Chapter Thirteen #2
Ciara snorts. “Well, if I ever dip into horror, I know what I’m going to write about.” She shoves her hands into her pockets, squinting in the sunshine. “Did you ever meet him? I don’t think I asked.”
“Your dad?” I shake my head.
“He went to New York a lot for meetings.”
“He did, but that was before my time. And my hometown wasn’t exactly a hotbed for book signings when I was a teenager.
” I give her a rueful smile. “I was a hardcore follower, though. My parents used to take me to the midnight launches. And made me Halloween costumes. I wrote a letter to him when I was fourteen and made them spellcheck it twice.”
“Your poor folks,” she says, but there’s only amusement in her tone as I follow her over to a nearby bench. “They sound nice.”
“They are. You’d like them.”
“I don’t know. I’m very picky.”
“I’ll tell them not to take it personally.”
She kicks one leg over the other, her sandaled foot bobbing. “Dad and I never did Halloween.”
“It’s not a thing over here?”
“Uh, the Irish basically invented it, thank you very much. But…no. He was usually away. Always brought me back treats, though. From all over the world.” She shrugs. “But sometimes you just want a normal one, right? Like everyone else.”
“Right,” I agree, wondering if I’m imagining the hint of jealousy in her voice.
“Do you have any pictures?”
“Of the costumes? No.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yes. But you’re not seeing them.”
“You were definitely Finn.”
“And a dragon twice.”
“No wonder you went into fantasy publishing.” She grins. “Do you think you’ll ever publish crime?”
“It’s not my area of expertise,” I admit. “At least, not the non-fantastical kind. Why—you thinking of writing some again?”
“Maybe.” She stretches her arms out in front of her, flexing her fingers. “I’ve got a series I’ve been working on.”
“Oh, come on, you’ve got to give me more than that.”
“Nah,” she says. “Too crimey for you. I’ll have to go straight to the man in charge.”
“You’re bruising my ego here. That’ll be me someday.”
“You want to run your own publishing house?”
“I want to run Richardson Books.”
She gasps. “You want to murder Casey Richardson?”
“That’s exactly what I said, yes.”
“I’m just reading between the lines.”
“He says he’s going to retire soon,” I explain. “He wants to give it to someone internal.”
“And you’re the top dog.”
“I’m one of them.”
“Oh, I see.” She pokes me in the leg. “You have competition?”
“There’s two of us who could take it. Laura’s on the same level as me, and she’s managed to bring in some big authors.”
“None as big as me, though, right?”
“Actually, no,” I tell her, and her smile falters. “You’re the biggest.”
Ciara doesn’t respond and I raise a brow.
“You’re going to have to get used to—”
“I know, I know.” But she still looks queasy. “You must be feeling pretty confident, then, if Casey sent you here instead of her.”
“Not really. I think it’s less about my editorial skills and more because—”
“You used to dress up as Finn for Halloween?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I’m Team Sam,” she says. “Even if I am just a rung on the ladder for you.”
“You’re not—”
“I know,” she says. “But seriously, do you want me to push her out of a window?”
“Do you ever go a day without thinking about killing people?”
“Never.” And she winks at me before yawning. It starts off as a small one before morphing into something that takes over her whole mouth, and she brings both hands to her face to cover it. “Sorry,” she says, the word distorted. “I’m crashing. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Do you sleep much any nights?”
“No. But it’s not my fault society only caters to daytime people.”
She slumps on the bench, her arm pressing against mine. She’s a little burned today, and there’s a particularly obvious spot on her shoulder where she missed her sunscreen, but what catches my attention are the three freckles just below it, dotted in a line.
“Is it bad?” She reaches up, sliding a finger under her neon-green bra strap to reveal more of the burn. I freeze, but it’s not like I was being subtle about looking.
“Not too bad,” I say, pleased with how normal my voice sounds.
“I covered it in aloe vera,” she mutters, and twists her head, trying to look at it in vain. Her hair tickles my nose as she does, and I sit back, clearing my throat.
“Is it sore?”
“It’s itchy.” She scratches it once as if to prove her point and then, thankfully, puts her clothes back in order. “Can I ask you another question?”
“Of course.”
“Do you really think I should let him live?”
It takes me a second. “Aengus?”
“Do you think people will get mad?” She looks genuinely worried, and I wish I hadn’t brought up the whole biggest author thing.
“They won’t get mad if we do it right,” I tell her. “And it’s a major fan theory.”
“But it isn’t in any of Dad’s notes.”
“So?”
“So,” she says, “I don’t know if he’d want me to do it. Dad believed in happy endings.”
“It doesn’t mean we won’t have one. Just don’t kill off Finn or Maeve and you’ll be fine. But it can’t be too close to the end. Then it will look like you’re killing him for kicks.”
“Which is why I was thinking the start.”
“The start?”
“Not like the opening line. Welcome back, everybody; look, Aengus is dead. But yeah. Fifth chapter or so. It’s not like he has much to say from then on.”
She has a point.
“Try it,” I say simply. “I trust you. You’ve done good work so far.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s not shit,” I say, echoing her own words, and she smiles, looking back at the statue.
A comfortable silence falls between us and I don’t know how much time passes as we sit there, side by side. It’s only when the sweat starts to gather at my temples that I think about moving, and my attention strays back to the corner store. To where a row of refrigerated drinks surely awaits.
The heat is suddenly sweltering, and I’m about to suggest we go and splurge on something icy and cold when I feel a soft weight on my shoulder. I stiffen, tilting my chin to see Ciara’s head resting there, wisps of her brown hair fluttering against my cheek.
She’s fallen asleep.
She’s actually fallen asleep.
I open my mouth to wake her, but no sound comes out. It’s as though the words are stuck in my throat.
Suddenly, the most important thing in the world is to leave her alone. To give her this rest.
So I do.