Gabriel (39 page)

“Don't turn it on. There's no place for light in this room. I want to be in the dark,” I spat.

He looked at me wearily and then gestured for me to sit, but I remained standing. He had changed; now dressed in a high-neck sweater and jeans, his face looked washed out.

“We need to move on,” he said quietly.

I shifted my weight where I stood and looked him square in the eyes. “Are we really not going to talk about him? About what you did?” I took a deep breath. “You killed Jonah, Gabriel. Why? Why did you do it, to him and to yourself?” I demanded coldly. Though my words were fraught, I felt detached, as though it hadn't really happened.

Gabriel cleared his throat and took my hands in his. “Lai, I was fortifying your life. You drank his blood, you bonded yourself to him, and he was bonded to you. It was too dangerous; you'd have ended each other.” He spoke softly, squeezing my hands inside his.

“You killed him because you were protecting me? Not because you were angry, or jealous, or…” My stomach somersaulted. I thought Gabriel had reacted in fury, lost control maybe, but that wasn't the case. He took Jonah's life in an attempt to preserve mine. And as it had been with Hanora, it was a selfish act—who was he to decide whose life was worth more? The last of his light had drained away by his action. I retreated from him, my palm meeting my cheek as I closed my eyes in horror.

“Everything I have done has always been for you, Lailah,” he said flatly, as though this information should not be news to me.

“No, stop saying that, just stop!” I shouted.

Gabriel moved around my side and placed the back of his hands against my neck, brushing them up and over my jaw, finally cupping my cheeks. “I love you. You do what you must for the one you love.”

My eyes prickled and one single tear fell—that was all I would allow. “
Oh, Gabriel
 … You said you would tear down everywhere, until all that was left was nowhere and you would save me.” I took a sharp breath. “And all this time, that's exactly what you've been doing: tearing everything,
everyone
, down. Hanora, Jonah, even yourself. And you're doing it to try and save someone who is already dead.” I threw his hands off me.

Gabriel's brow dipped. “You're not dead, Lailah.”

“I'm
so sorry
, Gabriel. The girl you loved is gone. It's time to let her go.”

“What are you saying? I love you, please—” he begged.

I hesitated. I would always love Gabriel, but my choices—his choices—had inadvertently led us away from each other. And in a way I was relieved. I knew where my final destination would be; I think I had always known.

Taking his elbows, I said, “I am the reason you are fallen. Your crystal failed because you acted in darkness and every bit of it belonged to me.” I stopped, trying desperately to will the words I thought I would never say to leave my lips. “You were where my life truly began, but you can't follow me anymore. I am heading toward the end, and I will not be the reason for yours.… Go to Iona,” I said, my voice shaking.

Gabriel faltered when I said her name. “I don't love Iona.”

I reached for his temple, pushing his blond curls away from his face, and stroked the deep-set lines stemming from his eyes with my thumb. “You will. I watched you glow when you kissed her, before it turned midnight, before her light met your own.…”

Gabriel grimaced, ready to protest, but I pushed on. “The thing about light is that it can be just as blinding as the dark. Maybe you don't see it—maybe you don't want to see it—but you need to take her hand. She will guide you back to the light.” My eyes defied me, swelling and becoming puffy.

Gabriel tried to respond, but I pressed my finger to his lips. “She will save you, where I cannot.”

“I don't understand. You're sending me away because you're trying to
save me
? Or are you just saying all this because you don't want me anymore?” He fidgeted with the cuffs of his sweater, tugging them over his blemished hands, waiting for my answer.

I pushed up his sleeves, revealing the freckled spots growing up his skin, and he immediately pulled them back down.

“Phelan says that our scars show us to be righteous warriors—heroes, I guess. These are yours, you said so yourself. If you were comfortable with what you did, you wouldn't hide them.”

“I only cover them so that there's no confusion over who the hero of this story is, Lailah,” he replied quickly.

I watched his top lip tremble. I might not share a connection with him through light anymore, but I didn't need to in order to know that he wasn't being honest. “No, you mask them because you believe they brand you as the villain. And we both know that's not who you are, but it's who you become when you're with me.”

He didn't respond, and I knew then that everything I was thinking—everything I was saying—was right. I took his hands in my own and held them tightly. “‘
When e'en in wreaths in which I dress thee, Are sadly mixed, half flowers half chains.
' You used to sing those words to me, and later you thought they were about me, didn't you? You placed a crown of roses across my forehead that day.” I paused, my mind making sense of it all. “But I think those words were really meant for you.… And they always will be, if I don't rewrite them,” I murmured.

Silently we watched each other. No more moves to make, it felt like our game was at an end.

I found his lips and kissed him. I savored the moment for as long as I could. Immortal or not, he was my Heaven. That had never changed and never would.

Reluctantly, I pulled away, but his hand swooped to the small of my back and he crushed me into his chest. His kiss was desperate and bittersweet. His eyes brimmed with sadness, and the acidic taste of his lemon tears wet my lips as they spilled, causing my own eyes to water. He brought the tip of his nose up and gently circled my own. Still he clung to me. “I want to be the person you look to, Lai.”

A whimper left me as I said, “I have no doubt that one day I will look to you again, Gabriel, but I hope that when that day comes, you will choose instead to look to Iona.” My skin tingled as a chill crept up my spine, as though someone were walking over my grave.

He held me in his arms, breathing in the scent of my hair, and I knew that if I didn't do it now I never would.

I released him.

I wobbled toward the door, hardly sure if my legs would be able to carry me.

“Wait!” Gabriel shouted after me. “I can't let you go, if the only reason you are walking away is because you are trying to spare me, Lai.” His voice was hoarse.

I stopped.

“How can you even think it would be
possible
for me to love someone else.…” His voice dipped as he trailed off. “Because you loved him, didn't you?” He paused. “Tell me you choose him. Even in death, you choose him over me.”

I peered over my shoulder but bowed my head. Here, in the twilight of truths, he received the agonizing answer to his quietly spoken question.

“When?” he asked in a murmur.

I stifled a breath, finding myself unable to speak.

“
When
did you fall in love with him?”

I blinked hard and heavy and then met his eyes, revealing the gleam Jonah had left in mine. “Once upon a time, underneath a Christmas tree.”

 

THIRTY-TWO

I
AMBLED DOWN THE
hallway to Jonah's bedroom. I clicked the door shut before making my way to his bed. I would have to leave here, but not quite yet.

I swayed as I climbed up onto the sheets, and I took his pillow beneath my arms, burying my head in its center. I cried for him like I had never cried before.

I cried for Gabriel, too. For what he'd become. For whatever part I played in what he had become. I cried for Brooke, who had not returned after fleeing. Not knowing if Fergal was dead or alive, I cried for him, and for what that meant for Iona, too. And I cried for me. But mostly I cried for Jonah.

Exhausted and spent, I pushed the pillow aside, but my arm caught on something as I did. I sniffled and then reached inside the pillowcase next to the one I had rested my head upon.

A book was hidden within the cotton case. Cautiously I pulled it out. The bindings were suede leather, and I ran my fingertips across the softness. Untying the string holding it closed together, I unfolded the pages.

The first merely had Jonah's name across the top. My heartbeat quickened, thumping in time to the fading sound of the thud still resounding inside me. I crossed my legs and held it, staring at his full name: Jonah Cyrene. I hadn't even asked him what his surname was, because ever since I met him, everything had always been about me.

Finally, I flipped open the first page and on a sheet of white was a charcoal drawing of a couple holding hands. The woman bore a likeness to Jonah, and I realized then that I was looking at a portrait of Jonah's parents. I hadn't known that he had been some sort of artist; he'd never mentioned his affinity with such a pastime. Tentatively, I slid my index finger behind the sheet and flipped over to the next drawing.

I dropped the sketchbook and bounced back as though I had seen a ghost. Slowly, I picked it back up and ran my eyes over every curve of the young girl's image. Her wide smile made her leap off the page, bringing her to life.

It was the butterfly girl.

Her eyes depicted star shapes as they searched the sky. She was dressed in a cardigan, shaded in black charcoal, over a long dress that swept her ankles. I traced every inch of the drawing, and in the bottom right-hand corner I found a date. It was the same day that I had had the vision of her under the willow tree. I had to turn the book in my hands to read “
el efecto mariposa
,” “the butterfly effect,” the words the girl had spoken to me written horizontally on the sheet.

I desperately tried to piece together why he had a sketch of the girl who had come to me in my vision, along with the words she had imparted to me. Jonah had said “
el efecto mariposa
” was a sign to him, one that gave meaning to the chaos. I was missing something. It didn't make sense.

I was searching the next page, looking for more pictures of her, when I stopped.

There was a drawing of me, the way I looked before I had reawakened from my cocoon. Everything about the way I appeared was the same as the reflection I had once seen in the mirror; the only difference was the color of my eyes and hair. But the detail that held me captivated was the smile he had given me, stretching high as though I were laughing. This was the girl Jonah had chased after, the one he protected and the one he wished had never left. As I turned page after page, images of me filled his book. I stopped when I reached one where I was different.

He had drawn me with my hair in a long bob drifting above my shoulders and a distant look across my face. The girl on the sheet was beautiful.

I didn't understand. Jonah had angrily stripped me away, layer by layer, yet he had portrayed me here in a delicate and attractive form.

I pawed through the pages. There were more just like it. I stalled on the last picture—the only one outlined in pencil and painted with oils. Red and white roses were scattered across my bare skin and my confused eyes stared right back at me. Dated today, not yesterday, he had sketched this after he rescued me, and only hours before he had met his end.

This image didn't illustrate revulsion or rejection; it only showed love.

A knock on the door startled me. Then, Ruadhan stepped through. “Sweetheart, we need to chat,” he said, making his way over to me and perching on the end of Jonah's bed.

I cleared my throat, trying to breathe. But I knew that with Jonah gone, I would never be able to breathe easily again.

I sat next to him, draping my legs over the foot of the bed. “Ruadhan,” I whispered. “Jonah didn't hate me, did he?”

My makeshift father cuddled the tops of my shoulders, rubbing my back reassuringly. “No, love, of course not.”

“No. I mean, he said some things—some dreadful, hurtful things. Do you know what I'm talking about? The way I looked, the way I
felt
to him?” I asked, seeking the truth.

“Aye.” Ruadhan brushed the stubble on his chin, appearing awkward.

“He was lying, wasn't he?”

Ruadhan didn't answer me immediately, my question making him uncomfortable. “He was very upset, love. But no, he didn't mean
those
things.” He sighed. “I don't want you to think ill of the lad. He felt … Well, we all felt you needed to leave him behind. After what happened, he decided that you'd stand a better chance with Gabriel and no
distractions
.” Ruadhan paused before offering an apology: “I'm sorry, love.”

The conversation I had overheard between Gabriel and Jonah came to my mind; I'd been too fixated on what Jonah had implied about Iona to pay much attention when they had argued over whom I was safest with. It still didn't explain why he had denied me when I tried to kiss him, though, and now I would never know.

“Jonah spoke with you sometimes, didn't he?” I posed.

“Aye, love. On occasion.”

I reached for the sketchbook behind me and placed it on my lap. “Did you know that Jonah was an artist?” I asked.

Ruadhan scratched his neck and didn't answer my question. Instead he said, “Lovey, we need to move forward now. We have to leave—tonight.”

“Ruadhan, please. Did you know?” I asked again.

He huffed, but then looked at my downturned lips and gave in. “Never really said much about it. I knew he liked to sketch a long time ago, but he stopped. Something about it he found too difficult, I think.”

I nodded and carefully tipped the book open to the drawing of the butterfly girl. Ruadhan's bushy eyebrows arched, and he looked from her to me.