A Phantom Enchantment (22 page)

He laced his fingers through mine and pulled me close. “It's about time you noticed,” he said, and my heart flew right out of my chest.

C
HAPTER
22

I
woke early, surprised to find Owen in my bed. He looked so young and adorable with his head smushed into the pillow that I leaned over and kissed him softly on the temple. He stirred.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out to grab my hand. “Good morning.”

“Yes, it is,” I said.

He pulled me against him, and I nestled into the curve of his body. “I could get used to this,” he said.

And I felt a surge of emotion so overpowering that it made me say something completely bold and unplanned. “I want to do it,” I said.

“Right now?” he said. “Give me a few minutes to wake up.”

“No, not that,” I said, laughing. “I want to stay in Europe with you.”

He pulled away and sat up in the bed. “Really?” he said. “You mean it? You're not just teasing me?”

“No, I'm not teasing you. What's one year, right? I have my whole life to work hard, but I may not get an opportunity like this again. And I want to be with you.”

“With me?” he said. “Like really with me?”

“Like really,” I said.

“Can I call you my girlfriend?” he said, smiling shyly.

“I think that would be appropriate,” I said. “So long as you don't come up with any stupid pet names for me.”

“Aw, no Pookie? No Pumpkin or Honeybunch? No Dumpling?”

“Definitely not Dumpling,” I said.

“How about my little Dim Sum?”

“Now you're pushing it.”

“Oh, am I?” he said, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me on top of him.

“Owen, this feels amazing, but I have to go to class.”

“Oh shit, it's Thursday, isn't it? It feels like the weekend.”

“Everything feels like the weekend to you,” I said.

“And it will to you, too, as soon as you finish this semester,” he said. “We can do whatever we want, go wherever we want, stay as long as we want.”

“Mmmm, that sounds wonderful.”

I kissed him, then reluctantly extracted myself from his embrace and headed toward the bathroom. On my way there, I saw something glinting on the floor and leaned down to pick it up. My blood ran cold.

“Oh my God.”

“What?” Owen asked, propping himself up.

“Gray's scorpion. I thought I lost it in Arles. How could it be here?”

Owen hopped out of bed and came over to inspect the pendant. “Obviously, you only thought you lost it. But it must have been here all the time. Maybe one of us kicked it into view last night.”

“I don't know,” I said. “This seems weird.” I turned it over just to make sure it was the real pendant, the one etched with the inscription:
To Emma, the only antidote to my sting.

“What's so weird about it?” Owen said.

“Me finding it this morning just after I made this decision to be with you? Doesn't it seem a little uncanny?”

“I think you're looking for omens where none exist. It's just a coincidence.”

“Can I admit something to you?” I said. “All this time Gray's been gone, I've had this feeling that he's still been here. I didn't want to say anything because I thought it made me sound paranoid. But sometimes when you and I are together, I get the sense that he's watching us.”

“That's just your guilty conscience,” Owen said, getting abruptly out of bed, his mood completely soured.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“You're never going to be over him, Emma. I don't know why it's taken me this long to realize it. Every time I feel you and me making some progress, suddenly Gray pops up again. He's never going to go away. He's everywhere because he's a part of you. In a way I never could be.”

I went over and touched Owen's shoulder. “He's a part of my past,” I said. “You're my future.”

“Are you sure about that? You told me last night you couldn't see your future, so how do you know, Emma?”

The way he said my name, laced with bitterness, killed me.

“Where are you going?” I said, watching Owen gather his things and move toward the door.

“I'm leaving,” he said. “You have to get to class, and I need a shower.”

“You can shower here,” I said. “I'll be back from class by eleven. We can talk then.”

“I don't want to talk anymore,” he said. “Especially not about you and Gray.”

And then he left, shutting the door with a sad finality.

I felt hurt and deflated, but I couldn't blame Owen for using my own words against me. In a way he was right. Gray did keep coming back. Perhaps I hadn't cut him as loose as I'd thought. And if I still had unresolved feelings for Gray, I needed to sort them out before I could truly give my heart to Owen.

I lay the scorpion tag on the vanity and searched through my jewelry box for Owen's grasshopper pin, placing them side by side. These gifts seemed to embody the qualities that drew me to each of them.

Gray was the scorpion—intense, competitive, dangerous. A survivor.

Owen was the grasshopper—soulful, laid-back, joyful. An idealist.

They couldn't have been more different. And yet I loved them both.

Reluctantly, I got dressed and made my way to class, knowing I wouldn't remember a thing from today's lessons. I felt so drained when I got back to my room that I fell asleep doing my homework and woke up only to realize I was a half hour late to rehearsal. Owen was already angry with me; now he was going to be furious. Throwing my matted hair up into a ponytail, I headed to the Opera House.

I smelled something first, an acrid odor that pinched my nose and made my stomach tighten. Sirens blared from a distance, and the roar of panicked people intensified as I neared the scene. I picked up my pace and turned the corner by the Bastille to see fire engines and emergency vehicles surrounding the Opera House. The flashing lights reflected on its mirrored exterior made the building look like some sickening carnival ride. People swarmed the streets, and smoke billowed from the back of the Opera, where most of the commotion seemed to be taking place.

I pushed my way through the throng, covering my face to shield myself from the smoke. Firefighters ran to and fro, assisting people out of the smoldering building. It seemed the fire had been extinguished, but everyone still stood gaping at the wreckage, coughing and commiserating about what had caused it.

I almost lost it when I spotted Owen standing by the back exit of the Opera House. I called out to him, but he was too far away to hear me. His face looked stricken. Flynn was there too, looking just as stunned as Owen, and staring at something outside my line of vision.

Finally, I ducked down and crawled under arms and legs and torsos to make my way across the street. There I saw what had been commanding Owen and Flynn's attention: Elise was being wheeled away from the building on a gurney. Her nose and mouth were covered by an oxygen mask, and two medics were at her side, volleying instructions back and forth in rapid-fire French. I watched as they transferred her into an ambulance and Owen and Flynn hopped in behind her.

Before I could get my bearings, one of the medics shut the door to the ambulance and ran around to jump in the driver's seat. The siren began shrieking, and then they disappeared through a haze of smoke and ash.

I whipped out my cell and texted Owen to find out which hospital they were headed to, but he must not have heard his phone amid all the chaos. After wandering helplessly for a few minutes waiting for a response, I decided to try to get into the Opera House and ask what had happened. But they weren't letting anyone in.

And then I saw him in the crowd. He was dressed all in black with a baseball cap partially obscuring his face. But it looked just like Gray.

At least I thought it looked like Gray. But the entire area was filled with people and smoke, and the noise and flashing lights had disoriented me. Even so, my gut seized with a wrenching cramp, like it knew something I didn't.

Finally, Owen texted me back with the name of the hospital, but the fire had brought the neighborhood to a standstill and I had to wait thirty minutes for a cab. As the taxi driver made his circuitous way to the hospital, I fretted about what could have started the fire. How serious were Elise's injuries? Would she be okay?

My friends and I had spent more than our share of time in hospitals over the past few years. You could say we were accident-prone, but the truth was: I was a danger magnet. Trouble tended to find me wherever I was. And my friends ended up being endangered by association.

When I arrived at the emergency room, I stopped at the front desk to ask where Elise was, and the nurse gave me a room number. I made my way through the labyrinth of the hospital to find Elise lying in a bed, pale and visibly shaken but conscious.

Owen and Flynn still seemed a bit in shock, barely registering my presence.

I grabbed Elise's arm and squeezed. “I'm so glad you're okay,” I said. “And I'm so sorry I wasn't there.” I turned to Owen. “What happened? How did the fire start?”

“I don't know,” he said breathlessly. “Flynn and I were late, too. But I know it started in the Studio. Elise was the only one there.”

Flynn snorted. “Yeah, because Jean-Claude hightailed it out of there so he wouldn't be a suspect. I bet he started it with one of his pretentious Gauloises.”

“We'll have to ask Elise once they take the oxygen mask off,” Owen said.

But the doctor told us she probably wouldn't be able to speak for a while since the smoke had swollen her respiratory tract.

We were huddled around, speculating about what had happened, when Jean-Claude burst into the room.

“Elise, darling,” he said. “Are you okay?” He wedged himself between us so he was standing right next to her, like he'd suddenly decided to be her boyfriend again.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Flynn asked.

“I heard the news, and I came right away,” he said.

“And I'll ask you again. What the hell are you doing here?” Flynn said.

“Making sure she's all right. We may have broken up, but I still care about her.”

“Oh, you care about her?” Flynn said. “So much that you dropped your damn cigarette and started the fire that landed her here?”

Jean-Claude looked genuinely flabbergasted at the accusation. “No, you are mistaken,” he said. “The fire was an accident.”

“Well, I don't believe in accidents,” Flynn said. “Maybe you and Yseult were trying to get rid of the competition.”

“Flynn,” Owen said, grabbing him by the arms. “That's enough. You're upsetting Elise.”

“No,
he's
upsetting Elise,” Flynn said. “I'm sick of this asshat toying with her emotions.”

“I'm not
toying
with anyone,” Jean-Claude said.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the doctor said, “I really must insist you leave. Elise needs her rest. I have your contact number. I'll call you with any news.”

Reluctantly, we filed out of the room, and Owen and I had to hold Flynn back to prevent him from coming to blows with Jean-Claude.

When we exited the hospital, Jean-Claude turned to me and said, “I am sorry things are so . . . ugly between us. It was not my intention. Believe me, I had nothing to do with the fire. I am not a monster.”

“No, just a douche bag,” Flynn said.

“Enough,” I said. “Jean-Claude, I think you'd better go. I'll call if we learn anything.”

“Don't call that son of a—”

“Flynn!” Owen and I both shouted at the same time.

After Jean-Claude left, the three of us walked back toward school, trying to make sense of the accident. “It's obvious they started the fire,” Flynn said.

Owen shook his head. “I hate him as much as you do, but I can't see him doing something so . . . evil.”

“I agree,” I said. “But they may have started the fire accidentally. They are a bit careless about their smoking.”

“I think we should call the police,” Flynn said, “and tell them what we know.”

“We don't know anything,” I said. “Let's just cool off and think about this tomorrow after we've all calmed down.”

When we reached their hostel, I said good-bye and we went our separate ways. But my sighting of Gray still nagged at me. Could I have just imagined him there?

I reached campus and went through the main building, hoping to find Monsieur Crespeau. I needed to tell someone what I'd seen. What I was really hoping for was someone to tell me I was mistaken.

I found Crespeau in the courtyard, trimming hedges. When he saw me, he shut off the trimmer and ran toward me, which was somewhat alarming given his limp. “Emma, I've been hoping to find you. I must talk to you.”

“And I have to talk to you. You're never going to believe what happened.”

I told him all about the fire and Elise and watched his face grow more concerned with each revelation. “But she's fine,” I said. “The doctor said she's going to need a few weeks of recuperation, and she may not be able to talk for a while. She couldn't even tell us how the fire started.” And then I told him about Gray. Because somewhere in my mind, those two ideas were linked. “You don't think it could have been him, do you? My mind is just preoccupied with him, so I imagined him there, right?”

Crespeau took my hand. “Emma, you'd better come with me. I need to show you something.”

I followed him into the administrative building and up the stairs to the chapel, where we walked the tiny aisle to the first pew, on which sat a blanket, a knapsack, and some toiletries.