by Joanna Wiebe
“You’re better than I could hope for, Anne. I connected to your spirit that day, but I fell for you as you are, here and now. And I’ll think of you for the rest of my existence. But you deserve so much more than this.”
My stomach knots. “Is this because you’re worried about my dad replacing your dad? Because I would never let that happen!”
“Shh!” Glancing at the stairs, he sighs. “My dad will die an old man under Villicus’s rule. Even if I begged and pleaded for him to let me die, my dad’s too guilty about the car accident to give up on me, and Villicus needs him too badly to let that happen.”
Foolishly, I’d allowed a tiny spark of hope to ignite. Hope that Ben could live. Hope that I could wake up in California, graduate, and find a way to be with him. I can almost hear that spark fizzling now, can almost see it fade out.
“You need to worry about you and your dad,” he says. “Not about me.”
Feeling tears rising again, I drop my eyes and swallow down everything I’m feeling.
“Villicus wants something from you, Anne. Sure, he wants your dad, but I know in my soul that he wants you even more. I have no idea what’s motivating him, but I’m sure that he’d be happier to have you dead and trapped at Cania than any alternative. Even if it means sending one of his peons out to your hospital just to—”
“Slit my throat? Smother me with a pillow?”
“Something less direct,” he says, releasing his grip on me. “I’ve done a lot of reading on the subject. And although I don’t think Villicus or his lot are allowed to take human life, just as they can’t create it from scratch, I do believe Villicus could be hatching a plan right now to end your life. That’s why my dad called, to warn you guys.”
“No one would kill me.”
“Any of his employees would try to. The faculty. The secretaries. The housemoms and lunch ladies. All of them. They’d do something that would cause your death. They’re all in his control. He’s not just a man to them. He’s their king.”
“Ben, he is just a man. Evil, true. Insane, definitely. Paranormally gifted, yes. But only a man.”
“Explain his power to vivify us,” he whispers hoarsely, shifting closer to me and searching my face desperately. “He smells like fire. His glare is soulless. When he touches you, it’s like being thrust into a nightmare. He makes us sign ourselves over to him in blood. Blood, Anne. He gets sick thrills out of forcing a man to tattoo his forehead. He builds us a beautiful cafeteria knowing the vivified don’t have appetites. And Garnet offered him her soul if he would give her twenty-four years with me on this island.”
That stuns me.
I shake my head, unable to believe it. “She traded her soul?”
He nods.
“Okay,” I concede. “Villicus has a fascination with evil.”
“No, he is evil. Can’t you see? Hell is empty. All the devils are here.”
“If that’s true,” I blast, “then if he wants me dead, if he wants my dad to work for him, nothing will stop him. I’m as good as dead. That’s it.”
A rustle outside startles us both. We pause, and, in the stillness, with the rain pelting the roof, I hear our hearts thumping.
“Not necessarily,” Ben says quietly. “Don’t think I haven’t thought this through. We could force you to wake up again. Is your dad a reasonable man?”
“Aside from the fact he thinks Villicus is a godsend.”
“Do you think you could convince him to sell the funeral home?”
“It was my mom’s family business. I don’t know. Maybe.” I start working through his plan in my head. “So you think that if my dad gets disconnected from his network of rich mourners, Villicus might find us less interesting.”
“It’s worth a shot. Until we can figure out what Villicus wants with you. It might buy us some time.”
I nod but, when it occurs to me that Ben will be trapped here forever with Villicus, I change my mind. “You would just stay here? Trapped?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll have the memory of two weeks with you to keep me company.” A slow smile spreads across his perfect face, changing something inside me, driving home exactly why I can’t just turn my back on him. “Let me do this for you. Let me protect you as I couldn’t protect Jeannie. Anne, I’ve been here for five years for all the wrong reasons. Let me spend the next fifty here for the right ones.”
“Fifty!” I try to keep my voice low, but it’s hard. “What about this? I wake up right now, tell my dad to run away so he’s protected, and kill myself. Then come back here. Where you are. We can sort things out from there.”
“That’s not even on the table,” he stammers. “Not when you still have a chance at a real life. You’re talking about killing yourself. Suicide.”
“Pulling the plug,” I counter. “Euthanasia. A mercy killing. I’ve been in a coma for years. If it weren’t for the hospital, I’d be dead anyway.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“Just be honest, then. Just tell me it’s because you don’t want me to be here with you.” I square my shoulders. “Not because you’re trying to be noble.”
With a short laugh, he leans back and watches me. “Crazy girl.”
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“I want you to leave only because I know what’s here for you. I’ve had a long time to learn about everything on Wormwood, and none of it’s good.” His hand strokes my arm again. Softly. Then with pressure. “I only want what’s good for you. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“You’re good for me.”
“I’m terrible for you. The worst,” he adds forcefully.
And just as our eyes meet, before I can breathe another breath, he thrusts me against my headboard, holding my gaze as he moves my whole body with absolute ferocity. My heart pounds. The length of his body presses against mine as our tangled bodies stretch across my bed. His hands lock my arms in place. His lips are so close. The anticipation. The all-consuming, heart-stopping anticipation.
“You came back for me, risking your life,” he growls. “That’s my fault.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I gasp.
“I should have left you alone the moment I realized you were A.M. You wouldn’t be considering euthanasia if I had.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I turned Garnet against you, Anne. Don’t tell me that doesn’t matter. If you were to stay, she would do anything to keep you from becoming valedictorian.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
His eyes burn as he rattles off the many ways he thinks he’s wronged me. But his lips are so near. And his beauty, overwhelming from a distance, is intoxicating up close, making my mind hazy and driving logic, reason, fear—everything but the desire to be as close and as connected as possible to him—into a distant realm.
Still gripping my arms, he shakes his head. “I called you dumb.”
I pause. “Okay,” I whisper, smiling. “That matters.”
His soft lips finally brush mine, promising more, but he pulls away. With my pulse racing, I try to reorient myself, try to make sense of what that was. He looks mystified, torn even. And then I realize he’s listening for something. Slowly, he brings his finger to my lips. His eyes dart back and forth as we listen. The cottage is creaky at the best of times, and the wind and hail against the side of the house aren’t helping. But then I notice it. A more deliberate creaking. Unnatural creaking.
“Teddy’s back,” Ben whispers. “I have to go.”
Pausing again, we both hear another groan. Sounds like it’s coming from the landing on the second floor. Which means someone’s at the bottom of these old attic stairs. Just outside my door. Teddy. Maybe with Villicus. And they’re getting closer, approaching tentatively, as if they know I’m awake again and not alone.
“Play dead,” Ben says, smirking. “When Teddy’s gone, come over to my place, okay? I’m sure my dad can help us figure out a way to rouse you awake back home.”
Another
creak. Is that someone’s hand on my doorknob? My eyes widen. I recline on the bed, pulling the covers up as Ben starts away. He watches the staircase. So do I. From where we are, we can just see the top of the door. It’s still closed. He shimmies the window, which gives, and looks back at me.
“Come over the moment you can,” he whispers. “I’d like to say good-bye properly.”
The window slides up, and he’s gone, creeping down my rooftop the same way he must have crept in when he left that book on my bed.
A squeak interrupts my thoughts. Someone is opening my bedroom door. Teddy? Villicus? Both? My heart pounds madly as I watch the shadows contract near my door, as a thin sliver of light replaces the darkness. I squeeze my eyelids shut. A faint scuffle on the stairs. And another. The soft pad of feet on my floorboards. It sounds like there’s only one person. But there could be two. They cross the foot of my bed and stand at my bedside table. Look down at me. I can feel their eyes, feel my heart thumping so loudly, there can be no doubt in their minds that I’m very much alive, back from California. I can only hope they’re seeing what I want them to see. The signs of sleep. My heavy breathing. My eyelids twitching as if I’m mid-dream. Calm, sleeping girl with no concerns that she is the latest target of a madman. Of pure evil.
The person pushes my arm, shoving me awake, and I brace myself to be thrown down the stairs again as I open my eyes.
Gigi stares down at me. She is alone. Her hair is wild. Her eyes are bloodshot. She reeks of booze. I’d be relieved to see her if she didn’t look so feral.
“When I die,” she says, her tone flat, “throw my body off a cliff. I don’t want to be cremated.”
I nod, keeping my gaze fixed on her.
“Cremation is so permanent. I like to think my body might float out to sea, spend a little time there, and float back again one day. Then I’ll be reborn as the perfect version of myself. The beauty I once was.”
With a raspy final breath and nothing more, she recedes. A creak of the stairs. And the closing of my bedroom door.
Like a tightly wound spring released, I pop out of bed. Gigi’s words, spoken quietly, scream about the power Villicus will have if he keeps my vial in his possession. Waking from my coma and getting my dad to quit the business is good, but it’s not enough. Not if Villicus wants more from me and my dad than we know.
Nothing has ever been so clear to me as what I feel right now. What I know right now. And that is this: I need to get my vial. Gigi may be okay with the randomness of waves determining if she is or isn’t vivified here, but I can’t risk anyone having control of my destiny but me. Even if it separates me from Ben; I know I won’t let us be forever parted.
“My vial or bust,” I whisper, stuffing my hair into a quick bun, pulling on my shoes, slipping on my school cardigan. I shove my hands into my cardigan pockets. And there I feel it. Like someone put it there for me.
I pull it out. The key to the closet off Valedictorian Hall. I forgot to put it back today when I ran from Teddy. What follows can only be described as an epiphany.
Valedictorian Hall is kept locked for a reason. The plaque outside the hall—I read it once, thinking it was a word game. What did the rubbed letters spell again? It started with the word via, but then it got messy. Could it have been vials?
I’ll find out soon enough. That’s where I’m headed.
As I jimmy the window up again, I glimpse the book Ben left for me; it’s open on my dresser. Doctor Faustus. I scoop it up and glance at the highlighted section on the page:
MEPHISTOPHELES
That I shall wait on Faustus whilst he lives,
So he will buy my service with his soul.
FAUSTUS
Already Faustus hath hazarded that for thee.
MEPHISTOPHELES
But, Faustus, thou must bequeath it solemnly,
And write a deed of gift with thine own blood;
For that security craves great Lucifer.
If thou deny it, I will back to hell.
As I read, I recall the words Teddy shouted that first day, when he and Villicus were pushing me to sign my forms in blood: “Thou must bequeath it solemnly!” And I recognize the final line—“If thou deny it, I will back to hell”—which I’d seen in Ben’s notebook, at the bottom of one of his sketches. Both phrases spoken by Mephistopheles, prince of Darkness, the demon who took Faustus’s soul…
I throw the window up. Holding onto the ledge, I teeter out onto the roof’s slick surface as rain continues down and freezes instantly. How Ben navigated this, I don’t know. And I don’t have time to think through every step. Plus broken bones heal fast here, right?
So I let go.
Feel my body slip through a cold blast of air.
And land in a heap on the ground, something cracking.
As I stagger to my feet, I hear a gun fire inside Gigi’s cottage and look up. Briefly, I think that perhaps Gigi came up to my room to shoot me. But I know that’s not true. I know how unhappy she was. And I know now that her speech only moments ago was not merely the rambling of an old drunk. She needed to escape Villicus’s hold on her—on her entire enslaved village—as much as I do. But rather than dragging her body to sea, as she wanted, I run.
To the school. To Valedictorian Hall. To find and destroy my vial before Villicus, evil incarnate, gets me.
twenty-five
STRANGER THAN FICTION
IT’S BLACK OUT, WET, ICY COLD. THE ROAD IS SLICK, AND rain pours.
Bounding along at midnight, I realize that once Teddy knows I’m gone, I’ll have maybe half a second before Villicus tracks me down. And I’d better be damn ready to get out of here then. That means I’ll need to have my vial in hand. And a solid plan to destroy it—whether burning it like Molly was burned or throwing it off the island like Villicus threw Lotus’s and like Gigi, who may already be vivified in her cottage, wanted for her body.
“Say good-bye to Ben,” I tell myself, choking up as my fists cut through sheets of slushy rain.
Rain cascades over my face and clothes, but even if it didn’t, I’d be chilled to the bone with the thought of whom I’m abandoning Ben to. The more I think about it—and I really shouldn’t think about it—Villicus can only be some otherworldly evil being. As unfathomable as that is. Which means this is no fairy tale. And I am no hero, protected by the goodness of her intentions, en route to slay a common villain. I’m just a half-dead kid trying to outsmart a man who has powers over life and death. If I’m not smart, I’ll be dead before I know it.
With my pulse pounding like a villager’s drum, I arrive, chest heaving, at the enormous locked doors of Valedictorian Hall. I fly toward the plaque I noticed last week, shove the vines aside, and let my eyes skip over the missing letters:
-aled-ctori-n, you shine, you exce-,
Now to each of your peer-, bid a blessed f—well
From this isle of -ope to success, do proce-d,
Eve- active, ever after, with endl-ss Godspeed.
“Vials are here,” I piece together.
But my stomach quickly sinks. Why are the letters rubbed away? Students over the years must have tried to do exactly what I’m doing now. To retrieve their vials and escape Villicus. How did those valiant attempts end?
Racing around the side of the building to the closet, I fumble with icy fingers for the key in my cardigan, which is slicked against me now. Clumsily, I shove it into the keyhole. Storm in. Leap over boxes and brooms. Pull the cord for the light.
Still high on adrenaline, I shove a heavy steel shelf directly under the opening in the shaft and scurry up it like I’m climbing a ladder.
I hop in the opening. Shimmy through the ducting.
I’m moving so quickly, I barely notice the end of the shaft: it’s wide open. The cover into Valedictorian Hall has been removed. I’m a half-foot away from it when it occurs to me that this is a very, very bad thing.
At exactly that moment, a long, thin arm reaches into the duct, clutches my hair, and yank
s me forward. I half-scream, half-choke on dust as I’m jerked out of the shaft and, stunningly, with incredible force, thrust fifteen feet down to the floor.
My bones crunch.
A sob pushes out of me with the last breath in my lungs. Gasping, I lift myself to my knees and turn.
Standing before me is the girl with the bobbed brown hair. She is alone in here. And she is dressed in her smartly pressed school uniform, as if it’s the beginning of a school day, not the middle of the night.
“Hiltop?” I choke out.
“Hiltop P. Shemese—a pleasure,” she says, making an unnecessary formal introduction.
My gaze darts back to the duct she just ripped me out of. It’s high on the wall, much higher than she could possibly reach. Yet, somehow, she did. Without a ladder. A cold sweat washes over me, head to toe, although the room is sweltering, lit end to end by candles. Thousands of them. The heat they emit quickly dries the icy water that soaked my hair and clothing. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
Tilting her head sweetly, she crouches next to me and caresses my hair. Even before her soft touch changes, even before her hand clasps my curls, every cell in my body comes awake—and I realize that Villicus may not have been the problem.
“Please,” Hiltop sings, gripping my hair at the roots, “come in.”
With that, she drags me, grunting and kicking, by my hair across the vast wooden floor and, with strength unfathomable, flings me smack into the center of the room. I cry out and grasp at the lacquered floor to slow myself; as my cries fade, I spin, struggling to get a grip, and eventually stop revolving. Dizzy, I notice that the rows of chairs I saw yesterday are gone. The hall is bare, save the candles, the perimeter of oversized framed portraits of valedictorians, me, and her.
At the far end of the room stands the wall of tiny drawers, nameplates on each, running the height of the arched ceiling.
That wall must be used to store our vials. Those nameplates are ours. My vial—my freedom—is in there.
I hear a waltz I recognize by Franz Liszt. Fingers on an unseen piano pound furiously, dance madly. The music sends a shiver like an electric current through me as I watch this thin, simple-looking girl pace the floor just beyond my reach. I search the empty hall. The only way out is through the front doors, which are impossibly far away and always locked.