“How’s Angel?” I ask, changing the subject because Byron looks as if his head might pop off.
“He’s perfect, as usual,” he sighs dreamily. “He’s right here, actually.”
“Hi!” Angel’s melodious voice chimes, and it’s a breath of relief, honestly.
I grew to really like Angel during our limited interactions, and I was sort of sad when he and Ivory just took off without a word. I know I have a much less complicated relationship with Manuel Blanco than the others, but I wouldn’t have minded staying in contact with them. But they vanished without leaving any contact info.
But now, here they are, having reappeared over a year later.
I suppose the question is…
“Why are you calling?” Byron pulls the sentiment right out of my head.
“I wanted to ask you both for a favor,” Ivory rumbles, and Byron’s first instinct is incredulous laughter.
“Ofcourse…”
“Alright, maybe not a favor,” Ivory mutters. “I would pay you for your time.” We peer at one another. “I would like for you both to write the complete history of Alabaster Isle.”
Henry David Thoreau-my God.
What the hell?!
“I read your book, Byron,” Ivory goes on, smirk audible in his voice. I can bloodyseeit in my head. “It was… quite scandalous.”
“Yea, well… you were the mastermind behind more than a few of those anecdotes,” Byron growls through clenched teeth.
“Mhm,” Ivory grumbles in amusement. “But not only that, your writing is inspired. You have an exceptional talent, Shadowman. I think you’d be the perfect author for the story of that mysterious otherworldly place. And Trevel, your poetry, what I’ve read of it anyway, is excellent. If the two of you worked on it together, this book would be hauntingly beautiful, I’m sure.”
I’m flattered—because I’m a simp.But Byron is inherently skeptical.
“Why… why is that something you’d want?” His brows furrow. “What would you… do with it?”
“It wouldn’t be published if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ivory says. “But I would like for there to be a record of what has occurred on that island. The history is rather important, but no one aside from us will ever know about it, and I think that’s a travesty. Someday when we’re all dead and gone, the memory of Alabaster Isle should live on… don’t you think?”
Byron’s face smooths out a bit, as if he’s seeing the point in this request, though he’s still unsure. I personally agree with The Ivory. Despite its sordid past, Alabaster Isle is a remarkable place… Even just the limited history that Ivory told us, around the fire, after the war ended. It was fascinating.
Add to that what happened after he took over the prison, the fall, the war…
It’s an extraordinary story, and it deserves to be told; to live on as part of history.
“A lot of that story would incriminate you, Ivory,” Byron retorts. “Greatly. Are you sure you want it all… written down and whatnot?”
Ivory chuckles. “Trust me, dear, if I haven’t been hauled away in handcuffs yet, it’s not going to happen. That said, this book is something we’d sort of just hang onto… pass it on over generations to our beneficiaries. It will serve as a record that will hopefully be added to over time as the island continues. Because, as I understand, its story has not yet come to an end.”
No, it hasn’t.
And I’m sure it never will.
“Ivory, please hold,” I mumble, muting the call. “Baby…”
“I think we should do it,” Byron finishes my thought once again, and it fills me with such an epic sense of connection, I’m momentarily dizzy.
Grasping his face in my hands, I lean down to brush his perfectly enigmatic and wonderful lips with mine.
“I love you, sweet fury,” I hum, holding his dark eyes. “You are truly perfect.”
“I love you too,” he chuckles, one of his tiny, grumbly things, as if he thinks I’m a nutter and he’s simply obsessed with it.
