Dark Companion (36 page)

I was so thorough that it took me two hours to get to the bathroom. I checked the predictable places, like the toilet tank. The tiles around the tub were secure, and there was nothing behind the medicine cabinet. I looked up to the ceiling.

The paint was scratched off on the screws that held a plaster wreath surrounding the light fixture. I got a screwdriver from the laundry room and carried a chair to the bathroom. The chair wasn’t high enough to let me reach the ceiling, so I stacked books atop the seat.

The slick paper covers of the books slid under my feet as I clambered up.

I loosened the screws and removed the decoration, revealing an opening in the ceiling. I carefully got down off the chair while holding the plaster wreath, and I set it on the vanity.

Then I climbed back up. I reached through the gap in the ceiling. Nothing there. BB was probably taller, so I stretched as far as I could, too far, and the books slithered from beneath my feet. I crashed down and shrieked as my arm bashed against the tub and my left ankle twisted.

I rotated to my side, rubbing my elbow and blinking back tears. When I tried to stand, pain ratcheted from my ankle upward and I let out another cry. I got to my knees, grabbed the towel rack, and pulled myself up.

Someone pounded on the front door of the cottage. “Jane! Are you okay? Jane! It’s Jack.”

I hobbled around the fallen chair and slowly made my way to the front door as Jack kept pounding and shouting. “I know you’re in there, Jane! Are you all right?”

I wiped away my tears and balanced on my right foot before I opened the door.

Jack had one hand on the door frame and the other raised to knock again.

“What was that crashing? I heard you scream.” His eyes searched my face.

“Why are you here? Go away.” My throat constricted. I hated him seeing me looking like a stupid mess.

“I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay. What happened?”

“I fell.” I leaned against the doorway. “Leave me alone.”

Jack waited only a moment before he scooped me up in his arms. “I’ve captured a wood sprite. Do I get to make a wish?”

“Dammit, Jack, put me down!” My skirt scrunched up around my thighs and I tried to push down the hem, which only brought me closer to his chest, and I felt the intoxicating heat and strength of his body.

“Do I get a pot of gold?” He set me sideways on the sofa with my feet up.

“I don’t like you and I
never
want to see you ever again.”

“You’ll get over it. Now, I actually have some experience with busted ankles.”

My ankle hurt so badly that I gave in. Or maybe I gave in because I wanted to be near him, even in this pitiful way. “Fine.” I leaned back on my elbows and watched as he wiggled off my shoes and rolled off my socks. His calloused fingers gently explored my ankle, and I felt an agonizing amalgam of pleasure and fury. When he hit a tender spot, I flinched with a small sound.

His brows came together. “Sorry, Halfling, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His fingers touched me more lightly. “It’s swelling, but since you can put weight on it, I think it’s probably okay. Let’s ice you up.” He went to the kitchen and I heard him banging the ice trays around on the counter. He came back with a plastic bag filled with cubes. “I always keep ice packs at home.”

“And a first-aid kit.”

“I’m the only one in the family who needs them.” He placed a cushion under my foot to elevate it and arranged the ice bag so that it covered my ankle. “I’m here because I was thinking about apologizing to you. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

I looked away from him because I didn’t want him to see my misery. “
Those things
like calling me damaged and delusional? I’ve been called worse all my life, and I don’t give a damn what you think about me. I don’t give a damn about you!” I struggled to keep my voice cold. “You were right about one thing. BB didn’t have an uncle.”

“Hattie told me.”

“Do you tell each other everything?” I said, and my voice caught.

“Not everything.” He grabbed another cushion and moved to put it under my head. As he was doing this, he touched my shoulder and the scar there throbbed warmly, as it had the day we’d met, when he’d braced himself against me to get on his bike.

Jack sat on the sofa close to my legs. The pressure of his body next to mine filled me with longing and regret and rage. I wanted him in a fierce way that I’d never wanted Lucky. My desire was primal yet couldn’t be reduced to a calculation or described by pedantic words.

“Halfling, Lucky will never love you. You’re not for him.”

His words were a knife twisting in my ribs. “
That’s
the apology?” My emotions crashed together so violently that I couldn’t distinguish anger from pain from love … I wanted to say something that would hurt him as much as he’d hurt me—but I couldn’t, because he didn’t care for me. “Maybe you’re right, Jack, and no one will ever love me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t
want
to be loved. It doesn’t mean that my heart can’t break, because it can, and it does.”

“Oh, Halfling,” he said softly. “Please don’t let it break for Lucky. Don’t be in love with
him
. Because, from the first time I saw you standing there in the grove, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind.”

I just looked at him, unable to comprehend what he was saying.

Jack stared deep into my eyes. “Jane, are you in love with Lucky? Do you and he—because it makes me crazy to think of you and him together…”

My words came out as a whisper. “I don’t love Lucky. I don’t want him. Why are you saying these things?”

“Because they’re true. Because whenever I’m away from you, I want to be with you. Because whenever I’m with you, all I want to do is kiss that smart, sexy mouth of yours.”

Then Jack Radcliffe leaned over and kissed me. His lips were soft and warm and his kiss was firm and eager. His tongue slipped into my mouth and the taste of him was wonderful and sent waves of delight through me. When he took me in his arms, I felt a sense of
rightness
. I put my arms around him and kissed him, my whole body arching up to him.

He stroked back my hair and cupped my face in his hands and his lips were on my eyelids, my temples, my brow. Then he held my hands and kissed each fingertip, and even his smallest touch sent astonishing shivers through me.

I reached under his shirt to feel the smooth skin on his back. I nuzzled my face against his rough chin. His curls tumbled across his face when he bent to kiss me. I wove my fingers in his hair, pulling him tighter to me.

His teeth tugged at my lower lip in a way that made me groan with desire, and his hands moved over my body, and I could hardly stand the clothing between my flesh and his.

Suddenly, I was aware that I was kissing my friend’s boyfriend. I shoved Jack away. “No! I’m not doing this to Hattie.”

“Hattie and I are friends, no benefits.” He reached for me again, but I held off his hands.

“Why should I believe you?”

“Don’t. Ask her. She’ll tell you.”

His fingers laced with mine, and I would have done anything with him at that moment. I knew he wanted me, too, as he pressed against me, because he was looking directly at me as if … as if I were pretty.

Then Jack’s expression became somber. “Halfling, I need you to leave Birch Grove as soon as you can. Run away—because I’d rather lose you than see you hurt. I’ll give you money if you need it and a ride wherever you want to go. We can go tonight.”

I felt like he’d lured me to the edge of a cliff and pushed me off. I was falling, falling, falling. I jerked away from Jack and a snarl came from my throat, a sound from the feral child still within me. With my good leg, I shoved at him, until he got off the sofa and away from me.

“I
hate
you and your spoiled rich-boy games of messing with me. I don’t know if you do this because you’re bored, or because you don’t think I’m good enough to be Lucky’s Companion. But you’re a liar and you’re cruel because you like to trick me, you like to
hurt
me. How does it feel? Does it make you feel special to humiliate me?”

“Jane, let me explain—” He tried to come close.

I grabbed the closest book on the coffee table and threw it at his head, but he caught it and set it down. “I don’t want to hear another word from your lying mouth! Go now, or I’ll tell everyone that you’re sabotaging Lucky. I’ll tell your parents and Hattie and Ian Ducharme. Get out!”

He took a step toward the door, then turned back to me. “This is for you, Jane.” He pulled the chain out of his shirt and lifted it over his head.

The colors in the room dimmed. My voice went flat and my blood was ice. “I don’t want anything from you.”

He dropped it into my lap and I saw a silver leaf dangling from the chain. “I want you to have it anyway. I’ll lock the door. Keep it locked.”

When Jack Radcliffe walked out and closed the door, I cried. I cried so hard that something broke in me. I cried because I was missing
something,
but I didn’t know what it was, and because I was so alone, but I was too afraid to let anyone near me.

I cried for Hosea, who died so unnecessarily. I cried for Wilde, selling her body to survive. I cried for my mother, whose existence was reduced to a single vague memory.

And I cried for myself, because losing the possibility of love hurt more than living without love. I cried because my heart was broken. I cried because I was lonely and damaged, and I didn’t think I could ever be fixed.

And I cried because the world was cruel and capricious, and I was small and poor and powerless and unloved.

There is no point, among the many incomprehensible anomalies of the science of mind, more thrillingly exciting than the fact—never, I believe, noticed in the schools—that, in our endeavors to recall to memory something long forgotten, we often find ourselves upon the very verge of remembrance, without being able, in the end, to remember …

Edgar Allan Poe, “Ligeia” (1838)

Chapter 33

My ankle was swollen and tender the next morning, Thursday, and my emotions were as deadened as they had been before I’d come to Birch Grove. Colors seemed to have faded overnight and noises were muffled. I hadn’t slept much and my exhaustion helped me feign calmness.

I was about to leave my cottage when I saw the silver necklace on the sofa, where I’d left it.

The leaf hanging from it was as delicately detailed as the leaves on the birches.
JFR
was engraved on the stem. I wanted to remember my mistake so that I would not be stupid enough ever to leave myself vulnerable. I put the chain over my head and hid the medallion under my blouse. The metal heated my skin like Jack’s touch always did, which was just as impossible as believing for those few delirious minutes that he’d cared for me.

I limped to the nurse’s station before my first class.

She felt my ankle. “It’s a sprain, but you should rest at home and keep it elevated as much as you can.” As she bound my ankle and foot with a stretchy beige bandage, I noticed the certificates on the walls, which I hadn’t seen since Mrs. Radcliffe gave me a tour.

“No, I need to go to class. Are all those certificates for Mrs. Mason?”

“Yes, she was wonderful. Any medical school would have been glad to have her, but she came back to serve us at Birch Grove.” The nurse handed me a packet of Advil. “Take this for the swelling. How did you hurt yourself?”

“I fell off a chair when I was changing a lightbulb.”

“Use a ladder next time. Would you like crutches?”

“No thanks, ma’am. I can get around.”

I had to hold on to the stairwell banister and hop on one foot to get to the third floor for Chem. Mr. Mason was at the front of the classroom. “Good morning, Jane. Is that a limp?”

“I sprained my ankle. I’ll be fine in a few days.” I moved my face into a smile. Then I hopped over to take my seat by Mary Violet. Her perfectly arched eyebrows knit in concern, and that made me feel a little better … that someone cared.

“Good heavens, JW! What happened?”

“I fell off a chair trying to change a lightbulb. It’s only a sprain.”

“That is a disappointingly dull accident. My mother is extremely concerned that you aren’t eating proper home-cooked meals and she wants you to come over more. I told her that her gallery of giganto hoo-has upsets your sensitive digestive system and offends your delicate modesty.”

“You didn’t!”

“Yes, and I wrote the poem I promised. It’s called ‘Ode to an Innocent.’ I’ll recite it to you later. It’s dreadfully poignant, but you inspire me.”

I saw the affection on her face and wished I could tell her everything.

“Class, may we begin?” Mr. Mason directed the comment to Mary Violet and she took out her pen with violet ink.

*   *   *

When I got a message during history that Mrs. Radcliffe wanted to see me, I thought Jack might have started some trouble.

I hobbled miserably to the administrative offices, and the school secretary told me to go right in.

Mrs. Radcliffe, sitting at her desk, placed a folder in a drawer. “Good morning, Jane. Please close the door behind you.”

I lowered myself onto the chair opposite her desk. “Is anything wrong, ma’am?” I smiled. Adults liked it when you smiled.

She returned my smile with her own serene one. “Nurse said you’d sprained your ankle changing a lightbulb. I wanted to make sure you’re feeling all right.”

“The bulb didn’t even need changing. I screwed it in tighter and it was fine. I’m fine.”

“I’ll have one of the staff take a stepladder to you and I’m sure you’ll be more careful from now on. Lucian needs you to be careful.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll be more careful.”

“Wonderful. Hattie says you’ve rehearsed your lines for the initiation.”