Pressing my palms against my eyes, refusing to give in to weakness and break down, I couldn’t help but wonder. What would Grandfather have thought to see me stripped of my gift? Would he have said the bargain was a good one? Or that the price I’d paid for drinking the formula had been too high? Would Grandfather have perhaps ventured that the terrible beauty we’d both known I’d been destined to create might have been worth the price of even human life?
Long after the last notes died away, I sat in the silence, the absence of sound that would henceforth define my life, thinking that liberation from my demon wasn’t as sweet as I’d anticipated.
“You will drink again, Tristen, of your own free will . . .”
Those words echoed again in my mind, and I forced myself to think not of music but of the way the beast had pressed Jill against the lab table, wanting to violate her, kill her.
I finally rose, aware that I would probably never sit at a piano again, but grateful that at least I had Jill. Her life, her happiness, were worth any sacrifice.
But where in the world was she on such an important night?
Impatient, needing her, I went up the staircase, headed for her room, looking for some clue as to where she might have gone. And when I opened the door and switched on a light . . .
Oh, hell.
Chapter 77
Tristen
THE PARTY at Christy Hitchcock’s house was well underway when I arrived, pushing through the crowd of drunken Supplee Mill students, looking for Jill.
She had to be there somewhere. The party’s existence was common knowledge, and the phone book on Jill’s desk had been open to the correct page, as if she’d checked the address. Whoever “she” was . . .
“Jill’s not here, Tris.”
I felt the tap on my shoulder and spun around to find Becca Wright smiling. “Becca—what happened? Where is she?”
“Your girlfriend is totally out of control.” Becca laughed. “Totally!”
I knew that. The first thing I’d noticed when I’d entered Jill’s room was the distinctive smell of toxic chemicals. And the mess. Clothes were strewn everywhere. And then I’d seen the self-portrait on the easel. The wicked, wicked eyes that Jill had bestowed on herself.
Why had she drunk the formula?
“Is Jill here?” I repeated. “Is she all right?”
Becca rolled her eyes. “Oh, she’ll be fine. Your precious girlfriend just went off the deep end because I told her we slept together last summer.”
“You did what?” I demanded, fighting an almost overpowering urge to shake her violently. “But that’s a lie!”
“Whatever, Tris.” She sighed. “We practically did—before you freaked out. It’s splitting hairs.”
“We did not even come close, Becca!”
“We had our shirts off—”
“And our pants on.”
“Jill needed to know about you, Tristen,” Becca said, trying to sound grimly serious. But she couldn’t quite keep a smile from slipping across her lips. “I did her a favor.”
I glared down at the perky, malicious little cheerleader, seething with anger. I could tell, just from the smug look on her face, that Becca had told Jill we’d had sex to hurt her. Or maybe to break Jill and me apart. Because Jill would split hairs. For me—not some uncontrollable beast but me—to have slept with one of her few friends, that, of all the heinous things I’d done, might hurt her the most deeply. Might very well cause Jill to do something reckless and drastic.
I grabbed Becca’s arm. “Where is she?”
Becca laughed, knowing that she was about to wound me, too. “She just left—with Todd. They said something about going back to her house.”
God, no. Not Flick . . .
I released Becca and began to shove through the crowd. But she caught my wrist. “What?” I snapped, whirling on her. “What now?”
I expected her to deliver a cruel, final barb. However, she didn’t sound mean, only hurt, as she asked, “Tristen, why Jill? Why not me?”
“You told me to get away from you,” I said, confused.
“But you don’t even look,” she said, ego clearly bruised. “You only look at Jill.”
Becca was wrong to come between me and Jill simply because I’d hurt her pride, but I ended up saying, “I’m sorry.”
Then I plunged through the crowd and into the night, desperate to get to Jill before Todd got to her. Or vice versa. Honestly I didn’t know who was in greater danger.
Chapter 78
Jill
TODD FLICK THUDS DOWN on to the couch, foolishly believing he’s about to kick a field goal between my legs. I climb onto his lap, and he puts a clumsy hand on my waist. “I knew you wanted this,” he says. “You uptight girls always get crazy for sex sooner or later.”
“Oh, Todd,” I sigh. Such a pretty, pretty corpse he will be. And not much stupider in death than in life! I swing my legs around to straddle him. “Pretty, pretty Todd!”
“You’re weird, Jekel,” he says, eyes glazing over with the lust that will make him vulnerable. “But I kinda like it.”
“What about Darcy?” I pout. “Won’t she be mad?”
“I’m sick of that bitch,” Todd confides, clasping my hips with both hands and pressing me tighter against him. “She’s too bossy.”
“I won’t boss you, Toddy,” I promise. “You’ll be the man with me.” The dead man.
“No, you’ll do what I say, right?” Todd says, closing his eyes and licking his lips as I rub against him. “Whatever I say, right?”
“Oh, yes . . .”
Just as I lean forward prepared to kiss his disgusting lips and endure his fat tongue inside my mouth, the door erupts open and in bursts Tristen Hyde. The guy I really want.
Right on cue.
Chapter 79
Tristen
ALTHOUGH I KNEW that the girl writhing against Todd Flick wasn’t really Jill, the scene in the Jekel’s living room made me want to puke, or perhaps kill someone. And because I could never harm Jill—not any
