Free The Deepest Night by Shana Abe Page B

cuff that Jesse had made for me out of real, living flowers transformed into gold.
    I might have sold it, instead of the pinecone. But I was as likely do that as to chop off my arm.
    I was approaching the open doorway of the parlor, trying to ignore the inviting aromas of spice cake and tea and cucumber sandwiches wafting through, when voices reached me. A cluster of people, stationed near the door.
    “Mamá, I told you—she’s a very little nobody from nowhere. She has no money, no family, and no friends.”
    Aha. Lady Chloe, sounding petulant.
    “Excuse me,” countered a new someone. “But I am her friend.”
    Sophia! My feet slowed.
    “Very charitable of you, my pet, very charitable.” A man this time. Lord Pemington, perhaps? “I have always admired your generous nature.”
    “Thank you, Papa.”
    “Yes, yes.” A woman now, impatient. “But how did this scholarship girl manage to wrangle an invitation to Tranquility for the entire summer?”
    “Armand is in love with her,” said Sophia.
    “He certainly is not ,” hissed Chloe. “She’s connived her way in, that’s all. She’s a scheming little chit! Anyone can see that!”
    “Anyone but Lord Armand, it would appear,” said the woman. “And no wonder, what with this unfortunate business about his father! The poor boy, his head must be muddled. This won’t do. This won’t do in the least.”
    I whipped past the open doorway, but no one was looking at me, anyway.
    Invisible, remember?
    The castle kept any number of secrets locked within its stony heart. Among my favorites—and the most useful—were the hidden passageways that tunneled behind the walls, connecting different floors and chambers from the rooftop all the way down past the dungeons. Some of them had been sealed up or filled in with rubble; those that were left intact seemed to have been forgotten, lost to generations of memories gone to dust.
    Certainly Westcliffe didn’t know about the tunnels, nor did the other students or staff. But Jesse had. And now I did.
    I stood alone on the cold, flat slab that was the floor of another fine secret: Iverson’s grotto. It was a cavern, really, a natural bubble in the bedrock of the island that had been reinforced with man-made pillars and this smooth embankment of limestone. Seawater lapped at the edges of the embankment, making the softest, softest of sounds. It entered and exited through another significant hole in the rock at the far end of the cavern. The only way in or out of this place was through that hole—or else the secret tunnel that had led me here.
    The grotto had been designed as a refuge for the medieval castle folk. As a place of escape should invaders come and Iverson fall. The tide came in, and rowboats could steal away out the hole. The tide went out, and all other boats would be stranded, unable to pursue.
    It was a place of refuge for me, too. It was here that Jesse had first explained to me about who I was. What my Gifts would mean.
    Where we had broken bread together and kissed, and wrapped ourselves in blankets and laughed at fate.
    I crossed my arms over my chest, warding off the chill; it was always much cooler here than anywhere else. I gazed down at the seawater, a strange silvery radiance at my feet, dancing its subtle silvery dance.
    His hair had been blond. His eyes had been green. If I closed my own I could still see them, the summer storms behind them when he looked at me, and I wondered how much longer they’d remain so clear in my memory. It was already getting harder to summon the exact pitch of his voice.
    I squatted down and touched my fingertips to the water, then brought them to my lips. The salt water tasted like tears.
    “I miss you,” I said. The grotto took my words and bounced them back at me: you-you-you  …
    No one else answered.
    “I have to go soon,” I said.
     … soon-soon-soon … 
    “And I don’t know if I’ll be back. I—I’ll try, though. I’ll