Impossibility of Tomorrow (12 page)

My heart starts to thud.

“Where the hell are Nicole and Chantal?” Madison muses. She pulls out her phone and begins texting furiously.

Julie straps her accordion to her chest slowly, her back to the crowd. She looks at each of her bandmates, who nod to her in turn. She turns around, walking up to the microphone. She adjusts it down for her size and offers a wan smile to the audience as she does so, earning her a cacophony of claps and cheers.

“Hi,” she says into the mic. The crowd welcomes her with more applause.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” she continues. Everyone falls silent. “Our lead singer, Eli, is missing.”

No. Not again.

A low murmur of concern rumbles through the crowd. The wind is nothing to the cold that runs through my veins.

“We talked about canceling our set, but we know that’s not what he’d want.” She takes a deep breath, and I can tell she’s holding back tears. “So we’re going to play anyway.” The crowd cheers. The sound is poisonous. “And we’re going to start with a song that he just finished. Eli, if you’re out there, this one’s for you. Please come home.”

The banjo player walks across the stage to stand next to her, putting his arm around her and taking the microphone out of its stand. She backs away, tears shining in her eyes.

The banjo player holds the mic to his mouth. “Julie forgot to tell you the name of Eli’s song.” She nods gratefully, and he continues. “It’s called ‘Seraphina.’ ”

My heart nearly stops.

“I wonder if Mr. Shaw told Eli about Seraphina, too,” Noah murmurs in my ear. I am too stunned to answer. The band starts playing. Julie’s accordion emits a low, mournful
hum as the boy plucks out a melody on his banjo in a minor key. After a few bars, he leans into the microphone and sings:

She gave me poison wine

She climbed the stair at night

She set my blood on fire

Before she took flight

Seraphina, I know you’re still there

I know the light that falls upon your hair

At the chorus, Julie leans in and harmonizes with him, her thin soprano wavering above his warm voice. I force myself to stay calm and listen, though every muscle in my body is telling me to run.

She burns in different colors

She sees with different eyes

Her body is a vessel

for different colored skies

Seraphina, I’ll love you till I’m gone

I’ll search the world till you’re where you belong

She’s an old soul by starlight

with my blue book beside her

She’s made a mistake

and it fills me with fire

Seraphina, don’t you dare kiss another

I’ll kill him myself if you take a lover

At this, I suck in my breath, looking at Noah out of the corner of my eye. The wind shifts, sending a column of smoke into my face.

She’s my past, she’s my future

She’s my Renaissance bird

I won’t rest till she’s back

Take me at my word

Seraphina, be faithful. Be true, little girl

I won’t stop with him. I’ll destroy your whole world

She loved me in the garden

She kissed my silver soul

Without her, I am nothing

So I’ll never let her go

The crowd explodes with approval as they finish. Every muscle in my body is rigid, my blood running thick and slow. I briefly wonder if I might faint, might sink into unconsciousness the way a stone drops into deep water.

“Are you okay?” Noah asks me, his turquoise eyes flickering with worry, his eyebrows pulled low over them.

“I’m fine,” I whisper, but I can tell he doesn’t believe me.
The wind blows, lifting his crow-colored hair behind him, individual tendrils backlit by fire.

“Your eyes are wet,” he says.

“I . . . I think it’s the smoke from the bonfire,” I lie.

“Do you want to go get some air?” he asks.

I shake my head. I want to run. But I can’t. It would reveal me to Cyrus, whoever he is now. I have no doubt that he’s close by, scanning the crowd to see which girl trembles, which girl is obviously shaken.

I feel Reed’s hand on my arm. “That song was beautiful, wasn’t it? It reminds me of traditional murder ballads.” A bomb goes off inside me. Shrapnel pumps in my heart.

“I don’t think threats are beautiful,” I say.

He smiles. “Whoever this Seraphina is, she’d better watch out.”

This conversation just became very, very dangerous. “Maybe she doesn’t love him anymore,” I whisper weakly.

“I don’t think that’s an option,” Reed replies, never breaking eye contact. “He said he’ll never let her go.”

The flames from the bonfire dance in his eyes. And for just a moment, they look ice blue.

NINETEEN

The rest of the set passes in a nonsensical wave of static. I wait as long as I can stand it before tugging on Noah’s hand. “I need to get some air,” I murmur, choking on my own voice. When we turn to leave, Reed grabs my shoulder once more.

“Where are you going?” he demands.

“She needs a minute away from the fire,” Noah says roughly.

“I’ll see you later.” I force myself to sound casual.

“You better come back,” he says, tightening his grip on my upper arm, then smiles warmly to show he’s only kidding, to disarm me.

Noah pulls me away, shoving his way through the crowd with ease, his broad shoulders clearing our path, till we reach the edge where San Francisco is visible.

“I need you to take me home,” I tell Noah. “Now.”

“What’s going on, Kailey?” His forehead is furrowed, his lips tight.

“We can talk in the car,” I answer, my heart breaking. Cyrus’s message is clear. I know what I have to do.

* * *

I watch Noah’s profile as he drives us back to Berkeley in silence, remembering the night we hiked to the top of the cliff, the night he saved my life, the night I almost killed him. If I hadn’t stopped when I did, he’d be dead now.

But he’s alive. And I need him to stay that way.

I look out the passenger side window, the world passing in a blur of lights. I open the window, and the wind stings my eyes. I wish I were high above the Arctic Circle, where the winter air would freeze my tears, where I’d suffer some frostbitten consequence on my face to match the way I feel inside. I want to be in a place where the winter solstice means darkness twenty-four hours a day, the sun only circling the sky, keeping far away from me like the curse I am.

I remember the cramped jazz club in Paris that I used to drag us to, back when the coven lived there in the nineteenth century. I’d insist that we stay out till dawn, till everyone else’s
eyes were drooping with exhaustion. It was tucked away behind an old stone façade on Rue des Âmes.
Look at the street’s name!
I said to Charlotte.
Yes,
she agreed.
Street of the souls, the perfect place for Seraphina Ames to drink pastis.

And I remember, too, the night one trumpet player kept making eyes at me. I was grateful for the dim, smoky room that hid my blush; but Cyrus noticed, of course, and accused me of being unfaithful later that night when we returned to our flat.
I’ve never spoken to him!
I cried, earning me a slap across the face.
You’re lying,
Cyrus told me. His apology didn’t come until two weeks later, in the form of a grand piano in our parlor.

It’s my fault,
I thought at the time.
Cyrus is sensitive. I should be more careful not to hurt him.
I forgave him and gave myself over to the sickness that was our centuries-long relationship.

Cyrus must have guessed that he’d find me among Eli’s friends, knowing how much I always loved music. When he didn’t, he left Eli’s body and found another, killing yet again in the process. But who?

Murder ballads,
Reed whispers in my mind.

“Pull over,” I say to Noah when we’re a few blocks from our houses. He does. Up the street I can see the staircase leading to our fountain. Only yesterday we were there in the fading sunset.

“Please,” he says, when he turns off the car, taking my left hand in his. I put my right to my brow, and I cover my face. “Tell me what’s wrong. Don’t shut me out.”

If only I could stop time, if only I could keep us here, in the car, by the staircase where we loved each other.

But I can’t.

Because I love him, I can’t. I shiver and roll up the window.

“Noah,” I begin, his name like honey in my mouth. “We need to break up.”

“What are you talking about?” His eyes are so hurt, so confused. Outside, the wind gusts, shaking the car. Leaves fall on the windshield like pages of a book ripped from their spine.

“This thing—you and me—it’s not working out.” I tremble but force myself to say my next words. “I don’t love you.”

He turns away, leaning back in his seat like he needs something solid to prop him up. “I don’t believe you,” he whispers.

“You should,” I answer.

He slams his hand against the steering wheel, the sound making me jump. “Stop it, Kailey. Just stop.” His voice cracks, and he finally looks at me, his eyes so sad in the streetlight’s beams that turn them the color of beach glass from another time.

He reaches for me, pulls me toward him, finds my mouth. I am caught, caught in his warm hands, his hungry lips, his photographer’s eyes, their blue pummeling me like warm Diablo winds at the end of November, ruining groves of eucalyptus and ruining my resolve, as fragile as an old window.

I tear myself away.

“You can’t kiss me like that and not love me.” His voice cracks. “You can’t.”

He’s right. I can’t. I can’t let him touch me again.

Seraphina, don’t you dare kiss another.

I’ll kill him myself if you take a lover.

“You’re wrong,” I breathe. “You don’t mean anything to me.” Cyrus won’t hesitate to kill Noah. I know that. I’ve seen him kill before for much less.

Noah’s face is pale. “Does this . . . does this have anything to do with Reed? I’m not blind. I see the way he looks at you.” He closes his eyes, waiting for my answer.

I think of Reed’s face by the fire tonight.
Whoever this Seraphina is, she’d better watch out.
I briefly consider letting Noah believe I have feelings for Reed. He’d hate me, and he’d stay far away. But then I picture Noah saying something nasty to Reed, with no idea that an evil, ruthless spirit now possesses his body. He’d be in too much danger.

“No. It has nothing to do with Reed,” I answer, and his jaw clenches.

“Is there someone else?” He wraps his arms around himself. He’s shaking. I want to touch him, to kiss him back from this abyss, but I can’t.

I breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, summoning the strength I need. “Not yet,” I say.

“But you told me earlier that I make you happy. Were you lying when you said that?” His voice is red with pain.

“Yes,” I say.

He stares, his mouth trembles. I’ve hurt him. But it’s for his own good. “But I love you,” he says, his voice breaking.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s over.” My words slam into the side of his face. The death blow to our relationship.

“Get out,” he says, reaching across me to open the door. The wind takes it, ripping it backward so it bounces on the vintage hinges. I see a tear run down his cheek, and I resist the urge to smudge it away with my thumb, to take him in my arms.

I slam the car door. I run down the street, boots slapping on the pavement, finally alone in the dark. Eli is dead, Noah’s heart is broken, and it’s all my fault. I don’t stop running. At last I start to cry the tears I couldn’t shed in front of him, their salty heat immediately feeling like ice in the cruel November wind.

TWENTY

In Kailey’s room, I hunch by the window, feeling minute currents of cold air sighing through the tiny gaps between the sill and the old wooden sash. I think of Kailey’s painting, the one that hangs in Noah’s room, the way she painted herself from behind, watching his window. Right now it is nearly recreated as I stare across the street, past stupidly happy gusts of wind throwing handfuls of leaves around in circles. I can’t tear my gaze away from Noah’s window. But in the painting, his shades glowed a creamy yellow from the light behind them, surrounded by a swarm of Kailey’s magical creatures, fairies coalescing around the eaves. And now it’s just dark.

I don’t see his car—he must not have come home. I wonder where he went, fully realizing I’ve lost the right to know. I lost it the moment I told him I didn’t love him anymore.

Ragged tears slide down my face, a sob crumpling my face like something that should be thrown away. Regret blooms inside of me, watered by pain. I want to take it back, to take back the whole damned night, to erase the chain of events that led to this hurt that I’ve caused. For once, knowing I did the right thing doesn’t dull the pain.

I make my way across the room to Kailey’s dresser. There’s a candle on top of it, sealed with its wax drippings to the large abalone shell it rests in. The surface is coated with dust that I wipe off with my fingers. I find some matches tucked behind a jewelry box and light the candle. The air fills with the scent of roses, the firelight playing across the iridescent surface of the shell.

I carry it across the room and place it on the windowsill, driven by an urge to warm up the glass, to send some kind of light out into the world.