Page 21 of Let It Snow
So, in a sudden rush of need, I drag myself out of bed. I put on one of the turquoise T-shirts Lake gave me and his dark green sweatpants, braid my hair into a long plait. Then, I dig through the closet for one of Nathaniel’s old baseball caps, pull it over my hair and tug it low over my face. Finally, I climb down the balcony ladder into the garden, once again avoiding the stairs inside the house.
The air smells of flowers.
It’s dark, but not completely. I slip through the garden, where only a few round, colorful solar lamps glow, and head toward the small citrus grove by the wall of the house, right where the entrance to the basement is. Glancing around, I take the steps down to Snow’s door.
I linger for a moment, wondering if I should knock. Who is he to me, anyway? The son of the people who took me in? Should I really be hanging around him?
Ah, whatever. Almost frantically, I turn the handle and the door swings open.
I step inside slowly. The lights are out, except for a thin strip of neon along the wall where the instruments hang. For a moment, my eyes catch the piano, its dark shape barely visible in the shadows. I remember the way Snow looked when he sat there, white strands of hair falling across his cheeks, fingers flying over the keys. I’d love to hear more of his music, not just the pieces he wrote to help me with my memory.
Slowly, I look around.
He lives here, spends his days here, works here, plays here. It could be nice to have such a hideout from the madness of the world.
I sigh, taking in the atmosphere of the place.
It’s just a basement, Summer… The guy lives underground, in what’s basically a lair.
Why doesn’t it bother me at all? Instead, I find myself strangely craving this… seclusiveness. However weird that sounds, I could belong in such an intimate, small world, in a safe bubble.
Somehow I just know which room is his. Even though there are several, I walk straight to the right one and press the handle quietly.
But the bedroom isn’t what I imagined.
There’s only a large bed, a wardrobe, and a nightstand.
It’s one of the most enchanting places I’ve ever seen. Sheer muslin drapes cascade from the ceiling, hanging around the bed like a gossamer canopy. Maybe it’s a mosquito net, but it looks magical. With tiny lights scattered across the ceiling like stars, the soft glow makes the whole room feel like a dream.
But there’s another source of light beyond the diodes, and it comes from something completely unexpected.
It’s not a lamp or a strip of LEDs.
It’s… Snow himself!
Yes, a human being. Under a thin cashmere blanket, I see his outline glowing faintly.
I stare, unable to believe what I’m seeing. What’s going on?
Slowly, I inch closer. He’s covered to the waist with a pale blue blanket, wearing a white long-sleeve shirt. His broad chest rises and falls with calm breaths. But under the fabric, a soft light spills out, as if his skin itself was glowing.
Fascinating. I’ve never seen anything like it. But it begs the question: does Snow have some extraordinary secret, perhaps the same kind I carry?
Magical talent?
I swallow hard and watch the luminescence for a while, my mind going blank from the overload of question marks floating inside.
Who is he really?
Nobody glows in the dark, c’mon.
Right then, Snow stirs in his sleep and sighs quietly. He turns his head slightly toward me and opens his eyes.
I actually stumble back half a step.
His eyes blaze with intense light!
It’s as if a tiny sun burns inside him. Only a little escapes through his skin, but his eyes pour it out completely, shining like two blazing beams aimed right at me.
