Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
“Jack?” Emmy’s hope was terrifying, far worse than it had been when they’d run from Grimsbane. She’d been half dead then,
but now, she was so very alive.
Eyes still closed, Jack coughed, and Emmy nearly collapsed against him. She kissed his knuckles. Dragged her hands through
his hair, across the smooth skin of his neck. No bruises, no cuts. Pressed her hand to his heart and—thump thump thump.
“Vallillo?” Jack rasped. “What the hell happened?”
She hadn’t the faintest idea how to answer.
“We need to get out of here.” Jimmy helped Emmy pull Jack to his feet, passing the conglomerate relic over his neck so that
it bulged beneath his shirt.
The flames had engulfed the ballroom, and the heat was overwhelming, but Jack insisted on calling to his conjury to extinguish
them. It took him several minutes to tame the fire, reducing it until all that remained were black plumes of smoke.
Outside, the ordinary onlookers were shouting that God had answered their prayers and extinguished the devil’s flames. The
Society was gone, Grace included. Perhaps she’d used her silver tongue to talk her way out of whatever Mrs. Windsor had heard.
Emmy no longer cared.
“We need to get to the ferries.” Jimmy was practically dragging them across the street. Although the Society was nowhere in
sight, Emmy knew he would not breathe easy until Caleb was nearby.
Caleb needed to tell him about that one last prophecy.
Jack, for his part, did not make a sound. Block after block, he remained silent, though he kept pace with surprising ease. He was deep in his thoughts; Emmy could practically hear his gears spinning.
“Does your throat feel all right?” She squinted in the dark, but there was no trace of the lethal gash. “Does it hurt to speak,
or breathe, or—”
Jack slowed, turning to face her. “You don’t owe me anything, you know.”
She stopped walking, brow raised.
“I know you feel guilty because I almost died back there—”
“Definitely died,” Jimmy interrupted. “You were very, very dead.”
Jack paled. “How?”
How, indeed, could she possibly explain what had just happened? “Grace never had a relic made from Mr. Montgomery. She had
one made from my father, using the same method Rose used to make the amplifying relic.” All the bitterness surrounding that particular deceit
had evaporated. “I tried to heal you with that, but . . .”
“So you combined both relics.” Jack lifted the oddly shaped metallic mess that Emmy had made. “How long was I . . . ?”
“Too long,” she whispered, trying to blink away the threat of tears. He was alive.
His face fell as he reached for her, but he dropped his hand, looking away.
“Jimmy?” Emmy gave him a meaningful look. “Can we catch up with you in a moment?”
“I’ll find Caleb.” He offered her a tight smile. “Meet you at the ferries.”
As Emmy watched Jimmy jog across the street, she tried to gather her courage.
Her turn to be brave.
Jack was already studying her with his usual intensity.
She had been delusional, trying to convince herself that she preferred him as Nathaniel.
It was such a bald-faced lie, she nearly laughed.
How she’d missed this mess of chocolate hair, the devastating cut of his jaw, the dark lashes framing eyes that could not help but seem mischievous.
“Jack,” she began, but all the bravery she’d mustered abandoned her. How could she possibly put into words what she was feeling?
How she already knew his death would haunt her for the rest of her life? She could hardly stand the thought of leaving his
side. Even the few feet that separated them on the sidewalk made her chest ache something awful.
Jack studied his feet. “Let me do us both a favor. You don’t need to feel guilty. I may have poured my heart out, but you
made it clear—”
She reached for his hands, but he pulled away.
“I don’t need your pity.” His voice was hoarse, those gray eyes full of words he was not saying. “Tonight was . . . a lot.
And I know how your mind works, Vallillo. You hate that I put that gun down. And you’re relieved that I’m alive, but—I’m not
going to let you confuse whatever you’re feeling right now for whatever I feel for you all the damn time.”
“Oh?” She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re not going to let me?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m doing the right thing. If you’re trying to make me feel better because I almost died, or did die,
I suppose, I’m not going to let you. Either way—”
Lifting onto her toes, she pressed a finger against his infuriating lips. “Why are you still talking?”
His eyes widened, the hope in his expression too much to bear.
She’d meant to make him smile, but they were too close now, the gravity between them too powerful.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
He tangled his hands in the smoke-filled hair that had come loose, spilling over her back.
Their noses grazed, sending delicious chills skittering all over her skin.
Like the first notes of a beautiful song.
Like coming home after a long time away.
This time, she kissed him.