The Impossibility of Tomorrow Page 16

  “Sounds like fun,” Officer Spaulding says, one hand on the door. “I could use a vacation myself.” He nods and walks out. Everyone’s posture relaxes slightly at the sound of the front door slamming shut.

  “Strange guy,” remarks Mr. Morgan, returning to his pistachios.

  “Strange?” echoes Mrs. Morgan. “More like sexist. That crap about girls being so fragile. Good lord—what year is it?”

  “C’mon, Lisa, I think it’s great that the police are checking on the kids. Better safe than sorry, no?” He pops another nut in his mouth, oblivious to the glare that his wife is aiming in his direction.

  I’m barely listening. All I can think about is the terrifying prospect of the weekend ahead. Cyrus must have invited everyone he thinks of as a suspect. He’s narrowed me down to this group, but he doesn’t know who I am, and he must think that a weekend away from the outside world will help him figure it out.

  I excuse myself to the bathroom, where I hurriedly check my e-mail on Kailey’s phone. Another bidder has put an offer in for the book, and the price is already up to $75,000. I’ll call Lucia as soon as I have a chance and give her the details. Hopefully her computer guy can track the e-mail addresses.

  I need to prove that Reed is Cyrus, and quickly. Before the trip to the Looking Glass Winery. If I know Cyrus’s identity for sure before we go, I might be able to use the overnight trip to my advantage. We’ll be in a remote location, far from the coven.

  Far from anyone Cyrus can call for help.

  It’s only later, as we’re eating apple pie together, that I realize there was no stamp on the envelope, no address. It must have been hand-delivered.

  My greatest enemy was standing on the Morgans’ porch earlier today, mere feet away from the people I love and care about.

  The thought sends a shiver of anger up my spine.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Nicole’s laughter is the first thing I hear as Echo and I walk into Madison’s house for our Friday afternoon dance committee meeting. Somehow I know what I’m going to see even before I walk into the wood-paneled dining room.

  Nicole is sitting inches away from Noah, her torso turned toward him, leaning forward and hugging her chest to maximize her impressive cleavage. Of course, her shirt is low-cut and fitted, and I see his eyes flit to the view she offers before he glances up to see me. I don’t miss the blush that creeps up his neck. Traitor, I think, knowing I am being unreasonable.

  “Kailey, good. We can finally get started.” Madison shuffles the papers in front of her.

  I clear my throat. “I invited Echo to join our committee,” I tell her. “She’s very excited about the mural.”

  I can’t read the stare Madison shoots at me. Is she angry that I took it upon myself to recruit Echo? But it only lasts a moment before she smiles broadly. “Of course. Welcome, Echo. Please, take a seat.”

  The only two spots are sandwiched between Reed and Rebecca. I feel Reed’s eyes on us as we make our way to the chairs, and send Echo a silent thanks as she sinks into the seat next to Reed. I concentrate on the comforting weight of my knife, tucked as usual, into the knee-high boots that I’ve been wearing for a week straight, since the ill-fated concert on Treasure Island.

  Across the table, Leyla watches me, then Noah, then me again, like she’s at a tennis match. Real subtle, Leyla, I think, but I’m touched by her concern, and force my smile to open even wider, like I don’t have a care in the whole damn world.

  But it’s hard to remain composed this close to Noah. I try to look anywhere else, but my eyes keep drifting to him, my true north.

  “I’m delighted to begin our meeting with an announcement,” Madison speaks softly, but all conversation instantly ceases as everyone shifts the attention to her. I have to give her credit—she possesses a confidence now that she didn’t have when she first took charge of the dance committee.

  “Rebecca has proven extremely helpful to me. She used to throw parties at her old school in Sonoma. I’m happy to announce that from now on, she will be cochair of this committee. My second-in-command, so to speak.” Madison shoots Rebecca a radiant smile.

  Rebecca, for her part, positively glows under Madison’s attention. She holds her willowy frame straight in her chair, arching her back slightly like a ballerina or a cat that wants to be petted.

  “Doesn’t cochair mean she’s your partner?” asks Nicole. “Not second-in-command.” I suppress a smile.

  Rebecca smoothes her blond hair, bowing her elegant neck slightly. “Either way, it’s fine with me,” she says quietly. “Whatever Maddy needs.” Maddy, huh?

  Madison clasps her hands together. “First things first. I’ve secured a venue. Quite a coup, actually.”

  Leyla blinks. “We’re not having the dance in the gym? That’s where it usually is.”

  “Please,” sniffs Madison. “We’re not throwing the usual party. And I refuse to ask couples to slow dance in the same room that the basketball team plays in. That’s disgusting.”

  “Hey,” Bryan protests. “I’ll have you know that I shower after every practice.”

  Madison ignores him and continues. “The dance is going to be held in the ballroom of the Claremont Hotel. I just got confirmation this morning. And they’ll even let us in to start the decorations on Sunday, so we’ll have the rest of the week to make it look perfect.”

  I’m surrounded by a chorus of oohs and ahs. I have to admit, it’s a great choice of venue. The Claremont Hotel, built almost a hundred years ago, is nestled in the foothills on the border of Oakland and Berkeley. It’s a gorgeous old resort with beautiful views of San Francisco. Too bad I have no intention of attending the dance after my breakup with Noah. Especially if he takes Nicole. I shudder, picturing them in my mind: Noah in his suit jacket, arms around Nicole, holding her close . . .

  Stop it, Sera.

  Madison leans back, obviously soaking in the attention. “I have news on the music front as well. Several DJs have agreed to play.”

  Chantal looks confused. “DJs, huh? I thought you were adamant about having live music?”

  “I was,” Madison answers, “until I realized that no one wants to hear morose indie rock all night.”

  “Are you serious? That’s your favorite music.” Chantal is incredulous.

  “I know, I know. It’s my favorite. But if we want actual dancing, we’re going to have to give the people what they want.”

  “I agree,” Rebecca says.

  “Of course you do,” Nicole quips.

  Madison sets down her clipboard. “Let’s go around the room,” she says. “Everyone can give me—I mean us,” she corrects herself, winking at Rebecca, “an update. Nicole, take notes.”

  Nicole sighs, pulling out a pen from her purse, but does as she’s told.

  Leyla and Bryan fill us in on the artisan grilled-cheese truck that will be catering the event. “We’re also considering an heirloom donut vendor for dessert,” Leyla adds, licking her lips. I note with satisfaction that she’s dressed like her old self again: a yellow-and-black striped sweater that makes her look like a bumblebee, the insect theme continued with the butterfly barrettes she wears in her magenta-streaked hair. I like it better when her fashion choices are influenced by Bryan’s poetry rather than Rebecca’s vintage posings.

  “Sounds like a gluten-fest,” Rebecca mumbles.

  Noah’s eyes light up as he tells us about the photographer he found. “He’s a great guy. A real up-and-coming photographer. His portraits are amazingly surreal. These won’t be your usual awkwardly posed couple shots.” I smile, even though my heart aches. I love when Noah talks about photography.

  “Sounds fantastic,” Nicole purrs, putting her hand on his arm. “I can’t wait to get my picture taken.” I quickly look away.

  Madison nods at me. “What’s happening with the mural?”

  “Actually, um, Echo’s taking it over.”

  Madison raises an eyebrow. “So you found a way to get out of it after all. I suppose
you deserve points for resourcefulness.” She smiles, but I wonder if she’s annoyed with me.

  Echo pulls her initial sketches from her black portfolio, spreading them out on the table. “Kailey told me about the solstice theme,” she begins, “so I started the design with winter constellations.” The drawings are beautiful, a large circular compass rose over a swirling backdrop of shimmery stars. “Here’s Andromeda,” she continues, pointing out the constellations with her slender finger, “Cassiopeia, and my favorite: Orion, the hunter.”

  Woven in the celestial tapestry are astrological signs, their familiar symbols rendered in a graceful script. At either side of the main circular shape are two women in an art nouveau style, draped in flowing robes. They each wear a circlet around their head made of stars.

  “Very cool,” Reed says, and the approving murmur from the group tells me they agree. Even Madison looks impressed, and I gratefully sink back into my chair as everyone praises Echo’s work.

  “Great. I think that’s it. Next time we meet will be Sunday at the Claremont. Bring your work clothes.” Madison pushes her chair back.

  “That’s not quite it,” Reed interjects, and Madison raises her eyebrows, no doubt shocked that he would have the temerity to contradict her. “You’ll all be joining us at the winery during the break, yes? My sister and I are so looking forward to hosting you.”

  Echo drops her gaze shyly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she admits.

  “What? No, you were on the list.” Reed snaps his head to his sister.

  “I must have accidentally forgotten your invitation, Echo,” she says, frowning. “How incredibly rude of me.”

  “You have to come,” Reed tells Echo. “You’ll love the winery.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t. My family’s harvest feast is this weekend. New moon in Cancer.” She seems pleased to have been invited, but my blood runs cold. If Reed wants Echo at the winery, it must be because he thinks she could be me. I shiver at the thought of what he has planned. It’s much better that Echo will be here, safe in Berkeley.

  The rest of us confirm that we’re going, except for Noah. Nicole’s face falls. “You have to come,” she whines.

  “Come on, Noah, don’t you think a night away will do you good?” Madison chimes in, and I see his resolve weakening. She’s unknowingly spoken the magic words. He’ll do anything to avoid his father.

  “You’re right,” he says. “I’ll go.” My heart starts to thud. As much as I want to spend time with him, I don’t want him anywhere near Cyrus.

  On the way out the door, Nicole asks Noah for a ride home, saying that there’s something she wants to talk to him about. My body goes rigid—I’m sure she’s going to ask him to be her date for the dance.

  It makes me want to die. It makes me want to disappear.

  I can’t afford to think about them right now, though. I need to worry about keeping everyone alive. So I force myself not to care as they walk away together into the frigid air, their arms brushing. I force myself to laugh at whatever Chantal just said, even as I see Noah open the passenger side door of his car for Nicole, just like he used to do for me. And I keep a ridiculous smile on my face as his taillights disappear into the night, even though I want to scream.

  THIRTY

  I lean my head back, looking upward. Through the redwood tree’s lacy boughs the moon plays hide-and-seek, its champagne-colored light made dim by its shape. It’s neatly sliced in half—I feel the same way.

  I came to the tree house directly after dinner with the Morgan family, needing to be in a place where I can be entirely alone, entirely safe. I turn my face away from the fickle moon and bury my head in my bent knees, denim scratching my cheeks.

  I miss Noah. Seeing him tonight was even more painful than I expected. I wrap my hands around the birdcage necklace that he gave me—I put it on before slipping outside, needing something to hold that connects me with him, however tenuous that connection has become. He could be kissing Nicole, right now. He could be forgetting I exist. And it’s all because of Cyrus.

  The breeze shifts, bringing with it the earthy scent of the Morgans’ garden, a neighbor’s seasonal wood smoke, and memories. This isn’t the first time Cyrus has sabotaged a love affair.

  I will always remember how hot it was that night in March, Charlotte’s birthday, when we went out to the local bar to celebrate. We were living in Mexico at the time, laying low while Cyrus worked out some complicated business dealings involving, I think, shipments of cocaine to the States. It was hot and sultry, the temperature soaring well past 80 degrees even at night. I was slick with sweat, standing at the bar with Cyrus as he downed tequila like it was water, watching Charlotte dance with Sébastien on the bougainvillea-drenched patio, the brilliant purple flowers forming a dramatic backdrop for her scarlet hair. Neither Cyrus nor I missed Charlotte’s rosy cheeks, echoing the color of the rose she had tucked behind her ear. Sébastien grinned as he twirled her around and around till she collapsed dizzily into his chest. And then they danced some more.

  “Do I detect a blossoming romance?” Cyrus asked over the blare of the mariachi musicians. I knew him well enough to sense there was a threat hiding behind his question. Cyrus hated Charlotte, regretted bringing her into the coven. He wanted to be the only person I confided in, the only person who cared about me. Once Charlotte joined us, he wasn’t, for the first time in four hundred years.

  Cyrus was supposed to be the center of our world, the sun that we all orbited. If Sébastien and Charlotte fell in love, they would care about each other more than they relied on him. And that he could never allow.

  “I think they’re just having fun,” I replied, sweat dripping into my eyes. On the patio, the song slowed down as the musicians launched into a traditional rendition of “Amor Eterno”—“Eternal Love.” Sébastien drew Charlotte close, his hand wrapped around her waist and tangling in her black lace shawl.

  “That had better be true,” Cyrus said icily. “Sébastien is one of my soldiers, and your bodyguard. I can’t have him getting distracted by your dear friend’s . . . charms.” The way he said “charms” suggested he thought Charlotte was an evil seductress out to ruin Cyrus’s life. I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought exactly that. “I’d hate to have to remove such a distraction.” I shivered, despite the night’s heat.

  I found Sébastien later that night on the beach when Charlotte slipped away to use the bathroom. “Cyrus is watching you and Charlotte,” I breathed over the crashing waves. “He doesn’t like it.”

  Sébastien’s face darkened. “Why should he care?”

  “Cyrus is in charge of us. We don’t get to ask what he cares about.” I scrunched up my toes in the sand, defeated.

  “But . . . I think I love her,” he said softly, his eyes searching mine. I shook my head. I couldn’t risk Charlotte’s life. And I had no illusions that if Cyrus had to choose between her and Sébastien, she’d lose in a heartbeat.

  “If you love her,” I said sadly, “you’ll stay far away from her.”

  He stared at me. “It’s not right,” he said finally.

  “Please,” I begged, grabbing his hands. “I need to know she’s safe. That’s the most important thing.” After a beat, he nodded.

  He snubbed Charlotte after that. She was heartbroken. She didn’t understand. And though I held her as she cried, though I let her talk about it for hours, analyzing what she did wrong, how she lost his affections, I never admitted that I knew the reason.

  Sébastien did the right thing—he put Charlotte’s well-being over his own happiness. And that’s what I need to do with Noah. That’s what I need to remember, when I’m tortured by thoughts of him kissing Nicole, of his crow-black hair falling over hers.

  I can only hope that now, with Cyrus in Berkeley, Sébastien and Charlotte are finally together. If only they’d known the truth about the other Incarnates, I think bitterly, they could have escaped Cyrus’s control years ago. Joined another coven. I could hav
e gone with them . . . .

  A door slams nearby, making me jump.

  “Your mother had the right idea!” a man’s voice shouts, a familiar voice. “I’d leave here too, if I could! If I didn’t have to worry about you. Waste of fucking time. Waste of a life.” It’s Noah’s father, and the venom of his words carries clearly to where I sit on weary boards, shrouded by leaves.

  Just a few moments later, I hear footfalls growing near. I hear someone walking through the Morgans’ backyard, padding softly across the spongy carpet of redwood needles that covers the grass.

  My fingers move inside my coat, wrap themselves around the birdcage necklace that hangs over my heart. A few seconds later, Noah’s face appears. His eyes meet mine in a beam of champagne moonlight. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell him, making no move to leave. He hesitates, looking up at me, his eyes full of questions that I am incapable of answering. “Come on up,” I say.

  He launches his body the rest of the way into the tree house and sits in the corner opposite me. He bends his head into his lap.

  “He’s horrible. I would do anything to get out of here.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. The words sound hollow, even to me.

  “Kailey,” he says, but it sounds like a question. I turn my head toward his.

  And then he’s next to me, his muscled arms holding me, his hands wrapping around me. My birdcage necklace glints in the half-full moon. He touches it with one finger. “Why?” he asks. I have no answer.

  His lips are on mine, searing me. I wasn’t aware of how cold it was up here until he appeared, until he tangled himself up in me. My own lips must be freezing. It must be like kissing a dead girl. Borrowed time, I think. A borrowed kiss. A debt I will certainly have to pay.

  He holds me tight, tighter, like the secrets I keep. Finally, I pull away, touching my fingers to my lips.

  “Let’s try again, Kailey,” he says.

  “No,” I whisper. “This was a mistake.”