Page 128 of Brambles and Bellflowers
“You’re kind.” I twisted my fingers through her hair, loose locks tickling my cheek. “When you brought flowers for Kathleen, you stayed even though it made you uncomfortable. You’ve always been caring. It’s part of your nature.”
“Stop saying that.” She pressed her nose against my shirt. “I’m not a nice person.”
“Yes, you are.” Why couldn’t she see herself the way I saw her? “I told you before. You were always the one who cared the most about humans—”
“That’s the thing,” she interrupted, her voice breathy and rushed. “I was upset that Kathleen died, but I wasn’tsad.”
I blinked, and it wasn’t until she began to shiver that I finally asked, “What do you mean?”
“I kept expecting her to show up,” she rambled in a breath. “Yes, it’s sad that she isn’t alive anymore, but it’s not like she’s gone forever. So, I’m not that upset about the fact she’s dead.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.” I pushed her shoulders back, urging her face to lift toward mine. My heartbeat echoed in my ears. We’d become so familiar already that, sometimes, it was so easy to forget that Bianca had no idea how to use her abilities.
I couldn’t mess this up. The damage could be irreparable.
“That’s normal for fae…” I began. “You’re a medium.” My mind raced, searching for the words to explain. “People who see ghosts process death differently; grief generally doesn’t hit a medium until the spirit has moved on.”
Her eyes had cleared slightly, and my thundering heart calmed. I was getting through.
But, an example? She’d brought him up earlier—so perhaps this would help.
“Caleb is dead, but you still interact with him, and he annoys you. Once he moves on, you’ll probably miss him.”
Bianca’s expression twisted before, finally, she nodded.
“Have you ever been to a funeral before?” I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought to ask, but she had watched with fascinated curiosity while I’d worked. “You’re eighteen, but—”
“No,” she answered, cutting me off with a shake. “And I’m not eighteen anymore. My birthday was two weeks ago.”
A sense of foreboding filled me.
“Two weeks ago?” I asked, hoping I was wrong. I couldn’t have been that stupid.
She nodded, and my breath caught.
I’d had the papers right in front of me, and I hadn’t even noticed.
“Bianca,whenis your birthday?”
“October thirteenth,” she answered instantly, cocking her head as her eyes cleared. “I was born on a Friday. I’m cursed.”
I pinched my nose, self-loathing washing over me. “They even kept your birthday the same.” At her questioning look, I clarified, “Friday the thirteenth is an auspicious day—”
“I think you’re mistaken,” she interrupted, raising her eyebrow.
“I’m not.” I pressed my finger to her lips, cutting off her protests. “It’s the Goddesses’ day, or, if you don’t believe in that, the day of the divine feminine. The number thirteen is extremely powerful.”
She tilted her head, large eyes blinking up at me. “Like how?”
“Thirteen is the number of death, rebirth, creation, and creativity,” I answered. “I am so sorry that I missed your birthday. Did they do anything to celebrate after I left?”
She shrugged. “Nothing.”
I clutched at my chest. “Are you serious?”
“It’s not like I told them.” She looked curious, unaffected by the plummeting temperature and cool breeze. “It’s not like it’s a big deal.”
What in the world was wrong with this girl?
