Steadfast(38)

Verlaine bit back her smile in time. “Yeah. Well. It’s not CNN. But this is Captive’s Sound.”

“This used to be a much more interesting publication.” Asa began strolling along the wall, trailing his long fingers over the ridges of the leather bindings. “Back in the day—even further back than these archives go, I’d imagine. When the printing press they worked on was one of the only ones in the New World, and more people knew the reason this paper was called the Guardian.”

She frowned. That wasn’t such an unusual name for a newspaper; usually it meant that the paper was a guardian of truth or liberty or something like that. What else could it mean?

And then she knew.

Slowly Verlaine said, “There’s also a reason this town is called Captive’s Sound, isn’t there?”

Asa drummed his hands against the wall in obvious excitement. “You got there much quicker than I thought you would. Nicely done!”

Once upon a time, the people here knew they were guarding something. But what’s captive in Captive’s Sound?

“So many secrets,” he said, strolling closer to her desk. His smile was brilliantly white against his tawny skin, and already she had begun to feel that strange heat. “So much waiting to be revealed. And I think you’d like to be the one who ripped the lid off.”

“Yeah, right.” Verlaine didn’t like how close he was getting, so she rolled her desk chair farther back. “Like anybody would pay attention to anything I said. Elizabeth took that away from me. Or didn’t you remember?”

It was hard to say exactly how Asa’s expression changed. His smile didn’t fade; his eyes never lost that black, mischievous fire. And yet she knew that he’d only halfway meant everything he’d said before—but what he said now was true. “I remember it well. I see it more plainly than anyone else does—even more than you, Verlaine.”

She could have slapped him. “Oh, you can see my life better than I can? You think there’s a better view than from the inside? Don’t even pretend you know what this is like.”

“Being forever alone? Forever unseen? I have no body of my own. No freedom. No chance my existence will ever change. I know what you endure far too well.”

Of course. Asa was a slave. Maybe that didn’t make him sympathetic, exactly—but it made him pitiable. Maybe he really did know what it felt like to be always on the outside looking in.

Asa’s hands were spread across the counter, and he leaned over it, just far enough for her to again feel the warmth of him glowing against her cheeks. “You’re so much stronger than anyone else knows. Nadia, Mateo—they try, don’t they? But they never understand the courage it takes for you to support and love them when they can’t love you as much in return. They never see how little the world cares for you, and how you dare to love the world back anyway. Nobody reads what you write, and yet you write. Nobody looks at you, and yet you dress yourself like a goddess every single day. Nobody wants you, and yet you keep wanting. You stay hungry. You keep your heart open. You never give up.”

She couldn’t look at him any longer. Her throat hurt, and her breaths were coming too quickly, but she’d be damned if she’d let a demon make her cry.

“Verlaine.” Asa’s voice was soft, and he was closer to her now, leaning over far enough that they could have touched. Even kissed. What would it feel like, to be kissed by him? Would it burn her to cinders? “There are stories you could tell that would force people to listen. Let me share with you this town’s real history. Let me tell you the truth about Elizabeth. Let the two of us try to find an answer together, without Nadia or Mateo or anyone else who can’t see the truth for themselves. Believe in me. Trust me. See me, as I see you.”

Slowly she put her hands on the folder in front of her, thick with old ad layouts and receipts. Her shaking fingers closed around the binding; it helped to have something to hang on to.

It helped even more to have something to swing.

Verlaine grabbed the folder and smashed it into Asa’s face as hard as she could. He staggered backward, all the way into the nearest wall of back volumes.

“Trust you,” she said as she came around the counter, still brandishing the folder in front of her like a weapon. “Believe in you. While you’re trying to manipulate me in the most obvious way possible. Excuse me, but no.”

“You should listen to what I’ve said.” His grin remained in place as he rubbed the side of his jaw, but when she came closer to him, he began backing away.

“I heard you out. And I didn’t hear anything worth my time.”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t affected. That’s a lie and we both know it. What you feel when you look at me—the way you parted your lips for a moment—”

“So what? You’re hot. Big deal. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re a demon.” Verlaine took another swing at him with the folder every few words, pushing him farther and farther toward the door. “A demon! And a liar, and Elizabeth’s partner in crime, and a total *.”

She shoved him out the door. The bells on the handle jingled again. And just like that, he seemed to have disappeared.

Inside she felt raw, torn apart. But Verlaine had become very good at putting her own pain aside. That was one of the few benefits of being on the outside looking in: You learned to take anything the world could throw at you.