“Good,” he says. “Find out more. If I hear any news about Livvy I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.”

He’s about to sign off but I stop him. “About last night—I’m sorry I didn’t take your call. I was—”

“No need to explain. You’re making progress. We desperately need that now.”

It was progress—until I was caught.

A Deadly Walk

I stay in the cover of the trees this time. I don’t want to drive her away with my presence.

I just need to see her and know she’s still okay.

The experimental scan that awaits Karden—and possibly Raine too—haunts me. I imagine all the ways it’s more painful and risky than a standard scan.

While I wait for her to show, memories of all our nights together begin to surface, the times on the PAT taking turns choosing destinations, laughing together as we chose Hawaii, or Paris, or Moscow, and PAT repeating over and over, Not a valid destination, but it delayed our departure, and that was really all we wanted—more time to be with each other.

I think about the miles and miles we walked for all the prescribed hours that the Secretary slept, using up each minute because we had so much to talk about, so much to share, the places we wanted to visit, the things we wanted to see. It didn’t matter that we were born in different centuries—there were so many things that were amazingly timeless between us. And then I think about the times the conversation turned and I ached because I had to share a different version of myself.

I think about all the nights we lay under the stars in each other’s arms, and I listened to her breaths like they were my own. I think about our first kiss and all the ones that came after, the times I traced her lips with my finger, traced the profile of her face, the times my finger slid down her throat and across her collarbone and I thought she was too perfect to be true. The times I told her the truths I could, how I was mesmerized by her from the first time I saw her even though I wouldn’t admit it to myself, and she told me the truth of the night we danced in the graveyard, that all she could think about was me dancing with Vina and wanting to replace that memory with one of us dancing together instead. And I told her it worked. The truth.

But I did use her.

That’s one truth I can’t change.

At 2:15 she appears. Like the first night I saw her, she climbs onto the edge of the rooftop wall and dangles her legs over. The wind is brisk and blows strands of hair across her eyes. She turns her face to the wind and stands. Her gown snaps in the wind. I stand too, holding my breath. Raine, get down. But she walks the length of the wall, one foot over another, her arms poised at length for balance. Get down. Please. I don’t dare call out and draw her attention away from her footing. Her movements are fearless and graceful. Confident. But my God, she’s nine stories up on an old building that may have loose stones. When she gets to the end she jumps down onto the rooftop and disappears back into the shadows. Gone for the night. A short but potentially lethal appearance, like she has to push her limits in new ways.

I step from the shadows, angry at her for taking such risks, angry that she could throw so much away without even an explanation, but then I see movement again on the rooftop. I’m about to move back where it’s dark, but before I can, Hap steps to the edge and looks straight down at me as if he knew I was there all along.

Bitter Pill

I sneak in through the door that Raine showed me—the one that’s never locked—like they know some poor souls must always be in need of sanctuary if they’re only smart enough to find their way in. The hinges groan as I open the heavy wooden door. I don’t worry at the sound. Very little sneaking is actually involved. Like every time I visited here with Raine, the cathedral is empty, void of priests, caretakers, nuns, and even those in need of middle-of-the-night confessions. I’m not sure anyone comes here anymore but Raine and myself.

And now, maybe just me.

I walk up the center aisle, imagining all the times I walked up it so long ago, barely seven years old, barely able to see over the pews in front of me, my stomach rumbling, thinking about the doughnut with colored sprinkles that my mother promised if I behaved myself, which meant no sliding to the floor, no picking my nose, no putting my feet on the hymnals. I nearly always got the doughnuts with sprinkles afterward, because I nearly always behaved. And the truth was, I would have behaved even without the doughnuts. I liked the order of the whole mystical affair, the standing up, the sitting down, the touching of fingers to lips, the passing of peace, the ringing of bells, the swinging of incense, and especially the organ that vibrated to the core of my bones. It made me feel connected to everyone there. Maybe to the whole universe. I felt safe.

Is that why Raine comes?

I listen to whispers from the stained-glass saints.… I pretend I’m somewhere in heaven. Maybe that’s why she used to come. I doubt she’ll be back. She may never descend from her rooftop tower again—unless she trips on a ledge and falls from it. And we all fall sometime.

I reach the end of the aisle. The last time I went farther than this it was as an altar boy. I’m light-years from that altar boy now. Light-years in every way, from lost innocence to a lost body. From here it’s seven stairs and seven footsteps to the altar. I still have every inch memorized. I remember how I trembled with each step, how I feared the supremely inconsequential—tripping and shaming God and my family.

The things I know now that I wish I had known then.