Nice, yeah, me neither. Feeling ok then?
I guess. Super tired. Going back to bed, just wanted to check in with you.
Yeah, I’m worn out too, he answered. We should get together and talk tomorrow if you’re up to it.
Definitely. She drew in a stabilizing breath and added, What you said this morning…honestly I don’t hold anything against you. I still think it’s you who should be pissed at me.
Again it took him too long to respond, and she clenched her sweaty four-fingered hand in the edge of the comforter as she waited.
Well I’m not, he said. It wasn’t your fault.
I knew they were watching us in the woods. And I did it anyway, all those times. Now aren’t you pissed?
That’s…creepy but still not your fault.
Still, he didn’t elaborate. She sat weighing options about what to say, wondering what he was thinking, picturing him frowning over his phone screen in the cabin on the island. This was all so awkward. So mixed-up.
A new message from him finally appeared: Sorry, I’m just really beat. I’ll be able to make more sense tomorrow. I hope.
He was exhausted. So was she. But it didn’t stop her from wishing they could jump over all the explanations and land on the space marked Happy.
Happy and dating, though? Or happy and just friends? Which did he want? Which did she want?
Of course, sorry, she typed back. We’ll meet up tomorrow.
She tried to think of more to say, maybe something about how it would be good to speak to him, to see him smile. But she got the impression he wasn’t ready to process any more sentiment tonight.
Goodnight, see you then, he texted while she deliberated.
Night, she responded.
Great. Echoing again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
LYING ON HIS SIDE ON THE SOFA-BED, GRADY GAZED AT THE LEAPING FLAMES IN THE FIREPLACE. HE AND KIT HAD KEPT it burning all day to thaw themselves out, and by now his bed a couple of yards away from the hearth had gotten quite toasty. Still, he didn’t feel particularly comforted.
He brought up the messages from Skye again to review them. We’ll meet up tomorrow. I don’t hold anything against you. Could be encouraging, looking at it one way. Could be the groundwork to breaking up with him, looking at it another. Hard to know.
Was there really anything to break off, though? Their relationship had all been a magical illusion. Sure, the sex had really happened, but maybe it didn’t count under those circumstances. She’d be completely within her rights to tell him it didn’t, and to declare she’d rather not pretend there was anything between them.
So if it had all been illusion, and the spell had been lifted, why did he hurt so much?
He looked at his four-fingered hand. No getting out of this situation without a few lasting scars, apparently.
He sat up, tapped the contacts in his phone, and dialed home.
His mom answered, over in Moses Lake. “Hello, Grady!” Her cheerful sing-song greeting made his eyes sting with tears again.
“Hey, Mom.”
“How’s Bellwater? All covered in snow like we are?”
He blinked the tears back, sniffled, and steadied his voice. “Yeah. Or at least, it was. It’s melting now.”
“We got over a foot and it’s not going anywhere. So what’s new, other than that?”
“Not a lot. Hey, I just wondered…you know how, um…I have four fingers on one hand?” He held his breath.
She chuckled. “Yeeees, I’ve been aware of that since the minute you were born. We said, ‘Hurray, ten toes, and, oh, nine fingers.’ As we’ve told you.”
He lifted his eyebrows, astonished. “Right. Uh. I was just…trying to remember what you used to tell people. When I was a kid. If they asked about it.”
“Oh, lots of things. We called it your ‘lucky hand.’ We said, ‘Who needs a pinky anyway, what’s that good for?’ And so on. You remember this.”
Wow. Magic. Kind of scary, actually.
“Right. A kid was asking me, and I…somehow couldn’t remember exactly. Anyway. What’s up with you guys?”
As she chatted about her latest recipes, his dad trying to sell one of the cars, and his siblings’ tests and social lives, Grady drew up his knees and watched the fire, listening and murmuring, “Uh-huh.” He still suffered a Skye-shaped wound inside him, but he felt a little less desolate now. His life did contain reason enough for him to go on living, he supposed. Or close enough.
From the stash of gold he’d gathered in the woods, Kit took at least $5,000 worth of jewelry and other pieces, and dumped them into a manila envelope. All of them were items he couldn’t remember obtaining himself and therefore wouldn’t be able to find a rightful owner for. After sunset, while Grady was on the phone with his parents, Kit told him from across the cabin, “Going out for a bit.”
Grady nodded to him, then glanced away, talking to his folks.
Kit drove to the forest, to his customary spot below the former site of the goblin dwellings. With the envelope full of treasure, he trudged through the leaf litter, wiggled between trunks, and stopped in the tight clump of trees. The smell of wet ashes hung in the air, possibly left behind by last night’s ring of fire. He’d have to go looking for scorch marks during daylight sometime.
He whistled a few notes upward.
No one answered.
He whistled more of the song. Still nothing. He tried singing it aloud, only the notes, since he didn’t know any words for it—“Da da da doooo, dadada da daaaa…”—like a complete lunatic.
Whole song. Still no answer.
“Aren’t you guys going to show?” Kit called to the darkness. He was grinning. “Check it out! Whole huge bag of gold here.” He grabbed a fistful of it and held it up. “Don’t you want it?” His heart beat swiftly; his instincts still expected that sinister laughter, those twiggy arms appearing out of nowhere to snatch away the gold.
Nothing happened.
He tipped his head back and laughed, almost as maniacally as the goblins used to. “You sure?” he shouted to the forest. “You’re done with me, for real?”
The wind gusted, and a few fir needles sprinkled down onto him, along with something a bit heavier that slid past his wrist and landed on his boot. He crouched to pick it up, and recognized the slender gold chain with three hearts on it. The one he’d brought in December, that had served as the inadequate monthly payment that caused them to enchant Skye in retribution.
Maybe the necklace had gotten caught on the branches when everything fell down last night, and was just now shaking loose. But Kit didn’t think the timing could be quite that coincidental. He tucked it into the envelope along with the rest of the loot, and glanced up into the trees. “Thanks, locals.”
He strolled to the truck, leaned against it, and stood breathing the rich mossy air for a minute, appreciating being out here and being left alone.
Then he texted Livy.
I’m free. Tried to summon them with a huge pile of gold, and nothing happened. They’re just gone. I’m free. Holy shit, I’m really free.