The Fortune Teller(73)

Thirty minutes later Bren found her in the waiting room. All the awkwardness between them evaporated as they embraced. Semele couldn’t explain what happened without crying again. They sat together for hours holding hands.

“He’s going to be okay,” Bren would say every now and then. They both knew it was more like a prayer.

Semele wanted to believe. She wanted to take all the thoughts running in her head and annihilate them. The surgeries were still under way. Cabe could still pull through. She needed to think positively.

Around 11 P.M. Oliver walked in and Semele hurried over. “We don’t know yet,” she said and gave him a tight hug.

Oliver squeezed her back. “That damn bike of his.” He broke down. “I told him not in New York.”

His words were like a cold shower on her skin. Semele thought back to that day at the lab when she had noticed the bike. She had begun to sense the accident then but had repressed the thought, just like she had all her life.

And the dream. She’d pulled the dream of the bicycle accident from the recesses of her memory, but she hadn’t understood the message. Then the real question came with punishing force: Why hadn’t she allowed herself to foresee what would happen to Cabe? If she had, could she have saved him?

She put her head in her hands, unable to bear the truth. Because in the deepest chamber of her heart, in the darkest shadow, she knew her friend wasn’t going to make it.

He wasn’t going to live, because of her.





The Sun

Cabe remained in critical condition. He had survived the first round of operations, but he still had several more to go. The surgeons had to wait for the swelling in his brain to recede, and his doctors placed him in a medically induced coma for the time being.

Semele gasped when she saw him hooked up to so many instruments. She couldn’t bring herself to sit beside him, afraid that, just by being near, she might make him worse. She didn’t deserve a place by his side.

The accident had been intentional. There was no doubt in her mind. Someone had wanted the cards.

She needed to go to the police, but first she had to talk to Theo. She had a feeling he knew who was behind this. Her sense of helplessness was driving her mad.

She hovered in the doorway while Oliver sat beside Cabe and held his hand. Semele and Bren spent the early morning hours trying to comfort Oliver as best they could, bringing him water and coffee and Kleenex. There was nothing else they could do.

Then Cabe and Oliver’s parents finally arrived from Santa Cruz, looking travel-worn and teary-eyed.

Semele felt like an interloper, or maybe the guilt was driving her away. She needed to leave before she completely broke down. She told them she was going home to shower. The excuses tumbled out of her mouth.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Bren offered. She saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes, as if the night together had repaired the damage she had inflicted. He seemed willing to forgive her.

“No, I’ll be fine.” She watched his face fall.

“I’ll call you at the first sign of change,” Oliver promised.

Semele nodded and left, unable to fathom what that meant.

The minute she stepped out of the hospital she was hit by the sunlight. It woke her up and her mind burned with questions. Who had done this? What should she do? Ionna’s cards were now missing—no doubt taken by the same person who’d stolen the manuscript.

She thought back to what Raina had said at the hospital. Mikhail’s decision to pull her off the Bossard account was beginning to take on new meaning. He might be involved too. She didn’t want to believe it, but she wouldn’t know unless she confronted him.

For the first time Semele truly understood Marcel’s message. You can trust no one now. There was perhaps one person left, but first he had to answer one pivotal question.

*

Theo was waiting for her when she arrived at the Four Seasons. He stood up when she entered the restaurant. The concerned look on his face almost did her in. He left the table and hurried over to her.

“Are you all right?” He touched her arm.

Semele shook her head, realizing she must look a mess. She hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours, and her face was surely streaked with mascara from her tears.

“We’ll be dining in my room instead,” Theo told the hostess, and guided Semele out of the restaurant by the arm.

The private elevator whisked them up to the thirty-second floor. The Royal Suite had two bedrooms, three and a half bathrooms, and a living room with an adjoining den. Semele glanced up at the ceiling and was momentarily trapped by a sense of surrealism. The chandelier was made of mother-of-pearl. What the hell was she doing standing under it?

She turned to Theo and saw his faced lined with worry. Clearly his actions were speaking for him now. He had come all this way to confide in her. Now she decided to do the same.

“Have you read the manuscript?” she asked him point-blank.

“Yes.” His eyes said more than that. Semele could tell he had read it many times.

“Did you know my name was in it? That it was meant for me?”

“Yes,” he said, searching her face. “There was a risk letting you take it back to New York, but the manuscript is yours. It’s always been yours.”

“But you were going to sell it.”

Theo shook his head. “I was planning to pull it from the auction. I was trying to give you time to read it. The theft changed everything.”