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Authors: Maggie Stiefvater
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hurt.
“Just,” she said, “… just, not kissing.”
He still ached. His skin was a constellation of nerve endings. “I don’t understand.”
Blue touched her lips as if they had been kissed. “I told you.”
He just wanted an answer. He wanted to know if it was him, or if it was her. He didn’t know how to ask it, but he did anyway. “Did something … happen to you?”
Her face was blank for a moment. “What? Oh. No. Does there have to be a reason? The answer’s just no! Isn’t that good enough?”
The correct answer was yes. He knew it. But the real answer was that he wanted to know if he had bad breath or if she was only doing this with him because he was the first one to ask her or if there was some other obstruction that he wasn’t considering.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he said. He tried not to let it sound like he was still hurt, but he was, and it did. “You gonna be here when I get back out? When’s your shift start?”
“I’ll wait.” She tried not to let it sound like she was hurt, but she was, and it did.
While Blue paged through a few maps he had on his plastic bed stand, Adam stood in a cold shower until his heart stopped steaming. What do you want , Adam? He didn’t even know. From inside the sloped old shower, he caught a half-image of himself in the mirror and startled. For a moment something about his own reflection had seemed wrong. His wide eyes and gaunt face peered back at him, troubled but not unusual.
And just like that, he was thinking of Cabeswater again. Some days he felt he didn’t think of anything else. He hadn’t owned many things in his life, properly owned them, him and no one else, but now he did: this bargain. It had been a little over a month since he’d offered his sacrifice to Cabeswater in order to wake Gansey’s ley line. The entire ritual felt swimmy and surreal in his mind, like he’d been watching himself perform it on a television screen. Adam had gone fully prepared to make a sacrifice. But he wasn’t quite sure how the specific one he’d eventually made had come to him: I will be your hands. I will be your eyes.
So far, nothing had happened, not really. Which was almost worse. He was a patient with a diagnosis that he couldn’t understand.
In the shower, Adam scratched a thumbnail across his summer-brown skin. The line of his nail went from white to angry red in a moment, and as he studied it, it struck him that there was something odd about the flow of the water across his skin. As if it was in slow-motion. He followed the stream of water up to the showerhead and spent a full minute watching it sputter from the metal. His thoughts were a confusion of translucent drops clinging to metal and rain trembling off green leaves.
He blinked.
There was nothing odd about the water. There were no leaves. He needed to get some sleep before he did something stupid on the job.
Climbing out of the shower, his spine aching, shoulders aching, soul aching, Adam dried and dressed slowly. He feared — hoped? — that Blue might have left after all, but when he opened the bathroom door, scrubbing his hair dry, he discovered that she stood at the door, talking cheerfully to someone.
The visitor turned out to be St. Agnes’s office lady, her black hair curled in the humidity. She probably had an official title that Ronan knew, sub-nun, or something, but Adam only knew her as Mrs. Ramirez. She seemed to do everything a church required to keep it running, short of saying Mass.
Including the collection of Adam’s monthly rent check.
When he saw her, his stomach plummeted. He was filled with the certainty that his last check had bounced. She would tell him there were insufficient funds, and Adam would scramble to push money into the yawning hole of the account, and then he’d have to pay a returned check fee to the bank and another one to Mrs. Ramirez, getting further behind on his next month’s rent, an endless pathetic loop of
“Just,” she said, “… just, not kissing.”
He still ached. His skin was a constellation of nerve endings. “I don’t understand.”
Blue touched her lips as if they had been kissed. “I told you.”
He just wanted an answer. He wanted to know if it was him, or if it was her. He didn’t know how to ask it, but he did anyway. “Did something … happen to you?”
Her face was blank for a moment. “What? Oh. No. Does there have to be a reason? The answer’s just no! Isn’t that good enough?”
The correct answer was yes. He knew it. But the real answer was that he wanted to know if he had bad breath or if she was only doing this with him because he was the first one to ask her or if there was some other obstruction that he wasn’t considering.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he said. He tried not to let it sound like he was still hurt, but he was, and it did. “You gonna be here when I get back out? When’s your shift start?”
“I’ll wait.” She tried not to let it sound like she was hurt, but she was, and it did.
While Blue paged through a few maps he had on his plastic bed stand, Adam stood in a cold shower until his heart stopped steaming. What do you want , Adam? He didn’t even know. From inside the sloped old shower, he caught a half-image of himself in the mirror and startled. For a moment something about his own reflection had seemed wrong. His wide eyes and gaunt face peered back at him, troubled but not unusual.
And just like that, he was thinking of Cabeswater again. Some days he felt he didn’t think of anything else. He hadn’t owned many things in his life, properly owned them, him and no one else, but now he did: this bargain. It had been a little over a month since he’d offered his sacrifice to Cabeswater in order to wake Gansey’s ley line. The entire ritual felt swimmy and surreal in his mind, like he’d been watching himself perform it on a television screen. Adam had gone fully prepared to make a sacrifice. But he wasn’t quite sure how the specific one he’d eventually made had come to him: I will be your hands. I will be your eyes.
So far, nothing had happened, not really. Which was almost worse. He was a patient with a diagnosis that he couldn’t understand.
In the shower, Adam scratched a thumbnail across his summer-brown skin. The line of his nail went from white to angry red in a moment, and as he studied it, it struck him that there was something odd about the flow of the water across his skin. As if it was in slow-motion. He followed the stream of water up to the showerhead and spent a full minute watching it sputter from the metal. His thoughts were a confusion of translucent drops clinging to metal and rain trembling off green leaves.
He blinked.
There was nothing odd about the water. There were no leaves. He needed to get some sleep before he did something stupid on the job.
Climbing out of the shower, his spine aching, shoulders aching, soul aching, Adam dried and dressed slowly. He feared — hoped? — that Blue might have left after all, but when he opened the bathroom door, scrubbing his hair dry, he discovered that she stood at the door, talking cheerfully to someone.
The visitor turned out to be St. Agnes’s office lady, her black hair curled in the humidity. She probably had an official title that Ronan knew, sub-nun, or something, but Adam only knew her as Mrs. Ramirez. She seemed to do everything a church required to keep it running, short of saying Mass.
Including the collection of Adam’s monthly rent check.
When he saw her, his stomach plummeted. He was filled with the certainty that his last check had bounced. She would tell him there were insufficient funds, and Adam would scramble to push money into the yawning hole of the account, and then he’d have to pay a returned check fee to the bank and another one to Mrs. Ramirez, getting further behind on his next month’s rent, an endless pathetic loop of
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