A Midwinter Fantasy - Leanna Renee Hieber [28]
“Is this just to torture me?” he choked out, overtaken by fresh desire.
“No, no,” Mary said. “It’s to remind you. To embolden you. You called yourself a coward, and that cannot be. But, come. Billy’s got you next.”
She took his hand and warned, “You’ll feel seasick. The Liminal presses hard against this academy to drag the two of you through the veil of time like this. But thankfully these mysterious stones can take whatever’s thrown at them, can’t they? I heard your recent battle here was rather brilliant. Now close your eyes.”
Michael did not hesitate; he closed his eyes and felt the world change again.
Rebecca glanced around, wanting to bid Constance a final farewell. Instead, a familiar spirit floated at face level: the young boy from the chandelier, a spirit she’d made a fond habit of greeting.
He grinned. “My turn, mum.” He had a Scots accent.
“Well, hello there, young man,” Rebecca said, finally able to talk to the boy and glad of it, but the world was suddenly a dizzying blur in front of her, and her question was lost in her throat. Years whirled by. She, Alexi, The Guard and students came and went, appearing and disappearing, moving in hurried motion through this hall and foyer of Athens, and all the while the young man from the chandelier watched and smiled. Each day, a wink was offered up to him by an aging Rebecca. And, suddenly she understood: he was showing her everything he’d seen in two decades.
She found her voice. “I don’t know your story, young man.”
He shrugged. “Street urchin. Ran away from an orphanage up north. Bad lot, that. But not much better, London. Fell ill. Nurse who worked at Athens took me in, died up there.” He gestured toward the wing with the infirmary. “But this was home, as much as I ever had one, while I was here. Didn’t feel like leavin’. Liked it when you winked at me. Only mum I’ve had, really,” the lad admitted.
Rebecca turned away. She had wanted to be a mother once, as she supposed most women did.
“But enough o’ that,” the boy said gently. “This is about you. Keep watchin’.”
Rebecca cleared her throat and watched the whirlwind of images. Alexi stalked across the foyer and back again like some great, swooping raven. Rebecca saw herself pace to and fro, realized how unnecessarily stern she looked. “Most certainly, unnecessarily stern,” she muttered.
But then Michael would enter. He would make no pause, see no other sights, just make his way surely and directly across the foyer to her office. Each and every time, there on business or as a friend, her door was his only destination. His hesitation outside struck her. He would stride confidently forward, then stop and stuff his hand in a pocket. Did he tremble slightly? He’d close his eyes, loose a prayer, perhaps, and finally, after that less-than-confident pause, knock. It happened over and over.
Rebecca shook her head. “Good God, Michael, you’re not nervous, are you?”
“Always,” Billy replied. “Every time, he was. Reminded of it now, too, as he’s living this, right now. Or, reliving it.”
“Why is Michael enduring this trial?”
“To learn.”
“What on earth does he need to learn? He’s always been the perfect one, the one that never needed any help.” Rebecca’s breath gave out. “I’m the broken one.”
The ghostly boy’s hand touched hers. It was a freezing connection, but Rebecca subdued her shiver. The contact was fond, however uncomfortable, and she appreciated the gesture.
“He needs to trust his heart. Especially now. He fears he’s worthless since his power is gone.”
“Why, that’s ridiculous! His heart was always beyond capacity. Just because our Guard spirits went and—”
“Have you ever told him so?”
Rebecca looked at her feet. “No.”
“Do so. But first he must believe it himself. You need not be separately broken to together make a whole, but separately whole to remain unbreakable. Only