Authors: Jeri Smith-Ready
Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fantasy, #Young Adult, #Mystery, #urban fantasy
Gina scooted over and wrapped her arms around me.
I clung to her as I cried. “I miss him even more now.”
“I know. It was hard seeing him like that today. But he’ll recover.”
What if he doesn’t?
“All this time your lawyer friend was lying. Zachary wasn’t ‘fine, but a little thin.’ I could see it in his eyes.”
“I saw it, too,” she said. “I swear we don’t know what he’s been through. He wouldn’t tell Cheryl or the man from the consulate. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how bad she said he looked. I knew it would upset you.”
I wanted to be pissed at Gina. But was it any different from me keeping my father’s identity from her, to avoid breaking her heart?
Thinking of my father reminded me of something else I needed to tell her.
“I’m going to see Zachary again.”
She smoothed a wrinkle in my nightshirt. “Sweetheart, I don’t know if they’ll ever let him back in the country.”
“I know.” I crossed my legs so that I could sit up straight. “Aunt Gina, I’m meeting Zachary in Ireland on December twentieth. We’re going to Newgrange for our birthdays.”
Her face froze. “This coming December?”
I deflected her arguments before she could present them. “I promise I’ll be back for Christmas. And yeah, I know my mom said that
and then didn’t come home until April. But I swear that won’t happen, and I won’t get pregnant, either.”
“Where are you staying?”
“At a B and B that used to be a castle.”
“With Zachary and his parents?”
“No. Just the two of us.”
Aunt Gina’s mouth dropped open. “You want to go on an overnight trip with a boy, across the ocean.”
“I’ll be eighteen the day after I get there.”
“But not the day you leave.” Her firm tone said,
Which means I can stop you.
“I thought you liked Zachary.”
“This isn’t about liking him. Trouble always follows the two of you, and if it follows you across the Atlantic—” Her neck muscles twitched as she swallowed. “I won’t be able to save you.”
“You’ll have to trust me to save myself.”
“This isn’t about trust. This is about you being too young and inexperienced to deal with the potential dangers you’ll face.”
“I’ve lived in Baltimore my whole life. I’m not some innocent bumpkin. Zachary’s got street smarts, too. Plus, he knows Gaelic.” That last part sounded feeble. “I’ll use my Italian passport. They say it’s safer to travel as a non-American.” My mom’s father was born in Italy, which automatically gave her dual citizenship. When I was a baby, she did the paperwork so we could both get Italian passports. I cherished this connection to her—a connection I needed to strengthen by walking in her footsteps in Ireland.
Gina shook her head. “I just don’t like it.”
My eyes heated, and I clenched the blanket. “So you won’t let me go?”
“Once you’re eighteen and—”
“I’ll
be
eighteen, almost.”
She raised her voice above mine. “Once you’re eighteen and living under your own roof, then you can make the rules. You can gallivant off to anywhere you want.”
“I’m not gallivanting, I’m doing research!” I was yelling now, helpless in the face of my rage. “I’m trying to solve a huge mystery here, and you’re making it sound like I’m going to Cancún to drink beer and get laid.”
Gina put a hand to her stomach. “Let’s not talk about—”
“I knew it! This isn’t about safety, it’s about sex. Guess what, Gina? I’m almost eighteen and still a virgin. Zachary and I could’ve done it before he left. But we decided to wait. Just like Logan and I waited and waited until it was too late, and then he was dead.”
My voice cracked. I had to get ahold of myself before I went full tantrum.
Gina spread her fingertips over her eyebrows, like she was wiping away a mental image. “Aura, there’s no shame in being an eighteen-year-old virgin. Plenty of people wait until college, or even after.”
“I have to do what’s right for me. You always taught me that.”
“Don’t use my life lessons to argue for a sleepover with your boyfriend.”
My pulse raced with fury. How dare she make it sound sleazy and childish? “If you were so concerned about my virginity, why’d you let me go to Deep Creek Lake with the Keeleys? I could’ve done it with Dylan, or someone I met at a party.”
“You’re not that type.”
“So you’d rather I hang out with guys I don’t love, just so I’ll keep my clothes on?”
Gina turned away, probably counting to ten to rein in her temper.
I spoke again while I had the chance. “You said he might never be allowed to come back. If I don’t go over there, I might never see him again.”
“You will. And if you don’t, you’ll survive.”
No. Maybe my heart would keep pushing blood through my arteries and veins, maybe my brain would still send signals to my nerves. But if I truly lost Zachary, to distance or madness or both, I was certain I’d become a living ghost.
“I’m going to Ireland, Gina,” I said in a strong, steady voice. “I’ll be careful, in every single way, and I’ll call you every day to check in. But I’m going.”
“No.” She stood and put a firm hand on my shoulder, as if she could physically hold me in this country. “You’re not.”
Gina walked out, shutting the door behind her. I wanted to hurl my pillow at it, or better yet, hurl something loud and breakable.
Instead I went to my computer and logged into my bank account. Had I saved enough money to move out of the house? What about college? Maybe I could get a free ride with a work/study program somewhere. I was pretty sure my Ridgewood tuition was paid a year in advance, so that took care of high school.
Maybe the McConnells would let me have Megan’s older brother John’s room, since he hardly ever came home from North Dakota. I could pay them rent, or help out around the funeral home. It would be sad and sometimes gross, but I’d do anything.
Just as I finished a despair-inducing monthly budget plan, Gina swung open my door. “Twice a day,” she snapped.
I stared at her. “What?”
“When you’re in Ireland. Call me twice a day.”
Before sunrise the next morning, my phone bleeped with a text from Fiona Moore’s phone.
IT’S Z. YOU READY?
I’M HERE. VIDEO CHAT OPEN
. My stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing him again, even after only twenty-four hours.
START WITH IM. I’LL EXPLAIN
.
I went to my desk and activated the instant message window. A link appeared from Zachary, with the words
GO HERE
.
I clicked on the site, which automatically e-mailed me an ultra-strong password with approximately a million letters, numbers, and symbols. I had to type them in individually—the site’s security was so hard-core it wouldn’t let me copy and paste.
Zachary was waiting, his username sitting alone in the blue box to the right.
Me:
HEY. WHERE ARE WE?
Him:
ENCRYPTED PRIVATE CHAT ROOM. IT’LL APPEAR IN YOUR BROWSING HISTORY AS “PERIODIC TABLE FOR DUMMIES.
”
Me:
HA
!
Him:
WE’LL SWITCH TO VIDEO IN A MINUTE.
Me:
HOW DO I KNOW YOU’RE REALLY ZACHARY?
Him:
HOW DO I KNOW YOU’RE REALLY AURA?
Me:
WHAT SONG DID WE DANCE TO AT PROM?
Him:
“WHEN YOU SAY NOTHING AT ALL” BY ALISON KRAUSS.
Me:
HUH. I ALWAYS THOUGHT IT WAS TAYLOR SWIFT.
Him:
YOU NEED TO STUDY YOUR COUNTRY MUSIC.
Me:
NO THANKS. HEY, WE CAN USE VIDEO CHATS TO PLANT DISINFORMATION FOR THE DMP.
Him:
I WAS THINKING THAT TOO.
Me:
HOW ABOUT “I HAVE A HISTORY PAPER TO WRITE”?
Him:
MINE’LL BE, “MUM NEEDS HELP WITH DAD.” READY?
I hesitated before asking the question that burned fiercest inside me, knowing I might not want the answer.
Me:
SO IF THIS CHAT IS JUST BETWEEN US …
Him:
*INTRIGUED*
I imagined him imagining me wanting to have a serious sexting session. But his body wasn’t the first thing on my mind—at least not that aspect of his body.
Me:
CAN YOU TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED WHILE YOU WERE DETAINED?
No response, not even the little “so-and-so is typing” icon.
Me:
ZACH, YOU THERE?
Him:
YES.
Me:
WE CAN TALK ABOUT IT SOME OTHER TIME.
Him:
YES.
Me:
THE IMPORTANT THING IS THAT YOU’RE OKAY NOW.
No response.
Me:
YOU ARE OKAY NOW, RIGHT?
Him:
CAN WE GO TO VIDEO? I WANT TO SEE YOU.
In the video chat program, a black square with a generic silhouette appeared while it retrieved his feed. I noticed the live shot of me down in the corner of the screen. Was my hair really that frizzy? Was it shadows or did I have major bags under my eyes?
I sprang out of my chair to turn off the extra lamp, hoping that would help. In my hurry, I knocked it over. “Crap!”
“Aura?”
I flew back to my desk to see Zachary’s face on the screen. “Hi. Wow. Hi.”
“Everything all right?”
“Now it is.”
He looked straight into the camera. Straight at me. “Hi,” he said, almost breathlessly.
“Hi.” I wanted to throw my arms around my computer. “It’s great to see you.”
“Aye. You look beautiful.”
“No, I don’t. I mean, thanks. But no, I don’t.” I gave what I hoped was a coy shrug. “Not this early in the morning, anyway.”
Gazing at him, I could almost forget that we might not be alone. If we were going to give disinformation, the DMP needed to hear us talking like we thought we had privacy.
“I miss you so much,” I told him.
“I miss you, too.” He rested his chin on his fist. “I dunno what else to say. I can’t stop looking at you.”
Heat rose into my cheeks. “Can you show me your room?”
“No’ yet. Looks like a thirteen-year-old boy’s room.”
“It’s been that long since you’ve lived in Glasgow?”
“We’ve come back between trips abroad, but only for a few days at a time.” He sat back in his chair and looked to his right, at the gray glow of a window. “I didn’t know how much I missed it until I saw the city lights from the plane. I’d forgotten how beautiful it was.”
“What will you do first?”
“Ring up some of my old mates. Pick up where we left off, terrorizing the streets with useless patter.” He almost smiled.
“Hitting the pubs? Getting your Scottish on?”
“Maybe, now that most of us are old enough. But don’t worry, I won’t drink. I can’t, anyway, until I’m eighteen. Unless I buy a meal, and that gets expensive on a pub crawl. Besides, I know it’d bother you if I became a drinker, after what happened.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant Logan’s death or Zachary’s own hookup with Becca, neither of which would’ve occurred without booze. But I wondered if the DMP had left Zachary with memories he wanted to obliterate with a bottle.
“I bet you’re happy to see your parents again.”
“I am.” His eyes turned sad.
“How’s your father?”
Zachary’s mouth opened as he stared past the camera, but it was several moments before he spoke. “We’ve an electric tin opener now.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Dad always said they were a waste of money and electricity, and they clutter up the counter. No sense in it when there’s a perfectly good—” He mimed twisting a handheld can opener. “But his hands, they’re too weak now.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“When I walked into the kitchen and saw that machine …” Zachary swallowed hard. “I should be happy he didn’t die while I was—” He swept a hand back and forth over his head, finally tugging on the dark waves that flopped in front. “I need a haircut.”
He remained that way, eyes fixed on the table below the screen, rubbing the ends of his hair between his fingertips and thumb.
My throat ached at the sight of his anguish. I only knew the pain of losing a father I’d never had. I couldn’t imagine watching the slow decline of one I’d been close to.
“Should I let you go?”
Zachary looked up suddenly. “What? No! Don’t. Please.”
“I thought maybe you wanted to be with your parents.”