Scintillate

by Tracy Clark

  The world tilted sideways, and I slid off.

  Eight

  S

  ounds funneled in before my eyes opened.

  “Is she okay?” Dun’s voice broadcasted alarm.

  “Should we call an ambulance?”

  “Freak.” That was Serena Tate. Bitch.

  I opened my eyes. Finn leaned over me, concern on his handsome face. He smiled when I focused on him. “I’ve never made a girl faint before. I must’ve really blown you away.”

  I was blown away all right. I craned my head around, looking for the white aura, the dark eyes that had stared hungrily into mine, but he was gone. “That man…”

  Finn touched my cheek with the back of his fingers. “Man?”

  “This is embarrassing,” I whispered. “Help me up?” I held my hand out but Finn’s arm slipped under my neck. He lifted my head and pulled my body to his. Suddenly, my feet left the ground, and he snaked through the crowd, carrying me against his chest toward the door. Mari and Dun followed. Many pairs of eyes watched us pass, but none of them belonged to the man who’d stalked me.

  “You sure you don’t need help getting her out of here? She’s pretty hefty,” Serena called out. “Corbin can take her feet.”

  Finn stopped. “Shut your gob, you thundering bitch.”

  I heard Mari verbally assault Serena as well with the threat of an upgrade to physical assault, followed by Dun’s voice urging Mari out of the building.

  This was beyond mortifying. I threw my arm around Finn’s neck and buried my face in his pale skin, warm from the performance. His soft stubble tickled my temple. I could smell the faint odor of cloves. Taste his tattoo. My lips parted. Oh God.

  “Okay, you can put me down now,” I gasped in a near-panic, afraid my tongue would snake out for a little taste without my permission. It wouldn’t be the first time my body acted of its own accord around Finn.

  Finn kept walking.

  “I’m good now. Honest. You can put me down.”

  He stopped in the parking lot. I expected him to lower me to my feet, but he held me close. “That’s the thing,” he whispered into my hair, “I don’t want to.”

  I didn’t want him to, either. I felt safe in his arms. We were warm together, and I knew I’d feel cold when he let me go.

  Finn groaned, a sort of frustrated sound, and gently set my feet on the ground. I wobbled a bit and put my hand on his shoulder to steady myself. He slipped an errant curl behind my ear and bent to look in my downturned face. “Are you okay, Cora? Maybe you’re not quite well yet. Has anything like that ever happened before?”

  I shook my head no, but that wasn’t the truth.

  “What’s this about a man?”

  “The man who followed me the other day…he was here.”

  A deep crease of worry wrinkled Finn’s nose. “Did he say anything to you, do anything?”

  “No. He never touched me.” He didn’t have to.

  Mari was still in an uproar about Serena Tate when they caught up to us. “Thundering bitch?” She laughed. “I’m liking you more and more,” Mari told Finn with a pop of her gum. She touched my elbow. “Ready to go?”

  “I’ll take her home,” Finn said. “She’ll be okay with me.”

  Mari’s eyes glinted. “I’m sure she’s in good hands.” She threw me a teasing smile and kissed my cheek, whispering, “I’ll call you later, girl.”

  I leaned against the cold metal of Finn’s car, not knowing what to say. He was going to think I was mental, if he didn’t already. It wasn’t just the man with his leering eyes and the painful wrenching from my body when he was near that had me frightened to my core. It was the ominous note at Say Chi’s, and the palpable, ferocious energy of that room after Finn played. It was this difference in me that separated me from everyone else.

  Finn leaned forward, his hand resting on the roof of the car next to my shoulder, fingers strumming invisible chords on the blue paint. “You look scared,” he whispered, mere inches from my face. There was a teasing quality to his observation, as though he knew that his body pressing gently against mine and his lips hovering mere inches away were having an effect on me. I swallowed freakishly loud. Then his right hand wiggled next to my hip, and I heard a click as he lifted the door latch.

  “Get in,” he said, opening the car door. I let out the breath that danced behind my lips.

  “I can’t get in your car. I—I need my bag,” I protested, standing a bit straighter even though I still felt weak and nervous.

  He bent, retrieved my bag from the ground, and handed it to me. “Mari brought it out.”

  “My bike?”

  “I’ll get it for you later when I pick up my guitar and equipment. You just passed out, Cora. I’m not letting you ride your bike home,” he said with a determined set of his jaw.

  I bit my lip. “I’m scared,” I whispered. The truest thing I could admit.

  “Of?”

  That man. Seeing auras. Being silver. Of you. “Of everything I can’t control.”

  Finn smiled. “Aww, luv, too much is out of our control. Your best bet is to control the fear.” He pressed lightly on the small of my back, guiding me toward the open door.

  I slid in, setting my purse on my lap, and reached inside it for a Hot Tamale. When he got in the car, I offered him the box of candy. He dropped a few into his hand and tossed them in his mouth. “Man, that was something in there. I feel superhuman.” He raked both hands over his scalp and leaned back, exhaling. “Jesus, I could use a pint. America is seriously lacking in pubs.”

  “Is it true that there’s a pub for every five people in Ireland?”

  Finn laughed. “Probably.”

  He still hadn’t started the car. I looked out my window at the pink blossoms of the cherry trees falling onto the dark pavement. Admittedly, I also looked for the man to peek out from behind a tree, but saw nothing. I locked the door. “I liked watching you play. You’re very talented. I was surprised—”

  “Thanks a heap.”

  I laughed and cuffed his thigh with the back of my hand. “I was going to say I was surprised you were playing the blues.”

  “Oh, that. I’ve always loved American blues.” His colors warmed. I pushed away the vision of his aura growing so huge at the coffee shop. It had seemed like a living entity. Hungry. “Your blues sings to the ghosts the way some Irish music does.”

  Intriguing. He didn’t talk like anybody else. I rested my cheek on the leather seat. “Sings to the ghosts?”

  He smoothed his scruff with his long, tapered fingers. “Ireland is littered with ghosts. Music is how we speak to them. But it also sings to the ghosts inside you.” So, he was a rock-star poet.

  When he caught me looking intently at him, he slid his fingers closer to mine and added, “We all have ghosts, Cora. Secret hurts. I do. You do. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “That’s because you’re really looking. So few people do.”

  “I adore your eyes.”

  Your eyes remind me of home. I loved how he’d said that in the hospital. He saw me. Truly saw me. But it was more than fanciful compliments. Every interaction between us rang of fate. Like we were destined to sit in this car tonight. Destined to share a story.

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s not just the color of your eyes—though, damn, that emerald green against your black hair slays me. It’s what’s in them. I feel like I know everything…and nothing, when I look in your eyes.” He glanced away, suddenly shy.

  “Questions and answers,” I whispered. He looked at me in a penetrating way, almost pained. “That’s what I see in your eyes, too,” I confessed. God, I never knew the desire to kiss someone could be so intense. He was right in front of me, searching my face, smelling of melted cinnamon, his gaze falling to my lips, lingering there.

  He wants to kiss me.

  His hand cupped my face. “You know how badly I want to kiss you?”

  “Yes.”

  A surprised laugh
. “How?”

  “You keep watching my mouth,” I whispered. “It makes my lips tingle.”

  How could I tell him that his aura had already kissed me?

  He blew out a huge puff of air and turned abruptly away from me, then started the car. “Damn it! I’ve never wanted to taste something so badly in my life.”

  I stared at him, confused. Wouldn’t this normally be the part where he did kiss me? Whatever his reasons, I decided to let him off the hook. “I can’t date you, Finn.” Saying it, I felt like a bee stinging itself.

  “I can’t date you, either.” He chuckled and slipped my hand in his. Warmth wound through our fingers. His voice softened. “So, will you go out on a date with me?”

  Finn insisted on walking me to my front door, just to make sure I was okay. To ensure I’d die of heart palpitations, my father intercepted us on the porch. I scooped up my bag and thanked Finn, but my dad invited him into the living room.

  “What happened?” my father asked, his voice and face stony. “When you didn’t come home, I went to look for you at the rec center, but it wasn’t open. You lied to me? Didn’t you notice how many times I’ve called your cell phone?”

  Damn. I hadn’t heard it over the music. “I ran into Finn downtown, and then I fainted.”

  Dad’s eyes grew alarmed and a bit incredulous.

  “Finn insisted on driving me home. He didn’t think I should ride my bike after what happened.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is, sir,” Finn answered.

  “Then I’m sure I must thank you,” my father said, not covering the ice in his voice.

  Finn smiled. “No thanks needed.” He looked around curiously. “You collect treasure boxes?” he asked, gesturing to my dad’s impressive collection of various sizes and shapes of boxes around the room.

  “Yes,” I said when Dad was slow to reply. “He always picks them up on his business travels.”

  “That’s a lot of travels. Do you keep things in them?” Finn asked, fingering one. I refrained from telling him that Janelle’s latest stroke of brilliance was to put one in the bathroom filled with maxi-pads and tampons.

  “No.”

  “No treasure?” he asked, friendly. Trying so hard. My heart went out to him.

  “Cora’s the only treasure I have left.”

  We all stood there, awkwardly.

  “So, how long are you planning to be in America?”

  I slipped my arm in Finn’s. “Smooth, Dad. Nice to meet you. When are you leaving?” Both Finn and my dad laughed uneasily. I kissed Dad’s cheek and pulled Finn out the door to say good-bye.

  “Sorry about that. My dad’s a scientist. Right now, he’s experimenting with new ways to heighten awkward feelings in people.”

  “You never did give me an answer about our”—he inclined his head and whispered—“date.”

  “Is tomorrow too soon to go?”

  Nine

  A

  t my request, Finn and I agreed to meet at Full Belly Deli at the base of Felton Highway. I questioned my brilliant idea of putting a dab of maple extract behind my ears—I didn’t own perfume—when a man on the bus looked at me like he hadn’t had pancakes in years. I scooted closer to the window.

  Finn was already at the deli when I arrived, waiting for me at a booth in the corner. He sipped a soda and looked distractedly out the window. I paused a moment, my nerve faltering at the sight of him, unbearably handsome with his full lips and classical nose. But it was the rough of him, the unpolished bits, that made my blood run hot. That messy blue-black hair, the scruff of beard, the spiral tattoo peeking out of his collar that teased me with mysteries carved in stones in the fog-drenched moss of Ireland.

  His hand relaxed on the aluminum table, long fingers splayed out on the shiny surface. I could see the reflection of it underneath, like two hands resting together. I wished it were my palm pressed flat against his.

  I willed myself to move forward. “Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  Finn’s head jerked up. A smile tugged at the corner of one side of his mouth, making his dimple show. He stood and ran his hands down the back of my arms, sending warmth through my body, then motioned for me to sit. “Are you hungry?”

  “No, thanks. I brought some snacks for us,” I said, hoping it’d be a nice surprise. “There’s something I want to show you.”

  We walked outside to the blue Mustang. The top was down. It was a great day for a convertible. The morning mist had burned off, leaving a brilliant and clear late May afternoon. I got in and stretched my arms over my head.

  Finn flashed his charismatic smile at my pleasure. “What?” I asked, leaning my head back and looking at the limitless sky. “I’ve never been in a convertible before. And it’s perfect for where we’re going.”

  He started the car. “I’m intrigued.”

  I directed him up the winding canyon. Sun gave way to shade as a canopy of trees arched over our heads. With the top down, it was easy to smell the shift from the grit of the city streets to the dank, earthy richness of the forest.

  Finn’s hand tickled the back of my neck. “I love it when your hair is up like that. You have a beautiful neck.”

  Okay, wow. “Not bad on the swoon-o-meter.” I wanted to resist the bait, yet I longed to turn my cheek into the warmth of his palm.

  “Turn here,” I instructed when we reached Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park. We drove past the wide green meadow of the redwood park entrance. I bubbled with excitement at showing Finn something most people would never see in their lifetime.

  We walked side by side to the trailhead. “This,” I said, gesturing to the path that wound through the redwood grove, “is one of my favorite places in the universe.”

  He craned his neck back and gaped at the towering sentinels above us. “They’re bloody enormous. I never imagined trees so large. How often do you come here?”

  “A couple times a month. But I usually come alone.”

  He reached tentatively for my hand so that just our fingertips touched. The small contact sent a delicious thrill through me. “And you brought me. I’m flattered.” He pulled my hand all the way into his. I wondered if he felt the tickling pulse of energy like a soft feather pressed between our palms.

  I led him from tree to tree, watching him marvel at their majesty, enjoying his observations of the clay-earth color of the bark, the prehistoric appearance of the branches and foliage, how each trunk looked like enormous beasts had used them for sharpening their claws. Finn stopped to read each and every placard along the trail.

  We ducked inside an enormous redwood trunk scarred with a gaping black hole from an ancient lightning strike. In this enclosed space, my senses were heightened. I was aware of the warmth Finn emitted when he stood behind me, the way our auras took up more space than our bodies did. My skin warmed when he gently touched my waist to follow me back out into the light.

  “These trees are magical. But there’s a secret in these woods that most people don’t know about. Do you want to see?” I asked, unable to contain my smile.

  Finn stopped in the path, a slant of sunshine illuminating his face. The same warmth shone across my nose and cheek as though there was a spotlight trained on us against the backdrop of the forest’s muted greens, reds, and browns. “These trees aren’t the only thing magical about this place.” Finn cocked his head to the side. “What is it about you, Cora Sandoval?”

  “Are you being rhetorical?” I worried he somehow knew how different I was. But there was something about him as well. It radiated from him, intense and luminous. His golden-pink aura pulsed and vibrated into an ever-widening and intensifying pool of light. I couldn’t doubt what I could see with my own eyes. Finn was beautiful.

  Physically, yes. But it was like I could see his soul. Who he really was. He was easygoing and gentle, soft ripples instead of roaring waves. I couldn’t see the undercurrents beneath his smooth surface, but the danger of his riptide pulled me in. I saw he had
fear as well, concentrated in a ball of yellow near his stomach, like it was protecting something inside. I wondered if that’s what a secret looked like in someone’s aura. I couldn’t judge him if it was. Everyone had things they were afraid to reveal. I was keeping a huge secret, and the reason was pure fear.

  Finn was strong, too. It showed in the intensity and depth of his colors. I’d seen this blend of colors coming off him before but hadn’t known what it meant. I knew now. He was attracted to me. I didn’t have to guess at it, I could read it. I could feel it with every beat of my heart in my chest.

  His colors enveloped me as he drew closer, his eyes never leaving mine except to stray to my mouth and back again. Everything in me ached to have him touch me, to kiss me here in this hushed palace of ancient trees. Both hands reached for me, cradling my face. His fingers curved onto my cheekbones, behind my ears, into my hair. His thumbs ran gently across the surface of my lips to their outer edges.

  I opened my mouth to him even before his lips were on mine. When he crushed me with his kiss, it was with an intensity of passion contained for years, not days—it was like we’d waited centuries, lifetimes, to feel each other’s lips.

  The unleashed force of connection rushed out of my body toward him.

  Finn gasped against my lips and kissed me deeper. Hungrier.

  My body responded to his fire by sparking to life. This want was loud, crashing against my skin, burning me from the inside out. Shockingly assertive thoughts swam through my mind. I wanted to pin him against the trunk of a tree, run my tongue along the curve of his upper lip, taste him.

  Rough bark scratched my knuckles. I opened my eyes. Finn’s were wide open and wild. I had done exactly as I was thinking. I had him pressed, captive, against the tree. His fingers dug into my hips. My silver aura flared from my hand against his neck, blending with the heat from his skin. A mystical merging of our colors.

  I pulled away, breathless, sure my face was as flushed as his, my lips as pink and slightly swollen. “Is that how—how it’s supposed to be?”