Lux (The Nocte Trilogy, #3)(26)

“That’s a mistake,” I whisper, but she’s resolute.

“There’s no mistake, miss.”

Numbness descends like a fog and I replace the phone on the table.

He was there. I saw him. I stood by him, I yearned to hold his hand, and his back says LIVE FREE. I know that.

Confusion jumbles in my head, which is nothing unusual. I’m always confused, but I’ve never been confused about Dare.

Where is he?

What is real?

“What is wrong with you?” Finn hisses at breakfast, his fingers pressing into my knee to get my attention. I shake my head.

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying,” he accuses, and as usual, he’s right about me.

He always is.

I know what he’s thinking.

I can’t take care of myself. I’m an invalid. I’m crazy.

I nod to reassure him. “I’m okay.”

He nods back, but he’s unconvinced.

It doesn’t matter though.

“I’m going to sketch today,” I tell him. “The grounds, the garden. Wherever the wind takes me.”

“I’ll come with you,” Finn says quickly, his hand already on mine because he doesn’t trust the wind, or anything else with me. But I shake my head.

“No. I’d like some quiet time.”

I want to fill my lungs up with the breeze, I want to be a hollow reed, absorbing the world, sucking it down, figuring it out.

I level a gaze at Finn and he stares back, and finally, he acquiesces.

“Ok. If you need me, just shout.”

I nod, knowing full well that he can’t hear me from across the grounds.

I grab a notebook and a pencil, then I make my way quietly outside, feeling Finn’s gaze between my shoulder blades with every step.

I walk away from the Savage house, from the Savage lawns, from the Savages. I walk to the gardens, where it is serene and quiet, where I feel Dare’s presence, even when he isn’t here.

I sit beside the bubbling brook, dipping my feet in the cool water as I watch it pass over the stones, polishing them.

My mind floats away, carried on the breeze.

Dare’s absence consumes me. How can someone simply be gone?

Eleanor is so stern, so rigid. She can make anyone disappear. I believe that. She has power and money and hatred.

A lot of hatred.

“See? You can change things.” The boy in the hood is suddenly next to me, and his presence makes me jump. “But you’re not the only one.”

I stare at him, at the black void where his face should be. I reach out to pull his hood down, to reveal his face, but he stops me with his hand.

“You’re going to have to focus.”

“Focus?”

He nods, and his hands are on mine, and his fingers somehow make me so very very tired, like he’s leeching my energy away with his mere touch. I want to put my head down and sleep, I want to close my eyes, close my eyes, close my eyes… my eyelids flutter closed, and he yanks his hand away and the darkness the darkness the darkness overtakes me and the sleep coming in waves.

But

Then

A

Voice

pulls me from the dark.

“Calla.”

The voice is thin, transparent.

It’s also familiar.

Dare.

I snap to attention, opening my eyes, scanning the area, but I don’t see him.

“Dare,” I call out hopefully.

Am I hearing things?

“I’m here,” he says, and he sounds so far away.

I spin around and he’s behind me, but something seems off and I can’t put my finger on it, and I peer into the air and I’m crazy.

“You’re not crazy,” he tells me quickly, reading my expression. “I’m here.”

“I don’t understand,” I whisper, and he strides to me. When he reaches me, he drops to his knees. I reach out a finger and touch him, and he’s real. His shoulder is sinewy and warm.

“You’ve grown up,” he says, and that’s not what I expected to hear, because he saw me yesterday and didn’t mention it.

“You’ve disappeared,” I tell him, and he smirks.

“I haven’t.”

“Then why aren’t you in the house? Why are you out here? Why is everyone acting like you don’t exist?”

My questions are nonsense, just like this situation.

He smiles and he’s sad. I can see it in his eyes,

His

Dark

Dark

Eyes.

“Are you real?” I ask calmly, as calm as I can.

“As real as you are,” he answers.

“Am I real?”

He stares at me, his gaze level.

“If you aren’t, then we’re both crazy.”

I can’t rule that out, because Whitley has secrets, and I don’t understand any of it. And when I’m confused, I babble.

“I never know what is real,” I tell him, and then I launch into my life story. I tell him everything, how Finn died but it turns out he didn’t, how my gym teacher died, but didn’t, how I see demons and black-eyed beings, how the moors growl at me, and how I’m always afraid to ask about reality. I tell him all the things that I’ve always been afraid to tell anyone but Finn, and I even tell him about the hooded boy.