“Mi amore,” he says, his words coming out short and clipped as if he’s fighting for control. “There will never be anyone for me but you.” He brushes her golden hair away from her face, taking a strand and twisting it around his finger. “I want to be with you forever.”
“And I with you,” Alessandra answers, her eyes glistening with tears. She strokes his cheek with her delicate hand.
Paolo suddenly drops to one knee. “Marry me, then!”
I gasp so loudly that it’s a wonder they don’t hear me. But they only have eyes for each other.
“Marry me!” he repeats. “Make me the happiest man on the face of the earth.” He lifts one hand and kisses it gently.
Alessandra is just about to answer when their door is flung open with such force that it nearly knocks me off my perch. Signore Barone bursts into the room, his face scarlet with anger. “What is going on here?” he demands, reaching down to pull Paolo to his feet by the collar.
“Papa!” Alessandra cries. “Let him go! He has done nothing wrong.”
But Signore Barone doesn’t listen and Paolo crashes against the wall, music stands rattling as he slides heavily to the floor.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Only a few weeks later, right here in San Francisco, Alessandra would lie broken on the concrete three stories below the rooftop, her life spilling out of her in a growing pool of red. I open my eyes again and Veronique is staring at me. I see a desperation in her face that I remember from that boy so long ago.
“Rayne is Alessandra. It’s the same essence, I’m sure of it.” Tears form in her eyes as she speaks. “I’ve been searching for her since that night on the roof a century ago. I can’t believe she’s been here this whole time.” She blinks hard, and I can see her fighting for control. “I was right all along. Alessandra’s essence was drawn to you in this lifetime.”
“Rayne is not Alessandra,” I say angrily. “I’ve never felt any connection. She’s my best friend in this lifetime and that’s it.” I turn to Veronique, blocking Rayne out completely. This is between the two of us. “Rayne is a seventeen-year-old girl. She’s not Akhet, Veronique. She has a boyfriend.”
She waves the thought away. “The only reason she has a boyfriend is because she doesn’t remember what we were to each other.”
I turn to Rayne. “Are you hearing this? Does she really think you’d give up Peter for her?”
Rayne looks suddenly confused, as if something she was sure of is suddenly falling apart. “I don’t know. I mean, I love being with Peter. But Veronique has told me so much about that lifetime, about how we felt about each other, about how much in love we were.” She seems to draw herself up straighter and glances at Veronique. “We were destined to meet again.”
“You’re only repeating what she’s told you,” I say.
“Because she doesn’t remember the truth,” Veronique says.
I stare at the two of them. Anger is getting me nowhere, so I have to try logic. “Think about what you’re asking her to do . . . to be. You’re asking a high-school girl to give up her boyfriend and fall in love with a woman almost ten years older than she is.” I realize as I say it that I’m already thinking of myself as older than Rayne. My concept of age and experience is shifting with every week that passes.
“This isn’t about age or gender,” Veronique says. “I’m not asking her to love me in spite of being a woman. Or even because of it. On a higher level, love isn’t about men and women or women and women—all of that loses any sort of meaning.” She looks at Rayne and I sense she wants to grab her hand. I think I’d punch her if she did. “Our kind of love is about essences that are indelibly intertwined throughout history, regardless of how they’re packaged in this lifetime.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Rayne says to me. “What if I am Alessandra? I mean, it makes sense. You’ve been like my sister since the first day we met, and if we were best friends in another lifetime, then we really do have a special connection.”
“You’re my best friend in this lifetime,” I insist. “But that’s it. Our connection doesn’t go beyond the day we met back in second grade.” I see the hurt in Rayne’s eyes, but I can’t back down. I can’t let Veronique’s lies start to make sense.
Veronique takes a step forward. “I don’t know why you can’t see the connection, but I can. The relationship I have with the essence that belongs to Rayne goes beyond love . . . beyond lifetimes. You of all people should understand that. What you and Griffon have is obviously the same kind of relationship.”
The words hit like a punch in the stomach. “Griffon’s gone,” I finally say, clearing my throat, realizing after almost two weeks that it really is true. “Proof that even the strongest connection sometimes isn’t enough.” I close my eyes and shake the emotion off. “You’re just trying to take advantage of her. Rayne’s different. She’s not like us.”
“Neither were you just a few months ago,” Veronique says. “A few months ago, you weren’t Akhet. Maybe Rayne is ready to transition too.”
“What, like you’re just going to wave your arms and magically Rayne is going to start remembering her past lives? Wouldn’t that be convenient.”
“I’m not a child!” Rayne yells at me. As she turns away, I catch a glimpse of something around her neck, hanging from a silver chain. “You don’t have to stand here—”
“What is that?” I interrupt, pointing at her chest. The ankh isn’t like any I’ve ever seen before—it has a black stone in the middle and some kind of hieroglyphic writing on the front. “Where did you get it?”
Rayne glances at Veronique and my fury boils up all over again. I can’t believe it. “Take it off,” I insist.
Rayne puts one hand over the pendant. “You’re not my mother.”
I grab her by the shoulders, wishing I could shake some sense into her. “I know you think this is some kind of romantic story, but it’s not. Veronique is just making this whole thing up to fit some twisted agenda. Don’t you remember what Griffon said? We shouldn’t even be standing here talking to her.”
I see a glimmer of doubt in her eyes, so I keep charging forward. “Veronique also thought I killed Alessandra. Her track record isn’t all that good up to now. If you’re so sure about what she’s saying, call Griffon.” I reach in my pocket and hold out my phone. “Call him right now and tell him where we are and what she’s said.”
“I don’t know,” Rayne hesitates. She glances at Veronique. “Everything she said made so much sense . . .”
I look into her eyes, willing Rayne to trust me. “Because she’s very good at telling lies. That’s what she does. Just because she wants you to be Alessandra, that doesn’t mean it’s true.”
Rayne nods slowly, her eyes locked on mine. I don’t know if she totally believes me, but I’ve managed to plant enough doubt to get her out of here. She reaches up and unclasps the chain from around her neck. “I’m sorry, Veronique,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper as she hands it to her.
“I’m sorry too,” I say, as I put one arm around her shoulder and lead her down the street.
Seventeen
“A reggae festival? Since when do you go to reggae festivals?”
We walk out of the tunnel and into Golden Gate Park. The meadow is crowded with people dancing by the stage, pounding away in drum circles, lying on giant blankets staring at the sky, and standing in clumps playing hacky sack. Pretty much all the stuff we usually make fun of.