Page 77 of Devoured

From the vanity chair, Evie snorts, and Portia shoots her a scowl. “Be quiet, Evelyn. You’re not the one who volunteered for this.”

“Because I’m smart,” Evie says with an apathetic lift of her shoulder. “And I’d rather not let Vanessa undo my entire existence just yet.”

Portia continues scowling, and now so do I. I glare over my shoulder at her. “Thanks, Evie. That’s very helpful.”

She examines her wine-red nails. “I’m the witness, remember? I think I’m doing my job very well. For example, right this moment, I’m witnessing Portia splay out on your lap like a golden retriever.”

Portia growls. “I moved away!”

“Keep your voice down,” Evie chides. “We’re meant to be inconspicuous.”

Portia’s growl descends into a vicious snarl, and I reach out, touching her hand with a slight wince as my wrist aches from the sudden movement. “Ignore her.”

Evie flicks a crushed petal at our heads.

“I’m trying,” Portia says, “but I’m finding it exceedingly difficult.”

The truth of those words soothes the hollow ache in my chest. “I know. Just—just look into my eyes. That’s what Cora said. Look into my eyes and lie to me.”

Portia’s nose wrinkles as she resumes concentrating, her face scrunched tight. Seconds pass before she says, “I hate my curls.”

Evie laughs dryly. “Wow. Someone call the press.”

I don’t pay any attention to her or her comments. Instead, I let Portia’s lie ignite between my ribs. It flares like a firework before exploding outward, sizzling in my veins. I look deeper into her golden eyes.

“Again,” I breathe.

“My father taught me to read.”

Heat washes over me, inside of me, as the gold of her irises flickers briefly. “Again.”

Her eyes narrow, her forehead pinches, and she says, “Philip hated spending time with me.”

Lie. My pulse races, blood roaring in my ears as pressure builds behind my eyes. Builds—and aches. Her gaze seems to deepen until I can count the flecks of starlight in her irises. Until they spill around me in waves of liquid gold. I stop moving. I stop thinking. The world fades away, until there is only this. Only those eyes and their lies and the brutal hiss of flames.

But what are their truths?

“Is it working?” someone asks.

I ignore them. Hardly hear them. Purest sunshine weaves in and out of my fingers, and I pluck it like strings, a sweet melody ringing out around me. And in those notes, I catch flashes of honest gold.

“My father taught me to read.”

No. No, there is a young boy there instead. Snuggled deep between golden sheets while the pages of a children’s storybook turn slowly. While his lips mimic the words—the pronunciations—until she understands them.

“Philip hated spending time with me.”

No. Sunlight slants through green leaves, dappling a forest floor with warmth as the gold of a boy’s laughter chimes loud and reckless while they race barefoot through tall grass. Flowers bloom everywhere. Wildflowers crush under careless feet. Petals catch in natural curls. Sunshine spills across everything.

The gold of happiness. Of nostalgia. Of cherished memories and bittersweet grief.

The gold of missing someone but letting them go. The gold of moving on but never, ever forgetting.

I sink deeper and deeper into that sunshine warmth, losing myself in the scent of crushed leaves. The echo of her brother calling her name. The certainty that she was loved, wholly and unconditionally, and that’s enough. The memories are enough.

“Portia? Vanessa? Can either of you hear me?” someone says.

No one answers.