would have to climb to reach them. Eve and the others had picnicked in that first cave. These were the caves where Ahaziel had wanted to meet me. Was he trying to remind me I hadn't shown up?

I leaned back, stepping away from the edge of the cliff, and Ahaziel's hands dropped from my shoulders. I felt colder without him touching me and hugged my sweater tightly around my body.

"I didn't think it was a good idea to show up that day," I said.

"You're here now. What is the difference?"

His expression was quiet, unrevealing.
Murderer?
He was right though—there wasn't any difference whether I met him here or in the caves. Both places were dangerous with equal potential. I hadn't told anyone where I'd gone or when to expect me back. It was likely no one even noticed or cared I'd gone anywhere. Unless the police were adamantly searching for a book thief.

I studied him from behind a partial curtain of hair. He seemed far removed from the world I knew. It was hard to picture him going to school or doing any sort of work. Maybe manual labor, something where he'd roll up his sleeves and sweat, but definitely not anything that required a uniform or a tie. And not anything in this century.

"What do you do?" I asked.

The pause before his answer—a long one. "I am . . . I used to be . . ." He stopped, unsure about what to say. "It was not good," he finished.

He took a step forward, reaching out a hand, his eyes asking, hoping I would take it. I did this time. It felt surprisingly good to entwine our fingers in a strong grip that seemed to signify intimacy and solidarity. Our eyes met and an unexpected heat bloomed in me. I looked down at my feet, wishing I could drop the book and finger-comb my hair over the left side of my face.

"Don't," he said gently.

"Let's talk," I suggested to the ground. It was still hard to look at him

"Of course."

We walked just far enough into the forest to lose sight of the house, which was all right by me. My feet slipped and skidded even as I struggled to be as sure-footed as Ahaziel. He helped me along, never letting me fall to my knees. Though he was dressed in boots, jeans, and a long-sleeved shirt, all black, he seemed at home among the trees.

Reaching a log, we sat down on it, facing each other. Ahaziel reached out to brush the tangles of hair back from my face. His skin was warm. So warm.

"What is that book?" he asked.

"I stole it," I confessed. "It was kind of an accident, but I didn't have any money. It's about mythology in the Pacific Northwest and I wanted it so I might learn something about you, because I know you can't be human."

Silence.

"Who are you?" I asked.

More silence.

"Can I trust you?"

"Yes."

I knew I shouldn't have asked. It wasn't like he would tell me if I couldn't trust him. I looked out at the trees, shadows deep and plentiful even in the afternoon. Unseen creatures were mostly silent save a rustle or two here and there. I sighed and looked back at him, knowing I had to get down to business.

"I need to know if we've met before. Before this year, I mean."

His eyes were fathomless. "We met years ago."

"In nineteen-oh-four," I said, peering at him with squinted eyes, wondering if he was sincere. "In my past life."

"I never forgot you."

"But I've forgotten you."

"I knew you would," he admitted.

"How did you know I'd forget?"

He hesitated. "Because you died. And when a person is dead, he or she forgets life." He added, "I am here to help you remember."

The words chilled me.
You died.
I stared at his hands on his thighs, at the sleek hair wisping on his neck. I didn't want to think about pushing that hair aside so I could caress the skin beneath it. Or shoving him back so I could kiss him wildly. Because even though he had just mentioned the death of my former self, I seemed to be preoccupied with his physical presence. I was startled at the desires I felt, the nearly violent urges, and too spellbound to wonder why he was affecting me so strongly when I'd felt mostly cold to every other guy I'd ever known.

"Does everyone have past lives?" I wondered, tearing my eyes away from him to stare at my knee instead.

"I don't know. I did know you would come back."

"How?" I asked sharply, my gaze flicking to his face.

"Because the earth holds you here. Because I needed you to live again. Because you died before I ever got to tell you how much—”

I stood up quickly, nearly tripping over the log in my haste. I didn't want to know what he never got to tell me. "I have to go home now," I sputtered, backing away, afraid to look at him in case his eyes were too sincere, in case his arms appeared too warm. As I stumbled away, leaving him motionless on the log, I half expected him to stop me.

He didn't, but a loud, cold wind rushed against my back. Battering angrily against the trees, it sounded eerily like a howl of aching sadness. I began to run, desperate to put distance between myself and that inhuman sound.

The wind ceased as I made it beyond the trees. Pausing only a moment to catch my breath, I walked quickly home, shaken and overwhelmed.

~

My mom was home when I arrived, which was surprising but not too much so. She
had
broken a bone. I figured she needed a day or two off work to rest. She was in the kitchen making a grocery list, which excited me because when I began rummaging in the cupboards for something to snack on, all I found were crackers.

"Can you put bagels on there?" I asked. "And cream cheese, please. Oh, and maybe cranberry juice?"

"Lilly. We need to talk."

I turned to stare at her, confused by her stern tone of voice. She hardly ever spoke harshly; she was usually so gentle and forgiving. What could I have done to upset her since I'd last seen her? Had Brandt said something to her about me and Austin? Or was this going to be a reprise of
that
talk?

Then I noticed a familiar slip of paper on the table. Without moving closer to examine it, I knew it was my latest report card. I'd gotten it a few weeks ago but had hidden it in my room then purposely forgotten about it, knowing my grades were far, far from impressive. I'd never been an outstanding student, but my mom must have had higher expectations for me after all or she wouldn't have looked so angry.

"Oh," I said, feigning a casual tone, "that's my report card."

"Yes, I know," my mom said icily. "Brandt gave me his weeks ago, but I had to call the school to get them to send me a copy of yours. Why is that, Lilly?"

I shrugged. "I lost it?"

"Conveniently, I'm sure. These grades are unacceptable, Lilly. I am
embarrassed
for you. I don't expect much, but I do expect effort. Clearly you haven't been exerting any in your studies."

I was silent, unable to come up with an acceptable excuse. It was true I
hadn't
made much effort at school, but how could I tell her I had a hard time getting interested in classes, especially in my senior year? How could I add that my next report card would be probably even worse because since the first of December, since my eighteenth birthday, I'd been distracted by nightmares and an unexpected past life? She wouldn't care or even know what I was talking about. And if I tried explaining to her about Ahaziel, she would only assume I'd let a boy distract me from schoolwork. There was nothing for me to say.

"I'm going to have to ground you," my mom continued. "I want you in your room, studying."

"How can I study?" I protested shrilly. "I don't know what we'll be learning in school in January. Besides, all my books are in my locker."

"I'm sure you can borrow Brandt's books. You can use them to read ahead, so you'll at least be somewhat aware of your lessons when your break is over."