Courtney Summers - Defy the Dark

Just as the midday twilight ended, Dacey woke up.

Smearing a hand across her face, she stretched, then apologized when Skadi leapt down at her sudden movement. It took a moment for her senses to sharpen. Suddenly, everything was crisp and new—she woke up ! She’d fallen asleep!

Almost giddy, Dacey hopped out of bed, then dropped to bounce on it again. Slept, she’d slept! And now she moved in fast-forward. With a whimsical slide down the hallway toward the kitchen, she actually laughed. Skadi chased her the entire way, orbiting her with every step. She skidded to a stop at the kitchen door, clutching the frame.

The rest of the tea set, the one that matched the single cup Kristian had left behind, sat on the counter. Steam swirled from the pot’s spout, and the air smelled fresh with loose-leaved tea. Skadi barked, then bounded past Dacey to sit and stare at an empty spot next to the stove.

Because it was still dark, on top of jet lag, on top of insomnia, time had lost all real meaning for Dacey. She could count breakfasts and pictures to try to sort it out, but the truth was she had no idea when she was. But the cool, tight prickle of awareness streamed across her body again.

She’d fallen asleep on the couch. She’d woken up in bed.

And now a century-old tea service sat on her counter, brand-new and full of water she hadn’t boiled. Her borrowed dog sat happily, basking in unseen attention. None of it made sense, unless all of it did.

“Kristian?” she asked.

No one answered. Dacey walked toward the stove, ran her hand through the spot that held Skadi’s attention so completely. It was cooler there. The hair stood up on the back of her neck, and her mouth tingled, like tasting the wind just before the lightning came.

Fixing herself in place, Dacey asked the air, “Can you see me?”

Still no answer. There was a connection, but she didn’t know how to make it. She poured tea, two cups, and even took a sip. Nothing. She darted to the living room and returned with the camera. Shooting off a rapid succession of pictures, she checked the display. Nothing. Not a streak, not a face—just a handful of ordinary pictures of an ordinary kitchen.

“Look,” Dacey said, putting the camera aside. “I’m not taking another sleeping pill so you can sneak up on me. Just say something. Do something. Anything.”

Just then, she was struck by an idea. Reaching into her robe pocket, she pulled the small sketchbook out. It was his, and personal. She felt like she knew him, just a little, from the shape of the words she couldn’t read, and the delicate precision of the sketches she couldn’t stop looking at. This was her connection to him, not the ghost or the dream or the hallucination.

She held the book out—not sure what to expect.

The slightest spark filled the air, and the ink in the book darkened, sketches filling in until they looked freshly drawn. The leather cover grew brighter, until it shone. A sizzling sound raced around them, the rosemaling waking, repainting itself. The cabinets making themselves brand-new.

From nothing, Kristian reached out to take the book. His shape filled in, as if someone only had to pour details into him. Transparent, then translucent, he became . His gray woolen pants and cream linen shirt slowly took texture. His hair, which had seemed blue with snow and moonlight behind it, came in a pale gold. And his startlingly green eyes widened and swept over Dacey’s shape.

She wondered if he saw her the same way she saw him, insubstantial, but slowly brightening to real.

“I put this away so long ago,” he said, thumbing through the pages.

“About a hundred years,” Dacey said. “Give or take.”

Closing the book, Kristian put it aside and approached her. “Something’s not quite right, is it? I’m standing here, and everything looks old. All the paint is faded.”

Dacey held out a hand. “Right now, it looks brand-new to me.”

For a long moment, Kristian considered her. He took her hand and turned it in his. Trailing his fingers across her palm, he mapped every inch of it. There was no chill in his touch, and the last hints of transparency faded. “Are you a ghost?”

Laughter rang out, and Skadi jumped up in excitement. Shaking her head, Dacey murmured soothingly to the dog, then looked up at Kristian again. “No. And neither are you.”

“Of course not.” Kristian squeezed her hand before letting it slip out of his. “You came to me. You showed yourself to me , that’s why I built this place. I thought if I did, you’d come, and you’d stay. . . .”

“I didn’t. I couldn’t have.” It hurt Dacey to say it. “That’s not how time works.”

Lighting up, Kristian started for the living room. “I can show you.”

Blood humming, Dacey followed. When she came around the corner, she saw Kristian kneel by the window-seat cubby. With a smile thrown over his shoulder, Kristian pulled out another leather-bound book.

This one was much larger than the sketchbook, and when he opened it, Dacey saw why. It was an old-fashioned photo album, each page lovingly squared with black-and-white portraits of a familiar landscape.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he explained, and let her take the book from his hands. “So I left my family and took a train north, as far as I could. And then a sledge until I got here. I thought the long nights would help me sleep. I brought my Seneca to take pictures, but look.” He leaned over, turning the pages and then dropping his finger on a darkened landscape. “They came out wrong. I took more. And more, and on the last day, I saw you.”

So did she. Though the photographs were grainy, the edges a little soft like most vintage pictures, her shape there was unmistakable. This was the picture he’d sketched from; this is what she’d looked like on her first night in Tromsø, scarfless and hatless, trying to capture the northern lights for her photo-essay.

Slowly, she lifted her head to meet his green eyes. “Kristian . . .”

“So I came back in the summer.” He smiled and closed the book. “I bought the land and built this place. And I waited.”

“For me.”

Curling his fingers beneath her chin, he tipped her face up gently. “For us.”

And this time when they kissed, the world came together instead of pulling apart. Everything matched again; Dacey’s heart soared. Kristian’s hands were warm and rough—and real. But she broke away, pulling her fingers over her lips.

She loved her life: her parents’ cute apartment in Brooklyn, her job on the school paper, and every single one of her friends back home. She loved her anxious mother and her sweet father, and the way every single day was something new for her.

At the same time, she now loved walking into a cottage in Norway to find something magical. Something epic and legendary, waiting for her . How many girls got to say that? How many people ever did?

Skadi padded over, curling to lie against them. Snuffling her nose beneath Kristian’s hand, she huffed and turned her eyes up to Dacey. Which wasn’t fair at all; dogs weren’t allowed to throw in their two cents when it came to completely life-altering decisions.

“What’s the matter?” Kristian asked.

With a deep breath, Dacey gathered herself. Then she brushed Kristian’s hair from his eyes and smiled. “You’re just very complicated. This is complicated. And I’m going to have to call my mother.”

Kristian blinked. “Call her what?”

“I’ll explain later,” Dacey answered, and tugged him into her arms. Just the thought of explaining Kristian, polar nights, and possibly time travel to her mother made her head hurt. So she kissed the non-stock Scandinavian. She could figure out the complications in time.