Sing Sweet Nightingale (13 page)

Right. Okay. Great. Now what?

I need to get upstairs and hide the stones somewhere. A few won’t do much, but it’s a start. I want to weaken the link as much as I can before I try to talk to her.

Their yard isn’t fenced, and a row of thick bushes conceals me from the neighbors’ view all the way around. I reach the back without being seen and scan the house. Then I get lucky. A window’s open a crack on the second floor.

I take off my button-down and create a makeshift bag for the larger chunks of amethyst, and then I use the porch rail to lift myself onto the first-story roof. Stepping carefully on the shingles, I inch toward the window and ease it open. It’s a dark, empty bathroom.

In and out
, I remind myself. Getting spotted right now will ruin
everything
.

There’s no way in hell I’m getting into Mariella’s room tonight, so I estimate which door is hers—not hard, considering it’s the sole room on this floor with the lights on—and slip into the one next to it. Through the wall, I can barely hear the music she’s playing. Good. It’ll mask any noise I make.

As soon as I get close to the wall her bedroom shares with this one, the electric tingle comes back. It’s faint—a lot fainter than when we were a couple feet apart—but it’s definitely there. Moving quickly, I hide the stones where I can—under the bed, in the space between the dresser and the wall, and behind the nightstand. I don’t know what, if anything, they’ll be able to do from this far away, but I can always move them next time I’m here.

Before slipping into the hall, I listen for Dana and Frank. They’re downstairs.

“When are you going to show Horace the concepts?” Dana asks. Something scrapes against the floor, and piano notes echo through the hall.

“Maybe he was being polite.” Frank sighs. “I don’t want him to feel like I’m pushing things on him.”

Perfect. I have to make sure Horace asks to see those plans. A partnership between Frank and Horace means more chances for me to see Mariella. Who knows? Maybe Frank’s concept is good.

A doorknob shifts down the hall. I dive into the bathroom and out of sight just as Mariella appears. She’s rubbing her ear as she creeps out of her room. When she reaches the corner closest to the stairs, she sinks down, her head tilted toward the first floor. From here, I barely make out the song Dana is playing, but Mariella can hear it perfectly. Or she already knows it by heart. Her fingers move through the air on an invisible piano, and her entire body sways with the music. When it ends, she sighs, gets up, and tiptoes into her room, closing the door behind her.

Downstairs, Dana is still playing, but I guess Mariella heard what she wanted.

Exiting the way I came, I put my shirt back on and drop to the ground. As soon as I’m down, I run, staying in the trees until I can stroll onto the next street.

Ten minutes later, I’m back at the house.

“Boy, you got yourself a pickle here if I ever saw one.” Horace shakes his head. “Saw an opium addict once. The look that girl got on her face sometimes? Reminded me of that.”

An addict is probably the best comparison he could make, especially in her case. She held onto that bird tightly, pulling energy out of it. The light intensified so often I don’t think she realized she was doing it half the time.

If that moment on the stairs showed me anything, though, it’s that she’s not
completely
gone. Some part of who she used to be must be in there.

“When Frank comes over with the plans, ask him to show you whatever concepts he mentioned tonight.” I need to get back into that house. Soon and often.

Horace’s eyebrows pull together, but then he nods. “Right, right. He said something about an energy-efficient smart house.” Shrugging, Horace flattens the little bit of hair clinging to the side of his head. “Wouldn’t hurt to look at it. But I’m tellin’ you now, Hud. Not even for you and this girl will I buy a crappy concept.”

“Didn’t ask you to buy it, old man. Only want you to look at it. Maybe over dinner?”

His eyes brighten, and he laughs. “Fair deal, kid.” He looks toward our pathetically broken kitchen and raises one eyebrow. “I mean, it’s not like we can cook much here, right? It’s either the kindness of strangers or takeout.”

Chuckling to himself, Horace heads up to bed, and I retreat to my makeshift room.

I strip off my shirts, change into pajama pants, and collapse onto the bed. Doubt I’ll sleep much, but the fight for control against that damn electricity sparking off Mariella wore me out. Besides, until I come up with a plan of attack against those ten-foot-thick fortifications she’s built around herself, there’s not much for me to do.

Lifting my right arm, I push my bracelets out of the way and run my thumb over the tattoo there. After I stopped by the cemetery and said goodbye to J.R., I went to a tattoo parlor and got it—his initials in stark black capitals, the date I lost him, and a red line across my wrist that looks like an open wound. I can’t visit him every day, but at least I can carry him with me. To remind me why I’m doing all this. To remind me why fighting Mariella’s defenses is worth it.

If I can pull her out of their trap, she may be able to give me answers I don’t have. And if I can’t…

If I can’t, maybe I can use her to find a way back in.

I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I open my eyes and my pulse takes off. This is a dream, but it’s not like my premonition about Mariella and it’s definitely not a memory. It’s not quite like the dreamworld either, but the vibe is so close it scares the hell out of me.

A long table covered with a bright orange cloth sits in the center of a grassy glade. Brightly decorated cupcakes, sparkling punch-filled crystal bowls, colorfully wrapped presents, and a five-tiered cake fill the table. It looks like something straight out of the dreams of a seven-year-old girl—or maybe the tea party scene from
Alice in Wonderland
—except it’s surrounded by a shadowy forest.

I step forward, and ripples at the head of the table coalesce into Mariella. She’s wearing a long, flowing, golden gown almost exactly the same shade as the tumble of curls atop her head. Unlike at dinner, she smiles at me. She looks as graceful and regal as a fairytale princess, but as I take the seat to her left, I notice several things at once.

Mariella’s leg is shackled to the table with a golden chain, and the spread of food, drinks, and desserts that looked so appetizing from afar is covered with mold, fungus, and bugs. My gaze darts to the trees, where a pair of deep purple eyes watches us. I can’t tell if this is a dream or if I should be preparing for an attack. Hoping for the best and preparing for the worst, I turn my chair slightly so I can watch both the eyes and Mariella.

The silence is so heavy it’s a physical pressure on my eardrums. It’s like I’ve gone deaf. Maybe I
have
. When I pick up a spoon and strike the crystal goblet in front of me, I hear nothing.

Mariella looks over and smiles, nodding toward the cake in the center of the table. Unlike everything else on the table, the cake is pristine. The blue flowers look like they might be edible, and unlit candles line each tier. Eighteen candles.

Mariella isn’t smiling anymore. With solemn eyes and a determined purse to her lips, she looks down at the shackle around her ankle. I glance at the eyes in the forest. They glow brighter and brighter until their light is so strong it tints the rest of the world violet.

I want to drag her away from here, but she’s locked to the table. Ducking under it, I lean closer to the leg and study the way the chain is bolted in. Above me, Mariella attacks the disgusting buffet. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see platters of cookies and trays of cupcakes flying through the air. Peering out, I realize she’s destroying everything between her and the still-perfect cake.

She tugs on the tablecloth to bring the cake closer. The moth-eaten fabric comes apart in her hands, but she’s persistent. Each pull brings her closer to her goal, but each second pushes me farther from mine. The bolts won’t loosen, and I don’t know how to break Mariella loose without risking hurting her. Before I can free her, Mariella’s hand drops to my shoulder and grips hard.

Holy hell. The eyes aren’t in the trees anymore. They’re locked in the face of a vaguely human, wraithlike form that is moving toward us, bringing along a wall of smoke.

We’re running out of time.

Mariella tugs me to my feet, pointing at the cake. With my help, we bring it within reach. She mimes lighting the candles, but I don’t have a lighter. And how will that help?

Glaring, she mimes again, striking her hands together and pointing to the chain. Would that work? Gold doesn’t usually spark. I grab the chain and take a step back from the table, pointing at the chair to tell Mariella to sit back down. Once she’s holding onto the arms for dear life, I take a deep breath and yank.

The wood cracks as the bolts rip free and come flying toward my head. On instinct, I catch them. When I look down at the pieces in my hand, I see something black. It might be flint, but it’s definitely not a piece of golden shackle.

Sound returns.

It’s somewhere between a whine and a high-pitched hiss, and the pain of it is worse than flying in an airplane with a head cold.

The demon screams his wordless fury, and thunder booms and crashes as wind rips through the trees.

The pressure grows. My head feels like it might explode, but I take my cue from Mariella. The only sign she gives that she senses the pressure too is the slight twitch of the muscles in her neck.

She pulls me closer, her small hands wrapping around my wrist and sending warmth through my body. As I light each candle, her grip gets tighter and the sounds get louder. We should be running, but Mariella must know something I don’t.

With each new flame, the glow pushes farther out, almost like a protective dome arching around us. When I reach the last candle on the top tier, I hold my breath.

The noise quiets, like we closed a door and shut the storm outside. The wind doesn’t touch us, and when I look at Mariella, she’s smiling. She touches my cheek before turning her attention to the candles.

Holding my hand tight, she studies the cake. Looking for all the world like a princess celebrating her birthday, she takes a deep breath and blows out the candles.

We both drop into darkness.

Ten

Mariella

Friday, August 29 – 10:56 PM

Maybe that feedback noise didn’t have anything to do with Hudson. He’s been gone for hours, and I can still hear it. It went away for about five minutes, but then it came back. Not quite soft enough to be annoyingly ignorable background noise, yet not so loud that it overwhelms everything else either.

I try to sleep, but it’s not easy. Holding on to my nightingale and breathing in the light of Paradise barely ease the whine. Forget clearing my head. It’s impossible tonight. Every time I try, Hudson pops up.

Where did he come from? More importantly, what, exactly, does he know about Paradise?

I step through the portal and smell lavender. I’m on the edge of the field tonight, and the scent is stronger than ever. Lavender usually calms me down, but tonight it’s cloying. Too heavy. Almost suffocating. It’s not the only thing off tonight.

The twilight sky doesn’t make me smile, the family of bunnies racing across the field doesn’t make me laugh, and the sight of Orane with a pair of snow-white unicorns barely eases the shaking in my hands.

It takes him less than a second to notice. Frowning, he walks forward, taking one step before appearing in front of me. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me against his chest, stroking my hair.

“What happened?”

I take a deep breath…and hesitate.

What if I’m overreacting? What if I’m
wrong
? Hudson didn’t threaten me. He simply knew too much. I don’t want to worry Orane over nothing, but if I’m right and I don’t tell him…