Chapter 38
38
If Kethryn had only experienced the power of caramel cappuccinos, I feel confident she could have defeated the court’s enemies in one book instead of five.
It is the conclusion I reach as a result of all the caffeine coursing through me, despite the five hours of sleep I’m running on. Although, admittedly, giddy excitement mixed with a dash of panicky fear and annoyance are probably also contributing to my wakefulness.
When we returned from the bell tower, Amelia lightly abused her Elytheum Experience power to let me know Scott had asked them for help making a hotel reservation for the night to prepare for his drive home in the morning. He hadn’t left . When we completed the clue, he would have heard the chimes of our midnight victory.
It was going to be easy. Wonderfully easy. I would get some sleep—it was two in the morning when I left my friends to head to bed—and wake up at six, ensuring I could head him off the next day.
When I returned to my room, I found myself noticing the familiar details, remembering how when Scott left they embarrassed me with their falseness, their imitation of fantasy. The candle, the painting. The runes over the door. In the afterglow of the night, something made me see the fantastical flourishes anew.
Not imitation. Aspiration . The room, the actors, the Experience—even I myself when I arrived here—dared to imagine the impossible, the fantastical. In a way, I’m doing the same now, with stakes higher than I ever expected. I’m finding my fortitude. Lady Fucking Jennifer . Perhaps, I ventured to wonder, she and I are one and the same.
I decided I would find out in the morning. Determinedly, I set my iPhone alarm for six a.m. Nothing would keep me from Scott. Not self-doubt, not insecurity about the fragility of dreams. Nothing .
For the first morning of my life, I overslept.
When my alarm rang, I guess I shut it off without knowing what I was doing, half asleep. It wasn’t until Erik shook me awake an hour later, about to start his morning mirror time, that I realized what had happened.
I rushed to the hotel, where of course they wouldn’t let me know whether Scott had checked out or not. They called up to his room for me, but there was no answer. When I texted him, I received the notification that he had turned his phone on “Do Not Disturb While Driving.”
Stupid, responsible man who just had to start driving at six a.m. sharp. He couldn’t have, I don’t know, spent a lazy morning in Hollisboro or enjoyed the hotel amenities for just a couple hours?
Returning to campus, I called Amelia and explained the plan starting to form in my head. It could come together, though timing would be tight.
Nevertheless, I had to try.
I scoured my email inbox until I located the exchange where Scott requested I drop off at his place the galleys he needed, which had been sent to me by mistake during the weeks when the office was closed for the holidays. Under his curt request, reflecting obvious reluctance to rely on or feel indebted to me, I found what I was looking for. Scott’s address . There’s something happily poetic in it—how our correspondence in mutual resentment was exactly what I needed to come home to him now.
I hit the road in my sister’s Prius, the “Cherry Evening” air freshener mocking me like it had on my way to Hollisboro. The good fortune of leaving early in the morning is that traffic is light. Determined to only pause for one pee stop, a skill developed over Midwestern road trips in my youth, I make excellent time. The gas station has caramel coffee—my dark, delicious magic.
I’m in New York City by one thirty, which turns into two by the time I find parking outside Scott’s place—parking in the city not being a skill I have developed at all.
Whatever. I did it.
I hurry into Scott’s apartment building, heading straight for the stairs. I refuse to wait even one unnecessary minute for the elevator, and I hardly even feel myself flying up the flights anymore. Emotion urges on my heart rate relentlessly and I’m panting when I emerge into Scott’s hallway.
His door . For whatever reason, his door is what makes my surroundings set in. I’m…here. Not in Elytheum, or what passed for fantasy this week. I’m here .
I rush to the door. I knock.
No one answers.
In the oblivious afternoon light from the hallway window, I knock again. Harder. Wham wham wham . What if he’s—I don’t know—listening to music while he’s unpacking?
His door doesn’t open.
The one next door does, however. “Hey, if you’re looking for Scott, he’s out of town this week,” Scott’s neighbor informs me. “I’ve been getting his mail.”
I plaster on my most pleasant smile. One I hope doesn’t say I just did something completely unreasonable and illogical in the name of love only for it to not work out, didn’t I?
Nothing like this ever happened to Kethryn or Val. This is a Just Jennifer problem. It’s proof of just how close heroism is to ridiculousness.
“Oh. Uh,” I start. She eyes me with the start of concern. “I think he should have gotten in today,” I manage cheerfully.
His neighbor shrugs. “Not yet. I can mention you dropped by when I see him. What’s your name?”
“Tell him Jennifer was looking for him,” I say. “Thank you.”
I retreat from the door, and she withdraws. Wondering what the hell I’m going to do, I absently pull out my phone and call Scott.
Surprisingly, the call doesn’t go straight to voicemail. So he’s off the road now, but he didn’t come here. Where is he? Is he avoiding my calls? Is he too hurt, too pissed to give me a chance to apologize? I chew my nail in the hallway, giving myself over to the ridiculousness. This ridiculousness is the luck of a lifetime. A week ago, I honestly never expected I would get to share my greatest passions and my happiest self with Scott Daniels. A week ago, I was literally excited for nine days free of him.
Now…
He doesn’t pick up, and when the voicemail beeps, I speak hurriedly and quietly, hoping Scott’s neighbor isn’t listening. “Hey. Hi. It’s me again. So, funny story,” I start. “I’m actually back in New York, but it doesn’t look like you are? Or at least you’re not at your apartment.”
I swallow. No more playing it cool. I know what I want.
Everything .
“I have to admit I’m desperately curious where you went, but more than that, I just want to see you, so call me back, or I guess come home, because I’ll be waiting in your hallway,” I confess. “Which sounds creepy, but I promise it’ll come off romantic if you—”
The elevator dings open.
Scott walks into the hallway, hauling his luggage.
His face . Weary from driving, with a little scruff from his early morning. His clothes . Dark gray shirt and jeans. Not Elytheum in the least. His hair . Swooped.
He stops hard in his entryway, shock stealing the color from his face.
I swallow. Talking to his voicemail is one thing. Finishing my declaration in person—well, it is demanding more courage than I expected.
I muster my reserves. “I’m sorry,” I start. “For…everything. I…” Realizing I should have planned these words better on my drive, I falter.
Then I focus on Scott’s eyes. Finding the man I know, waiting in his hallway. The eyes I’ve glared into in conference rooms, gazed lovingly into the past couple mornings. The real Scott, in front of me now.
It is everything I need to find my voice. “I was scared,” I say, feeling the conviction in my words. “But I’m not now. Because being with you—believing in us—is a dream I’m ready to make real. I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you’re not enough. You are who I want. Exactly the way you are.”
The hallway is silent. I wait, counting my heartbeats.
“Maybe we’re even now?” I offer, trying to smile. “You reject me once. I reject you once. The score is settled. Please…” I implore him, dropping my fragile humor. “Give me another chance.”
Slowly, like hope is igniting within him, Scott’s eyes—the eyes I know—light up. They snare the sunlight, dazzling in impossible happiness. His smile spreads like none I’ve ever seen on his face.
“I don’t think the score can ever be settled between us, Jennifer,” he says. “At least, I hope not.”
Relief and joy crash into me. I hang up the phone and rush to his arms. He drops his suitcase, capturing me in his embrace and sweeping me into a kiss.
I press my lips to his—soft and then deep, gentle and then desperate with need and forever want—while familiar magic comes over us, erasing the entire world. Putting my newfound conviction into the kiss, I hope he feels exactly how magical I know we can be.
The way he kisses me back says he does. It says he’s here, and he’s ready to risk everything. It says he knew I would realize the truth. In his arms, I feel I’ve made the journey of a lifetime, into realms of magic and mystery, and have finally returned home.
His stare wanders past me when we finally part, and I see something register. “Hey,” he says, “we had our first conversation in a hallway just like this.”
Looking around, I realize he’s right. Once more, I’m starting something unforgettable with Scott Daniels in a liminal space, the ultimate nowhere I’m hoping to make somewhere. Our somewhere.
He nods at our surroundings. “I know it’s not as magical as the Night Grotto,” he concedes, and I grin at the reference to the location where Val and Kethryn first meet, the hidden chamber where colorful auroras of dark magic pulse in the endless pit under the court.
“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s pretty magical to me.”
Scott smiles. He presses his forehead to mine, and I entwine my fingers with his.
“How did I beat you here?” I wonder aloud. I mean, there’s magic, and then there’s magic . I would not put my freeway driving in either category. “I went to your hotel and you had already left early in the morning.”
He laughs, a little shyly. “I…um,” he says. “I stopped at an indie bookstore on the way out. I was going to recommend it to you when you left. I just didn’t know you’d already done so.”
“Because you had your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb.’?”
“Because I am a very safe driver. I suppose that’s not quite book boyfriend material,” he concedes.
“Everything about you,” I say, “is book boyfriend material.”
His eyes gleam. He knows I mean every word, and I know he understands. The “book boyfriend” doesn’t mean fiction or fantasy. It doesn’t mean courts of hulking men, or glowers or glamours, wings or horns.
It only means kindness, loyalty, honesty, and loving hard enough to never let go.
“I’m ready for everything with you,” I continue, devotion in every word. “For days that feel like fairy tales and for days that don’t. Because together, we’re more than a fantasy,” I say. “We’re a dream come true.”
He squeezes my hand. When he says nothing, I know he’s choked up.
“Scott Daniels,” I joke lovingly, “you really are a romantic.” I collect my hard-won resolve, and looking right into his gorgeous eyes, I ask the question I knew I needed to ask the moment Heather mentioned his departure. The reason I’m really here. “Will you go to the ball with me?”
Now Scott startles.
“The—the ball?” he repeats. “In Hollisboro?”
I nod firmly. “In Elytheum ,” I amend.
Scott smiles, still incredulous. “You…drove all the way here to ask me? You could have called and I would have set right back out on the road.”
“I drove here,” I explain, “to see you. I couldn’t wait one more minute, not to mention eight hours. I know it’s silly, going right back, and we might not even make it in time, but—”
He cuts me off with a kiss.
“It’s not silly,” he says finally, his voice hushed. “Yes. I’ll go to the ball with you, Jennifer Worth. Yes . Even if it means eight more hours of driving. Even if we miss it. It’ll be perfect, even if it’s not.”
No magic in this realm or any other could change how happy I feel.
“It already is,” I say.