The Roses Academy- the Entire Collection

by Tara Brown

  I’m standing alone in the pillar hallway, the gate.

  The smoke creeps along the ground, whispering things to me. I ignore it and look up—I assume it’s up, where he is. Or she is. Or they are. I swallow hard and muster the bravery I had when I looked into his eyes. “Please, send me back to the same place you sent my Dorian. Let me be reborn so I can find him again. Please.”

  The whispers get louder as if trying to block me out. I close my eyes, squeezing tears from them. “Please,” I repeat. The whispers become muffled words, louder and louder still. It takes me a second to get the courage to speak up again, “Please, I am begging you. I will trade my immortality to find him once more. I would do anything. To love him again.”

  The muffled words become so loud they drown out everything but my heartbeat. I part my lips to speak but warmth chokes me. I open my eyes to darkness, a pool of darkness.

  I can’t get air and I can’t see. Everything is blurry and dark, and I don't need to breathe. I’m okay just holding my breath in.

  In the distance, I see a light. It’s so far off I can’t get a clear visual. After a moment, I recognize it. It’s green and blue and standing alone, floating. It’s the Earth.

  I’ve given up my humanity and become a star.

  God’s betrayed me, left me to watch over the Earth. Only, unlike Dorian, I can’t focus in enough to see him.

  I wonder if this is the price Dorian has paid to get a second chance. He went to Earth and I had to come here. I wish for an instant I hadn’t believed it, but then I realize I had so many years to live, to enjoy. Dorian is getting his first human experience, something everyone should have. And it isn’t as if he did this to me on purpose.

  There’s no way he knew we would have to trade places. Not that it matters; I said I would do anything for him. Anything must mean even being a star. And he was once a star for me. For him I would be anything. Now I am a star who would lose everything to see him again.

  And I have.

  The Earth doesn't get clearer.

  The view doesn't improve.

  I cannot see the other stars. I am alone, drifting. It’s like being left behind on the Earth, living in the snow again. It’s lonely.

  But I have him to imagine, down there on the ground. He’s a cute little boy with an English accent and a curiosity for the stars. He stares up at them at night, not sure why he’s drawn, but he is.

  And though it seems like I am the last star, the last person to ever watch over the Earth, I am never alone. I have given up my immortal life. I have lost my immortal Heaven. But I will always have my immortal beloved. He is in my soul and I am his. And no matter what, I am never going to be alone. I know he is watching me. I know he wishes for me as much as I wish for him.

  Maybe this was how he saw me learning to sew. He didn’t see it as much as he just knew I would. He knew me so well he guessed correctly that I would go to Aleks’ grave. That I would talk to him. That I would learn to sew. That I would travel the world, seeing everything. And because he’d already traveled the world, he knew what I would see.

  And now I am alone, guessing how he is spending his time.

  I see why the Greeks believed banishing someone to the stars was a type of punishment.

  I just wish I knew what I did to deserve this.

  Even the whispers and muffled voices leave me. Everyone leaves me. Everyone but Dorian and the sun and the moon.

  Chapter 21

  Losing me

  It’s closer.

  The Earth is closer, or I’m closer. Or maybe my eyesight is getting better.

  I see the cities and the lakes. I pick out places I've been and some places I didn't realize I missed. Or maybe I’d just forgotten.

  The Earth is so much larger now, but the other stars are still hidden from me.

  Or I am truly the last one.

  The lights of Earth don't shine the way I thought they would. It’s not the way I imagined it, like from a satellite. I don't even see satellites, although I know I should.

  I sit alone, marveling at how small the cities are and how little we have actually built on this planet.

  We.

  Humans.

  Dorian. I say his name in my mind. I can’t speak here. I’m light, no mouth.

  A million images play in my mind as I contemplate him down there, looking up at me.

  Every time I get closer, I get excited. I’m going to see him again.

  He’s everything.

  He’s all I recall from before this, before I was a star.

  I remember being a girl. I remember the way he touched me and the way our mouths met. I remember the sensation of his strong arms and the excitement he made in my stomach. I liked his hand. They were nice hands. I feel the way my fingers slipped into them, the way they gripped me.

  I felt safe then.

  I feel safe now, but not the same. I’m safe here, alone in the universe. But not held. Not squeezed. There’s no one touching me. No one for me to touch. But I remember touch. I remember the sensation of hugging someone and unloading everything in the embrace.

  The sun and moon have become my companions. We watch over the Earth together.

  Dorian.

  We watch over Dorian together.

  Is he looking up as I’m looking down?

  I believe he is.

  I know he is.

  Me and the sun and moon, and maybe the stars I can’t see, watch over them all. The Earth moves, spinning so slowly it takes forever to do a full circle.

  I lose myself in the landscape and the lack of noise.

  I forget, but I don't remember what I’m forgetting.

  I don't remember what remembering is.

  There is me, the sun, the moon, and Dorian. But I don't remember what Dorian is. It’s a name. Another star maybe.

  Dorian.

  Chapter 22

  The last star

  The lights are brighter.

  My light is brighter.

  I shine, hoping they see it, the ones below.

  Me and the sun and the moon shine for them.

  We give them light, I think we give them hope. I see it sometimes when they stare up.

  Their faces change, losing whatever is troubling them. Some of them glance up more than others.

  “Daughter.” A sound whispers in the silence. “Daughter.”

  I scan the Earth below and check the sun and moon, but no one is here.

  “It’s time,” the sound whispers a little louder.

  I don't know whom the whisper is speaking to. I don’t know what the whisper is speaking of.

  “It’s time.” As the last sentence is whispered, the world goes dark and then bright. The light becomes so intense and hot that I lose all sight. Air rushes past me, air filled with screams. Maybe they’re mine. I haven’t heard myself scream before, just people below.

  “You’re the last star, the last one,” the whisper speaks again. It’s in the air rushing past me.

  It’s the last thing I hear before the bright light and whooshing sound drown out everything else.

  It goes dark and I go dark too.

  Epilogue

  Evan Baker

  “Where ya going to, Evan?” Molly comes rushing upon me from the porch, hugging tightly to my waist. “Did ya tell Ma you were heading off? It’s a school night.” She goes limp and drags like a weight, purposely forcing me to carry her.

  “Did you see the light hit that tree?” I point at the far side of the field where something bright is burning. “I think someone threw a firework at it.”

  “Ma said not to wander. Too dark. Not sure why she’s so afraid of the dark.” Her obsidian eyes that match mine perfectly, fill with cheekiness.

  “Tell her I went to check the herd. Something’s burning over yonder. You get back in the house, missy!” I shove my little sister toward the yard as I grab a shovel from where it’s leaning on the fence and carry it with me. It’s no gun, but it’ll knock the sense out of anyone bur
ning the far field.

  “Evan!” Molly calls me back, but I ignore her, engrossed in the small fire. Eventually, I can’t hear her calling me. The field is silent as I cross, using the shovel as a walking stick. Not a cricket or an owl to be heard from. The light of the fire dims as the tree falls over.

  When I get closer, the crackle of the wood masks any other sounds. It might be what’s keeping the forest creatures hushed too.

  I grip the shovel, all of a sudden certain the bandits of my childhood are lurking in the forest and this is a trap. A single tree burned to the roots at the far side of the field is a bit odd.

  I slow my pace, confused about what knocked the tree over. Something must have hit it with force and ripped it out of the ground. I don't know any fireworks that can do that.

  As odd as the ripped-out and burning tree is, the sight next to it is incomprehensible.

  A pale stag, stark white as snow and as large as a bull moose, lies next to the hole where the tree’s root ball ripped from. He groans and moans, writhing in pain. The tree landed on him. His horns are bigger than any I've ever seen, but I drop the shovel and hurry down into the hole. In the moonlight I wince, seeing the branch stabbing into his chest. It’s obviously missed his heart, but by the sound of him, it’s hit a lung.

  I lower to my knees, place a hand on his head, running my palm up between his eyes, and try to soothe him. It doesn't work. His eyes dart about as he struggles to get up, and they fill with panic as I reach into my pocket. I can’t believe I have to do this, but it’s cruel to let him suffer. I flip open the knife, forcing myself to look into his pleading eyes as I stab right at the spot, the one we use on the sheep.

  He tenses and so do I. We freeze, both victims of this moment. I pull the blade out as his blood pours onto my hands, staining my pants and boots with dark liquid. I've never seen an animal with such dark blood. Even the moonlight can’t make a hint of red in it.

  I stroke his head once more, noting the softness of his fur.

  He’s beautiful.

  He was beautiful.

  I close the knife as a crackle lifts my gaze. “Who’s there?” I call out, scared of the answer.

  No one answers, which is almost worse. I stand on shaking legs and scan the forest. I wish I had my phone, or at least a flashlight.

  The moon ducks behind a cloud, darkening the field so only the small amount of glowing red embers of the tree remain bright.

  I can’t see anything.

  “Is someone there?” I fear I know the answer to this question. “I have a knife.” I regret saying it. If it’s someone who didn't want to kill me, they do now. I climb out of the hole backwards, keeping my eyes on where the noise came from. I grab the shovel, safer with it. “This is private property. Leave and I won’t call the authorities.”

  Not that the police won’t find out. My dad gets off shift in an hour, and he won’t be pleased when he sees this. Being the local inspector he’s going to make a big deal about it.

  Just as I’m about to turn around and go home, the moon comes back from behind the clouds and shines a light on the tree. Something pale is visible from behind a bush. I sigh, thinking it must be the doe to the stag that's dead. But the light of the moon grows brighter, as if putting a spotlight on the bush.

  “Oh shit.” I drop the shovel and run.

  The pale creature isn’t a doe. It’s a girl. She’s stark white in the moonlight with grayish-white hair. She’s completely naked, unharmed by the look of her, and stunning.

  I pull my sweater off, covering her with it. “Pardon me.” I offer a slight nudge, hoping to wake her. “Uh, excuse me.”

  She doesn't stir. I don't know what to do, but I can’t leave her here. I wish again for my cell phone as I lift her off the ground, awkwardly trying to keep her covered.

  She stirs and moans, leaning into me. “Dorian,” she whispers.

  “That sounds about right.” I roll my eyes. He’s probably some handsome rich guy who doesn't deserve this girl. Halfway across the field my mom comes running over with a flashlight, shouting the way mothers do.

  “Evan, what the bloody hell is that?”

  “A girl, Ma. She was down by the tree. There’s a stag too.” I sound barking mad.

  “A stag and a naked girl?” She pauses, tilting her head.

  “Not like that. Something hit the tree and knocked it on the stag. The girl was behind a bush. I’m not certain how it’s related, but I don't think—” I wince and look at the girl. “Jesus, I hope it’s not related. Girls and stags are too much for me.”

  “And me.” She sighs and shines the light on the girl. She has a red welt on her head. “Looks like someone’s given her a good smack. We better get her inside and call your father.” She gives me a look.

  “You think someone was—with her—” I turn back to where the tree fell. “And then something hit the tree and it fell on the stag, all randomly? Like three bits of bad luck in one spot?”

  “You get her to the guest room and I’ll ring your father.” She sounds perturbed, like this is a giant inconvenience, the way mothers do.

  I hug the girl tighter to me as Molly comes barreling down the field. “What ya got, Evan?”

  “Mind yourself and get inside!” Ma shouts, turning Molly around. “You keep this to yourself. We don't need the whole village discussing this poor girl’s misfortune.” She steers Molly into the kitchen when we get to the house. I climb the stairs and take a sharp right in the hall and head for the guest bed. I lay the girl down and cover her with a blanket. Her forehead is swelling like someone smacked her hard. It’s discolored with redness and a hint of bruising. I sit in the chair next to the bed and stare.

  I know it’s rude but I can’t stop myself.

  She’s the most perfect girl I’ve ever met.

  She’s flawless, apart from the bruise. And even it is paled in comparison to her beauty.

  Uncomfortable with the feelings I have for an unconscious girl, I stand and turn my back, hating that my eyes aren’t on her.

  “Dorian.” She stirs, saying that name again. She reaches.

  I jump to her side, offering my hand. “It’s okay. Are you all right?” I stoke her cornsilk hair from her face, noting the feelings I have when I touch her.

  Her long dark lashes flutter for a moment before she gets her eyes open. I gaze into them, lost. Lights flash like stars and galaxies live in her stare, lasting for a second and then they’re gone, revealing gray eyes. They’re cold and warm at the same time.

  “Where am I?” She scowls, trying to turn her head but becoming visibly uncomfortable with moving. She sounds like an American.

  “You’re near Leeds. You’ve hit your head quite badly. We found you in our field.”

  “Dorian.” She reaches for my face, brushing her hand against my cheek.

  “Sorry. Evan. Evan Baker. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” I sound like a knob. “What’s your name?”

  “Star.” She frowns when she says it.

  A naked American girl named Star. The village is never going to let this one go. Maybe she was with the bloody stag . . .

  “I think my name is Star.” She doesn't seem certain. She looks like a Jessica or a Meghan. She has that blonde ponytail and fresh-air quality to her. Wholesome and good. And yet named Star and naked with a dying stag. “Your name’s Evan?” She sounds unsure about my name too. So much so that I become unsure.

  “It is.” God, I wish it were Dorian. I wish she were my girl.

  “You look like someone I knew once.” She doesn't sound convinced of anything that leaves her perfect lips.

  “I hope it's someone you liked.” I smile, trying to charm her.

  “I don't know.” She shakes her head and lies back, closing her eyes. I miss them already.

  “Can I get you something? A doctor, some water, a painkiller perhaps for the headache?”

  “No.” She snuggles into the blankets. I don't know who she is, or where she came from, but I hav
e a terribly wonderful hunch that my life will never be the same.

  “I’ll let you get some rest then.” I stand but she grabs my hand without looking. “No. Stay. Please.” She squeezes and I wonder if she feels the same way I do. Every time we touch it’s too much.

  “Okay.” I stay, sitting awkwardly with my hands wrapped around hers.

  “Is she all right then?” Ma comes in, holding the phone to her ear. “Was she talking?”

  “Yeah, she’s okay I think. She doesn't recall anything useful.”

  “Poor thing. She’s likely got a bit of memory loss from the head wound. We’ll take her in. The doctor will need to see her.”

  “Okay.”

  “You should leave the room, Evan. She’s got no clothes on, for God’s sake.”

  “She’s asked me to stay.” I cock an eyebrow, hoping she doesn't embarrass me.

  “Fine.” She rolls her eyes and heads back to the kitchen.

  We hold hands, her sleeping and me daydreaming about all the lights in her eyes.

  The longer I stare, the more certain I am that I know this girl. I don't recall her from a moment in my life, but I’m convinced it’s from some other time. A dream I had. A life I lived already. A different dimension. A movie I saw. The last one is the most likely.

  “Can you tell me a story? I think I had a bad dream,” she mutters softly.

  “What kind of story would you like to hear?” I don't know many.

  “A fairy tale.” She smiles, opening her eyes. The lights shine in them again for an instant.

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t know. Make one up. A fairy tale about magic and good versus evil—oh and love. There’s always love in fairy tales. A princess and a prince get married usually. Tell me one like that.” She laughs as she says it like a lightbulb has come on for her. She isn’t a little kid but the request is odd.