Beautiful Redemption
Page 29

“Amma’s feelings are not to be trusted when it comes to Ethan.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Of course Amma can be trusted. She’s the most trustworthy person I know.” Lena looked furious, and I wondered how much she actually knew about that night at the water tower.
He didn’t say a word.
“Isn’t she?”
Macon closed his book. “I can’t see the future. I’m not a Seer. All I know is Ethan did what needed to be done. The whole realm—Dark and Light—will always be grateful to him.”
Lena stood up, ripping the ink-stained page from her notebook. “Well, I’m not. I understand he was very brave and noble and whatever, but he left me here, and I’m not sure it was worth it. I don’t care about the universe and the realm and saving the world, not anymore. Not without Ethan.”
She tossed the ripped page into the fire. The orange flames leaped up around it.
Uncle Macon spoke as he watched the fire. “I understand.”
“Really?” Lena didn’t seem to believe him.
“There was a time when I put my heart above all else.”
“And what happened?”
“I don’t know. I got older, I suppose. And I learned that things often are more complicated than we think.”
Leaning against the mantel, Lena stared into the fire.
“Maybe you just forgot what it feels like.”
“Perhaps.”
“I won’t.” She looked at her uncle. “I won’t ever forget.”
She twisted her hand, and the smoke rose up until it curled around her and took shape. It was a face. It was my face.
“Lena.”
My face disappeared at the sound of Macon’s voice, fading away into streaks of gray cloud.
“Leave me alone. Let me have what little I can, what I have left of him.” She sounded fierce, and I loved her for it.
“Those are only memories.” There was sadness in Macon’s voice. “You have to move on. Trust me.”
“Why? You never did.”
He smiled sadly, staring past her into the fire. “That’s how I know.”
I followed Lena up the stairs. Though the ice and snow had melted away since my last visit to Ravenwood, a thick gray fog hung throughout the house, and the air was colder.
Lena didn’t seem to notice or care what was going on around her, even though her breath was curling up toward her face in a quiet white cloud. I noticed the dark rings under her eyes, the way she looked as thin and as frail as she had when Macon died. She wasn’t the same person she had been then, though—she was someone much stronger.
She had believed Macon was gone forever, and we found a way to bring him back. I knew deep down she couldn’t hold out for any less of a fate for me.
Maybe Lena didn’t know I was here, but she knew I wasn’t gone. She wasn’t giving up on me yet. She couldn’t.
I knew, because if I was the one left behind, I couldn’t have either.
Lena slipped into her room, past the pile of suitcases, and crawled into bed without even taking off her clothes. She waved her fingers, and her door slammed shut. I lay down next to her, my face on the edge of her pillow. We were only inches apart.
The tears began to roll down her face, and I thought my heart would break, just watching her.
I love you, L. I always will.
I closed my eyes and reached for her. I wished, desperately, that there was something I could do. There had to be some way I could let her know I was still here.
I love you, Ethan. I won’t forget you. I’ll never forget you, and I’ll never stop loving you.
I heard her voice uncurl inside my head. When I opened my eyes, she was staring right through me.
“Never,” she whispered.
“Never,” I said.
I wrapped my fingers in the curls of black hair and waited until she fell asleep. I could feel her nestled up next to me.
I had to make sure she found that newspaper.
As I followed Lena down the stairs the next morning, I was starting to feel a) like some kind of stalker and b) like I was losing my mind. Kitchen sent out as big a breakfast as ever—but thankfully, now that the Order wasn’t broken and the world wasn’t about to end, the food wasn’t so raw that the sight of it made you want to throw up.
Macon was waiting for Lena at the table, and he was already digging in. I still wasn’t used to the sight of him eating. There were biscuits this morning, baked with so much butter it came bubbling up through cracks in the dough. Thick slices of bacon crowded against an Amma-sized mountain of scrambled eggs. Berries piled inside a big piece of pastry crust that Link, before his Linkubus days, would have swallowed whole in one bite.
Then I saw it. The Stars and Stripes was folded at the bottom of a whole stack of newspapers—from about as many countries as I could name.
I reached for the paper just as Macon reached for the coffeepot, shoving his hand right through my chest. It felt cold and strange, like I’d swallowed a piece of ice. Maybe like brain freeze from an ICEE, only in my heart rather than in my head.
I grabbed the paper with both hands and pulled on it as hard as I could. One edge slowly peeked out from beneath the pile.
Not good enough.
I looked up at Macon and Lena. Macon had his head buried in a newspaper called L’Express, which looked like it was written in French. Lena had her eyes glued to her plate, like the eggs were going to reveal an important truth.
Come on, L. It’s right here. I’m right here.