Trying not to go over every single interaction I ever had with Connor in my life, looking for hints that he hated methis muchthe whole time.
Only when I’m wrinkly and pruned and significantly happier—or anyway, notably less feral—do I pull myself together and hike my way down to Jacksonville.
The walk is good. It’s cold outside and there’s snow everywhere. I suspect that Savi, who pretends not to pay attention to what she callsthe solicitations of the damned—that being the wishes of humans—actually likes delivering them all the white Christmas she knows they like.
I can tell they like it because today is the day after Christmas and Jacksonville’s main street is hopping. The humans do indeedlook as if sugarplums danced in the vicinity last night. There are impromptu snowball fights in the streets. Good cheer seems excessive and overabundant, and I can’t tell if I’m drawn to all that foolish, pointless joy or wish I could steal some of it for myself.
I duck into the coffeehouse to order something sugary and regrettable and possibly tasting of gingerbread, but I’m surprised when I see Briar there.
It never occurred to me that she ... goes to the same places that anyone else would. It seems so unlike her.Like you have any idea who she is,I remind myself.
Like I have any idea who anyone is. Isn’t that last night’s takeaway?
I walk over to her when I get my drink and tilt my head at the empty chair opposite her. For a moment, she looks alarmed. Then she smiles, so I smile back. I sit down across from her and for a moment it’s just us, the old brick wall beside us, and the clamor of coffee patrons.
“I didn’t think you drank coffee,” I say after a few moments drag by. “Although I guess if you put enough sugar in it, you might like it.”
“Yes.” She shakes her head, like she’s having some kind of internal discussion. “I like sugar. I am very fond of it.”
“I’m sorry about last night,” I say. I turn in my chair so I can put my back against the wall and look around at the other people here. But they’re too human when I still have all that blood and betrayal in my head. I look back at Briar. “That was pretty gross.”
“The world is pretty gross,” Briar says quietly. “The Reveal didn’t make anything worse. Just more visible.”
That lands with a wallop. I redirect my attention to the mug in front of me.
“You’re lucky you didn’t grow up here,” I tell her, taking a sip of my drink, which tastes like gingerbread houses and makes me want to cry or maybe throw up, though not because it doesn’t taste good. “I did, and what that means mostly is that everywhere I go, I see memories. Ghosts when I don’t even believe in ghosts. All these people who thinkthey know me because they’ve known me all my life.” I look at her. “These are not the same thing, despite what some people might think.”
“I’m fascinated by species that crave connection,” Briar says in that same quiet way, though she doesn’t seem awkward any longer. “I might think that it’s good for me. Or that it’s something that I should allow, or force myself to seek out. But I don’tcraveit.”
I have the strangest feeling that this is a real moment, somehow. That the hint of something like vulnerability I can see in her now isn’t a game. She’s not putting anything on.
I’m not going to be like Ty and stop trusting my instincts. The story of Connor for me, I decide, is that I should trust themmore.
“Who would crave connection?” I ask her. I let my mouth curve. “It’s a pain in the ass. It’s not like you can connect only one way. You let someone in and then they’re in. They’re all over you. They could smother you, fuck you up, leave you in shambles, and what can you do about it? You’re the one that gave them the tools to do it in the first place.”
She makes a sound that’s kind of a laugh and kind of a gasp, then shakes her head. “Yes,” she says. “That. It’s not comfortable.”
“Maybe that’s the point.” I think of Ty. I think of having to walk around today, knowing he’s hurting. And not, for a change, because of me. He’s hurting and there’s nothing I can do about it. Yet I hurt for him as if it happened to me. I shake my head. “Maybe we’re supposed to hurt. Maybe that’s how you know it’s working.”
Briar surprises me with her other smile. The genuine one. “Then I am significantly more connected that I imagine, I guess.”
I don’t know why that’s funny, but it is. I laugh. She smiles some more.
When I leave, I still don’t want to go back to the den, so I trudge up the hill toward Winter’s instead. Today, just like last night, I can sense pack everywhere. I should have been able to do this the whole time.
I blame myself for this, too. I should have been more vocal. Maybe if I hadn’t been so busy trying to justify my own choices, I would havecalled more attention to the protection detail part of things. Or thedisruptionfactor.
Maybe if I had, I could have ... changed the outcome of this. Or made it better, anyway.
No one is at Winter’s house when I get there. I let myself into the kitchen and sit at the table, basking in the quiet. When I feel consoled and a little less likely to explode, I wander over to my cottage. I find myself checking for sacrifices out of habit, but there’s nothing. Not even a trace of last night to be found, which I know is down to Savi and her removal of scents and stains.
I wonder if she’d smite me herself if I suggested she open a cleaning business.
I go into my cottage and curl up in my little chair, though every time I tell myself I’m going to sink into a book, I find myself staring off into space instead. It’s like I’m looking at that kaleidoscope again, waiting for the images to form into something I can understand.
In the meantime, I find that I’m not as comfortable here as I used to be. Maybe it’s because Connor told me he watched me sleep. I stare at my windows balefully, imagining that while trying my bestnotto imagine that.
Maybe it’s that I’m not hiding from anything anymore, and much as I loved it here, it was a place to hide.
