It’s a lighter.
“It’s what you wanted since we got married.”
“A way to murder you that would actually stick?” I shouldn’t make light of this, but I’m so uncomfortable under the weight of his astute assessment.
“Yes.”
I wait for him to smile, but he doesn’t. I open the lighter and spin the wheel with my thumb.
A small blue holy fire flame sparks to life. I’m so shocked, I almost drop the lighter and set the whole house on fire. The lid clicks closed, snuffing out the flame.
I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. Of course holy fire would work. How did I watch Gaven’s body burn so fast and not think of it then? How did I not think of it after he told me about how his sister couldn’t be called back because she burned away to nothing? Regardless,it wouldn’t have mattered then, because it’s not magic I can wield myself.
Until now.
“You’ve never been killed by holy fire,” I whisper.
“If I had, there would be nothing left to call my soul back to except a pile of ashes,” he says. “I know that not telling you about my second blessing made you feel unsafe, but I only realized after the fact how bad it was for you. If I had known what Rafe did—” He groans and rubs the back of his neck. “By the time I realized all that you’d been through, you were reeling from remembering these horrible things that happened to you. I wanted you to feel safe. I didn’t want to make you feel like I had tricked you, like I had used you, which is exactly how I made you feel.”
“So you gave me a way to kill you.”
He strokes my jaw with his thumb. “I gave you a way to feel safe.”
The words take the wind out of me. He’s right. He literally handed me a way to hurt him any time I want to. He’s trying to make peace.
I’m breathless. I wasn’t imagining it before. He does understand. He just didn’t have the whole picture before. It’s so tempting to throw myself at him, but I’m feeling too many things to sort through them all right now.
His face is full of earnest contrition. “Harlow, come back with me.Please.”
I’m mortified, so overwhelmed with gratitude that there are tears in my eyes.
The first thing he wanted to do when he found out what I’d been through was make me feel safe. But I’ve never been good at being taken care of, and everything he does makes me feel too fragile. I’m too raw from the day and too shaken by all the revelations that have come to light just as the eclipse shadow is lifting.
For a woman who has stayed in one place her whole life, I suddenly can’t seem to hold still.
There are so many things I don’t know how to express. My heart knows Henry is safe, but my body can’t feel it. Everything is too intense right now.
All that I can think to do is lean on the first and most important survival skill I have. I turn and run.
65
HARLOW
Iknow I won’t find peace at the bottom of a wine bottle, but I will at least find a temporary escape.
When I fled North Hold, I had nowhere to go. I couldn’t go back to South Hold and face the chaos, or to the boarding house and face Henry. So I went to the only place I could think of, the small two-bedroom apartment Bea had set up for me and Aidia, right before Rafe killed her.
It took half of the first bottle of wine stolen from Bea’s secret stash to even get myself to go inside, but once I was in, it wasn’t as daunting to be there as I expected.
The space was a dream—not a real place my sister had a chance to inhabit. I have no memories of Aidia here. It’s just a place where I rented out hope for a short time.
After my sister died, Bea kept paying for the space. It’s right across from her bar, and I think she was hoping I’d move in so she could keep an eye on me. Even now, I can only vaguely remember the conversation we had the first time I ventured out after recovering.
I drain the last of the first bottle of wine and place the empty bottle on the side table. Then, I cross the room and yank the darts from the bullseye on the living room wall.
Turning back and crossing the room, I lob all of my darts in quicksuccession. One misses the board entirely, lodging itself in the wall just beneath it. The rest stick at the very bottom of the bullseye.
The apartment door creaks open, but I don’t turn. I know it’s Bea.
