The Watch (The Red Series Book 1) (32 page)

I wanted to wish that my old
people, my friends in
Optica
, would somehow be
rescued.

I wanted to wish that
Ezzie
would be okay, that he would live and be whole and
healthy, with no ill effects from the wardens or from the wild man’s claws.

I wanted to wish that Judd would
be safe without me there looking out for him, that he would forgive me for
leaving him.

I wanted to wish that
Meritt
had not been planning to betray me, but if I really
trusted him, I wouldn’t need to wish for his loyalty.

I wanted to wish that that
Farrell Dean and I hadn’t irrevocably damaged our friendship. We’d struck an
uneasy truce, it was true, but would that be enough to carry us through
whatever lay ahead? I had said terrible things to him, and he had kept secrets
from me. But I couldn’t wish for our friendship, not after Cline’s tirade. And
I couldn’t spend my one wish on Farrell Dean and not on
Meritt
—
Meritt
, whom I’d left standing on a cliff while I drifted
away. Against my will, yes; but it wasn’t against my will that Farrell Dean’s
arm was around me now. Maybe it would have been more honorable, to freeze to
death out of loyalty to
Meritt
, but
I wasn’t convinced.

What a tangle it all
was.

I wanted to wish
Rafe
back to life, but I could see
Rafe
shaking his head: even a star couldn’t grant that.

Most of all,
perhaps, I wanted to ask the stars whether I would always feel alone. A spectacle,
a freak, an outsider. But that question was too pitiful to say aloud, even to a
distant star.

“Star light, star
bright,” I murmured again, and then again and again, until sometime in the
darkness of early morning I turned my face into the crook of Farrell Dean’s
neck and fell asleep.

* * *
*

I awoke to a bright shining sun
and a girl’s voice.

“Hello?” she said. “Are you
shipwrecked? Are you injured? Do you need help?”

I opened my eyes and tried to
sit up, struggling to untangle myself from Farrell Dean’s legs, the blankets,
the bench seat. He wasn’t helping me. He was sitting up, but he looked like he
was paralyzed—staring, white-faced, shocked, as if he was gazing at
something more terrifying than any Guardian, any wild man, any betrayal. In all
the years I’d known Farrell Dean, he’d never once looked anything like this.

Slowly I made myself turn to
face whatever new horror had come.

This is what I saw:

I was standing outside the boat,
on the sand. My flaming hair was loose, curling at the ends in the damp sea
air, stirred by the gentle breeze. I was wearing a long tunic of blues and
greens, thin rectangles and squares of beautiful colors all sewn together,
colors like the sea, the sky, the grass.

And I was staring back at me.

Beside me in the boat Farrell
Dean moved—reached over, fumbled at my head, pulled off my black cap. My
long fiery hair fell loose across my shoulders and tumbled down my back, and
the me on the sand grew wide-eyed. Her hand went to her lips, then reached
toward me.

“
Valentina
,”
she said. “You’re alive.”

THE
END

The Stolen

The Watchmaker

The Forgotten

Visit the author’s website at
AmandaWitt.com

All four books in
The Red Series
were family endeavors. My
three children offered constant encouragement and provided insightful feedback,
and my husband—a professional writer and editor, and former creative
writing professor—was an invaluable asset. I am thankful for their help,
but I am thankful most of all to have them in my life.

You are my sunshine.