Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Esme

“We’re leaving.”

Yes. We have to leave.

I’m completely paralyzed, though I wouldn’t fight Sagan even if I felt completely in control of my body.

I half expect to see ghosts chasing us down the stairs and out the door, across the snowy, muddy lawn to the gate.

Sagan carries me like I weigh nothing, wearing nothing but my nightshirt and a blanket, and him in his jeans and nothing else.

I peek over my shoulder; the estate is entirely still asleep. No rotted rags or shrouds. No faceless forms floating by. No voices.

In his truck, Sagan refuses to let go of my hand, even though he has to downshift as we make our way down the mountain in his truck.

The drive to Fate is peaceful after leaving the estate like a thief in the night.

The town is different than what I remember from a year ago, when it was daytime and decked out in fall colors, strewn with leaves and people everywhere. Tonight, it’s asleep, though the downtown street is still quaint at night. Instead of autumn festival quaintness, the trees are illuminated with string lights, and festive lit snowflakes are strung across the streets. It looks like a life-size version of one of those ceramic Christmas villages.

We park on the street in front of the tattoo shop, where he unlocks the door and we go inside. At the back of the shop, we go up a staircase to a small landing and up another set of stairs to his apartment. The paint is peeling, but I smile at the welcome mat where he keeps his shoes.

Inside, the place is larger than I’d imagined, but then again it takes up the entire length of the shop underneath. From the doorway, the whole kitchen and living room are visible. It’s more of a kitchenette, actually, and I’m now realizing what he means by a glorified hot plate when my eyes land on an electric countertop griddle.

The living room is cozy, with well-worn furniture and an enormous TV.

“It’s not what you’re used to,” he says, kicking off his boots in the doorway.

I look around and take note of the small tabletop Christmas tree on the side table overlooking the street. “It’s warmer than my house right now,” I say.

“We’ll get that fixed up for you,” Sagan says. “Don’t worry.”

I don’t know how he’s going to do that, but I believe him.

I step inside and go to the little Christmas tree, smiling at the grand total of four small red ornaments hanging off its branches.

I turn to him, grinning as I finger the little plastic tree limbs.

“An attempt was made at Christmas.”

I laugh and go to him, pulling him down for a kiss. “We’ll get you some more ornaments tomorrow. This will not stand,” I say.

He laughs and circles his arms around me. “Feeling better?”

I nod. I’m feeling ten times better than before. I may never sleep again, and I might be spending Christmas Eve without Cressida’s famous steak and potatoes, but I’m happy I’m here.