Paloma bit her lip and nodded, knowing Elinor couldn’t see it but would understand anyway.
“I can’t give them my rage, Elinor. A white woman’s anger is bravery, while a Latina’s is either sexy or scary. And I refuse to be a stereotype.”
“Why do you stay on that island? At least in New York, you were home. And you’re not just staying, you’re getting involved, rolling your actual and proverbial sleeves and building more than a resort. I can’t imagine it’s good for your couture blazers.”
Paloma said nothing, once more laying her forehead on the cold glass of the window overlooking the town and the island in front of her. The little blinking lights, the dots of people and cars moving around in the twilight, gave her a strange sort of comfort.
How could she explain to Elinor, who, despite being a dear friend, was still very much privileged enough to know nothing of what Paloma had lived through and went through every day? How to tell this person, who had loved her for years dearly and kindly, that even she didn’t understand that Paloma never truly belonged? And for some ridiculous reason that she couldn’t properly put in words, this piece of land, these three rock giants and the collection of homes with their tiny chimneys smoking away, felt the closest she had ever been to belonging. Above all, she desperately wanted to stop running, to make a space—a safe place—for herself. Here. On Dragons.
10
DERYN, FIRST DATES & THRUSTED UPON KITTENS
ACROWHART NO LONGER ON THE LOOSE!
Are those the sighs of disappointment from a hundred women we are hearing? Deryn Crowhart has reportedly been sighted very much cozied up to the one and only businesswoman of the hour and mayoral candidate, Paloma Allende.
While Ms. Allende’s campaign manager, Lachlan Vesely, did neither confirm nor explicitly deny the newly minted relationship, he did quip that “Love is a beautiful thing and should be celebrated.” Oh, we are celebrating, Mr. Vesely. We very much are. Deryn Crowhart’s agent has issued a “no comment” statement, and the Crowhart family matriarch, when asked for comment, told the Crow’s reporters to engage in some entirely anatomically impossible things with several of our orifices. The Caw can reasonably announce that while we shall not be doing any of those things, even though some suggestions sounded intriguing, we appreciate Victoria Crowhart’s sense of protectiveness for her wayward niece.
Will Paloma Allende be the one to finally lasso the wild spirit that is Deryn Crowhart? Many have certainly tried.Many have failed, and yet she remains a particular favorite with the islanders, her history of growing up among them on her side.
Watch this space and watch the lovebirds.
—Crow’s Caw
“I mean,traditionally, the island has been a haven for women throughout the centuries. So, this is a brilliant idea,” Deryn observed as Paloma’s head turned her way so swiftly that the silky, raven hair whipped across her face. Deryn desperately wished she would be allowed to run her fingers through the long, straight tresses. She remembered their texture. Their scent. They felt like heaven. She balled her fists and stuffed her hands in her pockets.
They had gone for coffee yesterday to solidify the spreading news. Choosing the Brew had been a no-brainer. Rooster filled out more in the evenings, while Seren’s coffee shop did brisk business throughout the day. Seren herself had been off shift, and inexplicably, Deryn was both miffed and pleased about it.
She had wanted to show Paloma off. A small, petty part of her wanted to shout from the rooftops. But she had not really seen her twin properly since her arrival on the island in October. Yes, an entire month had passed, and they mostly just nodded at each other across the table at Victoria’s on Fridays and did not talk.
This was different, however. This was Paloma, and Deryn’s breath grew shallow every time she took her hand. And she did so quite a lot in public. It was sweet, until Deryn remembered what it was all for. For show.
Still, they sat and drank their coffee facing the street, their knees blatantly touching, their cups close to each other on thetable, and their hands periodically connecting with forearms, cheekbones, and chins. Deryn tucked a stray lock of hair behind Paloma’s ear. Paloma’s thumb brushed cappuccino foam from Deryn’s lower lip. Deryn could hear a camera shutter somewhere in their vicinity.
Mission accomplished.
That was why she had been glad Seren was not in the Brew. Deryn had sighed and walked with Paloma out of the coffee shop, separating at the town hall where Paloma went in for business. Deryn wandered the beach aimlessly before heading to bake at Astronomy Tower.
Then she got the email from Lachlan with the scheduled appearances and wanted to throw herself and the phone into the ocean. Reem’s narrowed eyes stopped her from mangling the device in her hand, and she instead replied politely with her acquiescence. TheCaw’s announcement did not make her feel any better. And now, they were walking arm in arm through the winding streets of Crow’s Nest, talking about politics and platforms.
Swell.
Talking campaign stuff when all Deryn wanted was to run her fingers through those soft, soft tresses again. She watched Paloma’s lips move but couldn’t hear a word, still lost in the memory of having her hands in that hair.
“Huh?”
Paloma gave her one of those looks she had been throwing her way all of last week—the one that meantYou are a total simpleton—and asked again, clearly miffed to have to do so.
“I asked, what are you talking about? The history?”
“Ah… Well… I mean… The history of the island. Women… Witches…”
“Ms. Crowhart, are you actually telling me that you believe in the fairy tales that Prudence sells in her bookstore?”
Deryn smiled at the haughty expression in the dark amber eyes, then hurried to answer.
“Well, yes? I am a Crowhart. It comes with the territory.”
