Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Lafayette Square was teeming with people by the time I realized that's where I was. Bell House had drawn me home like a beacon. I stood on the grass, staring up at my new old home, all proud and majestic, but I wasn't ready to go inside just yet. My mind raced with everything Lydia had told me, everything Jackson said, and whatever it was I'd seen in the strange darkness. Maybe choking on the rosemary had freed a repressed memory. My mother, right there in front of me, speaking and laughing as clear as day, but I couldn't remember something from so long ago, could I? Mom died when I was a few months old, it wasn't possible.

I walked in circles that echoed my thoughts, following a path my feet chose for me. Up and down the diagonal footpaths, weaving in and out of the trees. And there were so many trees. Oaks mostly. I'd seen plenty of those before. What I hadn't seen was the green-grey vines that hung from every branch of every oak, light and feathery and absolutely everywhere. The more I looked, the more I saw, stretching from limb to limb like cobwebs on a chandelier. They swayed above me in a non-existent breeze while the trees held steadfast, not a single leaf flickering. I peered more closely at a low-hanging strand. It looked as though it was made up of millions of tiny feathers. Would it feel so soft to touch? Curious, I reached out and a tendril grazed my skin, making every hair on my arm stand up on end.

Emily …

Someone was calling me. My hand flew to my locket as I whirled around to see who was behind me but there was no one I recognized. A few metres away, a couple sitting on a picnic blanket looked up, the woman's brow quirking with mild concern but she met my awkward smile with an irritated eyeroll and quickly turned back to her boyfriend.

Emily Emily Emily …

There it was again. I scoured the square for a familiar face, but, even though it was impossible, I knew where the voice was coming from. The vines. Today was a day for impossible things. Holding my breath, I reached for the same tendril, gasping with surprise as it curled around my fingers, wrapping itself around me like a living, breathing, thinking thing. In the same moment, a whole chorus of voices sighed my name, over and over, airy and intangible. It sounded like a radio stuck between two channels that were both playing the same song, one slightly behind the other. Slowly, the static cleared to deliver a message.

Light hides the lies; truth lives in the dark.

The words echoed around the park and as they repeated continuously, the world slowed to a stop. Birds hovered in the air, people froze mid-conversation and I saw a complete rainbow of light frozen inside the droplets of water hanging over the fountain like diamonds. Somewhere between a daze and a trance, I let the vine curl around my wrist and along my arm. My fingers tingled and a warm, powerful sensation built in my bones until …

‘You know what they say about Spanish moss, right?'

A new voice snapped me out of the in-between space.

Either I let go of the vine or the vine let go of me, I wasn't sure which, and I stumbled forward into the old oak tree.

It was him. The boy I'd seen from my window the night before.

‘What do they say about Spanish moss?' I asked, palms pressed against the tree, the vine wafting innocently on the breeze.

One corner of his mouth turned upwards and I felt my already unsteady knees weaken.

‘It ain't Spanish and it ain't moss.'

He looked at me and I looked at him and all of Savannah could have gone up in flames without me noticing. There was nothing in this world except for us. The stranger pushed his wavy ash-coloured hair back and his uneven half-smile grew until it took over his whole face. It was his eyes that pinned me to the spot. When his gaze crossed mine, it was like some invisible force held me in place and I never wanted to move again. I'd read about piercing eyes before but I'd never truly seen them until now. Bright, beautiful and intense, fringed with thick golden lashes, his irises were ever-changing, somehow grey and green and brown at the same time. Sparks of something glittered in the air between us and I simply could not speak. Did he recognize me? I backed away from the tree trunk and pulled myself up straight, only vaguely aware of the tiny splinters of bark stabbing into my skin.

‘Are you OK?' he asked, those indescribable eyes filled with concern as they flickered down to my hands. ‘I didn't mean to make you jump.'

‘Don't worry about it.' I rubbed my palms clean against the back of my jeans then held them up so he could see. No harm done. ‘Falling over nothing is a gift of mine.'

‘Hey, it's an underrated skill. If it was easy, everyone would do it.'

He kept his eyes on me and no matter how hard I tried to fight it, I knew I was blushing. Where Jackson was polished and practised, this boy looked a little more lived in. His blue jeans were soft from wear, with real tears at the threadbare knees rather than carefully placed slashes put there by designers, and his equally well-worn T-shirt was snug around his shoulders and biceps, revealing a sliver of skin at his waist every time he moved.

‘I'm Wyn,' he said. ‘Wyn Evans.'

‘Wyn.' His name rolled effortlessly off my tongue. I took hold of the hand he held out to me – it was warm and strong and I did not want to let go. ‘Emily James,' I added when I remembered I was supposed to introduce myself next. ‘Or Em. Most people call me Em.'

He held my gaze even when he released my hand. ‘All right, Emily or Em. You sure you're doing OK? That was a pretty good spill.'

A single lock of wavy hair slipped over his eyes, dancing tantalizingly back and forth across one high cheekbone, and my mouth was suddenly very dry.

‘Totally fine,' I struggled to say, my tongue three times bigger than it had been a moment ago. ‘I was just checking the moss, I thought I … saw something.'

‘In the moss? You gotta be careful, if it's close enough to the ground there could be chiggers in there.' He flicked carelessly at the vines, his T-shirt creeping up even higher. Oh no. There were abs under that shirt. I started to sweat.

‘I'll keep my distance. Wait, I thought you said it wasn't moss?'

Wyn twirled one tendril around his finger and it was embarrassing how jealous I was of a plant. ‘Looks like moss, acts like moss, not moss. "Bromeliad" doesn't have quite the same romantic ring to it.'

‘Not the catchiest name ever,' I agreed. ‘I can see how Spanish moss won out at the marketing meeting.' I tucked my hands into my back pockets and searched for something else to say, anything to keep the conversation going, anything that would keep him next to me for even a minute longer. ‘You know a lot about … plants?'

Better than nothing but only just.

‘My grandpa is a nature nut,' he explained, unravelling the moss from around his hand. ‘I don't think there's a plant on this planet he doesn't know about and Spanish moss is one of his favourites. Believe it or not, this thing belongs to the same family as pineapples.'

When I pulled a face, he laughed and I almost fell over again. It was a good laugh. Rich and warm and I wanted to hear it always.

‘Probably not as tasty as a pineapple,' he admitted. ‘But it is kind of amazing. Doesn't have any roots, just floats around on the wind looking for something to hold on to before anchoring itself to a tree like this live oak here.'

Huh. An oddly relatable bromeliad.

I craned my neck backwards to take in the whole tree, draped in moss from the top branch to the bottom. ‘So it just wafts around, looking for a tree to hang out with, then they live together forever?'

‘Happily ever after,' Wyn said. ‘As long as the moss doesn't get too full of itself and I do mean that literally. If the vine grows too big, it can block out the sun which will eventually kill the tree. If it sucks up all the moisture from the air, it gets too heavy for the tree to support it and snaps off branches. It's a delicate balance. Spanish moss sure does love Savannah though. This place has everything it needs to thrive.'

‘I've never seen it before,' I said, clasping my hands behind my back as Wyn poked at a dried-out bundle on the ground with the toe of his boot. ‘It's pretty.'

‘Yeah, it is,' he agreed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. But he wasn't looking at the Spanish moss anymore. ‘So you're not from here, Emily James?'

‘Kind of but not really,' I said, matching his confusion in my own expression. ‘It's a long story. How about you?'

He shook his head and gave me another lopsided grin. ‘No, ma'am. I'm from North Carolina. My family live up in the mountains near Asheville but I'm hoping to get into the photography programme at SCAD next year.' He jerked his head backwards in the general direction of the college Catherine had pointed out on the way to the Powells'. ‘Savannah School of Art and Design. Figured I'd take some classes over the summer, try to get a head start on my application. It's a tough school to get into.'

Gorgeous, funny and artistic? I never stood a chance.

He patted the tree trunk with the palm of his hand then leaned all his weight against it, stretching his arms up overhead to hold onto the lowest branch. ‘You're on vacation? I should have known you weren't a local with that accent.'

‘No, sir,' I replied, casually flicking my ponytail over my shoulder and immediately getting a mouthful of hair for my trouble. ‘As of yesterday, I am an official resident of the city of Savannah.'

His pupils dilated, huge pools of inky black expanding against the endlessly changing colour of his irises and I was entranced.

‘The big house across the square,' Wyn said quietly. ‘The one with the grey roof.'

I nodded and pressed my lips together, my heart beating loudly in my ears. He did recognize me.

‘I saw you in the window last night. You had the most intense expression on your face.'

‘I did,' I said in a whisper. A statement not a question.

‘Yes.' He opened his mouth to say something else then hesitated, second guessing himself before he committed. ‘You looked exactly how I felt.'

It all came rushing back. The vision of a non-existent kiss that almost knocked me clean off my feet. Whatever he was feeling at the time, I was pretty sure that wasn't it.

‘Hey, since you're new here, you're going to need a tour guide,' he declared, his beautiful voice slicing straight through the tension between us. ‘I could show you the sights, if you wanted, that is.'

Sights? There were sights? Other than his chameleon eyes and strong forearms and the soft curve of his lower lip that was just begging for someone to lean forward and bite it and …

‘Or not,' he added when I didn't reply. ‘You're probably real busy with your family and—'

‘I would love for you to be my tour guide,' I interrupted, talking so fast it was a struggle to separate my words into single syllables. ‘If you have time and it's not too much trouble.'

We stood facing each other, less than an arm's length apart and both of us smiling as an invisible thread wound itself around my heart and reached out to his. A new connection that was always meant to be.

‘I'll be the best tour guide this town has ever seen.' Wyn pulled an ice-blue iPhone out of his back pocket. ‘Can I get your number?'

‘You can but it won't do you much good.' I produced my own useless handset and presented it as evidence. ‘It's pay as you go and apparently it doesn't work in America.'

‘This is your real phone?' he asked before grabbing the tiny plastic flip phone out of my hands. ‘Woah, I've never seen one of these in real life before. It really works?'

‘Only for calls and messages. I used to travel a lot so I could never get on a real contract,' I explained as he opened and closed it, snapping the two halves of the clamshell together with delight. ‘Plus my dad had a no-smartphones-until-I-turned-seventeen rule.'

He looked up, horrified.

‘Please tell me that's soon. No one should have to live like this.'

‘Next month,' I confirmed, my cheeks turning pink. ‘June twenty-first.'

He handed back my sad little phone with something that looked like admiration, the literal opposite expression to anyone else who had ever seen it. ‘I think it's kind of cool. We spend way too much time on our phones anyway, right?'

I grimaced as I shoved it back in my pocket. ‘Spoken like someone who has never had to watch TikToks on their dad's laptop.'

Wyn laughed again and happiness bubbled up inside me, like my favourite song had started playing on the radio.

‘How about we do this the old-fashioned way?' he suggested. ‘Pick a time to meet and show up. Tomorrow morning, around eleven?'

I liked the sound of the old-fashioned way.

‘That sounds goo—' I started to say but before I could finish, I heard my name again. Only this time, it wasn't a whisper, it was a yell. A very concerned yell.

‘Emily? Emily!'

Over Wyn's shoulder, a panic-stricken Catherine stalked towards us at a rapid but dignified pace.

‘Emily, honey, there you are,' she said, stepping daintily off the footpath and onto the grass. ‘I have been looking everywhere for you. What were you thinking, running out like that? Everyone was so worried.'

‘I'm sorry. It was so hot in the Powells' parlour, I needed some fresh air.' I pressed the back of my hand against my clammy forehead to back up my half-truth. ‘I didn't mean to worry you.'

She put her own hand against my cheek and pursed her lips. If I hadn't been warm before, I was now, my face burning up. I couldn't talk to her about what had really happened in front of Wyn. I didn't know how I was going to talk to her about it at all.

‘Well, there's no fresh air out here. It's the humidity that'll get you,' she replied, seemingly satisfied with my answer before she turned her gaze towards Wyn. ‘Now, would you like to introduce me to your friend?'

‘Wyn Evans,' he replied with a slight bow. ‘Pleased to meet you, ma'am.'

‘Wyn was helping me find my way back home,' I added quickly.

‘Well, bless your heart,' Catherine said, considering him through narrowed eyes. ‘What a little gentleman. Emily, we'd better get you inside before you faint clean away.'

‘I feel fine now, maybe I could meet you la—' I caught the look on her face and cut myself off. ‘Yes, you're right. We should get home. Thanks for your help, Wyn.'

‘Yes,' she agreed, still glaring at him like she recognized him from the FBI Most Wanted list. ‘Thank you, Wyn Evans.'

‘Any time.'

He touched two fingers to his forehead and, as I dutifully followed my grandmother back onto the footpath, mouthed the words ‘see you tomorrow'. I felt the thread around my heart pull tight.

It was going to be a long twenty-four hours.