Page 67 of Laced in Longing

The man hums, the sound rich with affection. “They remind me of you—beautiful and complex, with hidden depths no one else deserves to see.”

I laugh at that as heat floods my face. “You’re a poet now?”

“Only for you,” he replies. His fingers brush over my cheek, and I swear I feel their warmth. I wish so badly that he could visit properly…what it would be like to touch him is something a girl can only dream of. “Only ever for you.”

As the memory fades, a new determination settles in my gut. I need to find him. Tell him I remember so much of our time together; tell him how sorry I am and that I understand now. I’m ready to go home.

But how? How do I reach across worlds when he won’t answer my call?

I pause, my body shooting to its feet. Of course I know the answer…if he won’t come to me, I’ll just have to compel him to.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

MAVEN

Imake record time as the door closes behind me four minutes later. With the jar tucked against my ribs, I descend the stairs two at a time and groan when my jacket only zips halfway. The pull tab is being a little bitch.

Places. That simple thought gave me the energy to move—he’s always appeared when I leave the house lately. Especially places I didn’t want him to. It may be a stupid plan, but it’s the only one I have. I’m going to visit every place I’ve seen him outside my apartment.

Starting with Mount Royal.

My shivering increases as I board the metro as not one person looks at me. A woman with a stroller parks it right over my feet without apologizing or even acknowledges me; I make a face as she continues to scroll on her phone while her toddler stares through me. This has to be him—Ash’s influence. It’s like I’m completely invisible to everyone.

With a shake of my head, I depart at my stop and run. A cough heaves from my throat from the icier than normal weather and steals whatever air my lungs had left. Not much, with the running and all.

Snow’s packed hard on the path, glazed with ice, and my sneakers—because of course I didn’t put on boots. I’m an absolute genius—slide out from under me twice on the way up. The second time, I land on one knee and squeak as the jar nearly shatters. I catch it just in time, shoving it hard against my stomach.

“Sorry,” I gasp at them.

By the time I reach the lookout, my thighs burn with a prickling heat and there’s a metallic taste flooding my mouth. The balcony is half empty, thankfully. No need for me to look crazier than I already am—well, if people could see me. My gaze catches the river, a dull ribbon out past the towers. The frosty buildings and deserted streets. None of it means anything.

I set the jar on the stone railing as I suck in one deep breath after another. My hands shake so hard the glass clacks against the surface.

“Okay,” I say, peering around me to make sure no one can listen. “Okay. I know you can hear me. You said you could and there’s no way you just—stopped.”

Nothing but wind and a hint of laughter down the trail.

“Ash.” My voice cracks on the single syllable. “Please. I was wrong. I was so wrong, and I need to say it to your face, or your veil, or whatever, I don’t care, just—fuck, this isn’t working.”

I wait and count to sixty. Then count to sixty again. My eyelashes stick together, and the feeling in my fingertips slowly melts away in pinching increments.

Still, he doesn’t come. Sighing, I grab the jar and run in the other direction.

This is the same route I took last time—to the oratory. Getting there is a special kind of hell, the path unbelievably slippery. Finally I manage and stare up at that enormous dome, all that gray stone stacked high, as I ascend the stairs. At least these seem serviced; no ice in sight.

Inside, it’s hushed and dim. Cavernous in nature. My nose scrunches at the smell of cold wax and dusty stone. I march to the votive chapel, where the candles are, and things I’ve never seen hang along the walls.

Heat floods my cheeks before I manage to whisper, “You brought me here, Ash. Well—I brought me here, but you know what I mean. You were breathing down my neck on those stairs. Remember?” I gesture behind me, rolling my eyes. This is stupid. Why the hell would he show up here of all places?

A man in a heavy coat kneels several feet away, head bowed, hands laced. Now there’s an idea—could the Bright Gods hear me from here? With a shrug, I set my jar down on the tile next to my knee and press my forehead against the wooden rail.

“His name is Aakanksh,” I say, quiet, to no one in particular. Do the Bright Gods have names? “That’s what he’s called. I’m not asking you to help me, I know he’s not yours to command. I just—if you can hear it, if any of you can, tell him I’m sorry.”

The candles keep burning with no extra flickers of acknowledgment. My knees ache against the tile, and I think my prayer over and over as the man near me finally leaves after gazing in my direction.

I sit there for an hour. Maybe more. Partly because I hope he will show, but mostly to warm my limbs.

He doesn’t come.