burning; the most craven part of my soul thanked the heavens I could not hear the screams. But Jesse had said pain.
The pain of the war seemed far from me, but the promise of my own was as near as a sword dangling over my head.
And I was afraid. Sincerely.
“Let’s try something new,” he said now. We spoke in undertones, even though there was no real chance anyone above us would overhear. No matter how careful we were, however, the grotto took our words and sighed them back at us.
… new-new-new …
“Like what?” I asked.
“Anything else. Obviously, concentrating as you’ve been isn’t helpful. So let’s not think about the specifics of what we hope for. Smoke or anything like that.”
I sat back on my hands. “Fine with me.”
He had walked from the woods tonight, I could tell. The fresh, dark scent of the night still clung to him, and his boots were damp, with bits of grass and leaves flecking the leather.
Jesse reached down and peeled free a small, perfectly oval spring leaf from near his ankle, holding it up by its stem.
“I’ll tell you a story instead,” he said, gazing at the leaf.
“Tell me about the ghost. Who was she?”
“Ah, the ghost. Her name was Rose.”
“Was she one of the builders?”
He twirled the leaf between his fingers, back and forth. “No.”
“One of the students?” I shivered. “That’s it, isn’t it? She was a student.”
“It’s not my story to tell you. I’m sorry. It belongs to someone else.”
“Don’t you know?”
“I do know. But I have in mind a different tale entirely.”
Without warning, his hand glowed bright. The little leaf was engulfed in a globe of brilliance; the cavern flamed to life, all the sparkles on the walls transformed into countless flashing suns. I lifted an arm to cover my eyes—then the light was gone.
When I looked at him again, Jesse was looking back at me, his jaw set and his face masked with shadows. The leaf was exactly as before but now, of course, solid gold. He offered it to me, unsmiling.
“Once upon an age—”
“Can you do that with anything?” I cut in.
“No.” Since I hadn’t taken the leaf, he placed it on the blanket between us. “Only living things. Nothing inanimate.”
“That’s why it’s flowers,” I said, realizing. “You transform flowers and plants, like the brooch and my cuff. But could you do it to—”
“Yes. But I won’t. Life is precious, Lora. All life is precious, even roses. Even frogs, or snails, or the lowest of crawling things. I have no desire to be the arbiter of life or death over others, despite this gift of alchemy. Perhaps because of it. Transmuting the living into gold destroys it, even as it preserves its physical shape.”
My mind raced. “What about a tree? Could you transmute a tree?”
“Yes.”
I sat up straighter. “You could be rich. You could be richer than the king, if you liked. My God, Jesse. You could have a whole forest of gold! You could have anything.”
… anything-anything-anything …
“Rich is a matter of perspective. I think my life is rich enough. And I have already”—he gave me a significant look—“nearly all that I want.”
“But you could also have a mansion. And servants of your own. A cook! And motorcars and chauffeurs and a telephone and—”
“I’m a country lad, Lora. I’m happy like this.”
I shook my head, exasperated. I was a city girl and had lived poor for as long as I could remember. Lived poor and hated it. It never would have occurred to me—or to anyone else from St. Giles, I’d wager—that someone with the means to escape the grind of poverty would simply choose not to do so.
A forest of gold. In my mind’s eye, it was glimmering and endless, a shimmery warm paradise. Like a scrap of proof of what could be, the oval leaf gleamed next to my thigh, shiny as a newly minted coin.
I picked it up. Nothing warm there: It had taken on the chill of the grotto already, cold against my fingers. Even its tiny treble song felt cold.
And then all the exasperation in me began to fade. I looked down at the leaf. I felt its firm chill and recalled its green spring softness from moments before. Its life.
A thought scratched at me, elusive. Jesse had shown me something and it had slipped by me; I had missed a message tucked between words and actions. I had missed a lesson. What was it?