"Where are you taking me?" She said as they cut through alleys and lanes. She didn't feel up to any more adventures, a feeling she wasn't used to.

James kept pulling her along, and the smell of salt suddenly filled her nostrils, the faint music of cawing birds sounding far off. He let her hand go and disappeared behind a wall. The soft thud of her feet turned to a crunching, and she noticed she was no longer standing on cobblestones, but on a fine layer of sand. Almost nervously, Vigil peeked out behind the wall.

"Didn't you ask to see my boat?" James was standing right next to her as her jaw hung open.

They were standing on a sandy boardwalk, wooden docks ringing the edge of a huge expanse of green water stretching out to the horizon. Gentle waves rippled across the glittering sea, boats of all shapes and sizes hooked onto every other dock.

"This is the ocean," Vigil whispered. "How is it this big?"

James shook his head. "No, this is one tiny inch of one tiny corner of the ocean."

She blinked. "I didn't know something could be this big."

"You also said you wanted to see my boat." He said.

A small green fishing boat stood at the edge of the wood, bobbing in the waves. There was a tiny cabin sticking out in the middle, the rest of the boat a wide deck littered with ropes and nets.

"Do you fish?" Vigil said, wobbling as he helped her up.

James shook his head when she had climbed up all the way. "All the nets were there when I bought it. It's just a home for me, really."

Running a hand along the railing, she smiled. "I would trade the manor for this anytime."

He returned the smile, but said nothing. Only leaned against the cabin door. Vigil could read pride in his eyes as he watched her observe the boat.

"I've heard sailors name their boats sometimes," She said. "What do they call this lovely ship?"

James shook his head. "She doesn't have a name. I guess I've just been waiting for the perfect one."

"Good idea," She said, resting her elbows on the railing. It had grown darker over the last hour, and the chirping of crickets combined with the soft lapping of the waves. The light of a lantern set an eerie glow over the two of them, and he suddenly grinned a little.

"Your eyes look gold in the light," He said. Not like he was flirting, or he was even trying togive a compliment. It was more like a simple observation, like he was thinkingout loud. 

Vigil suppressed a grin as he fidgeted with his suspenders. She supposed that was just about how poetic he would get with his compliments.

"Vigil?" He said, sticking his hands in his pockets and standing next to her. "That other day, when you hit your head at the brook..."

The smile that spread over her face at the memory of the warm, sea salt scented arms was beyond her control. "I remember."

"Right before you fell off the branch, your face..." He looked like he was searching for the right words, and Vigil knew what he was trying to convey.

"It was like you were frightened of something," James continued. "Like you were trying to block out something."

Vigil didn't say anything, only stared at the horizon. She could feel James staring at her, and with sigh, she finally met his gaze.

"What was going on?" He said, his eyes searching her face for answers. She didn't want to tell him anything, but the concern on his face was unbearable.

Throat suddenly tight, she swallowed. "I'm sick."

"You seem healthy to me," He said, studying her face.

She shook her head. "Not physical. It's my head. My mind is sick."

He said nothing, only listened for more.

She continued, eyes burning. "I don't know exactly what it is, but it's horrible. I—I hear these voices in my head every now and then. They make me feel nauseas sometimes, that's why I lost my balance on the branch. And that's why I'm so sheltered. Mum and dad don't want me in a hospital."

He took a breath, then squeezed her hand. "You don't have to talk about it."

Vigil shook her head quickly, surprised at how much she actually wanted to now. "They say things. It's just one voice, but just says the same things over and over again. Sometimes it lasts forever, sometimes it's so loud it makes my brain rattle. They say awful things, like about how I need to give up and—" She stopped when her breath caught.

"Stop that," He said, holding her shoulders and leaning down to look at her. "Those things have no power over you."

Tears were welling up in her eyes. "Oh, but they do," She whispered. "They have every power over me, and I can't control them."

"You can't let them control you. You are strong, Vigil Vanbric," He said determinedly.

"No I'm not."

James ran both thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away the tears. "You are," He insisted. "Now stop crying."

Vigil shook her head. "I'm not strong. I'm weak, look at me."

"You. Are. Not. Weak." He said firmly. "I could tell when I first met you."

She swallowed. "They tell me to jump. To give up. And they said they would stop once I did," She stared at him through blurry, pleading eyes. "I would do anything for them to stop."

"Listen, Vigil," He said. "If any of those voices come back, and you can't bear it anymore, just look for me in the gardens."

Vigil looked up at him. Sincerity was sketched over his freckled face, and his eyebrows were knit with concern. As if on cue, the voice suddenly rattled through her head. She pressed a hand to her head and gritted her teeth.

"It's happening isn't it?" He asked, studying her face with concern.

She nodded weakly. "My head..."

James walked toward the cabin door. "I think I have something that can help you. Just stay out here."

But she had already ducked inside. The interior was smaller than she imagined, with a small table, two chairs, and a small loft bed in the corner. A tiny kitchen consisting of an icebox and a stove were wedged into another. Sheet music was scattered everywhere. A typewriter sat at the table, paper still sticking out. Overstuffed pillows were piled over the bed, quilts rumpled and wrinkled.

"Sorry about the mess," He said when he noticed her following him in. "It's not the tidiest place in the world."

"It's beautiful," She said. "And beauty is rarely ever tidy. Beauty can be found in even the most muddled places."

James handed her a cup of brown syrup, but he was staring at her face. She took the cup without glancing at it, didn't bring it to her lips.

"The muddled places are where beauty is always found." He said softly.

And although the voice was still rattling inside her, nothing could overpower him.