“Mmm-hmmm,” he says. I can feel his heart beating as I lean into him. His chest rises as he takes a deep breath. “Actually, I, um … used to know her sister.”
“As in ‘know,’ know?” I get a sinking feeling, wondering if she’s as pretty as Alana.
“I suppose. But it’s not like she was my girlfriend,” he adds quickly.
“You mean you slept with her?” I ask. I turn around to face him so that I can see his eyes as he answers.
He pauses, but won’t meet my gaze. “She goes to college down in Santa Barbara and came home last summer for vacation.” He suddenly seems older again, more mature than any guy of seventeen has a right to be. “Look, I didn’t lie to you,” he says. “I don’t go out with girls my age. Nobody in high school, anyway.” He lowers his eyes and bites his bottom lip. “At least, I didn’t.”
Despite the fact that this makes my heart race, I say nothing. Griffon leans in to kiss me, but I pull back just as his lips brush mine.
“Sometimes I think you just want to be the handsome prince,” I say, studying the rough bark of the log. I haven’t really thought any of this through, but I suddenly know that it’s exactly how I feel.
“Um, thanks?” he says uncertainly.
“Not thanks,” I say. “It’s like I’m some kind of damsel in distress and you want to be the one to rescue me.”
Griffon puts his hand over mine. “You’re right. I do want to rescue you,” he says. “But not because I think you can’t handle things on your own. It’s for my own selfish purposes.” He leans in and kisses me again; the hunger he feels is almost visible in his touch. The vibrations that exist between us are like background noise now—so constant that they’re just an extension of him.
I let myself melt into his body, my hands traveling up his thighs to pull his hips toward me, causing Griffon to inhale sharply. I wrap my legs around his waist and unzip his jacket, sliding my cold hands inside. I can feel the outline of the ankh pendant underneath his shirt as I explore his torso, my fingers tracing the muscles under his warm skin. We stay like that for what seems like hours, tasting and touching, and I’m grateful for the limitations imposed on us by being out on a wet, cold, public beach. If we’d been safe in his room on his big, wide bed, I’m not sure that I’d be able to say what I know I should to keep things from going too far.
As we sit listening to the waves, I feel peaceful inside, like I’ve finally found what I’ve spent years looking for. School doesn’t matter. The cello doesn’t matter. Even not playing the cello doesn’t seem to matter.
“It makes a difference, doesn’t it?” I say. “Knowing you’re going to do it all again.”
“In a way,” Griffon says cautiously.
“I mean, what if something bad did happen? It would suck for the rest of this life, but we could find each other in the next life and start all over again. There’s got to be a way to leave a marker to follow the next time around.”
“It doesn’t really work like that,” Griffon says, a hint of sadness in his voice. “There’s no guarantee that we’ll even be back together in the same century—forget about the same continent.”
“What about all those stories you hear about people who are destined to be together? Who find each other again because it’s fate?”
“I wish it were that simple.” Griffon leans over to kiss my neck. “There are no guarantees you’ll find the people you were with before, even though technology does make it easier to find other Akhet.”
The thought of coming back without him sends a stab of pain through my chest. “Does it ever end? Do people ever stop coming back?”
“Maybe,” he says. “Some forms of Buddhism think that once you no longer need the earthly experiences anymore, you go permanently to a higher plane.”
“Like heaven?”
“Probably where the idea of heaven came from,” he says. “But I personally can’t imagine no longer needing earthly experiences.” He starts running his fingers through my hair, each contact with my scalp sending shivers straight down into my feet. I close my eyes, giving myself up to the sensation and the sound of the waves in the cold dark night.
The transition into the vision isn’t as jarring as it has been before; the first thing I feel is the scratchy fabric at my throat, and the familiar rhythm of someone gently running a comb through my hair.
I sit at my dressing table, staring blankly out the small window to the courtyard down below. The grounds are unnaturally green, and contrasts with the dull brown cobblestones that run between the buildings. I can’t see any workmen from here, but I’ve been listening all morning to the sound of nails being driven into lumber as they prepare the site.
Anna tries to hide her emotions as we complete our daily routine, but the occasional sniffle as she draws the silver comb down my back gives away her true state of mind.
“Anna, please,” I say, turning toward my lady and taking her small hand in mine. “Do not waste your tears, all will be well.”
“Yes, Lady Allison,” she says, staring at the intricate comb in her hand. Two tears form parallel lines down her ruddy cheeks. “I know that you have done nothing to deserve this fate and that a just God will spare you. ’Tis only…” A sob rattles in her throat as she turns away from me.
“You musn’t lose faith,” I insist, my words bolstering my own failing conviction. “The good will triumph. It says so in the Book of Prayers.” My eyes flick to the prayer book that lies on the trunk at the foot of the bed. We’ve been up all night, listening to the commotion in the yard down below and reading comforting passages from the only book I’ve been allowed these long months. I glance up, although I don’t know what I expect to see except the heavy beams that cross the ceiling and stray cobwebs that adorn the corners of the room. So far, God has not come to intervene on my behalf, but I have no doubt that I will not be abandoned.
As Anna finishes tying the ribbon around my plait, we hear a shuffling outside the heavy door, followed by a gruff knock and a metallic sound as the lock is disengaged. Her pink cheeks fall instantly pale and her hand flies up to cover her mouth, for we both know these are no idle visitors. “It is time!” she says in a hoarse whisper.
Squaring my shoulders and drawing myself up to my full height, as Mam would have expected, I stand and smooth the heavy black skirt that falls nearly to the floor. I wrap my hand around the pendant as Anna reaches up and frees the clasp from around my neck. The metal is still warm as I drop the necklace into the small silk pouch, tears filling my eyes for the first time since this nightmare started. As we stand waiting for the door to swing open, I grab Anna’s hand in a gesture of comfort. “Take heart, Anna, for we are well protected.”
“Hey.” Griffon’s insistent tone brings me back to the present. “Everything okay?”
I nod slowly as the last traces of the image slip from my mind. “I’m fine.”
“Where were you?” His voice is gentle now. “Did you see Veronique again?”
“It was different this time. I was at the Tower again,” I say, trying to orient the image of the room with what I’d seen on my visit there. “Inside one of the buildings, looking out. I … I think it’s just before the vision I saw at the scaffold.” My heart starts racing as small pieces of the puzzle begin to fit together. “Oh my God, she called me Lady Allison!”
“Who did?” Griffon asked.
“The girl who was with me. She was brushing my hair, and she called me Lady Allison! When I had the memory in the hospital, the woman at the cottage called me Allison.”