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“There are scholars who believe that,” the priest nods. “They feel like they were the first example of the darkness and light capable in people.”
“Cain killed his own brother,” I manage to say. “That’s pretty dark.”
“And Finn died thinking he was saving you,” Father Thomas says. “That is light.”
I don’t ask him how he knows that. I just thank him and stand up and he blesses me.
“Come back to see me,” he instructs. “I’ve enjoyed our chat. If you’re not Catholic, I can’t hear your confession, but I am a good listener.”
He is. I have to agree.
I make my way out of the church, out of the pristine glistening silence, and when I step into the sun, I know I’m being watched.
Every hair on my head feels it, and prickles.
I turn, and a boy is standing on the edge of the yard, just outside of the fence. He’s watching me, his hands in his pockets, but I can’t see his face. His hood is pulled up yet again.
With my breath in my throat, I hurry down the sidewalk to the car, practically diving inside and slamming the door behind me.
“Has that guy been standing there long?” I ask Jones breathlessly.
“What guy, miss?” he asks in confusion, hurrying to look out the window.
I look too, only to find that he’s gone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Finn’s bedroom is still and quiet. Since Castor and Pollux are dead, not even the dogs keep me company. Yet somehow, I still feel Finn in here, as though if I spoke to him, he’d answer.
“Finn?”
I feel ridiculous, but God, I miss my brother. It’s only been a few days without him, but it feels like eternity.
There’s no answer, of course, and I press my forehead to the glass, watching the cars come and go. Finn is laid out in a room downstairs, for visitation. His funeral will be tomorrow and I can’t bear it.
I lay with my face on his pillow and I close my eyes and I rest.
“You don’t belong here, do you?”
The voice is quiet, yet cool.
Startled, I open my eyes and stare up at the boy in the hoodie. With a gasp, I sit straight up in bed, because the voice was feminine.
His head is tilted ju
st enough that I can’t see his face.
I peer toward him and his face is dark.
“Who are you?” I ask, and my words sound hollow. He cocks his head but doesn’t answer, although there’s a low growl in his throat.
“What do you want?”
He’s calm, his head is down. But his arm comes up,
And he points at me.
He wants me.
