I grabbed on to him fiercer than I should’ve, feeling my face contort and twist into someone I didn’t recognize. “Tell me where he is or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” His laughter echoed in my head, only making the rage simmer and boil under my skin. “Take a hint. Stone doesn’t want to be anywhere near you, but seeing your misery gives me great pleasure.”
I no longer had control of my body after that.
One second I was staring into his small eyes, and the next, the homeless man was sliding down the brick wall, his cane clattering on the cobblestone.
“Hey! Stop!”
I turned to the sound, my vision swaying until it straightened.
In the midst of the white clouds puffing from my parted lips, Cyrus and Kane were running toward me. It all happened slowly and all at once. Then I felt Cyrus’s coat brush my cheek. He held my head close to his chest. I could hear and feel the vibrations of his soothing, warm voice as he shouted at the flatlanders, who were gathering around. My nose was numb, but I could still smell his cologne. Sea, rose, oak.
And then I was looking into Cyrus’s two oceans, cerulean blue waters forming waves in his eyes. “Cyrus, I-I didn’t mean—I don’t know—”what came over me, the rage, the anger ...
“Don’t say anything,” he directed, pulling my hood up over my head. I turned back to the homeless man, but Cyrus grabbed my chin. “Hey, look at me.” My eyes snapped back to him. “We’re leaving.” Cyrus tucked me under his arm and guided me down the sidewalk. “Everything’s fine,” he told onlookers, but I was in a daze, his voice sounding as if it were underwater. “Get back to doing whatever you were doing.”
CHAPTER 52
ADORA
January 28, 2021
The day of the Crimson Eclipse
3 days until the Cantini-Sullivan Wedding
It was a Thursday.
I’d pushed my desk closer to the window to watch daylight open its eyes. For hours, in the pre-morning dark, I’d written a letter to my beloved black sea. This time, a tide would not grab it with foamy fingers. An ocean would not drink my secrets. Instead, I planned to hand deliver my letter to Fallon Grimaldi, the only acquaintance who had access to Stone, in hopes of it reaching him.
I’d read over the letter, at the very least, nine times.
This letter didn’t appear to come from the girl I knew. These words were vinyl, sentimental scratchy things composed by an incorrigible romantic. Never mind the ink blots or stains along my fingertips, as these words had no care to be pretty. Only honest. Perhaps it was why I’d protected myself from love for so long. It was all ugly. It all hurt.
This time, I didn’t roll the letter and plop it into an empty liquor bottle. This time, I folded it into thirds, slipped it into an envelope, and tucked the envelope into my coat pocket.
My mind exhaled, disappointed.
My fingers trembled, scared.
My heart ached, drowning.
But tonight was the night, and there was not another day left.
I walked to Town Square at first light, hoping to catch Fallon right after The Bean opened. The wind howled like a horror flick, violently tossing my hair into my face, ghostly fingers made of ice trying to cover my eyes.
Every step down the desolate street was accompanied by an ominous thing lurking behind every barred tree, every battered home, every thorny bush. Moping ghosts or brooding shadows, it could be anything.
In a whirlwind of white hair, Fallon emerged from The Bean across the street when I rounded the corner into Town Square. From her beanie to her snow boots, she was a walking shadow in all black.
“Fallon!” But it was like screaming into a void, so I lowered my head and jogged across Main Street. On my way, crumbled newspapers tumbled and skittered across like spiders, painting the white streets in ink; phrases likeWhere’s Freddy in the Mourning? Three Months without Freddy. New Heathen on the Block. When Will The Shadows Strike Again?
Coming up next to her, I called again, “Fallon.”
She turned, plucking hair from her mouth, her pale blue eyes meeting mine.
“This is going to sound crazy,” I shouted into the wind.
