All These Things I've Done (Birthright #1)(53)

‘We were in there,’ Win replied, indicating the closet. The hallway was a dead end, so there was really no other place we could have come from.

‘Why were you in there?’ Scarlet asked. She didn’t seem suspicious, just curious.

‘Because Annie wanted to run through her lines and it was the only space where we could be alone,’ Win lied. Wow, I thought, he’s quite good at this. But then, I could easily imagine several scenarios in which Win would need to lie to a father like Charles Delacroix.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble remembering your lines? I would have run through them with you,’ Scarlet insisted.

‘No, you’re busy being the lead. I’m just a witch. I didn’t want to bother you.’ I was no slouch at lying myself.

‘Chief witch,’ Scarlet said. ‘I’m so proud of you, Annie. I could explode!’ And she was proud of me, I could tell, and for whatever reason, this nearly made me want to cry. Because despite the circumstances of my life, I had had no shortage of love. My sister loved me. My brother loved me. Nana loved me. It even seemed that this boy, this Goodwin Delacroix, loved me. But proud of me? I was unaccustomed to anyone being proud of me. Most anyone who might have been proud of me had died long ago.

I should devote a word or two to the play. It was a school play, maybe slightly better than most because Mr Beery expended significant time and effort into making us not be terrible and because the school was, as I have mentioned, well funded. Scarlet was the best one. (You probably guessed I would say this, but it doesn’t make it not so.) As for my role? The best thing I can say for myself is that I was the only witch who did not have to wear a wig. My dark, curly hair was deemed witchy enough, and, looking back, I’m not sure that my hair wasn’t the sole reason I was given the role of Hecate.

X I I I. i tend to an obligation (ignore others); pose for a picture

OVER CHRISTMAS BREAK, Win and I took the train to Albany to visit Gable Arsley in the rehab centre. I had told Win that I was fine to go by myself as it might be strange for my new secret boyfriend to accompany me on a visit to my badly injured ex-boyfriend. Win argued that he knew the area better than me, and I relented. Whatever. It was a long train ride, and the Hudson River, murky and shallow, didn’t make for much of a scenic view anyway.

Christmas Eve, Gable had sent me a message asking me to come. I suppose Christmas had put him in a contemplative mood or maybe he was lonely. He had written that he had had a lot of time to think since he’d been ill and he knew he’d behaved badly towards me. His doctors thought he might be ready to return to school soon, and he’d like to know that everything was all right between us before that happened.

I had visited the Sweet Lake Rehabilitation Centre before because Leo had been briefly sent there after he’d been injured. It was a nice place, as much as any of these types of places can be considered nice places. I’ve visited my share of hospitals and rehabilitation centres, and the main thing that terrifies me about them isn’t anything you see there, but the scent. The chemical-cleanser smell, sweet and awful, covering up illness and weakness and death. Ironically, there was no lake by Sweet Lake, just a big cavern of dirt where a lake or pond must once have been.

‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ Win asked when we got to the lobby. We were far enough away from home that we felt we could hold hands, but now I didn’t want to in case Gable’s parents or siblings or friends were nearby.

I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘I think I should go with you. Isn’t he the same boy who tried to force himself on you?’

I shrugged. ‘Honestly, Win, I don’t know who he is any more, but my gut tells me that you in the room will only make him’ – I searched for the right word – ‘irritated. Besides, I’m tough. I’ve been taking care of myself for years.’

‘I know you’re tough. That’s one of the things I like best about you. I just want to make life easier for you sometimes.’

‘You do,’ I said, and then I kissed him quickly on his nose. I’d meant to leave it at that, but then I kissed him again, on the mouth.

Win nodded. ‘All right, tough girl. I’ll be waiting out here for you. If you’re gone more than a half-hour, I’m coming in after you.’

I gave my name to the receptionist at the desk and she gave me Gable’s room number, 67, and pointed me down a corridor.

I knocked on the door.

‘Who is it?’ I heard Gable say.

‘It’s Anya,’ I said.

‘Come in!’ His voice sounded odd in a way that I could not quite pinpoint.

I opened the door.

Gable was seated in a wheelchair that faced the window. He rolled around, and I saw his face. The texture was pocked in some places and still raw in others, and a strange patch of skin was sewn from his left cheek to the corner of his mouth – it was this skin graft that was slightly impeding his speech. There were bandages around some of his fingertips. And his body looked extremely thin and weak. I wondered why he was in a wheelchair and so my eyes drifted down to his thighs, then to his knees, then to his foot. Yes, foot – there was only one of them. The right one had been amputated.

Gable watched me look at him. His grey-blue eyes were still the same. ‘Do you find me repulsive?’ Gable asked.