by Alyson Noel
“No.” She shook her head, her fingers reaching up to meet his. “I’m afraid, he never came around to the idea. Though he’s hardly an issue anymore. The only thing that can stop us from moving forward, is you.”
“Me?” He stepped back, gazed around in confusion again, but only for a moment before the weight of his reality hit him. “Then it truly is over. I am no longer enslaved by your uncle—no longer enslaved by … them.” He gestured toward the empty stands. “And all of this—” He gazed down at his feet, kicked at the pile of rose petals he once held so dear, suddenly realizing he’d traded a love that’d never once faltered, for one that was as fickle as the wind.
“I should hope not,” she said. “But in the end, that is also up to you.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” he asked, moving toward her with purpose.
“We wait for nothing,” she said, smiling as she melted into his arms.
24
Theocoles walked alongside me as Messalina hung back with Bodhi and Buttercup. An arrangement I didn’t quite expect, but then again nothing was going as planned.
Even though I knew he had a soft side (after all, I’d seen it firsthand when I watched him in the ludus with Messalina), it was still kind of surprising to see how gentle he was. I mean, for a big, hulking, mass of a guy—one who definitely lived up to his nickname, Pillar of Doom, he spoke to me with such kindness, I had no doubt that the person I saw in the arena was more like a role he’d taken on in order to survive—a role that got away from him, sure—but it wasn’t who he really was deep down inside.
And while I was more than ready to make the shimmering golden veil right then and there, and send him directly from the arena to the bridge, Theocoles had been pent up in the ludus and Colosseum for so long, he wanted to see what had become of Rome before he moved on.
He wanted to see the real Rome—the modern Rome—the one with flushing toilets and running water.
Though as much as I preferred the new and improved, less barbaric version, Theocoles wasn’t quite so impressed.
“So, what do you think?” I asked, after having made a pretty good tour of the place.
He looked at me, shaking his head when he said, “This is how people dress?” He glanced around again, face dropping into a frown when he added, “I can hardly tell the women from the men!”
I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t help but take that personally since I’d ditched the baggy blue gown the first chance I got, exchanging it for jeans, a (super cute) tee, and ballet flats. And with my hair scraped into a ponytail, with my body back to its former stick-figure self, well, the statement felt like it was directed at me. Not to mention the fact that it came from a man who’d spent his entire life wearing a dress!
I shot him an injured look, saying, “Well, get used to it. Times have changed. Besides, not everyone can be as amazing as Messalina. Some of us are a little less fortunate in the girly department.”
“Messalina truly is the fairest of them all,” he said, gazing back at her to confirm it. Then returning to me, he added, “And you, Miss Riley Bloom, should not underestimate yourself—you may be young yet, but you show great promise.” He leaned down, flicked my ponytail, and sent it swinging back and forth, grinning at me in a way that made his topaz eyes twinkle and my throat go all tight and hot. The guy just oozed charm and charisma, he couldn’t help it, he was magnetic in every possible way.
“So, this is pretty much it,” I said, eager to cross him over and move on. “Old stuff, new stuff, cars, scooters, people, busy-busy-busy—seen enough?” We’d come full circle again and the Colosseum sat just behind us.
Theocoles squinted, looked all around, as Messalina and Bodhi continued to conference, the two of them whispering in a way that made me suspicious.
I was so focused on watching them, that when Theocoles looked at me and said, “What can I expect when I get there?” well, I wasn’t quite sure how to answer.
I took a moment to think about it, wondering how to best phrase it, just how much to reveal. I mean, I could give him a heads-up about the enlightening/mortifying life review process—I could tell him that he should definitely expect to be given an assignment of some kind—that it was nothing like the eternity of cloud lounging and harp lessons most people expect. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that wasn’t quite what he meant. Those weren’t the kinds of details he was interested in.
He was worried about the choices he’d made—the way he’d lived his life. This was a guy who’d left heaps of slain bodies in the arena, and he was worried if he might somehow have to pay for all that.
And while I really had no idea either way, I was able to say, “All I know for sure is that you will be met with an abundance of compassion, love, and understanding.” Remembering how I was the only one judging my actions in my own life review—I was the only one cringing at what I’d witnessed that day—the Council just wanted me to see my actions as clearly as they did.
Theocoles thought for a moment, then turning toward the Colosseum, he closed his eyes, threw his head back, and opened his arms wide, just like he did at each of his victories.
Though this time, it wasn’t the sound of applause, or adoration, or any of the usual things that he sought—this time he listened much deeper, listened for the truth that lurked in his heart.
And when he was ready, when he gave his final nod of consent, I made the shimmering golden veil and waved him right through. Then I turned to Messalina, motioning for her to follow, only to have her shock me to the core when she made no move to join him.
“Messalina was not part of the assignment,” Bodhi said, as though that explained it. “She is not ours to cross over.”
The veil wavered before me, growing increasingly smaller with each passing second. “But what if she wants to cross over? You know, of her own free will? I mean, you do want to cross over, right? You’ve been waiting for this moment for over a thousand years!”
When her gaze shifted to Bodhi, I couldn’t help but sigh. Couldn’t help but turn away, my body strumming with anger as I thought: Great. That’s just great. Here we go again. Another gorgeous girl with a crush on my guide—get in line!
I mean, seriously. Some love story that turned out to be. She swoons after Theocoles for centuries only to dump him at the veil the moment Bodhi with the green eyes arrives.
I felt like a sucker.
The most gullible ghost in the group.
I’d believed in her story—never once doubted their romance—and, as it turns out, it was as fake as the one I’d been engaged in.
“Not to worry,” Bodhi said, trying to comfort me. “There’s a whole group of people waiting for Theocoles, ready to help him get oriented, so don’t worry about him, he’ll be fine. And while Messalina will head over eventually, for now, there’s been a slight change of plans …”
25
Although we ended up traveling a pretty sizeable distance, we chose not to fly.
Or rather, Bodhi and Messalina chose not to fly, Buttercup and I were forced to go along with it.
As it turns out, Messalina didn’t know how to fly. And even though I offered to teach her (figuring if I could teach Buttercup, I could teach anyone), Bodhi was quick to quash it, claiming we had to hurry—that we didn’t have time—and so we boarded a train instead.
I sulked by the window, spending the majority of the ride taking furtive peeks at Bodhi and Messalina, their heads ducked in whisper, paying no mind to me. And after about three and a half hours of steadily rolling down the tracks, the train finally came to a stop, and I was the first to leap up. Sighing and shaking my head as I made for the door, convinced that three and a half hours would’ve proved more than enough time to teach someone to fly.
And, as it turned out, three and a half hours was also enough time to travel from Rome to Venice.
Yep, Venice, Italy—home of canals, grand old waterfront palaces, and gondola rides—a city I’d always dreamed of visiting.
A city so ripe with romance I couldn’t help but notice the little pang of regret at my own lost romance, no matter how fake it might’ve been.
We stopped in the middle of St. Mark’s Square, watching Buttercup drive himself bonkers by chasing after flocks of pigeons he couldn’t quite catch. Barking, and growling, and flying and leaping, trying in vain to make contact, and yelping in confusion every time he ended up flying right through them instead.
“Is someone ever going to tell him he’s dead?” I nodded toward my dog, knowing I was acting crabby, and grumpy, and worse, but I think I had good reason. Back in the Colosseum I’d acted nobly, heroically even. I’d willingly forfeited the Soul Catch to end all Soul Catches just so Messalina could be the master of her own happy ending—only to become a burdensome third wheel to their impromptu party. Someone they had no choice but to drag along for the ride.
“Listen, if you want to go on a gondola ride or something, feel free. Buttercup and I will wait here.” I slumped to the ground, made myself comfortable, determined to make the best of a not so great situation, but still unable to stop myself from adding, “I mean, all I did was help Messalina snare the Soul Catch of the century—something I probably won’t get any credit for—even though it was my idea—my words that awakened Theocoles. But hey, whatever, no biggie. I mean, it’s not like I’m not used to it by now—in fact, I—”
Messalina looked at me, pressed a finger to her lips, and the gesture alone was enough to remind me.
I was doing it again.
Allowing myself to get lost in the soundtrack of my own sad story instead of what really, truly mattered—the fact that I was in Venice—something definitely worth celebrating. I mean, so what if they were planning to ditch me, at least I still had my dog.
“C’mere Buttercup!” I patted my knees, laughing in hysterics when he came bounding toward me, leaping with such enthusiasm I fell to the ground where I was instantly assaulted by a ridiculous amount of slobbery licks. “Alright already!” I laughed, pushing him away and getting him settled beside me. But only for a moment before he was up again, paws dancing wildly as he thrust his nose into the air and barked at something behind me. “What is it? What is it boy?” I craned my neck, but still couldn’t see what he saw.
“Why don’t we go find out?” Bodhi said, motioning for us to follow as he traipsed down a maze of narrow, pedestrian-only alleyways, easing our way around hordes of tourists juggling armfuls of overflowing shopping bags, and slowing when we came to the door of a beautiful big old palace that butted right up against the water, as Bodhi waved us all through the locked door.
Buttercup sprinted ahead, barking in excitement as he tore up several flights of steep marble stairs, and it wasn’t until I’d reached the landing that I heard it.
It was a song—one that could never be mistaken for anything other than what it was.
It was a song I knew well, in fact, it was one of my favorites.
It was the birthday song—and they were singing it for me.
I burst into the room—my face beaming, my eyes moving among the crowd—amazed to see everyone that mattered to me (well, everyone that mattered who was dead, anyway). Waving to my parents, my grandparents too, along with all the members of the Council, including: Royce, Claude, Celia, Samson, and Aurora (my not-so-secret favorite). Cheerleader Girl, also known as Jasmine, also known as Bodhi’s girlfriend, was there as well (probably more for Bodhi than me, but still, it was nice to see her). Even Mort, the guy who told me all about Dreamland had dropped by, along with Balthazar, the director of Dreamland, who stood alongside him. And when my gaze landed on Prince Kanta, who I hadn’t seen since my time on St. John, well, I couldn’t help but squeal in delight. He’d brought Rebecca with him, and her little dog Shucky was already playing a game of fetch with Buttercup. Even the Radiant Boys made an appearance (as it turned out, there were three), and I was happy to see that they’d ditched those gawd-awful little short sets they used to wear in favor of something way more contemporary. I mean, not that I cared—I was done judging people by their appearance (well, for the most part anyway). And while there were definitely a few people missing, namely the Weeping Woman, and Satchel the boy who makes nightmares, I decided not to focus on that.
Instead I focused on the song—and my friends—and the abundance of love and celebration that filled up the room. And when Bodhi stood before me holding a big, huge cake slathered in a thick coat of deep purple frosting—well, it seemed my birthday was complete.
“Corner piece is all yours—but only if you can blow out the candles in one breath,” he said, grinning at me.
One breath—something that’s a lot easier to accomplish when you’re not dead.
I stared at the corner piece, the one with the big, sugary butterfly plunked down on its side, filling myself with great swallows of air, determined to nail it, and that’s when I noticed something remarkable—the candles kept changing.
First there were thirteen.
Then there were fourteen.
Then fifteen.
Then back to thirteen again.
Once, it even went as low as twelve.
My gaze sought Aurora’s, looking for answers (she always had answers), and she was quick to explain when she said, “The choice is yours. Just know that whichever age you choose, you have our full blessing. We are so proud of you, Riley, so proud of the unselfish choice you just made. You’ve come a very long way.”
I gulped, returned my attention to the cake, and when it showed fifteen candles again, I thought: Go! Do it! Then you can be equal with Bodhi! And then maybe he’ll—
But when I gazed at him again, I decided to let that one go. Some things just need to happen on their own. Some things cannot be forced.
Once I’d let fifteen go, it was easy to let fourteen go as well.
Been there—done that. And I knew with complete certainty that there was a really big difference between looking a certain age—and feeling a certain age.
I wasn’t ready for the big time. Not even close.
Reminded of what Ever had said that time we met up in Dreamland—that I was lucky—that I wouldn’t be forced into anything before I was ready—I would become a teen when the time was just right, not a moment earlier. And I had no doubt in my mind that my sister was right.
I’d been waiting to be thirteen for so long, I could hardly believe the moment had come.
But, I’d also had so much experience in the time since my death—I was no longer sure if it fit.
The candles flickered before me—adding—subtracting—over and over again.
And when my number finally appeared, I closed my eyes, sucked in a mouthful of air, and blew with all of my might.
Remembering to make a wish—you always have to make a wish.
And when I opened my eyes and looked down at myself, I saw that one of my wishes came true.
I wasn’t just thirteen—I was thirteen and a half—thank you very much!
It was an age I felt comfortable with—an age I’d earned—truly arrived at.
And, while my body was nowhere as impressive as it had been back in Rome, it also wasn’t nearly as stick figure–like anymore.
“If you wished for the corner piece, then your wish came true,” Bodhi said, setting the cake on the table and carving me a big, hefty slice.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I looked at him and rolled my eyes, but instead of that leading to a bickering session like it normally would, we both just cracked up.
Bodhi presented my piece and I was just about to dig in, when I remembered I wasn’t the only one with a birthday to celebrate. So I closed my eyes long enough to manifest a beautiful cupcake topped with pink creamy frosting and dotted with little bits of candy that shimmered like jewels.
Then after plucking one of the candles from my cake, and sticking it in the middle of the cupcake, I looked at th
e crowd assembled before me and said, “Would you guys mind singing ‘Happy Birthday’ again? But this time, sing it to my friend, Messalina. She never had a birthday party, and it seems a bit overdue.”
26
Even though I’d been waiting for it for years, even though I’d imagined it down to every last detail, as it turns out, my thirteenth birthday party wasn’t at all like I’d thought.
Not just because I never imagined myself dead at thirteen.
Not just because I chose to tack on an additional six months by making myself thirteen and a half.
Not just because it technically wasn’t a birthday party since it didn’t take place on the day of my birth (I didn’t know what day it was).
But mostly because for someone who’d spent most of my death feeling lonely and friendless, when I took in the crowd at my party, I realized I’d been anything but.
Okay, maybe I didn’t know most of them all that well. Maybe a good amount of them were just people I worked with, people I once helped find their way to the Here & Now. But still, I’d spent so much time feeling alone that I was blinded to the fact that there was actually a whole team of people cheering me on.
Unlike Theocoles, I’d tuned out their roar of approval for my own (mostly negative) thoughts. But no more—those days were over.
“Riley, this is amazing!” Messalina lifted her napkin, dabbed at a blob of frosting that had found its way to her chin. “Are birthdays always like this? If so, I can’t wait to have another!”
“They’re not always like this,” I told her, jabbing my fork deep into a ball of sugary goodness. “But they should be.” I took another bite and smiled, my teeth frosted with a thick coat of purple.
And that’s when I saw him.
That’s when I saw him gazing at me from across the room in much the same way he’d gazed at me the very first time at Messalina’s never-ending party.
