Mac laughs. “Oh, don’t we all wish we could miss those meetings.”
Etienne flicks a piece of tea biscuit at his friend. “To answer your question, it was because he was dead. I don’t think it matters if a Magical is present here in Annar to work their wares or if they’re in some remote cave pretending to be a hermit. It’s the actual life that Fate cares for, not their location.”
Interesting. I think of our previous conversations about evil Creators. “Was this Ulreath a good guy?”
“He was,” Mac says. “Very wise, very strong, very well liked. He’s like a rock star for Magical Goblin kids. Which is part of the mystery as to why he died at the age of fifty.”
“Fifty!” I gasp. Unheard of for a Magical.
“Exactly,” Etienne says grimly. “Which is why, pumpkin, when the Council says stay, you need to stay. We’re not risking you.”
Stay.
Stay, of course, is a tough thing to do when all I do lately is imagine running.
I haven’t daydreamed about truly escaping in two years now, not since Jonah came back into my life. But I do now, especially when the pain in my stomach intensifies to the point I throw up blood, or when I see either Jonah or Kellan in abject misery over something I’ve done, said, or even simply because I exist and they’re cursed to love me.
It’s not to say I want to leave them, because that’d be a lie. Imagining life without either man is so painful it knocks the breath out of my chest every time. But, I’m also coming to a point where I doubt there’s any viable solution to our problems.
It’s now been two weeks since I’ve gotten back from Hawaii. Two weeks of Jonah in angry pain. Two weeks of Kellan being forced into isolated pain, not just from me, but from his twin. Two weeks of me wondering, yet again, why I’m forced to love two people with everything that makes me me.
And so I’m wondering about what Etienne has said to me and what it might mean if I leave. It’s not like I’ve done anything earth shattering during my tenure in the Council. I’ve built portals, ruined a few deserted cities, stuff like that. Killed innocent people when I didn’t even know I was doing it, if Belladonna is to be believed. Please gods, let him have been lying to me. In the end, for all my bluster about needing to know, I’ve been too scared to confirm any of his accusations, even though I’m fairly certain he was right. I guess everyone was right—sometimes, for sanity’s sake, ignorance is best. In any case, there’s nothing that seems to corroborate everyone’s battle cry of, “The Creator is necessary!” So, I’m thinking Etienne may have a point. My presence in the worlds should be enough to keep things afloat.
Of course, this is fanciful thinking. I don’t know if I actually have the strength to leave in the first place.
Callie wants to go shopping. She’s got a whole day for us planned: shopping, lunch, more shopping, late afternoon tea, and then a mani-pedi from a Faerie shop she swears by.
I don’t have the heart to say no. I really want to curl up in bed and wallow in pity, but I’m a good soldier. I put on a brave face and a big smile and go out even though my heart is slowly dying inside.
“I hear you’re dating,” I say at lunch.
She snorts. “If you can call it that.” She’s quiet for a moment. “He’s the complete opposite of Jonah in so many physical ways, which is probably why I’m doing this.”
“Does that help?” I ask, truly curious.
“I think so. There’s no squinting my eyes and thinking it’s Jonah, you know?”
I pick at my napkin.
“Chloe, if I’m running my mouth again, feel free to tell me to shut the hell up.”
“No, it’s okay,” I assure her. Better to focus on her pain than mine, as awful of a friend that makes me.
She tears a fry in half. “After I met you, I realized that part of why Jonah probably dated me is because our eye color is so similar.”
Okay. This surprises me.
She laughs under her breath. “He was with me because he was looking for parts of you. Did you really never notice?”
I’m so not willing to step on that landmine. Clearing my throat, I ask, “Does this guy know about . . .?” I wave a hand around us.
She takes my subject change in stride. “No. I haven’t figured out how to tell him about my biological parents, or what Astrid and I are.” She sighs. “Or about Annar, or anything else. I hate the secrets, hate keeping things from him, but what can I do?”
I lean forward. “What does your heart tell you?”
“It tells me that love is difficult,” she admits. “And that it’s never guaranteed or safe and that sometimes, we must take risks.”
“So you’re going to tell him?”
“I don’t know yet,” she says quietly. “I haven’t decided yet if he’s worth the risk. And, you know, it’s not like I’m remotely in love with him.” She shakes her head. “You’re lucky, you know. Because for you, love is guaranteed.”
I nod, but I can’t help but add, only to myself, it doesn’t lessen my risks any.