Page 38 of Firethorne
“I’m fine. I’m okay. It’s just...” I was nervous and rambling.
“Do you need help with something?” he asked and stepped aside to let me in, but I didn’t move. I just stood there, wringing my hands.
“I wanted to say... I mean... I wanted to tell you... Yes.”
“Yes?” His brow remained furrowed as he stared, waiting.
“Yes, I’ll go. To the party. With you.”
He closed his mouth, and I watched his neck constrict as he swallowed. And then a massive smile appeared, and I knew I’d done the right thing. I’d made him happy after all the shit his father had dumped on him. I was showing him he was somebody. He was worthy.
“Really?” he asked, his eyes wide like a child. “You’ll come?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“That’s just... wow... that’s—” He was cut off when a curt voice behind jumped in.
“That’s so exciting!” Miriam squealed. She stalked over to stand beside me and threaded her arm through mine. “I won’t be able to do your make-up because I’ll be running a little late that day, but I can totally lend you a dress. You’re going to look amazing.” She squeezed my arm. “It’s going to be so much fun!” She waggled her eyebrows at us both, then dropped my arm and sauntered off, leaving us both staring at her as she floated down the hallway and out of sight.
“You do know she thinks you’re her plus one,” Lysander remarked quietly.
“She can think what she likes,” I replied before engaging my brain, and then I backtracked, saying, “I didn’t mean that to sound rude. I just meant...”
“You don’t have to explain.” Lysander smiled kindly. “You never have to explain anything to me.”
Later that afternoon, as I was setting up the dining room ready for their evening meal, I opened the cupboard where the plates and bowls were kept. And there, placed on top of the plates was another drawing. A sketch.
I picked it up and took it out of the cupboard, holding it like it was something precious, as delicate as snowflakes that might disappear at any moment.
It was another portrait of me, only the lines were cleaner, the likeness near perfect, and he’d used colour this time, capturing the blue of my eyes perfectly. But that wasn’t what stole my breath away. It was the words written at the bottom.
Not all of us are lying to you.
I read the words over and over, the reality of what they meant sinking in as clarity hit me.
It was him.
Lysander.
He was the one warning me.
Why hadn’t I realised it before?
I couldn’t work out how he was linked to the man on the train, but he’d been there, when I found the note under the rat trap and I’d run through the woods, chasing the sound of trodden leaves and the feel of prying eyes. He could’ve put those words on our mirror in the bathroom. He had the opportunity. It had to be him. He’d shown me the rope to warn me to be careful. He’d shown me kindness to protect me. To let me know I wasn’t alone. Lysander was sending me messages, and I had to let him know that I knew.
I placed the sketch in my apron pocket and made my way out of the dining room, taking the stairs to the second floor andheading towards Lysander’s studio. Once there, I knocked and waited. I could hear him behind the door, paintbrushes clinking against glass, the shuffle of paper, and then the sound of his footsteps as he came to open the door.
“Maya,” he exclaimed. “What a nice surprise.”
“I just wanted to say thank you,” I replied, nerves sparking as I stared at his beautiful face. Butterflies invaded my stomach as I tried not to become tongue-tied.
“Thank you for what?” he asked.
“For...” I swallowed. “For being there. For letting me know I’m not alone. It’s been tough, coming here, but knowing I have you, it helps... so... thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he replied. “I’ll always be here.”
“I know.” I smiled, feeling a strange sort of relief wash over me. Then I took a deep breath and added, “I know everything, and I’m grateful. But you don’t need to worry about me. The messages were a little... unique, but I know you were just looking out for me.”
