The Wish Collector
Page 44

Myrtle took the small blue gift bag, her expression half troubled and half contemplative. “This is very thoughtful.”
Clara smiled, beginning to turn away when Myrtle reached out a hand, stopping her.
Clara turned back to Myrtle questioningly and Myrtle opened the gate wider, stepping aside. “He’s out back. There’s no light out there. I suppose . . . well, I suppose if you call out, if you let him know you’re there, he wouldn’t mind if you delivered it yourself.”
“Oh,” Clara breathed, uncertainty enveloping her. “I wouldn’t want to upset him, Myrtle.”
“No,” Myrtle murmured, her unfocused gaze sliding away from Clara as she chewed at the inside of her cheek. “But . . . yes.”
Clara frowned, not knowing exactly what to make of her conflicting comments.
Myrtle moved her eyes to Clara again, and she put a hand on her arm. “You must give him warning that you’re there. Don’t surprise him.” Myrtle handed the gift bag back to Clara.
“I promise, I won’t.”
Myrtle ushered her inside of the gate and told her which path to take, giving Clara one more tip of her chin as Clara turned away, following Myrtle’s directions.
As she rounded the house and began heading toward the trees, the light waned, only darkness before her.
She set the gift bag on a garden bench, wanting both her hands available before she stepped into the dark.
“Jonah?” she called softly, a chill moving down her spine, born of doubt and excited anticipation. She was close to him. He was here, somewhere, just beyond her reach, but not for long.
She tossed his name into the lightless void in front of her again, letting her voice lead the way, making no attempt to quiet her footsteps.
Was this how Angelina felt but minus the hope—the promise—that the man she was searching for would hear her call? What an awful, desolate feeling, to know that the man who made your heart swell and your blood tremble was there, so close, and yet completely and utterly out of reach.
What torture to wonder if he might be looking for you too.
“Jonah?”
Clara stepped forward, the canopy of trees and moss covering the moon and shading the surroundings in tones of darkest gray. She held her hand up and watched it disappear as she moved it away from her face.
“Jonah?” she called again, her heart thumping rapidly. “It’s Clara.”
She heard footsteps to her right and whirled in that direction, staring sightlessly into the inky blackness.
“Maybe you like monsters? Is that it, Clara?”
Jonah. His voice was deep, raspy, the voice she’d know anywhere, though she couldn’t quite discern his tone.
Despite his unknown mood at her showing up uninvited, relief flowed through her along with the thrill of his presence.
“You’re not a monster, Jonah. But if you insist on calling yourself one, then yes, I must like monsters.”
“Silly Clara,” he said, but now his tone had changed, and though his words mocked her, his silken voice held warmth. “You’re in my lair now, you do realize that, right?”
“Y-yes,” she said as the direction of his voice changed and she turned blindly toward it, unable to see anything, not even his movement.
He chuckled then and it drifted to her, falling over her like magic, causing goosebumps to erupt on her skin.
“You’re playing with me.” It was a statement, but also a question. She should be annoyed, perhaps, but she couldn’t help her excitement.
Clara did not consider Jonah a monster, but apparently, she still enjoyed being his prey. Am I really considered prey if I want to be caught? she wondered, as a tremble of delight moved through her.
“What are you doing here?”
“Myrtle said you were out here. She thought it would be okay if . . .” Clara bit her lip, shifting where she stood, feeling strangely naked standing together as they were in the dark.
“If what?” He was closer now, but she hadn’t heard him move, and it felt as if tiny bubbles popped under her ribs.
“If I warned you I was coming.”
“Nothing could have warned me you were coming,” he said, half under his breath, his voice right next to her ear.
She startled, turning toward the place he must be, letting out a small laugh.
“Stop,” she said, her voice more breathy than she’d meant, the pleasure in that one word belying it entirely. “I can’t tell where you are.”
She heard the small crunch of something then and the warmth of his hand taking hers.
“Follow me.”
She grasped his hand, holding on to it as though it were a lifeline, stumbling slightly as he began to move ahead of her. “I can’t see where I’m going.”
“You don’t need to,” he said, his voice carrying back to her. “I know this land like the back of my hand. I won’t let you fall.”
She grasped him more tightly, reveling in the solid strength of him.
He sped up, pulling her slightly and she laughed with joy as she moved her legs more quickly to keep up with his long, sure strides. They wove through trees maybe, or perhaps around rocks, she had no idea, but he obviously did and she trusted him. If she hadn’t known it before, she knew it now. She trusted him with her safety and was willing to let him lead her where he may, even in the pitch-dark of night through unfamiliar territory.
He wouldn’t let her fall. Though in all honesty, it was far too late for that. She’d fallen. Somewhere along the way, she’d already fallen.
When he stopped suddenly, she ran into him, laughing in surprise as he turned, both of them colliding softly right before he stepped back, out of her field of vision. “We’re in the woods?” she asked.
“Yes. Don’t you know it’s dangerous to follow monsters into the woods?” But she knew he was teasing her.
“I must like danger too.” She smiled but then grew serious. “Because I think I’d follow you anywhere, Jonah.” Her tone held all the gravity contained in her heart, the truth of her confession. Yes, she would. She’d follow him anywhere.
Jonah was quiet for a moment before he uttered, “Clara.” There was a warning in his voice, but she didn’t care. She wouldn’t heed it, and he must know that by now.
She heard the rustling of what sounded like tall grass nearby—the overgrown sugarcane fields maybe—and the hoot of an owl, the soft whistling of the wind.
“Happy birthday, Jonah.”
There was a pause before he said, “Thank you. How did you know it was my birthday?”
“The family tree in Justin’s folder.”
“Ah.”
“I brought you something. A gift. It’s why I came. To deliver it in person.”
“A gift?”
“Yes. Just a . . . it’s nothing really, but . . .”
When he didn’t interrupt her awkward stuttering, she rushed on, nervous that he was displeased. “I tried to call you first—”
“I was out here.”
“What were you doing?”
“Just walking.”
It was then she heard the squeak of hinges, tilting her head in surprise as she realized exactly where they were standing. Oh.
“We’re standing among the slave cabins,” he said, confirming her thought. He pulled on her hand and she followed. “There’s a small step up,” he said, guiding her so she didn’t trip. “Go on in. Turn on the flashlight on your phone so you can look around. I’ll stay out here.”
“You don’t have to stay outside. I won’t turn the flashlight on you, I promise. I wouldn’t do that.” Her voice was a whisper, filled with the solemnity of her promise.
He paused for the span of two quickened heartbeats and then she heard him step up behind her. Trusting her, she thought, and the knowledge brought a warm flush of pleasure to her skin. The door swung shut squeakily behind him, and she heard him step to the side, not moving any farther into the room. She smelled old wood and the sweet, rotting scent of wet leaves.
Clara turned away from Jonah, swiping at her phone, the sudden bright light causing her to squint against the glare. She turned on the flashlight and set it to its lowest setting, sweeping it once around the room.