The Short Life of Sparrows (25 page)

My fingers trace the arc where her shoulder encounters her neck, and I bristle as her hands slide into my hair. She wets her lips, rubbing them together in a clear attempt to ready herself for another kiss between us. I kiss the side of her jaw, letting my face rest near her ear. “Go with me.”

She startles, pushing back from me. “Go with you?” Daphne’s entire demeanor changes. Gloominess steals over her, and she braces herself as she takes a seat on the bed. “You mean when you leave? Are you asking me to go with you? Because I can’t.”

The quickness with which she dismisses the idea scalds my pride. I sit on the other edge of the bed, finding some solace in the full bottle. Two more sips, and I’ve prepared myself to readjust my expectations.

“Isaiah,” she exhales. “I didn’t mean it the way I said it. If you could stay here—if we can think of a way … It’s possible. Lil convinced them to let her hire someone to begin with, and I never thought she’d succeed at it. I think about you. A lot. And I like you more, every day. But I’m responsible for my mother. I couldn’t leave Lil and Calli to do everything for her. Lucas doesn’t visit often enough to see to her.”

“What if I can’t stay?” I rub at my wrists, blatantly glaring at the dirt floor so she doesn’t think my resentment is all directed at her. “Try to convince me this place is what you want. Tell me you’re going to be satisfied with that kind of life. Hoping for a crooning smooth talker to show up a few times a year, like God’s gift, after you’ve waited and waited for him with a crying baby at your hip.”

She nearly spits, hissing as she closes her hands in her lap. “You know I don’t. Of course I don’t want to be some sort of breeding mare. But that’s who my people are. And you can’t judge the other women for it. What are we supposed to do? It’s the way it’s always been. So some of them fool themselves into believing they’ve been truly loved? We’re a complicated people, Isaiah. Dancing, drinking, going to bed with a nice looking man—it’s a Seer’s way of feeling like she has a say in things.”

“It’s disgusting,” I return, feeling like I should be shaking dirt off my clothes. “No woman should wait for a man who will never commit to sharing a house with her—to not being there for all of the little things. You’re different than the rest of them. If I had myself more established, I’d find a way to take Calli with me too. Try to persuade her there’s somebody beyond these walls who could make her happy besides Rowe. She’s never going to be truly content here either. You both deserve more than that.” My thumbs dig into the wooden bedframe, and I feel every muscle in my arms flex in frustration at all of the ways this discussion has destroyed a hopeful evening.

“What if I’m not deserving?” She whirls onto her feet, grabbing the bottle. “What if I’m really not different than them? What if I told you that last summer I danced with Nightbloods far more conniving and calculating than Rowe? I enjoy how my heartbeat picks up when I do a spell or a curse. What if you and I are tricking ourselves into believing we can have more than this summer of stolen kisses? Let’s not dress up words to make them sound sweeter. I’m a witch. You’re Ordinary. We’d be outcasts out there if anyone ever discovered what I am. We wouldn’t belong anywhere anymore. I’m not brave enough to live as an outsider. Do you understand what I’m trying to say? Because this has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”

“Yes. You’re saying that you couldn’t live the way I’m living right now.”

Her defensive posture caves, and she gently sits beside me again. “Look at me, please.”

I look at her. I absorb the brown of her eyes, the desperation and regret in them. Everything ceases to matter again. All of our heated words can’t equal the ache of disappointing her. She is so close, expectantly waiting on me. “It isn’t over yet. There’s still time to change things. Because you’re the only one I want to kiss.” She leaves a kiss at my temple. “Or touch.” Her fingers draw along my arm. “I think what we were both trying to say is that we’ve been careless to believe this could be simple.”

I take her face in my hands, kissing her with a grit and intensity that has her gripping my leg. “Daphne, I don’t want simple. I think of nothing else besides you. But I have to give you more than what the other men here can give you. I have to. Or I’d hate myself for it.”

She bends closer to the candles, and with a directed puff of air, we’re left with only the smoldering coals in the fireplace to light the room. “We’ll find a way,” she whispers. “I could maybe talk to my mother and Lil. If they knew how much we care about each other, they might be able to persuade the rest of them. The longer you’re here, just going about your day, the more they’ll have to trust you, right? Promise me you’ll be patient though. Because I want this as much as you. I’m going to figure it out.” She lies down on my pillow, patting at it. “Can we hold each other tonight without our hearts getting anymore tangled than they are?”

“Yeah.”

I can’t admit out loud that there’s no untangling mine—that where I’m concerned, there’s no recovering from how far we’ve already taken things. So I lie down, facing her. Our kisses don’t do anything other than drive a wedge deeper into my splintering resolve. Demons and sorcery won’t keep me from her, but I wish she’d take my hand and run with me while they’re all asleep tonight.

In time, maybe they would all learn to accept this, but I’m weary of any of them fully trusting me.
Yet
. Until then, we’ll only be seeing each other in the dark or behind the safety of a closed door. I won’t let our secret be our undoing.

31

CALLI

T
he bends of my bare feet arch in the tepid grass. Afternoon heat waves across my hands and neck as I walk in between the stunted rows of apple trees.
A quick rotation in place tells me the orchard has no boundary—no starting point or end.  Stretching far into the distance, the shiny red orbs bead with water, as if the apples have just been bathed in rain.
The ground isn’t wet though. It’s a dream. Of course. The dreams are always painted in more vivid bursts of color, and the weather doesn’t seem to have any consequences that make sense.

I fan my fingers, dragging them through the rich green
foliage as I wander. 
The sun adheres to my pale skin until I feel a rosy blush spreading over the bridge of my nose and my cheeks. A slight, constant hiss radiates from every direction—the insects buzzing in the leaves as they hide from the sun’s determined glare. Not seeing anybody, I lean against the gritty bark of one bent tree. If strangers are missing from my sleep, then this is one of my own dreams. I’m glad to wait for him this time.

After running from Rowe’s kiss without any explanation, I don’t believe these dreams will do anything to bring him back to me. If anything, I’m sure it’ll only drive him further away. Maybe it’s better though, to have wounded his pride before either of us gets our hearts broken. I tend to feel like a dead dandelion when he’s around—uprooted—uncertain of whether I’ll stay intact or be scattered to the wind. No. These dreams will be my selfish refuge now. They’ll be my safety. A place where I can be with the Rowe who isn’t a Nightblood first, a version of him who can never betray me—a reality where I’m unshackled from my nightmares and my distrust. I pull my loose hair upward, holding it to the crown of my head to let the sweat gathering on my neck evaporate. Looking back and forth, I find I’m still alone. I sigh. Maybe I’ve chased him from my dreams as well.

Ripping an apple free from a twisted branch, I sink to the base of the tree. I turn the apple in my hands, tracing the faultless surface of it. The glossy fruit is robed in a red thicker than blood, and when I lift it to my nose I can smell the crisp sweetness without even biting into it. It is irritatingly beautiful, no flaws or bruises to make it seem real.

As my lips linger on the smooth curve of the wine-colored apple, black scuffed boots stop just in front of my toes. “Hungry?” he asks. I don’t answer as I purposely roll the apple from my palm and into the dirt. He takes my hand, pulling me up. Yes, I’m hungry—but only for the way you’re looking at me right now, the look you always give me when it’s just us. I can’t be bothered with the raven black coat and slack white shirt, or that he’s in the same clothes as the night of
my Awakening. 
He has that calculating smile that used to incense me, faint lines winding at the corners of his eyes. But I’ve just decided his quiet, scheming grin is the thing he wears best.

Even in my sleep I can’t quite bring myself to say that it’s his touch and kiss that I’m starving for—when I wake up I can’t answer for something so bold. Instead, I’ll just enjoy however many minutes I have in this serene dreamscape with him. I push an apple into his chest. “You’re dressed as if you’re headed to a dance,” I muse.

“What would be the point of that?” he asks. “You wouldn’t dance with me anyway.” I watch his eyebrow curl as he takes a generous taste of the apple. I’m drawn in by the way he squints, the way only one side of his mouth rises when he’s thinking. I want to say that I’ve never forgotten how it was to dance with him, how I still shiver at the thought of him dipping me backward in my yellow dress.

As he finishes chewing, he gazes ahead at the descending lines of trees. “You’re thinking about your Awakening.” He isn’t asking, merely stating it as he nods his head, like I’ve yelled it all. I gasp as I clutch at my arms, discovering that I’m no longer in the white nightclothes I wore seconds ago. The bottom of my Awakening dress spreads outward, the yellow lace catching on the thick grass. My gown sparkles more in the sun than it did in torchlight, and I’m happy for a new memory in it—a happier one.

The leaves begin to flutter with a balmy breeze. They swish together, a moving river of green around us. The summer heat on my spine is interrupted by the warm shock of his hand relaxing at the small of my back. He puts his other hand over mine, folding me to him. I’m aware of every time a stray strand of my hair touches my face—every time the stubble on his rugged jawline brushes the high part of my cheek. It’s no use. This is my dream, and what I want is taking over. I can hear the music, a slow and gentle blend of drums and flutes, carried by the wind.

The smoky musk of his shirt merges with the sharp perfume of the grass, and I drink in the heavy sweetness of it. He presses his fingertips more tightly to my back, his palm adamant to stay put as I follow his steps. My mouth waters as I come closer to his—daring him to kiss me first. If he kisses me this time, one will not be enough. I’m ruled by the tangible, and I can’t make myself care about anything but this. I turn my back into his chest as we dance. Tangling his arms around me, I’m swaying as I move his eager hands over my swaying hips. Every move I make is a suggestion, and I smile as I note that his eyes can barely keep up with all of the places I put his hands.

We’re crushing one another’s clothes, my teasing turns always being met with him facing me again. My breath mixes with his, and I slide my hand into his hair, gripping it as he sets his teeth together. His fingers start at my waist, spreading apart as he runs his hand along the layered golden fabric. His touch proceeds up my chest slowly. Bent backward in his arm, I can feel his palm still when it reaches just above my breasts.

My request is hushed, the lowest of whispers. “I want you to channel me this time. How you showed me in the woods.”

“What would you have me do? More glowing tricks?”

I shake my head, staring at his face as he shadows me. “No. I want something that is beyond descriptions. This is a dream, remember? You can channel from me without having to stop—without either of us regretting it. We have no consequences. Try something achingly beautiful.”

I’m expecting Rowe to pull me back up on my own feet, but he doesn’t ponder it at all as he bears the weight of my dipp
ed body.  I can see the veins in his forehead and neck swirl in ebony. His eyes blaze with a need and desperation that matches mine.
As he rests his lips at my ear, he chants the words to me like he has sugar on the tip of his tongue. He kisses my jaw and neck as he chants further. A pulsing vibration fires through me, welling and surging. I close my eyes, listening to his rough voice grow huskier, deeper. An increased throbbing intensifies between my thighs, and he somehow knows so, because he only becomes more determined to repeat the words, uttering them more quickly.

He chants against my lips, inhaling my every irregular breath. I tighten everywhere, my frame helpless as he braces me. I’m clinging to his shirt, turning to bury my face in his shoulder as he helps me feel it all.

My heart is hurtling behind my ribs, racing up into my very dry throat. I’m digging at the top of my sheets when I open my eyes.
Oh, this is not good, Calli
. I’ve just had the worst of all possible dreams, and he’ll know every shameful detail. Nothing could be worse. The morning has never been crueler. I’m staring at the ceiling, failing to think of any hole deep enough or far enough to hide in.

What I did—how I danced with him—what I asked him to do in my sleep—there’s no returning from this. Blinking my room away doesn’t work. I instinctively slap a hand to my mortified face before I throw my blankets like they’re a pile of snakes. I’m rushing to pour water in the basin, scrubbing all evidence of the flushed appearance of my stupid, careless face. Even as I hurry to change into one of my dresses, scrambling to brush through the mess of red hair sticking up, I know there’s no keeping any of it from him.
Will he be furious
? He’ll probably be so enraged by how I’ve just confused things further. He’s already said how much he regrets being a part of my dreams.
After I left him the other night, will this hurt him
? Whatever his reaction, I’m dreading it. No matter what his response is—I know I’m going to hear from him. Rowe isn’t one for polishing his thoughts, and I’m not sure there’s anything I can say that can excuse what just happened.