“What . . . ?” Emma looked astonished, then furious again. She whirled and headed for the stairs.
Ty smiled, looking with his curls and light eyes for all the world like a painted cherub on a church wall.
“That girl was angry,” he said, sounding delighted to have gotten it right.
Kit laughed.
* * *
The sky above the Institute blazed with color: hot pink, blood red, deep gold. The sun was going down, and the desert was bathed in the glow. The Institute itself shimmered, and the water shimmered too, far out where it waited for the sun’s fall.
Cristina was exactly where Emma had guessed she would be: sitting as neatly as always, legs crossed, her gear jacket spread out on the shingles beneath her.
“He didn’t come after me,” she said, as Emma drew closer to her. Her black hair moved and lifted in the breeze, the pearls in her ears glimmering. The pendant around her neck shone too, the words on it picked out by the deep glow of the sun: Blessed be the Angel my strength, who teaches my hands to war, and my fingers to fight.
Emma collapsed onto the roof next to her friend, as close as she could get. She reached out and took Cristina’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “Do you mean Diego?”
Cristina nodded. There were no marks of tears on her face; she seemed surprisingly composed, considering. “That girl came up and said she was his fiancée,” Cristina said. “And I thought it must be some sort of mistake. Even when I turned and ran out of the room, I thought it must be a mistake and he would come after me and explain. But he didn’t, which means he stayed because of her. Because she really is his fiancée and she matters to him more than I do.”
“I don’t know how he could do it,” Emma said. “It’s bizarre. He loves you so much—he came here because of you.”
Cristina made a muffled noise. “You don’t even like him!”
“I like him—well, liked him—sometimes,” Emma said. “The perfect thing was kind of annoying. But the way he looked at you. You can’t fake that.”
“He has a fiancée, Emma. Not even just a girlfriend. A fiancée. Who knows how long he’s even been engaged? Engaged. To get married.”
“I’ll crash the wedding,” Emma suggested. “I’ll jump out of the cake, but not in a sexy way. Like, with grenades.”
Cristina snorted, then turned her face away. “I just feel so stupid,” she said. “He lied to me and I forgave him, and then he lied to me again—what kind of idiot am I? Why on earth did I think he was trustworthy?”
“Because you wanted to,” Emma said. “You’ve known him a long time, Tina, and that does make a difference. When someone’s been part of your life for that long, cutting them out is like cutting the roots out from under a plant.”
Cristina was silent for a long moment. “I know,” she said. “I know you understand.”
Emma tasted the acid burn of bitterness at the back of her throat and swallowed it back. She needed to be here for Cristina now, not dwell on her own worries. “When I was little,” she said, “Jules and I used to come up here together at sunset practically every night and wait for the green flash.”
“The what?”
“The green flash. When the sun goes down, just as it disappears, you’ll see a flash of green light.” They both looked out at the water. The sun was disappearing below the horizon, the sky streaked red and black. “If you make a wish on it, it’ll come true.”
“Will it?” Cristina spoke softly, her eyes on the horizon along with Emma’s.
“I don’t know,” Emma said. “I’ve made a lot of wishes by now.” The sun sank another few millimeters. Emma tried to think what she could wish for. Even when she’d been younger, she’d understood somehow that there were some things you couldn’t wish for: world peace, your dead parents back. The universe couldn’t turn itself inside out for you. Wishing only bought you small blessings: a sleep without nightmares, your best friend’s safety for another day, birthday sunshine.
“Do you remember,” Emma said, “before you saw Diego again, you said we should go to Mexico together? Spend a travel year there?”
Cristina nodded.
“It’d be a while before I could go,” said Emma. “I don’t turn eighteen until the winter. But when I do . . .”
Leaving Los Angeles. Spending the year with Cristina, learning and training and traveling.
Without Jules. Emma swallowed against the pain the thought caused. It was a pain she’d have to learn to live with.
“I’d like that,” Cristina said. The sun was just a rim of gold now. “I’ll wish for that. And maybe to forget Diego, too.”
“But then you have to forget the good things as well as the bad ones. And I know there were good things.” Emma wound her fingers through Cristina’s. “He’s not the right person for you. He isn’t strong enough. He keeps letting you down and disappointing you. I know he loves you, but that’s not enough.”
“Apparently I’m not the only one he loves.”
“Maybe he started dating her to try to forget you,” Emma said. “And then he got you back, even though he didn’t expect to, and he didn’t know how to break it off with her.”
“What an idiot,” said Cristina. “I mean, if that were true, which it isn’t.”
Emma laughed. “Okay, yeah, I don’t buy it either.” She leaned forward. “Look, just let me beat him up for you. You’ll feel so much better.”
“Emma, no. Don’t lay a hand on him. I mean it.”
“I could beat him up with my feet,” Emma suggested. “They’re registered as lethal weapons.” She wiggled them.
“You have to promise not to touch him.” Cristina glared so severely that Emma raised her free hand in submission.
“All right, all right, I promise,” she said. “I will not touch Perfect Diego.”
“And you can’t yell at Zara, either,” Cristina said. “It’s not her fault. I’m sure she has no idea I exist.”
“Then I feel sorry for her,” Emma said. “Because you’re one of the greatest people I know.”
Cristina started to smile. The sun was almost completely down now. A year with Cristina, Emma thought. A year away from everything, from everyone that reminded her of Jules. A year to forget. If she could bear it.
Cristina gave a little gasp. “Look, there it is!”
The sky flashed green. Emma closed her eyes and wished.
* * *
When Emma got back to her bedroom, she was surprised to find Mark and Julian already there, each of them standing on opposite sides of her bed, their arms crossed over their chests.
“How is she?” Mark said, as soon as the door closed behind Emma. “Cristina, I mean.”
His gaze was anxious. Julian’s was stonier; he looked blank and autocratic, which Emma knew meant he was angry. “Is she upset?”
“Of course she’s upset,” Emma said. “I think not so much because he’s been her boyfriend for a few weeks again, but because they’ve known each other for so long. Their lives are completely entwined.”
“Where is she now?” Mark said.
“Helping Diana and the others fix up the rooms for the Centurions,” said Emma. “You wouldn’t think carrying sheets and towels around would cheer anyone up, but she promises it will.”
“In Faerie, I would challenge Rosales to a duel for this,” said Mark. “He broke his promise, and a love-promise at that. He would meet me in combat if Cristina consented to let me be her champion.”
“Well, no luck there,” said Emma. “Cristina made me promise not to lay a hand on him, and I bet that goes for you two, too.”
“So you’re saying there’s nothing we can do?” Mark scowled, a scowl that matched Julian’s. There was something about the two of them, Emma thought, light and dark though they were; they seemed more like brothers in this moment than they had in a long time.