The Dream Thieves (The Raven Cycle, #2)(78)

“Look, Lynch,” Kavinsky said. “It’s simple. Wrap your tiny Celtic brain around this concept. What did your mom do when your goldfish died?”

Ronan stopped pacing. “I told you. It’s not your rice rocket. I can get him another, but it won’t be the same. He doesn’t want another one. He wants this one.”

“I’m going to be f*cking patient with you,” Kavinsky said, “because you’ve had a head injury. You’re not listening to the words I say.”

Ronan threw a hand toward the Pig. “This is not a goldfish.”

“You people are such drama queens. I’m going to pop the trunk and you’re going to scrape that thing into it. And then we’re going to take a field trip to concept-land.”

Ronan stared at him mistrustfully.

“Look, you’re having a life-changing experience here. Get in the car before I need to get high again.”

Ronan had nowhere else to go. He got in the car.





Several hours into the party, Gansey and Adam found themselves in the north-wing hallway between the back kitchen stairs and Gansey’s old room. Vigorous conversation still murmured up through the floor. Adam wasn’t sure of Gansey’s situation, but he was aware that he himself was drunk. At least, his mouth tasted of champagne and the world seemed blunted and dark. He had not been drunk before. His father had done all of that for him.

They stood side by side on a lush purple Persian runner beside a docile Queen Anne side table covered with hunt-themed knickknacks. Dim gold versions of Adam and Gansey stood in a crazed black mirror hung on the wall. In the reflection, the ordinarily assured line of Gansey’s mouth was twisted into something troubled. He tore the knot of his tie to a rakish angle.

“Can you believe,” he asked tragically, “that I grew up in a place like this?”

Adam did not tell Gansey that he usually couldn’t forget.

“I wish we could go back tomorrow,” Gansey said. “I wish we could drive back and see if Cabeswater appeared.”

When he said the word Cabeswater, Adam’s neck spasmed, like a sly finger plucked a taut, anxious ligament. Another image tried to work its way through — a blink, and he’d see a man in the corner of his eye, standing behind his shoulder, looking at him in the mirror. Sad eyes and a bowler hat. Why not? Adam thought angrily. Why the hell not? “Rex Corvus. I’m never drinking again.”

“You’re not drunk,” said Gansey. “It was ginger ale. Mostly. Look at our faces in there. We’re older than we used to be.”

“When?”

“Just a minute ago. We’re getting older all the time. Adam — Adam, is this what you want? This?” He made an elegant, dismissive gesture toward the lower floor, pushing it all away from himself.

Adam said, “I want to get out of Henrietta.”

He knew it was cruel to say, even if it was the truth. Because of course Gansey would say — “I don’t.”

“I know you don’t. Look, it’s not like I’m trying to …” He was going to say leave you behind, but that was too much, even with the champagne lapping shores.

Gansey laughed terribly. “I’m a fish who’s forgotten how to breathe in water.”

But Adam was thinking about the suppressed truth: The two of them were on perpendicular paths, not parallel ones, and eventually, they’d have to go different ways. By college, probably. If not college, then after. A tension was building in him, like the one that sometimes haunted him late at night, where he wanted to save Gansey, or be Gansey.

Gansey turned to him; his breath was all mint leaves and champagne, him and them. He asked, “Why did you go to Cabeswater without me, Adam?”

Here it was, finally.

The truth was a complicated thing. Adam shrugged.

“No,” said Gansey. “Not that.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

“How about the truth?”

“I don’t know what the truth is.”

“I just don’t believe that,” Gansey said. He was starting to use the voice. The Richard Gansey III voice. “You don’t do something without knowing why.”

“That whole deal might work on Ronan,” Adam replied. “But it doesn’t work on me.”

The Gansey in the mirror laughed humorlessly. “Ronan never took my car. He didn’t lie to me.”

“Oh, come on. I didn’t lie. Something had to be done, or Whelk would’ve had control of the line right now.” Adam cast a hand out in the direction of the stairs, back toward the party, toward the singing Latin. “He would be the one hearing that. I did the right thing.”

“That wasn’t the question. The question is: that night. You had to walk right by me to go. It’s like you’re so keen on being Adam Parrish, army of one.”

He was Adam Parrish, army of one. Gansey, raised by these adoring courtiers, would never be able to understand that.

Adam’s voice was heating. “What do you want me to say, Gansey?”

“Just tell me why. I’ve defended you to Blue and Ronan for weeks now.”

The idea of his behavior being a topic of conversation infuriated Adam. “If the others have a problem with me, they can take it up with me.”