Six and A Half Years Ago

Aurelia laughs as she walks beside me in the garden, finding something I said funny. It’s spring in London, so the garden is in full blossom, although it needs tending. Even to my untrained eye, everything in the garden is a little downtrodden and overgrown. Even the once-treasured English rose bushes grow unchecked, their blush-colored blooms and hidden thorns losing the shape so carefully manicured into them.

I look around the garden, which is walled in on all four sides by a high concrete wall. It was no work for a strong young man like me to climb over. I’ve been doing it now for months, ever since I first encountered Aurelia in the street market.

Well, less encountered and more actually ran into. I was in pursuit of Damen, who was carrying the money we’d earned, heading straight to his dealer to get a fix. Nearly bowling her over, I stopped to help her up… and realized just how beautiful she was.

Long blonde hair, falling in waves to her waist. Clear brown eyes, the exact color of a newborn fawn. She had the clearest, palest skin I had ever seen, and aristocratic features to match. And the best part was her clothing, so obviously luxurious. Wide-legged black velvet pants, a filmy white sleeveless top, dainty black high heels. An oversized purse that probably cost more than I earn in five years’ time.

She looked beyond rich, and she smiled at my fumbling apology. Her voice was melodic, like a thousand tiny bells ringing at once.

I took one look at her, poor errand boy that I was back then, and I knew I was in love. I’ve been climbing over the wall of her back garden ever since, trying to avoid the severe reverend that keeps this house in order.

“Don’t you ever tire of this?” I say, waving my hand at the walls around us.

She slides me a glance. “Of what?”

I scratch my neck, choosing my words carefully. “Of the restriction. Of the reverend. Of the fact that your church apparently saw fit to place you here, even though other orphaned girls your age are kept together in a convent, and you don’t know why you’re the exception?”

Desperately, I want her to tell me that she is sick of all of it. I want so badly to spring in to save the day. But she merely smiles, looking at the untended rose bushes.

“Father Derrik says that I have a special purpose.” She reaches out for my arm, and I give it to her. Lovesick, I can hear the manic thump of my heart begin, just at her touch.

I scowl at the man’s name. When I say it, it comes out of my mouth like a curse. “Father Derrik, Father Derrik. I am tired of hearing about him.”

Her lips curl upward. “Then you should go see him preach at a Mass. He is quite severe, a lot of talk about all the people that are going to burn in hell. But it’s only because he believes so deeply, I think.”

She squeezes my arm, continuing to amble through the garden. Every so often, I look back at the house, it’s facade brooding and grim. But Aurelia doesn’t even glance that way, so I suppose I have nothing to fear from the reverend. I suck in a breath.

If I’m going to talk to Aurelia about running away to be with me, I need to do it now. I push out the words, rushing the last bit.

“Leave here,” I say, gripping her arm and looking in her warm brown eyes. “Be with me. I’ll marry you. I know I don’t have much—”

Her sigh is telling, cutting off my words. She twists up her mouth for a second before she answers. “You know I like you, Dryas. But I have to follow the path that’s been laid for me by the Church.”

I flinch a little, turning my head away so she can’t see how much her response hurt me. I mumble, “I know. But—”

Her smile is gentle, but I’ve never felt anything as coldly cutting. Heat blazes in my cheeks, and I’m embarrassed to be so coquettish. She pats my arm. “We’ve had fun together, haven’t we?”

I don’t answer. So many thoughts and feelings are stuck in my throat just now, making it impossible to swallow, much less answer a question. We walk on, gravel crunching under our feet, the wildness of the garden seeming to reach out to me, unruly branches and thorns trying to snare me. I glance up to see a flock of birds flying overhead, their small bodies cutting through the air like fish flitting through the dark seas.

Of all the places that I should be right now — at Uncle’s restaurant, waiting to hear the next name on my hit list, or maybe at the slummy one-bedroom walkup my brothers and I call home, trying to keep Damen from overdosing on whatever his drug of the day is — this is just not one of those places.

I know it. Aurelia knows it. Why, then, does she let me stay? Why did she not call out for help the very first time she saw me slither over the tall concrete wall?

For I realize I am the serpent in her life, coming to tempt her with another path. With murky intentions, I whisper in her ear, trying to deviate her from the life set before her by someone greater than myself.

I can think of no description more apt than that.

Before I can say any of the thoughts swirling around in my head, a maelstrom of dark ideas, I hear a shout. The Reverend, assumedly, calling for Aurelia to return to the house. We both turn our heads toward the faint sound.

“Girl!” he calls, his voice high and faint. “Girl, come!”

I look back to Aurelia. She hugs me quickly, taking me by surprise. There is already a wan smile on her face as she starts moving away. “You’ll come again?”

Flushing, I nod. “Of course.”

She turns, calling over her shoulder. “Be well, mon cherie.”

Cherished one. My heart is suddenly hammering a staccato beat inside my chest. I stand and stare as she trots around a corner, hastening toward her keeper.

Beside me, I notice some flowering honeysuckle. I pluck a few blooms from the vine and tuck them in my pocket, thinking to bring them to her later. Then I head toward the back wall, my heart and mind practically burst with thoughts.

If only I had known that I’d seen Aurelia for the last time…

Well, there would be one more, in a tiny house in the projects. But she would be dead by then, and I would be far too late.

I climb the bushes, ignoring the pricks of the thorns, blissfully unaware of the future.