The Butterfly Garden (The Collector #1)(69)

“I can’t decide if that’s sad or safe.”

“I can’t think of any reason it can’t be both.”

The couple across the street loved each other almost to distraction, and the arrival of their baby somehow made them more complete, rather than detracting from what they had between them. Rebekah, the lead hostess at the Evening Star, deeply loved her husband—who happened to be Guilian’s nephew—and sometimes seeing them together was so sweet we all melted a little.

Even as we teased them, of course.

Taki and Karen had it, their daughter and her wife had it.

But each time I saw it, I knew I was in the presence of something extraordinary, something that not everyone found or was capable of recognizing and sustaining.

And I’m the first person to admit that I am one fucked-up individual.

“That’s fair. And honest.” She took the clay from me and handed me another, this one a bright fuchsia that left colored streaks all over my skin. “We never really thank you.”

“What?”

“You take care of us,” she said quietly, her brilliant blue eyes locked on the teddy bear forming in her hands. “It’s not like you’re maternal or anything, because really, fuck that, but you give the tough love and you listen and there’s that interference you run with the Gardener in that private room of his.”

“That’s not something we need to talk about.”

“All right. Give me the clay and go wash your hands.”

Bemusedly, I did as she said, scrubbing the fuchsia streaks from my skin. She handed me a turquoise ball of clay. This time when I sat down beside her, I actually looked at all the pieces. Half the scattered teddy bear parts—heads, paws, and tails—were black, the other half white. Some of them had actually been assembled with uniforms, the black in shades of red and the white in shades of blue. Half of each color were slightly larger and their uniforms more ornate, and several of them seemed to be paired. “Are you making a chess set?”

“Nazira’s twentieth birthday is in a couple of weeks.”

And my eighteenth birthday was a few weeks after that, but birthdays weren’t generally celebrated in the Garden. It felt a little too much like mockery, like we were celebrating how much closer we were to death. Other people got to look at a birthday and say, “Yay! One year older!” We met our birthdays with “Fuck. One year less.”

“It’s not a birthday gift,” she continued sourly. “It’s an ‘I’m sorry your life sucks so fucking much’ gift.”

“Good gift.”

“And shitty timing,” she agreed. She rolled a tiny ball of gold clay into a rope, pinched it in half, twirled it together, and the red king got a shoulder braid for his uniform. “Do you hate him just a little too?”

“More than a little.”

“He would be going against his family.”

“Whereas now he’s just going against common decency and the law,” I sighed. I held out the softened clay and she handed me a ball of royal blue. I knew better than to ask to make one of the bears—my clay creations sucked. “Bliss, I guarantee you there isn’t a side of this I haven’t turned over in my head. It stopped making sense a long time ago, if it ever did.”

“So just go with it and see what happens.”

“Pretty much.”

“He’s coming.”

Footsteps sounded down the hall, growing louder, and a moment later Desmond walked in and dropped to the floor beside me, handing each of us an orange. “Is that a chess set?”

Bliss rolled her eyes and didn’t answer, so while she made teddy bear soldiers, I kneaded the clay and Desmond played with his iPod and travel speaker to continue the concert.

And that orange? First and only time I ever got the peel off in a perfect spiral.




Eddison finally returns holding two bags, one containing bottles of soda and water, the other with what proves to be meatball subs. When he gives one to the girl, he also pulls a small plastic bag from his pocket and sets it on the table before her.

She picks up the bag, then stares at the contents. “My little blue dragon!”

“I talked to the scene techs; they said your room was protected by the cliff.” He sits down across from her, busying himself with unwrapping his sub. Out of courtesy, Victor pretends not to see his blush. “They’ll box everything up for you once it’s released, but they went ahead and gave me that one to pass on.”

She opens the bag and cradles the small clay creature in her hands, one thumb rubbing over the tiny, pajama-clad teddy bear tucked into the crook of its arm. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“You’ve been more forthcoming. Somewhat.”

She smiles.

“Vic, the scene techs are looking through the house. They’ll let us know if they find the pictures.”

For a time, conversation stops as they eat, though the girl has to wrap her tender hands in napkins to hold the hot sandwich. When the meal is done and the debris thrown away, she picks up the sad little dragon and curls her hands around it.

Victor decides it’s his turn to be brave. “What happened to Avery?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did his father punish him?”

“No, they just had a long talk about respecting each other’s privacy, and that the Butterflies were not possessions to be passed around but individuals to be cherished. To hear Des tell it, there was also a pretty sharp reminder that Avery wasn’t allowed to touch me anyway, given the whole branding thing. Well, ‘given the prior incident,’ and Des had never asked about the scar on my hip. If you don’t ask, you can keep your head buried in the sand.”