Wings of the Wicked - By Courtney Allison Moulton Page 0,71

scraped out the eggs with the spatula and placed them on a plate. I caught the faintest glimmer of a smile. “Who says I made these for you?”

I sat down at the bar. “Me.”

He filled a glass with orange juice for me and presented it with the plateful of eggs and bacon as if it were a peace offering. “My knuckles are fine.”

I took the plate and glass. “That’s a shame.”

His brow flickered, and he leaned his back against the counter on the other side of the room. Even from this far away, I could see the familiar flash in his eyes. I could’ve seen it a mile away in the dead of night.

“There was a comb in your room,” I said. “On top of your dresser. With a bird on it.”

“It’s yours. The bird is a phoenix … rising from its ashes.”

“Has it always been mine, like my necklace?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. I bought the comb for you over a hundred years ago, from a …”

But I didn’t hear the rest of what he said. My mind slipped away, drifting into the memories of that day.

The market in Shanghai was packed with people roaming from makeshift tent to makeshift tent, bartering loudly, shopkeepers darting after thieves. The street was a blaze of color, sights, and sounds. Heady scents of oils and spices pulled my attention in every direction. I wanted to see everything there was.

“Dragon,” a man called in Chinese.

Will turned his head, and I followed his gaze to a small elderly man behind a table covered with jewelry and figurines carved from ivory and jade. He was smiling, watching us both as we walked through the market. I took Will’s hand and led him to the tent, eager to see what the man offered.

“Dragon,” the man said again, and nodded to Will, his smile widening. He reached over his beautiful wares and lifted a comb with an intricately carved mythological firebird adorning it. He set it in his palm and held out his hand to me. “Fenghuang. Phoenix.”

My eyes captured the comb, roving over the infinite detail and incredible colors. I took it from the man and brushed my fingers over the bird’s wings.

“We’ll take it,” Will said. He pulled a couple coins from his pocket and gave them to the man, who gave a small bow and thanked Will several times.

I drew a little breath when Will turned to me, tucked my hair back on one side, and slid the comb in. “Thank you,” I told him, watching his face, mesmerized by the happiness in his eyes and the one corner of his lips that pulled into a smile.

“Beautiful,” he said, and his thumb brushed my cheek.

My eyes fluttered and I was back in the present, looking up into Will’s face once again. “I remember it,” I said. “Were you going to give it back to me? Now that I’m here … again. Alive.”

His jaw set and he swallowed. “Yes. Eventually. I wanted to give it back to you when you remembered it. You can have it now if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” I said, wishing now that it was in my hands so I could touch it. Instead I touched the winged pendant around my neck, watching Will’s face as he watched my hand.

“Why do you have jasmine, too, of all things?” I asked curiously, recalling how carefully dried the petals were, how strongly the scent had remained. “Did you know that it’s my favorite flower?”

“It reminds me of you,” he said in a quiet voice, his gaze still lowered. “You’ve always smelled like jasmine.”

Of course he would know I loved jasmine. He knew everything about me. I dug through my memories that shifted in and out of focus, and couldn’t remember myself ever choosing a different perfume or scented lotion. I always chose jasmine. For hundreds of years, I had been choosing jasmine.

Overwhelmed with emotion, I felt my eyes burning, and I poked at my plate. “Where’s Nathaniel?”

“Out with Lauren.”

I took a bite of the eggs to please him. They weren’t as burned as I’d thought. He’d made me breakfast despite what had happened last night, and I wasn’t sure I had it in me to tell him thank you. Eating the breakfast meant more to him than stupid words. He knew I appreciated it.

“You shouldn’t have done what you did last night,” I said.

He watched me carefully. “I don’t regret anything.”

“You shouldn’t have interfered. I had everything under control.” It was a