by Laure Eve
She blinked rapidly.
‘Look,’ she said, her voice sharper. ‘I get it, okay? You have your divorced mother and your father who just up and left you and your council house and your beans on toast for lunch. You need magic because you think that’ll give you control over your life.’
‘Oh my god.’
‘But no one has control,’ she insisted. ‘You’ve got to let it go.’
‘Stop the therapy talk. Please, I can take anything from you but that. The “poor you” pity party when you look at me. Is that why you became friends with me? Charity case?’
Summer looked horrified. ‘No!’
But I could sense the panicked ‘maybe’ lying just underneath her skin. I remembered all the lunchtimes when she’d given me her food, saying she wasn’t hungry or she’d already eaten two breakfasts. What did they see when they looked at me? What did they really see? A poor little powerless ugly duckling they could make over with secrets and magic? The desperate new girl, hanging on their every word, willing to do anything to bask in their sunlight?
Is that what they’d thought of me all this time?
My fury was coming, and with it the fear that was always swept along in its wake, drowning in its tidal wave.
I had to go. Now. Before I let myself think one more thought or say another word. I got up and left Summer’s room, running down the stairs. I heard her call, but I wasn’t going to stop. I couldn’t stop. I walked out the front door this time, posting the key back through the letterbox. It was Thalia’s – it had that amethyst drop dangling from the plaited keychain.
Why did I always cry with my fury? Why couldn’t I be steely, powerful magnificence? What the hell kind of reaction was it to cry when you were angry? My chest felt like a screw was being drilled into it, tightening everything around it, because she just didn’t see it and so I couldn’t explain.
I couldn’t explain because there was no telling what would happen if I tried.
CHAPTER 28
In the morning, Summer was waiting for me outside the school gates.
She stood there, in the way of everyone, the crowd parting around her like a wave around a rock. People talked to her, and she gave them absent smiles. They tried to stop, but two bodies caused a blockage and the complaints behind them began, so they had no choice but to be swept along, away from her. She didn’t even turn her head to watch them go.
She saw me before I saw her. There was no escape.
The crowd had thinned to a trickle by the time I reached the door, but it didn’t stop the stares as I walked up to her, my grip tightening on my bag straps.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, immediately. ‘I’m sorry, okay?’
It was the most awkward apology in the history of humanity. I heard the brittle anger and shame in my voice and cringed.
Her face softened. ‘Don’t be an idiot. It’s fine.’
And then she swept me into a hug.
My nose was buried in her hair. It smelled of liquorice. She was so alive underneath her shirt. I could feel the smooth planes of her back under my hands, the alive, beating warmth of her. Her arms had gone all the way round me, crushing me to her. I wondered what she smelled on me. I wondered if desperation had a smell.
I pulled away.
‘I just got so angry,’ I said haltingly. ‘I didn’t want you to see me like that. I had to leave. I’m not good when I’m angry.’
‘You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry,’ she said in a droll voice. ‘You’re like She-Hulk.’
I tried to laugh.
Summer sighed. ‘God, I’ve had screaming matches with every member of my family recently. I get it.’
She took my hand and pulled me into the building. Stares followed us like spotlights.
‘I said some shitty things to you last night,’ she said, not looking at me. ‘You know we don’t see you as a charity case, right?’
‘Yeah, I know,’ I said, with conviction I didn’t feel.
‘Okay, good. I don’t want to be one of those horrible people who don’t even know their own privilege, you know?’
‘Sure,’ I tried.
I tugged her hand to get her to stop beside my locker, and I popped the door open.
‘So let’s forget it?’ she said, hopefully, and I melted.
‘It’s forgotten,’ I said. ‘Like it never was.’
‘Good,’ she sang, hanging off my locker door.
If only everything in life were that easy.
As I rummaged through my textbooks, I felt her come close to my ear, her voice low. ‘Listen, we could use your help with something.’
Despite everything, my skin tingled in that old familiar anticipation.
‘What is it?’ I murmured.
‘We’ve been trying to get Fen’s memory back.’
Oh, Jesus.
‘We’ve tried every charm we know, and nothing is working,’ she said. ‘I said I thought it was because his brain had blanked it out on purpose, and he just … lost it with me. He just needs some kind of closure, you know? I keep telling him, look, you don’t really want to remember seeing your … you know, drown. How completely heart-stoppingly awful would that be? He’s so angry and devastated. He’s so …’
She stopped. In complete, panicking alarm, I could see her eyes filling with tears.
It wasn’t just Wolf they’d lost that day. Now they were losing Fenrin, too. Thalia was halfway to basket case. Summer was desperately trying to hold them all together, but they were tearing themselves apart. She needed me.
She needed me, and I needed to step up, and screw the consequences. I would take whatever was waiting for me at the end of this. That was what it was to be brave.
‘You were there,’ she said. I looked up at her, sick with sudden adrenalin. ‘I know you left and you don’t remember what happened afterwards, but you saw them together in the cove. I think you’re the missing piece. If we include you in the spell – maybe we could get your memory back, at least? Would that … would that be okay?’
Her eyes flashed past my shoulder, and I heard a voice behind me.
‘Yes, River, would that be okay?’
I’d know that drawl anywhere.
Fenrin moved around me, coming to rest beside Summer.
It was the first time I’d really seen him up close for weeks, and he looked, truth be told, kind of awful. It was easy to romanticise tragedy, like you suddenly transformed into some sort of Byronic hero, sitting in darkened rooms with crystal glasses of whisky, hair tousled and artfully lank from all those sleepless nights staring at the walls and cursing the gods.
Fenrin looked a lot like he’d been doing exactly that. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with red. His hair had dulled to a dirty blond, and his skin was almost grey in places.
I stared at him, too shocked to speak.
‘Yeah,’ he said with a smile. ‘I look like shit, don’t I?’
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
‘So.’ He folded his arms. ‘I hear you saw us that morning in the cove.’
My eyes flickered to Summer. Her whole frame was tense.
‘Um,’ she said. ‘Well, I had to tell him, River. We tell each other stuff.’
‘We tell each other everything,’ Fenrin corrected.
‘You mean, apart from the time we did a spell on Thalia without telling her?’ I said. ‘Apart from the fox heart spell she did against Marcus without telling you? Apart from probably a hundred other things you guys hold back in your hearts like future ammunition?’
I hadn’t meant that to come out. I had meant to think it, not say it.
‘Well, well. You’re so eloquent when you choose to be, aren’t you?’ said Fenrin, sounding amused rather than angry. ‘Don’t stop now, let’s just get it all out in the open. So you saw us. Wolf and me.’
He wasn’t even bothering to keep his voice down. Curious looks were tossed our way.
What was I supposed to say?
‘Go on,’ he goaded. ‘Wh
at did you see?’
His feet digging in the sand. Wolf’s hands on him, holding him down. The way their jeans were dragged down past their hips.
‘What do you mean?’ I said, my cheeks heating.
‘Did you see him die?’
‘Fen,’ Summer warned, his name a humming sound in the back of her throat.
‘Did you?’
‘Of course she didn’t. Leave her alone.’
‘Summer, I love you, but kindly fuck off,’ Fenrin said calmly, and her mouth snapped shut, her eyes hurt. ‘So you don’t remember anything about what happened?’
There was a crowd gathering, listening in. I could feel it round the edges of me.
‘Why are you doing this?’ I stammered out.
Where was the Fenrin who used to pull me to his chest and whisper secrets in my ear, who did a spell with me in the woods to save his sister, to save his family? Who laughed and flirted with me as easily as breathing? There was no trace of him in this glass-eyed boy. This boy who looked one step away from an awful precipice.
‘You’ve been avoiding us,’ he said. ‘It’s been weeks since you’ve come to the house. Summer said you could barely talk to her on the phone, but at least you talk to her. When you pass me in the corridors, god, never mind talking, you won’t even look at me. Why?’
My gaze slid to Summer. She was stricken. Stricken but mute. However reluctant she was about how this was playing out, she was not going to stop it.
I guess I understood that. I would always come in second to them.
‘I just … feel bad,’ I said.
‘Why?’
‘Do I need to spell it out? Because of Wolf. I liked him,’ I whispered, and the awful truth of it hit me. I had liked him. Sullen, intriguing, unexpectedly kind Wolf.
‘So did I,’ Fenrin said, nodding. A horrific understatement. How could my pain compare to his? ‘Which is why I’m like this, River, I think you can get that. And I think you know why I’m pushing you. Because I think I know why you’ve been avoiding us. You do remember, don’t you?’
I was a maddened, fluttering moth, trying to escape, attracted back to the burning light, trying to escape, back to the light, away, back.
I hadn’t prepared for this. It should have felt momentous. My full confession. Here they were, waiting for me to speak the truth at last, and all I could feel was the burn at the back of my throat that told me I wanted to be sick.
‘Yes,’ I said, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Summer recoil.
‘What did you see?’ said Fenrin, his voice flat and calm.
‘I saw you there, both of you, in the cove. And you were so close to the water’s edge, but he was closer. You’d left him behind and you were coming up to me, to talk, maybe to explain. I don’t know. And this wave …’ I swallowed. ‘This wave, it came out of nowhere. It came and it knocked him off his feet. Then he comes back up, and for a second I think it’s fine. But it’s not. Because before he can get out of the water, another wave comes, bigger than the first. And it rolls over him. And when it pulls away, he’s gone. He’s just gone.’
‘Oh my god,’ said Summer, and her voice was tearful. It tore at me.
Fenrin put his arm around her and hugged her to his side. His voice, when it came out, was low and vicious.
‘Did you know that his parents don’t believe the police? They think he ran away. They think he’s still alive.’ Fenrin’s eyes half closed, as if he was in pain. ‘I thought he was still alive, too. Even though I knew, the more time went by, that it was impossible. Every day I’ve been waiting for him to come back. You could have saved us that.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ Summer choked out. ‘Why would you keep that from us?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’ Panicking, I ran through explanations in my head – but there was no reason I could give them that would save this. ‘Everything was so messed up. And with the police – none of you remembered anything except me, so I figured it was best if I didn’t, either. It would have looked weird if it was only me that remembered, and I was there when it happened. I was scared. The whole thing was so … it all happened so fast.’
I was losing them. I could see it. I was powerless to stop it.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Fenrin shook his head. ‘It’s too late for that.’
I watched him walk away, Summer pressed against his side.
I watched them walk away from me, and did nothing.
CHAPTER 29
I found the first one hanging from the handle of my locker.
It was a tiny doll made of sticks of wood, no bigger than my thumb, a shapeless piece of orange cotton wrapped around it like a dress. Little black daubs for eyes. A piece of string around its neck, the other end tied to the locker handle like a noose.
At first I thought it might be a bizarre gift from Summer. A secret message of some kind.
It was a message, but not a good one.
Then I came into form room one day and found the chair I always sat on wrapped tightly in reams of black ribbon.
I knew exactly what that one meant.
Every morning, in those few nothing seconds before I woke up properly, my life was a blank slate, and I was just a girl with everything before me. Then I remembered the way things really were and I started to feel sick.
My mother’s way of noticing was to ask me again if I needed to go back on the meds I’d been taking just after Dad disappeared. I didn’t have the strength to get angry with her – I knew it was only her way of trying to help me. I told her no. I didn’t want to shut everything out like I had back then. Maybe it was dangerous, but I wanted to feel this, every minute of it.
She didn’t press. She never pressed. I couldn’t stop going to school, though – she worked nights now, which meant she was in the house during the day, and there was nowhere in this tiny, claustrophobic town to go without running the risk of being spotted cutting classes.
Every morning I walked up to the school gates, as late as I could make it without getting into trouble, so no one would be there to start whispering when I went past. I went to my locker, scanning for a telltale flash of colour or a shape that meant something had been stuck to it or hung from it. More often than not nothing was there. That was the worst thing about it. They were so irregular I could never know when I’d find something, so every minute of every day was spent drenched in expectant dread.
I tried to pass Summer notes in the classes we took together, like before. The first one I watched her read, then screw up and drop on the floor where anyone could pick it up, like there was nothing I could say that deserved to be private. The next couple I left in her locker. I never got anything back from her.
Twice after school I made the trip to the Grace house. If I just turned up there, she’d have no choice but to see me. And maybe the sight of me would click together comfortably in her head, reminding her of all that had gone before, all the things we had done in that place together, how well I fitted in there – all that was too good to throw away.
The first time I got to the top of their lane and then turned back, nervous. The second time I got as far as the front door before suddenly realising I was drenched in sweat, my heart trying to punch its way out of my chest. Rather than keel over on their doorstep, I retreated, pulling my phone out, fumbling. My thumb hovered over the 9 button. But as soon as I reached the top of their lane, I was all right.
I felt like eyes watched me walk away. I clutched my phone tightly all the way home on the bus, but the feeling had gone, and I was too afraid of my own treacherous body to try again.
At lunch, Summer was either completely surrounded at a crowded table, or she wasn’t even in the cafeteria, outside on the courts or anywhere else. On those days she was obviously in the copse, and I always noticed the people missing along with her – Gemma, Lou, Niral – though Niral seemed to be ill a lot at the moment, off school here and there.
For a secon
d, I let myself feel shamefully triumphant about that – maybe my spell was finally working. But a binding didn’t make people ill; it just stopped them from doing what you wanted them to stop doing. Niral was likely spearheading this entire campaign against me – the goddamn mastermind of it. She often stared at me in the corridors, nudging her friends as I walked past. Once I saw her near my locker. She caught sight of me, stepped back and disappeared round a corner fast. When I got there, the dial of my padlock was covered in some kind of oil. I was too afraid to touch it, and had to make do without my textbooks for the rest of the day. Her illness was total coincidence, the universe mocking me. My spell on her had failed. My spell on Fenrin had failed. Our attempts to break the curse had failed.
I would never be a witch.
A crow feather placed carefully under my chair in history class.
Clove rubbed into my coat so it stank of it for days.
Broken eggshell pieces poured into the open slot of my bag when I was turned the other way.
A twisting symbol scrawled onto my locker with a Sharpie.
Every single thing was a form of warding, binding, protection.
Protection against me, not for me.
I waited for a tingling sensation, or something like mild suffocation, something that would tell me their charms were working. But nothing like that ever came. I had bad dreams, but I’d always had bad dreams, and I couldn’t honestly say if that was them or me.
I started incessantly calling the Grace house. I couldn’t stop myself. If they’d just let me explain.
But no one ever answered.
*
The noise woke me from one bad dream into another.
That wasn’t my mother’s voice. It was all smooth, with sweet notes.
And there – a man’s low burr, words indistinct.
I cracked an eye open and peered at my alarm clock. Mum had work friends round sometimes, but it was early Saturday morning, which seemed like a strange time for a visit.
Or maybe it was the police again. Maybe the Graces had told them that I’d lied about what I remembered.