Chapter 28

She continuesto get phone calls from strange numbers, but she doesn't receive any more texts. Sara tells herself it's fine. If—if—it's David on the other line, he hasn't made any move to escalate things. The calls are no more frequent than what they were before, and the days and times are just as random. Months go by, but David doesn't come knocking on her door again.

Sara's done worrying about it, but she knows Seth isn't (even if he won't admit it).

The rest of the semester sweeps by in a blur of camera flashes and shutter clicks. Her first love is, and always will be, landscape photography, but she finds little ways to make the portraiture assignments her own. She takes the lines of the model's bodies and makes valleys out of waists and mountains from their shoulder blades. She dresses one model in white tulle, soft and nearly transparent, and adjusts the settings until the image captured is as much fog rolling over the fields as a beautiful woman.

Seth always stays out of her way as she works, but his presence is always there—a quiet shadow at the edges of her vision. Sometimes she catches a strange smile on his lips. It's soft, gentle in ways that look out of place when he's hiding in the dark corners of the room. It's only when he comments on her finished portfolio, that same smile dancing at the corners of his mouth, as he tells her she's done well, that she realizes it's pride.

Her answering grin is warm and a little teary, but it's honest. She hopes he can read the ‘thank you' tucked at the edges.

When she finally walks across the stage with a rolled up piece of parchment symbolizing her diploma in her hand, she looks across the auditorium and finds his face in the crowd first.

"Where do you go?"she asks while her hands are busy fiddling with the height of the tripod.

It's been almost two weeks since she graduated, full of lazy mornings and marathoning Seth's newest tv obsession (a historical fantasy she actually finds herself liking as much as he does), but it feels good to be outside again. It feels even better to bring her camera and take some photos just for the love of it and not because there's an assignment due.

Her question is as out of the blue as the sky, but it's been on her mind for a while now, so when she feels his gaze at her back, it's the first thing to come to mind.

"Pardon?"

She looks up from her viewfinder, tracing his frown with her eyes. The abandoned stretch of railroad tracks, all stubborn weeds and rust, behind him is a sharp contrast to the clean lines of his suit. "When you disappear. Where do you go?"

"Oh." His frown softens into curiosity—as if he's surprised she even thought to ask. "Wherever else I'd like to be, I suppose. There's no specific place."

"So you can just… snap your fingers and be in Paris?"

A smile teases his lips. "It's a touch more complicated than that, but yes. In theory," he hums. "I'm rather more limited at the moment."

"Why?"

He hesitates, long enough to feed her curiosity. "I'm… tied to you. I can only go so far."

"Wait. Really?" Suddenly, she thinks of all those times she yelled at him for sitting in on her classes. Did he really have nowhere else to go? "How far?"

"I can reach most of the city provided you're home."

She can't deny she's relieved. The thought of him having to shadow her every footstep, blinking behind corners and closed doors, is a sad one. "So when you're not, uh, tied to someone. You can go anywhere?"

"Technically, though not in a single jump. And it's bloody exhausting to be honest. I much prefer to fly. Do you know how comfortable the seats are in first class on international flights? That they don't make them all that way is criminal."

"Really?" she asks, a smile in her voice. "You have magic powers that can take you anywhere in a couple of snaps and you're hitching rides on planes?"

"I told you, the seats are comfortable. Besides," he looks up at the sky, a wistful smile curling his mouth. "The view is much more pleasant."

"I've only flown a couple times," she admits. "When I was little, we went to visit Dad's parents in Georgia once or twice before they passed away."

"It's invigorating. The fact that you can fly at all… people take the miracle of it for granted." He turns to her, eyes soft. "The world is a big place, Sara. It would be a shame to live your life and only see a tiny corner of it."

Dropping her gaze, she picks at the leftover pink nail polish from graduation. Jen had insisted they get manicures together to celebrate. "It's not like I don't want to," she murmurs. "I wanted to go to the West Coast for college, but the prices…" She shakes her head, folding her knees up to her chest. "I could barely afford the in-state tuition here."

Seth studies her for a long, quiet moment before turning his attention back to the sky. "You'll have the opportunity and I'll be here to ensure you take it. You are meant for bigger things."

Her laugh is breathy, a knot she wasn't even aware of loosening in her chest. She remembers how Oma's friend, Janice, had assured her of the same thing. "You don't think I'll end up a penniless want-to-be photographer?"

"I don't," he says, softly. It sounds like a promise, and with the way he looks at her—like he truly believes it—coaxes her into believing it. Then his smile turns teasing. "Not penniless anyway. There's always the casinos."

Groaning, she tosses a pebble at him. It passes through his middle without resistance. "You're terrible."

"Perhaps a little," he admits, but his grin is wide and unrepentant. Then a frown knits his brow. "You have a ladybird in your hair."

"A what?"

"A lady—blasted American butchering of the English language." He sighs, resigned. "I believe you call them ladybugs."

Sara grunts, blindly inspecting her hair with careful fingers. "You call insects birds, but we're the ones that screwed up the language? If you ask me, I'd say we fixed it."

"Not bloody likely," he gripes. "And you're doing an abysmal job, honestly. At the rate you're going, you're going to crush the poor thing."

She drops her hands with a huff. "Well, would you like to do it then?"

"I would, in fact. Unfortunately, I have this rather pertinent handicap." He holds up his hands. "Ghost. Remember?"

"That doesn't stop you from petting Ansel," she grumbles.

"We have an agreement. He asks, I provide," he says, waving a hand flippantly before pointing at her head. "I strongly suspect that your ladybird won't share the sentiment. Besides, I doubt it can even see me."

"Ugh. Fine. Can you just—I don't know, show me where it is at least? I can't feel it, and I don't really like the idea of bug guts in my hair."

He stills, eyeing her strangely. "You... want me to touch your hair?"

That was not at all what she had in mind, but (actually) that would be a hell of a lot more helpful. "Yeah?"

She can visibly see him swallow and there is a jerkiness to his limbs that betrays his awkwardness. "Very well. Move your bumbling digits aside, then."

Folding her hands in her lap, she holds still as he moves to her side—just out of her peripheral vision. His fingers are gentle, coaxing, as he separates a lock of hair from the others. Sara fights the hitch in her breath.

"Your hand."

"What?"

She can hear his sigh. "Give me your hand."

Tentatively, she raises her right hand. The feel of his long, tapered fingers against her pulse (so terribly soft and yet incredibly intimate) nearly has her snatching it back, but his grip is gentle and guiding. Cool against her flushed, sun drenched skin.

He guides her fingers toward her crown, holding her still until Sara feels the tiny tickle of feet crawling over her fingertip.

"There we are," he murmurs, slowly lowering her hand until it hovers in front of her nose. "One ladybird."

Turning her head up to look up at him, she feels her hair slip through his fingers and struggles to withhold a shiver. There must be something in her wide-eyed expression, though, because his eyes are dark and hooded—lips soft and parted with an emotion Sara doesn't dare interpret.

It is nothing short of terrifying.

She licks her lips; tries to ignore the fluttering in her chest and get ahold of herself already. "Thank you."

"Of course," he breathes, gaze lowering to her mouth. "Happy to be of service."

Her heartbeat drums in her ears, a flush rising up her neckline. He can't possibly know what he's doing to her, can he? There is a glassiness, a drunkenness, to his gaze that makes her suspect he mustn't. She clears her throat, praying her voice won't break. "You can let go now."

He blinks, eyes darting to their connected hands, and has the decency to look mildly uncomfortable. "Ah. Yes, of course." His grasp loosens, fingers unfurling from her skin. She doesn't miss the way his hand flexes once it's returned to his side.

She lowers her gaze, studying the number of spots along the ladybugs shell. Five. "Oma used to say if you found a ladybug with less than seven spots, it meant there would be a good harvest."

"That's preposterous. The number is clearly indicative of how many happy months await you."

Sara laughs under her breath, turning her hand so the ladybug can crawl across her palm. "Oh yeah?"

He nods, mockingly solemn. "Oh yes. That and how many children are in your future."

Snorting, she sends him a disbelieving look. "You're making that up."

His smirk is wide enough to dimple. "Not fond of that one, I take?"

"Not even a little bit," she admits.

"It's mere superstition. An excuse to look forward to something that might not come." His eyes follow the ladybug's path from her finger to her elbow, before she collects it with her other hand. "Still, I will confess I always find myself a touch more cheerful for seeing them."

Sara hums, unable to disagree as she coaxes the red bug from her thumb to her forefinger. Its wings open, a split second warning, before flying off her knuckle. It passes right through Seth's shoulder.

He chuckles, turning to watch the ladybug disappear into the horizon. "Suppose that confirms it."

Sara frowns in the direction it disappeared. "Why, though? What's the difference?"

"Hm? Oh. Well, I suspect it's intelligence. Cats and dogs—certain birds—seem to have no trouble."

It should make sense—at least to the degree that anything ever does when it comes to him—but it doesn't fit. Not quite. "But then people—other people—would see you, too."

"No," he murmurs, smile dimming. "We're too selfish a species to see what's in front of us. Not until it affects us, anyway."

"Well, don't sugarcoat it."

"Sugar is overrated."

"Maybe because it's been too long since you had any."

He smirks, crooked and dimpled. "Touché."

Sara chews her bottom lip, fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve. "We should make a cake," she says, trying to slow her heart long enough to sound casual. "You know, when you're human again."

Seth is silent for so long, his gaze a weight. She can't help but glance up. His expression is unreadable—a mix of so much she can't name.

She shrugs, offering a nervous smile—anything to break the stillness. "Don't you think?"

"I think it's too much to hope for," he admits, so softly it's little more than a chime on the breeze. "But it's a lovely thought, isn't it?"

Sara leans back, grass tickling her ears. The clouds are pretty today—full and scattered. "What kind?"

He tilts his head, brow furrowing in thought. "The kind with those ridiculous rainbow colored chocolate chips."

She fights a smile. "You want your first dessert to be something you can mock."

"Absolutely. Someone ought to encourage you to have better taste."

Her birthday is in eleven days. She almost wants to get that kind of cake just to tease him, but the thought quickly sours. Jen and Miles have already planned something for her, a small get together at their place, to celebrate. She knows Seth will be there too, but suddenly the difference between being there and being part of it, is painfully clear.

She decides on chocolate.

Jen makes it from scratch (because of course she does) and Miles lights the candles. Sara has a ridiculous plastic crown on her head. The tines keep getting caught in her hair, but Jen whines every time she tries to take it off. Leaning against the wall, Seth's grin is equal parts infectious and irritating. She knows what he's thinking before he even says it, but it hardly stops him. "I must say, that crown is rather fetching on you, Princess."

She can't tell him to shut up, but she's sure her glower gets her point across.

"Alright," Jen says, smiling wide as she dims the lights. "Let's get this party started!"

They sing "Happy Birthday" (Jen is off key, but Miles is annoyingly good) as they set the cake in front of her. Jen has decorated the top with her loopy handwriting and clusters of strawberries. When they finish, Jen claps her hands and reminds her to make a wish. As if Sara doesn't know, as if she hasn't had one in mind for a little over a week now.

Sara takes a deep breath, meets Seth's eyes, and holds the wish against her heart long enough for her lungs to burn. Then she blows out the candles. Miles and Jen cheer, but Seth is still—his eyes knowing and a little sad.

She can see the admonishment there, brimming around his irises. Birthday wishes don't break curses, Princess.

And in that moment, between one breath and the next, Sara feels her hopes break. There's shards of it, splintered and sharp like glass, stuck in her throat, but she swallows it down. Tempers it with heat and determination until it melts and cools into something new. Something stronger.

Wishes won't save him, but she will.