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She sounds ashamed. “I haven’t started yet.”
“This is insane, Sarah.”
“How am I supposed to help if I can’t see enough? Rafael has a source on the inside that says Keane has all his Seers go on Adderall.”
“He also has girls killed and thrown into the river. Is that our next step?”
“Aren’t you the one who said we should do whatever we have to, whatever it takes to keep more girls out of his claws? Well, this is my whatever it takes.”
Something small hits the other side of the wall I’m leaning against and I jump, turning and hurrying back to my room. The last thing I want is for Cole to catch me eavesdropping. I can only imagine what he’d say.
I flop onto my bed, tormented by futures both seen and unseen. They feel just out of my grasp, as usual.
“Fia,” I whisper to the empty room, “what should I do?”
Then something changes. I’m still in the dark. It’s not a vision, it can’t be, I don’t see anything. But I’m not on my bed anymore. It has to be a vision.
Someone reaches out and laces his fingers through mine and my world blossoms with color—inside the darkness. It’s color and light and life that I feel inside me instead of seeing outside. I’m wild with giddy joy, a warm heat flaring like something long dormant in my heart has finally been switched on.
His f
ingers are not much longer than mine, his palm only a bit bigger, rough but warm, and the way our hands fit together . . .
Holy crap. I’m in love.
That’s when I feel my bed underneath me again and realize I’m back in the present.
I had a vision where someone holds my hand and I know I’m in love with him. It’s the single most romantic thing I have ever experienced.
And it wasn’t even real.
But if I saw it—or felt it, really, because I’ve never had a vision where I was me like that, where I couldn’t see—then it has to happen, right? I rub the palm of my right hand with my left thumb, torn between elation and nerves. Love. I can live with the promise of love. I just wish I knew when. And who.
And, with a sudden sharp ache, I wish more than anything I could tell Eden. It feels wrong to have something like this without her to whisper it to. For a moment I hate Fia for her choice. She not only took herself away from me, she made it impossible for me to ever see my best friend again.
Someone is going to hold my hand, and I’m going to be thrilled. And no one I love will know.
FIA
Three Days Before
“HOW DO YOU DO THAT?” PIXIE ASKS, FROWNING AT me over her drink. I got her a Shirley Temple. She didn’t find it nearly as funny as I do. Last night she managed to scam some alcohol, but not tonight.
“Do what?” I eye the dance floor, annoyed she called me over. I am falling apart. I’ve barely even seen James since we got to New York. I need something, anything to distract me from the waiting. Visions of flames dance in my head, but I cannot light anything on fire yet.
Dancing is the only thing to take the edge off. (I could get in a fight. That’s good, too. Pounding and moving and reacting, always reacting, no room for thought.)
“How do you stop thinking like that?” Pixie asks. “When you’re dancing, everything shuts down. I’ve noticed you doing it a few times, like you’ve switched to autopilot and there aren’t any active thoughts in your brain.”
“Isn’t that the point of dancing?”
“Not for the guys you’re with. You should hear their thoughts.” She scowls, disgusted and miserable, shoulders slouched protectively inward as she stabs her straw through the ice.
I pat her head (four times, four is the magic number and I don’t like it, four feels lonelier than three, no middle to huddle around, but I hate them both) and laugh. “They aren’t people, they’re just bodies. I don’t care what they’re thinking.”
“I can’t tell you how much I wish I could not care.”
I sigh and sit down. “You have one minute to unburden your soul to me before I get too antsy and either hit you or go back to dancing.”
