Chapter 10 #2
“Can you? History says otherwise.”
I let out a loud breath. “Why are you trying to ruin this for me?”
“I—” Whatever Cary is about to say fades as he finally turns around.
Our eyes meet.
He stares at me like—I wish I knew. It’s not the same way Milos does. Or how London used to. This is different. Cary watches me with a reverence that pulls a blush into my cheeks and twines strangely around my belly.
Shyly, I take my eyes off him. In the mirrored wall, my fingers tiptoe over the jacket’s flowers. The precise lines of the silhouette. Warmth tingles against my skin. Soft, silky, alive.
Magic.
“This is the first time I’ve worn anything this nice.”
I fiddle with the lapels. They look crooked. Or maybe it’s my posture.
Cary inches closer. With a sure, strong grip, he rotates me toward him. His hands bat mine away from the suit and I almost jerk back. He smooths the material. A poised and calm touch unlike my own nervous fidgeting.
Immediately, the jacket responds, the petals shivering with relief. “There,” he says. “You—it looks great.”
The tops of his cheeks flush.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I haven’t had a suit on since—” My voice cuts out.
In the empty space, two words sit sourly on my tongue: his funeral.
Cary considers me like he already knows what I almost said.
My head spins. Was he there when the accident happened? And afterward? Did he come to the hospital? Did he find London’s soul in the morgue?
When did Cary take him away from me?
All the questions eddy through me. Building into a whirlpool I’m scared to get lost in.
But it’s Cary’s eyes that rescue me. There’s a surprising tenderness in them. An unspoken you don’t have to say it that I’m grateful for.
“I’ve never been to a ball before,” I tell him. “Or any formal dance.”
The tide in my chest is replaced by a tiny fire. A memory catching like flint.
I skipped prom. Junior and senior year. I couldn’t even stomach helping Max dress shop for either of them. My mom did her best to encourage me. She promised to buy me a suit and drive me and even wait outside in case it was too much.
Anything to get me out of bed.
“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing,” she swore.
It was. One of many I was supposed to experience with London.
That night, I locked myself in my bedroom. Watched horror movies for hours. It was better to be scared of fake monsters than the real ones living inside my head.
I blink away from the memory.
Cary continues to wordlessly study me.
“What kind of dancing happens at these things? Waltzing? Some weird, fancy tango?” I laugh nervously. “Should I watch some instructional videos—”
“Your hand.”
I blanch. “My what?”
“August,” Cary says, patient in a way I’ve never seen him. “Give me your hand.”
That’s when I notice his own. Outstretched and lifted. Waiting on me.
I shake my head, then say, “Are you serious?”
He flexes an eyebrow. A definitive yes in his eyes. His hand never drops, suspended in midair.
Exhaling dramatically, I slide my palm against his. He guides my other hand to his shoulder. Then his fingers rest lightly on the small of my back.
“There’s no music,” I tell him.
“Of course there is.” His head bends. A rich sweetness wafts off him. His lips brush my ear. “Just listen.”
All I hear is the knock of my heart against a bone cage. My stilted inhales. His slow, steady exhales. But when I truly focus, clear notes cut through the noise. Outside, the sea sings.
“Follow my lead,” Cary instructs.
He steps left. I sway with him. Backward, to the right, forward. Another step, then repeat. We turn in tiny easy circles to the rhythm in the distance.
Cary moves like the ocean. Natural, fluid.
I rock like a ship in a storm.
“Wow,” he breathes out. “You were right.”
I furrow my brows. “About what?”
The fringes of his mouth lift. “This is your first time. You are…What would Henri say? Tragic?” He pretends to think. “A hot mess?”
Mortified, my eyes start to lower. His fingers tighten on my back. The move pushes me closer to him.
Softly, he commands, “Do not look down.”
Despite the flare in my stomach when our hips brush, I half growl, “I’m just trying to keep up with you.”
“I will not let you fall, August.”
My heart skips. His eyes are pools of the richest onyx. I plunge into them, leaping without questioning their depths.
Cary is true to his word. When I trip on his foot, his firm hand on my spine steadies me. He redirects our rhythm. Holds my gaze until the anxiety flees my shoulders. Until I barely notice we’re chest to chest.
The lulling sea guides us. His muscles are loose under my hand. My back arches below his fingers.
Face hot, I stammer, “H-how did you learn to dance like this?”
There it is again. The quirk to his lips. His almost smile, the one I don’t mind as much anymore.
“From watching you.” My eyes bulge, so he quickly adds, “Watching mortals.”
His cheeks glow pink again.
“Do you spend a lot of time in my world?” I ask.
“Only as needed. It is my role, after all.”
Something goes cold in my gut. An unexpected sadness. Is that all Cary knows? Being the ferrier? A guide who sees so little of us, other than in death?
His gaze shifts away from mine. He looks over my shoulder, his face smoothing in thought. “Sometimes, I am there before it all ends. I see their last moments. I do not linger like a stalker.”
I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see.
“But I watch,” he whispers. “And wait for their time to run out.”
“That’s it?”
He lifts a single eyebrow.
“I mean…” My palm is sweaty against his coat. “Do you ever just go to be around us?”
“There is no time, August,” he says stiffly. “And why would I?”
A frustrated exhale leaves my nose. “To see that we’re fun? Or loving? More than just, I don’t know. Whatever you see us as. Maybe you wouldn’t hate us so much.”
His thumb shifts in the hollow of my hip bone. A knot forms between his eyebrows. “I do not hate you.”
I laugh breathily. “You mean mortals, right?”
Our steps slow. Eventually, he releases my hand. The sea’s lullaby fades as Cary moves away from me.
“We should go. Milos is expecting you.”
He’s standoffish again. Nothing more than a hard jaw, rigid shoulders, distant eyes. Anger flickers hotly in me. For a few minutes—for a single dance—I thought he was different.
But he’s still just the ferrier.
“Sure. Let’s go.”
Before I can reach the door, Cary’s fingers circle my wrist. “Be careful with what you say at the ball,” he tells me. “Do not reveal too much.”
I scowl. “Why should I listen to you?”
Beneath his cold stare, there’s a hint of something I wish I could name. “This is not your world,” he says. “Trust me.”
“Trust you?” I blow out an incredulous breath. “The guy who keeps everything tight to the vest?”
Cary’s nostrils flare, but he says nothing.
“What? Am I just a shiny toy to them?” I ask.
To you rushes toward my lips, but I hold it in.
His eyes trace my face. “Some will think you are a marvel. Others will believe you strange and fascinating. A puzzle to solve.” His gaze stops at my mouth. “And some will think you are something else.”
My pulse is a heavy bass note in my ears. Cary lets go of my wrist. A muscle in his jaw ticks.
For some reason, my fingers itch to touch it. To feel it under my skin. Just once.
“What else?” I say on a quiet breath.
His eyes find my face one last time, but his lips stay pressed together. He sweeps past me. His honeyed scent sticks to the back of my throat, his warmth a ghost haunting my skin.
The door shuts and silence blankets the room.
All I hear is my heart pounding wildly in my chest.