So it was a bit of shock when what he handed me were the reins to his man-eating horse.
“Take Alastor,” he said in a low, urgent voice, “and get back to the castle. Whatever happens, you’ll be safe there, behind the walls.”
“Um … what?” I said, more out of astonishment than from any need for further information, since I had a pretty good idea of what he’d said and absolutely no intention of following his instructions.
“Alastor knows the way,” he went on. “If you’re on his back, no one will dare interfere with you. People,” he added, “tend to be intimidated by Alastor.”
“I can’t think why,” I said dryly, looking up at the stallion’s ink-black eyes, which at that moment happened to be rolling towards John, as if to echo my own skeptical thoughts about his plan. The horse had laid down his ears, a sure indicator that he was displeased … enough so that Hope, my pet dove and full-time protector, sensed it and flew down from the cavern’s ceiling to scold him, fluttering around the stallion’s head and trilling her disapproval.
Alastor’s ears flicked forward as he eyed the bird, looking as if he’d like nothing more than to make a bite-size snack out of her.
“Alastor,” John said in a warning tone, and the horse whickered innocently.
I shook my head. “John. That’s a very nice plan, but I think I can do more than run away and hide in the castle. And what about Alex and Kayla?”
“Take them with you. And I’m not asking you to run away. I’m asking you to —”
“What about all these other people?” I interrupted, looking around the beach. It was hard to keep my temper, but remembering my job as a consort, I tried. “There must be a thousand of them, at least, and more souls coming every minute. We can’t just abandon them.”
“I have no intention of abandoning them.” He’d begun to peel off his black T-shirt, a sight which simultaneously confused and thrilled me. It also made me angrier at him, because he was using unfair weaponry against me. “Get yourself to safety. Leave the rest to me.”
“You think I’m just going to — I’m sorry, is it too warm in here for you?”
He stared at me uncomprehendingly, his hair adorably mussed from where his shirt collar had ruffled it coming over his head. “What?”
I didn’t know whether I wanted to grab him by those wide, muscular shoulders and kiss him or shake the living daylights out of him.
“Why are you undressing?” I asked.
“Pierce, there isn’t much time,” he said, sitting down at the edge of the dock. “You’re a skilled rider. You should be able to handle Alastor without any problem. He’s not really as wild as he acts. He’s simply not used to polite society. He only needs a little taming.” Bending over to unlace his tactical boots, he glanced up at me from beneath some of the long dark hair that had tumbled across his eyes. “A bit like his owner, as you keep assuring me.”
I shook my head again. “How could you know anything about my riding skills? You’ve never seen me on a horse. I used to ride back in Connecticut, but you couldn’t possibly have seen me then, because you and I weren’t —”
My voice trailed off. Together, was what I was going to say, until I remembered that just because we hadn’t been together didn’t mean he hadn’t been watching me … or watching over me, as I’m sure he’d have preferred to think of it. Death deities couldn’t always be counted on to follow modern social niceties, such as “Don’t spy on people.”
Remembering how often I’d eavesdropped on my parents, I realized humans couldn’t always be counted on to follow this rule, either, so I didn’t hold it against him.
“John,” I said. “Why are you taking your shoes off?”
He’d neatly folded and draped his shirt across his boots, lined up side by side next to the closest post.
“I don’t want to get them wet,” John explained matter-of-factly, climbing to his feet. “Here, take care of this for me while I’m gone, will you?” He passed me his tablet. “I know you don’t need it — you have your own. But maybe your cousin could use it … or your friend Kayla. That way she won’t have to keep shouting across the beach at Frank ….”
I assumed he was joking. I remembered a time when he never joked, just brooded, and could only attribute the change — like the fact that refreshments and blankets were now being given out along the docks — to my influence.
But I was going to have to teach him that there was a time for jokes and a time to be serious, and now was a time for the latter. The sight of his clothing stacked into such a tidy pile made my pulse stagger. After my friend Hannah had died, I’d spent a lot of time online, researching suicide. I’d wanted to figure out how she could have done what she’d done, only realizing later that I wasn’t going to find the answer on a website.
One thing I did learn, though, was that people who take their own lives by leaping off bridges and cliffs often leave small stacks of belongings next to the place from which they jumped, things they feel they won’t need in the afterlife, such as their shoes, eyeglasses, and wallets. The police called them suicide piles.
The sight of John’s shirt and shoes piled up like that — not to mention the fact that he’d given me his precious tablet — instantly reminded me of those piles.
“Where are you going that you think you don’t need it?” I asked John, thrusting the tablet back at him. “And why do you think you’re not coming back?”
“Of course I’m coming back.” John tucked the tablet into the tight sash of my gown, next to my cell phone. His smile was reassuring. “I told you. I’m going to fix this.”
“How?” I demanded, my voice beginning to rise. “By sacrificing yourself for everyone else, exactly like in my dream?”
He stared down at me, confused, the smile wavering a little. “What dream?”
“Remember that morning I woke up in your arms, crying? It’s because I dreamed about how you died,” I said. “I was on the Liberty. There was nothing I could do to save you. I watched you drown.”
It was the first time I’d admitted to him that I’d known every detail of the stormy night he’d been thrown overboard from the deck of the Liberty: how he’d been left to be tossed about on the waves as punishment for the crimes he’d committed at sea: mutiny … and murder. Even though he’d committed those crimes for a very good cause — to save the lives of his fellow crewmates, Henry, Frank, Mr. Graves, and Mr. Liu — he’d still been found guilty in the eyes of the law … and apparently in the eyes of the Fates as well.
But knowing they hadn’t felt guilty enough to let him die — they’d granted him the gift of eternal life, after all — hadn’t made my dream any less horrifying … or the fact that during it, it had felt as if someone had carved out my heart and thrown it, still beating, into the waves after him.
Now it appeared that nightmare was about to be reenacted while I was awake.
“Pierce,” he said.
He attempted to raise his hands — to touch my face, I suppose — but I wouldn’t allow it. If he touched me, I’d shatter like glass.
“Admit it,” I said, my voice gruff with emotion. “I’m about to watch you drown all over again. You’re going to go out there and try to stop those boats from wrecking. Isn’t that how you got yourself killed the last time? It’s what you do.”