Cold Kiss Part 12

Gabriel takes a bottle of water out of the fridge and hands it to me before pointing to my phone, which is lying on the table. He doesn't seem completely awake yet, and it's so quiet in the apartment, I simply nod.

I glance at the closed door where Danny is before I take my phone back out to the living room and settle on the sofa. At some point I'm going to have to go in there, and the fact that I would rather listen to the angry messages on my phone instead makes me queasy all over again.

There are four phone messages, and six texts, which is actually less than I expected. Mom's first message is tentative and a little confused: "Wren? Were you late? School called and said you missed homeroom. Everything okay?"

Her next two messages aren't as pleasant, and the one from Jess is short but effective: "Where the h.e.l.l are you, Wren?"

The texts are all from Jess but one, which is from Dar, and it simply reads: WREN? It's just the one word, but I can picture her face as she typed it, hair falling into her face, a confused frown twisting her mouth.

I'm so very screwed. On every level, in every way. In ways they haven't invented yet, actually. It's tempting to throw my phone across the room again, get up and walk out of the apartment, and just ... keep going. Walk until I can't walk anymore, until I reach the edge of the world, or at least the edge of town.

Like a coward. G.o.d, that voice never shuts up. It's always there, always ready to point out every horrible, stupid thing I want to ignore. If it's my conscience, it's working overtime, not that anyone asked it to.

I'm still slumped on the sofa, my phone in my hands, when Gabriel comes into the room and sits next to me. For a minute, he's as still as Danny, but then I feel his hand on the back of my neck, a steady weight. It's even more tempting to lean back into it, let him catch me, but I can't. I won't.

The pressure of Gabriel's hand changes, and I finally turn my head to face him. I can see the things he's considering saying, as if the words were scrolling past.

"Don't say it's going to be okay."

His smile is small and sad, and I feel a little guilty for being so cold. "I wasn't. It's not. But you're going to get through it. And I can help you, Wren. I will help you, I promise."

"Why?" I push up off the sofa and cross the room, arms folded over my chest, trying to hold in all the things I want to say, should say. "This is so not your problem."

"You know why."

"Then you must be as crazy as I am," I say, and the words are bitten off, jagged and ugly in the silence. "Why would you want to be with me? After ... after all of this?"

"Nothing's that black and white, Wren." When he looks up at me, his eyes are stormy, a deep cloudy gray. "You know that."

"What I know is I have to go home and try to explain to my mother where I was today, and then try to make Jess and Dar forgive me for ruining tonight, and then figure out how to..." I choke on the words I need to finish the sentence, but Gabriel follows my gaze to the closed door of his room, and I think he knows what I mean anyway. "G.o.d, how am I going to get him back to the loft?"

"What are you talking about?" Now he's on his feet, and he's looking at me like I've really lost my mind. "We decided to bring him here."

"For now," I say helplessly. "While it was daylight. He can't stay here!"

"Why not?" For someone who's being completely oblivious, he's still looking at me like I'm the crazy one.

"Oh yeah, Olivia will love that." I pull out my best sneer, the one that's gotten me into trouble with teachers too many times to count. "I can see it now, you'll be all sensible and calm, 'Olivia, there's this epically whacked girl I like, and we need to keep her dead boyfriend here for a while, okay?' That'll go over great. Let me know when she signs you up for therapy and the good drugs."

"She already knows."

My mouth falls open. "What?"

"She already knows. We talked while you were asleep, before she left for work."

My heart skips a beat, a frightening moment of nothing where it seems suspended in my chest, open and gasping.

"Gabriel, what exactly did you tell her?"

He comes closer, and takes one of my hands. "The truth." He shrugs.

"The truth." My voice sounds faint, and I can't come up with anything else to say. I a.s.sumed she would think Danny was on drugs or something, which was bad enough, but the truth?

I'm still gaping when Gabriel squeezes my hand. "Look, I know it's weird, but there are things I haven't told you either. It's not something either of us have seen before, obviously, but just trust me, okay? It's cool."

"How is it cool, Gabriel?" I wrench my hand away. "And what do you mean things you've never told me?" My heart's beating fine again, but now I feel smothered, like there's not enough air in the room. This isn't his problem, and now his sister knows about me, knows what I did to Danny, what Danny is, and if I ever thought I could keep my life from getting completely snarled with Gabriel's when this is over, I was so wrong.

"Stop that." He follows as I back up against the wall, breathing hard to make sure I keep breathing at all. He stops just short of me, though, and holds up his hands. I can feel him in my head, just a gentle pressure, and I close my eyes.

"No fair."

"I'm sorry." He waits until I open my eyes again. He's still, but his face is set hard, resolute. "It's not like that, I swear. I want to help, Wren. And you can't take him back to that garage. He left once, and you know he's not going to be content to stick around anymore, not unless you can pull some more magic out of your hat."

s.h.i.t. He's right, of course he's right, and I hate it.

"Don't ... don't look in my head," and I know I sound sullen, all of five years old, but I have to remind him that there are boundaries, even if I can't remember to keep within them all the time.

"I'm sorry."

When he reaches for my hand this time, I let him take it. Despite how Danny scared me in the park, I hate the idea of him not being right there, only the length of my backyard away from me. "This is just for now, though. I'm going to figure this out."

"Right." There's nothing hidden in his eyes now, and I can't help but believe him. "It's the weekend as of tonight. If nothing else, I'll be here when Olivia isn't."

"Yeah." I glance at his bedroom door again, amazed that it's still quiet inside.

"Just go," Gabriel says softly, and his thumb runs over the back of my hand. "Deal with your mom and everything. I'll call you if ... well, I'll call you later."

I don't put up a fight when he kisses my forehead, a whisper of pressure. But it seems important that I'm the one to let go of his hand first.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

MOM'S CAR IS IN THE DRIVEWAY WHEN I GET home, and that's such a bad thing. She only leaves the salon during the day if dragons have attacked or it's raining grape juice, so she's clearly counting this as a disaster. It's not like I didn't expect it-I've never skipped before, not a whole day anyway.

I'm probably only imagining the dark smudge of cloud hanging specifically over our house.

I don't bother to be quiet when I shut the front door behind me, and I leave my backpack in a heap on the floor beneath the coatrack. A chair sc.r.a.pes across the kitchen floor, and Mom's standing in the doorway to the kitchen a second later.

"Well, you're not dead," she says tightly. Her hair, usually pulled up into a neat knot at the back of her head, has escaped half its pins, and her eyes are bruised with worry. "Or hurt. You may wish you were in a minute, though."

I swallow hard and stand my ground.

"Care to explain?" She leans against the doorjamb, arms folded over her chest. It's all too casual-I know her, and I know she's seething inside.

"I cut school." I should have thought of a reason to give her when I was walking home, but I was too busy freaking out about what might happen if Danny comes out of his magic coma.

"That's pretty clear, Wren." She takes a step forward, and I can feel her power lashing now, crackles of electricity in the air around her. She's usually better at keeping it hidden, controlling it, and I'm suddenly scared by the fact that she's not even trying this time. "Why?"

This is the hard part. I don't want to tell her about Gabriel, not now, maybe not for a while. And even if I did, I wouldn't want the first thing she heard to be that I cut school with him for the day. Do I lie and say Jess and Darcia and I all ditched together, with the sleepover planned for tonight? Would she even believe that Dar would skip school for the day? Jess is a no-brainer, but Dar follows rules like her life depends on it.

"I called Jess and Darcia," Mom says while I'm still scrambling, trying to come up with a believable story. "So if you're thinking of adding them to whatever lie you're working on, don't bother."

I lift my chin. Fine. There's no reason to drag anyone else into this when I'm the one who deserves all the blame.

"I'm not going to lie," I say, and I'm proud that my voice isn't even shaking. Every other part of me is, though, whether Mom can see it or not. "I was ... in a bad mood. I skipped. That's it."

"That's it." She lifts a brow. "And you couldn't bother to return even one of my calls."

"I was skipping school, Mom." Inside, my own power is humming to life, a buzz of exhaustion and frustration. Why can't she just punish me and get it over with? "I wasn't exactly in the mood to chat."

She actually snorts, and takes another step closer. "But you thought letting me worry all day was better than admitting that you'd cut? You really thought I'd be angrier about you missing one day of school than having to wonder all day if you'd been hit by a car or decided to run away?"

"Mom..."

"Don't!" The word is followed by a single brief shudder of power, and the air ripples around us. She ignores it, just like always. "Haven't we talked about telling the truth, Wren? What happened to honesty?"

That's it-I'm too tired and too shattered to fight it anymore.

"Yeah, Mom, what about honesty?" I know I'm shaking visibly now, and I can't help the pulse of power that slips free, rattling the windows and the framed pictures on the wall. "What about you being honest with me for a change?"

She looks like she's been slapped. And when she doesn't say anything, I just shake my head. I knew it.

I pound up the stairs and slam the door to my room so hard, it feels like the whole world vibrates.

Neither Jess nor Darcia will answer my calls, even after school is out for the day. I text them both, nothing more than I'M SO SORRY and LET ME EXPLAIN, but I know it's too late. Tonight was supposed to be our big reunion, a return to the days when a sleepover at one house or another was a given on any weekend, when we shared everything and never thought any of us would want it any other way.

Now it's too hard. Now I would have to admit to them what I did to Danny, and I can't even think about the look on their faces if they knew the truth.

Right now, as much as I hate the whole idea of whatever I'm facing, it's better than worrying about anything else. If I let myself linger on the image of Danny banging down the door to Gabriel's room-or banging down Gabriel-my stomach rolls and heaves like a wild sea. And if I let myself remember Mom talking about honesty, the hum just beneath my skin roars to life, buzzing hot and furious. Looking through the dusty books I've dragged out from the depths of my closet is almost a relief, even if I'm researching a way to accomplish the most horrible thing I can imagine.

I'm not surprised that Mom didn't follow me up the stairs, since talking about what we are is always the last thing she wants to do. When the door opens now, I shove the spell book I'm reading under the bed and brace myself, but it's not her, it's Robin.

She's drawn in on herself the way she does when Mom and I fight, hair hanging in her face, her mouth pinched. She doesn't wait for an invitation, but plops down on the bed next to me, and immediately grunts.

"G.o.d, Wren, what's under here?" She moves and starts to flip back the comforter, where the rest of the books are hidden, and I s.n.a.t.c.h them up before she can get a decent look. I hope.

"Oh, like your room is such a model of cleanliness," I say, and shove the books into the bottom drawer of my desk. "What's up, kid?"

"Don't call me that," she mutters, but she doesn't get up and leave in a huff the way she usually does. Instead, she picks at a loose strand on the hem of her sweater and folds her legs under her as if she's settling in.

I want to scream her out of the room, but I can't. As annoying as she can be, Robin is my little sister, and she looks as lost and confused as I've ever seen her.

"What's wrong?" I sit down beside her and pull her hair off her forehead, sc.r.a.ping it back with my fingers shaped into a loose comb.

"You tell me." Her eyes are so honest, everything she feels right there for me to see. "Mom's ... being weird. Like, weirder than usual."

"What do you mean?"

"She was burning leaves in the backyard. Without matches. And it was all blue and purple and green."

s.h.i.t.

"She stopped when I went back there, but Wren..." Robin shakes her head, and the first hint of tears makes her eyes gleam wet and bright. "I don't get it. I mean, she won't explain it, and you won't explain it, and now I'm starting to..."

s.h.i.t. I put my arm around her and pull her closer, and I can feel the power in both of us-my fury, her frustration, twined and humming hard.

"I know," I tell her, useless and helpless and so angry at my mother and myself, I could cry with her if it wouldn't be so much more satisfying to scream instead.

I've held tight to my memories of Dad, big and warm and smiling as he tucked me into bed or hoisted me onto his shoulders. And I've never let myself forget when Aunt Mari and Gram were regular fixtures in the house. Aunt Mari was always around, usually laughing with Mom, and Gram was outside with me a lot, watching me play or bent over the flower beds, coaxing tulips and daffodils open. Everything Gram planted has died since then.

So many of those memories are just fluttering sc.r.a.ps I have to grab at now: Aunt Mari singing to baby Robin, trailing a hand in the air so streaks of glittery color danced to the melody. Gram bending over a pot on the stove, waving the flame higher so good smells floated into the kitchen. The three of them, Mom, Mari, and Gram, sitting around the dining room table looking at old photos, some hanging precariously in midair so everyone could see them. Dad always nearby, smiling, not exactly part of it, but content to watch.

But Robin doesn't remember any of that. I don't know if it's worse that she doesn't, or that I do, that I know there was a time when our power wasn't something Mom denied, and Aunt Mari and our grandmother were still a part of our lives. What I don't know is why that changed.

"I know it's starting for you," I finally say, still holding her, pressing the words into the tangled silk of her hair. "And it's not a bad thing. It's not, no matter how Mom acts. But there are ... rules to it."

"How are we supposed to know what they are if Mom won't tell us?" Robin protests, and pushes away so she can look me in the eye. "I know you can do things, I've seen you, and you don't care if Mom doesn't want you to."

I'm older than you is a lame thing to say, and so is pretty much everything else I can think of, especially when she's staring at me, confused and defiant and afraid all at once. Especially when right now it feels like I would have been better off never testing the energy inside me.

"You have to know how to use it, Robin," I say instead. It's weak and I hate it, because Mom could teach us both, could explain what it means and how to control it, but I'm not going to be the one to tell my little sister to start experimenting, not when my dead boyfriend is just a few blocks away.

"But Mom could teach us!" She gets up and kicks one of my Chucks across the floor. It slides into a pile of dirty clothes and she stares at it, arms folded. She's attempting sullen, but I know she's trying not to cry. "And I know you guys were fighting because of it. Neither of you tell me anything."

"We weren't, Binny," I say softly. It's almost true, anyway. "Not today."

"Whatever." She shakes her hair over her shoulders and faces me, mouth set tight. "I'm just sick of it. I come home and find her making, like, magical rainbow fire in the backyard and I'm just supposed to pretend that-"

The door swings open, cutting her off. Mom looks calm enough now, but I know she's just trying to smooth things over for Robin.

"I need to talk to your sister, Robin."

"I figured." Robin pushes past her, and on any other day Mom would scold her for being rude. "I'll be downstairs if anyone wants to keep some more stuff from me."

I brace myself, but Mom doesn't even bat an eyelash, and we stare at each other while Robin pounds down the stairs.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.