A Grand Lodge Master officiates at the ceremony, which I can barely make out through my pain. I only know that it’s time to release my lanterns upon the water’s surface when everyone around me bends down to do so.
My fingers dip into the cool river. The two lanterns float, bobbing. I give them a gentle push, and they drift away. This is a Wanderers’ funeral. Each flickering flame symbolizes setting the deceased’s soul free.
My extra lantern is the only tribute here to my mom. All the others are for Turner. To most, she’s been dead for a very long time. I replay her final words repeatedly in my head. “I’ve been with you always.” It’s a sentiment that I don’t completely understand. Her words are infused with a mother’s love. Love that I have only seen by her actions to protect my dreamdrive from Cece.
Farther away, Mona leans in and places a lantern on the river. She sadly looks up at me from her crouched position, and I look away, still bitter for what I’ve learned. With the death of Turner and my mom, my emotions are compounded, perhaps even more elevated from where they were originally. Yes, I understand Mona’s actions, pretending to be my aunt to protect her boys, but I’m still hurt by the deceit. Bishop appears at her side, pulling her into a hug. He glances at me, and I turn to look away.
Thousands of lanterns drift out to the center of the river, and suddenly they lift from the water’s surface, slowly launching, drifting through the air. Lanterns are everywhere, dotting the sky like fireflies.
When this happens, this signals the end of the ceremony. The crowd disperses, silently walking away. But I can’t force my eyes from the beauty, and perhaps, I’m not ready to let either of them go.
Alone, I walk the muddy embankment. When I reach a bridge, I climb onto a cold marble slab and tuck myself into a nook. Hidden, I watch the lanterns float above the city for hours, until I can no longer sort out the lanterns from the twinkling stars.
In a fog of sadness and confusion, I stumble off my hiding spot. There are many people walking through Gibeon, but I’ve never felt so alone or so dead inside. Sam and Macey are the only ones I’ve truly spoken with since Mom and Turner’s deaths. And even that’s very little. I can’t make my mouth form any words that don’t sound hateful. So I keep quiet, allowing angry thoughts to scream through my head. They’re a turbulent mess that needs to be dealt with, but not yet. For now, I need to feel the animosity to understand the pain.
Yes, I’ve dreamed of going back to save both Mom and Turner. But for once, this can’t be done. To die in Gibeon is final.
On several occasions, Bishop tries to explain himself. But I can’t deal with him—not yet. Looking into his eyes will not calm my rage. His explanations will only ignite the fire. I hate what the Society has brought to my life: the revolting lies, the chaos, the lost choices, and the tormenting pain. I long to be Normal and to have never known this world.
•
The next morning, I’m sitting on the couch in my apartment. I’ve stayed awake all night. After hours of infomercials, Gabe’s morning show begins. He’s taking the newscast very seriously, as he reports on Cece’s death, Turner’s heroism, and the lingering threats of the Underground.
The next headline story discusses Terease. She’s been given a hasty trial by the Grand Master Elders for infractions upon the Society, including attempting to trade my dreamdrive to the Underground. The reason Cece would want it is still a mystery to me and everyone else who’s tried to decipher the meaning. Clearly, Terease knows much more than others of this and certainly more about my mom. I find myself thinking of Terease’s motives, often wondering what they mean, and if there’s a way to seek her out to get the answers.
In the end, Terease is found guilty. She’s immediately exiled to Nocturna—the wandering city for criminals where time speeds up, pressing rapid aging upon all inhabitants. Living within its walls is a death sentence.
The last story talks of Perpetua and her team, who are expelled for good, their records still marred by their previous dealings with the Underground. Maybe they just went home to their families to be Normal? Gabe doesn’t say. From my perspective, the true torture would be forcing them to take the oaths to the Society.
Bishop walks into the living room, fresh from his shower. He nods, not bothering to say anything. He knows I’m not ready to talk. I wearily glance at his eyes and stand to make my way to the place I’ve gone every morning since Turner’s death—his apartment.
The first morning I entered Turner’s apartment, I barely made it past the couch. Every morning since, I’ve returned, acclimating myself to the heartbreaking emptiness. But then I remind myself that the apartment was always empty and lonely, just like Turner. I frown.
I stand in front of his bedroom door for several moments before I’m brave enough to walk in. When I do, the musty and stagnant air sours my stomach. Gadgets, inventions, and rolls of drawings sit on every surface. I smile at the thought of him working on them, tinkering with the inventions, bringing the machines to life. I walk along the walls, lightly touching items as I pass, wishing the relics would send me their memories of Turner, just as if I were a Seer.
Given the opportunity to look into his eyes now, I would not look away and pretend that there was no connection between us. I would live there forever, knowing he could be taken away in an instant. Those feelings, the unwanted love I feel for him, although tampered with, were ones I denied myself for months. Now, they feel raw and unresolved. Maybe he was meant to be my Protector all along. In the end, after all, isn’t that what he died doing?
A stack of envelopes, shiny and silver gray, the exact color of Turner’s eyes, stops me in my tracks. They sit on his desk. A pair of scissors sits next to them—and beneath those, a photo—a photo that’s been cut in half.
I slide the photo out and stare at it. In the photo stands Turner, dressed up and smiling with his arm slung over someone who was next to him—before the two were separated. I pick up the photo, holding it to my eyes and feel the ragged edge. The other half of the missing photo, I realize, was of Bishop.
My emotions hitch in my chest, and my heart tightens with convulsions. I cry, so hard my stomach feels as though it will turn inside out.
“Sera,” Bishop says. His hand rests lightly upon my shoulder. He’s followed me.
“He—he knew he was going to die to protect me.” I heave uncontrollably and turn to Bishop.
“What are you talking about?”
“Here.” I hold out the envelope and the half picture. “I received a letter in the mail before I ever came to Chicago. It was in an envelope just like this, and it had your photo in it. After Sam told me what you did to make sure you were the Protector chosen for our team, I assumed it was you who sent the photo—so you could secure your place. But now I see, it wasn’t you. It was Turner. He sent me your photo, wanting to secure your spot because he knew he’d risk his life to protect me.”
My tears fall, understanding Turner’s complete and utter selflessness. All of his actions from the beginning, no matter how annoying, were for me—all of them—for me.
Bishop gathers me into his arms and holds me tight.
He cries too, holding nothing back.
After a while, once our tears have slowed, I step away and hold the envelope. “He must have sent the envelope from Gibeon before we found your meeting place with Cece. The post office there can send mail to any time period.” I gasp a sob.
“Yes, I’m afraid it does.” He takes the envelope and photo and sets them on the desk, and then he grabs my hands.
“I’m so sorry for everything I did, Sera. I’m so, so sorry.” He leans in to level his eyes with mine.
“Stop. Just stop,” I say and look away. His timing couldn’t be worse.
“Please, if I don’t tell you now, you may never hear my side of the story.”
I shake my head, staring at the floor, wiping my nose with my sleeve. Let him say what he needs to say. Just get it over with. “Fine,” I relent.
“W
hen I first went to the L train station, the day you arrived in Chicago, I only went to watch you from afar. I had to know who you were because I was so certain you would never choose me over Turner. Even now, I’m certain it would have never been me. I’ve seen the way you look at Turner through Sam’s mind. The way you two kis—” He stops and stiffens before he can finish the word. He looks at the floor, composing his thoughts.
As he does, the memory of the one all-consuming kiss I shared with Turner flashes in my mind. Sadly, I have nothing to respond. I don’t know whom I would have picked given the choice. Even now, I’m unsure.
“Then the Underground’s gang came after you, and I had to stop them. You were in danger, and I didn’t stop to consider the consequences. The instant I grabbed your arm to help you, it was done. You were mine, and I was yours. I loved you from the first moment I touched you, and I couldn’t stay away from you after that. So I watched you in the courtyard of the Normals’ Academy, talked to you, helped you figure out you were a Wanderer, and did many, many things I should not have. I’m so sorry for what I did to you and to Turner. I’ve been living with my guilt for so long, quietly making it up to you in every way I can by trying to be the perfect boyfriend. The truth is that I’m not perfect. In fact, being with you is the most selfish thing I’ve ever done.
“Do you think you could ever forgive me, Sera?” Bishop pleads.
I seek his eyes. I’d been uncertain what my answer would be when I thought of this moment. But I instantly know the answer. “Yes.” I say it out loud, surprising myself. “We’ve both had our secrets. So I suppose there are things you must forgive me for, too.”
“Thank you. Thank you.” He moves forward for an embrace. “My Seraphina,” he whispers in my ear and leans in to kiss me.
“No!” I hold him away, acting the way I know I should, against what my body, my mind, and my heart tell me to do: to reach out and embrace him, and never let him go. There’s shock and instant hurt in his red-rimmed eyes.
“Why? I love you,” he says, reassuring me.
“But what we feel is still fabricated by our heritage.”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.” I shove him away and stomp across the floor. “True, I love you. Even now, I still can’t deny it.” For what he’s done, I shouldn’t love him, and it makes me angry. “Somehow, it’s irrefutable, perfectly clear. But I’m so confused by everything that’s happened. I haven’t figured out what to do about it. The Society is lawless, controlling our hearts, our minds, our dreams, and our souls. Do you really want to live this way—with no choice?” I swivel to face him.
“No, but this is who we are. What can we do?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I think I know someone who can help me understand everything.”
“Who?”
I look down, clenching my hands into fists as I take a deep breath, considering. He won’t like what I have to say, and will be even more unhappy with my daring plans. With a huff, I let my breath out in a rush, and look Bishop squarely in the eye.
“Terease.”
•••
To Be Continued
•••
No. 1 A Fight
No. 2 Turner
No. 3 A Challenge
No. 4 Love Letters
No. 5 The Launch
No. 6 London
No. 7 A Date
No. 8 Schlag
No. 9 Unexpected Return
No. 10 Aunt Mona
No. 11 The Talk
No. 12 Holograms
No. 13 Dinner with Ray
No. 14 Oath Packages
No. 15 Preview
No. 16 History and Mythology
No. 17 Defense Arts
No. 18 Closing In
No. 19 Selfish
No. 20 London Exhibition
No. 21 Unfragmentation
No. 22 Perpetua
No. 23 An Attack
No. 24 Aftermath
No. 25 Two Hearts
No. 26 The Truth
No. 27 Protectors
No. 28 Gala
No. 29 One Kiss
No. 30 An Arrangement
No. 31 Unravel
No. 32 Dreamdrive
No. 33 Motives
No. 34 Gibeon
No. 35 A Truce
No. 36 Hearts Lost
No. 37 A Sacrifice
Reviews
Dedication
Copyright
Copyright
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© 2012 by Michelle Preast, Michelle Warren.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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Dedication
Thanks to my Dad, who bought me my first telescope, who woke me up in the middle of the night for meteor showers, who watched Star Trek and B.S.G. with me, and who opened my eyes and mind to science and fantasy.
Special thanks to:
Tabitha Preast, Jenn Sterling, Christa Howell, Nikki Shah, Amy Bettwy, and Deena Graves. Beta readers make everything better! Thank you!
Pam Berehulke, you’re still the bomb.
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Waiting on Forever
Copyright © 2013 by Ashley Wilcox
Edited by Indie After Hours
Cover design by B Designs
Formatting by JT Formatting
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Prologue
“Matthew Jacobs?”
“Matt, and here,” I say raising my hand at the cute tour guide, giving her a half smile. I swear they do this on purpose. Back when I was visiting colleges before I decided on Cortland, every single tour guide at every single school was hot. It’s funny, too, because I’ve yet to see a dude doing tours. Must be because most girls go to college to actually learn and most guys well, they’re going for
other reasons. So, not a dumb idea to reel you in with a hot girl to show you around.
Fortunately for me, it wasn’t much of a toss-up. I didn’t pick the college by how hot the girls that go there are; Cortland offered me a full ride for football, and since I don’t have much in the money department, Cortland was the obvious winner. Not that I’m complaining, though. Cortland is a division three school with a pretty awesome football team. On top of that, I’m guaranteed a starting position which is kind of unheard of as a freshman. Yeah, I had a couple of better schools with more prestigious football programs offer me scholarships, but the playing time would have sucked. I don’t want to warm benches, I want to tear up the field.
“Leah Bennett. Is there a Leah Bennett here?”
“Yes, sorry. Here,” the girl behind the camera answers.
“Wait, you’re part of orientation?” I ask the nerdy girl that has been taking picture after picture while we get the roll call and paperwork done.
She looks at me, confused. “Yeah, why?”
“I thought you were part of the welcoming committee,” I respond, shrugging my shoulders.
“Why? I’m not wearing one of their shirts,” she says, her tone a little snippy.
Whoa. Calm down, killer!
“I don’t know. You’ve been taking a bunch of pictures, so I thought maybe you were doing it for the school or something.”
“I’m a photography major. We take pictures.”
“Gotcha,” I answer before turning my attention back to the hot tour guide.
Even though this girl is screaming nerd, she’s actually pretty cute. Not to mention that I’m always drawn to the girls who don’t give you the time of day at first. They give you more of a challenge, instead of the fake airheads who will bend over for you if you just smile their way.
Kiss Kiss Page 282
