Chapter 29 Monroe #2
“Of course.” He bows his head, and glances toward the trees where he came from. “I need to review a few Rescue Rider applications with you before I run errands.”
“Errands?” Corrigan asks, cocking her head.
He nods for her to follow him, which she does, leaving Skylar and me alone.
Their whispers are too soft to hear, and as seamlessly as a wave, they become smudges of chestnut and brown-dappled fur.
A hole’s scooped from the earth as the veil opens to them, one of the privileges of being a Radix, I suppose, coming and going as you please.
Briar sprints ahead and Corrigan catches up to him.
Like a pair of synchronized divers, they bound from the soil, lifting a few feet in the air and disappearing into the ground.
A chilling ache lingers between my ribs. I hate that it does.
Shaking out the disquieting sensation, I turn toward Skylar. “Let’s go.”
Uncrossing her arms, she grins. “Let’s.”
A quick twitch of our noses and a pair of floracycles pop up along the street’s edge.
Without hesitation or bobble, we straddle our rides, taking off under the deepening night sky.
Stars wink into view the farther we get from the lamplights as purple petals spill from Skylar’s exhaust, a paler shade and white.
They fly around me, a vibrant lavender mixing between them from beneath my bike, and I drift through cars on the road, focusing on the wonder of it all and not on tonight’s unexpected visit.
My mind conjures images of Briar in all the ways I’ve stupidly let myself ponder in my weakest moments of rejuvenation.
Would he be gentle—fingers brushing through hair, trailing thighs, sinking in with slow and steady purpose.
Or would nails bite into flesh, hips pistoning with rough precision while his fist wrapped up my hair and he whispered dirty promises?
The bike’s vibrations only make matters worse. I release a shaky breath.
This is not the time nor the place to picture him.
After what feels like hours later, but is most likely minutes, we park our floracycles on the road, watching them disappear the moment we step off them.
I’ve slowly added to mine, filling the pastel-blue body with a bouquet of assorted wildflowers, some in familiar hues and others more vibrant products of my imagination.
Kneeling in the grassy knoll, I clip and discard some weeds and draw seedlings out from the earth. Sprigs of green poke from between blades of grass. Over in the shade of the tree line, white specks coat the greenery.
A shadow moves in my peripheral, and I go still.
Is it Briar? Or something worse—a Storm?
Squinting, I am able to make out tendrils of fabric spilling around delicately defined legs.
“Dr. Tanner?” The silvery voice skates along the breeze. It’s not threatening, and the use of my name fills me with a chilling curiosity.
“Give me a second,” I say to Skylar. She nods and continues revitalizing the bark of the trees to my left, brows pinched together.
Once I get close, I stop in my tracks.
Seated atop a branch, a pale shimmering harbinger kicks her feet, toes pointed, accentuating her deep-curved arches.
Long navy tresses billow around her shoulders, floating as if of their own accord.
Though she looks different—her eyes bluer, skin adorned with silvery markings drifting up her arms—I recognize her right away.
“Jolie?” I stare up at my former client. “Is that really you?”
“Long time no see.” She pushes off the branch and leaps down toward the ground, so slow and elegant, ethereally so.
“Y-you’re a Frost.”
Jolie gracefully walks toward me, as if we’re performing a ballet and not two immortals hidden from the living. When she reaches me, she brushes her chilly fingers along my cheek. “And you’re a Bloom.”
I shiver, lifting a palm to where her touch glided like ice across my skin.
“Look at all your marks.” While the Blooms’ markings look like inky tattoos, the Frosts’ have ridges along their swirls, etched into their skin. “Is this where you’ve been all these years?”
“Years?” She blinks a few times before returning her attention to me. “Has it been that long? It’s hard to keep track when your life changes with the seasons.”
“What are you doing here? Are you handling winter for this region too?”
“No. I’ve been stateside.” A smile skims her lips. “I heard you were out for your first spring, so I called in a favor with my mate before we return to Nivea.”
She gestures behind her where another harbinger is poised up on a higher branch. He’s got icy-blue-tinged skin and wild strands of silvery-white hair. Most noticeable of all, though, is the holographic stare glowing in the darkness.
“That’s your mate?” My eyes go wide.
I’m not sure why I’m surprised. She passed away when I was still in the early years of my practice. Why wouldn’t she have a mate? I found out about mine only weeks after the accident.
“I do. That’s Jax.”
He waves from the trees, snowflakes trailing from his fingers and skating toward us. Recognition flares to life.
“Jax, as in the one you talked about in our sessions?”
A mischievous smile curls her lips. “The very same.”
“How is that possible?”
“It’s a long story and I haven’t got much time.” Her eyes dart around the space, and she frowns over at Jax. The frost running up the bottom half of her arms drips, drips, drips as the sun breaks through the horizon. “Sorry. We’ve got to get back to Nivea before the veil closes.”
“You’ll tell me someday? When we have more time?”
She smiles. “It’s a date.”
Her body continues to melt its frosty coating, which she refreezes every so often. She doesn’t have much time, but I can’t stop myself from asking, “And you’re happy now—like this?”
While the question comes off like I’m checking on her, I’m certain she sees right through me. It’s got nothing to do with my curiosity. It’s purely selfish, and I’m not sure why I need the reassurance.
“I am, though I knew what I was getting into.” The taut lines soften around her eyes, brilliant blue sapphires glittering like gemstones. They watch me intently. “I suspect the same cannot be said for you.”
“No. But I don’t really understand how I’m supposed to be okay knowing there are people who still need me.
” My body heats and the drip, drip, drip slipping from Jolie’s icy skin hastens.
I take a few moments and center myself with some boxed breathing.
Jolie doesn’t interrupt the silence, though.
She waits, patient as a therapist. The irony isn’t lost on me. “What about everyone I left behind?”
“It was hard for me, but I eventually found my way after losing my mom in the accident.” Her tone is low and serious until the corner of her lip pulls up into a grin. “Those you love will too.”
“How can you be so sure?” My voice fissures as I try to get out the words.
“Because I learned that from you.” She reaches for my cheek. “Our sessions.” I jerk at the intensity of its chill. It tingles, spreading from the point of contact, then she wipes away a frosted tear track.
When did I start crying?
“There are always so many things left unspoken.” She tucks a mint strand behind my ear. “I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to tell you. I wanted to thank you for everything you did for me. How much you helped me after losing my mom.”
My chin wobbles, but I steady it. I don’t want the last thing Jolie remembers before she leaves is me breaking down in tears, even though it feels like holding up an immense weight fighting them. “I’m glad it helped. Now I just want to go back. Help more people.”
Jolie’s navy brows draw tight. “Who says you’re not meant to help where you are?”
I have no words. The silence says them all.
Maybe I am meant to help from right where I am? But wouldn’t that mean giving up on everyone who relied on me in life?
I’m not sure I’m ready to.
We say our goodbyes, make a tentative and noncommittal plan to meet up in the off season, and part ways.
She dances over to Jax, leaping into the trees and disappearing with him, but her words linger, a chill skating through my veins.
Unlike the thin coating of frost shifting into dew across the blades of grass below me, their significance doesn’t so easily melt away.