by S. K. Kelley
“Why don’t you have Smoke heal it?” I ask.
He blinks and pulls his hand back. “Why should I?”
“I don’t know. I just thought—”
Night sighs from the kitchen. “Ice won’t let Smoke use his healing ability on him. He’s never liked it for some reason.”
“Perhaps I don’t mind waiting for a wound to heal on its own,” he says. His expression is mild, but his voice carries an unfamiliar edge. “Injury doesn’t bother me, and it won’t scar, so there’s no point in healing it artificially. Besides, this is nothing. It’ll be gone in a few days.”
“Nothing? Doesn’t it hurt?”
He rubs his knuckles and studies the injured hand with a soft frown. Then, after looking up to meet my gaze, he shakes his head.
“It doesn’t hurt at all?” I ask again, surprised.
He glances out the window. “My hand does not hurt at all.”
How? Even considering that immortals apparently heal faster than humans, his hands were a mess yesterday. Broken skin, oozing blood from several splits. But, now, the wounds look days old and don’t bother him?
Maybe Smoke was right.
Maybe I don’t understand anything about immortals.
Whatever.
“Night and I were talking earlier,” I say, trying to sound as casual as possible. “About how much longer I should stay.”
His focus darts to me. A bit uneasy. Then his eyes narrow, and he turns toward the kitchen, where Night was minding her own business and drying her hands on a dishtowel.
“There’s no need to look at me like that.” She drops the towel on the counter and joins us at the breakfast nook with a smile. “Of course, I said she’s welcome to stay as long as she wants.”
Yet she leaves out her offer to drive me home...
Ice runs a hand through his rather unkempt hair before meeting my gaze with a most unreadable expression.
“You want to leave in this weather?” he asks.
“Oh, no.” I laugh, gesturing with my hands as I shake my head. “It’s not that. I already told you Rose is getting worried. I can’t tell her what’s really going on, obviously, but it’s not, um... I guess it’s not like me to do something like this.”
“Your roommate?” With a sigh, he rests his chin in his hands. “Right. You did mention that. Well, at least stay until the hurricane blows over.”
Calling it a hurricane is a little dramatic.
“That’s fair,” I agree. “It’ll only be a few days, and that’s what I was thinking anyway.”
“Thanks.” He suddenly looks very tired.
ICE TURNED IN FOR THE night immediately after dinner, and Night left the den an hour later. Since then, I’ve been reading the book she let me borrow. I turn the page, I find The End, and I sniffle.
The last few chapters nearly made me cry.
Hoping to distract myself from feelings, I set the book down and check my phone. It’s almost 10PM. There’s rarely anything interesting on FaceSpace, but I scroll down my newsfeed anyway.
A notification pops up—the soft ding of an incoming message.
Rose MacArthur
Hey! Sorry we haven’t talked in a few days,
I’ve been pretty busy. How are things in Riverview?
She knows I drank too much and kissed Ice, but she has no idea that James exists. And, after yesterday...
Things are okay. It’s raining.
Nice. Is that the best I could come up with?
Rain? In July??
Yep. It’s a tropical storm, I guess.
A whole storm? Wow.
Are you still at Ice’s house?
Yep...
LMAO
Are you moving in?
Absolutely not.
I say no, but I honestly can’t blame her for thinking I am. The ringing that cuts through the silence startles me, though. Stifling a groan, I drag myself off the couch and answer the phone.
“Hello?” I whisper.
“Jayde. What the fuck are you still doing there?”
“Um...”
I glance down the quiet hallway. Then at the sliding glass door.
“You’ve been sleeping at this dude’s house for a week now, right?” I can’t tell whether she’s impressed or concerned. “You’ve seriously been there this whole time? Since the Fourth?”
Rain falls steadily in the backyard, but a canopy covers half the patio. I don’t know if anyone is still awake, but—
I’m not scared of the rain.
“Yep,” I say, stepping outside.
The air is surprisingly warm. The sound of rain pattering on the glass above fills my ears. It’s comforting, but it doesn’t give me any ideas. I still don’t know what to say.
Immortal topics are off limits. James, and the full extent of what happened on the Fourth of July, is definitely off limits. I don’t want to worry her. I don’t want her to think I was hurt, or...
I sit on the ground just outside the closed door.
“It’s weird being home alone,” I say. “And I’m good friends with Ice’s sister, so I guess it’s easier to stay here.”
Rose laughs. “Aww, Jay... It almost sounds like you miss me.”
I do. I really do. But part of me dreads her inevitable return.
“How’s it going with Ice, anyway?” she asks. “Things sounded sketch as hell the last time we talked, so I cannot believe you’re still there.”
I grimace. “For one, he is not my boyfriend—”
“No?”
“Um...” She wants gossip? Where do I start? “You remember how I kissed him on the Fourth of July, right?”
“Uh-huh?” she agrees, her interest growing.
“Well, I finally asked him how he feels about me—while I was sober, obviously.”
“Aaaand?”
“He rejected me.”
“Oh,” she says. There’s a long pause during which I chew on my lip and stare out into the rain. “And you’re still staying there?”
Now that I’ve said it out loud, it does sound ridiculous.
Ice is my sponsor, though. He’s legally responsible for me and wants to make sure I’m safe. I mean, James has popped up out of nowhere twice already. He’s clearly unstable. And the whole tropical storm thing does bother me a little.
“It’s fine. I’m only staying here until the storm blows over.”
“Okay. You’d tell me if anything...bad was going on, right?”
I wince. She doesn’t believe me. She has every right to be concerned—and she might be catching onto something—but I can’t let her worry more than she already has.
“Of course,” I say. “Everything is fine. No one’s forcing me to stay, but it sounds like the weather is gonna be rough for a few days, and I’d rather be here than alone at home.”
She laughs, the sound light. “You’re seriously that worked up over a little rain? So worried you’d stay at this guy’s house even after he rejected you?”
“First off, it’s not a little rain. It’s a tropical storm.” I pause to groan. “But I don’t know if I was rejected...technically. He said he likes me, but not the same way, since he thinks I’m in love with him or whatever—”
“In love?” she asks.
“Yeah...”
She lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Didn’t I specifically tell you not to get too attached?”
I stare into the darkest corner of the backyard, where the light from the den can’t reach. “I don’t know if I’m in love with him,” I say under my breath. “And I don’t get what he meant, exactly. He doesn’t like me the same way, but he also kissed me, so—”
“Okay, wait. He kissed you after he rejected you?”
“It wasn’t great. I have a feeling we won’t do it again.”
“And you still agreed to stay there?” she asks.
I laugh. “Trust me, Rose, I am going home as soon as the rain lets up.”
“Alright,” she agrees, her suspicion only feigned in
part.
“I swear,” I say with another laugh. “Hanging out with Night is fun, anyway. It’s not like I’m miserable here.”
At least that much is true.
forty-four
WHEN I WAKE UP TO MY quiet alarm, the rain is audible on the roof, and I can just make out the shadow of fat droplets through the sheer curtains. The soothing drumbeat almost convinces me to close my eyes again.
But I shouldn’t.
Ice is in a dead sleep, curled up near the foot of the bed. I don’t bother talking to him. I just grab a change of clothes and leave to shower. Then I throw my damp hair up in a messy bun and wander out to the great room. It’s empty, but Night made it clear yesterday that breakfast will likely be fend-for-yourself for early risers until the storm ends.
That’s fine.
I make toast and a bowl of instant oatmeal and watch out the bay window from the breakfast nook. The rain is impressive. It’s not too windy yet, and there’s no sign of lightning, but the water comes down steadily, leaving the street outside slick.
When I’m done eating, I clean up after myself and move into the den, where I nestle myself on one of the loveseats and pick out a nature documentary on Netflix.
A half-hour in, a noise from the great room startles me. The front door opening. But I don’t move. An itch of concern tickles the back of my neck, and I stare at the arch and listen to the door close—to the rustling in the other room.
Then Night walks through, wearing an oversized hoodie and cotton shorts. She lights up when she sees me. My muscles relax, and I pause the TV.
“Good morning,” she says brightly. “Did I surprise you?”
I scratch my cheek. “I guess I figured you were still asleep.”
“That’s fair.” She flashes a smile that borders on embarrassed. “But I had some shopping to do and thought I’d get it out of the way early. All sense goes out the window here when it rains.”
“Need help putting anything away?” I ask.
With a glance down the empty hallway, she agrees. I follow her into the great room, where three grocery bags sit on the floor beside the dining table.
“I have something for you,” she says.
“Oh?”
The hesitance in her voice confuses me, but I ignore it. I heft one of the shopping bags onto the counter and start sorting the groceries. By now, I know where just about everything goes.
“Ice is your legal sponsor, right?” she asks. When I nod, she smiles. “Honestly, I feel responsible too, so I want you to see this house as a safe place. You will always be welcome here.”
“What about your parents? It’s their house...”
“Don’t worry,” she says with a mild laugh. “They won’t mind. My parents support the Human Immortal Program—anything that aims to improve human-immortal relations. So, that’s why—”
She reaches into the pocket of her hoodie and pulls out a key.
“It goes to the front door. I took it upon myself to have one made for you since Ice hasn’t bothered to do so himself.”
I tip my head, having never once considered I might need one. But she grins and tosses it in my direction, and I surprise myself by catching the candy-striped house key.
Now it really feels like I’ve moved in.
I tuck the key in my pocket. “Thanks?”
“Of course! I picked up an extra umbrella too. I assume you didn’t pack one?”
“No, but I doubt I’ll get much use out of it,” I say, glancing out the window over the counter.
“I suppose, but you never know. The weather doesn’t affect you the same way, so you might get bored and change your mind.”
She removes a small, blue travel umbrella from one of the bags and hangs it on a hook near the front door. Then she returns to help put away the groceries—which mainly consists of snacks and other marginally healthy convenience foods.
Why do I have a feeling this will be a long few days?
ICE DOESN’T COME OUT until lunch. The same as yesterday, he’s dressed in day clothes, but his hair is a mess. He eats slowly and quietly, and then, while I’m helping Night tidy up the kitchen, he snags an unopened bag of trail mix from the cabinet beside the fridge.
“Goodnight,” he says on his way out of the room.
I pass Night another rinsed plate. She accepts the dish and sets it in the dishwasher without speaking. When she looks to me again, her expression warms.
“Is he gonna be okay?” I ask.
She laughs. “Ice is fine. He’s more affected by the weather than most immortals, but he’s perfectly fine. You don’t need to worry about him.”
Smoke snickers from his spot at the breakfast nook, but he also looks quite tired. I’m fairly certain he spent most of yesterday in bed too.
When we finish loading the dishwasher, the three of us move into the den. The twins take one loveseat while I take the other, and I watch the historical drama Night put on in between snippets of conversation and checking my phone.
I manage to have an uncontroversial exchange with Rose over messenger for the first time in days. We talk about her pregnant cousin. Her mom. Kyle. The Grand Canyon—she already bought a few souvenirs.
Then she asks about the weather.
I leave the couch and send a picture of the view outside the sliding glass door.
Riverview is dreary. Grey. Wind disturbs the trees, bending their branches, and the rain comes down in sheets. It hasn’t stopped since it picked up last night. The north side of town is under a flood watch, but Westbrooke’s drainage system is modern. It shouldn’t be so bad here.
It’s loud, though. A constant buzz in the background.
When I turn back, Smoke is leaned on Night’s shoulder, with his half-lidded attention on his phone rather than the TV. I catch Night’s gaze, and she smiles softly.
Ten minutes later, Smoke is asleep in feline form—a slender, black cat—with his head resting on his sister’s leg.
Honestly, it’s kind of cute.
NIGHT ASKS ME TO CHECK on Ice while she’s cooking dinner—he ignored a text earlier, I guess—so I do, though I hesitate outside his bedroom door. I listen to the sound of the rain for a moment. Then I let myself in.
The lights are off. He’s passed out on top of the comforter, in human form and wearing only sweatpants. Eyes closed, bare chest slowly rising and falling.
Aaaaa—
Well, he’s asleep. I’m not about to wake him up.
I return to the kitchen alone. Night shrugs and continues cooking, so I join Smoke at the dining table. He doesn’t glance up from his phone—busy playing a mobile game or something.
Not sure what else to do, I check my phone too. FaceSpace is boring. A handful of people who are still in town have posted about the rain. A local news page wrote an article about a neighborhood uptown that experienced flooding along the riverbank. I delete a few spam emails.
Night finishes cooking and sets aside a plastic-wrapped plate in the fridge before joining me and Smoke at the dining table. Dinner is calm. Uneventful.
No one has plans to do anything until after the rain ends.
As we finish eating, I offer to clean up.
Night, who had just stood from the table before I spoke up, agrees. She drops back into her chair and rests her head on crossed arms. Smoke pats her on the shoulder before leaving the room, off to sleep again.
“You’ve been a great help,” she mumbles.
“It’s no trouble, honestly.” I return my attention to the dishes in the sink. There’s not much to do. A few plates and forks. A couple pans to rinse. “I have to ask, though: Does half the town end up like this when it rains?”
She laughs. “No. We just happen to be especially vulnerable—ironic considering we’re water immortals. Most don’t have such a hard time.”
“It’s supposed to get worse tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“Can you feel the storm coming?”
I glance over my shoulder, catching her curious gaze.
Only one blue eye is visible through her fluffy, unstyled hair. And I wonder, is my human life half as mysterious to her as her immortal life is to me?
“No,” I admit. “If it weren’t for the internet, I’d have no idea what the weather was up to. But you can tell?”
“We can sense when the weather’s about to shift. It has something to do with the scent of the air. The humidity. Static electricity, perhaps? To be honest, I’m not sure exactly how it works. Instinct, I suppose.”
“Well, I guess humans lost that ability somewhere along the evolutionary line.”
She laughs again, the sound muffled as she must have buried her face in her arms. I focus on the dishes. On the sponge in my hand. The warmth of the water. The sound of the sink running.
I sigh. “You don’t have to stay up with me.”
She sighs too. “What’s the point in being here if you never see any of us? Ice convinced you to stay, but he’s hopeless in the rain, so keeping you company is the least I can do.”
I start the dishwasher and turn toward the dining table. Night is sat up straight, hugging her arms as she watches the rain through the bay window.
“You’re a good person,” I say.
“You think so?” Her eyes are a little wide, like I surprised her. Then her expression softens. “Well... Thanks, I suppose.”
I manage to talk her into going to bed, assuring her that I’ll be fine on my own. Then I snuggle into the corner of a loveseat in the den. A nature documentary and the pattering of rain outside makes for soothing background noise while I kill time on my phone.
The documentary ends, and I decide to turn in for the night too. But, when I step into the bedroom, Ice is still sprawled out in the middle of the bed in human form.
I call his name, my voice quiet. He doesn’t react, so I carefully change into pajamas before inching closer.
His face is still. Neutral. Wavy, blonde hair falls over his eyes. His chest rises and falls, muscles shifting beneath smooth skin with each deep breath.
Now it just sucks that he’s so attractive.