“I didn’t do it. How can you think so? I can’t stand what I’ve already done!”
Neither of us says anything else. We don’t even move. Anna is pissed off and trying very hard not to cry. As we look at each other, something inside me is trying to click, trying to fall into place. I feel it in my mind and in my chest, like a puzzle piece you know has to go somewhere so you keep trying to push it in from all different angles. And then, just like that, it fits. So perfect and complete that you can’t imagine how it was without it there, even seconds ago.
“I’m sorry,” I hear myself whisper. “It’s just that— I don’t know what’s happening.”
Anna’s eyes soften, and the stubborn tears begin to recede. The way she stands, the way she breathes, I know she wants to come closer. New knowledge fills up the air between us and neither of us wants to breathe it in. I can’t believe this. I’ve never been the type.
“You saved me, you know,” Anna says finally. “You set me free. But just because I’m free, doesn’t mean — that I can have the things that—” She stops. She wants to say more. I know she does. But just like I know that she does, I know that she won’t.
I can see her talk herself out of coming closer. Calmness settles over her like a blanket. It covers up the melancholy and silences any wishes for something different. A thousand arguments pile up in my throat, but I clench my teeth on them. We’re not children, neither of us. We don’t believe in fairy tales. And if we did, who would we be? Not Prince Charming and Sleeping Beauty. I slice murder victims’ heads off and Anna stretches skin until it rips, she snaps bones like green branches into smaller and smaller pieces. We’d be the fricking dragon and the wicked fairy. I know that. But I still have to tell her.
“It isn’t fair.”
Anna’s mouth twists into a smile. It should be bitter — it should be a sneer — but it isn’t.
“You know what you are, don’t you?” she asks. “You’re my salvation. My way to atone. To pay for everything I’ve done.”
When I realize what she wants, it feels like someone kicked me in the chest. I’m not surprised that she’s reluctant to go out on dates and tiptoe through the tulips, but I never imagined, after all this, that she would want to be sent away.
“Anna,” I say. “Don’t ask me to do this.”
She doesn’t reply.
“What was all this for? Why did I fight? Why did we do the spell? If you were just going to—”
“Go get your knife back,” she replies, and then she fades away into the air right in front of me, back to the other world where I can’t follow.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Since Anna has been free, I haven’t been able to sleep. There are endless nightmares and shadowy figures looming over my bed. The smell of sweet, lingering smoke. The mewling of the damned cat at my bedroom door. Something has to be done. I’m not afraid of the dark; I’ve always slept like a rock, and I’ve been in more than my share of dim and dangerous places. I’ve seen most of what there is to be afraid of in this world, and to tell you the truth, the worst of them are the ones that make you afraid in the light. The things that your eyes see plainly and can’t forget are worse than huddled black figures left to the imagination. Imagination has a poor memory; it slinks away and goes blurry. Eyes remember for much longer.
So why am I so creeped out by a dream? Because it felt real. And it’s been there for too long. I open my eyes and don’t see anything, but I know,
I tried to blame Anna for these nightmares, and then I tried not to think of her at all. To forget how our last conversation ended. To forget that she charged me with the task of recovering my athame and, after I do, killing her with it. Air leaves my nostrils in a quick snort even as I think the words. Because how can I?
So I won’t. I won’t think of it, and I’ll make procrastination my new national pastime.
I’m nodding off in the midst of world history. Luckily, Mr. Banoff would never realize it in a million years, because I sit in the back and he’s up on the whiteboard spouting off about the Punic Wars. I’d probably be really into it, if only I could stay conscious long enough to tune in. But all I get is
I lean up against the door next to his while he stuffs his books in. He’s avoiding my eyes. Something’s bothering him. His clothes are also much less wrinkled than usual. And they look cleaner. And they match. He’s putting on the Ritz for Carmel.
“Is that gel in your hair?” I tease.
“How can you be so chipper?” he asks. “Haven’t you been watching the news?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, deciding to feign innocence. Or ignorance. Or both.
“The news,” he hisses. His voice goes lower. “The guy in the park. The dismemberment.” He glances around, but no one is paying any attention to him, as usual.
“You think it was Anna,” I say.
“Don’t you?” asks a voice in my ear.
I spin around. Carmel is right over my shoulder. She moves to stand beside Thomas, and I can tell by the way they face me that they’ve already discussed this at length. I feel attacked, and a little bit hurt. They’ve left me out of the loop. I feel like a petulant little kid, which in turn pisses me off.
Carmel goes on. “You can’t deny that it’s an extreme coincidence.”
“I don’t deny that. But it is a coincidence. She didn’t do it.”
“How do you know?” they ask together, and isn’t that cute.
“Hey, Carmel.”
The conversation stops abruptly as Katie approaches with a gaggle of girls. Some of them I don’t know, but two or three are in classes with me. One of them, a petite brunette with wavy hair and freckles, gives me a smile. They all ignore Thomas completely.
“Hey, Katie,” Carmel replies coolly. “What’s up?”
“Are you still going to help out with the Winter Formal? Or are Sarah, Nat, Casey, and I on our own?”
“What do you mean, ‘help out’? I’m the chair of that committee.” Carmel looks around at the rest of the girls, perplexed.
“Well,” Katie says with a direct glance at me. “That was before you got so
I think Thomas and I would like to get the hell out of here. This is more uncomfortable than talking about Anna. But Carmel is a force to be reckoned with.
“Aw, Katie, are you trying to stage a coup?”
Katie blinks. “What? What are you talking about? I was just asking.”
“Well relax, then. The formal’s not for three months. We’ll meet on Saturday.” She turns slightly away in an effectively dismissive gesture.
Katie’s wearing this embarrassed smile. She sputters a little bit and actually tells Carmel what a cute sweater she’s wearing before toddling off.
“And be sure to have two ideas for fundraisers each!” Carmel calls out. She looks back at us and shrugs apologetically.
“Wow,” Thomas breathes. “Girls are bitches.”
Carmel’s eyes widen; then she grins. “Of course we are. But don’t let that distract you.” She looks at me. “Tell us what’s going on. How do you know that jogger wasn’t Anna?”
I wish Katie had stuck around longer.
“I know,” I reply. “I’ve been to see her.”
