Tom looked across the lawn, toward the rose garden, but he didn’t answer.

Perhaps they were all dead in the real world; perhaps it was just at Byrne Hall that roses bloomed out of season. The few that Cory had left on the bushes looked sad and exhausted, though. Even the best were tinged with brown.

Stella: October 2009

STELLA

October 2009

Stella keeps forgetting the urgency of the situation. She stands with her arms outstretched, buffeted by wind and rain, drunk on schnapps and nostalgia.

Is nostalgia the word she wants? This is better than nostalgia, isn’t it? It’s the bliss of coming home after an Odyssean absence; after an eternity of adventure and soul-searching and missing Dad and Freya—and Tom. Not that she’s there yet—she keeps having to remind herself she’s not quite there. She’s still at Byrne Hall, waiting on the porch for Diana to bring the car round. She fills her lungs and wonders what this wet, leafy, woody smell has to do with homecoming; why it makes her feel so happy and restored. It’s not as if their poky London terrace ever smells like this, even in the rain.

A car is starting up round the side of the house. Stella steps out from under the porch, tipping back her head and sticking her tongue out. The rain merely trickles down her throat and she yearns for great, choking mouthfuls of the stuff.

She hops from foot to foot and tries to stop glancing back at the house. Hurry up, Diana. None of the lights have come on in the front windows—not yet—but he is almost certainly awake and must have heard the car. The rain clouds have thickened over the moon and Stella can’t see a thing, but that’s not to say she’s safe, because Cory can see in the dark. Really, he can.

She shudders and tries to remember what his eyes look like. She can’t seem to shift the idea that they’re yellow, with thin lines for pupils—but that can’t be right. Even the undiscriminating Stella Lyell would not have fallen for a man with cat’s eyes.