chances,” I replied, yanking open the door. The entryway was instantly doused with rain. Isabel dashed forward, slammed the door shut, and bolted it.
“You know I’m right about you,” Isabel said, turning to face me. She was just inches away, closer than she’d ever been. I could feel her breath—her breath that kills—hot against the cold wet skin of my neck. It was just one exhale, and then she backed away.
“But you’re also right about me,” she said more softly. “Just stay. It’s dangerous out. I’m sorry I overreacted.”
Without giving me the chance to respond, Isabel ducked through the dining room toward the twisting iron staircase on the other end.
“I’ll just be a second,” she called out over her shoulder. “I’m going to fetch you a towel and a dry shirt.”
My hand was still on the doorknob. It stayed there as the rain and wind continued to buffet the walls of the house. It stayed there as I peered into the study that, aside from being entirely candle-lit, looked almost exactly like the same—in a state of gentlemanly disarray—as it did when I was here last. One thing was different, though. Near the coffee table was a terra-cotta pot holding a thin-stemmed plant about a foot and a half tall. It had delicate green leaves and small purple flowers that resembled orchids, though those leaves and flowers were crisp and half wilted, as if the plant hadn’t been watered in several days. I released the doorknob to go over and kneel down near the plant. It gave off that same alcohol reek as the others in the garden.
Isabel was right—my curiosity always got the best of me. I kept barging into her house. I ran after ghosts in the rain even though I knew it made no sense, but sometimes I had no use for sense. I collected insults because I thought the more I had, the closer I would get to invincibility. I was developing a habit of reaching out to touch things—like strange girls and strange-smelling plants with purple petals—that I was sure would hurt me because no matter how severe, the resulting pain was always worth the attempt.
Twelve
“THAT’S POISONOUS.”
I spun around to see Isabel standing in the entrance to the study. She’d changed into a new pair of jeans and an over-sized flannel button-up shirt. Her long wet hair hung down loose, shining like fresh tar.
It was there, cast in that particular light, when I noticed that she was not quite beautiful. Everything that I could think to compare her to was bleak. Mostly, it had to do with those eyes of hers: dark on dark. Raven black ringed with deep purple. Hard like bricks. There was no getting past them. I wondered if she wanted anyone to even try.
“This is the largest one I have.” She held up a dark gray button-up shirt before gathering it together with a towel and tossing them both to me. Turning around, she cleared her throat. It took me a second to realize she was trying to give me some privacy to change. I stood, stripped off my shirt, pulled on the new one, noticing a tear near the collar that had been expertly mended with red thread. My jeans would just have to stay wet.
“I’m sorry about Celia,” Isabel said, which caused my fingers to momentarily freeze on one of the buttons. “I really hope someone’s found her.”
“How did you know about that?”
“I hear things when I’m in the courtyard. Some of the ladies were talking about it earlier. They said she’s Marisol’s little sister.” Isabel paused. “Did you know her well?”
“Not really. I gave her a charm last night. In the shape of a wolf. I told her to keep it as reminder to be brave. I didn’t think it’d make her so brave that she’d go out looking for her sister in the middle of the night on the eve of a hurricane.”
“It’s not your fault, Lucas. You didn’t drive her out into that storm.”
“I’m done,” I said, rolling up the sleeves of the shirt and desperate to change the subject.
She turned and gestured to the
“You know I’m right about you,” Isabel said, turning to face me. She was just inches away, closer than she’d ever been. I could feel her breath—her breath that kills—hot against the cold wet skin of my neck. It was just one exhale, and then she backed away.
“But you’re also right about me,” she said more softly. “Just stay. It’s dangerous out. I’m sorry I overreacted.”
Without giving me the chance to respond, Isabel ducked through the dining room toward the twisting iron staircase on the other end.
“I’ll just be a second,” she called out over her shoulder. “I’m going to fetch you a towel and a dry shirt.”
My hand was still on the doorknob. It stayed there as the rain and wind continued to buffet the walls of the house. It stayed there as I peered into the study that, aside from being entirely candle-lit, looked almost exactly like the same—in a state of gentlemanly disarray—as it did when I was here last. One thing was different, though. Near the coffee table was a terra-cotta pot holding a thin-stemmed plant about a foot and a half tall. It had delicate green leaves and small purple flowers that resembled orchids, though those leaves and flowers were crisp and half wilted, as if the plant hadn’t been watered in several days. I released the doorknob to go over and kneel down near the plant. It gave off that same alcohol reek as the others in the garden.
Isabel was right—my curiosity always got the best of me. I kept barging into her house. I ran after ghosts in the rain even though I knew it made no sense, but sometimes I had no use for sense. I collected insults because I thought the more I had, the closer I would get to invincibility. I was developing a habit of reaching out to touch things—like strange girls and strange-smelling plants with purple petals—that I was sure would hurt me because no matter how severe, the resulting pain was always worth the attempt.
Twelve
“THAT’S POISONOUS.”
I spun around to see Isabel standing in the entrance to the study. She’d changed into a new pair of jeans and an over-sized flannel button-up shirt. Her long wet hair hung down loose, shining like fresh tar.
It was there, cast in that particular light, when I noticed that she was not quite beautiful. Everything that I could think to compare her to was bleak. Mostly, it had to do with those eyes of hers: dark on dark. Raven black ringed with deep purple. Hard like bricks. There was no getting past them. I wondered if she wanted anyone to even try.
“This is the largest one I have.” She held up a dark gray button-up shirt before gathering it together with a towel and tossing them both to me. Turning around, she cleared her throat. It took me a second to realize she was trying to give me some privacy to change. I stood, stripped off my shirt, pulled on the new one, noticing a tear near the collar that had been expertly mended with red thread. My jeans would just have to stay wet.
“I’m sorry about Celia,” Isabel said, which caused my fingers to momentarily freeze on one of the buttons. “I really hope someone’s found her.”
“How did you know about that?”
“I hear things when I’m in the courtyard. Some of the ladies were talking about it earlier. They said she’s Marisol’s little sister.” Isabel paused. “Did you know her well?”
“Not really. I gave her a charm last night. In the shape of a wolf. I told her to keep it as reminder to be brave. I didn’t think it’d make her so brave that she’d go out looking for her sister in the middle of the night on the eve of a hurricane.”
“It’s not your fault, Lucas. You didn’t drive her out into that storm.”
“I’m done,” I said, rolling up the sleeves of the shirt and desperate to change the subject.
She turned and gestured to the
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