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“—I know, I’ve heard it. You’d never do anything to hurt her. What you forgot to say is that you won’t do anything to help her, either.”
His jaw tightened. Now he was the one who was angry; I knew how to recognize it now. But he didn’t break character, not even for a minute. “I am trying to protect her, Ethan, and you as well. I know you care for Lena, and you do offer her some sort of protection, but there are things you don’t see right now, things that are beyond any of our control. One day you will understand. You and Lena are just too different.”
A Species Apart. Just like the other Ethan wrote to Genevieve. I understood all right. Nothing had changed in over a hundred years.
His eyes softened. I thought maybe he pitied me, but it was something else. “Ultimately, it will be your burden to bear. It’s always the Mortal who bears it. Trust me, I know.”
“I don’t trust you and you’re wrong. We aren’t too different.”
“Mortals. I envy you. You think you can change things. Stop the universe. Undo what was done long before you came along. You are such beautiful creatures.” He was talking to me, but it didn’t feel like he was talking about me anymore. “I apologize for the intrusion. I’ll leave you to your sleep.”
“Just stay out of my room, Mr. Ravenwood. And out of my head.”
He turned toward the door, which surprised me. I expected him to leave the way he had arrived.
“One more thing. Does Lena know what you are?”
He smiled. “Of course. We have no secrets between us.”
I didn’t smile back. There were more than a few secrets between them, even if this wasn’t one of them, and both Macon and I knew it.
He turned away from me with a swirl of his overcoat, and was gone.
Just like that.
2.05
The Battle of Honey Hill
The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache. I did not, as so often happens in stories, think that the whole thing had never happened. I did not believe that Macon Ravenwood appearing and disappearing in my bedroom the night before had been a dream. Every morning for months after my mom’s accident, I had woken up believing it had all been a bad dream. I would never make that mistake again.
This time around, I knew if it seemed like everything had changed, it was because it had. If it seemed like things were getting weirder and weirder, it was because they were. If it seemed like Lena and I were running out of time, it was because we were.
Six days and counting. Things didn’t look good for us. That was all there was to say. So of course, we didn’t say it. At school, we did what we always did. We held hands in the hallway. We kissed by the back lockers until our lips ached and I felt close to being electrocuted. We stayed in our bubble, enjoyed what we tried to pretend were our ordinary lives, or what little we had left of them. And we talked, all day long, through every minute of every class, even the ones we didn’t have together.
Lena told me about Barbados, where the water and the sky met in a thin blue line until you couldn’t tell which was which, while I was supposed to be making a clay rope bowl in ceramics.
Lena told me about her Gramma, who let her drink 7-Up using red licorice as a straw, while we wrote our in-class Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde essays in English, and Savannah Snow smacked her gum.
Lena told me about Macon, who, despite everything, had been there for every birthday, wherever she’d been, since she could remember.
That night, after staying up for hour after hour with The Book of Moons, we watched the sun rise—even though she was at Ravenwood, and I was at home.
Ethan?
I’m here.
I’m scared.
I know. You should try to get some sleep, L.
I don’t want to waste time sleeping.
Me neither.
But we both knew that wasn’t it. Neither one of us felt much like dreaming.
“THE NYGHT OF THE CLAYMYNG BEING THE NYGHT OF GREATESTE WEAKNESSE, WHENNE THE DARKENESSE WITHINNE ENJOINS THE DARKENESSE WITHOUTE & THE PERSONNE OF POWERE OPENNES TO THE GREATE DARKNESSE, SO STRIPPED OF PROTECTIONS, BINDINGS & CASTS OF SHIELDE & IMMUNITIE. DEATH, AT THE HOURE OF CLAYMING, IS MOST FINALE & ETERNALLE…”
