The Wise and the Wicked

by Rebecca Podos

  As she drove, she blocked out stray dark thoughts by pretending this was an ordinary day: that she had cut school just because and was headed to the mini mall in Hop River, where she would sniff every soap bar in the body store for show as she palmed a bath bomb into her pocket. She turned on the end of the latest episode of Solving for X-traordinary and half listened, fingers jumping on the steering wheel.

  I stand on the platform before the people of Wethersfield, the hangman’s rope rough around my neck, my wrists aching in their bonds. The heat of the day beats upon me, and though I’ve got far bigger problems, I pray for the soft breath of a breeze. Anything else seems too much to ask for, even in my final moments.

  But then I hear it. My name, my real name, bellowed from the back of the gathered crowd. I search for the voice and smile—it’s handsome Josiah, sandy hair undone from its leather binding, billowing around his flushed face as he claws his way through the masses to get to me, his hunting musket clutched in one hand. It ignites a spark of hope in me, however faint, though I don’t know if he’ll reach me in time; between him and me are so many people, their faces twisted by rage, and suspicion, and fear.

  They are an ugly sight, and if these are my last moments, then I am determined that this view will not be my last before I die.

  Instead, I picture the places I have been, the whole wide world with its plains and rivers and forests, its bridges and roads and skyscrapers. I’ve stood in the shadow of the Great Sphinx of Giza, ridden a horse through a gunfight in the Wild West, attended the crowning of King Louis XVI. I’ve known people everywhere, and some of them have been monstrous, and some have been heroes, but most have been every natural and heartbreaking and breathtaking shade in between.

  Josiah calls out to me, nearer now, caught up behind the first row of townsfolk, but I close my eyes, and smile. I think of the poster that hangs in my lab back home: the image of Earth from Apollo 17 called “the Blue Marble.” The planet with its white swirls of weather, its continents pressed flat with distance, and its oceans, vast and deep and interconnected, one big body of water beyond time, without end.

  This is the view I choose.

  The end-of-episode song played as always, familiar bars of Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time.” But instead of the teaser for next week’s episode, the voice of Kerrigan Black returned:

  Hello, listeners. I have some sad news for you—this week’s episode of Solving for X-traordinary will be the last.

  Wait . . . what?

  You all might know that I, your friendly host, Jessica Keating, and Sabine Durand, my co-writer for X-traordinary, started this podcast two years ago, together, with borrowed recording equipment in the corner of the little bedroom we shared. Unfortunately, our relationship has come to an end, and it was just too hard to think about either of us continuing Kerrigan’s adventures alone. We have to move on, to other podcasts, separate bedrooms, and separate lives.

  When we thought about finishing Kerrigan’s story, there were a few possibilities. With a final explosion, we could bring her home at last. Or we could have her killed. Or she could continue her journey, finding romance and solving equations across time and space. We talked about all of these endings, even when it was painful to talk to each other. All of them seemed possible, but none of them seemed perfect.

  So listeners, after one last adventure in Connecticut, this is where we leave you: with a choice, just like Kerrigan. The story ends how you want it to, because it isn’t just mine and Sabine’s. It’s yours, too. You’ve been here with us all along, and now, you’re a part of the story.

  It belongs to you.

  Ruby swerved into the nearest parking lot outside the pink brick storefront of Vacuums Plus, hands trembling on the steering wheel. It was over; Solving for X-traordinary was all over, and it was ridiculous to be heartbroken by the passing of a podcast, the end of a relationship she hadn’t known existed. But when she ground a palm into her stinging eyes, it came away damp.

  Kerrigan couldn’t just be gone. . . .

  Text after text chimed in the silence, loud enough that she jumped in her seat. Ruby picked up her phone, trying to focus her blurred vision on the screen.

  Cece: Oooooh, Dov just asked what kind of soup you like so he can bring you some <3 <3 <3

  Cece: I said split pea

  Cece: It’s a surprise though, shhhh

  Cece: P.S. hope you’re feeling ok!

  Ruby’s cheeks felt hot and tight under the dried salt trails of her pointless tears, but there was a cold flutter in her chest, like the first snowflakes of the season that melt before you can catch hold of them. It wasn’t the stirrings of her Chernyavsky senses, she knew. Cece was fine, and healthy, and happily unaware. This feeling wasn’t mystical at all.

  It was doubt.

  The ritual wouldn’t kill Talia. Maybe Polina had been a murderer, or maybe she’d been a survivor. Possibly both. But her mother was . . . well, she was her mother. She smelled like mint, and wore winter hats with pom-poms, and folded colorful paper squares into butterflies to tuck inside her daughter’s lunchbox. She had, anyways, before she’d left. And perhaps she’d changed, grown stronger with age and absence, or perhaps she’d never been as scared or weak or warm as Ruby believed. But Evelina only wanted to help Ruby, not to kill anybody. Talia would be fine, because her mother had promised, even if Ruby wasn’t sure how her mother could know for certain. She must know that Ruby would never forgive herself for hurting Cece’s girlfriend, Dov’s sister.

  But again, the cold quiver of doubt in the hollow of her chest.

  With enough time, Ruby might rewrite the whole story. She could see it. In her own tale, Ruby would be the innocent heroine Vasilisa once more, battered by circumstance, alone in the woods without a choice, without hope. Talia, the ugly, bitter daughter of the woman who wished her dead. And that evil, iron-toothed witch in the woods would be . . . complicated. A wise old goddess of death and regeneration, helping the pure of heart (Ruby) and devouring the wicked (anybody who wasn’t Ruby). It seemed impossible, but with a few months or years—years Ruby would have, if all went according to plan—she might come to believe it all. And that a price which once seemed unpayable had been worth it.

  But if that came to pass, what would stop her from paying it again and again, as Polina had done? Maybe her great-aunt had done it to keep the family safe, to protect them from anybody that might come for them. But what about the families she’d destroyed?

  Maybe that was the true cost of time. What you lost, when you took life from others to keep yourself alive: the knowledge that those lives mattered, too, even if they belonged to your enemies. You lost what was right in you. What was good in you. What was human.

  Ruby didn’t want to die—she really, really, really didn’t—but she couldn’t let that happen, to herself or to her mother, who was prepared to risk anything to help her.

  So she would go to Polina’s and tell Evelina the ritual was off. The fight was canceled.

  She shifted the car into gear, only to throw it back into park, rocking her head against the seat in disgust. She didn’t want to hurt Talia, not truly, but as Talia herself would testify, Ruby wasn’t Vasilisa. She wasn’t pure of heart. She definitely wasn’t a hero. And if she went into the woods alone, would she really stop her mother? When it came to it, would she want to?

  She grabbed her phone out of the cup holder where she’d dropped it.

  Ruby: Can you get out of school?

  Ruby: I’ll come pick you up

  Ruby: It’s an emergency

  Ruby: I need you, please

  A full five minutes later, the answer came.

  Cece: OK

  She almost sobbed with relief. Cece Baker was the only person on earth she trusted to walk into those woods and come out clean on the other side, even if it meant spilling every secret. Even if she would realize that she and Ruby were not the same, that she hadn’t known Ruby at all, and now that she did, would hate her forever.

&nb
sp; • Thirty-Three •

  “Say something,” Ruby begged. She had told Cece everything. The whole truth. Who the Volkovs were—who Dov and Talia were—and how she’d kept their secret from everybody but Evelina. How she’d been lying to Dov to learn about their family. That her mother had been gathering supplies and secrets from a psychic in Cape May, while Ruby had stolen Talia’s bracelet for a ritual to save herself at Talia’s expense, without stopping to fully understand the cost. Without caring—at least, not caring enough—until now. “I’m . . . I’m really sorry.”

  “For what?” Cece asked. She’d had her face turned to the passenger window since halfway through Ruby’s story, listening without once looking at her.

  “For—I mean, I should’ve told you.”

  “I know why you didn’t,” Cece said, still without looking, her voice oddly dull-sounding. “You were trying to save yourself. You wanted a life. I get that. I want it, too, and my Time is much better than yours.”

  “That’s not true,” Ruby hurried to correct her. “I never said that. I wanted this to work for both of us.”

  Cece swiveled to face her at last, and Ruby wished she hadn’t. The look in her narrowed green eyes . . . like she was seeing Ruby for the first time, and was disappointed by the view. “Then how could you lie to me? I thought we were working together. But you didn’t tell me about Talia, and she’s . . . she’s my girlfriend, Ruby. And she isn’t just that, or your boyfriend’s sister. I don’t care if she’s a Volkov or whatever. She’s a person. Your mother could’ve killed a real person.”

  “But I didn’t know—”

  “You didn’t want to. You trusted Evelina over those of us who’ve actually been here for you. Have you told Dahlia or Ginger anything about this? Or do they not matter either, now that your mother is back?”

  She was right, of course she was. It was no less than Ruby had realized herself. So why, even as her ears burned with shame, did she want to scream?

  “I know it was wrong, okay? I fucked up, I know I did! I thought—I thought I was keeping you safe by lying, but . . . I just really didn’t want you to stop me. And you would have, because you’re so much better than me. You’re the good one, and I’m the bad one. That’s always been true. That’s why I need you to help me unfuck it all up.”

  After a long moment, Cece said gently, “You’re not bad. That’s why you know you can’t do this, Bebe. Not this way. It’s wrong.”

  “I know.” Grinding away hot tears with her palm, she focused on the road in front of them. Though they were parked, she didn’t dare glance over at Cece; if there was disgust, or hatred, or pity in her eyes, Ruby couldn’t stand to see it. “I am sorry. Really, really sorry. You’re my best . . . everything, and I wish I was better for you. But that’s why I need your help. You can help me be better. We’ll just go to Polina’s, and I’ll tell Mom I don’t want this. And Talia will be safe. It’ll be okay, like it never happened.”

  Cece turned back to face the window again. “Just drive. We need to hurry.”

  And, like the ivy that climbed the stones of 54 Ivory Road, Ruby felt a tendril of fear creep up her heart.

  When they got to Polina’s, they clawed their way up the gravel driveway, still a muddy Slip ’N Slide, until they stood on the doorstep, panting and shivering. Ruby jabbed her stolen keys toward the lock, but her mother must have been waiting, and she opened the door.

  Ruby, she expected, but her cousin’s presence took Evelina by surprise. Her lips formed a perfect O. “Cece, look at you!”

  “H-hi, Aunt Ev.” Cece breathed raggedly as she straightened, cheeks pink and damp.

  “Well . . . let’s all get inside. I guess we’ve got some talking to do.” She looked questioningly at Ruby as they passed, but by the time they’d kicked off their boots and peeled off their coats, her mother was warm and welcoming once more. Today, she wore the same buttercup-yellow cardigan she had to Polina’s Reading, the locket cold-looking against her neck, exposed by her simple ponytail. Her khakis were rolled up to show tennis socks with pink heels—they looked like they belonged to a little girl.

  Meanwhile, Ruby and Cece were wet messes. The galaxy tights her cousin had worn to school were soaked through by their climb, the stars blotted out. Her bright purple skirt was mud splattered, and her precariously contained bun unraveled in white-blond streamers down her back. Ruby’s jeans were mud-blackened, and she was sweating through the armpits of her cheeseburger baseball tee.

  That’s when she realized it wasn’t just their efforts outside, but the old house itself making her overwarm. For once, the temperature bordered on tropical, and when they went into the great room, she understood why.

  Logs crackled in the fireplace, but that wasn’t all. Set on the floor in the four corners of the room, there were bowls of beaten metal, propped on squat, four-legged stands. With a start, Ruby recognized them from the storage shelves in the tower. She edged into the room and peered into the closest, filled with smoldering coals, aglow but not aflame. Settled among them, a small kitchen pot, water simmering inside. The smell wafting on the steam was bitter and sharp, and strangely pointed leaves churned in the waters.

  The furniture had all been pushed back to the walls, so all that remained was the coffee table, now in the dead center between the four bowls. The spread on top was familiar enough from the ritual in her mother’s motel room: a black cloth set with burning candles, a bowl of speckled brown eggs, a plate of blini, and a teapot on a mat. There was also a pile of white pebbles instead of corn kernels, which she recognized from the apothecary cabinet, and another mason jar of cloudy water, bits of twig and root inside.

  And, twinkling against the black cloth between the candles, Talia’s bracelet.

  Her cousin stood frozen in the doorway.

  “I wasn’t expecting you, Cece,” Evelina said behind her.

  Cece jumped, stumbling nervously down the step into the great room.

  “I asked her to come,” Ruby hurried to say. “For, um, moral support.”

  “I know you’re nervous, zerkal’tse—”

  “She’s not nervous.” Cece found her voice, stronger than Ruby’s. “She doesn’t want to do this.”

  Her mother looked to her. “Is this true?”

  Ruby swallowed, nodding. “We—I just came here to tell you.”

  “I can see we have a lot to talk about.” Evelina frowned. “Can I make you girls some tea?”

  Ruby glanced in the direction of the pot on the table.

  Her mother laughed. “Not that kind, I promise. Honestly, I don’t have a taste for Russian tea anymore. Too bitter. Celestial Seasonings, only.” Then she laid a gentle hand on Cece’s flushed cheek, running it down her unspooled hair. “It truly is good to see you, plemyannitsa.”

  Once she’d left them for the kitchen, Cece skirted the edge of the room anxiously, staying as far from the loaded table as possible. She perched on the very edge of a sofa shoved up against the wall by the fireplace, and Ruby joined her. Though her cousin hadn’t said a thing to her since the car, hadn’t forgiven her or anything like that, she slid her hand over Ruby’s on the couch cushion. Her gentle squeeze announced: Keep going. You can do this.

  Ruby turned her hand palm up, lacing her fingers through Cece’s.

  They sat that way until her mother came back with two steaming cups in the familiar podstakannik, one of which was still buried in Ruby’s underwear drawer. “Black Cherry Berry all right?” She handed them their cups and settled into Polina’s old armchair, pushed up against the couch. “When I left, Cece, you were a quiet, round little thing. And now you’re a woman, like my Ruby. You’ve had your own Time, I guess?”

  Cece looked sideways to Ruby, then back. “Yeah. Yes I did.”

  “And do you know about Ruby’s Time?”

  “I do.”

  “Then you know what I’m trying to do. All I want is to protect my daughter, the way Annie would want to protect you. Do you understand?”

  �
��We know, Mom,” Ruby cut in. “You love me, and you’re just trying to help, and that . . . it means everything to me, seriously.”

  “But Ruby doesn’t want this kind of help,” Cece spoke up. “You can’t hurt Talia.”

  “The Volkov girl?” Evelina studied Cece. “She means something to you, doesn’t she?”

  Her cousin flushed, cheeks hot as the coals in the braziers.

  “It’s not just about Talia,” Ruby protested. “I know they’re our enemies. And I know you think it’s worth it, if they die and I live . . . but, Mom, I think we got the price wrong. I don’t think it’s about risking our lives. I think it’s . . . fuck.” Ruby fisted her free hand in her hair. “I don’t know if there’s such a thing as a soul. I mean, scientifically, there isn’t, and maybe Carl Sagan wouldn’t approve,” Ruby rambled. “Except that he thought all life was precious, from the cosmic perspective, just because it was life . . . I’m saying that if there is something, whatever it is in us that thinks life is precious no matter who it belongs to, I don’t want either of us to lose that.”

  “I see.” Her mother pressed a hand to her lips, sphinxlike.

  “You said there’s always a choice,” Ruby continued, when it seemed like her mother wasn’t going to say anything more. “That’s the way it works, even for Chernyavskys. And this is mine.” Ruby set her chin, willing it not to wobble as this last hope extinguished, treacherous though it was.

  Her mother glanced back and forth between them. “You girls.” She looked down and laughed to herself, soft and rumbling and familiar. “You’re both so beautiful. And so young. It’s hard to believe I was like that, but I was, once. I thought I knew exactly how the world worked, and where I fit into it.” She gazed into the fireplace, then stood and strode to the firewood rack beside it. Stooping gracefully, she fed another log into the fire, though the flames had yet to burn low, and it was still so warm in the room, Ruby’s head swam.

  She set her teacup down on the floor—it was too much, with the steam dampening her face, and the fire, and the heat from the simmering pots. Cece put her cup down, too, looking dizzy.