The Lost Saint(8)

“Do you regret it?” I finally asked Daniel. It was the question I’d held back for months now. The question that came into my mind each time I watched Daniel struggle to keep up with me when we ran, or nursed his knee after a sparring match. “Do you regret that I cured you? It must be hard not to have your powers anymore.” And it must be hard for him to watch me not figuring out mine. Like whenever I struggled as he tried to teach me a new painting technique, and I could feel him itching to grab the brush and just do it himself—but he never did. Good teachers don’t do that.

“No,” Daniel said. “Sometimes I miss my powers. But I never regret what you did for me. I’m here because of you. I’m a whole person again. I could never go back to that place I was in again—I could never deal with having the potential of becoming a monster again. I think I’d rather die …” Daniel trailed off. He hesitated for a moment and then said, “Do you regret it? Do you regret being there to save me?” From the sound of his voice, I knew he’d been holding that question back for a while, too.

I looked down at the sink. The suds had died into a murky film on the water. “Sometimes I almost wish that I could go back and stop Jude from infecting me with the werewolf curse. But I always stop myself, because I know if it meant being there to save your soul, I wouldn’t risk changing anything about what I did that night. That part I don’t regret. That part I would never trade for anything. Saving you, curing you. That part I’d get infected a thousand times over for.” I made a swirl in the film on the surface of the water with my fingertip. “I just wish things had turned out differently with Jude, you know? I wish I knew what to make of him coming back.” I sighed. “I just wish that if I’m going to be infected with these powers, that I knew how to use them properly, you know? Use them to help Jude now.”

I turned away from Daniel and reached far into the murky water and pulled the drain. I’d wanted the water to be hot on my skin, but it had cooled considerably during our conversation. I felt warmth on my shoulder and realized that Daniel had placed his hand on my arm, right over where my crescent-shaped scar hid under my sleeve. I hadn’t realized that it had been stinging with pain until I felt his soothing touch. He kept his hand there for a moment and then pulled it away and started drying dishes again.

Daniel stayed until after we finished cleaning the kitchen and Mom had drained the DVR of all the other stations’ news programs she’d recorded. I said good-bye to Daniel at the door, and the second he left, the house felt empty, just like I knew it would. I locked all the doors and windows and then turned off the TV and told Mom to go to bed. When I was alone in my room, I tried calling Dad again. It went straight to voice mail.

“Jude was here, Dad,” I finally told the machine. “Right here in Rose Crest. Come home. Please.” I listened to the emptiness on the other line until the voice-mail recorder beeped and cut off the call.

With my phone still in my hand, I checked the lock on my own window and noticed a faint light inside the Corolla. I’d left it parked beside the curb in front of the house. I peered through the blinds and saw Daniel curled up in the backseat of the car. From what I could tell, it looked like he’d nodded off while reading a book.

This evening hadn’t gone so smoothly with Daniel—not at all like I’d pictured it when Daniel suggested we watch the meteor shower together. But seeing Daniel outside my house, knowing he was there, made me feel safe and warm, like nothing could possibly ever tear us apart.

I flipped open my phone and sent Daniel a text: I love you.

As I crawled into bed, my phone beeped with a message back from him: Always.

And then, thirty seconds later, another, which said: Be patient. We’ll figure it out. Maybe when your dad gets back, he’ll know what to do. Then another text: I believe in you.

Then, almost a full two minutes later, like the idea had suddenly crossed his mind for the first time: Please don’t go looking for Jude on your own, ok?

Ok, I texted back.

It wasn’t like I’d even know where to start looking.





CHAPTER THREE


Shattered



MORNING




I wasn’t surprised when Daniel was gone the next morning. He always worked an early-morning shift at Day’s Market before school on Fridays. But I figured he’d be a wreck from sleeping in the backseat of the Corolla all night.

Debbie Lambson, the part-time housekeeper Dad had hired to keep an eye on James—and my mom—while Charity and I were at school, was already at the house making breakfast when I came downstairs. I grabbed a couple of her muffins off the kitchen counter and headed out to the drive-through at the Java Pot. I picked up two coffees to go and then made a beeline for Day’s Market in hopes of catching Daniel before he took off for school.

I knew something was wrong even before I saw the police tape barring the entrance to the parking lot behind the market—the sheriff’s patrol car was parked out front, the OPEN sign whose neon usually blazed above the glass doors was dark, and a small group of would-be customers stood gesturing a few yards off from the store.

Tension pricked under my skin as I pulled up behind the patrol car. I couldn’t help thinking about that night a little less than ten months ago when there had been a very similar scene here. On that same terrible night when I’d almost lost Daniel.