Devil and the Deep (The Ceruleans: Book 4) (22 page)

Jude and Luke and I left Gabe on the beach and walked to the
cliff path. I didn’t look back. I didn’t want to know whether my father was
watching me.

I caught myself in the thought.
My father.
I’d
thought that. Not Gabriel, not Gabe.
My father.
It unsettled me
immensely. He wasn’t my father – no more than Sienna was my sister after what
she’d done.

What she’d done.

What
had
she done?

She’d killed a man.

Why had she killed the man?

Because he was bad.

Why had she killed him like that, in front of us?

To drive me away.

Why did she want me away from her?

When we reached the cottage, I was still lost in thought.
Dimly, I was aware of Luke sending Jude off to make coffee – ‘with lots of
sugar’ – and standing me in front of the fire. I stared at a picture on the mantelpiece.
Sienna and me in the meadow at Hollythwaite. I hadn’t been able to bring myself
to take it down.

Finally, Luke said, ‘Scarlett, a little help...?’ and I
snapped back to the moment and realised he was trying to wrestle my wetsuit off
while it resisted and clung to my skin like hot wax. Removing it was nearly as
painful as a waxing – I’d forgotten to put on Body Glide – but the pain was
good, like a slap in the face.

I dressed quickly in clothes from the kitbag Luke had
brought back from the beach, and then we collapsed onto the sofa.

‘You okay?’ said Luke.

I nodded. ‘Just been thinking.’

‘And?’

‘And I keep coming back to what they are. Vigilantes. I
should have known that. I don’t know why I didn’t realise.’

‘I thought of it,’ said Jude, striding into the room. ‘Since
Sienna went into the ocean, I must have thought of every possibility, even the
crazy ones.’

He set a tray down on the table and we took a coffee each.
In unison, we sipped – and winced. Way too sweet.

‘Why didn’t you tell me they could be vigilantes?’ I said.

Jude shrugged. ‘Why would I? It doesn’t change anything.’

‘Doesn’t it?’ said Luke. ‘I’m not saying it’s right, going
about killing people. But if those people really do deserve it…’

‘If,’
said Jude. ‘If, Luke. And who is Gabriel or
Sienna or Daniel or any Cerulean – any person on this planet – to pass
judgement and decide who deserves to live and who deserves to die?’

We all thought about that.

‘It’s a matter of interpretation,’ said Luke. ‘Of what’s
right and what’s wrong. Clearly, Gabriel thinks he’s right to use his power to
the utmost.’

‘But he’s
not
right to go against the instinct!’ Jude
slammed his mug down on the table. ‘Don’t you see, we
know
when to stop
healing. We
know
who to help and who to leave. We
know
not to
resurrect. We
know
not to kill. It’s fundamental knowledge – to ignore
that is to go against everything that makes us human!’

‘But you’re
not
human,’ Luke pointed out. ‘Not just
human.’

I thought Jude would go for him, he was so angry. I looked
at Luke and saw he was flushed too, but calmer.

‘Luke,’ I said, ‘I don’t understand. You agree with Gabe?’

It seemed to go against every reaction he’d had so far to
the Cerulean world.

‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s not as black and white as that. All I’m
saying is, what he described – saving people – that’s the archetypal hero,
isn’t it? You protect the innocent, whatever the cost. And if he’s telling the
truth then he saved your mother, Scarlett. He saved her! God knows if I’d had
the power to save my mother or my father or Cara the night of the accident, I’d
have done it. In a heartbeat. And, like Gabriel said, without a shred of
remorse.’

Jude looked horrified. I could imagine what he was thinking
about: the car accident, the choice he’d made that night not to save Luke’s
parents, the guilt he’d carried for that ever since. He slumped into his
armchair.

‘Cerulea… Kikorangi… we were always taught the Fallen were
depraved, evil.’

I said nothing. Neither did Luke.

Jude’s inner conflict was patent, and painful to see. I
wondered whether, when the dust settled, this would change anything for him and
Sienna. I’d seen the look in her eyes in the little glances she cast his way.
He wasn’t the only one who still cared.

‘I have to go,’ said Jude suddenly. He stood and hovered
awkwardly – had we been alone, he’d have hugged me goodbye, but with Luke
beside me, he held back.

‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘Go. We’ll call if we need you.’

And with a nod, Jude left us.

‘Urgh,’ said Luke. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this
blinking in and out business. It’s kind of creepy.’

‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘Especially today on the beach. People
watching, unseen. People appearing out of nowhere. It’s thrown me. Even here,
where I should feel safe…’

I looked around the living room, at all the remnants of my
grandparents’ life together. This place had always been my haven. But today, it
felt different. Today, it felt full of shadows.

Luke put his hands on my shoulders and turned me to him. ‘Come
away with me,’ he said urgently. ‘Please, Scarlett. Just for a little while.
Let’s go where no one can find you. Take some time. Get some perspective.’

I sighed. ‘It’s a nice idea. But the cafe...’

‘The staff I hired are doing great, and Si and Cara can cover.’

‘You’ve only just opened and you keep skipping out on the
job!’

‘Owner’s prerogative. Besides, you come first.’

‘I don’t know, Luke. I mean, what about needing to be away
from people?’

‘Since last night you’ve only been with one human – me – for
what, an hour or so? So you could manage a night away. Just one. Or maybe
longer if we can think of someplace remote enough and big enough for you to get
some space to yourself.’

A break from all that being me, being Cerulean, meant. Time
away with Luke. Free.

Leaning over, I planted a smacker on his lips. ‘I know just
the place,’ I told him. ‘Wait here while I call my mum.’

Come 5 p.m., Luke and I were in the garden of an English
cottage.

Come 5.01 p.m., we were on the terrace of a Spanish villa.

‘Woah!’ Luke staggered backwards and fell onto a
sun-lounger. Then froze, staring across the infinity pool at the panoramic
view: a city of colourful rooftops and iconic spires and, beyond, the dazzling
Mediterranean.

I knelt beside him. ‘Are you okay? Travelling can be pretty
disorientating.’

His glassy eyes shifted to look at me. ‘Scarlett.’ He lifted
a shaky finger and pointed it. ‘What. Is. That.’

‘Barcelona.’

‘Not Barcelona, Cornwall.’

‘Nope. Barcelona, Catalonia.’

‘As in Catalonia,
Spain
?’

‘Yep.’

‘Scarlett… you… I… when you said you’d surprise me, I
thought Newquay. Or St Ives.’ He looked again at the view. ‘Spain?’ he said
wondrously.

Poor Luke; he looked fit to pass out. I wanted to be
sympathetic, but we were here, in Barcelona, my favourite city in the world,
and it was all I could do not to throw my arms wide and cheer.

Now, I was glad that before leaving the island the night
before I’d made Jude teach me the knack to Travelling in company (really easy
when you knew how; it was a matter of careful visualisation of both parties).

And I was glad that when I’d spoken to Mum and explained
that Luke and I were, randomly, in Barcelona and needed a place to stay, she’d
happily called her old friend Jesús and lined up the villa we’d stayed in when
we came here, Hugo and Mum and Sienna and me.

And I was
really
glad that tonight could be nothing
more than me and Luke alone in a luxury hillside villa with private gardens and
a view to stir the soul.

‘I don’t even have my passport,’ said Luke.

I laughed at that, and then he started laughing, and he
stood up and grabbed me and kissed me until my knees were molten.

Then he broke away. ‘We’re alone?’ he said.

‘All alone.’

‘All night?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘In Spain!’

I grinned. ‘You like?’

‘I
love
.’

‘So – what shall we do first?’

‘This,’ he said.

And he slid an arm under my knees and swept me up and kissed
me tenderly on the lips...

... and threw me into the pool before cannonballing in
beside me.

*

I woke the next morning feeling
good
. I’d slept
alone, at the other end of the huge villa to Luke, so I was high on energy. And
monumentally excited: a whole day in Barcelona with Luke!

I found him sitting on the terrace, lazing on a sun-lounger
and drinking in the view. When I kissed him, he tasted sweet.

‘Peaches,’ he said, pointing to a bowl of sliced fruit on
the table. ‘Just peachy peaches.’

‘Where did you get them?’ I said, perching beside him. ‘I
thought there was no food.’

He pointed down the hill a little way to a grove of trees.

‘You
foraged
for our breakfast?’

‘Move over, Bear Grylls,’ he said and I laughed. He handed
me the bowl. ‘Try some.’

I did.

‘Oh!’

‘Best you’ve ever tasted, right? Everything’s better here.’
He lay back, hands behind his head, and gazed seaward. ‘Look at that blue,’ he
said. ‘The sea’s never that blue in Devon. It makes me want to surf. In Spain!’

‘Then we’ll surf,’ I said. ‘We’ll go down there, today, to
the beach, and afterwards we’ll be tourists in the city.’

‘But all the people... you shouldn’t...’

I shoved a peach slice in his mouth to silence him.

‘There’s no shouldn’t. There’s just me and you and this
place.’

He frowned.

I sighed.

‘Trust me, will you? I can manage a few hours at least in
the hustle and bustle. Please, Luke. I just want one day being a regular
couple. One day we can always remember.’

He stared at me soberly. Then, abruptly, he said ‘Right’ and
launched himself up, leaving me wobbling precariously on the edge of the
sun-lounger, and strode off down the hillside.

Not quite the reaction I’d been hoping for.

As I watched, confused, he drew something out of his back
pocket and hunched down under a tree and fiddled for a while. Then he grew
still, and I heard...

Music. A banjo lick. A familiar intro.

And my boyfriend turned around, with a peach-on-a-stick mic,
and began lip-synching to the song blasting from his mobile phone: American
Authors’, ‘Best Day of My Life’.

He ‘sang’ with complete abandon. He jiggled about jerkily to
the beat. He looked ridiculous – he looked happy – he looked adorkable.

I ran down the hill. He grabbed me. Threw me up in the air.
Spun me around and around and around. Kissed my neck. Kissed my lips. He tasted
like peaches. Best I’ve ever tasted.

*

Once it sank in for Luke – who’d never travelled – that he
could explore a thriving, quirky, historic city (‘in Spain, Scarlett, in
Spain
!’),
he ditched the idea of surfing, insisting he wanted new experiences.

We started at the Sagrada Familia, the enormous,
one-of-a-kind church dreamt up by architect Gaudi in the nineteenth century.
Luke was so blown away by the design that I made our next stop Gaudi’s Casa Batlló,
part building, part modernist artwork – ‘wacky,’ Luke decided, ‘like something
out of Grannie’s films.’

We moved on to the sprawling Catalonia Square, the heart of
the city, and watched a flamboyant flamenco performance while eating hot, sweet
churros from a street vendor, before cutting through to the labyrinthine
streets of the Gothic Quarter.
There we had coffee in an arty pavement cafe, and then did a quick tour of the archaeological
remains of the Roman city of Barcino.

As the Spanish began closing up for siesta, we strolled down
Las Ramblas, the long, tree-lined street leading to the port, watching the
locals, skirting around the gaggles of tourists, pausing here and there to take
in the scents of a flower stall and look at a pavement mosaic and spook a man
dressed as a statue into twitching.

Finally, we reached the waterfront. Luke suggested an
open-top bus tour, but I had another idea.

‘Are you feeling brave today?’ I asked him.

‘Definitely,’ he said. ‘It feels like the kind of day we
could do anything.’

I grinned. ‘Then follow me.’

*

An hour later and a good deal shakier, Luke and I stood on
the hill named Montjuïc, staring at the cable car that had brought us up here,
which was now making its steep descent.

‘I can’t believe we did that,’ I said.

‘Me either. I’ve no idea
why
we just did that, Ms
Vertigo!’

He looked at me quizzically and I smiled. ‘Last time I came
here, with Hugo and Mum and Sienna, they made me go on the cable car and I had
a total breakdown. I wanted to see whether I could do it now.’

‘And you could.’

‘And I could. Though my legs are still shaking.’

‘Well, my stomach’s still cartwheeling, so you’re not alone.
People are not made for dangling off cables at height.’

‘We’ll get the bus down,’ I promised.

‘Hallelujah.’

Neither of us asked where that bus would take us. We both
knew we couldn’t stay here much longer. I was tiring now. I could feel the
heaviness in my limbs. But I wouldn’t admit to it – not yet. Just a little
longer here, the two of us. Just a little longer making this the best of days.

‘So other than a cable car station, what’s up here?’ asked
Luke as we began walking away.

‘A cemetery.’

He gave a mock shudder.

‘Botanical gardens.’

He wrinkled his nose.

‘The National Art Museum of Catalonia.’

He tried to look interested.

‘And a modern art museum: the Miró Foundation.’

‘Miró. Do I know that name?’

‘You should. You see it in your kitchen at home every day.’

His eyes lit up. ‘The print on the wall?’

‘Yep. It’s called “The Gold of the Azure”.’

‘My mum loved that artwork, you know.’

‘I know. Which is why I thought you’d like to see the
original.’

‘We can see it here?’ Heedless of all the tourists milling
about, he grabbed me and kissed me. ‘Scarlett Blake,’ he said, ‘you are my gold
in the azure.’

I smiled up at him. ‘What does that mean?’

‘No idea,’ he said. ‘But I like the sound of it.’

I laughed and he kissed me again, and then tugged my hand
urgently. ‘Let’s go – before we run out of time in Spain... we’re in
Spain
!’