EverHeart

Chapter 16: The Storm

LUCY

The storm announced itself with silence.

By noon, the cicadas had stopped.

I noticed because Marco didn't. He stood in the garden with one hand shielding his eyes, staring at the blue sky as though personally offended by my warning.

“Looks fine.”

“It isn't.”

He glanced around when I pointed out the missing birds. No sparrows disturbed the bougainvillea. No insects hummed beneath the awning. Even the leaves had gone strangely still.

“That's unsettling.”

“Yes.”

“Could've led with that.”

“I did. I said a storm was coming.”

A dark line had appeared beyond the hills.

“How long?”

“Two hours.”

Marco looked at me. “You can predict storms now?”

“Mrs. Alvarez told me this morning.”

His expression collapsed.

I picked up the laundry basket. “Bring the chairs inside.”

“You let me think you were communing with nature.”

“You did that yourself.”

“I was impressed.”

“That was your first mistake.”

He muttered something about fraud and went for the chairs.

By the time the harbor wards began chiming, Puerto Espera was already preparing. Shutters closed, boats returned early, and someone down the road attempted to secure corrugated metal with more optimism than rope.

Marco watched from the kitchen window.

Thunder rolled over the hills.

I watched his shoulders instead.

Nothing.

Good.

Yesterday, he'd remembered restraints, a ship, an attack. He'd also produced blue-and-gold fire in my kitchen and then eaten four eggs as though that were the more pressing development.

Neither of us had mentioned the ancient-looking warship again.

I'd thought about little else.

“Lucy.”

I looked up.

“You're doing the face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you're here, but you're mentally interrogating the universe.”

“That isn't a face.”

“It absolutely is.”

Another roll of thunder came closer.

Marco opened the cupboard.

“What are you doing?”

“Preparing.”

“You're holding crackers.”

“Exactly.”

Despite myself, my mouth moved.

Outside, the first wind struck the trees.

---

The rain arrived sideways.

Within minutes, the road vanished beneath silver water and the roof became a drum. Marco stood at the back door until spray reached his feet.

“Close it.”

“I'm looking.”

“You can look through glass.”

“Not the same.”

Lightning flashed beyond the harbor. The thunder followed almost immediately.

Then the power went out.

Marco stared at the ceiling while I opened the kitchen drawer.

“You already have candles?”

“I live on an island.”

“How many?”

“Twelve.”

He turned slowly. “Twelve?”

“There's another box.”

“Of course there is.”

Candlelight softened the cottage while rain blurred the windows. With nowhere to go and nothing useful to do, Marco eventually agreed to cards.

An hour later, he'd lost twice and accused me of cheating.

“You count cards.”

“I remember cards.”

“That's counting.”

“You discarded the queen.”

“You made me nervous.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

Marco dropped his cards. “I liked you better when I had amnesia.”

“You still have amnesia.”

“Then imagine how bad this is.”

I laughed.

He stopped.

The reaction was immediate enough that I became conscious of the sound.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Marco.”

His expression softened. “You laugh more now.”

My fingers paused over the deck.

“I laugh.”

“You do. Just… more.”

Rain filled the space between us.

I gathered the cards. “Again?”

His grin returned. “Thought you'd never ask.”

---

The wind worsened after dark.

I knew the cottage's usual storm noises: the groan above the kitchen, the western shutter's rattle, the whistle beneath the back door.

The sharp c***k from the garden was new.

Marco looked up with me.

“What was that?”

“Stay here.”

He stood.

I gave him a look.

He stepped into his shoes. “You know that's not happening.”

Another c***k sounded outside.

I took the flashlight. “There may be debris.”

“Which is why you're not going alone.”

Arguing would waste time.

“Fine.”

The moment I opened the back door, the wind tore it from my hand. Marco caught it before it struck the wall.

Rain hit us hard enough to sting.

Branches covered the path. Beyond the fence, the old acacia bent violently, one branch as thick as my thigh split near the trunk and hanging over the cottage.

“Inside,” I said.

Marco followed my light. “That's going to fall.”

“Yes.”

Lightning turned the garden white.

The branch broke.

There was no time to think. Only the violent c***k of wood and Marco shouting my name.

“Lucy!”

Something struck me.

For one disorienting second, I thought it was the branch. Then Marco's shoulder drove into mine, knocking me backward against the wall hard enough to empty my lungs.

He came down over me, one arm locked around my head.

The branch hit.

Tile shattered. Wood crashed against stone. Something struck close enough that I felt the impact through the ground.

Marco made a sound I'd never heard from him before.

Fear.

Raw enough that I barely recognized his voice.

Then heat flooded the dark.

Blue fire erupted across his back, gold burning through it. It should have caught his shirt. It should have burned my face.

Instead, it curved over us.

A living wall between our bodies and the falling debris.

Rain struck the flames and vanished in hissing bursts. Steam filled the air.

For once, my mind gave me nothing. No assessment. No list of possibilities.

Marco's face was inches from mine, his eyes burning blue.

“Lucy.”

I couldn't answer.

Something struck the roof, and he curled farther over me.

“Lucy, look at me.”

His wet hand came to my face.

“Are you hurt?”

My lungs finally remembered themselves. I dragged in a breath.

Relief crossed his face so quickly it hurt to see.

“Where?”

“What?”

“Where does it hurt?”

His hands moved over my shoulders and neck with frantic precision.

“Did you hit your head?”

“No.”

“Move your fingers.”

“Marco—”

“Please.”

I did.

His breath left him.

Only then did I realize he was shaking. I felt it through the hand against my neck.

The blue-and-gold fire flickered once, then vanished.

Darkness rushed back.

Marco looked over his shoulder at the fallen branch and immediately back at me.

“You're bleeding.”

I reached for my shoulder. He caught my hand.

“Don't.”

“It's a scratch.”

“You don't know that.”

“Marco.”

“I thought—”

His jaw tightened.

“I thought it hit you.”

Something inside my chest went very quiet.

“For a second, I thought I was too late.”

He seemed to realize how close we were then and started to move.

I caught his shirt.

Neither of us moved.

My fingers were twisted into wet fabric. I hadn't decided to reach for him.

“Wait.”

His eyes found mine.

So we stayed there for another breath.

Then another.

---

Inside, Marco became unbearable.

“Sit.”

“I am sitting.”

“Stay sitting.”

“I was getting the medical kit.”

“I'll get it.”

“You don't know where it is.”

“Yes, I do.”

He opened the wrong drawer.

I watched him.

Marco closed it. “Next one.”

It was.

His hands were still shaking when he crouched in front of me with the kit.

“Can I?”

I nodded.

He moved the torn fabric from my shoulder and cleaned the shallow cut with far more care than it required. His mouth had gone tight, a small muscle moving in his jaw.

“Marco.”

Nothing.

“I'm okay.”

“I know.”

“No, you don't.”

His hand stopped.

He looked up.

Rain pressed against the windows behind him.

After a moment, his shoulders dropped.

“I know,” he said again, quieter. “I just keep seeing it.”

“The branch?”

“You under it.”

His gaze fell to his hands.

“My body moved before I even knew what I was doing. The fire too. I don't remember making it.”

“You didn't.”

“That isn't comforting.”

“It wasn't meant to be.”

A breath escaped him, almost a laugh, but it failed halfway.

“I was scared.”

I said nothing.

He rubbed both hands over his face. “God, Lucy. I was so scared.”

The confession tightened something behind my ribs.

When he lowered his hands, he looked exhausted.

“I don't even know why it felt like—”

He stopped.

“Like what?”

His eyes found mine, then slipped away.

“Nothing.”

Normally, I would have catalogued the evasion.

Instead, I remembered blue fire above me, his arm around my head, and the way he'd screamed my name when the branch broke.

Our hands rested close together on the table.

I moved mine first.

My fingers found his.

Marco went still.

His hand turned slowly beneath mine, giving me every chance to pull away before his fingers closed around mine.

Warm.

Neither of us spoke.

Outside, thunder rolled farther toward the sea.

Inside, Marco held my hand as though he was still making sure I was there.

For once, I let him.

---

The storm weakened after midnight.

Marco fell asleep on the sofa only after checking my shoulder twice more. I stood beside him with a blanket, watching the worry finally leave his face.

He shifted when I covered him.

“Lucy?”

His eyes stayed closed.

“Hmm?”

“You okay?”

My throat tightened.

“Yes.”

“Sure?”

I looked at the man who had thrown himself beneath a falling tree without enough time to decide whether he was brave.

“Yes,” I said more softly. “I'm sure.”

His shoulders loosened, and within seconds his breathing evened.

I stayed beside him.

Tomorrow there would be broken tiles, repairs and neighbors asking questions. Ordinary problems. Things I understood.

Tonight was harder.

I'd spent years being the one who moved first, who measured danger and stood between it and everyone else. I couldn't remember the last time someone had looked terrified because the danger was coming for me.

Maybe that was why I'd gone blank beneath the tree.

Not because of the branch.

Not even because of the fire.

Because Marco had shouted my name as though losing me was the most terrifying thing in the world.

I looked at his sleeping face.

For the first time since writing Phoenix in my notebook, I didn't think about what Marco might be.

I thought about his shaking fingers against my skin.

I thought I was too late.

Something warm and frightening settled beneath my ribs.

I refused to name it.

Instead, I pulled the blanket higher over his shoulder and turned off the light.