Chapter 7
Cary glares at me.
It’s unsurprising. As is his all-black attire. The blade-sharpness of his jaw, the cut of his black eyes. That single curl resting on his forehead. Everything about him is captivating except for that cruel, flat mouth when he sighs, bored.
“Well?”
“Who says I am?” I ask, defiant.
Cary flicks one thick eyebrow up at the hospital. A quick, silent, challenging motion.
“My dad works here,” I spit.
Again, he taunts me with quietness. His head cocks as if he’s not convinced. Or I’m not giving him the answers he wants.
But I’m not telling him what I really want. Not yet, at least.
After a beat, Cary starts to turn away. “I do not have time for this.”
I move with him, keeping us face-to-face. “How do you get here from…there?”
A knot forms between his brows. “There?”
“You know.” I point downward.
“Do I?”
I groan. “Why are you so difficult?”
“Me?” He looks incredulous. “You are the one who refuses to answer my question.”
“I already did,” I sigh. “My dad works at the hospital. I was visiting him.”
“You never come here.”
That makes me pause, my mouth slanting. “How would you know?”
Something crosses his face. A little flash behind his eyes. “What do you want of me, August?”
Even in his exasperated voice, my name comes out differently. Beautifully, like a C major 7th chord. For a second, it unnerves me, but his hard eyes bring me back to my goal.
“I want to go back to Aides,” I admit.
“No,” he says coolly. Firmly.
“Why not?”
“It is no place for mortals.” His eyes run up me. I shiver. “Especially for one like you.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning”—he steps left—“I am leaving.”
“Take me with you,” I all but demand.
Frustration pulls at the angles of his face. “I will not.”
“Fine.” I cross my arms and his eyes briefly dip to my biceps. Heat skitters across my skin. I fight it off. “Then I’ll follow you.”
I doubt that it’s possible. He’s fast, godlike. Already, I’m struggling to keep up with the way he sidesteps me. But he’s the only one who can get me to London. Desperation feeds my determination.
“Where you go, I will go,” I say, smiling. “I’ll be like your shadow. You’ll never get rid of me.”
“I am sure”—he lets out a long exhale—“I am not the first who has tried.”
I ignore the urge to punch him. “I want to go back.”
He scoffs. “I would like to see you try.”
We’re only a breath apart now. Morning light falls around his face. His pink lips are full and pouty even when he’s not scowling. All three buttons of his Henley are undone, exposing a long, pale gold throat, finely sculpted collarbones. He stands tall but not rigid. Comfortable in his skin.
I swallow, then look up. A warning glazes over his eyes, bright and gold. I refuse to let it break my resolve. He’s not leaving here without me. I won’t let him steal away my chance to see London again.
I might not be able to force him physically, but…
A thought comes to me. “You actually have to take me.”
His snort is cold, humorless. “And why is that?”
“Milos invited me back. Anytime I want,” I remind him. “He’s the prince, right?”
Something else burns against his black irises. I’m not sure what. It’s enough for his mask of confidence to slip.
“I don’t know how things work in your world,” I say wryly, “but I’m pretty sure it means you have to do what he says.”
Cary’s chest puffs, fingers flexing angrily at his sides.
I grin as he sniffs. Eyes narrowed, he says, “You smell like hot sauce.”
Humiliation pricks against my cheeks. I stagger back. It’s enough room for Cary to finally move around me. The impulse to punch him comes back stronger than ever. If I break a few knuckles—or my entire hand—at least I’m already at the hospital.
Cary doesn’t go far. “Wait here.”
I look around, confused. “Right here?”
His mouth scrunches. “Is that not what you mortals say when you want someone to stay where they are?”
“Yeah, but—”
He cuts me off. “Then wait here.”
“Are you coming back?”
Cary pauses to glance over his shoulder. In this glow, he’s so boyish. Almost normal.
To my surprise, his voice slips into something softer. “Yes, August.”
He doesn’t wait for another one of my questions. I watch him walk into the hospital. To collect another soul. To escort them to Aides. Where London is.
I sway a little on my feet. I’ve been to the underworld. And now I’m going back.
I’m going to see London again.
It’s been nearly two years. More days and hours and unending sadness than I care to remember. But I’m so close.
This has to work. And for it to happen, I need to do better at pretending to like Cary. Which can’t be that difficult. Acting is all I do now. It’s the only way I survive every single Are you okay? and I’m sorry for your loss without ripping my skin off.
Without letting After August take center stage.
“Why do you look like that?”
I jump at Cary’s voice.
He’s in front of me again. How long has it been? Minutes? It’s as if he never left. Except, his hair looks darker, damp. The lock on his forehead is curlier.
“L-like what?” I stammer.
He examines my face. “Like you might cry.”
“I don’t.”
Cary surprises me again with a subtle smirk.
“I’m not gonna cry,” I snap quietly, then grimace. The heat in my words isn’t going to help me win him over. I adjust my expression. “Sorry. That was rude.”
Cary watches me a second longer.
I swallow. “Should we go?”
“Soon.” The breeze carries his scent closer. A nice blend of earth, fruit, and salt. It’s distracting enough that I’m unprepared for what he says next: “Why are you so eager to return?”
I bite back my instinctive response: I need to find someone. Instead, I say, “I want to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“You know…you,” I say with a shaky smile. “And your world. All of it.”
His mouth flattens. “Try again.”
My brain spins. Lie, lie, lie.
Sunlight reflects off the hospital’s tall windows and draws my attention. I can’t hide my frown. The words spill out like a river over rocks:
“I need to be somewhere else.”
Cary continues to study my face, searching for more. I give it to him, freely.
“When I was in your world, I didn’t feel any of this.” I pause. The waves inside me curl higher. Refusing to let them drag me under, I avert my eyes and say, “You know, you cared a lot less about me when we were at the pizzeria.”
There it is again. The small, almost unnoticeable twitch around the corners of his mouth. He folds his arms. The Henley’s fabric pulls tautly around his biceps, across his chest.
“Your incessant need to talk made it easy.”
“It’s part of my charm.”
“Oh, is that what you call it?”
I beam for him. “I’d be a lot more charming if we weren’t standing outside of a hospital.”
The longer we’re here, the more my neck prickles.
Huffing out a breath, Cary reaches toward me. He takes my hand in his. It’s somehow softer than I remember. Stronger too. He pulls me to the stone fountain.
I balk. “We’re getting in there?”
“Did you not ask how I travel to my world?”
I stare at him suspiciously.
His free hand waves to the blue water, the surface rippling with the breeze. “This is how. Through water. Rivers, lakes, oceans—”
“Fountains?”
His scowl deepens. “I am the ferrier of souls. If the body of water is large enough, I can travel through it.”
I squirm against his grip. “And there’s no other way?”
He smiles brightly. “You can stay here. Leave me alone. Never return to—”
“Fuck,” I hiss. “Fine, fine.”
My eyes flit anxiously around the area. We’re out in the open. People pass by on the sidewalk. Step outside the automatic doors to answer their phones. No one bats an eye at me or the fact that Cary has one boot already inside the fountain.
As if reading my thoughts, Cary says, “They cannot see us.”
My brows wrinkle. “You I get, but what about me?”
“They cannot see, hear, or even sense either of us. Not while we’re…” His voice trails off. But his dark eyes dip to our hands.
Suddenly, I’m very aware of how hard I’m squeezing his fingers.
Then I remember something: “But I saw you at the pizzeria that day. We all did,” I argue, thinking over how Max knew his name and the customers who confirmed to Detective Rosado that Cary was inside when Hal died. “And I saw you in the alley,” I add in a whisper. “And on campus the next night.”
Even though no one else did lingers in the back of my mind.
A restless sigh leaves his lips. “Shall we go before one of us kills the other?”
I squint at him. “I thought you said you didn’t kill people?”
One side of his mouth curls into a vicious grin. “No, I said I was not Death.”
I smile back, just as ruthless. “Does that mean I can kill you? Do Deathless die? Seems kind of ironic to call yourselves—”
“August.”
My name on his tongue is a hypnotic melody. I nod once before stepping into the water with him.
“Should I…?”
Uncomfortable warmth spreads over my face before I can even fully ask him what I’m thinking. He crooks an eyebrow. Water sloshes at my feet until I’m right in front of him.
Swallowing, I say, “Do I need to be close to you? Like last time?”
Cary’s head tilts. “You remember?”
“Yeah.” I give him a blank stare. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He eyes me quietly. “No. You do not need to be…close. Not for this.”
My stomach unravels with relief.
“Close your eyes,” Cary instructs.
I do, happily. Staring at his unreadable expression—the soft glow of sun on his gold skin—is nauseating.
“Breathe,” he whispers.
I exhale. Water swirls at my ankles, tickles up my legs. I inhale. Drops spread over my forearms. It’s like cool sweat from a run at dusk.
“One more breath.”
I don’t remember sinking. Being submerged. Only the rhythm of his voice matching my pulsing heartbeat as his thumb glides gently over the back of my hand.
I double over, hands on my knees, dry-heaving. My skin is on fire. Ice stings in my blood. And Cary stands over me, uncaring. As if this is nothing for him.
I guess it is. Since he does it all the time.
A tiny part of me wishes the bile would come up, so I could spew it all over his nice boots.
“Finished?” he asks, uninterested.
Gasping, I stand straight and drag the back of my hand across my mouth. “How do you get used to doing that?”