Fables & Other Lies

I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed silent. What could I say? That I was sorry? That I wished I could make it all better? I did, but I couldn’t. I set my hand on his and squeezed.

“Sarah came along shortly after.” He looked at me again. “I was in boarding school by then. I spent most of my life away from here, buried in books, parties, women. Anything to escape the memory and what I’d done, but every so often I . . . it’s like a magnet. I feel like if I don’t come home my body will be ripped apart.”

“So that’s why you came back? That’s why you didn’t finish medical school?”

“You can’t really be on call at the hospital and also on the Devil’s beck and call.” He smiled softly. “It’s not all bad, but still, I want the curse to be broken. I want it all gone.”

“You want to be free,” I whispered.

He nodded. “When my father sent word that I’d been chosen as Carnival host this year, I was once again magnetized, forced to come back, but all along, I knew who I’d pick.”

“You couldn’t have known I’d be here.”

“But I did.”

“Because of the accident.”

“Unfortunately,” he said, and looked genuinely sorry.

“How’d you know my grandmother told me to get the leaves?”

His eyes gleamed. “Your expression gave it away the minute you set eyes on the tree. Besides, I’ve heard stories about your grandmother’s teas and potions.”

“Good or bad?”

“My mother wasn’t a fan. When she was pregnant with me, your grandmother wouldn’t help her with a natural way to relieve back pain.”

I sighed. “I’ve never understood the feud between our families.”

“Most feuds are misunderstandings that feed off of other misunderstandings.” He shrugged a shoulder. “It’s not our problem.”

“Why do you have so many scars?” I brought a hand up to his back and let my fingers run over them. His back was a mixture of scars and welts, some deeper than others.

“It’s part of the curse. Each time those leaves are used to cure someone, I get a new scar on my back.”

“Do they hurt?” I met his eyes, my fingers still running over them.

“When they happen, yes. It hasn’t in some time.”

I pressed my lips together and thought about my grandmother, who used those leaves so much that she’d run out of them. I wondered if she knew about this curse, about River’s scars. I wondered if she understood what she was doing to him every time she helped someone else or if she even cared. I hated seeing him like this. I hated knowing all of those things had happened to him and that somehow my blood was tied to it.

“What will you do once the curse is broken?” I asked after a moment.

“If it’s ever broken,” he said.

“It will be. What will you do?”

“I don’t know.” He shot me a secretive smile. “Probably become an ER doctor somewhere. Maybe in Florida.”

“That wasn’t a dream, was it?”

“It was. I just happened to experience it with you.” He grinned. “You have a very dirty mind, little witch. I like it.”

“I don’t normally.” I felt myself blush deeply. “I’ve always been a prude.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Sometimes it feels like it is. My friends are all so . . . free.” I frowned. “I’ve never really thought much about sex. Not until . . . ”

“Until what?” His eyes darkened.

“You know what.” I bit my lip, hating the heat on my face, all over my body. “You can probably read my mind right now.”

“I’d rather hear the words come from your mouth.”

“Until you. You bring this out in me.”

“Do I?” He reached for me, carrying me onto his lap so that my legs were spread on either side of him and our faces were close together.

Even as I leaned in to kiss him, he was looking at me with such longing it nearly broke my heart. I thought of what he’d said earlier, how I’d forgotten him once and he knew I’d forget him again, and it killed me to think that only one of us would carry this memory forever. If that was the case, I’d make it worthwhile.

Chapter Twenty-Five

He drove fast, despite the bumpy, uneven terrain. Meanwhile, my heart was in my throat as I held on to my seat, as if holding on to anything could save me if the car careened off the road and hit the mountain, or worse.

“Maybe slow down a bit,” I said, finally, because acting brave was cool, but staying alive was much more important.

“Sorry.” He shifted gears and slowed down. I let out the breath I seemed to have been holding since we left the Manor.

“Not wearing a seatbelt can kill you.” I glanced over at him in time to catch his mouth pull up. “Driving like that and not wearing a seatbelt will surely kill you though.”