The wind made one too.
Perhaps it would come true.
107
“Finn,” I whispered, awe filling my voice as the city lights flared back to the life and the horror was closed away. “Do you see that?”
In the blocks around us, the streetlights, the traffic lights, and all the building lights glowed so brightly the night looked like dawn. The horror’s grip and all the fear it had coated the street with was cleansed. There was a buoyant, glowing feeling of lightness sweeping through the city blocks. A breeze rushed through, blowing away the last of the stagnant, bitter scented fear. It chased away the burning, suffocating heat and rushed at the bulky black clouds. The clouds broke apart, and their ominous darkness evaporated. They puffed away on a cool gust of wind.
“I see it,” Finn said, but he wasn’t looking at the lights lighting the city like stars. Instead, he was looking down at me.
“I mean the light,” I said.
He smiled. “You can’t see light—you can only see what it lights up.”
Then he reached over and took my hand, threading his fingers with mine. The feel of his hand in mine was so familiar. How his hand was so much larger he could cup mine easily in his. How the calluses on his fingers and his palms felt when he squeezed mine. How, when our hands joined, I felt the threads that ran from our hearts through our palms wrapping together and holding us close.
The invisible rope that held us together glowed as brightly as the lights flaring around us. The lover’s knot of it held tight, pulsing, as Finn smiled, his hazel eyes warming.
“We did it,” he said, and then he added, “Remember how we said we were going to save each other and then save the world?”
The corner of my mouth inched upward. “We saved each other.”
He nodded. “We’re halfway there.”
I looked around the street. “There’s no Justice. No Griff. I don’t see Winnie.”
Finn searched the light-filled blocks. They weren’t there. His shoulders dropped. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Across the street, there was a loud snarl. We turned quickly toward the sound.
Celia Bard was lit by the glow of a hundred flickering fireflies. They danced around her as she stood protectively over Ragnor. He was on the ground, his arms and legs sprawled wide. A jackaltooth—Luvic—crouched menacingly in front of her.
“Is that?—?”
“Luvic,” I said.
Finn and I sprinted toward them.
Darin beat us there. He conjured a sword and thrust it at Luvic.
Luvic swatted a giant paw and knocked the sword away. His hackles stood on end, and he snarled, his orange eyes glowing.
Darin conjured a fire sword and lunged at Luvic.
“Stop!” Celia screamed. “Stop!”
“Darin,” Finn snapped. “No.”
At Finn’s command, Darin stopped swinging. The fire sword was held aloft between him and Luvic.
A low, frightening rattle ripped from Luvic’s throat.
Celia crept forward and held out her hand. “Luvic,” she whispered, “it’s okay.”
Luvic snapped his jaws, and Celia jerked away. If she hadn’t, Luvic would’ve bitten off her hand.
Celia’s face paled, and she stumbled back.
