“I didn’t kill her, if dat’s what you’re askin’ me.”
There’s the faintest hint of a Cajun accent. It’s not nearly as strong as Case’s, but I still hear it flowing like water under his words.
“How do I know that?”
He shrugs. “I guess you don’t.”
But I know who killed Elora now.
Don’t I?
That bloody Saint Sebastian medal is sitting in my underwear drawer with the murderer’s name engraved on the back.
“Where did you come from?”
“I was born here,” he says. “Same as you were.”
But that doesn’t make sense.
“Then how come nobody knows about you?”
His eyes darken, like when a cloud passes in front of the sun.
“I’ve been gone a long time,” he tells me. “Just came back around last winter.”
“But nobody even knows you exist.”
“You know.” He smiles at me again.
“And Elora knew,” I add.
“Yeah.” He nods. “Elora knew about me.” Something changes in his voice, and I hear the reverberation of deep loss. It sounds so familiar. “Elora knew me.”
“You’ve been watching me.” It isn’t a question. I’ve felt those eyes on me so often these last two weeks.
“I just needed to make sure you were safe.” He tosses his hair back out of his face again.
“Why?”
He shrugs. “I figured that’s what Elora would want me to do.”
I’m struggling to fit the pieces together.
“Safe from what?”
“I don’t know, Grey. I wish I did.”
A lightning bug lands on my hand. It sits there blinking like a lighthouse beacon.
“Why should I believe you?”
He tilts his head to one side, like he’s thinking hard about that question. “You probably shouldn’t,” he acknowledges. “But I hope you will. I think maybe we can help each other.”
“I don’t even know you.” None of this feels quite real.
“But you do know me, Grey. In a way. You always have.” He grins, and it lights up the night. “I’m one of you.”
“What do you mean, one of us?”
Everything in my life has become some kind of riddle.
“I was born right here,” he says. “Not quite seventeen years ago.” And that’s when I get it. “My birthday’s comin’ soon. The middle of September. Just before the fall equinox.”
The earth has started to spin in the opposite direction.
“You’re one of the Summer Children.”
He nods, and none of the rules I thought I knew apply any more.
Zale is probably just a few days younger than Evie. That makes him number eleven.
I can tell he means it to reassure me. But for the first time since he appeared on the dock tonight, I’m frightened.
In numerology, eleven can be the number of power and wisdom. But it’s also the number of imperfection. It’s chaos and disorder. A world in disarray. The undoing of the ten. Everything out of balance.
My muscles tense.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he says. “I promise.”
But I’m not sure any more. I look up, and my eyes find Honey’s darkened bedroom window. Suddenly I’m aware of how alone I am out here.
With this stranger.
I move to step around him. To head back toward the front porch. The light of home.
“Grey. Wait.” Zale reaches into his pocket, then he holds out his fist. “I have a gift for you.” I hesitate, and he opens up his fingers. Something small and silvery catches the moonlight. My hands fly to my mouth, but they can’t hold in my gasp of surprise. Zale gives me another little smile. “Take it,” he urges. His voice is so gentle, like Honey’s hand in my hair. “It’s yours now.”
I reach for the shiny thing with trembling hands, then I slip it on to my finger.
Elora’s ring.
Silver with one tiny blue pearl.
“Where did you get this?” There’s an accusation in the words, and I know he hears it.
“Elora gave it to me,” he says. “The last time I saw her. But it belongs on your finger. She’d want you to have it.”
I’m staring at my hand. At Elora’s lost ring. “Why should I trust you?” I ask him. Because it seems like a thing I should want to know.
I feel the burn of those blue eyes on my skin.
“Because Elora trusted me.” I raise my chin to look at him.