Solstice

differences, another day has passed, and the thought of her being gone forever has started to grow a lead anchor of guilt in the pit of my stomach.

Chloe purses her lips together. “So no word from your father?”

“Not since the note.” Of course, with my mom gone this long, maybe she’s convinced my father to give up. Or maybe he’s abducted her and is coming for me next.

“Maybe she won’t come back,” Chloe says.

I laugh, but then stop when I see Chloe’s not smiling. “Yeah, maybe.”

“What would you do, Piper?”

I know the answer—at least what I’d want to do. I’d go back to the Underworld. But now, a few days later, it seems unreal. Like it almost didn’t happen. I decide now’s as good a time as any to start telling Chloe everything that’s happened, but I’m not sure how to start. “Well, I’d wear really bright colors every day,” I say. “Like red.”

Chloe smiles and tugs at the ends of her bandana. “Red is the color of blood.”

My face freezes. “Yeah. It is.” It seems like a whacked-out comment. “And cherries,” I add.

“Blood reminds me of death.”

Chloe will die. Tanni’s words. I ignore them.

Chloe tents her fingers in front of her face. “Remember when you asked me about fate, Piper?”

I nod. “Sure.” I push Tanni’s words away.

“I don’t think someone can escape fate,” she says.

Chloe did. Shayne had given me a choice, and I’d saved her. And she’d cheated fate. Stayed alive. “They can, Chloe.” But even as I say it, it strikes me as false. Like I’m lying to her and myself all at the same time.

“There’s a funeral tomorrow,” Chloe says.

I nod. “Randy Conner. Are you going?”

“I want to see it,” she says. Which is a weird reason for wanting to go to a funeral.

“Why?”

“I want to see the people.” And then she grabs my own hands back with such force, my pinkie finger feels crushed against the rest of my hand. “Do you ever wonder what someone would say at your funeral?” She looks at me, and it’s the first time today her eyes meet mine and really see me.

I shake my head and try to break my hands free. But she won’t let go, and I can’t get them to budge. “No. I haven’t.”

“Do you think he’ll be there?”

“Who?”

“Randy.” She says it like it’s the most natural question in the world. “Do you think he’ll be there watching?”

“Chloe, he’s dead.”

She doesn’t hear me. “Would you watch your own funeral? Would you want to know who came?”

The blood’s being cut off from my fingers, so I make another move and tear both my hands free. Chloe’s obviously still in shock. Maybe I should tell the nurse so they can send her home.

I shake my head. “No, I don’t think I would.”

But I see Chloe’s answer in her eyes. She’d want to watch. She would be there. Watching over the crowd. And in my mind, I see Chloe’s funeral instead of Randy’s. Her mom and dad. Her brother with his multiple tattoos. Maybe the tattoo artist, Morgan, would even come.

I look at Chloe’s tattoo, and like black worms crawling on her skin, the letters shift under my gaze. They swirl and twist, and I can’t make them out. They seem to slither off her arm, holding on by only a tendril. I’m tempted to reach out and catch them, or try to steady them at the very least. But then they settle into a string of symbols, none of which I can read. Still, my mind knows what they say. It can sense the word even in Ancient Greek.

Death.

I look again, but the letters stay the same. Morphed from sacrifice into death. I glance down at my own tattoo, but it’s stable and solid. And it no longer matches Chloe’s. When I look up, Chloe watches me. Her eyes flicker down to my tattoo, and she smiles.

“You know what I love about you the most, Piper?”

I hardly dare to breathe, but I answer her. “What?”

She unties her bandana. Her brown hair falls over her shoulders, and she twists the bandana around in her hands. “You always believe me.”

I nod which she takes as encouragement.

“I know no matter what I do, you’ll believe me and trust me.” She reaches across and takes my hand. “And that means everything to me.”

I squeeze her hand in return and chance one more glance at her tattoo, holding my breath. But it still says death. A death which Chloe escaped.

I open my mouth because maybe this is the right moment to start telling Chloe everything that’s happened. “I never told you about my date,” I say. That seems like a good place to start.

Chloe just smiles. “I want to hear all about it, Piper. But can we talk about it tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Good.” And she spends the rest of Study Hall pretending to do homework, though all she does is trace her finger in circles over the screen of her tablet.

Chapter 21 Funeral

Wednesday after second period, I head to the funeral. I wait for one of the shuttles in front of the school, and I keep scanning the crowd, looking for either Chloe or Shayne, but it’s like I’m in a sea of unfamiliar faces. I know almost everyone around me, but I can’t focus on any of them. I say hi to a couple of the kids in my classes, but otherwise stick to myself.

My back is already drenched in sweat, and heat presses down. But there haven’t been any reports of impending heat bubbles, and, for now, I think the city will be spared any more disasters. This still doesn’t keep other kids from talking about it, and someone even starts taking bets on when the next bubble will hit. One sophomore guy claims it will be tomorrow; he swears he’s developed some equipment in his home lab that can predict to within the minute when the bubble will form. Given the random nature of the bubbles I’ve seen so far, I highly doubt he’s right, but on the off chance he is, he could make a killing. If nothing else, the kid’s got everyone hanging on his every word, juniors and seniors included. I hop a shuttle while he’s still talking and head to the funeral.

When I walk into the church, I can’t find Chloe anywhere. But it seems the rest of the city has turned up. Every seat is taken, and the standing and greeting areas are packed. I look down the long front aisle and see Randy Conner’s family at the front. From the back of the church, I spot his seven-year-old sister with her face turned enough that I can see her eyes are dry and her lips are pressed together like she’s holding back a river of tears which she never plans to let loose. I see the backs of his parents, his mom leaning away from his dad, toward his sister, and shaking with silent sobs. And as if he knows I’m watching, Randy’s dad turns, and our eyes meet. Anger flashes there, rooted so deep it’s wrapped and coiled around every bone and sinew in his body. It tears at him and eats him alive day after day. It’s a black mold around him, smothering him and everyone he touches. And, for some reason, I remember Acheron—the river of sorrows.

I shift my eyes, not wanting to empathically share his anger, and spot Randy’s girlfriend Hannah Reed there in the front. She sits on the side opposite from Randy’s family and won’t even look their way. Her wide dry eyes scan the crowd, not seeing anyone; if she notices me, she makes no acknowledgment.

What is Randy Conner’s final sorrow? What will he leave behind on his way to the Elysian Fields?

An usher sees me and tries to find me a spot. I end up standing against a red brick wall tucked into the