The Butterfly Garden (The Collector #1)(62)

“Why don’t you try to escape?”

“Because girls before me did.”

“Escaped?”

“Tried.”

He winced.

“There is only one door that leads out of this space, and it is locked and coded at all times. You have to punch in your code for both entry and exit. When maintenance comes in, the rooms become soundproof. We could scream and pound all we wanted to and no one would ever hear us. We could stay out here when the walls come down for maintenance, but someone tried that about ten years ago and nothing happened except that she disappeared.” And reappeared in glass and resin, but Desmond still hadn’t seen those Butterflies. He seemed to forget what his father had said about keeping us after we die. “I’m not sure if your father hires incurious people or if he made it seem unexceptional, but no one came to the rescue. When it comes right down to it, though, we’re afraid.”

“Of freedom?”

“Of what happens if we almost get there.” I looked up at the night beyond the glass panes. “Let’s face it, he could kill all of us pretty quickly if he ever felt the need to. And if one of us made the attempt and failed, what’s to say he wouldn’t punish all of us for it?”

Or at least the one who made the attempt and me, because he thinks they tell me everything. How would I not know of such a plan?

“I’m sorry.”

What an asinine thing to say, under the circumstances.

I shook my head. “I’m just sorry you ever came here.”

Another sideways look, somewhere between hurt and amused. “Completely sorry?” he asked after a minute.

I studied his face in the moonlight. Twice he’d helped me through panic attacks, even if he only knew about one. He was fragile in a way his father and brother weren’t, someone who wanted to be good, do good, and just didn’t know how. “No,” I said eventually. “Not completely.” Not if I could figure out some way to lead him to usefulness.

“You’re a very complicated person.”

“And you’re a complication.”

He laughed and held his hand out between us, palm up, and I didn’t hesitate to take it, lacing our fingers together. I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder, and found a comfortable silence between us. He reminded me of Topher a bit, if more complex, and just for a little while, I wanted to pretend this boy wasn’t his father’s son, that he was my friend.

I fell asleep that way, and when morning sunlight struck my eyes, I slowly sat up to find that we’d curled together through the night, his hand on my hip and his other arm cushioning my cheek from the stone. The new girl wouldn’t be awake for a few hours yet, but Desmond had classes and at some point, a violin proficiency he’d pass without even trying.

Hesitantly, I reached out and stroked a comma of dark hair back from his forehead. He stirred and unconsciously followed the gesture, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Wake up.”

“No,” he mumbled, and grabbed my hand to shield his eyes.

“You have classes.”

“Skip ’em.”

“You have a proficiency.”

“Mm proficient.”

“You have finals next week.”

He sighed but it turned into a face-splitting yawn, and he grudgingly sat up to rub the sleep from his eyes. “You’re bossy, but nice to wake up to.”

I looked away because I wasn’t sure what was showing on my face. His fingertips, lightly callused from the strings, touched my chin and brought my face back to his, and the only thing there was a soft smile.

He leaned forward, then caught himself and started to pull back. I closed the distance between us, his lips soft against mine. The light touch on my chin moved back until his hand could cup my cheek and he deepened the kiss until my head was swimming. It had been so long since I’d actually kissed someone, rather than just allow them to force a kiss on me. The Gardener thought his son could love me, and I thought he might be right. I also thought love would prove a different motivation for the son than for the father. I hoped.

When Desmond moved away, he pressed a kiss against my cheek. “Can I come see you after classes?”

I nodded even as I silently acknowledged that my life had reached an entirely new level of fucked up.




“And the Gardener was happy about this?”

“Actually, he was. I mean, I’m sure there was a certain degree of self-interest in it—after all, if Desmond was emotionally attached to one or more of us, he was unlikely to risk anything happening to us. That had to be part of it, but I think most of it was that he genuinely enjoyed seeing his son happy.”

Victor sighs. “Just when I think this story can’t get more twisted.”

“It can always get more twisted.” She smiles as she says it, but he knows better than to trust it. It’s not at all a nice smile, not something that should be so easily displayed on a girl her age. “That’s life, right?”

“No,” Victor says quietly. “It isn’t. Or at least it shouldn’t be.”

“But that’s not the same thing. Is and shouldn’t are entirely different things.”

He’s starting to think Eddison isn’t going to come back.

He can’t really blame him.