Chapter 41
XLI.
I take off toward him, but my boots sink into the sand, and I topple onto the soft earth. Sand floods my mouth, choking me. My mother grabs my wrist and hauls me up as I cough up gritty pebbles.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I wipe my tongue with my sleeve. “Come on.”
The sand forces me to move in slow motion, and it takes forever to reach the crowd. Nate’s really overrated this sand thing. Not only is it impossible to walk in, but it tastes like crap, too.
I shove through the people, ignoring their protests. Nate’s on his back, his eyes closed, barely moving.
My legs give way, and I fall to my knees beside him. No. I can’t be too late. Please don’t let me be too late.
Damn sand.
He moans, and I let out a gasp, my heart skidding in my chest.
He’s okay. My mother was wrong. He’s not going anywhere.
I knew she was lying. She wanted me all to herself.
Cupping his cheek with my hand, I gasp when his skin almost burns me. He’s warmer than I am. This isn’t normal.
“Nate?” My voice cracks on his name. “Nate, can you hear me?”
His eyes flutter open, squinting at me through the sun that beats down on the back of my head. “Am I in Heaven?”
The sound of his voice loosens the clamp around my heart. That familiar lilt with the hint of humor edging along the dark tones. I used to tell him to shut up. Now I never want him to stop.
“No, Nathan Reynolds.” I chuckle softly. “You’re not. Why would I be there? You’re on the Satan Monicar beach.”
His eyes drift closed, and his body vibrates with laughter, the sound burying itself in my chest. “Santa Monica.”
“Whatever.” I wink and slip his arm over my shoulder, slowly pulling him into a sitting position.
My mother takes his other arm and lifts him with ease until he’s standing. “We should go, Devica. He needs rest.”
He’s damp with sweat, his cheeks pink, eyes unfocused. “Where are we going?” The words catch on his tongue and slur, like he’s had too much to drink.
The smile I’d forced for him dies on my lips. This is so much worse than the carrot cake incident. At least then I knew the poison would wear off and he’d come back. Whatever this is will take him from me forever.
I swallow the tightness in the back of my throat. “My mother’s house.”
Nate turns his head and finally acknowledges the person helping us. “You found her.”
“She found me,” I say.
His legs buckle, and I stumble, but my mother catches us both like our weight is no more than one of my feathers. I stare at her with wide eyes over Nate’s head.
My mother works out.
“Dev?” Nate mumbles. “Thanks for finding me. You’ve saved me. Again.”
My mother raises her eyebrows, and I bite my lip but say nothing. I don’t have the heart to tell Nate I haven’t saved him from anything. I’ve damned him all over again.
The drive back is faster, but by the time we get back to my mother’s place, my nails are chewed to nubs and my neck aches from craning it to check on him as he lies splayed across the back seat.
We carry him inside to an empty bedroom and lay him on a flower-patterned bed.
I unlace his boots, then remove his vest and shirt, grunting as they stick to his sweat-soaked flesh. He mutters something about me undressing him, but I can’t bring myself to laugh.
If he’s taken from me, I’m not sure how I’ll ever laugh again.
My mother returns with a damp cloth and places it on his forehead before covering him with a sheet. He murmurs at something only he can see.
I perch on the edge of the mattress, my thumb rubbing back and forth on his palm until his moans are replaced by gentle snores.
Nate, stay with me. We didn’t survive Hell together for you to die on Earth. At least not yet. We deserve more time.
A tear slides down my cheek, and I turn to my mother. “What else can I do?”
She lays a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Nothing. His life is needed to restore balance. Just be with him so he’s not alone.”
Her fingernails are needles against my skin, and I shrug her off. I can’t just sit here. That’s not what he’d do. He’d carry me through a snowstorm while being chased by frostbitten shadelings. He wouldn’t abandon me.
I sniffle and wipe at the tears on my cheeks. “What if I go back to Hell and agree to take Father’s place? Once I’m there, I can pardon Nate.”
“Devica, I know you care for this boy, but that’s not the answer. Your father is more likely to lock you up than promote you.” She cups my chin. “I can’t lose you again. I just got you back.”
I drop my head. She’s right. Father’s number one priority is his own ego, and I’ve scarred it with my deceit.
The room darkens as clouds cover the sun outside the window. She walks to the desk and flips on the lamp, illuminating a pile of books beneath it.
I lunge across the room and pick up the top one, my heart picking up speed. I know this one. A man in a trench coat with a pipe and a magnifying glass is plastered on the cover, The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes etched beneath his feet.
Father had this book. I’d read a few of the stories before it randomly disappeared from the shelf one day. I’d even marked my place with black pen. I flip through the pages, and my eyes widen when I spot the familiar star in black ink in the top left corner at the start of the fifth story.
“Where did you get this?” I whisper.
She peers over my shoulder. “I’ve had it since I met your father. He got it for me from one of the bookstores I dragged him into on our first date. I thought I’d lost it, but one day it turned up again. That happens with a lot of my books, actually. I’m not good at keeping things in one place.”
I blink as the writing blurs and returns to focus. This was hers. They all were.
All this time I thought I’d been left down there with nothing of her beside me. He took these for himself, I’m certain, but he also unknowingly collected pieces of her for me.
A small wooden box falls at my feet with a thud as I shuffle through the books, and I pluck it from the carpet. “What’s this?”
“Jewelry.” She grabs the box from me and shoves it onto a shelf in the closet. “Your dad bought me all sorts of trinkets when we were dating. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them for some reason.”
Nate groans, and I drop the book I’ve just picked up and steal to his side to wipe his forehead with the damp cloth. This isn’t the time, Devica. No matter how much you want to know about your mom. And reading how Sherlock solves crimes isn’t going to fix anything.
My jaw drops. Unless…
My eyes dart over the peach rug beside the bed, and I chatter as fast as my thoughts appear. “What if Father can’t take Nate back because I prove his innocence? If someone else admits to the murder, Nate can’t be punished for it, right? That has to go against some sort of rule.”
“Dear”—she folds and unfolds the cloth in her lap—“that’s a lovely notion, but you’re seventeen. And new to Earth. You’re not exactly trained to solve homicides.”
Nate coughs, and a drop of blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. She dabs at it with the cloth.
I clench my stomach and glance at the floor. I’ll never get used to the sight of his blood. “I can’t sit here and do nothing. I won’t watch him die without at least trying.”
“You have your father’s stubbornness, that’s for sure.
” My mother drops the cloth on Nate’s forehead and pulls me out of the room, closing the door softly behind us.
“Let’s say you do this. Where would you start?
I highly doubt the police will give you their files, even if you march in there and demand them. ”
I tap my fingers against the wall. I never finished the Sherlock book, but all the stories followed the same pattern. And solving a murder can’t be that difficult if a fictional character can solve a bunch of them.
“I’ll start at the scene of the crime. Talk to what’s left of Nate’s foster family. He mentioned a brother. Maybe he’d have an idea who did this.”
Nate lets out a moan, and my mother peeks into the room before returning her gaze to me. “Do you know where he lives? I don’t think Nate’s in any condition to tell you.”
“It was on his file.”
“Tell me the address.” She grabs her keys from the kitchen counter. “I’ll take you.”
“No.” I cover her hand with mine. “I need someone here with him. I couldn’t bear for him to die alone…again. I’ll go by myself.”
“How do you plan to get there? You don’t have a license.”
I concentrate the same way she taught me earlier, and my wings appear in my peripheral vision. “I’ll fly.” She frowns, but I tighten my grip. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay high, where no one can see me.”
“Devica, it could be dangerous. If you’re right, that means there’s still a killer out there.”
I wave her concern away. “What are they gonna do to me? I’m immortal. I’ve dealt with worse.” My sword’s still around my waist, and I tap the hilt. “Plus, I’ll have this. I’ll be fine.”
She leans against the counter and sighs. “I’m not going to change your mind, am I?” She drops her keys and produces one of those rectangular devices everyone here seems to carry from her pocket. “I’ll pull up the directions on my phone. What’s the address?”
I rattle off the number and street name. She taps them onto a screen and shows me the destination before zooming out so that I can view the city like I’m flying over it. We trace my path from her house to Nate’s former home multiple times, and I burn it into my memory.
Her device would’ve come in handy in Hell. It’s a lot easier to plot a course on that than with the time-stained map hanging in the Welcome Hall.
When I’m confident I know where I’m going, I return to Nate.
My chest squeezes at the sight of him.
Oh, Nate. I’m sorry. I did this to you. And I’m going to save you. I promise.
The sheet covering him is soaked in sweat, the cloth warm under my fingers. He doesn’t react when I take his hand. “Hang on, Nate. I’m going to fix this. But you need to stick around a little while longer. Can you do that?”
Silence is his only answer.
I take a shuddering breath before dropping his hand and exiting the room, stopping only to take one more look at him. Just in case it’s the last one I ever get.