Page 50 of This Ravenous Fate
Layla shook her head. “No. You cannot. This is quite literally not your territory. So unless you have anything new to share with me, you should go. Reapers would love to watch a Saint fall,” she said icily.
Elise didn’t move. Her eyes remained trained on Layla, wavering with something undecipherable. After a few long seconds, she let out a huff of air and looked away. “Nothing substantial to report back on the mayoral rally.”
“Of course not,” Layla muttered.
Elise shot her a stern look. At once, the cold Saint Layla recognized had returned. The searing familiarity almost warmed her. “I’m sure the labs are where the important information is, anyway. How is the research going for you?”
“It’s not going,” Layla said. She thought back to just a few minutes ago when Mei had interrupted her study search and given her a warning. It seemed that nothing Layla did was right, no matter which direction she went in; work with the Saints to clear the reaper name, or ignore the Saints and go to prison for the rest of her long, grueling life. Layla cleared her throat and lifted her head, not wanting Elise to see her dejection. “My clanmates are on my case. My clan leader also hates me right now.”
A soft chuckle broke from Elise. “All of New York hates you.Layla Quinn, reaper under suspicion of murderous rampage.” Elise dramatized a reading of a popular newspaper headline. She thumbed at her lower lip, thinking, while Layla glowered at her. “You’re not going to deny it?”
Layla swallowed past the hard lump in her throat. “There’s no point. They believe what they want to believe.” The breeze picked up around them, and Layla had to claw her hair out of the way when it blew into her face.
Elise was still watching her, quiet. Finally, she spoke, voice lowered, “I don’t listen to them and their accusations of you being the murderer. I believeyou.”
Layla’s heart stopped. She searched Elise’s eyes for any sign she was lying. But all she saw was an affirming warmth aflame within.
“Why?” Layla whispered.
Just a few weeks ago, Elise had Layla sign a contract to ensure no double-crossing would occur during their investigation because her word was not good enough on its own. Layla wanted to feel confused. But she felt her heart tumbling headfirst into a pit of comfort—a sensation she had not felt in ages.
The feeling was almost foreign. Layla wondered if this was what it felt like when a still heart began to beat again. When a devout person, who kneeled for years in prayer, finally heard a whisper from their god. Elise was not Layla’s god, nor was she adrenaline to start her heart. But the visceral reaction those three words unlocked in her was a phenomenon akin to what Layla might have attributed to divine recognition.
I believe you.
Elise didn’t answer Layla’s “why?” Layla was glad she didn’t. To put conditions on a feeling as fleeting as this one would crush it.
I believe you.
All earlier misery had been chased away by those three words. Her mind echoed them over and over, Mei’s threats long forgotten.
I believe you.
When Elise turned to leave, Layla let her face crack, like a stone, weatherworn and finally facing the sun, into a genuine smile.
***
The downtown lights were already beginning to glimmer along the skyline as Elise settled onto her piano seat in her music room. She set her fingers on the starting keys and sighed.
Layla crossed her mind once. Then she became an all-consuming thought. Elise wasn’t sure what her impromptu visit to Layla was supposed to accomplish. All she knew was that the clawing feeling in her chest she always associated with Layla did not occur when she saw her this time.
At first Elise figured it was because Layla looked different.
Her hair was down. Even before Elise left for France, Layla always wore her hair up to keep it out of her face while she danced. Today, her hair was down. A wild, soft crown that framed her sharp face. Where Elise remembered gentle curves, there were now rough edges. She had anticipated feeling the sting of those edges during thisvisit, but there was nothing. Nothing but a subtle throb of the new emotion now gnawing at her chest, making it ache.
Maybe Elise had visited Layla to ensure that her hatred for the girl who had upended her life was still intact. The hate was still there, but it was nowhere as near to her heart as it used to be.
Elise’s fingers slammed down on the piano keys, and the song screeched out of its deep, harrowing tone. She cursed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her knuckles.
Everywhere she turned, trying to find a new thread to bring her out of her confusion, Layla was there, blocking her. For once, the consistency of her brain irked her. Instead of finding one problem, there were thousands, and they were all tied to Layla Quinn.
She recalled a sweeter memory now, where Layla stood behind Elise at the piano, her fingers tangling in her curls. It was a soothing gesture; something Layla just knew how to do to help Elise release some tension while practicing a particularly difficult piece. When Elise had finished playing, she tugged Layla’s arm further around her shoulders and sighed.
“You’re going to be so famous one day, leading the orchestra at the fancy conservatory in Paris,” Layla insisted.
Elise had laughed at the then-fanciful hope. “Sure. But only if you dance at the fancy ballet school nearby.”
Layla released her then and Elise felt an immense loss until she slid onto the bench beside her, sitting so close, their thighs pressed together. “Well, of course. You’re my best friend. I don’t want to do life without you.”
