Page 93 of Find My Way Down to You

Swallowing, I say, “How can I prove humans are way funner than you think?”

He waves a hand around. “It is your world, August. You tell me.”

I pause, debating. When I came up with this idea, I hadn’t really considered how to entertain the ferrier of souls. What convincing him he’s wrong about us—aboutme—would look like.

Cary eyes me as if he can tell that I’m struggling.

I decide against overthinking. After all, I don’t know how long I have with him. I need every minute I have to win him over.

Find a way back to Aides.

“Come with me.”

Cary walks by my side, silently. It’s not as uncomfortable as it used to be. I’m starting to understand him better. I’d mistaken his quietness for coldness. But it’s not. He’s taking in every little detail, processing. Forming his own understanding.

I point out all the parts I love about Shoreline. The spindly trees I climbed as a kid. Every flower Mom would name for me: yellowGlebionis coronariaand blue-orangeStrelitzia. Crown daisies and birds of paradise.

At the pastel blue telescope, I let him look through the eyepiece as I list off the things he sees: The coastline. Channel Islands. Whales breaking through the ocean’s glimmering surface.

He listens as I talk about the spot on the pavement where I skinned my knee bloody attempting to skateboard. The stretch of grass I’d lie in to trace the shapes of drifting clouds. So many small pieces of my world made bigger when laid out before me.

And for some odd reason, I want him to know about it all.

“This way.”

He laughs under his breath at the way I mimic him as he took me around Aides.

Through a torii gate, we walk down Shoreline Steps, a narrow wooden stairwell built along the steep cliffside. I pause two flights before the wood turns to sand and surf. The ocean’s song is pronounced here. A constant roar as waves slap the shore.

Cary leans against the railing with me, shoulder to shoulder. To my disbelief, he speaks first:

“This is your favorite place.”

It’s not a question. I turn my head. He’s illuminated by the sun, watching and waiting for a response.

I pivot and say, “Why do you talk like that?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Old-fashioned? You don’t sound like Poppy or Henri.”

The breeze sweeps through his hair. He combs it back. I want to stop him, leave him messy and imperfect.

“They get to spend more time around mortals.” His eyes soften. “I only have moments.”

I pin my bottom lip between my teeth. The way he saidit…I almost feel sorry for him. “But you’re here now,” I tell him. “This is longer than a moment, right?”

He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Definitely. Thankfully, there are other Deathless besides me who collect souls.”

My mind drifts to the conversations I’ve had. Things I’ve heard.

“Henri,” I say. “And Poppy.”

Cary nods. “And others. But I am the only one who can take souls across the bridge. That is my gift.” The faraway look in his eyes tells me it’s a curse too.

I nudge his shoulder, a grin teasing my mouth. “I guess you don’t get to have a lot of conversations with people before they die.”

His lips twitch. “Or after. Who wants to chat with the boy taking you to the afterlife, anyway?”