Never (Never, #1) (83)

We walk in a prickly silence after that. Mostly just dotted with “careful’s” and “it’s slippery here’s” and “d?nnae touch that, it’s poison’s,” things like that. That’s all it is for hours between us, but I don’t mind because I’m using the time to remember what’s in those bags that I put away. Something about a coat, obviously. I remember that now. He put a coat on me. But why did I care about it? And snow or something? And there was another? Something about family? His family? And one more that escapes me— I feel I’m on the cusp of remembering it right as we get to the mouth of a cave.

Jamison looks back at me. He still looks a bit cross with me, if I’m honest.

“The Carnealian Mouth,” he tells me as he trots down a few rocks on a beach at low tide.

He offers me his hand to help me down, and I’ll be honest with you—I do think about not taking his hand. Maybe that’s what I should have done.

It’s easier if I don’t remember things with him. And I think, perhaps, if I didn’t take his hand, he’d have stayed angry with me the whole time we were in the volcano, and it might have made for an overall wiser trip.

But I’m eighteen, and it’s not wisdom that I want for my birthday, so I take it. A wave crashes loudly on the face of the cliff right by us, and my hand stays in his a few seconds longer than it needs to before we each snatch our respective hands away.

I gesture at the entrance. “After you.”

He nods, and I follow him in.

It’s dark instantly and humid and rather difficult to see—though not impossible—and then I trip on something.

“Ouch!” I cry, looking over my shoulder, glaring at the nothing I tripped on.

“Watch yerself.” Jem frowns at me, and then I move in closer towards him. Without looking back at me and without a word, Jem’s hand reaches for mine and takes it again, and somewhere behind us, a steam vent blows. He holds it tightly in a mindless way, and I remember properly what was in that silver bag—the one about the coat and how he pulled me close in to him, how it felt when he tugged it around me. And something about a breeze? There’s something about a breeze in another bag, but I feel nervous to remember what’s in that one, so I don’t.

Rather a terrible thing to remember if it wasn’t one of my favourite thoughts to wear in the world.

“Have you been here before?” I ask him.

“Many times,” he says. “My mum likes it. There’s magic here, she says.”

“Where are we going?”

He looks back at me. “Ye’ll see.”

We walk deeper and deeper into the cave, and it gets hotter and hotter. The flowers on my dress fold themselves back into buds. He stops for a second, peels off his coat, and throws it over a boulder.

“Don’t you lose that.” I nod my chin at it, some worry in my voice.

A pleased little smile spreads over his face. “Aye, look who’s been doing some remembering.” He flicks me a look as he takes my hand again and keeps walking for a bit. “What did I say to ye at the Bird?” he asks, staring straight again. I peer over at him, and he looks at me. “Or did ye check thon in too?”

“No.” I shake my head carefully. “I kept that.”

He gives me a measured nod. “Orson said it wusnae good.”

I look up at him. “Did you drop it off?”

“Nah,” He shakes his head. “Was just steamin’.”

“Ah.” I nod, and the air feels thicker now, like we’re wading through it.

“Is that why ye dropped off the thoughts? Because I hurt ye?” he asks as he unbuttons his shirt so it falls wide open.

My eyes snag on his chest, and I swallow heavy, nod.

He stops, turns to face me, and tilts his head as he watches me. He pushes some hair behind my ears. “Will ye go collect them now then?”

I stare over at him and feel a new boldness rise up from within myself that I believe comes to you exclusively upon turning eighteen, and then I* reach up and shift some hair from his eyes.

“We shall see.”

He looks at my hand in his, smiles a tiny bit, then nods.

Just when the air is at the consistency of custard and I think I’m about to run out of it, that’s when Jamison says, “Here we are.”

There’s an opening into another chamber off the main one. He pulls me through it, and I gasp.

Ground-to-ceiling crystal, growing out every which way, and at the centre of the room, a natural mantelpiece filled to its brim with every kind of gem and crystal you could imagine.

I look around in disbelief. “What is this?”

“A crystal chamber.” He shrugs as he goes over and picks up some of the crystals. “Do ye no’ hae these on Earth?”

“No, not really.” I shake my head.

“What about these?” He flashes me that dagger of his I’ve seen before. “Ye have these on Earth?”

I gasp again at the sight of it, and he offers it to me. I take it in my hands, roll it around in them. “Oh, it’s beautiful.”

“Golden blade, ruby inlays.”

“It really is so gorgeous.” I can’t take my eyes off it.

“It’s yers,” he says, and I look up at him, surprised.