Seeing Light (The Seraphina Parrish Trilogy) (5 page)

I look into his eyes, so hypnotic and mystical with their green depths, and together we suck in a breath, stealing the only thing holding us apart—air. Leaning forward, we’re immediately on each other, kissing and touching frantically as though this is our last hour. Insanity overtakes me and I luxuriate in his kisses as they cover my neck, my shoulder, and then my heaving chest. Everything that we’ve been fighting about or for, all the hurt, all the emotions pour into this moment. Each kiss energizes me, leaving me breathless with relief to just give in, to relent and love him no matter what.

Together we roll onto my blanket. Bishop braces himself above me with his strong arms. Grasping at the back of his shirt, I pull him to me, and he dives in for a deeper kiss.

His hands slide behind my back and he aggressively lifts me upright so I’m sitting, legs straddled and locked around his waist. His hard abs press against my stomach, and I pull him closer. His hands press firmly into my back as I’m cocooned in his warmth, in his love.

In a movement that makes my heart stop, he slides his hand lower and slips a finger into the top elastic of my panties and lightly strokes, tracing the skin just beneath the fabric along the small of my back. Flames of passion race across the trail, and I remember the last time I felt exactly the same.

Turner’s heartbreakingly beautiful face flashes behind my closed lids, and I instantly freeze. Guilt rushes into me, pouring into every nerve of my body. What am I doing? What am I doing! My hands press against Bishop’s chest, forcing him away, and I fall back onto the bed with a thump, detaching myself from him in every way.

Bishop tenses in that instant and lets out a moan. He sits up and roughly drags a hand across his unshaven face, his fingernails digging into his skin, and I feel a stab of guilt for the pain I’m causing him.

Shivering, I huddle back into my blanket, concealing my half-naked body, desperately wanting to shrink away into nothing for losing myself in Bishop again. After everything that’s transpired over the last few weeks—and in just this past day! It only proves how strong our connection is; so strong that I’m clearly not even in command of my own body anymore. We can’t control our lust even during the most heartbreaking times. My stomach lurches with nausea.

Bishop rakes his fingers through his hair and looks at the floor. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I just—I know you don’t want me anymore, we’re broken up or on a break, or whatever. I’m sorry.” He glances at me. “Everything inside of me needs to love you. It’s not easy.”

“I know.” I’m trembling; I want so desperately to stand my ground. If he only knew how much I want him too. “It’s my fault, we shouldn’t—I can’t,” I stutter. My feelings are still raw with the confusion of loving two boys at once.

“This is hard to say,” he says with a grimace, “but my brother would’ve wanted you to be happy, even if it was with me. And if the roles were switched, I would want the same for you and him. If being apart is what you want, then I’ll try my best to comply.”

Focusing anywhere but at him, I pick at the edge of the blanket as I try to choose my words carefully. Looking away, I murmur, “I’m just confused.” I love Bishop, and even though Turner is dead, I still love him too. Despite this, I don’t want to love either one of them because I have to or because our genetics force us to. I want the freedom to choose real love. “For now, I think it’s best if I focus on the prophecy.” My voice wavers because I know that as the words leave my mouth, they will scar him, but I just can’t live like this. And he shouldn’t want to, either.

“Right,” he says, his tone emotionless. “And you should rest. We have a lot to do in a short amount of time.” It seems so sad that he agrees without a fight as he often does, putting his heart aside to please me.

I nod and watch as he rolls out of bed to stand, noticing from within my own pain that each step he takes from me is slow, reluctant.

We start over, back where we started. Him on the floor, and me in bed with my arms wrapped tightly around my body to secure my own space—far away from Bishop. I roll away from him, angry with myself, angry at everything and everyone. By the time I corral my guilt, the sleep that I’ve delayed hits me. My eyelids sink shut, heavy with schalg, and I pray for a small measure of peace in slumber.

::8::
A Gift

My arm extends and lands in a cloud of fluff. I roll over and snuggle my face into a soft, clean pillow. Somewhere in my mind, I’m happy, peaceful even, in a state of bliss. My muscles relax so deeply that they seem to melt into the bed. I hold on to this paradise for as long as I can before I allow my reality to consume me. But by the time I’ve thought of it, the memories rush back: Nocturna, Perpetua, Terease, being the Watcher, a possible Chosen, the prophecy, the Reapers, Bishop and his family. My eyelids pop open to darkness, and I realize I’m not in the pit of Nocturna anymore. This bed is my own, in my own bedroom, within the apartment at the Washington Square Academy of Wanderers in Chicago that I share with my teammates, Sam and Bishop.

I sit up and yawn, stretching my arms wide. Each muscle trembles with tension. Bishop must have teleported me home with his Wandering compass while I slept. At least we avoided the awkwardness of facing each other after what happened between us last night.

I grab the down comforter, throw it off my body, and roll out of bed to find a small white box with a loopy pink bow sitting on my nightstand. An envelope rests upright against my contrapulator—the machine that students listen to at night to subliminally absorb classes in their sleep. But since I found out it has a dual function, not only to teach but also to steal hopes and dreams, recording them onto a crystal dreamdrive so that the Society can manipulate their owners, I stopped using it. And so have Sam and Bishop.

Hesitantly I pick up the envelope and flip it over, push my finger under the corner, and rip open the flap. There’s a note on parchment inside that reads, “I’m sorry. This is the only possible way I can make things right.” It’s Bishop’s handwriting. My heart hurts that he’s sorry, knowing I’m just as much to blame, or maybe neither of us is to blame.

I place the note on the table and pick up the box. It’s smaller than my hand. With one tug of the satin bow the box unfolds, revealing its contents. Inside is a miniature Animate, a mechanical bronze scorpion, the ancient symbol for a Protector.

A smile takes over my face as I raise the small machine to my eyes, admiring the craftsmanship: all its tiny bits, cranks, pieces, and its sparkling crystal body. It’s an unusual gift, definitely unlike anything Bishop has ever given me.

With my finger, I poke at it. Tiny claws clamp and its intricate, segmented tail curls open and closed. Eight legs work in sync, lightly pricking my skin as the animal circles several times on my palm and then crawls to the tips of my fingers. At my prodding, a pillar of light shoots from the scorpion’s flat crystal face like a flashlight beam, landing across the room.

I follow the light shaft with my eyes, but in that same instant, a click of a switch ignites the blazing bulb of a floor lamp near the far wall. A body sits on a chair beneath, its long, muscular limbs relaxed. A face inches forward into the light, revealing itself. Dark waves curl, framing his beautiful face and accentuating his sculptured features. His sensuous slate-colored eyes lazily scan my half-naked body. He picks up a bra I’d discarded nearby and spins it negligently in the air around his finger as the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement.

Turner.

Immediately I jump to my feet and stare, my heart pounding in my chest. He isn’t real—only a hologram projected from the scorpion Animate. I know this, but still, I haven’t been able to see Turner in hologram form since the real Turner died. The hologram training program hasn’t worked properly since.

Bishop’s gift to me isn’t really the Animate; instead, he’s giving me Turner—a small piece of him—what’s left of him. A knot forms in my throat. I just want to stare, soaking in his presence. If only he were truly real.

“What’s wrong, love?” Hologram Turner drops the lingerie and leans forward with concern. His gaze continues to drift along my bare limbs. Despite a zapping pop of electricity here and there, he’s so real, alive with Turner’s confidence, wit, and dangerous charm. And in this moment of understanding, I lose it, gasping a sob, and fall to my knees, dropping the Animate. The machine takes off skittering across the floor, only to project Hologram Turner at my side.

“Sera, please, tell me what’s wrong.” Hologram Turner pulls me close and brushes my hair from my face. I look up in his eyes and understand immediately. Hologram Turner doesn’t know that his live counterpart is dead. He doesn’t know that he fought Cece to protect me, and they rolled to their deaths into a crack in the earth created by the movement of Gibeon. My brows furrow from a pain that I can hardly bear and I leap into his lap, wrap my arms around his neck, and squeeze so tightly I may never let go. I cry against his chest with uncontrolled intensity, plunging my hands into his dark curls, threading them between my fingers. Lifting my face to his neck, I press closer, deeply inhaling the spicy, masculine scent of him. It’s so real.

He shushes me, rocking me, consoling me.

Oh, how I’ve dreamed of the moment that I might hold
him again. I cry for his death, for the knowledge that this is the closest I will ever be to him again, and I cry for everything that never was and surely never will be between us.

“Just hold me,” I whisper in his ear. His body immediately responds and his strong arms lock tight around my waist, constricting me. I tuck my head into his chest, and he rocks me from side to side while humming a soothing melody.

After some time, I pull myself away only to stare at him again. I want to thank him for what he did, everything he gave up for me—gave up for Bishop. I say it in my mind because I don’t know how to say it out loud. Thank you. The simple words will never be enough.

“Now, tell me what’s going on.” He lifts my chin, leveling his simmering blue eyes with mine. “I know it’s bad because you’re practically naked in my arms and you haven’t batted me away,” he says with a chuckle. “What will Bishop think, hmm?”

Needing a moment, I wipe the tears from my wet face, but the truth is that I don’t know what to say to him. How can I explain? My lips tremble as I stutter, “I-if only I could tell you.”

Hologram Turner pulls me to my feet. We face each other and his gaze lands on my chest. He reaches out and wraps his fingers around the cord and key—the one that Terease gave me in Nocturna before I left. “Does it have anything to do with this?” He tugs the necklace, pulling me forward, testing the personal space between us, just the way he would when he was still alive
.

“It’s just a key to a storage space.” Of course it’s not the whole truth, but I really don’t want to explain that right now. It’s bad enough that I’ll have to tell him that he has died, but I also have to figure out how to break the news about Mona, Charlotte, and his dad, and how they’re serving a death sentence in Nocturna. If only for a moment, I want to enjoy being near him, even if it’s just a mirage.

“The always elusive Seraphina, scheming every chance she gets.” He smirks and grabs my robe from a hook on the wall, handing it to me. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?” He holds up the robe, helping me slide my arms into the silk sleeves.

“Yes, it’s just—” I tie the robe off at my waist and turn to find Hologram Turner is gone.

Before I can react to his disappearance, my bedroom door unexpectedly creaks open and a man I never expected to see here confidently walks into my room. “My personal physician is on the way,” he says.

“Grand Master?” My voice squeaks from the shock that Grand Master Phineas Levi, the leader of the Society, has come to see me. I pull my robe tighter, covering myself, and look around for Hologram Turner, but the scorpion Animate has tucked itself away, hidden beneath a chest of drawers across the room. The machine must have sensed someone else’s presence approaching and turned off the hologram.

“I understand that you’ve been locked in your room for days, fighting the flu.” He boldly walks past, inspecting the room for what, I don’t know.

“Yes.” I nod at the lie. That’s how Bishop explained my three-day absence to Nocturna.

Grand Master Levi drags a gloved fingertip over the windowsill and then pinches his fingers together, rubbing away the dust.

“Why are you here?” I ask. “You could have knocked. I was getting dressed.” I haven’t seen him since that day in Gibeon when we fought Cece, the Underground, and my mom and Turner died.

“When I heard about one of our brightest students missing school for days on end, I had to rush over.” His voice trails off with a dramatic sigh. “Well, that’s not completely true.” He faces me and leans on his cane. Three silver skulls sit atop a slender column of twisted black wood. “It’s only because it was you, Seraphina. And you—well, quite honestly, let’s just say I have a vested interest in you.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” I cock my head.

He clicks his tongue, cutting his eyes at me in a mischievous manner that makes me nervous. “Let’s not play this game, shall we?” He paces, tugging at the wrists of his white gloves. “I believe—hope, really—that you’re special.”

I stand up a little straighter. Warning bells go off inside my brain, telling me to play dumb, to act as though he isn’t alluding to the fact that I’m a Watcher, a possible Chosen. There’s something about this man—his overconfidence, his hard-lined face, his importance—that puts me on edge. Or maybe it’s just the fact that he could exile me to Nocturna quicker than a blink that makes me want to hide the fact that he scares me.

“I’m just like any other student,” I say as I cross my arms. But I’m not, and we both know it. He’s probably also referring to the fact that just a week ago, the now dead leader of the Underground, Cece, was willing to hold off attacks on the Society of Wanderers in exchange for my dreamdrive—the crystal hard drive from the contrapulator that stores all my dreams while I sleep at night, one of two that I have stashed at Mona’s house in my old room.

The Grand Master taps his finger to his chin, sizing me up with his piercing gaze. With strange energy, he approaches, plunges his hand into his jacket pocket, and pulls out a pocket watch. “Wandering is like a fine watch, a luxurious time piece, Miss Parrish. Without all the cranks and gears working together in perfect harmony, time ceases to work. Much like this watch.” He flips open a hidden compartment, revealing the mechanical inner workings, and presents it for me to see.

“The Society and all its dedicated members contribute to time’s functions. We are the gears and cranks, but there’s a reason for each piece, just as there is a reason for you. And my newest, most thrilling agenda is to confirm what I now believe that is.” He steps away and grabs the doorknob. “I can tell you’re as excited as I am.” He smiles, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, they narrow with an emotion that looks to me like cold calculation.

When the Grand Master opens the bedroom door, there’s an older man standing in the living room, holding a doctor’s bag. I’m guessing that he is the Grand Master’s personal physician, but the look of him scares me. He appears overworked, untidy, and angry. All the things a doctor shouldn’t be.

“I want a full physical examination, Dr. Shockey,” Grand Master Levi commands. The doctor flicks a quick glance at me and then returns his attention to his employer, nodding his assent with a pleasure that seems out of place, and a chill rushes over me.

“Splendid,” the Grand Master says with a broad smile. “Let’s find out if our little Sera is”—he looks me up and down—“extraordinary.” Without another word, he shrugs into his long black coat, skull cane in hand, and disappears as quickly as he arrived.