Page 3 of The Dark Before Light

I tell him, knowing it means the end of us but powerless to stop it from happening. His fingers slip away from mine. I hate the way my hand feels without them. Small and pointless.

He turns and strides toward the entrance of the graveyard, skirting trees and gravestones like he has night vision. I totter after him, half-running to keep up with his long legs.

In no time at all—seconds, it feels like—we walk down a familiar cobbled street and halt outside a green awning. The rain has stopped. We’re not alone anymore. It’s too bright and loud. I want to go back to the graveyard. I want to ask him to tell me, tell me everything, too. Why he was there. What he dreams about.

But it’s too late.

I don’t feel like a lion or even a bird, each free in ways I can’t imagine. I’m afraid to face him, to be exposed physically the way I’m already exposed emotionally. He’s eighteen and beautiful. I’m fourteen and not. Maybe I looked okay in the half-light and shadows. But now he’ll see my lank, wet bangs and frizzy hair. My mouth, puffy from the braces behind it. My too-thick eyebrows. The roll of fat beneath my chin my mom says I’ll grow out of. The pimples that appeared on my face this morning, big and red.

The only thing that could make this moment worse would be my sister suddenly appearing in all her tanned, lithe, clear-skinned glory. But the universe must deem me worthy of pity because she’s nowhere to be seen. It’s just the two of us. Not alone anymore but still together, the last grains of us draining through the hourglass.

“Maybe I’ll see you in California one day,” he says softly.

I can’t help looking at him. Unsurprisingly, he makes waterlogged look like a fashion choice, even with the frayed hem of his hood sitting askew on his forehead.

“California?” I echo.

“That’s the plan,” he says, smiling slightly. “I’m going to wake up to palm trees and beaches every day while I make my mark. Someday the world will kneel to me, too.”

I believe him.

“Not you, though,” he adds with a wink. “Equals don’t kneel.”

“I think they do,” I whisper, my face flaming. “But only to each other.”

He grins. “Guess we’ll find out.” Touching an imaginary hat, he tilts his head. “Enjoy your stay in Ireland. And maybe lay off the whiskey until your claws grow in.”

He turns and walks away.

Panicked, I blurt, “Wait! What’s your name?”

He swivels toward me but keeps walking, his backward steps preternaturally confident over the uneven cobblestones. People stream around him like water around a boulder. I wonder if he realizes the world already sees him—makes way for him—and that’s why he knows they’ll kneel.

“Kieran Hayes,” he says, nearly shouting.

“I’m—”

“Birdie!” he interrupts with a grin. “Your name is Birdie.”

Then he turns a corner and disappears.

Chapter 1

Talia

17 years later

I’m about to take a bite of my favorite omelet in the world, courtesy of my favorite café in Santa Monica, when my phone buzzes on the table. It shimmies over the polished wood surface, heading toward the edge. Ignoring its impeding demise, I shove my fork in my mouth and flavors explode on my tongue.

I groan. “I’m convinced Rhubarb’s kitchen runs on magic dust.”

My breakfast date, Mia, laughs and snatches my phone before it can launch itself to the floor. Placing it safely on a napkin, she glances at the screen.

“Don’t tell me who it is,” I say quickly, but my mouth is full again and the words come out garbled except for “tell” and “who.”

“Gail Katz,” Mia says helpfully.

I blink in surprise and swallow. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.” I load up my fork with another piece of heaven and shrug. “She’ll leave a voicemail.”

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