by L. E. DeLano
“Will you find someplace else to hang,” I hiss at Finn as he walks over for the fourth time in an hour. “You’re going to get me in trouble!”
“Jessa—”
“I mean it, Finn. Go next door to the sandwich shop and get me a soda or something.”
“You can buy a soda here,” he says.
“Not a fountain soda with ice, I can’t,” I explain. “Come on, please? Go now while there’s a lull in the crowd.”
He makes a face and gives me a disgruntled nod. “I’ll be back in five minutes,” he warns. “Five minutes.”
“And I’ll be fired in six,” I mumble under my breath as I reach under my stand for the roll of paper towels. Someone left something sticky on the plastic tablecloth they have over my display table. I rise back up to put the towel roll on the display table, and suddenly Ben is there.
“Jessa,” he says, in a low, urgent voice. “I need to talk to you. I waited for him to leave so we could speak without him.”
“Are you nuts?” I exclaim furiously. “I am working here.” Honestly, between him and Finn, it’ll be a Christmas miracle if I have a job after today.
“You have to listen to me!” he says, and his voice is getting more urgent. “This whole thing with Eversor—the way she showed up the same day as him, and then again when you were traveling … he’s going to kill you! Didn’t you tell me that’s how it works? He kills you everywhere he goes?”
“What?” I look at him like he’s crazy, and that’s because he is. “I never said that about him! Finn’s here to protect me.”
“Then where is he?” Ben asks, splaying his arms wide. “Why isn’t he here? I’m here!”
He punctuates that final sentence by slamming his fist down on my table, and I watch the next several seconds as though they were in slow motion.
First, the hand sanitizer falls over, and for some reason, the top isn’t screwed on tightly. It splashes out, splattering all over the back and top of the toaster oven, the paper towels, and the edge of my cardboard facade. It leaves a large, dripping pool on the tablecloth that runs down over the side and into the garbage can, which is full of discarded napkins and paper plates.
And then it all goes up in flames.
A spark from the toaster oven ignites the alcohol in the sanitizer, and in a split second, I’m standing behind an enormous torch—in an alcove with walls around me. I throw myself to the floor, but the table is solid, full of shelves underneath, and backed into the alcove like I am, the table is mostly blocking my only way out. I hear Ben shouting my name, people are screaming, fire alarms blaring. The sprinklers come on overhead, but they’re not dousing most of this area—I’m too far back. I grope blindly for a way out, shielding my face with my arm as the heat becomes searing.
I can hear Ben as he screams my name at the top of his lungs, and then a second later he’s gone, knocked to the floor, and a shopping cart is blocking my way. I push at it, only to find another behind it, wedging it in. I’m looking through them and all I can see are Ben’s legs. He’s lying prone and he’s not moving.
The flames have spread to the large display of potato chips on the other side of me, and I’m coughing so hard at the smell of burning plastic, I can barely suck in air. I look up through tear-stung eyes as I hear a voice ringing out over the mayhem around me.
“Jessa!” Finn is shouting like a madman, throwing carts out of his way, pushing against all the people who are determined to trample him on their way out. And then through the smoke and flames, I see his head turn, watch his body freeze in place as he sees her in the crowd at the same time I do.
Eversor.
His lips frame the words and I see his muscles tighten as he prepares to run her down. She’s running now, along with the others, and I know he’s going to turn and go, and Ben and I are going to die.
I fall completely prone now, turning my lips to the floor, coughing and retching as I gasp for clean air. I hear Ben groan and I see his foot in my peripheral vision as it moves, pulling away. A few more seconds pass and my eyes close to block out the smoke.
“Finn…” I can feel my lips move against the floor, and a second later, what’s left of the table crashes to the ground. My arm is jerked hard and I shriek as I feel the flames lick my skin. I open my tear-stung eyes in protest. Finn has me, and his hand is against the glass of the deli case.
“Hold on, Jessa!” he shouts, but it’s too late. I can’t breathe anymore. I let the darkness take me.
23
Returned
“Jessa … Jessa, please. Please, love. Please. Open your eyes. Please, love.…”
I can hear Finn’s voice like it’s coming through a tunnel, and as it grows clearer, I’m suddenly seized with a fit of coughing, pulling the bitter taste of smoke through my mouth and nose as I hack and wretch.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “That’s it, love. Get it all out. Deep breaths.”
I suck in a lungful of air, and that sets off another round of coughing, not as hard now but still burning my raw throat.
“Water…,” I manage to croak, and a moment later, a cup is pressed to my lips. I drink deeply, giving another shuddering cough or two, and I feel him gently wiping the grime from my eyes with a wet cloth.
I inhale two more times, swearing to myself that I’ll never take air for granted again, and then I open my eyes.
“Ben…?”
“He’s all right. Someone helped him to safety.”
“You’re sure?”
He nods and lets out a big whoosh of air before he wraps his arms around me tight.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he says, rocking me back and forth, and I realize we’re on the floor. Well, he’s on the floor and I’m on his lap. And we’re not the only thing rocking.
I glance around at the dimly lit cabin of his ship in alarm.
“You brought me here?”
“Aye. I had to get you away to somewhere that you wouldn’t have a counterpart. This was the first place that came to mind.”
I scramble to sit up. “But it’s against the rules,” I remind him. “I died here. I can’t be back.”
“You can’t return on your own, that’s true enough,” he says. “But you can be sent by a Dreamer or pulled through by another Traveler—and so I did.”
“We have to go back!” I say, looking around wildly. I’m not sure what I expected, but it feels like I’ve just broken a major law of the universe here. I mean, I’m technically a ghost.
“Relax,” he says. “You’re out of sight, and so long as we remain that way, no one here will even know you visited.”
“Good. Now let’s go.”
He shakes his head. “We need to wait for a little while. Let’s be sure Eversor has realized you’re safely away.”
“Are you kidding?” I look at him incredulously. “Ben will be crazy thinking I died in there!”
“The firemen were on their way,” Finn says. “Ben was conscious, and one of them was helping him out when we transferred. No one could see us through the smoke, but I could hear them. They’ll put the fire out and realize soon enough that no one’s been left inside. They’ll likely think you got lost in the crowd, and Ben will certainly know I got you out of there.”
He hands me the cup of water again and I take another drink as he lights a gas lamp, brightening up the cabin. The adrenaline is finally ebbing from my bloodstream, and I am conscious now that the side of my wrist hurts—a lot.
I turn my hand over, looking at the bright red patch of skin on my lower arm.
“Let’s have a look,” Finn says, cradling my hand carefully. “It’s not bad—but it will likely blister. Hold on.”
He rummages through a trunk that he pulls from under the bed, pulling out a small jar of ointment. He gives it a sniff, then, with gentle fingers, he spreads the soothing salve on my reddened skin.
I hiss slightly, and then I let out a sigh. “That feels nice,” I say.
“The peppermint oil in it wil
l soothe your burn, while the coconut oil and aloe will help it heal,” he says, reading the label. “I got this from a barge carrying unregulated homeopathic medicines.”
“Pirated goods?”
“Legally seized unregulated merchandise,” he corrects. “’Course, I helped myself to a few cases of interesting things.”
“Of course you did.” I smirk. “Do you think we should bandage it?”
“Not unless the skin breaks,” he says. “We’ll keep an eye on it.” He turns my hand over, kissing the back gently. “There now. Better?”
I nod. “What about you?”
He flips his wrist over to show me the singed cuff of his shirt. “No skin, just material. Although I did fancy this shirt.” He lets out a sigh.
“You saved my life.” The words come out in a whisper as I realize just how close this one was, and I feel myself starting to shake.
“It’s all right, love,” he says, pulling me in close again. “You’re safe now.”
“You came back for me.”
He pulls away now, raising a brow as he looks at me. “’Course I came back,” he says.
“But Eversor got away.”
I can feel his whole body tighten with anger, and I reach up to touch his face. “Thank you.”
He slides his hand around mine, pulling it from his face. “Don’t thank me. I shouldn’t have left you in the first place.”
“This wasn’t your fault.”
“When I saw her in the crowd—” His jaw tightens and he works to get the next words out. “I shouldn’t have hesitated. I very nearly sent you to the same death once again.”
“Finn.” I rest my head against his chest, rubbing my cheek back and forth. “It wasn’t your fault. We’re here now, and that’s what matters.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “This is what matters.” His arms tighten around me again, and for a moment there’s only the sound of him and me breathing, and the gentle rocking of the ship beneath us.
“Are we in port?” I ask finally.
“Yes. I left her moored in New Devonshire and told my crew I had to take a land journey. The ship’s locked up tight. No one will bother us here.”
I carefully roll off his lap to my knees and he pushes to his feet, offering me a hand.
“Easy now,” he says. “You’re bound to be a bit dizzy after all that.”
I sway slightly, but I think it’s more from the motion of the ship beneath my feet. “Not too bad,” I say. “Guess I have to get my sea legs.”
“Well, you’re off to a good start. You’ve got great legs.”
I let out a laugh that turns into a cough, and he’s there, supporting me with his arm around me. I’m assailed by memories of our first meeting. He was so charming, so funny, and oh, the way he’d kissed me—until he realized who I wasn’t.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asks. “Let me refill your drink. Still a bit fuzzy, are you?”
“No. I was just thinking. About the first time we met.”
“Ah yes,” he says with a smile. “You were quite the surprise. And then you surprised me again by coming back.”
“I guess I wanted to see it all again,” I say, gesturing around me. “We had fun that night.”
“We did,” he agrees. “And it was quite the memory for me as well.” He hands me my cup, watching as I take another drink.
“She thought it was funny, you know,” he says. “You and me.”
“Funny?”
“You—she—said it seems as though we’re bound to be together, no matter where we are. She was a bit of a romantic. I suspect you are as well. But she wasn’t one for dramatics.”
“We definitely have that in common.”
His hand touches my face, and I can feel his thumb tracing my jawline as he moves his fingers to lightly grip my jaw. He turns my head slowly left, then right.
“You’re not her. I know that,” he murmurs. “No matter the similarities, you are entirely and uniquely your own person.”
“Thanks.” I meet his eyes, and I know I should probably move away, but I can’t seem to do it. “You’re in a category all your own, too. You have been from the moment I met you.”
“I was impressed the first time we met. By the night of the ball I was truly enchanted to have you back again.”
“I wasn’t expecting to see you again, either,” I remind him. “You weren’t supposed to be at the ball.”
“I wanted a dance,” he says. “I should have danced with you when I had the chance.”
I smile wryly. “Instead you taught me to defend myself. That little trick saved my life, by the way, so I guess I owe you twice.”
“Really? That must be quite the thrilling tale.” He steps away a moment, to what looks like an old-fashioned Victrola, cranking it up. “Since we have some time to kill…,” he says as the sound of violins floats across the air.
“Miss St. Clair, may I have the honor of this dance?” He bows and then holds his hand out to me.
“You want to dance? Now?”
“It’s not a fancy ball, but I think I can manage.”
I give him a smile and drop into a ridiculous curtsy. “Why, Mr. Gallagher, I’d be delighted.”
He pulls me into his arms, and he’s really good at this. I’m absurdly grateful for my newfound confidence courtesy of my dancing alter ego. He’s twirling and dipping and I’m keeping up, laughing at how well we move together. The song ends and another comes on, slower, and he pulls me in closer, waltzing me slowly around the cabin.
“You dance divinely,” I say, putting on a cheesy accent.
“So I’ve been told. Though I didn’t get to practice as often with you—her—as I’d have liked.”
And just like that, it’s like she’s standing in the room with us. He feels the difference immediately.
“We probably should go—” I begin, but Finn shakes his head, cutting me off.
“Do you want to know how I did it?” he asks me softly as he continues to dance me slowly around the room.
“Did what?”
“Got through all this? Got through losing her?”
I stare up at him mutely—not really sure what I should say. He takes a breath and goes on.
“I looked in the mirror—don’t laugh—and I told myself the truth.”
We slow to a stop, and I ask: “What’s the truth?”
“The truth is, as much as I loved you here, I knew I had to find you there.”
He pulls our hands up to his lips, and I am swamped by the feelings his words are dredging up, feelings of loss and pain and regret and guilt.
“Tell me the truth, love. Please. Tell me your truth.”
The tears are welling in my eyes, but I don’t look away.
“The truth is I never stopped thinking about you,” I say. “Even when I was with my Finn. We had such a short time together—me and him—and my time with you was even shorter.” I pause to swallow, because the words, the truth within them, are clogging my throat.
“I couldn’t get you out of my mind,” I confess in a guilty whisper. “I don’t know why.”
“Don’t you?” he asks, and the brightness in his eyes is warming me, warming all the parts that have been cold for so long.
I’m not sure when I finally notice the slow movement of his hand on my back, the way his fingertips trace the vertebrae in my spine, or his other hand, sliding into the hair at my nape. When I look up at him, something in his eyes changes—a shifting within us both that steals the breath from our lungs. His thumb comes out to slide along my jaw, and I feel my lips parting as his mouth comes down on mine.
The kiss deepens, turning into something wilder, stronger. My fingers twine into his hair, and the slide and dance of his tongue around mine is all I know—the taste and feel of him as his arms tighten to pull me in closer.
Our breath mingles for a moment as he lifts his head, and his lips graze mine once more.
“We’re part of a plan, you and I,” he murmurs.
“And despite the thoroughly bizarre circumstances that brought us together, I think we have to be all right with that.”
He leans in to continue where we left off, and I push against his chest. He releases me instantly, a question on his face.
I take a step away, and then another. “We should get back,” I tell him. “I shouldn’t have gotten carried away like that. People at home are worried about me.”
And by people, I mean Ben. Shame brings a flood of color to my cheeks, and I need some time and space between us so I can sort out everything that’s just bubbled to the surface.
“I need to get back,” I finish lamely.
He masks the hurt in his eyes by turning to the mirror on the wall, next to the porthole.
“Very well,” he says, holding out his hand. “Miss St. Clair, I’m at your service.”
He doesn’t look at me as I put my hand in his.
24
Revelation
We transfer back to the restroom at Mugsy’s, which is empty—thank God. Right now, I’m facing myself in the mirror, and I look like hell. I have black soot streaking parts of my face, and my eyes are still red from smoke irritation. I wash off as best I can with paper towels, but the smell of smoke is still clinging to my clothes. We walk over to Wickley’s, where Mr. Kellar nearly hugs me with joy, he’s so glad to see me.
Luckily, the fire didn’t spread far and no one was hurt. The alcove was scorched black and the fire got so hot the paint melted off the wall there. The store would be reopening tomorrow. Mr. Kellar asks me to come in later in the week and give a statement to the insurance company, and he rails on me a little for not going straight to the doctor to get checked out.
No one seems to know anything about Ben, and he isn’t answering when I text him. Despite Finn’s assurances, we run for home, hoping Ben headed there once he realized I was gone. We rush through the door and I’m immediately engulfed by two hundred pounds of flying brother.