Pulse

Chapter 49

Lucie

For the ride to the Hornes' place, I let Vinny sit in the front seat. He sat there as Cian drove, marveling at the effortlessness with which he made contact with things. Adjusting the air conditioning was no problem. Putting his feet up on the dash? Sure! Pressing his face to the window no longer zapped his energy. He could hold a cell phone in his hand without even worrying it was going to fall through. It was all I could do not to chuckle at the "oohs" and "ahs" ringing from his direction.

I met Cian's gaze in the rear view mirror, and didn't think I'd ever seen him so at peace. There was no hidden turmoil in his eyes, no frown at his lips. It was the most serene, most content expression I'd ever seen him with. "By the way," I said, leaning over the center console, "You actually have to wear a seatbelt now, Vinny."

He picked up the strap and held it out to show me. "I know. I'm being very safe."

"Good."

Vinny clicked the radio off. "So...what exactly happens now?" he asked, and when Cian and I both shot him interrogative looks, he drew his legs up on the seat and sighed. "I mean, to most people, to everyone, I'm still dead. What happens if I run into one of my old friends, like someone from my soccer team, or something? I mean, hell, they attended my funeral."

"We'll find a way," said Cian, but he seemed unsure. "Anyway. Now's not the time to think about that stuff. Let's just be happy about the fact you and Lucie are both alive and well, and that this mess with the fallen angels is over."

I pounded a fist against the console to showcase my enthusiasm. "Amen to that. Oh! Careful, Cian, you almost missed your driveway."

"Oh. Thank you, muffin," he said, and jerked the steering wheel. We powered up the Hornes' driveway, parking in front of the lofty three-car garage. The first time I'd ever seen this place, I'd been amazed by its grandness and effort—the trimmed gardens and neat paint and dusted glass chandeliers that just oozed expensive. I had stepped inside and smelt the century-old wine and meticulously crafted scented candles and thought...this is what it means to live extravagantly. Cian's world was one I would never understand, one he no longer understood himself.

He'd understood when he was that kid in the coral polo shirt. Looking at him now, I could hardly find the resemblance.

That kid had worn excessively bright colors and had neatly gelled, close-cropped hair, skin untouched by the marks of pain and age. That kid had the gleam of innocence and youth in both of his deep blue eyes, a smile on his face that had never seen grief.

I don't know how be that kid anymore.

Who said he had to?

This Cian, the one in the dark hoodie with the scars on his face and the chip on his shoulder—this Cian was all I wanted.

We stood now at the front door, the three of us shoulder to shoulder, staring down the mahogany. Cian gestured at his little brother. "Go ahead, Vinny," he said, and for a moment Vinny stared at him with round eyes, before he nodded.

Taking Cian's house key in his hands, Vinny turned it and pushed the door in, stepping into the foyer. I shut the door behind the two boys, passing the key off to Cian. He took it, briefly surveying his surroundings. The parlor and office were empty, as was the foyer itself, but muffled voices could be heard from the living room.

His mother's voice: "I just think maybe we should call him."

"Lyssa, he doesn't have a phone."