Wow.
The rest of the yard is expansive, tall trees surrounding the pool, like a cove in the middle of a forest. Stone and clover and soft curling ferns create the perfect natural look around the pool. And as we step farther into the space, I notice several wooden lounge chairs and dark wood cabanas that are covered with drooping vines and grapes. Torches illuminate the pathway and create deep shadows, while pale green and blue lights among the trees give it a resort vibe. A forest resort.
“The main house is there,” Faelan says, breaking through my awe. He points behind us, and I turn back to see the large white house looming. It’s just as stunning from this angle—maybe more so. “And the bungalows are this way”—he motions ahead—“up those steps, at the top of the waterfall.” He moves in front of me and walks along the water’s edge. I follow him up a stone staircase to the level of the steaming spa. There are a ton of trees up here too, and another stone pathway that leads into the shadows.
“I’m in the east and you’re in the west,” he says, then adds, “for now.”
He points toward the right to a small structure that’s more like a cottage than the massive thing behind us. It’s something out of a faerie tale, vines growing up the face, and tiny shuttered windows on the facade. A glass-walled patio is attached to the side. It looks like a greenhouse; plants are pressing at the windows and growing out of the top, as if the foliage is bursting through the roof and spilling down the sides.
“How am I supposed to sleep in there?” I ask. “It looks like it’s full of plants.”
“No, that’ll be my bungalow. It’s facing east, see?” He motions to the door, then to the direction it’s facing.
“Oh. How can you even tell?”
“The sunrise?”
And I feel like an idiot. “Right.” I glance at the glow rising over the hills, my eyelids getting heavy. “So which one’s mine?” I’m about to fall over after being awake all night.
“Here.” He starts walking, and I follow him past the greenhouse, around the side. “Your bungalow will face the sunset and the ocean.”
We pause at an archway made of pink climbing roses, and I realize the thick tendrils are framing a blue door. This bungalow is in the Spanish style, with a red-tiled roof and peach stucco walls. There’s a bay window, and just underneath a box planter is overflowing with pansies and morning glories that haven’t opened to the rising sun yet.
“I’ll be sleeping in there?” I ask, suddenly doubting my luck. “It’s so pretty.”
“It’s unlocked,” he says when I don’t move. “You can just go on in.”
I reach out to the doorknob. But before I open the door, I turn back to him. “I need you to make sure Ziggy is okay.”
“The human?”
I nod, thinking of my friend, of her sitting beside me in the orange laundromat chairs the other night and putting Cheetos up her nose to make me laugh. She was a lie. A total lie. But I can’t stop caring that she’s all right.
“Sure,” Faelan says, studying me. “I can check on her.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, exhaustion finally taking over.
“Just get some sleep,” he says quietly. He reaches over and wraps his hand around mine as it grips the doorknob, then he turns it for me. The door swings open with a soft creak. “Things will seem less overwhelming after some rest.”
I pull away, unsure how to feel about him touching me.
He gives me a small smirk and turns, saying over his shoulder as he heads for the east bungalow, “I’ll be next door if you need anything. And I’ll be fetching you for our first lesson in four hours.”
EIGHT
SAGE
Sleep. It’s barely happening. There was a moment of stillness, when the warmth and comfort of my new surroundings wrapped around me, the poolside waterfall lulling me with its calming rhythm, allowing me to nearly drift off. But then I remembered the last time I fell asleep and woke to three guys gawking at me. And the way I was trapped. And lied to. My whole life.
Eventually, I sit up and scan my new living quarters, which I didn’t bother to look at when I walked in a few hours earlier. I just made a beeline to the couch and collapsed on it, curling myself into the throw blanket tossed over the back.
Now I notice that the couch is purple velvet, soft against my skin. The blanket I was wrapped up in is a pale blue angora, and the throw pillow I rested my head on is delicately embroidered, fit for a queen; it was obviously made by hand. I run a finger over the faded threads and marvel at the detail of the design. Like something out of one of those ancient manuscripts I saw on our school field trip to the museum last year.
I dozed off on that thing. I probably drooled on it.
On the wall across from the couch, where you’d expect a TV, there’s a large painting of a forest with the sun setting behind it—it looks old, some of the paint cracking. The rug that’s covering the dark wood floor under my feet is white and furry. I really hope it wasn’t ever hopping around or anything.
This must be the living room. To my left is the front door; to my right is what looks like a small kitchen nook and two other doors. I assume one of them leads to a bedroom.
I stand and wander over to the closest one, cracking it open. A bathroom. It’s old-fashioned in style, but the fixtures look new. I move to the other door and peek inside.
My breath catches in my throat. It’s like something out of a dream, where a princess would live. A large canopy bed sits in the center, draped with sheer yellow fabric and covered with a ton of pillows. There’s a large window rimmed by built-in bookshelves—look at all those books!—and a puffy yellow chair set off to the side just so. The floor is covered in more fur rugs. A desk and more bookshelves are set into the wall on the other side of the bed, and a hand-painted screen with knotted designs is to my left, in front of what looks like another door. I’m assuming that’s the closet.
I’d go look inside, but I don’t think I can take in any more lavish surprises right now. I feel so out of place, like my surroundings just highlight how lost I am. This can’t possibly be where I belong.
My gaze trails back to the bed. All those pillows. I think of the orange plastic chairs I slept in several nights last week, and I step closer. I reach out and run my palm over the puffy surface of the comforter. It feels like satin, but it looks like simple cotton. I marvel at the sensation of it against my skin, and before I know it I’m climbing up and crawling over the thing, falling into the mountain of pillows until I’m cradled by them.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this comfortable in my entire life.
This. This is heaven.
I close my eyes, and the weight of the last twelve hours lifts from my mind for a fleeting moment. Just long enough for me to fall asleep.