“I’ll not leave you until you are there safely, Cora. You must realize what constant danger you are in.” He gave me a wry and bitter look. “Scintilla have a way of vanishing with no trace.”
Giovanni scanned the crowds filing into the park. “God, but it’s busy here tonight. I’m going to the toilet right there.” He pointed at a row of portable toilets. I grinned, thinking how it must confuse the rest of the world when Americans ask for the “restroom.”
“Looks like you’re gonna have to leave me alone,” I joked.
“Be right back,” he said and jogged away.
Applause rolled out from the center of the park. The sound of a guitar vibrated across the air. Then singing. I stood on my tiptoes but couldn’t see over the heads of the vast crowd filling St. Stephen’s Green. The colored lights of the stage mimicked the auras in the audience, so all I saw was a lake of outlined bodies and a raging storm of color rising into the twilight above the trees like the aurora borealis.
The singing continued, dreamlike. The sensation of irresistible magnetism was strikingly familiar. The last time I felt so overwhelmingly compelled to move toward a song was…oh. I could barely breathe. I left my spot and pushed through the crowd toward the stage. If I didn’t confirm who my heart believed was up there singing, I’d always wonder why it took my breath from me. I looked back, but I couldn’t see if Giovanni had returned. The place I’d been standing was lost in the undertow of people swaying to the music, so I returned my attention to the soulful voice singing of a girl and how he wished he’d never left her.
“Her love, her pain, were my own. Flowers of the seeds I’d sown. Watered by her cry, the day I said good-bye.”
Just hearing it made my heart hurt.
The stage lights cast millions of colored gems on our heads, sparkling on our skin, swirling through the tinted auras of the crowd like we were the center of a vast galaxy in motion. I shoved through the rows of spectators and stumbled forward, stopping at the base of the stage. But my heart continued to stumble.
It fell at Finn’s feet.
I looked up and watched him sing, perfectly curved lips barely opening as though the lyrics hurt coming out of him. The blue stage light shone down on his jet-black hair and bathed his golden aura so that he looked like a candle burning on stage. His eyes were closed as he sang.
See me, I thought, willing him to open his eyes. Look at me. Just once again so I could see if he would feel as stunned and shaken as I did. If he felt anything, anything at all. Perhaps he’d left it all behind in America when he decided to leave.
His long fingers plucked the guitar strings, and I instantly remembered how they felt behind my ears and on my jaw as he kissed me. I closed my eyes and listened to his tender voice. It was almost enough, having had this last glance at the boy I loved. A moment with him I thought I’d never have. I understood then why they called them stolen moments.
Once Finn’s image on the stage was forever burned in my heart, I forced my chin up and turned away. I needed to be as strong as he was the day he let me go. The singing stopped. I faltered but kept pushing sideways, swimming across a riptide of auric energy.
At first I had wanted Finn to see me but now…now I wanted not to endure this fierce, pulsing ache in the center of my chest. I had enough pride to walk away without him seeing me.
“Cora!” My name echoed across the crowd like a slow-moving wind.
I kept moving to the right of the crowd, but it parted in a wide circle around me. Except for one person who stood in my way. He must’ve run the length of the stage to intercept me.
Wordlessly, Finn cupped the back of my neck with his hand and clutched me against his chest. A tiny gasp escaped me, but I could form no words. He spoke for both of us, his words coming out in a reverential murmur, his warm lips against the hollow of my cheek. “You’re here. Jaysus, you’re here.”
I was a million miles away from everything familiar—but in his arms, I was home. Why did Finn have to feel like home?
“How is it that in all the faces in this crowd, I opened my eyes and saw the one that was in my mind?” His lips moved softly against my skin. We both turned our heads so slightly, our lips only meeting at the sacred corner of our mouths where smiles and secrets hide.
I became aware of applause all around us. Finn must have, too, because he broke contact and peeked at me with a wide smile that soon faded. “You’re crying, luv?” He swiped my cheek with the back of his fingers, then brought them to his lips. “Why are you crying?”
I sniffled. I hadn’t realized I was. “Because you’re here.”
Finn led me to an open spot of grass. “Are ya letting on, Cora? I live here. You might be a wee bit far from home,” he pointed out, enunciating his T’s in his charming Irish way. “You said you’d find a way and you found a way. I never doubted you would.” With a laugh, he swept me into his chest once more. “Christ, it’s good to hold you again.” My breath came in short puffs against his collarbone. “It’s the sun on my back after days in the rain.”
I reveled in the nearness of him, the delicious pleasure of his hands on me. He smelled so good, so familiar. The cloves and soap, the…
“So,” said a woman’s cold voice from behind me. “This is Cora.”
Finn held on to my hand. “Mother, Cora Sandoval. Cora, this is my mother, Ina Doyle.”
“I see it’s too late.” Mrs. Doyle regarded me with icy blue eyes, bordering on resentful.
“Too late for what?” I asked, unable to ignore the bait. Finn squeezed my fingers.
She smoothed her tightly drawn hair against her scalp. “I had hoped Finn was simply being melodramatic about his affections toward you. I had hoped it was merely a crush, as he is too young for any serious involvement. But I see it’s too late.” I’d never before heard someone use the word “hope” like a spear.
“Can we not go into this now? You’re being rude,” Finn told her, his voice sharp. His aura jabbed at her in angry spikes. Her aura responded like a Death Star force field, deflecting his blows. Amazing.
Ina’s eyes flicked to mine. I tried not to look away but failed, my gaze landing somewhere near her impeccable shoes. “Am I?” she asked. “I do apologize for being rude. I’m a mother. We tend to want to protect our children.”
That’s when I lifted my gaze to meet hers. “From me?” I asked, barely able to mask my astonished laughter. I didn’t want Finn’s mother to hate me, but clearly she had already made that decision before we’d met. And if she really wanted to split hairs, he was the one who broke my heart when he left so abruptly.
Someone in a suit tapped Finn’s shoulder. “One moment,” Finn said to us. “My set was over, but I don’t think they expected me to go darting off the stage.”
Although their color was different, Mrs. Doyle’s eyes and Finn’s were identically almond-shaped. Hers would be beautiful if they held any of the warmth her son’s eyes did. She leaned in close and whispered, “You’ve changed him. He wasn’t ready.”
“Ready? Pardon me for saying so, but I certainly didn’t expect to feel like this. It just happened.”
Ina clucked her tongue. “Oh,” she said, “you thought I meant love.” Her gaze raked my body. “Love is like smoke, dear. Sneaks in under locked doors. There’s something about you, I’ll give him that. What you bring is another matter. He can’t handle it.”
Finn sprinted back to us and grabbed my hand. “Enough.” His steely words matched the hard, razing stare he gave his mother. “I’ll decide what I can handle.” Ina turned on her high heel and strode away.