Cold Kiss Part 8

It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to blast him off his stool with the simple force of my fury. I stalk into the kitchen and throw my backpack on the floor in the corner instead. "Your boyfriend is a real humanitarian, you know that?"

Geoff sighs and looks up from the sandwiches left over from lunch, which he's boxing up for the shelter in Plainfield. "I'll send him out with these, huh? He's in a mood today."

Geoff leaves me alone once Trevor is gone, but he puts in one of my favorite CDs as I wipe down tables and organize the mess that Trevor always leaves behind the counter. After a few minutes, I relax into the mindlessness of the work, making lattes and espresso, serving Geoff's awesome carrot cake, and calling back to him for one of the salads he makes to order. It's not incredibly busy, but there are enough customers to keep me occupied and moving, which is perfect.

Bliss has always been a sort of haven for me, even before I got the job. It still sports the building's original tin ceiling, painted silver now, and the exposed brick wall along the east side of the room is a faded red, worn with time and touch. None of the tables and chairs match, but Geoff painted them all the same chocolate brown and trimmed them with either bright green or purple. Framed art for sale hangs everywhere, and there's a stand with indie CDs and local authors' books. Everything Trevor lacks when it comes to dealing with actual human beings apparently went into a green thumb, so he keeps spider plants and ferns all over, and the cafe always feels comfortable, warm, alive.

I'm enjoying the calm when the bell over the door jingles and Gabriel walks in.

I manage to trip over my boot and drop my squirt bottle of window cleaner at the same time in my surprise. Geoff's putting a fresh tray of cookies in the bakery case and raises an eyebrow when Gabriel bends down to pick up the bottle for me. Great. Like I need another member of the judging panel.

Geoff loved Danny. Everyone loved Danny really, but Geoff was always happy when Danny came in, and sometimes let him hang around in the back and sketch while he was baking if my s.h.i.+ft wasn't over. He and Trevor actually came to the funeral, closed the cafe and everything, and Geoff hung a couple of Danny's drawings behind the counter where everyone who's getting coffee can see them.

"I can't talk now, either," I hiss at Gabriel, and grab the bottle away from him.

"Can't I get a coffee? Jeez." Gabriel ambles over to the counter, and I sigh as I follow him.

"You didn't come here just for coffee," I say as soon as Geoff disappears into the kitchen again.

"No, but I still want some." He shrugs, his shoulders all angles in his faded blue b.u.t.ton-down and green hoodie, a pale sheaf of his hair falling across his forehead. I don't know why I keep noticing things like that, because they don't matter. Not to me. They don't.

"Fine. What can I get you?"

"Regular, two sugars," he says after scanning the menu on the chalkboard for way too long.

I soften a little at that. It's the cheapest coffee we offer, and after yesterday I know he probably doesn't have a lot of extra money for lattes or anything else. I slap a black-and-white cookie on a plate and don't charge him for it, because I know Geoff won't care.

Anyway, I owe Gabriel. It's a relief not to have to lie to him, at least, even if I'm pretty sure what he wants to talk about isn't something I'm going to want to hear.

"I just want to help," he says softly as he takes the mug and the plate, and I look up to find those strange gray eyes trained on me again.

"I know." I swipe at the counter with my rag absently. "I'm sorry."

"What time do you get off?"

"Not till nine. Sometimes a little earlier if it's slow." I wave a hand at Rich from the movie theater when he walks in, and Gabriel takes a step backward.

"I'll come back around eight then, okay? Maybe walk you home?"

It's the only way we can talk, since I'm not about to invite him over, and there are too many curious eyes on us at school.

I just won't think about the fact that it might be kind of nice, too.

"Got a date, huh?" Trevor says at eight, when Gabriel has pa.s.sed by the front window for the fifth time. He's hunched into a warmer jacket, and he's got even cheaper coffee from the diner over on North in one hand.

"Hardly," I snap, and push chairs into place with an angry screech on the bare wood floor. The cafe is already empty, and Geoff always leaves at dinnertime.

"Hey, I'm not judging."

My head snaps up at that, and I find him slouched against the bakery case, his face as thoughtful as it ever gets. I open my mouth to answer him, but I can't think of anything to say. Of all the people I thought might be cool about me possibly talking to another boy, Trevor was last on my list.

"Look, you had it rough," Trevor says, and his voice is softer than I've ever heard it. "It's hard when somebody you love dies. I know, believe me. But life goes on. I mean, that's what they say, right? And it's true."

I'm so stunned, my mouth is hanging open. Trevor's not even looking at me anymore, sifting through the receipts behind the counter instead, and after a minute, he keeps talking.

"When you love someone, the last thing you want is for them to be unhappy. And I think that's true even when you die. I mean, if I died, I wouldn't want Geoff to pine forever. A few months, sure, I mean, I'm worth that at least, but I'd hate the idea of him moping around forever, staring at my pictures and baking himself into oblivion."

Is that what he thinks I'm doing? Is that what everyone else really expects? Me, a teenage widow, in love with Danny, dead Danny, forever and ever, end of story? G.o.d, if any of them knew what I'd done instead...

I'm still gaping when Trevor looks up, his gaze sharp and far more knowing than I ever imagined. Maybe someone he loved died a long time ago. Maybe other people have actually gone through this without going insane and casting dark spells at midnight.

"I think we're done, Wren. If anyone else comes in, I can handle it. Go on home. And take a fresh coffee to your friend out there when you go."

I'm not about to argue. I'm still too shocked to form words anyway, and when I tap Gabriel on the shoulder outside ten minutes later, he's just as surprised to see me there.

"You could have come in, you know," I say, and wrap my scarf around my neck. The wind is biting, and there's no moon, just a faint dusting of stars.

"I didn't want to get you in trouble."

I try to ignore the blush creeping up the back of my neck, even in the cold. He's flirting; there's no way to deny it.

And it feels good. There's no denying that, either.

We drink our coffee in silence for a few minutes as we walk past the bookstore and the dry cleaner's and the drugstore. The movie theater on the corner is all lit up, and I wave at Nan Bernstein, who's leaning on the counter of the ticket booth, beyond bored.

"Friend?" Gabriel asks as we cross the street.

I shrug. "I've known her since kindergarten. It's a pretty small town in some ways."

"I noticed." His tone is dry. "I got a lot of 'back off' vibes when I was asking about you yesterday."

That's surprising. I've lived here all my life, but I don't have many friends, not close ones anyway. Danny did, though, and they were all pretty loyal.

I swallow the last of my coffee and toss the cup in a trash can outside the video store. "What about you? What about where you were from, before?"

Even in the dark I can see his jaw tighten, the hard line of it nearly forming a right angle. "We've lived a lot of places," he says finally. "None of them for too long."

It's not fair that he can see into me so easily, when reading him seems to require a whole new language. I may not love my hometown, but it's what I know, and even if I don't intend to stick around here forever, it's comfortable, even comforting in its own way. I didn't meet Danny till high school, but we still shared the same memories of ice cream at Hill's in the summer, sledding in the park, the Memorial Day parade with the fire trucks all s.h.i.+ned up.

I can't imagine a series of houses, and especially not grungy little apartments like the one Gabriel's sharing with his sister now. When everything else is exploding, I know I can go home, to a place as familiar to me as my own face, where the Christmas tree will stand lopsided in the same corner every year and the bathroom faucet will always drip and the attic will always smell faintly of lavender and ancient pipe tobacco.

"Is here better?" I ask without thinking, and he turns to me with a sudden smile.

"It is now."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

IT'S TOO GOLD TO SIT OUTSIDE. AT LEAST THAT'S what I tell myself as Gabriel leads me up to his apartment again. Olivia's at work, he says, and she wouldn't mind anyway, and I tell myself that we're only going to talk, that being alone together like this doesn't mean anything.

It still feels wrong, though, when Gabriel unlocks the door, and I b.u.mp into his back as he searches for the light switch. His clothes are cold, but I can feel the warmth underneath them, the faint thump of his heart, and for a minute I'm tempted to hang on, to bury my face between his shoulder blades and just cry, and that's so wrong.

Instead, I stumble away from him and cling to my backpack like it's going to save me from doing something crazy. "I can't stay too long. I have homework and stuff, and my mom knows when I get off."

I don't say that I'm worried about Danny, alone since last night, maybe just as restless as he was then, maybe more. I also don't say that I've already rationalized that if Trevor hadn't let me go early, I wouldn't have been able to get to the loft now anyway.

You could have gone straight there, the nasty voice that I've come to hate whispers in my head. Mom won't expect you for almost an hour. You could be with him right now.

I squeeze my eyes shut, ignoring it, trying to get myself together as Gabriel turns on another lamp and strips off his jacket. When I hear the heavy canvas. .h.i.t the floor, I breathe out. I'm being stupid. I hate being stupid. We're only going to talk, and if I'm lucky, Gabriel will know things that can help me.

I don't want to think about what he might be able to help me do, though, not yet. One thing at a time.

"You want something to drink?" he says, and I start at the sound of his voice, suddenly a lot nearer than I imagined.

I turn around and he's right there, head c.o.c.ked to one side. "I'm good, thanks." My voice trembles a little, and it makes me furious.

But I'm not nervous because of Gabriel. I'm not scared of him. I'm scared of myself, and the fact that I like being close to him as much as I do. If I closed my eyes again right now, I know I could feel the Gabriel from my dream, the heat of his chest under my cheek, the weight of his hand on my back.

I take a step backward, and the back of my calf smacks the coffee table so hard it wobbles. Gabriel's nice enough to pretend not to notice, though, and instead gently disentangles my backpack from my hands.

"Take your coat off and sit down?"

I nod, hoping I can manage that without looking like a complete moron. He slouches next to me, and for a minute we're silent.

"So," he finally says, and takes a deep breath. "You raised your boyfriend from the dead."

I wince. "I had nothing to do that night?"

"Wren, it's not funny."

I groan and sink into the sofa, tilting my head back to stare at the ceiling. There's a stain on the plaster in the shape of a rabbit's foot. Does that mean Gabriel is going to bring me good luck? I doubt it.

"I know it's not funny, okay? I know exactly how funny it isn't, and I've known since that night. It just hurt so much, Gabriel, you don't even know. And I..." I stop and twist my head to look him in the eye. "I'm not sure I really expected it to work, you know? I mean, I did, but I didn't. And I definitely didn't think about what would happen afterward. All I wanted was to see him again, touch him again. When he appeared in the graveyard, I thought my heart would stop. I hadn't even thought about what would happen next, you know? And now..." My voice trails off in the silence, a little wisp of sound that shames me.

"Now you have your dead boyfriend living in your neighbor's garage."

"G.o.d, stop it!" I sit up, knocking into him with my elbow. "I told you, I get it. And if all you're going to do is sit there all Judgey McJudgerson and tell me things I already know, then f.u.c.k you."

He grabs my arm before I can get up, pulling me back down onto the sofa and holding my hand tight. "Stop. I'm sorry. It's just a lot to wrap your head around, you know? For anybody who's not you, it takes a little repeating just to believe it."

"But you saw," I whisper, and swallow hard as I look at him.

He nods, and the motion is weighted with sadness. "I saw. Wren, magic like that is serious stuff. It's dark arts all the way. It means..." It's his turn to leave the sentence unfinished, and he stares at our tangled hands while he thinks.

"What?" I say when he's silent too long. "What does it mean?"

"You're powerful." His eyes are slate now, darker than I've ever seen them. "I can feel it inside you, and it's big. Really big, and that's a little scary. My grandmother died a long time ago, but my mom told me some stories about her, and I don't think she could have done what you did, you know?"

The not that she would have tried goes unspoken.

I wrench my hand out of his and stand up, and even though my legs are suddenly a little shaky, I pace back and forth. "It's not something I asked for, Gabriel. We..." It's another secret, maybe a bigger one, but he has to know, even if telling it feels like the worst kind of betrayal. "The women in my family can all do this. Magic, the craft, whatever you want to call it. All of them. Robin's almost there right now. And my mother..."

I can't say any more, not yet. Even the little I've admitted has left a bitter taste in my mouth. I've never said any of this aloud, to anyone, and now Gabriel knows it all, this boy I met a week ago.

This boy who's looking at me like a puzzle he wants to solve, but one he'll enjoy working on for as long as it takes.

I can't decide if that's good or bad, but at the moment it doesn't really matter.

"What about your mother?" he asks, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. His hands are clasped together loosely, his long, tapered fingers more elegant than Danny's.

Stop it. G.o.d, like that matters.

"She's never talked to me about it." I stop pacing and stand still, letting my head fall forward. I'm so tired. It probably sounds like everything is simply spilling out of me, but it feels like I'm dragging it out bit by bit, all of it heavy and awkward, b.u.mping and sc.r.a.ping against my heart as I release it. "She's got just as much power as I do, but she refuses to use it most of the time. And she doesn't talk to my aunt anymore, I think because of it."

"So what happened when you first started feeling the power?" Gabriel is frowning, fierce. I take a step backward instinctively.

"She just sort of brushed it under the rug, so to speak. Robin and I have both seen her do things all our lives, but mostly the results of it, you know?" I rub my temples, trying to think of how to explain it. "She doesn't actually do it in front of us really, or not often, but if something's broken it will suddenly be fixed, or the fire will keep burning all afternoon. Stuff like that."

"So you never knew what it meant, or how to do anything, you just figured it out on your own?" He's on his feet now, striding past me, and for a minute I'm sure he's going to storm out the door to confront my mother.

But he's only pacing, too, even if his hands are balled into fists.

"It sounds bad, I know," I begin, and he rolls his eyes.

"Bad? It sounds pretty frigging cruel, if you ask me."

Out of nowhere, an urge to protect Mom unfurls in a wash of electricity that blues the light in the room. Gabriel shuts his mouth, but I can tell he's not really sorry.

"You don't know her." My voice is carefully controlled now, even though it crackles with a leftover spark of power. "You don't know us. And this isn't about what she did or didn't teach me. It was no one's idea but mine to bring Danny back, and it's no one's job but mine to take care of it."

It hurts to say that, like Danny is a bag of trash that needs to be put out on the curb. It's still true, though.

"I'm sorry, okay?" He comes closer, slowly, and I take a deep breath, tamping down the last vibrating hum of energy inside. And when he takes my hands in his, my first instinct isn't to run, or to lash out, it's to hold tight. He waits for a minute, his eyes searching my face, before he speaks again. "I just want to help, Wren. You have to know this isn't going to have a happy ending. I mean, doesn't he ask about his family? About his friends?"

"He didn't at first." My voice is so small, even I can barely hear it. "At first, he was happy just to be with me. But then he started to remember things. To want things, other things." I turn my face up to him, and I can't hide the tears burning in my eyes. "I didn't think about this part. I just wanted him back."

"I know." He's so close, I can smell the night air clinging to his clothes and his hair. "I'm just afraid of what might happen now."

"He would never hurt me." I'm too quick to say it, and I wonder if Gabriel can tell that I don't completely believe it anymore.

"But he can't live up in that garage forever, Wren. You know that, right?"

"Of course I know it!" I wrestle my hand free and step back, wiping an escaped tear from one cheek with the back of my hand. "That was a last-minute thing. And I told you, I'm going to figure this out. Just ... not tonight."