Sing Sweet Nightingale (36 page)

“Horace convinced your parents to let us skip school today.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. What?

Hudson smiles. “There’s nothing else we can do to prepare. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen at this point.”

Yeah, I guess, but what does that have to do with skipping school?

“I thought it might be a good idea to pretend you’re actually happy it’s your birthday. We should spend the day forgetting what’s coming.”

He watches me and his expression is light, almost carefree, but his hands are gripping the steering wheel too tight and the tension in his shoulders is too much. He wants me to think this doesn’t matter, but it does. He’s planned it all out, and if I don’t want to play along, it will matter a lot to him.

“What d’ya say? You in?”

My heart starts pounding, and part of me wants to say no. Falling in love has only hurt me so far. Letting myself get closer to Hudson can’t be a good idea. Not with what we’re about to face. But then I remember everything he’s done to help me without asking for anything in return and the stories about his life Horace has told me those few times we’ve spent any time alone, and I can’t make myself say no to his plans. Bad idea or not, he deserves this as much as I do. More, probably. I smile and sign, “Okay.”

He tries to hide his grin, biting the inside of his lip to keep it at bay, but he can’t hide the way his eyes light up. Without a word, he shifts the car into drive and pulls away from the curb.

I want to ask where we’re going, but he’s driving. He won’t see it if I sign. And does it really matter? I’m not at school. For now, that’s enough.

Thirty-Three

Hudson

Friday, September 12 – 7:36 AM

Mariella doesn’t ask any questions, just curls up in the seat and stares out the window—or pretends not to stare at me. The first time she questions anything is when we pass the huge sign warning us that we’re approaching the Canadian border.

“Are we running away?” she signs when I glance at her. “I don’t have my passport.”

I laugh. It occurs to her that I’m trying to run off with her, and she starts worrying she won’t be able to come with me? That’s awesome. And a huge relief.

“Don’t worry. I planned ahead.” I reach into the door pocket and pull out both of our passports. “But we’re not running away. I don’t think borders matter much in the dreamworld.”

Mariella shrugs but looks confused, cute little wrinkles covering the bridge of her nose and hovering around her eyes. We get through the border crossing without a problem, but Mari pays more attention after that. Watching the signs, she guesses our destination pretty quick.

“Why are we going to Ottawa?”

“Because it’s the closest city less than two hours away.” It’s a lot easier to plan a full day of activities in a city with actual tourist draw.

Before long, we pull into the underground parking lot near the National Gallery. It’s Canada’s largest art museum, and it’s a work of art in itself. Cream stone pillars separate walls of glass along the front of the building, and a multifaceted glass structure rises from the center. It takes up at least a square city block; we should be able to spend most of the day wandering around inside without seeing the same thing twice.

Though the cashier gives me a funny look for wearing sunglasses indoors, everything is fine until we get to the end of the admissions process.

“And if you step over to the cloakroom, they can check your bags for you.”

My heart stops, and Mari tenses beside me. “Um, we’d rather keep them with us.”

Translation: You’re not touching the damn bags. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mari tighten her grip on the straps of her bag.

The cashier shakes her head and points to the small print on a sign posted off to the side: “Backpacks must be checked.”

Goddamn stupid bureaucratic bullshit!

Gritting my teeth so hard they creak, I slide the tickets back along the counter. “Never mind, then.”

There goes my plan for the day.

I get my money back, and Mariella and I head outside. My hands clench and release, and I want to take one of the stones out of my backpack and throw it through one of their oversized windows. As soon as we’re away from the building, I exhale and look down at Mari.

“Sorry.” I rub the back of my neck. “Next time I’ll read the fine print.”

“It’s okay,” Mari signs, stepping closer. “It was cold in there anyway.”

“Yeah?” My lip twitches, but it can’t break into a full smile. All that work to plan out a day of events to keep her mind off tonight, and I strike out on step one. How messed up is that?

“Well, umm, we’ll find something else to do.” I pull out my phone and open up the browser, but then Mariella’s smile stretches into a grin. Her hands come up and she signs, “How crazy would they think we are if we tried to argue two bags full of rocks past security?”

This time, it’s only a second before I smile back. “Pretty damn insane.”

Mari starts giggling, and it bubbles out of her soundlessly. Within seconds, she’s laughing so hard her face is red, and I’m laughing nearly as hard. It’s not that funny, but finding anything at all to laugh about, today of all days, makes the release of hysterics that much better.

When we can see where we’re going again, we walk across the street and down a trail to a small grassy space overlooking the locks that separate the Rideau Canal from the Ottawa River. Grinning, we walk along the edge of the water, watching the boats pass below us. Just after the canal widens, Mari puts her hand on my arm.

My skin instantly heats up. She still avoids physical contact with everyone except her mom and K.T., so when she touches me—when
she
reaches out and touches me instead of the other way around—it’s like an electric shock. The good kind. The kind that leaves you energized and buzzing with warmth and heat and happy thoughts. It’s so strong this time that I have to blink to clear my vision and make sure I’m actually paying attention.

“What’s up, Mari?”

“Can we do that?” she signs, pointing down to the river.

I follow her finger. “What? Go out on a boat?”

“A canoe,” she fingerspells. “It’s a nice day.”

When I look again, I notice the smaller boats moving along the edges of the canal. I smile. “You’re the birthday girl. If you want a canoe, we’ll get a canoe.”

I offer my hand, holding my breath until she takes it. She smiles at me—a light, free smile—and my heart beats harder. Whatever happens when the time runs out and the clock strikes twelve, at least I gave her today. At least she had this moment where the sun was shining, her eighteenth birthday was hers to do with as she wanted, and she could pretend her whole life was laid out before her.

And at least I got to spend it with her.

We spend
hours
in that damn canoe. Nearly capsize it once when Mari stands up too fast to try to pet a duck that’s paddling past the boat. Water splashed over the side, drenching our pants. Luckily, that happened
after
we had lunch in the five-star waterfront restaurant Mari picked. I don’t think they would have let us in smelling like canal water.

Later, we walk through the little shops near the edge of the water, and I buy anything Mari looks at for more than a minute. By the end of the day, all the extra pockets of our backpacks are stuffed with souvenirs, and Mariella can’t stop smiling.

After we change clothes, I guide us downtown. We’re walking close together but not touching. At least, not until Mari gently links her arm through mine and rests her head against me.

I don’t know if my heart is pounding or if it’s stopped altogether. I don’t know if I’m breathing or holding my breath. Are there people surrounding us on the streets or have they all vanished? I don’t know. I don’t care.

All of my awareness has shrunk down to the points of contact between Mariella and me—her hand pressing against my forearm through the fabric of my shirt, her shoulder bumping into my elbow, her forehead resting against my tricep. I want to slide my arm around her shoulders and pull her closer, but I’m afraid to move, afraid to ask for too much and ruin the moment or scare her off. I hold my breath and keep walking as if I have all the time in the world, as if we aren’t ignoring a deadline that’s looming closer every second.

When we reach the restaurant—our second five-star stop of the day—her parents, Horace, and K.T. are there with a pile of presents and huge grins. As soon as she sees them, Mari straightens, pulling away from me. I have to remind myself not to be stupider than I need to be to keep myself from pulling her back.

“Happy birthday, Mariella!” everyone shouts, grabbing the attention of everyone at the nearby tables. Strangers grin and call out birthday greetings, adding their wishes to her family’s.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of food and jokes and music. We have an early dinner and then head to a concert at a small venue featuring one of Mariella’s new favorite artists. I already know all the songs because Mari’s had them playing in the background on near-repeat all week.

Even halfway through the day, I wasn’t convinced this birthday trip was a good idea. Was she playing along or actually enjoying herself? Did this feel like a celebration or a last supper on death row? Then, during the concert, Mari looks at me, her eyes lighter than I’ve ever seen them and her smile even brighter than it was this morning, and signs, “Thank you.”

It should prove she’s enjoying this, that today took her mind off what’s coming a few hours from now. It should make me feel better.

It doesn’t.

All it does is introduce me to a glimpse of the girl Mariella should be, show me what it might be like if she survives this night and walks away in one piece.

If
she survives.

Watching her sway to the music, mouthing the words even if she can’t sing along, I know she’ll survive. Even if I have to trade my life to make sure it happens, Orane is not taking her out of the world. Even if I’m not here to see her transform into what I know she will be, that bastard is not allowed to have her.

I won’t let it happen.

Because as stupid and impossible and ridiculous as it is, I love her, and I’m not letting someone else I love disappear if I can do something to stop it.

Thirty-Four

Mariella

Friday, September 12 – 11:51 PM

We left the concert early to get home before midnight—K.T. begging my parents for permission to spend the night while we drove home—but we gave ourselves too much time. Now all we have left is the waiting.

I hate waiting. I
really
hate waiting. Especially when it’s not for something pleasant, like a present or a concert. Hudson’s trick of taking me out of town, away from the reminders of what was coming, was brilliant, but the last hour has been like knowing I’m about to get a root canal without any anesthesia. Or maybe more like preparing to walk into a sentencing with a fifty-fifty shot of a death-row verdict.

However, now that midnight is minutes away, I wish I could go back and wait some more. Anything to not be standing in the middle of my bedroom on my eighteenth birthday wearing silver and chunks of semi-precious stones like armor, about to head into a battle against a man I once thought was an angel.

“Remember to hold it by the chain,” Hudson says as he hands me the nightingale pendant. He constructed a cage for the little bird, a contraption made of silver wire and bits of gemstones that’s barely strong enough to keep the energy swirling inside from reaching me.

I glance at K.T., but she’s sitting with her back against the wall, her eyes closed. Unlike Hudson and me, K.T. actually needs full nights of sleep, and she hasn’t been getting them. She’s held together well, but part of me is glad she’ll get to go back to something close to a normal life tomorrow. One way or the other, this has to end tonight.

“With the stones blocking him, he shouldn’t be able to get into your head as well,” Hudson explains for the fifteenth time. “But he’s known you for so long he’s going to have a strong hold on you. Once you’re in there, K.T. will hold the door open, and I’ll be right behind you. You need to concentrate on—”

I raise my hand and place it over his mouth to get him to stop talking. His lips keep moving even though he doesn’t make a sound. He kisses my fingers. Warmth spreads down my hand and up my arm, and I suppress a shiver, shoving it to the side. Whatever this may be between us, now isn’t the time to do anything about it.

Pulling my hand away and shaking it to get rid of the tingling scattered across my palm, I quickly sign, “Calm down. I’m already nervous.”

Simultaneously, we glance at the clock on my nightstand. 11:58.

Hudson closes his eyes for a second before crouching down in front of K.T. to make sure she’s with us. By the time all three of us gather in the middle of the room, eyes wide and waiting for the first sign of the portal, time is almost up. One minute before midnight, K.T. wraps her arms around my waist and pulls me tight.

“Good luck,” she whispers. When she pulls back to look at me, her blue eyes are nearly drowned in unshed tears. “Hurry back, okay?”