Finn swung toward me, grinning. “What makes you think this is a dream?”
I gestured between the two of us. We were kids.
He laughed. It was short and delighted, and it sounded like a hiccup. I smiled at him.
“If this were real . . .” I paused and searched for Jagger’s will. It was even more distant than last night. “I wouldn’t be able to do this.”
I threw my arm around his middle and laid my head against his chest. Although I couldn’t see him, I could feel his smile. He grabbed the end of one of my braids and tugged it.
“Stop it,” I said, but my voice was warm, and he knew I didn’t mean it.
He played with the end of my braid while I smiled and watched the city pass. We were heading south, down toward the tip of Manhattan. We’d already passed Midtown and its diffuse glow of city lights blinking in the dark. Now, we were shooting toward the crowded streets, old churchyards, and historic markers of old New York.
It only hurt a little to lie against Finn. It was like the sting of a sunburn instead of the burning of acid.
Suddenly, I thought of something. “Do you remember last night?”
“Course I do.”
I pushed off his chest and looked him square-on. “You do?”
He nodded. Smiled.
“And you’re not mad?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Why would I be mad?”
“Because I didn’t save you.”
His smile grew bigger. “I know.”
My shoulders relaxed. I hadn’t realized I’d been bunching them nearly up to my ears. Maybe these dreams were a retreat, where I could rest in the locked places in my heart and remember what it was like before Finn died and I became a mine.
“Mari?”
“Hmm?”
Finn reached out and brushed his hand across the back of mine. “I love you.”
I couldn’t say it back. Not by word, action, or deed. But I wanted to. I wanted it more than a desert wants rain.
He waited, swaying with the train’s rocking, and when I didn’t say anything, he nodded. “Did you know, when I died, I caught a glimpse of heaven?”
I pictured the soft blush-pink curve of a radish flower’s petal. “What was it like?”
“It felt like loving you.”
I turned away from him, toward the window. We were among the short stone buildings constructed centuries ago. The train was slowing, its wheels clacking over the invisible track.
“I’m not good,” I said.
In the window’s reflection, I saw him nod. “That’s what he’d like you to believe. The first step in ruining someone is convincing them they’re already ruined.”
I turned back to him. “No. In real life, you aren’t good either. There’s something wrong with you, Finn. You came back so . . . hateful. You came back wrong.”
He frowned, his expression as mournful as the Madonna’s on an icon. Just like last night, he was covered in thousands of knots. If I unfocused my gaze, he glowed like he was coated in gold dust.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have opened the lock inside you. Then you wouldn’t be a conjurer. You’d still be yourself?—”
