“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.
“What?”
“It’s fer you.” He shrugs and gives me a quick smile. “Happy birthday.”
I shake my head at him. “I can’t take this.”
“Well, a’m giving it t’ ye, so—”
“Jem.”
“Daph.” He lifts his eyebrow as he wraps my hands around it. “Keep it hidden. Use it only when ye need to.”
I nod obediently. “Okay.”
“I hope ye never need to.”
“I hope I do!”
He gives me a look as though he’s tired of me, but I don’t think he is.
He picks up a big selenite, inspecting it, and I take the time to inspect him. How broad he is, how strong he looks, how sweaty he is in this room, and then, regrettably, Jamison catches me staring at his chest for the fortieth time in the last thirty minutes.
My eyes shoot to the roof. “It’s so very hot”—I clear my throat—“in here.”？
He sniffs a laugh and doesn’t say what he could in that moment because he’s a gentleman. Or maybe just because it’s my birthday.
In my defence, it does feel like a steam room—a beautiful steam room, filled with sapphires and emeralds and diamonds and rubies.
“We’re right by a magma vent,” he tells me, and I give him a sharp look that he laughs at. He walks over towards me. “I’m no’ going to let anything happen to ye, Bow.”
He gives me a steadying look, and I match it with folded arms over my chest.
“You can control volcanic eruptions now, can you?”
“Maybe.” He smirks, and I stare at his mouth. That top lip of his looks like trouble, but I’d really like to know that empirically.
It’s foggy all around us now, thick and hazy and dreamy. The crystals catch on lights that aren’t even present, and my head feels spinny. It could be the air or probably it’s just him.
His hand’s on my waist, and I remember the feeling, remember why I must have put it away. There’s a weight to his touch that grounds me, sinks me right where I am, and I’m thrilled to be here, and then…I remember.
“Peter can,” I say quite quietly.*
He looks over at me, brows furrowing deep on his face. He’s considering it, I can tell. Actually, not just considering it but worrying about it.
His eyes hold mine for a second before there’s a deep rumbling from a part of the cave we’re not in. Then a steam vent pops, and he grabs my hand, pulling me out of there before I even suggest that maybe it’s time we leave.