Page 122 of Find My Way Down to You

A blush flares against my cheeks. I almost correct him. Because Cary hates me. And that feeling is very mutual at this point. But that’s a discussion I don’t want or plan to have with Henri.

I ease down. The water soaks my waist, then my chest. I lean back. Within seconds, my spine and shoulders are wet. The breeze flutters over the water’s surface as I stare up at Henri.

“Your favorite place,” he says again, reaching to press a hand on my chest. “Close your eyes.”

I do.

He pushes down. I sink, fighting every instinct to kick out. Gasp for another breath.

Underwater, I let my mind drift to the clock tower. Sitting on the stone ledge beneath the teal-accented window. My fingers wiggle as I imagine a pen between them, scribbling lyrics. A song about London. Something about the sun against his evergreen eyes.

The water moves around me, but nothing else happens. I’m still here. Lungs tightening as Henri holds me under.

Fear begins to claw at my chest. Sharp and wild as mountain lions. It’s been too long. It never takes this long with Cary.

My eyes shoot open. Through the bleary blue, I see Henri. His mouth opens and closes in a chant I can’t hear. His hand remains firm against my sternum. He’s not going to let me go.

I try closing my eyes again. My favorite place. I just need to think of it.

Think, think, think.

Shoreline Steps. The torii gate leading down a narrow staircase. Listening to the Pacific serenade the shore from a wooden rail. Somewhere I can be alone. Far from the weight of everyone else’s grief.

Another few seconds go by. Nothing.

I’m still here.

My fight-or-flight initiates. Feet kicking, I shake and twist. I need to get out of the water. Henri presses harder. I almost scream, but then I’ll definitely drown.

Is this what he meant? That he can’t take me to Aides unless I’m dead? Does he need to kill me? Is this the only way to London?

I stare up at Henri, pleading. His lips slow enough for me to read what he’s saying:Your favorite place, August.

Through the panic, clarity sinks in. Behind my closed eyes, an image unfolds like a flower in bloom. It’s not the clock tower. Or Shoreline Park. And despite what I said to Cary, this isn’t justoneof my favorite places.

It’s the only one.

My mom’s greenhouse.

I see lush leaves, green stems. A burst of vibrant colors: cotton-candy pinks, candied crimsons, bright tangerines. Golden rays stream through a domed glass ceiling.

Rich floral scents in my nose. Dirt underneath my fingernails. Seeds growing into something untamed and beautiful.

My whole life, that’s where I’ve felt safest.

The pull is instant. Cool water takes me in its arms, cradling me. Relieves the pressure on my lungs. Whisper its song. The one it always writes just for me.

My body finally relaxes as I sink.

Sink.

Sink.

My eyes open. The blue water is gone. In its place is a high ceiling. Ivory with gold accents. Floating globes of light wink like starlight.

Aides.

“You’re alive?”