Twilight tm-6

by Meg Cabot

  I knew now I could no more stand by and let Jesse be killed than I could have . . . well, shoved my little stepbrother David out in front of a speeding car or fed my mother poison mushroom caps. I couldn't let Jesse die, even if meant never seeing him again. I loved him too much.

  It was as simple as that.

  Oh, I knew I was going to hate myself later. I knew I was going to wake up and, if I even remembered what I'd done, hate myself for the rest of my natural life.

  But what else could I do? I couldn't stand idly by while someone I loved was walking into mortal danger. Father Dominic, my dad, all of them - even Paul - were right. I had to save Jesse, if I could.

  It was the right thing to do.

  But not, of course, the easy thing The easy thing would have been to point a finger in his face as he stared down at me, completely disbelieving, and gone, "Ha! Fooled ya! Just kidding."

  Instead, I said, "Jesse. Did you hear me? I said I'm here from the future to save you from being - "

  "I heard what you said." Jesse smiled at me gently. "Do you know what I think would be best? If you would let me get Mrs. O'Neil. She'll take good care of you while I go to town to get the doctor. Because I think the man who did this to you - tied you like this - might also have hit you on the head - "

  "Jesse," I said flatly. I couldn't believe this. Here I was, making this tremendous sacrifice, saving the love of my life and knowing that I would never be with him again, and he was accusing me of being bonkers. "Paul didn't hit me in the head. All right? I'm fine. A little thirsty still, but otherwise fine. I just need you to listen to me. Tonight Felix Diego is going to sneak into your room here at the boardinghouse and strangle you to death. Then he's going to throw your body into a shallow grave, and no one is going to find it until a century and a half later, when my stepdad installs a hot tub on our deck."

  Jesse just looked down at me. I couldn't be sure, but I think I saw pity in his gaze.

  "Jesse, I'm serious," I said. "You've got to go home. Okay? Just get back on your horse and turn around and go home, and don't even think about marrying Maria de Silva."

  "Maria did send you," Jesse said, finally. His face darkened with a sudden anger. "This is her way of trying to save face, is it? Well, you can go back to your mistress and tell her it won't work. I won't have her family thinking I wasn't gentleman enough to break it off in person - no matter who she sends with strange tales to frighten me off. I'm going to see her tomorrow whether she likes it or not."

  I blinked up at him, completely dumbfounded. What was he talking about?

  Then, too late, I remembered the secret Jesse had once confided in me, the secret only I knew . . . that he had been on his way to the de Silva ranch all those years ago not to marry Maria, but to break things off with her . . .

  . . . Which explained why all of her letters to him had been discovered alongside his remains last summer, when my stepbrother accidentally dug them up. Nineteenth-century manners demanded that couples breaking off their engagements returned the letters each had written the other. Diego had murdered Jesse before such an exchange could take place in order to prevent Maria's father from asking any uncomfortable questions concerning the breakup - like what Jesse had heard about his fiancée that had made him want to end their engagement.

  "Wait," I said. "Hold on. Jesse, Maria didn't send me. I don't even know Maria. Well, I mean, we've met, but - "

  "You have to know her." Jesse looked down at the framed portrait in his hand. "She gave this to you. She must have. How else could you have gotten it?"

  "Um," I said, with a shrug. "Actually, I stole it." Then I saw his face change, and knew I'd made a mistake.

  "Oh, no," I said, holding up both hands, palms toward him. "Down, boy. I didn't steal it from your precious Maria, believe me. I stole it from the Carmel Historical Society, okay? A museum, where it had been sitting for God knows how long. In fact, I bet if you check with good old Maria, she still has hers. Her portrait of you, I mean."

  "There were no duplicates made," Jesse said, in a hard voice.

  "I know that." God, this was hard. "But look at the one you're holding, Jesse. Look how old it looks, how cracked the paint is, how tarnished that frame's gotten. That's because it's nearly two hundred years old. I stole it in the future, Jesse. I used it to help me get back here, to the past, so I could warn you . . ." This wasn't strictly true, of course, but close enough. "You've got to believe me, Jesse. Paul - the guy who tied me up - will back me up on this. He's out looking for Felix Diego right now to try to stop him before he can get to you - "

  Jesse shook his head.

  "I don't know who you are," he said in a low, even tone unlike any he'd ever used with me before. "But I'm returning this - " He dangled his portrait in my face. " - to its rightful owner. Whatever game you're playing, it ends now. Do you understand?

  Game? I couldn't believe this. Here I was, risking my neck for him, and he was mad at me for stealing a stupid portrait of him? "There's no game, Jesse, okay? If this were just a game - if Maria really did send me - how would I know the stuff I know? How would I know that Maria and Diego are secretly in love? How would I know that your girlfriend - who is quite the skank, by the way - doesn't want to marry you at all? And that her dad doesn't approve of Diego and thinks if she marries you she'll forget about him eventually? How do I know that the two of them have cooked up a scheme to kill you tonight and hide your body so it looks as though you skipped out on the engagement - "

  "Nombre de dios." Jesse was on his feet and swearing. I couldn't help noticing how the loft shook a little under his footsteps. This was not something that would have happened with Ghost Jesse, and was just more proof of how very far I'd come from the world I knew.

  But that wasn't the only thing that wouldn't have happened with Ghost Jesse. I realized this a second later when Alive Jesse bent down and siezed me by my arms, and gave me a frustrated shake.

  "You know all this because Maria told you!" he said, from between gritted teeth. "Admit it! She told you!" As quickly as he'd snatched me up, he let go and turned away. Uttering a groan of pent-up annoyance, Jesse dragged a hand through his hair.

  My arms, where he'd touched me, tingled.

  "Look, I'm sorry," I said, meaning it. I knew how he felt, after all. His wasn't the only heart in that barn that was breaking. "I mean, about your girlfriend wanting to kill you and all. Even if you were going to, you know, break up and all. But if it's any consolation, I do think you're a lot better off without her. I mean, the only times I ever met her, she was trying to kill me, too, but still. Better you find out she's a skank now, you know, and break it off cleanly, than find out after you're married. Because I don't even know if they let people get divorced in, you know, your time."

  "Stop saying that!" Both of Jesse's hands went to grasp his hair now.

  "What? Skank?" Maybe I was being a little harsh. "Well, okay. But the girl seems like major bad news."

  "No." Jesse turned around to stare down at me, and I was surprised at the intensity with which his gaze burned into mine. "Your time. The future. You . . . you . . . I'm sorry, Miss Susannah. But I'm afraid I'm going to have to get the sheriff after all. Because you are very clearly not right in the head."

  "Miss Susannah!" To my utter horror, tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. But I couldn't help it. It was just so . . . so . . .

  Unfair.

  "So it's Miss Susannah, is it?" I asked him, ignoring my tears. "Oh, that's just great. I come all the way back here, risking major brain cell burnout, and you don't even believe me? I'm basically guaranteeing myself a lifetime of heartbreak, and all you have to say is that you think I'm not right in the head? Thanks a lot, Jesse. No, really. That's just fine."

  I broke off with a sob. Suddenly, it was all too much. I couldn't even look at him, because every time I did, he dazzled my eyes, like he was the most glorious Christmas tree that had ever existed. I buried my face in my hands and wept.

  Maybe I had done e
nough, I told myself. Maybe tipping him off about Maria and Diego's plan would make him turn around tonight and go home. Even though the tip had come from what he obviously considered an unreliable source. I couldn't do anything more, could I? I mean, how else could I get him to believe me?

  Then I remembered.

  I dropped my hands from my face and looked up at him, not caring if he saw my tears.

  "Doctor," I said.

  "Yes." Jesse had fished a handkerchief from somewhere and handed it to me, his anger apparently dissipated. "Let me get one for you. I really feel that, despite what you say, Miss Susannah, you are unwell - "

  "No." I pushed the handkerchief away impatiently. "Not for me. You."

  A small smile appeared at the corners of his lips. "I need a doctor? I assure you, Miss Susannah, I have never felt fitter in my life."

  "No." I stumbled to my feet. It was the first time I'd tried to stand since he'd untied me, and I wasn't exactly steady.

  Still, I managed to get up without his help. Now I stood in front of him, breathing hard - but from emotion not exertion.

  "A doctor," I said, looking up into his confident, concerned face. He was a good six inches taller than me, but I didn't care. I kept my chin up.

  "You secretly want to be a doctor," I said. "You haven't asked him, but you know your father won't let you. He needs you to run the ranch, because you're the only boy. They couldn't spare you long enough for you to get through medical school, anyway."

  Something happened to Jesse's face then. The glint of suspicion that I'd seen in his eye since I'd shown him the miniature portrait dropped away, and in its place came something else. . . .

  Something like wonder.

  "How . . . ?" Jesse stared down at me in utter incredulity. "How could you possibly have . . . ? I have never told anyone that."

  I reached out and took one of his hands . . .

  . . . and was shocked by how warm it felt in mine. All those times Jesse had held me . . . all those times he'd stroked my hair and I'd marveled at his heat . . . I knew now it hadn't been real, that heat. It had all been in my head. This, this heat was real. This hand was real. The hard calluses I knew so well . . . they were real. Really Jesse.

  "You told me," I said to him. "You told me in the future."

  Jesse shook his head, but not hard. Just a little.

  "That . . . that's not possible," he said.

  "Yes," I said. "Yes, it is. You see, what happens tonight is that Diego kills you. But only your body dies, Jesse. Your soul doesn't go anywhere, because . . . well, because I think it wasn't supposed to happen like that." I gazed up at him tenderly, still holding his hand. "I think you were supposed to live. But you didn't. So your soul hung around until I came along, about a hundred and fifty years later. I'm someone who helps . . . well, people who've died. You told me you wanted to be a doctor, Jesse. You told me in the future. Do you believe me now? Will you please go away from here and never come back?"

  Jesse looked down at our entwined fingers, mine so pale against his sun-darkened skin, so soft against his calluses. He didn't say anything. What could he have said, really?

  But because he was Jesse, he thought of something to say . . . the exact right thing to say.

  "If you know something like that about me," he said softly, "about my wanting to be a doctor - something I have never told Maria - or any living person - then I must . . . I suppose I must . . . believe you."

  "So," I said. "Now you know. You've got to get out of here, Jesse. Just get on your horse and ride."

  "I will," he said.

  We were standing so close, all he'd have had to do was reach out, and he could have cupped my face in his hand.

  He didn't, of course.

  But I could feel the warmth radiating from him, not just from the hand I held, but along the course of his entire body. He was so vibrant, so alive, that he made me feel aware of every hair on my head, every corpuscle in my skin. I loved him so much . . .

  . . . and he'd never, ever know it.

  But that was all right. Because at least he'd be able to go on living.

  "But not," Jesse said, suddenly dropping my hand and turning away, "tonight."

  I stood there, feeling as if I'd been kicked. Cool air rushed into all the places that, moments before, had been warmed by his body heat.

  "W-what?" I stammered stupidly. "Not what?"

  "Not tonight," Jesse said with a nod toward the barn doors, through which, I could see, the lengthening shadows were gone. The sun had set. There were no shadows anymore. "Tomorrow I will ride to the de Silvas' ranch to speak with Maria and her father. But not tonight. It's growing late. Too late to travel. I'll stay here tonight, and leave in the morning."

  "But you can't!" The words were wrenched from the depths of my soul. "You've got to leave now, Jesse, tonight! You don't understand, it's too dangerous - "

  An all-too-familiar smile crept across those lips I knew so well. "I can take care of myself, Miss Susannah," he said. "I am not afraid of Felix Diego."

  I couldn't believe what was happening right before my eyes.

  "Well, you should be!" I practically screamed. "Considering that he kills you!"

  "Ah," Jesse said. "But if I understand you correctly, that was before you came to warn me . . . for which I thank you."

  I couldn't believe how badly this was going.

  "Jesse," I said, making one last desperate attempt to reason with him. "You can't spend the night in that house. Do you understand? It's way, way too dangerous."

  But Jesse surprised me. Well, why not? He always had.

  "I understand," he said.

  "You do?" I stared at him. "Really? Then you'll go?"

  "No," he said, "I won't go."

  "But - "

  "I will stay here," he said, nodding to indicate the loft. "With you. Until morning."

  I gaped at him.

  "Here?" I echoed. "Here . . . in the barn?"

  "With you," Jesse said.

  "With me?"

  "Yes," he said.

  It took me until that moment to realize what he was doing. Here I was, traveling back 150 years to protect him - well, now that's what I was doing, anyway - and he was trying to protect me.

  That was just so pure Jesse that I almost started to cry. Really.

  But only almost.

  Because his next question distracted me. "I have to ask, though. . . . Why?" His dark-eyed gaze raked my face.

  "Why what?" I murmured, hypnotized as ever, by his gaze on mine.

  "Why did you do this - come all this way - to warn me about Diego?"

  Because I love you.

  Four simple words. Four simple words that there was no way I could say. Not to this Jesse, who was virtually a stranger to me. He already thought I was nuts. I didn't want to make things even worse.

  "Because it isn't right, what happened to you. That's all." That's what I started to say, anyway, when a man's voice called, "Senor de Silva?"

  And let's just say that it wasn't Mr. O'Neil.

  Chapter seventeen

  I felt the blood in my veins run cold.

  I knew that voice. Knew it only too well. The man who owned it had tried to kill me once.

  "It's him," I whispered. Unnecessarily, of course, since Jesse obviously knew perfectly well who it was.

  Jesse stood up and moved from the shadows that had cloaked his face. He wore an expression, I was relieved to see, of intense distrust. He was starting to believe me now.

  "Who's there?" he called, lifting the lantern and turning a knob that brought what had been a tiny flame to a more powerful one.

  The man below said something in Spanish that I didn't understand. Except tor the last two words. And they were easy enough for even me to decipher.

  Felix Diego.

  This is it, I thought. There was no going back now.

  Jesse said something in Spanish to Diego, who replied in tones that, though I could not understand the words he spoke, sounded to
o silky-smooth to be trustworthy. He appeared to be inviting Jesse to do something.

  And Jesse, for his part, was clearly declining.

  "Well?" I whispered anxiously when the conversation ended and I heard Diego finally leave.

  Jesse held up a hand, though, clearly not as convinced as I was that the man was well and truly gone.

  Then, as the evening turned irrevocably to night and I could no longer see beyond the golden rays shooting out from the lamp Jesse held, he said, "It was Felix Diego. He said his master - Maria's father - had sent him to see that I had everything I needed to be comfortable and to escort me on the remainder of my journey tomorrow."

  "Has Maria's father ever done that when you've come to visit before?" I asked.

  "No" was Jesse's terse reply to that question.

  "What did you tell him?"

  "I told him that I was fine," Jesse said. He was answering my questions, but it was clear from the expression on his face that his mind was a thousand miles away. He was putting the extraordinary tales I'd been telling him together with what had just happened, and not liking what he was coming up with.

  "I told him I'd be here all night," he went on. "Because my horse was sick. He said my horse looked fine to him and suggested I join him outside for a bottle - "

  I sucked in my breath. "You didn't say yes, did you?"

  "Of course not." For the first time, Jesse seemed really to see me as he looked at me. "I think you're right. I think he does mean to kill me."

  I didn't reply with a hearty Told you so, because what would have been the point? Besides, Jesse looked upset enough. Not upset really - stunned. And something else, too. Something I couldn't put my finger on. . . .

  At least, not until a second later, when I heard footsteps scrape for a second time on the ladder to the loft. Thinking it was Diego returning, I started toward the ladder, ready to fling the guy's soul back to kingdom come. . . .

  But Jesse stepped in front of me, throwing out an arm to stop me from coming any closer.

  And I realized what that "something" was that I'd seen in his eye.

  But it turned out the person climbing toward us wasn't Felix Diego after all.

  "Oh, great," Paul said, when he finally pulled himself up to the top of the ladder and saw us. "Oh, this is just great. What's he doing here?" Paul was glaring at Jesse, who glared right back.