Forget Me Not (The Ceruleans: Book 2) (2 page)

‘Your arm! What happened? Are you all right?’

I sighed. I’d tried, when I got home, to use my light to
heal the wound, but apparently it only worked on other people; I couldn’t heal
myself. Then I’d tried to find an outfit that would hide the graze, but any
clothing I slid over the top just stuck to the wound painfully. So I’d been
forced to opt for the usual vest top and jeans and brave out Luke’s reaction.
It was, after all, only to be expected that Luke react to his girlfriend’s arm
being a gory mess. But all I wanted was a quiet, normal evening. Just one more.

‘Really it’s fine,’ I said, as I grabbed Luke’s hand and
pulled him into the cottage. Chester trotted along in his wake.

‘It doesn’t look fine. What happened?’

‘A brick fell off a building and grazed me.’

‘A brick! You might have been –’

‘– killed. Yes, I realise that.’

Luke pulled me into him. He smelt of cinnamon and musky
aftershave and the sea. ‘Scarlett Blake, what am I going to do with you!’

I smiled into his chest. ‘Just love me.’

‘That’s not hard,’ he said.

He slid a finger under my chin to lift it, then pressed his
lips to mine firmly, passionately. The room slipped away – until Chester
brought us round with a low
woof
. We broke apart and sank onto the sofa.
Luke uttered a low growl.

‘What you do to me…’

Were I not already red-faced, I’d have flushed. Kissing Luke
was wonderful, but each time we got a little hotter, a little deeper, a little
more lost in each other, and hands were beginning to stray.

‘Seriously, though, Scarlett, there won’t be much left of
you that’s kissable if you don’t start taking care. What is it with you?’

The glow from our kiss dissipated in a moment. We were back
to the drama, it seemed.

‘I know.’ I attempted a comic eye roll. ‘Catastrophe magnet,
that’s me.’

Luke gave me an odd look.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Just – I’ve heard that before. Something Jude said
to me once: that catastrophe stalks you.’

I stilled beside him. This was so hard: he had no idea.

Luke shifted so he could look into my eyes. ‘I’ve been
meaning to ask you – did you talk to him, Jude? On your birthday?’

Ah yes, Jude. The boy-who-wasn’t-just-a-boy. The
Cerulean
.

Luke knew I’d been looking for him, to ask him what he knew
about my sister’s suicide. But when I’d eventually found him, I’d got so much
more than I’d bargained for: a glimpse of a world beyond this one that at once
terrified and fascinated me; a sister, not lost but out there somewhere,
needing me to come to her; and – finally – a death sentence.

I recalled now my last conversation with Jude, hurried
whispers exchanged in the corner of my birthday party while Luke was busy in
the kitchen:

Jude: Scarlett, I know you’re angry. And hurt. There’s so
much you need to understand…

Me: I don’t want to talk to you right now.

Jude: You don’t have to. Read the diary I gave you –
Sienna’s diary. Let her tell you what happened to her, what will happen to you.
Then we can talk.

Me: I’m not ready to read it. Or talk.

Jude: You have to get ready.

Me: I need time, Jude.

Jude: It’s not mine to give you.

Me: Please –

Jude: Look, you’ll get sick, Scarlett. Really sick. I
can’t stop it. I can’t heal you. Your time is coming.

Me: But Luke, Cara, my mother, everything I love…

Jude: I’m sorry.

Me: You can stop this.

Jude: No, I can’t.

Me: Whatever. Just leave me alone!

Jude: I will. Until you’ve read the diary. That’s as long
as I can give you. Then we’ll talk.

Me: Fine. Fine! But just so you know, I’m a really slow
reader.

Jude: Really?

Me: REALLY.

Jude: Okay, I get it.

Me: You can go now.

Jude: I will. Just… don’t shut me out, okay? I want to
help. I want to be there for you. If you need me, when you need me, get in
touch.

Me: How? Some mystical summoning ceremony involving
candles and herbs and chanting?

Jude: Er, no. You can call my mobile. Here’s the number…

‘Yes, I talked to Jude,’ I told Luke. ‘It was just as I
thought: he knew Sienna was dying, he tried his best to talk her out of ending
it, he’d left the party before she ran into the sea. He was nowhere near the
water that night.’

Luke relaxed a little. ‘Well, that settles it. Though I’m
still not sure I –’

‘– like the guy. Yeah, I get it.’

I had a feeling that when it came to Jude, Luke would never
completely relax. Perhaps he sensed the connection between Jude and me, and
felt threatened by him. Or perhaps it was just that a friendly, hardworking
bloke from Twycombe had nothing in common with a strange, tattooed drifter who
gave away so little of himself.

‘Enough with the chat,’ I declared. ‘I’m starving. Did you
bring the cakeage?’

‘Would I dare turn up empty-handed?’ He stood. ‘The cakes
are in the van. I’ll go get them.’

‘Then go, go.’

I gave a firm, denim-clad buttock a tap and he headed out of
the room muttering, ‘All right! All right! You women and your cake…’

I stood too and weaved my way around comfortable old
furniture to the doorway leading into the kitchen. Here, the evening sun bathed
the room in a soft, golden light, and I took a moment to close my eyes and
drink in the glow. Then I knocked back a couple of painkillers from the packet
on the worktop and moved over to the powder-blue Aga where the lid of a
saucepan was rattling in an alarming manner.

‘You cooked?’ The voice from behind me was warm with
surprise and tenderness – and a hint of trepidation.

I smiled as I stirred. ‘I cooked.’

Luke’s arms crept around me and he nuzzled my neck from
behind. ‘I expected just cakes for tea. Or a sandwich. You really didn’t have
to –’

‘Yes, I did.’

His breath tickled my ear as he said, ‘Can I help?’

‘No. It’s all in hand. Just go sit at the table and keep me
company while I serve up.’

Truth be told, I already had a sinking feeling that dinner
wasn’t remotely ‘all in hand’. The potatoes were rock hard, the green beans
were limp and the beef bourguignon was more soup than stew. But I was
determined to pull this off, because it was a nice, ordinary thing to do: cook
dinner for your boyfriend.

‘You’re still on for the Newquay trip this weekend, right?’
said Luke as I drained the potatoes over the sink. ‘Si paid the balance for the
accommodation today. Right at Fistral Bay – where all the surfing’s at.’

‘Definitely,’ I said. ‘Three nights?’

‘Yep. Three long nights together…’

Were I not doing battle with the potato masher in a cloud of
steam, I’d have grinned at him. As it was, he had to settle for a
hot-and-bothered, ‘Great!’

‘Great. And I was thinking about taking a weekend off
afterwards. Spend it together here. Do you fancy the zoo?’

‘Which zoo?’ I puffed.

‘Do you need a hand?’

‘
No!
I can manage.’ I pounded into the pan. ‘Which
zoo?’

‘Dartmoor. It’s not far from here. It’s the one that film
We
Bought a Zoo
is based on.’

‘I haven’t seen it.’
Damn these potatoes!

‘That’s okay. I have the DVD. We can watch it together
sometime – movie night.’

I wanted to come back with some light-hearted comment, but
the pounding in the pan had stirred up the pounding in my head, and I was fast
realising that it was not steam blurring my vision any longer. I staggered, and
grabbed the kitchen counter for support.

‘Scarlett?’ Before I could so much as say ‘head rush’ Luke
had grabbed me and pushed me onto his now-vacant chair. ‘What is it?’ he said,
crouching down so we were at eye level. ‘Are you ill?’

‘No, just a little overheated, I think. All that steam…’

He frowned. ‘Let me take over.’

‘Not on your nelly. Just get me a glass of water, then I’ll
get back to it.’

I sipped the water he brought me slowly, and it helped. A
couple of minutes later my head was clear again and I stood up and returned to
the stove.

‘Stop hovering. Really, I’m fine.’

Luke fell back a few paces, but he stayed within arm’s
reach.

Carefully, I served up: lumpy mash, mushy beans and runny
beef bourguignon.

‘Looks good,’ said Luke, taking the plates and setting them
on the table, in the process slopping a fair amount of sauce down himself. He
gamely tucked in, forking in a chunk of beef and chewing… and chewing… and
chewing.

I tried a mouthful of mash. It was kind of crunchy.

Luke audibly swallowed his mouthful and declared,
‘Delicious!’

‘Luke, admit it: it’s grim.’

‘No, really. I mean, the meat’s really well cooked.’

‘Overcooked.’

‘A little. But hey, that’s better than undercooked, right?’

‘Undercooked like the potatoes?’

‘Um, well…’

I had to laugh at the tortured expression on his face. ‘It’s
okay, I can take it. I should stick to cheese sandwiches.’

He grinned at me. ‘But the way you butter the bread and the
way you place the cheese slice – you make it an art form.’

Leaning across the table, I kissed him, long and deep.
‘Thank goodness for cakeage,’ I said.

*

It was a perfect evening – full of light and laughter and
knee-trembling kisses. Everything I wanted for this, my last night. Of being
just Scarlett. Luke’s Scarlett.

Luke didn’t stay, though I’d have liked him to. Since the
night we’d almost drowned, we’d shared a bed every night, either mine or his.
It wasn’t about getting hot and heavy (though I sure thought about that often),
it was about being close. With his warm, solid body pressed against me, I could
sleep – safe. But Luke had an early man-and-van job in the morning, and we both
knew that the time had come for just a little space. So we kissed each other
goodbye, and then he was gone and I was alone in the cottage.

I moved quietly around the downstairs, taking my time
tidying and washing dishes and locking up. After a moment’s hesitation, I left
the living room lamp on – plunging the cottage into darkness tonight was too
much. I called Chester to me, and he came sombrely. ‘Poor baby,’ I said to him.
‘You miss Bert, huh? It’ll get easier, I promise.’ He tilted his head to one
side and whined mournfully, but let me lead him upstairs by his collar.

I got ready for bed slowly – taking a hot shower, putting on
soft pyjamas and brushing my long hair one hundred times. The green eyes in the
mirror watched me anxiously, but I ignored them. I focused instead on the
pendant around my neck, a gift from Luke. Blue, the colour of his eyes.

Finally, when Chester had settled on the rug, snoring
softly, and the black outside the window was oppressively thick, and there was
no getting away from the truth that the day was done, I sat on my bed and
looked at the bedside table. There, lying beside a big chunk of bright-blue
crystal, was a spiral-bound notebook: my sister’s diary. I reached over and
touched my palm to the cover. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would find the courage to
open it. But for tonight, I would lay my aching head on the cool pillow and
close my eyes and whisper the prayer my grandmother had taught me:

Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep,

Thy angels watch me through the night,

And keep me safe till morning’s light.

I met a guy today. Jude. Seriously hot. Like something
off a Dior Homme ad, with smoky eyes that look right into you.

We met in the school grounds, down by the lake (I was
skiving gym class again). Suddenly, this pale face was looking out at me from
the trees by my rock. Totally freaked me out – a boy? At Willake? He was all
‘Hello, I’m Jude’, like I’d asked who he was. Like it was the most normal thing
in the world for a god in a duffel coat to be loafing about the grounds of a
posh private girls’ school.

When I didn’t reply, because I was too busy staring, he
asked my name, and I opened my mouth and out it came – bloody etiquette. And he
said, ‘It’s good to meet you, Sienna.’ The kind of stuck-up formality that
usually leaves me cold. But on him, it wasn’t formal at all. It was… I don’t
know. Intimate.

We talked for a few minutes, until the bell rang for next
period, about nothing really. The view. The fish in the lake. The weather.
Pathetic, right? Not my usual patter. But weirdly, I found I gave a damn about
what he thought of the big brown fish rooting about near our feet and whether
it was cold enough to snow. I gave a damn about just about anything that came
out of those lips.

I looked back at him when I left for drama class. He was
sitting there, watching me, with this mega intense look about him.

Like I said, seriously hot.

~

We met at the lake again today. All right, I admit it – I
was lurking, hoping I might see him. And why not? I’m bored senseless dating
Dreary David. Beyond the stunning physique, there’s not much there. And Jude
is… Well. He’s like no one I’ve met before.

It’s not just that he’s attractive. There’s something
about him. Something magnetic. And when I’m with him, I feel different. It’s
like he sees past all my crap, and I find myself less Sienna with him – less
the Sienna that everyone knows: the life and soul. More how I really feel
inside. Because when I talk, he listens. I can tell him stuff, stupid stuff,
and he doesn’t laugh or look at me like I’m a contender for Freak of the Year.

I told him about the dream. I was testing him, I guess. I
said it lightly, so he wouldn’t see how much it meant to me – ‘I want to be a
dancer on a cruise ship. High-kick my way around the world.’ He didn’t laugh.
Didn’t comment on the cheese factor. Just asked why I loved dancing and which
places I wanted to travel to.

I asked about him: ‘What do you want to be when you’re
all grown up?’ It was meant to be playful – after all, he looks plenty grown up
to me already. But when he answered, I couldn’t work out whether he was being
ironic or serious. ‘Good,’ that’s what he said.

~

We’ve progressed from lakeside chats to Jude sneaking
into my room after lights out. Sounds dodgy, right? But it’s all quite
innocent. We just sit there and talk about stuff. Bands. Movies. Things we do.

He’s really into surfing, and the way he talks about it
makes me want to try it. Thinking about Mother and her pathetic ‘the ocean is
death’ rants makes me want to try it even more. So I said I’d love to surf, and
he offered to teach me. Just like that. I laughed – hardly possible on the lake,
I told him. He gave me this look, and said, ‘But you won’t be here forever,
right?’

~

He told me he had something to tell me. Something
important.

I was sitting on the bed and Snow Patrol’s ‘Chasing Cars’
came on the stereo and he came to sit beside me. And I thought: Does he want to
lie here with me? I was just about to start totally freaking out when Katie
burst in, spouting some nonsense about the hockey mistress and the
groundskeeper going at it in a tool shed. And that was it. Moment gone.

~

O.

M.

G.

He didn’t tell me the something important. He showed me.
And if there was ever an appropriate time for an OMG, this is it.

He took me to the woods at the back of a school, to this
squirrel that was just lying there at the foot of a tree. It was seriously
manky. Half-dead. He picked it up, and all I could think about was how gross
that was. Then he did it. This weird blue light came out of his hands, and the
squirrel perked right up. He put it on the ground and it scampered off.

I said what-the-something.

He said, calm as you like: ‘I healed it.’

I had quite a moment. As you do when you find out your
new friend is a bloomin’ sorcerer or something.

But that wasn’t all. He led me around the tree and
pointed. Another manky animal, this time a rabbit in a bad way. So I’m like,
‘What are you – some kind of animal torturer? That’s sick!’ He swore he’d found
them that way this morning, and collected them up to show me.

The poor bunny was in a right state, bloody and panting
on the floor. ‘Go on then,’ I said. ‘Heal it – quick.’

You know what he said? ‘You do it.’ Just like that, like
it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I had another moment then. It was pretty epic. I scared
birds out of the trees with my shouting.

But he insisted. And I was going to turn and walk away,
but then I remembered Grandad in the garden at the cottage at Twycombe,
stroking a bat that was dying. He’d taught me and Scarlett that we could soothe
frightened animals. I could do that now.

I did that. And a whole lot more.

I knelt down and stroked the rabbit and he said, ‘Go on.
Heal it.’ And it happened – so easily. Light leaked out of me. Warmth leaked
out of me. The rabbit got up and hopped away.

I had another moment. Only this time I didn’t shout. I
threw my head back and whooped. I danced about. I hugged a tree. I hugged Jude.

Because apparently…

[Fanfare, please!]

… I’m some kind of sorcerer too.