Vendetta (5 page)

"But what if I
can't
tell you it's going to be okay?" he asks, voice rising. "I don't know how this ends, Genesis. I don't know how we'r
e supposed to be together."

I sit up, unsettled and restless, wondering where all of this is coming from. "We're
meant
to be together," I tell him. "When you showed up that night at the gala . . . we danced. I felt like . . . I mean, even then I
knew
I was
falling in love with you. But knowing how connected we are, I also know that it wasn't just me." I glance over at him, finding his eyes in the darkness. "And part of what I felt that night was you, falling in love with
me
. And some people wait their whole
lives to feel something like this, Seth. To find something like this. Now that I have it, I'm not letting it go. Not for anything."

"If I would've stayed away, you would've gone back to Carter."

"You don't
know
that," I say, voice clipped. "I picked you.
I want
you
."

"What if, one day, I'm not enough? The things you could have . . . I can't do any of that for you."

My throat closes, blood hammering in my ears.

What is he trying to say?

"You're enough," I insist.

"For now."

"Forever."

He exhales a frustra
ted sigh, and I lie down again, resting my head in the crook of his shoulder, hand on his chest.

"Why can't I stay away from you?" he asks, taking my hand in his.

"Why does it matter? No one is asking you to."

"Not yet."

"We won't let them."

"Everything
about this is wrong, Genesis," he whispers.

"Everything about this is right," I say, tilting my chin toward him. "I can face anything with you."

And it's just before I'm pulled back under, that quiet moment between sleep and awake, I realize: that's exactl
y what he's afraid of.

S
IX

There's a mother-daughter fashion show at the country club this weekend. All proceeds to benefit breast cancer survivors. Selena graciously bowed out of the show to allow her sister a sliver of spotlight, but refuses to
appear without a new dress. Vivian is country-hopping in Europe for the next six weeks, and somehow I've become the second opinion.

Shopping with Selena is an experiment in tedium. Dozens of stores. Dozens of outfits. Dozens of trips to dressing rooms. At
some point they all start to look the same. I forget where we are, which stores we've already covered. It makes me grateful, in a way. There's something to be said for growing up broke. You know exactly where you stand, always. If you can't afford it, it'
s not an issue.

"With everything going on, can you believe they're still having The Carnival this weekend?" Selena mutters.

We're at the mall for the second time today, after having no luck at the boutiques uptown. Selena is convinced the strapless teal d
ress is
the one
. I wrack my brain, and cannot, for the life of me, remember her trying on anything teal.

She pushes her sunglasses aside, rifling through her purse in search of her cell phone.

I study the poster taped to the door of the mall. They're every
where: plastering telephone poles, wallpapering various stores and restaurants. It's impossible to go anywhere without running into them.

"I mean, on one hand we totally need to get people back in this town," she goes on. "I'm just not sure this is the bes
t way to do it. Do they really think they can pull this off without something happening?"

"It won't matter if people are too scared to show up."

She finds her phone and flips it open, checking for any missed calls. "Well, even if they do show up, they sure
as hell won't stay after dark. I can't even go out for gas by myself without my parents freaking out on me. These kinds of things are creepy enough without serial killers running rampant."

I examine the advertisement. The illustrations. Clowns. Elephants.
Sequined dancers and bearded women. And a man covered entirely in tattoos.
Tattoos
. "You don't think this is a good idea?" I ask, but my thoughts drift to another place entirely.

"Are you kidding me? This gang—whatever it is—they rule this town. So what?
We're going to pile half the city onto the boardwalk and pretend everyone's going to get along? I mean, there were stabbings at this thing
before
the town went to pot."

"I'm sure the police will be there."

Selena's bright eyes roll dramatically. She presse
s her phone to her ear. "Yeah, they've done a fantastic job. The police are worthless. I mean, other than write up a report when it's all over, what have they even done? Daddy is totally calling for the chief's resignation."

"I guess that means you aren't
interested in going," I say, an amused smile pulling at my lips.

"Hey, Mom. It's me." She opens the door and heads into the mall, not responding.

I don't follow her right away. I linger a moment longer, examining the flyer. The boardwalk.
By the beach. Vendors.
People.

I yank it off the window, top corner ripping in the process, fold it in half, then shove it deep inside my purse.

*
             
*
             
*

Seth appears the moment I pull out of Selena's driveway.

I reach for my purse, fumbling blindly until
I feel the flyer. "I'm going," I say, passing it to him.

"What is this?" he asks.

"I don't know. It's some kind of annual carnival. At the boardwalk. I've never been, but there should be a lot of people there."

He tosses the flyer to the floorboard and l
eans into the seat, folding his arms across his chest. "Not just a lot of people, though. One in particular."

"It's perfect, Seth. All of those distractions. She'll show up if she thinks I'll be there, I know she will."

"No, Genesis, you don't know that. N
ot for sure."

"I do."

"Did you have a vision?" he asks, lifting an eyebrow.

When I do, he's the first to hear about it. If I would've seen Viola, I'd have told him by now, and he knows it. "Not exactly. But it makes so much sense." I reach the end of the
street and press the brakes, stopping.

"It's too risky," he says, shaking his head. "Even if there are people there . . ."

"She's still hanging around, Seth. I know it.
Please
?"

His eyes meet mine, watching carefully, gaze lingering. I plead with them. He
knows how important this is to me. What it would mean to find her. To take her out of this world. To have her out of my life.

He exhales a resigned sigh. "Fine. We'll go. But I'm laying the ground rules."

I stifle a groan. I hate Seth's ground rules.

"Ru
le number one: this is a reconnaissance mission only. We aren't going to look for a fight. If we see Viola, fine. We'll re-group and make plans from there. Rule number two: I'm not hiding. If we do this, I'm going in with you. And if we happen to run into
someone you know I'm not going to disappear."

"Seth," I whine. "This is complicated enough without me having to explain who you are."

"No one is asking you to explain anything. We're friends . . . we're dating . . . I'm your second cousin twice removed. I
don't care what you tell people, but I'm not letting you go alone. If we do this, I'm there. With you. Physically."

He eyes me carefully, waiting for me to agree.

"Is that it?" I finally ask. "We go together and I don't start any fights?"

"That's it."

I f
lip on my right turn signal. "Fine."

"Fine," he repeats.

S
EVEN

At the boardwalk the sun is already fading, falling beneath the horizon, and the sky is streaked with oranges and purples as darkness settles in. I pull my denim
jacket tighter against my arms as we pass through the gates, entering the carnival.

Selena was wrong about the crowd. The place is packed with people. There's a noticeable police presence, though. We pass a sheriff on the way in.

A cool breeze blows off t
he ocean, tousling my hair and rustling the skirt of my white sundress. Instead of seawater, it carries the smell of popcorn, cotton candy, and cigarettes. I breathe it in, and Seth glances at me, a smile curving his mouth. My pulse edges a degree as he ta
kes his hand in mine, intertwining our fingers.

He's taking this date night seriously, stopping first at the ticket booth, exchanging a twenty for a handful of tickets to spend on games, rides, whatever thrills this place holds for us. Hawkers yell as we
pass, begging us to pick a duck, let them guess our weight, try our hand at darts.

But then I spot a photo booth. And it dawns on me: Seth and I, we've never had our photo taken. There's no photographic evidence that we ever existed together.

"We don't ha
ve a picture of us," I tell him.

"We should fix that."

I haul him over to the photo booth, push back the curtain, and step inside. The space is tiny, cramped, and Seth pulls me onto his lap to make more room.

He drapes his arm around my waist, eyes fixin
g on mine. "I've never had my picture taken," he confesses.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

His gaze lingers, and my emotions tangle. A swell of sorrow, but I can't tell if the source is me or Seth. If it's a sadness for not remembering. For never having experi
enced something as obvious as a town carnival. For never having a photograph taken. . . .

"We should fix that," I say quietly.

I take the dollar bills and straighten them across my knee, smoothing them. "You're going to show up, right?" I ask, teasing.

He
eyes me skeptically. "What?"

I shrug. "When some people take pictures, sometimes these . . . I don't know . . . random balls of light appear. Or people will see like, an outline of someone else in the picture where there's not supposed to be anyone. There'
s some kind of inexplicable glow. It's usually blamed on angels . . . or ghosts."

"I'm not a ghost. Or an angel. I'm a Guardian."

"Same idea," I reply.

"You people have your mythology slash legends slash folklore irrefutably screwed up."

"I guess
we're about to find out, then."

I feed the dollar bills into the machine. We get five pictures. The seconds begin to count down.

"Smile pretty." I tilt my head closer to Seth, leaning in, and smile.
Flash.

In the next moment, I feel Seth's fingers agains
t my side, tickling me. I pull away from him, laughing.
Flash.

"You just wasted a photo!" I shout, still laughing.
Flash.

"Shit! Kiss me!" I demand.

"What?"

But my lips are already pressed against his. He sighs, exhaling between us, and wraps his fingers
around the back of my neck.
Flash.

He kisses me slowly, deliberately, and a surge of heat passes through me as his tongue brushes mine.
Flash
. And around us I can still hear waves crashing in the distance. Shouts of carnival workers. Laughter. Music. Cars
racing across metal tracks. Until it all disappears, melting into nothing. He kisses me until my lips are swollen and my breaths are shallow and I'm forced to pull away to survive.

His eyes remained fastened to mine, holding on to them, as my heart trips
over itself. "Are you okay?" he whispers.

A smile cracks my lips. "Perfect."

Our photographs have long since printed, slipping halfway out of the machine, waiting for us. I reach for the strip of black and white photos.

"You're in them." And I don't know
who's more surprised. Him or me. But he's there. His chiseled jaw. Dark hair falling over his forehead.

"You're so beautiful," I whisper, brushing my fingers across the images. It's one thing to see him reflected in mirrors, to watch him pass in and out
of my reality, but this. . . .