My phone chimed again, and with a breathy sigh, I pulled it free.
Shit.
“Hi,” I answered. It was my preceptor in Seattle.
“Hey, Daph,” she said in a hurried stride. “I just got your email. I am so sorry about your friend and all the things happening.”
“Thanks,” I replied, heading toward the cabin.
“Don’t hate me, but I want to ask you a question.”
My chest felt heavy with longing, reaching for someone who was not here.
“Okay,” I mumbled, not giving her an inch. If she was about to steamroll me like the others, I did not want to hear it.
“What would you accomplish by coming home? Because I have been reading the reports from Finn and the other midwives, and they are in love with you, girl. You have unbelievable talent. And if all you will do in Seattle is run triage or watch your friend recover, I want to urge you to reconsider leaving Maine. This is your moment.”
I should not have leaned on Blade’s injury, but somehow helping a friend sounded less crazy than confessing I had married my soulmate and couldn’t live without him. I chewed on my lip, wondering if that made me a liar.
“It is not just Bl…” I paused. “Christopher. It’s my family. Also, my husband needs me, and I need him. Maine just doesn’t fit, Celeste,” I said outright, loving the tingles it gave me. “So, don’t hate me. But I am returning to Seattle.”
“Husband?” her voice cracked. “When did you get married?”
“Yesterday,” I peered at the ring, pushing it to my chest.
“What?” She laughed at me, but it was better than disdain, so I took it. “Shit, girl. I tried!” She laughed again. “Call me when you return, and I will get you back on my schedule.”
“Thank you,” I repeated, but this time I meant it.
“Oh, and congratulations,” she added before hanging up the phone.
A pang hit my chest… and suddenly, I was done with Maine! The blue skies, boutique food, and the way it roped around myneck. If things weren’t better in Seattle, then the threat on Lyla was more complicated than a petty hit on Wolfe’s new queen, which meant this wasn’t about me. And I failed to see how forty-eight hours would improve the situation.
Fuck it, I decided, punching in the number for the airline.
“Portent Air, how may I help you today?”
“Yes, I need to book a return flight to Seattle, Washington.”
“Very nice. And what is the departure date?”
“Today,” I smiled into the coastal haze, wishing for rain. “I would like to leave today.”
thirty-four
Threx: Gasoline
Most people don't know that Seattle is a graveyard. A literal city paved over a dead one. All they see are mermaids and coffee drinks, tech booms, and that ugly as fuck space dick that watches over us all. However, in 1889, a glue pot in a carpentry shop caught fire, burning Seattle to the ground. And instead of removing the rot, the powers that be decided to cover it all up. Like it never fucking happened, and built the new Seattle right on top of it.
The funny thing is, you can still go down there and marvel at the remaining shops or the cryptic alleyways pointing nowhere unless you know the way.
But there is a reason we call it the Underworld. And believe me, you never want to end up there.
"Wake up."
I slid my chair along the dank red-brick floors, loving how my body flickered under the shaky light. There was no air down here to fill your head with oxygen. Instead of gasping, you died… slowly… the line of your chest caving in like gills in the summer.
"I said," I scraped the metal until it bled. "Wake. The. Fuck. Up!"