“Someone needs to talk to this fool about how to end a narrative. No conclusion, some lame proverb,” he said. “And a picture.”
I stopped just short of his chair. “A picture?”
“Yeah. A picture of a cross.” He pulled the book back toward him, staring at the final page. “I guess it does lend some credence to your idea that it’s not
Christian. It definitely isn’t like any crucifixes I’ve seen.”
I inched closer, my heart fluttering. “What do you mean?”
“Why don’t you take a look?” He raised his eyes to mine. When he saw the fear there, he stood up and moved close to me.
“Calla.” He took both my hands in his. “I understand why you’re afraid of this book. But you’ve come this far. I think you have to look at it.”
I began to shake my head, but he gripped my fingers tightly. “I need your help.”
His eyes held mine, kind but challenging.
I wanted to object, but I knew that from the moment I’d committed to meeting Shay at the library, there was no point in turning back. “Okay.”
He drew me back to the table. My hands began to shake as he turned the book to face me. Shay sat down in the chair, crossing his arms behind his head.
“Weird, huh? I mean, the way the bars are different on two of the ends. It makes the cross seem asymmetrical even though the pieces are the same length.”
I stared at the image and then at Shay. “Don’t you recognize this?”
“Recognize it?” He glanced down at the cross. “What do you mean?”
“Shay, this is the tattoo that’s on the back of your neck.” I tapped the image with my finger.
He laughed. “I don’t have any tattoos.”
I blinked at him. “Yes, you do.”
“I think I’d remember if I’d gotten ink,” he argued. “I’ve heard it’s fairly painful.”
He flinched when I reached around his neck, pulling back the collar of his shirt. The tattoo was there, just as I’d remembered it. The cross, an exact likeness of the one that stared back at me from the Keeper’s text, lay etched in black ink on the golden skin along the nape of Shay’s neck.
“See, I told you. No tats.” He tried to twist out of my grasp, but I stilled him by gripping his shoulder.
“Shay—you do have the cross inked on your neck. I’m looking at it right now.”
A shudder passed through his body. I relaxed my hold on him, giving his tense muscles a gentle squeeze.
“Calla,” he whispered. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” I crouched beside his chair. “I have a hard time believing that you’ve never seen the back of your own neck.”
His forehead wrinkled. “I must have at some point. And I don’t remember ever seeing a tattoo. Is that where it is?”
He shivered as my fingers traced the lines of the cross on his neck.
“Yes, right here.”
“Give me your compact; I’ll go check it in the bathroom mirror.” He jumped up from his seat and then looked at me, waiting.
“I don’t have a compact.”
“You don’t?” Shay frowned. “I’ll figure something out.” He dashed away and I lowered myself into his chair, returning to the book I’d been reading.
A few minutes later, I looked up from the page to find Shay glaring at me, wary and nervous. “So are you pulling my leg or what?”
“You found a hand mirror?”
“I borrowed one from the librarian at the circulation desk,” he said. “I told her I was having a problem with my contact and the bathroom mirror didn’t magnify enough.”
“You wear contacts?”
“No.” He pulled up another chair. “You haven’t answered my question.”
I squared my shoulders. “I have no reason to lie to you, Shay. Are you saying you looked at your neck and saw nothing there?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I saw my neck, the bare skin of my neck. No tattoo. And definitely not a weird cross tattoo.”
“I’m sorry. The cross is tattooed on your neck,” I said. “I don’t know much about the Keepers’ magic, so I can only guess. But they must have cast something on your sight so you can’t see it.”
I looked at the image once again, my fingers tracing over the page. “They’ve instructed the Guardians to keep our world hidden from you, even though we’ve been asked to protect you. For some reason they don’t want you to know anything about this.”
His face went white. “You’re saying my uncle put a spell on me so I wouldn’t know about the tattoo?”
“He’s not your uncle.” I tried to make the reminder gentle but firm. “And yes, I think he must have.”
Shay put his elbows on his knees, hiding his face in his hands. I hesitantly rose from my chair. My limbs quivered as I stretched my arms around his shaking body, drawing him against me. My heart was racing. As much as I knew I should maintain some physical distance from Shay, seeing him like this and not doing anything was too cruel.
His hands dropped from his face, encircling my waist. Warmth seemed to slide from his fingertips over the length of my body. He leaned into me, resting his cheek in the hollow between my neck and shoulder, sending electric tendrils like vines over my skin. I gently brushed his messy golden brown hair, biting my lip so I wouldn’t kiss his forehead.
“Thanks.” His quiet murmur was strained. He cleared his throat. “It’s a little hard to cope with the growing realization that I have no idea who I really am.”
I laughed quietly.
Shay tensed. “Is that funny?”
I twisted my fingers through his hair. “No. It’s just that to me, it sounds a little interesting. I’ve always known exactly who I am and what I would be.”
He straightened and I released him from my arms though I remained crouched next to his chair.
“Do you wish you were something other than what you are?”