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“Common ground?”
“It is in-between, a place where life and death can meet.”
“That makes no sense.” I shook my head.
“Perhaps not right now, Little Goddess,” Von countered, a playful grin touching his full lips, like he knew something I did not. A common theme. “But someday, it will.”
It was a bit strange how distance could change your opinion on things, bring about a different perspective. I was aware on some level that the cottage was small and yet, I hadn’t really thought about it. If you asked me before, it was the perfect size for us three. Now, standing here in front of it, it just sort of hit me—it was small. Like teeny tiny small. Especially in comparison to the expansive mansion I had been living in for the past weeks.
But still, one thing would never change—it was home.
I walked to the front door, Von following, his long legs leisurely keeping up with my quick pace. There was a spare key under the terra-cotta flowerpot, the lifeless husk of a plant withered inside, crusty and brittle. I had no idea what the plant was—it was one of Ezra’s, which should make even the bravest of souls steer clear of it. But this one seemed particularly bad because not even the locusts, which had come in droves this summer, would touch it. And those little suckers ate everything. No wonder she’d chosen that particular plant to hide the key.
Not that I needed a key. My hand turned the knob and the door sprung open—we didn’t bother to lock the cottage.
There were two reasons why that was—the first being that the cottage was well off the beaten trail, nestled deep in the forest. It was well hidden—something drunk Kaleb would attest to when he returned after a wild night or the next morning, when he finally found his way home. The second reason was because the lock was broken—courtesy of Kaleb . . . and partly me. Although I was only ever willing to take a wee bit of the blame.
It had happened about five years ago, when Ezra was away and we were left without parental supervision—if that was what you could call what Ezra did. Kaleb had slept in that day. When he finally woke up, he headed outside to relieve himself. As he was only wearing his underwear, and it was a particularly frosty January morning, I’d thought it would be a good idea to lock him out.
Now, let me just say that I’d had full intentions of doing it for just a little bit, and then I was going to let him back in—after I had a good laugh. But it turned out Mr. Sunshine had woken up on the wrong side of the bed mat that day, and he’d reared up and booted the door in, breaking the lock as well as a bit of the trim around the door. He came tearing after me like a bull chasing a matador, and I ran for my life, howling with laughter.
I smiled, my hand drifting over the broken trim that never got replaced as I passed through. It was still there, reassuring me that Kaleb was once here.
After I gave Von the tour of our home—which didn’t take very long as he could see most of it from the front door—we returned outside, searching for the right place to lay Kaleb to rest. I wished Ezra were here. She would know what to do—she always knew what to do. But judging by the untouched state of the cottage, she had not been home for some time, most likely since we departed in Norwood, which meant she was probably still in the Cursed Lands—waiting for word that Kaleb and I had returned. A visceral ache stabbed at my heart. I shoved away from my feelings, coated them in ice, and focused on the task at hand.
It took me awhile, but finally, I decided on the perfect spot—beside the log shed, under the tall, watchful gaze of an oak tree.
One of Kaleb’s main jobs had been making sure the cottage and log shed were stockpiled with split wood. Just as training was my escape when I was a child, that was what chopping wood was for Kaleb. It gave him a refuge, a place for him to sort through his thoughts. It gave him purpose. And it was just one of the many ways he looked after us.
“He always made sure the log shed was fully stocked,” I remarked, my hand drifting over the wood wall, my fingers snagging on the remnants of cracked red paint. Like so many things around here, it was losing its battle with time.
“He looked after you well,” Von finally replied after a passing of silence drifted between us. “And for that, I will forever be indebted to him.”
I turned and rested my back against the shed, propping one leg up, my bootheel against it. I looked up at Von, my knuckles tapping the shed. “We moved this once. It used to be—” I nodded to the north. “—wayover there.” I pursed my lips, swishing them to the side in thought. “It was my idea to move it. I went through a bit of a princess stage, believe it or not, when I was thirteen. I hated how far I had to walk in the winter to get the wood. So that spring, I wrangled Kaleb into helping me move it here, so it was closer.”
I didn’t know why I was telling Von this, couldn’t imagine it meant much of anything to him. Still, I wanted to tell him all of my memories of Kaleb, so that Kaleb could live on in someone else too. And I didn’t know why, but it just felt . . . good.
I needed good right now.
“I would expect nothing less from the thirteen-year-old version of you.” Von smiled—really and truly. And it was breathtaking and familiar, like I had seen it a thousand times before—and yet I could not place where or when. Von was not exactly the smiling type. I didn’t know why I felt this way, but the way he looked right now . . .
My body just reacted. Like it had a will of its own, suddenly, I was in front of him, my palm pressed against his face, my eyes darting between his obsidian eyes. “Sometimes . . .” I swallowed, looking down, reaching deep, trying to find the words. I fumbled with what I was about to say because it made no sense, and yet, it demanded to be said. My gaze returned to his. “It’s like I knew youbefore.”
That smile slipped, giving way to something I could only explain as . . . torn. His hand drifted over mine, blanketing it in his warmth. “Before what?”
At surface level, it seemed like a simple question, but the way he studied me, with such complete intensity, I knew it was much deeper than that.
I replayed his question in my head, searching for an answer. And when I came up with nothing, I searched again. Still, nothing.
Frustrated, I shook my head, whispering in defeat, “I don’t know.”
I looked at the ground, feeling emptier somehow. My hand slipped. He let it go.
Silence passed between us. The soft wind tugged at us both, wisping our hair to the side. The contrast between us had never been so prevalent. His hair, the color of obsidian stone, and mine, the color of soft snow. We stayed like that for some time, not speaking, just stuck in our private thoughts.
Von broke the silence. “I will return shortly.”
I blinked, looking up at him. He wore the same look that I had seen before, but I had never been able to place a label on it because he always carefully covered it back up. But now, his façade faltered, and I could see what it was. It was written plainly in those black eyes, in the firm setting of his jaw, and I knew for him, that my answer was like I had taken salt and poured it into a deep wound. The look was raw. Visceral.
