Page 57 of The Narrow

“I was trying to get to the water, wasn’t I?” she asks.

I nod.

She shudders. “Why would I do that?”

“You said you were looking for someone.”

“Who? Maeve? Or Grace?” Del asks.

“I don’t know. Your mom showed up at that point, and you woke up,” I say. “It’s like when you’re asleep, she calls to you. And when it rains, she comes for you.”

“She wants something from me,” Del says. “But why? I’m no one.”

“You fell in the Narrow and lived. You’re not no one. You’re special,” I say.

She says nothing, staring at the floor.

I hesitate, then hold out the things I’ve brought. “These are for you.”

She takes them with a look of surprise, examining each separately, the papers first. “Grave Belles,” she says in a delighted voice.

“Everything I have so far. They’re all scanned in, so don’t worry too much, but try to be careful with them.”

“I can read the scans, if you’re worried,” she says immediately, but I shake my head.

“I want you to have them,” I say.They’re me. I want you to know me, I want to say, but it sounds too cheesy.

“And this...” She lifts the box.

My cheeks flame. “Just a present,” I say.

She gives me a curious look, then unties the ribbon and lifts the lid of the box. Inside is a small, delicate arrangement of flowers. Dahlias, in red and orange.

“They’re freeze-dried,” I say. “So no water, and they won’t die.They should last a long time if you put them somewhere protected.”

“They’re lovely,” she says.

“You said the dahlias were your favorites,” I tell her. She looks at me quizzically, and my blush deepens. “The night I first saw Maeve, and we talked? I told you about the fireflies, and you told me about the garden you used to have.”

“Oh. Yes,” she says, but there is a little frown on her lips. “It almost feels like a dream.”

Sudden worry flashes through me. “Youdolike flowers, right? You weren’t lying?”

She breaks into a warm smile. “I love them. Eden, they’re beautiful. I love them so much, I want a million more.” She laughs.

That’s twice.

“I want to fill this whole place with them,” she says.

“We can,” I tell her. “And you’ll have real flowers soon.”

Her smile falters. She stands, leavingGrave Belleson the cushion, and carries the flowers to a bookshelf, settling them carefully where they will be on display.

“I’m going to try to talk to her tonight,” I say. “Maeve. During Vespers, I’ll go down to the Narrow.”

She looks at me sharply. “Is that safe?”

“She doesn’t want to hurt me,” I say.

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