Lady Midnight
Page 156
“I miss you,” he said. “Every day I miss you.”
“Diego . . .” She slid from the chair onto the bed and reached for his right hand. It was broad and warm in hers, and she felt the pressure of his family ring against her hand—both of them wore the ring of the Rosales family, but hers had the pattern of the Mendozas on the inside, and his the Rocios. “You saved my life,” she said. “I regret that I was so unforgiving. I should have known better. Should have known you better.”
“Cristina . . .” His free hand found her hair, her cheek. His fingertips brushed her skin lightly. He leaned toward her, giving her ample time to back away. She didn’t. When his mouth found hers, she tipped her head up for the kiss, her heart expanding with the strange feeling that she was moving toward both her future and her past at the same time.
Somewhere, Mark thought. It was somewhere in the house. Julian had told him that he’d boxed up everything in Mark’s room and put it into the eastern storage area. It was past time for him to reclaim his old belongings and make his room look like someone lived in it. Which meant he had to find the storage space.
Mark would have just asked Julian where it was, but he hadn’t been able to find him. Maybe he was hiding himself somewhere, scribbling away on Institute business. It seemed more than strange to Mark that things were going to go back to the way they had been, with Julian running the Institute and the Clave never knowing.
Surely there must be some way to help take the burden off his brother. Certainly now that he and Emma knew, it would be easier on Jules. The time had probably come to tell the younger ones too. Silently, Mark vowed he would stand by his brother through that. It was easier to live in truth than a lie, Kieran had always said.
Mark flinched at the thought of Kieran and yanked a door open. A music room. Clearly not one that anyone used much—there was a dusty piano, a series of stringed instruments hung on the wall, and a violin case. The violin case, at least, looked polished. Emma’s father had played the violin, Mark recalled. The faerie Courts’ obsession with those who could play music had kept Mark far away from any interest in melody.
“Mark?”
He jumped and turned. Ty was behind him, barefoot in a black sweater and dark jeans. The dark colors made him look even thinner.
“Hello, Tiberius.” Mark liked the long version of his little brother’s name. It seemed to suit him and his solemn demeanor. “Were you looking for something?”
“I was looking for you,” said Ty in his direct way. “I tried last night, but I couldn’t find you, and then I fell asleep.”
“I was saying good-bye to Kieran,” said Mark.
“Good-bye?” Ty hunched his shoulders up. “Does that mean you’re staying here definitely?”
Mark couldn’t help a smile. “I am. I’m staying here.”
Ty exhaled a long sigh; it sounded like half relief, half nervousness. “Good,” he said. “That’s good.”
“I thought so.”
“It is,” Ty said, as if Mark was being a bit slow, “because you can take over from Julian.”
“Take over?” Mark stared in puzzlement.
“Julian isn’t technically the oldest,” said Ty. “And even though they’d never put you in charge officially because you’re half-faerie, you could still do what Julian does. Look after us, tell us what to do. It doesn’t have to be him. It could be you.”
Mark braced himself against the doorway. Ty was wearing a completely open expression, and there was hope in the back of his pale gray eyes, and Mark felt a wash of panic that nearly made him sick. “Have you said anything about this to Julian?” he demanded. “Have you told him that you were planning on asking me this?”
Ty, not catching the half-furious note in Mark’s voice, drew his delicate dark brows together. “I think I mentioned it to him.”
“Ty,” Mark said. “You can’t just arrange other people’s lives like that. What would make you think that this was a good idea?”
Ty’s eyes darted around the room, resting everywhere but on Mark. “I didn’t mean to make you angry. I thought you had a good time that night, in the kitchen, when Julian left you in charge—”
“I had a good time. We all had a good time. I also set fire to the stove and covered your little brother in sugar. That’s not how things are supposed to be all the time. That’s not how—” Mark broke off, leaned back against the wall. He was shaking. “What on earth would make you think I was qualified to be Tavvy’s guardian? Or Dru’s? You and Livvy, you’re older, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need a parent. Julian’s your parent.”
“Julian’s my brother,” Ty said, but the words came out strained. “And so are you. You’re like me,” he added. “We’re like each other.”
“No,” Mark said sharply. “We’re not. I’m a mess, Ty. I barely know how to live in this world. You’re capable. I’m not. You’re a whole person—you were raised by someone who loved you, loved you more than his own life, and that’s not anything to be grateful for, that’s what parents do, but for years, I haven’t had that. By the Angel, I barely know how to take care of myself. I certainly can’t take care of the rest of you.”
Ty’s lips had gone white. He took a step back, then bolted out into the hallway, his running steps fading.
God, Mark thought. What a disaster. What a total disaster. He was already starting to panic. What had he said to Ty? Had he made him feel like a burden? Had he wrecked things with his little brother, hurt Ty in some unfixable way?
He was a coward, he thought, cringing from the responsibility that Julian had carried for so many years, panicked at the thought of what could happen to his family in his thoughtless, inexperienced hands.
He desperately needed to talk to someone. Not Julian; it would be another burden on him. And Emma couldn’t keep a secret from Julian. Livvy would murder him; the others were too young. . . .
Cristina. Cristina always gave him good advice; Cristina’s sweet smile calmed his heart. He hurried toward her room.
He should have knocked, of course. That was what normal people did. But Mark, who had lived in a world without doors for so many years, put his hand to Cristina’s and pushed it open without a thought.
Sunlight was streaming through her window. She was sitting up on her bed, propped against the pillows, and Diego, kneeling in front of her, was kissing her. He was holding her head in his hands as if it was something precious, and her black hair was spilling out between his fingers.
Neither of them noticed Mark as he froze in the doorway or as he pulled the door shut as silently as he could. He leaned against the wall, shame burning through him.
I’ve misunderstood everything, he thought, wrecked everything. His feelings for Cristina were muddled and strange, but seeing her kiss Diego hurt more than he would have thought. Some of the pain was jealousy. Some was the realization that he had been away from mortal people so long that he no longer understood them. Perhaps he never would.
I should have stayed with the Hunt. He slid to the floor, burying his face in his hands.
A cloud of dust and wood and plaster rose from the place where the Rooks’ floor had been destroyed. Now a fine spray of blood joined it. Kit slid from the chair he’d been standing on and stood stunned. His face was splattered with blood and he could smell it in the room, the hot iron stench of it.
“Diego . . .” She slid from the chair onto the bed and reached for his right hand. It was broad and warm in hers, and she felt the pressure of his family ring against her hand—both of them wore the ring of the Rosales family, but hers had the pattern of the Mendozas on the inside, and his the Rocios. “You saved my life,” she said. “I regret that I was so unforgiving. I should have known better. Should have known you better.”
“Cristina . . .” His free hand found her hair, her cheek. His fingertips brushed her skin lightly. He leaned toward her, giving her ample time to back away. She didn’t. When his mouth found hers, she tipped her head up for the kiss, her heart expanding with the strange feeling that she was moving toward both her future and her past at the same time.
Somewhere, Mark thought. It was somewhere in the house. Julian had told him that he’d boxed up everything in Mark’s room and put it into the eastern storage area. It was past time for him to reclaim his old belongings and make his room look like someone lived in it. Which meant he had to find the storage space.
Mark would have just asked Julian where it was, but he hadn’t been able to find him. Maybe he was hiding himself somewhere, scribbling away on Institute business. It seemed more than strange to Mark that things were going to go back to the way they had been, with Julian running the Institute and the Clave never knowing.
Surely there must be some way to help take the burden off his brother. Certainly now that he and Emma knew, it would be easier on Jules. The time had probably come to tell the younger ones too. Silently, Mark vowed he would stand by his brother through that. It was easier to live in truth than a lie, Kieran had always said.
Mark flinched at the thought of Kieran and yanked a door open. A music room. Clearly not one that anyone used much—there was a dusty piano, a series of stringed instruments hung on the wall, and a violin case. The violin case, at least, looked polished. Emma’s father had played the violin, Mark recalled. The faerie Courts’ obsession with those who could play music had kept Mark far away from any interest in melody.
“Mark?”
He jumped and turned. Ty was behind him, barefoot in a black sweater and dark jeans. The dark colors made him look even thinner.
“Hello, Tiberius.” Mark liked the long version of his little brother’s name. It seemed to suit him and his solemn demeanor. “Were you looking for something?”
“I was looking for you,” said Ty in his direct way. “I tried last night, but I couldn’t find you, and then I fell asleep.”
“I was saying good-bye to Kieran,” said Mark.
“Good-bye?” Ty hunched his shoulders up. “Does that mean you’re staying here definitely?”
Mark couldn’t help a smile. “I am. I’m staying here.”
Ty exhaled a long sigh; it sounded like half relief, half nervousness. “Good,” he said. “That’s good.”
“I thought so.”
“It is,” Ty said, as if Mark was being a bit slow, “because you can take over from Julian.”
“Take over?” Mark stared in puzzlement.
“Julian isn’t technically the oldest,” said Ty. “And even though they’d never put you in charge officially because you’re half-faerie, you could still do what Julian does. Look after us, tell us what to do. It doesn’t have to be him. It could be you.”
Mark braced himself against the doorway. Ty was wearing a completely open expression, and there was hope in the back of his pale gray eyes, and Mark felt a wash of panic that nearly made him sick. “Have you said anything about this to Julian?” he demanded. “Have you told him that you were planning on asking me this?”
Ty, not catching the half-furious note in Mark’s voice, drew his delicate dark brows together. “I think I mentioned it to him.”
“Ty,” Mark said. “You can’t just arrange other people’s lives like that. What would make you think that this was a good idea?”
Ty’s eyes darted around the room, resting everywhere but on Mark. “I didn’t mean to make you angry. I thought you had a good time that night, in the kitchen, when Julian left you in charge—”
“I had a good time. We all had a good time. I also set fire to the stove and covered your little brother in sugar. That’s not how things are supposed to be all the time. That’s not how—” Mark broke off, leaned back against the wall. He was shaking. “What on earth would make you think I was qualified to be Tavvy’s guardian? Or Dru’s? You and Livvy, you’re older, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need a parent. Julian’s your parent.”
“Julian’s my brother,” Ty said, but the words came out strained. “And so are you. You’re like me,” he added. “We’re like each other.”
“No,” Mark said sharply. “We’re not. I’m a mess, Ty. I barely know how to live in this world. You’re capable. I’m not. You’re a whole person—you were raised by someone who loved you, loved you more than his own life, and that’s not anything to be grateful for, that’s what parents do, but for years, I haven’t had that. By the Angel, I barely know how to take care of myself. I certainly can’t take care of the rest of you.”
Ty’s lips had gone white. He took a step back, then bolted out into the hallway, his running steps fading.
God, Mark thought. What a disaster. What a total disaster. He was already starting to panic. What had he said to Ty? Had he made him feel like a burden? Had he wrecked things with his little brother, hurt Ty in some unfixable way?
He was a coward, he thought, cringing from the responsibility that Julian had carried for so many years, panicked at the thought of what could happen to his family in his thoughtless, inexperienced hands.
He desperately needed to talk to someone. Not Julian; it would be another burden on him. And Emma couldn’t keep a secret from Julian. Livvy would murder him; the others were too young. . . .
Cristina. Cristina always gave him good advice; Cristina’s sweet smile calmed his heart. He hurried toward her room.
He should have knocked, of course. That was what normal people did. But Mark, who had lived in a world without doors for so many years, put his hand to Cristina’s and pushed it open without a thought.
Sunlight was streaming through her window. She was sitting up on her bed, propped against the pillows, and Diego, kneeling in front of her, was kissing her. He was holding her head in his hands as if it was something precious, and her black hair was spilling out between his fingers.
Neither of them noticed Mark as he froze in the doorway or as he pulled the door shut as silently as he could. He leaned against the wall, shame burning through him.
I’ve misunderstood everything, he thought, wrecked everything. His feelings for Cristina were muddled and strange, but seeing her kiss Diego hurt more than he would have thought. Some of the pain was jealousy. Some was the realization that he had been away from mortal people so long that he no longer understood them. Perhaps he never would.
I should have stayed with the Hunt. He slid to the floor, burying his face in his hands.
A cloud of dust and wood and plaster rose from the place where the Rooks’ floor had been destroyed. Now a fine spray of blood joined it. Kit slid from the chair he’d been standing on and stood stunned. His face was splattered with blood and he could smell it in the room, the hot iron stench of it.
