Sing Sweet Nightingale (31 page)

Why
does thinking of Paradise scare me?

Because you can’t remember it
, I tell myself. It’s not Paradise that’s terrifying; it’s the missing pieces of my memory. Orane would never scare me.

But what happened to my memory? I remember being constantly lonely and scared of everything. Why is K.T. holding a scrapbook that shows a life of friendships and fearlessness?

“Do you believe me, Mari?” Hudson asks.

Do I? It’s a loaded question. Do I believe that Hudson’s story is true? Yes. Do I believe it is
the
truth? No. It can’t be. I
can’t
have been that wrong about Orane. I must be missing some piece of the puzzle that will force this all to make sense.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I sign, “Truth is relative.”

Hudson huffs out a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh. “Truth is relative? That is such a bullshit answer. You said you remember the last three weeks and you
still
don’t see what that guy is doing to you?”

Should I admit this? It might give Hudson another opening, another piece of “evidence” to throw on the scale against Orane, but I don’t know what else to say.

“I only remember the days,” I sign.

This time, Hudson
does
groan. “Of course you do.” He pushes to his feet, running one hand over his white-blond hair, his jaw clenching spasmodically. K.T. watches him as though she’s not sure if she should try to comfort him or stay the hell out of his way.

“What do I have to show you to get you to consider the possibility this guy isn’t who you think he is?” Hudson’s voice is louder. K.T. and I glance at the door at the same time. “They’re not angels, Mariella; they’re demons. They suck out pieces of your soul and leave the rest of you behind like garbage when they’re done. You’re like a talking cow to them—they may think it’s amusing to keep you for a while, but that’s not going to stop them from slitting your throat and turning you into dinner when they get hungry.”

Heat burns through my body, and the last lingering tremors of fear are scoured away by anger. Gaps in my memory or not, I refuse to let him call Orane a
demon
.

I lift my hands to sign, and Hudson freezes, his eyes locked on mine.

“If you love someone,” I sign to him, “you should have faith in them.”

Hudson is silent for a long time. Or maybe it only feels like a long time.

“Love? You
love
him?” Hudson’s face flushes red. “Do you really think he loves you? Love isn’t taking away what makes you special and hiding it so no one else can see it. True love would accept you the way you are or help you become the person you’re supposed to be.”

Before I can clear my mind and form some kind of response, Hudson sucks in a breath and kneels in front of me, laying his hands over mine and peering up into my eyes. His skin is so warm it almost burns. I want to pull away, to tear my hands out from under his, but his stare locks me in place.

“Give us one night. Let me come with you. If this guy can answer all the questions and make sense of all the gaps in your memory, maybe we’re wrong. But if he doesn’t, then maybe we’re telling the truth, and you’re a week away from ending up like Emily.”

He takes a breath, and his hands tremble on top of mine.

“Mariella, please. Let us help you.”

I glance at the photos of my forgotten, happy childhood. I look at K.T., the friend who persisted despite my apparent indifference. And then I stare at Hudson, the stranger who thinks he’s jumping into a riptide to save someone who’s drowning.

I hate to contemplate it, but I have to. There are too many questions and too much proof for me to deny the possibility completely.

Swallowing the bile rising in my throat, I nod. I already think I’m going to regret this, but after everything that’s happened, I have to know for sure. I have to know if Hudson is right.

Hopefully Orane can forgive me if I’m wrong.

Twenty-Nine

Hudson

Friday, September 5 – 9:56 PM

I explain the plan to Horace on the drive home, but I can’t stop worrying K.T. won’t be able to keep Mariella from changing her mind. Especially since I can’t head back until eleven. At the earliest.

We reach Horace’s at ten. For an hour, I have nothing to do but pick this awful plan to pieces and try to put it back into a shape that makes sense. No matter how I try to create some sort of battle plan, it all comes down to predicting the moves of an enemy I’ve never seen and a girl I barely know.

“This house already has too many holes in it,” Horace grumbles. “You keep pacing like that and the boards are gonna give out right under you.”

I lock my feet to the floor and close my eyes.

Get a grip
, I tell myself.
Get a goddamn grip, or you’re going to give yourself a heart attack before midnight comes
.

Despite the variability of the attacks on
me
, I can’t imagine the demon would risk changing anything on Mariella now. Especially not when he didn’t manage to wipe her memory.

“Are you listening to me, boy?”

My eyes pop open. Horace is standing in front of me, his hands on his hips and his blue eyes gleaming.

“No.” Was he talking? I didn’t hear a word. “What?”

Horace pokes me in the chest with one of his bony fingers and glares. “I said that if you get yourself killed tonight, I’ll find a way to bring you back to life so I can kill you again!”

“Dying isn’t exactly Plan A, old man, but it’s not like I can make any promises.”

His lips purse, and he stares at me for a moment before shaking his head.

“So many things in the world I could’ve helped you out with. Could’ve gotten you into any college you wanted. Internships, travel—could’ve done any of that for you and taken care of it all. But you go and jump headfirst into something I can’t do a damn thing to help you with.”

I open my mouth, but what can I say to that?

Before I can try to think of words, Horace pushes me toward the door.

“Get going before you start tearing the floorboards up again,” he says. “If you’re gonna pace, might as well do it on the Teagans’ grass.”

After Horace promises to stay within reach of the stones and crystals I’m leaving behind for him, I head out into the balmy night, keeping to the shadows until I can resume my pacing and planning within sight of the light spilling from Mariella’s window.

Unlike the last time I snuck into Mariella’s house, this time I have to do it knowing everyone is upstairs, quietly waiting to fall asleep. I have to do it knowing the wrong sound will bring Frank and Dana out of their room, wondering if someone is trying to break in. The problem is, they wouldn’t be wrong.

Despite the danger, I make it back to Mari’s room without getting caught and find her pacing as anxiously as I was a few minutes ago.

K.T. and Mari both turn when I slip in. K.T.’s shoulders drop as soon as she sees me. “Mari said—”

K.T. doesn’t have to tell me what Mari said because Mariella’s hands are already flying.

“You have to leave. Now. I don’t want you here.” Her hands are trembling so much it’s hard to be sure I’m reading her signs right.

“Why?” I sign back. My voice carries, and the last thing I want is for Dana to hear it.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you, but you need to leave. Now.”

I glance at the clock. 11:03 PM.

“I’ll leave at 12:01,” I sign.

Mariella bites her lip and digs her fingers into her hair, dislodging locks so they stick out at all angles. I don’t think she cares.

“If you don’t leave, I’ll wake my mother,” she threatens.

“Why?” I sign. “Give me one good reason
why
you want me to go, and I might listen to you.”

She flushes red, her cheeks solid globes of color. It takes her a few seconds to come up with a suitably vague response, though. “Because you’re crazy. And because faith means never asking for proof.”

Frustration grinds my stomach like an overheating engine, and I have to look away to keep from grabbing her shoulders and shaking her until she sees sense. Why is she denying
all
the evidence we’ve piled up in front of her?
How
is she denying it?

Exhaling slowly, I turn back to Mari and mutter, “There’s a fine line between faith and gullibility. You’re standing on it.”

Her mouth tightens and her hands clench. She’s probably offended—I mean, who likes being called gullible?—but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.

Antagonizing her isn’t going to help
, I remind myself. I take a deep breath and try another tactic.

“Look, I’ve spent the past week learning everything I could about your life. Right now, I know you better than you know yourself. Living under this guy’s thumb has left you a shell of the person you should be.”

Her hands come up to yell at me in sign again. I catch them and press hers between mine. They’re so small they disappear completely, and they’re so cold. Not surprising with the chill in the air of her room, but I hold on a little tighter, trying to pass my warmth to her as I whisper, “You’re a shell, Mari, but you could be so much more. And I want to meet the real you because I think she’d be pretty damn spectacular.”

For a moment, she stares at me, her eyes wide and her cheeks now just tinged with pink. Her lips twitch, and I think she might be hiding a smile.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she mouths.

I relax a little and let myself smile. “No, but the truth will get me everywhere.”

Thirty

Mariella

Friday, September 5 – 11:43 PM

Nothing I said made Hudson or K.T. leave. The more insistent I got, the more over-the-top Hudson’s flattery and flirting became. I mean, he’s barely known me for a week. There’s no way he can think I’m that spectacular in less than a week. Right?

It doesn’t matter. What matters is he refuses to leave, I haven’t fallen asleep, my room is full of crystals and gemstones, it’s almost midnight, and Orane is going to be
so
disappointed.

Or I’m about to find out that Hudson is right and then…I don’t know what I’ll do then.

Technically, I haven’t broken my promise; though K.T. and Hudson have talked about their “dreamworld” for hours, nothing I’ve said has really confirmed I know what they’re talking about. But what will that matter when they watch a portal open on the stroke of midnight? If they’re wrong, vague answers won’t save me when they follow me into Paradise.
If
they can follow me into Paradise.

Hudson and K.T. made me change into a pair of cargo pants cinched tight with a belt. The belt is a necessity because every pocket on these baggy pants is filled with stones. I fought them on it, but they reminded me that I agreed to try things their way for one night. That’s stretching the truth—I agreed to
listen
—but they didn’t care about semantics.

They tried to make me take off Orane’s nightingale pendant, but I refused and Hudson wouldn’t touch it. He acted like it might burn him or bite him. They “let” me keep it, but Hudson looked physically ill when he relented. Each time he looks at me now, his gaze locks on the nightingale hidden under my shirt. The closer it gets to midnight, the more often his eyes drop to my chest. And his skin gets closer to gray every time.

My face might look the same way.

It’s almost midnight. I watch my phone tick down the seconds, my heart pounding with each lost chance to get rid of them.

“Don’t let the energy touch you,” Hudson whispers.

I don’t have the chance to glance at him before time runs out.

Orane’s gifts all go supernova, burning bright orange as a portal opens in front of us. In my dreams, it always looks like a doorway made of glowing white light. Now, the gateway to Paradise is ringed in flames that lick the walls and ceiling.

The night I met Orane, he stood on the edge of his world and held out a hand, inviting me to come play. Tonight, though I see him in the distance, he doesn’t reach for me. Instead, a tendril of orange fire shoots out from the portal aimed directly at my chest.

On instinct, I duck. The tendril follows. Heart pounding, I cringe as it reaches for me—and cringe again when it slams against a purple, pink, white, and green force field.

Oh my God! What is this?

The orange fire lashes like a whip against the surface of the protective barrier, each strike sparking and crashing like blue lightning. I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. Ducking away does nothing—it’s like it has some sort of heat-seeker built in—but I still end up crouched on the floor with my hands over my head trying to get away.

An arm drapes over my back, and Hudson leans close, his lips nearly brushing against my ear. Despite the fear burning through me, his closeness makes me shiver.

“It’s your pendant, Mari. It’s connecting him to you. I
told
you to take it off.”

My body is screaming at me to dive under my bed and hide, but I force myself to look up at him. The lines etched into Hudson’s skin aren’t anger—they’re concern. Worry. Fear.

Testing his theory, I unclasp the necklace and toss it to the side. I don’t have to wait more than the blink of an eye to see that Hudson was right. The light follows the pendant like a guided missile. But he wasn’t
completely
right. A second vein of light splits off, this one smacking against the protective shield surrounding me.