Jonah Page 6

  “Perhaps.”

  “Good. He shouldn’t be in charge anyway,” she grumbled as she began to brush out my hair.

  I mustered the courage to again broach the subject inherent in her words. “Brooke … what happened to Fergal, I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t reply but simply tugged the brush more slowly. The silence grew awkward as she slicked back my hair with product and focused on her work, moving on to my skin. “You know, I don’t think makeup is gonna cut it. We might have to come up with something a bit more creative.”

  Something creative meant answering that question of what beautiful would look like to the Sealgaire and their community. Nothing was more beautiful to these people than their belief. But how would you symbolize that? What would belief look like?

  For me, for so long, it had been the sapphire blue eyes belonging to my Morpho butterfly, to Gabriel.

  For Jonah, it was “el efecto mariposa,” or “the butterfly effect”—words that acted as a sign, giving meaning to the chaos.

  And when I had needed hope the most, Jonah’s long-dead sister, Mariposa—the butterfly girl herself—had delivered it to me.

  Beauty, belief, and hope all took on the same form.

  “Brooke,” I said quietly. “Can you make me look like a butterfly?”

  Brooke pushed up the sleeves of her cashmere sweater and crossed her arms in thought. When she met my eyes, there was a spark in hers. “Right, let’s package you pretty, shall we?”

  * * *

  I WAITED PATIENTLY ON THE SOFA while Brooke sat with her back to me, working at the table. Twice she left in a blur to gather items for her self-proclaimed “masterpiece.”

  Though Phelan had beaten Brooke to the punch of recounting the noteworthy events of the last three years before she had been able, it wasn’t long before she was reveling in her version of events, a chunk of which Phelan had failed to mention.

  Brooke told me that a war between mankind had broken out, one between the Western world and the Middle East, but that the conflict had been short-lived, brought to an end with the use of chemical warfare in a coordinated attack across ten major cities, and though it was unrelated, it had happened at the same time as the number of Vampires had increased. And assumptions and connections were made where there weren’t any.

  “You gotta remember, the Sealgaire believe that Second Generation Vamps are demons straight outta Hell, disguised to resemble human beings. But the rest of the world doesn’t think that. And it’s not like the Vampires could hide, there’s just too many of them.”

  The world’s intellects, not being in the “know” like the Sealgaire, offered a different explanation—the use of chemical warfare—for what these “creatures” actually were. “They call them Spinodes. What does that even mean anyway?” Brooke rambled. “They reckon that Second Generation Vampires were human beings that came into direct contact with the toxic gases released in the attacks.” She paused for dramatic effect before finishing with, “The whole world is in a state of emergency. It’s all that’s ever on the telly now.” She huffed.

  Brooke went on to tell me that the majority of countries had a strict curfew in place, restricting the population to the confines of their homes, while military tanks and personnel patrolled the streets. The Vampires stayed out of sight during daylight hours, but at night would strike, abducting people. Of course, none of that could be seen here in Lucan; the Sealgaire ran this town.

  Brooke had succeeded at having me dangle off her every word. I was caught up in the horror of it all when I sensed someone approaching the Winnebago; I got off the couch and headed for the door.

  The familiar jingle of bracelets clinking together told me whom to expect, and I spread my hand over my left cheek before opening the door.

  “Iona,” I said.

  “Hi,” she replied, her plump lips stretching in a nervous smile. “Welcome back,” she added quickly.

  I nodded. Never one to wear jeans, today Iona had on a plain green dress, cable-knit tights, and flat ankle boots. She played with her thick blond hair, which cascaded in long, loose waves over the woolen infinity scarf drooped around her neck. She appeared no different from the way I remembered her, but then, unlike the others, Iona was Of Elfi—a child of a fallen Angel. The day I left, she had turned seventeen, and she hadn’t aged a day since. Iona’s big gray-blue eyes hadn’t changed. They were a match for the new color of Gabriel’s eyes, which had changed when he fell.

  “Phelan asked me to bring this to you,” she said, removing her backpack and passing it to me.

  I took it from her. “What’s in here?”

  “Clothes, shoes, and some other bits and pieces. He said you should wear them tonight at the pub.”

  I should have guessed Phelan would prefer I wear one of Iona’s outfits instead of borrowing something from Brooke’s less traditional wardrobe. “Perception is reality. I guess jeans and sneakers don’t quite say Savior, now do they?”

  “Aye,” she said.

  “I’d invite you in, but—”

  “That’s all right, like, I’m sure you’re very busy.”

  Iona hovered, and I got the feeling she wanted to ask me something. I wondered if the question sitting silently on her lips was one that concerned Gabriel. I wasn’t sure how much he’d shared with her since I’d been gone. Did she know that he and I were Angel Pairs? Maybe he’d put it in a way he thought she’d understand. “Soul mates” perhaps? Or maybe he’d said nothing at all. I turned to leave, thinking better of being cornered into having to offer an explanation for something without knowing what picture had been painted in my absence.

  “Lailah—” Iona said, gathering her thoughts. It was strange hearing her speak my real name. She’d only ever known me as Brooke, but I guess she’d had plenty of time to adjust to the truth of my white lie, whatever Gabriel had deemed that truth to be.

  “Yes,” I said with encouragement. Oddly, she seemed to be waiting for permission to speak.

  “I wanted to say thank you.”

  Whatever I was expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. “You have no reason to thank me, Iona.”

  “I do.”

  I leaned against the doorway, hesitant to hear her out.

  “I don’t know why Fergal turned his back on the Lord, but I do know that in doing so, he put you in grave danger. But Brooke told me that despite what that meant for you, in the forest you forgave him. You showed him mercy, and you tried to save him. Brooke said that because of you, at the end he repented his sins.”

  Iona didn’t know Fergal’s motivations for deceiving me. I’d already surmised that none of the Sealgaire did, either, since Phelan still claimed that Second Generation Vampires came from Hell itself. Brooke hadn’t shared the details of Fergal’s death with me. I had no idea if he had “repented,” as Iona put it, or even if that made any difference to anything anyhow.

  I saw no benefit in telling Iona the truth about why she’d lost her twin brother, because if I did, she’d also know that neither Fergal’s nor Padraig’s souls had made it to her Kingdom of Heaven. I would spare myself from being the creator of the scars she would surely wear if she were enlightened to the truth.

  I would spare us both—from each other.

  “Your forgiveness, your mercy, and your love restored Fergal’s faith. So I want you to know that I now place mine in you, Lailah.”

  I considered her statement, before challenging it. “You mean you place your faith in the Savior?”

  “No,” she replied swiftly. “I have faith in you, whoever you are.” Her words were strong, and they took on a life of their own, becoming immortal just like her.

  I hesitated, but then nodded gently before turning and clicking the door shut softly behind me.

  Little Blue was compact. Since it had no bathroom, shower, or bedroom, I changed in the living area. Brooke ran out of steam on the whole “the world’s gone mad” topic and was now purely concentrating on her creation. I had listened to it all, but
I hadn’t wanted to. Such horror, and such a massive loss of life, all of which could have been avoided if my intentions had been realized in the third. I was relieved when she had eventually changed the subject.

  “Are you going to be much longer?” I asked Brooke, peeling off my T-shirt.

  “You don’t rush art, Lailah,” she tutted, peering over her shoulder. “And are you seriously not going to use the main house to shower? Technically, you haven’t had a wash in three years, you know.”

  “And risk being seen like this?” I said, pointing to the left side of my face. “I don’t think Phelan would like that too much, now would he?”

  “Fair cop,” she said, her attention returning to her craft.

  Stripped down to my underwear, I pulled out a rolled-up dress from the backpack. The cream chiffon unraveled until the pleated skirt skimmed the floor. “Oh, yikes.”

  Brooke twisted back around. “Halter neck, dropped waist, and a full-length skirt … very boho chic. Never goes out of fashion, you know.”

  “It’s very…”

  “Boho chic, I just said that,” Brooke snapped.

  “I was going to say Angelic.” Fingering the delicate material, I wasn’t sure why I was surprised. What else would Phelan expect a Savior to be seen in?

  I placed the dress down carefully and pulled out a pair of ballet flats and a large box. I opened it carefully to find a stunningly ornate crystal hairpin.

  Assessing the outfit, I sighed. “I can’t wear this.”

  “Of course you can, and you will. Now stop distracting me, I’m just finishing the final touches.” Waving her hands in the air, she went back to work. “We’ll dress it down, just put the damn thing on before you catch your death.” Before I could reply, Brooke added, “You know what I mean.”

  After Brooke’s creation was complete, she turned her attention to my outfit.

  With a chunky chestnut-colored leather belt around the waist and knee-high sheepskin boots, Brooke managed to style the traditional dress in a way that made it more current and more appropriate for a bitter fall. She only allowed me to add her long tan designer coat—her most treasured piece of clothing—after I promised to guard it with my life.

  She slid the leaf-shaped hairpin through my slicked-back hair over my right ear, saying it would work well to balance out the mask she’d made.

  “That should do it,” she said eventually, as she finished dabbing a cotton bud covered in some sort of sticky adhesive to the left side of my face. She gingerly picked up the prosthetic mask she’d worked so hard on, positioning it carefully before pressing it to my skin and holding it long enough for the mask’s inner latex to stick firmly to the resin. Then, with an oval mirror in one hand, she said, “Mirror, mirror on the wall…”

  I didn’t react to the reflection staring back at me.

  Brooke had been successful in concealing the entire left side of my face. First, she had hand-painted the mask with an array of butterflies and then further added individual, three-dimensional versions made out of fabric and wire. She’d cut a long slit for my eye so as not to draw attention to the fact that my sight was suffering. Each carefully designed butterfly was fluttering outward, away from my nose, giving an impression of freedom. Brooke did symbolism quite well, it seemed.

  “So?” Brooke asked, impatient for a response.

  I clutched the sides of the mirror, taking one last glance, before dropping the looking glass onto the sofa. I’d been struggling to recognize the reflection in the mirror since my resurrection on New Year’s Day, having died on the mountaintop. Today, I wasn’t the person I was yesterday, and tomorrow I would be different still. Covering my face wouldn’t change that, but I still wanted Jonah to recognize me, to see me the way he had before. So I would go to the lengths of wearing something beautiful on the outside, not only to satisfy Phelan’s request but also to stop me feeling ugly on the inside when I was with Jonah.

  My fingertip glided down the edge of one of the butterfly wings. “How did you know?”

  Brooke batted my hand away from my face. “Know what?”

  “To make them blue?” My belief in Gabriel, and my hope born from Mariposa, both took the form of a Morpho butterfly—they both took the color blue.

  “It’s a holy color, seemed suitable for a Savior,” she answered with a shrug.

  I remembered then that Iona had told me the same thing when answering my question as to how the Winnebago got its nickname. In fact, even the front door of the main house had been painted the same.

  For a moment, Brooke and I stood facing each other, not saying a word. It was the first time a silence between us had felt comfortable.

  I fastened the coat and made my way to the door. Squeezing the handle, I smiled and said, “Thank you.”

  As I stepped out, a small gust of wind blew past me, causing a pile of papers on the sideboard to scatter onto the floor.

  I reached down to collect them. It was then that I noticed the book they’d been resting on was a leather-bound copy of the Bible. And the papers appeared to be handouts from church.

  “Really, Brooke?” I said, turning to her.

  “Yeah, well,” she said, “Ruadhan, you know. Makes me go.”

  I had never known Brooke to take direction from Ruadhan—or anyone for that matter. She was a law unto herself most of the time. No, there had to be another reason for her attendance, and as my mind whirled looking for it, she said, “It’s not all bad, some of the stuff they talk about is, well, I dunno, it kinda makes you think. Maybe we have a purpose, all of us.”

  “Right,” I said, unable to keep the surprise or the sarcasm from my voice.

  “They say God is all around us, that he communicates by sending hidden messages, but both your heart and your mind have to be open to see them.”

  Hidden messages.

  I had heard those words, that theory, before. I sifted through my memory, and it threw up Darwin, a chap who dealt in just that, as he was a theoretical scientist. He was a gentleman I had served in the pub I was working in a few days before finding Jonah injured in the woods in Creigiau. Darwin’s father just so happened to be Gabriel’s business associate, who’d hosted a party in Chelsea where I’d again met Darwin. We’d shared a conversation on the landing of his home, and Darwin had said his father saw signs in things, that they were hidden messages.

  I shook my head. “Okay. I need to go, but later you and I are going to talk.”

  What on earth had they done with the girl I knew?

  As I reached for the door with one hand, I pressed my other on top of the papers to stop the wind from blowing them off again. Something caught my eye. The outline of a butterfly drawn with a black sharpie. I studied it and that’s when I saw what was written below.

  A proverb: When the caterpillar thought its life was over, it became a butterfly.

  SEVEN

  THE DAY HAD ALREADY DRAWN IN, and here in early evening, I was left with very little time to tackle the conversations that awaited me. Jonah, unwilling to take a spot at the back of the queue, appeared in front of me as I strode across the field.

  “Wow, Brooke really went to town,” he began. “All you need now is a cape.”

  I could always count on Jonah to return to his default setting, far more comfortable with banter and innuendo than anything deep and meaningful. But I could tell from the way he was tousling his untidy, dark hair that he was nervous, that he knew there wasn’t a way to say the important things without having a real conversation.

  My smile was small, and he straightened himself, following up with a predictable “Looks good on you, beautiful.” He’d changed into dark jeans and a long wool coat, but as ever his collar was turned up. “Gabriel’s closet,” he said before I could ask.

  “Right” was all I said—all I was ready to say. My feelings were more than a little confused. Where Jonah was concerned, I was always caught in conflict. He’d forced my hand and made me leave the third, which made me furious, but then he’d
also risked his own life to save mine, which made it impossible to be furious.

  I lingered, affording him the opportunity to say what he wanted. Unable or unwilling, he looked away, and I shook my head. He had his chance.

  I sidestepped him, but he squeezed the top of my shoulder. “Wait, just … wait.” He bent down and in an almost-whisper said, “I don’t know how you managed to get to me so fast, how you were able to move me the way that you did. But I guess how you did it isn’t as important as why. You said that you chose me. I don’t understand. After what I said to you…”

  I stepped back to see him face-to-face. “I know you didn’t mean the things you said, but I understand why you thought saying them was the right thing to do.” I paused. “But here’s what I don’t get. You didn’t mean them, yet after I drank your blood you denied me. Why?”

  His answer was quick and it was honest. “I know that pull, when you drink from another Vampire, and I didn’t want you to give in to it, only to regret it.” He reached for my wrists, bringing me toward him. “I never want you to regret anything about me.”

  I might be an ice queen on the outside, but Jonah’s touch caused my insides to melt. He could wear down my resolve all too easily, which meant that no matter what terrible things awaited me, nothing could be worse than what I had right here—Jonah was the most dangerous thing of all.

  I took my time, searching for the right way to tell him. “I’m going to stay, and I am going to fight, but you know that already. And whether you believe me or not, I need you to understand that I am doing it for you, for all of you, and that it’s for the best.” I looked away. “I can’t give you what you want. I’m sorry.”

  With that, Jonah reverted back to his flippant self. “And you’re an expert on what I want? Maybe you should share? Maybe say it all real slow…”

  I didn’t rise to it, and instead I thought carefully. “What you said to me in the third, and the way you’ve been looking at me since we got back to the second, there’s only one thing you want, Jonah, and it’s the one thing I just can’t give you.”