Page 34 of Hell Burns Between Us

Wisteria pointed an accusing finger at him. “Absolutely not. I—”

“Wisteria, you cabbage-headed bogwitch. Can you please try, for once, to not bring everyone around you to tears?”

“I—I don’t,” Peri sucked in a shaky breath that was dangerously close to becoming a sob. Apparently not even the calming effects of the Bendigo flower could overcome the increasingly distressing day she was having. “Maybe I have been a bit blind… it’s just—” She bit her lip until the pain of it steadied her. Still a treacherous tear slipped down her face and she furiously wiped it away.

Oleander looked at her incredulously. Well, he’d definitely seen the tear then. Gods below, she hated crying in front of others.

“Yes, well, not all of us have the choice to just ignore everything around us.” Wisteria sneered. “Some of us are forced to deal with it.”

Peri shakily set down her empty glass, blowing out a long breath. She was so tired now and this conversation had put her over the edge. “I—” She paused and tried to collect her thoughts. Wisteria looked at her in a way that made her feel scrutinised. Then, quite suddenly her expression softened, her eyes fixed on Peri’s wrists where the scars were ever-so-slightly visible.

Panicked, Peri said, “You can stop lecturing me now. I get it. I just… I don’t know. I’ve been through a lot this past moonphase, alright?”

Wisteria’s eyes narrowed and a long silence hung between them. She was considering something, and it made Peri squirm. Then, as if coming to a decision she tossed Peri a slim white bracelet made of three delicate strands woven together. “Take this.” The venom in her tone had vanished. “It might… it might help you.”

Peri took the bracelet slowly, confused about how she had gone from being insulted by Wisteria to now receiving this lovely gift.

Oleander shooed her away. “Why are you even still here? Why don’t you go find Ve—”

“Don’t say her name!” Wisteria said, frantically interrupting him. “You know we broke up.”

With a final contemplative glance to Peri, Wisteria strode back to Hemlock, who was sipping a sparkling, silvery drink.

Oleander let out a long, tired sigh. “Do you want to stay and watch the rest of the celebration?”

Peri bit her lip, twisting Wisteria’s bracelet lost in thoughts. She glanced out the window, her eyes scanning the celebration. “No, I, um… I’m feeling better now. Zila can take me home. That’s where they think I went anyway, so I shouldn’t give them any more reason to be upset.”

In a dusty forgotten room Oleander showed her a window that opened to a thick, sturdy branch for Zila to land on. They parted the way friends would; and while it should have felt strange, she found herself comforted at how his mouth pulled into a crooked grin as he waved her off.

Somehow, even as the wind whipped around them, the shadows felt warmer as Zila dashed away home.

Chapter

Twelve

OLEANDER BRIGHTMORE

On the first day under the Imbolc moon, when whispers of long days bathed in sunlight stirred in the air, Oleander sprang from the sofa where he’d fallen asleep.

Another nightmare.

One where smoke coiled tight around his throat, choking him until he could barely breathe. Panic surged within him. He touched his neck, as if to assure himself it had only been a dream. Yet the sensation lingered.

Cold sweat dripped down his forehead, still feeling the phantom touch of the smoke, even as his eyes wandered around the dimly lit room. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the soft lavender handkerchief. Perine had forgotten it in his room when she’d stumbled into it a moonphase ago, and he was loath to return it.

He’d carefully cleaned it and then for some reason had taken to keeping it near him at all times. Last week, when he’d met Perine after their classes, he’d reached into his pocket—ready to give it back. His fingers had brushed across the stitching in slow, tender strokes.

Then, he’d said something insolent and the spark of indignation had burnt in her eyes. Heat coiled inside of him at the sight of it. When she’d given him a playful shove, well, he’d clutched his hand around her handkerchief and decided it was his now.

In his pocket it had remained.

It seemed as if something inside her had shifted as well. She was slightly less hostile to him, constantly asking his opinion or thoughts on everything. He went with her now, when she was gathering ingredients in more dangerous areas, waiting patiently by her semi-terrifying hellcat.

Well, except, last time he’d walked with her to keep her company. It had been hours of walking in half-melted snow while she checked in with her notes and bit her lip in thoughtful concentration. Oleander found himself not minding just how sodden he became.

Later, as the day dipped into evening, he’d sat across from his father eating dinner. The setting sun cast cool squares of yellow light along the long stone table where they sat. The scraping of knives cutting into soft, delicate meat echoed in the dining room meant for larger parties than this. He’d thought his father had summoned him here to finally ask him to become a soul reaper—yet, that did not seem to be the case.

A thick steak sat alone on his plate. There were no sides, no pretence of balance or care—just emptiness pressed up against it, the silence of a meal that felt less like sustenance and more like an omen.