by Sarah Gailey
He sat back against the throw pillow behind him. His face was very still, caught in the instant of falling-down shock when he’d realized that he didn’t really know who I was. The air was cold on my hand, on the places where his fingers weren’t. “I guess not,” he murmured. “So … so you’re…”
“I’m not magic,” I said. I hadn’t felt the injury of those words so deeply since Tabitha had left me behind. It knocked the air out of my lungs, and I had to catch my breath. It had been coming, and I’d hoped I could hold it off, but I’d been fooling myself. I didn’t just like Rahul for his looks. He was smart. Too smart to be drawn in by my incompetent attempt at playing pretend. Deal-breaker, I thought. I clenched my jaw and prepared to cauterize the wound. “I’m not magic. I’m not special.”
“But you’re—”
“I’m just a regular old person. No powers. No anything.”
I spread my hands open so he could see how incapable they were of doing all the easy things he taught fourteen-year-olds to do. Rahul was staring into his empty coffee cup, and slowly, his eyes found their way to my hands, then to my face. He stared at me like he wasn’t totally certain who I was, or who he was. I didn’t want him to be looking for differences between Tabitha’s face and mine, but then he said it: “But your sister—”
Hot, thick shame crawled up my throat. Why not me? “Yep. My sister. Tabitha got it all, I guess. She’s the special one. Sorry I tricked you into thinking I was special too.” I cleared my throat. “I’m not. You picked the wrong sister. Guess it’s better for you to find that out now.”
“Ivy, I don’t … I mean, it’s not … I don’t understand.”
“What’s to understand?”
“I don’t understand why you lied.” He took my hand and looked at me with a compassion that scalded me. “Why would you pretend?”
I swallowed a laugh. Really? It felt so obvious.
But then I let myself look into his eyes and hear the thing he was trying to say to me: that I didn’t need to pretend. Not for him. It almost sounded like he thought it was true.
“I guess I needed—” I started, and his brow furrowed. I tried again. “I … it’s not easy for me, being here. Seeing Tabitha, and all the magic, and everything. And I realized that I could kind of step into a different life for a little while. A life where I’m … better.” I swallowed hard, tried to figure out a way to turn this thing around so I wouldn’t have to reveal more underbelly, but he was staring at me hard and I was helpless to stop the words from coming out. “I started telling a story, and the story was about who I could have been if I was like Tabitha instead of like me, and then you were there, and I figured out that I could maybe have you be part of the story too, and—”
Rahul let go of my hand and rubbed his face with both of his palms. “So this was, what? An experiment?”
“No, I just—”
“I’m not a character in a story you’re telling yourself, Ivy,” Rahul said, and he dropped his hands from his face and looked at me with something halfway between anger and pity. “I’m a person. I’m a real person who really liked you. I thought you liked me, too.”
“I do really like you,” I whispered.
He shook his head. “No. You liked lying to me, and you liked your story. That’s different.”
“No, Rahul, I really—”
“I think you should go.” He looked at Alphabet instead of at me. “I think you should go, Ivy. And I don’t think you should call me again until you’re ready to see me as a real person instead of as a … a piece in whatever game you’re playing right now.”
I couldn’t see him through the tears that blurred my vision, and I was grateful not to have to see his anger. His disappointment. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry.”
“Me too,” he murmured.
I turned around, tripping over the cat on my way to the door. “Sorry,” I said again, and it was too loud, and I was jamming my shoes onto the wrong feet, and it was all falling apart. Just like always. I screwed it up, and it fell apart, and now I was losing the one good thing I’d finally started to think I could have.
He didn’t get up to see me to the door. I closed it behind me, and I walked out into the place I always seemed to end up: alone in the night, walking away from yet another mistake.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
“IVY! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? I was trying to reach you all weekend!” Tabitha was jogging up behind me in the hall. I had pretended not to hear her the first few times she’d called my name, but then her hand was on my elbow, and I couldn’t escape. All I wanted was to get to Headmaster Torres’s office, to tell her that I thought I’d solved the case, to get it all wrapped up—and then to go home and sit alone in the dark with a bottle of wine, like I had the day before. Like I would tomorrow, and the day after. And the day after that, until I felt better.
“My phone’s been dead. And I lost the charger.” I said. This wasn’t exactly false—my phone was, in fact, dead. I hadn’t lost the charger, though—I’d just decided I didn’t want it charged. And the screen was badly cracked. It had fallen. At high velocity. Toward a wall. My grip on it had slipped somehow after the twentieth time I’d checked my messages to see that Rahul hadn’t called.
The half truth came out just smoothly enough for a stranger to swallow. She didn’t know any better. Not yet, at least. But maybe in a year or so, when we’d been getting drinks together and maybe brunch sometimes and when we’d been on a road trip together, when we were friends, when we were sisters again—if I didn’t manage to screw that up too and drive her away—maybe then she’d be able to call me out on little lies like that one. It would be nice, to have someone who could do that.
“Oh, here, give it to me. I’ll take care of it.” She held out her hand for the phone, and when I gave it to her, she gave it a hard squeeze. There was a high ringing in my ears—then the screen flashed a full-battery symbol.
“Do you want me to leave your screen cracked? You could ask Rahul to fix it,” she teased. She moved to nudge me with her elbow, but I flinched away, knocking into a big gray trash can. “Oh! Are you okay?”
No.
“It’s fine,” I said, trying to sound breezy. “I think I’m just going to get a new one. My phone, I mean. It’s time for an upgrade anyway.”
“Are you sure? Rahul can fix a cracked screen like—”
“It’s fine,” I snapped, snatching the phone back. A flash of cool surprise crossed her face. I felt something balanced between us start to tip, a high-wire walker in a stiff wind. “It’s fine,” I said again, softer this time. “Sorry. I’m kind of tired today. Lots going on with the case. Actually, I was just on my way to see you.”
The thing that had been about to tip—the hopeful promise of our rebuilt relationship—steadied. “What’s up?” Tabitha said with a too-bright smile that meant we could move past the tension. Then her eyes slid past me, and her entire bearing changed. She seemed to get an inch taller, a year older. Nothing I would have been able to put my finger on—but whatever she’d done, she radiated authority. “Alexandria,” she called. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
I turned so fast that a muscle in my neck filed a grievance. Alexandria DeCambray was halfway down the hall behind us, her hand resting on the handle of the door to the library.
“I’m studying,” she said, her voice sweet. I waited—and yes, there it was, the wave of don’t worry about it and move along and isn’t she responsible?
I shoved aside the anger and the loss and the ache of broken potential and everything with Rahul. I crammed it into the oubliette along with everything else. Time to work, Ivy. Time to prove that you’re not so worthless after all.
I rested a hand on Tabitha’s arm and she looked at me. I flicked my eyes toward her classroom, just across the hall from the library.
A breath. A pause. Then: “Alright, sorry to bother you.” Tabitha’s voice was steady, and when I looked closely, she seemed to be her n
ormal self again. Or, at the very least, she was back to whatever she usually showed me. The girl passed into the library without looking back at us.
“I need to talk to you,” I muttered. “I think I caught a big break in the case. I think … no. I know who killed Sylvia.”
Her lips went pale. “Really?”
“I need to ask you a few questions,” I said, and she pulled me into her classroom. Her face was taut. She had grabbed me hard by the arm—it would bruise, I was sure of it. She closed the door behind me.
“What do you need to know?” Tabitha said. I looked out through the hallway-facing windows of her classroom—the door to the library was closed, and I couldn’t see Alexandria through the glass window set into the door. I would have bet money that she wasn’t at a study table. Returning to the scene of the crime?
“Did you feel it?” I asked, breathless with excitement.
Tabitha stared at me. “What?”
“Did you feel it, when Alexandria—just now, in the hallway? You felt that, right?” Oh, god, was I just a lunatic? Was I imagining the way Alexandria projected emotions onto everyone around her?
Tabitha leaned back against a lab table. “Oh. Oh, that. Yes. It’s—”
“I know, I know, theoretical dynamism!” I interrupted, so excited that I thought I was going to leap right out of my shoes. “Yes, I knew it, I knew that’s what she was doing! But it’s impossible, right? It’s supposed to be impossible!”
Tabitha cocked her head. Her hair shifted against itself, shush-shushing in the silence of the empty classroom. The sound reminded me powerfully of the books in the Theoretical Magic section. “Impossible is a strong word,” she said. “But I don’t think it’s theoretical dynamism. Alexandria isn’t focused enough to perform such a complex operation, Ivy. She’s … well. She’s just kind of a mean girl. You’re just getting a taste of what it’s like to be bullied.”
I was about to say something unkind about knowing what it’s like to be treated like crap by someone for no reason when something in the hallway caught my eye. I looked up, and there she was again—Alexandria, slipping out of the library, looking down the hall in both directions. “Hang on,” I said to Tabitha. I burst into the hallway just as Alexandria was about to round the corner.
“Alex!” I called. She whipped around, her spun-gold hair flashing. The light that poured through the bank of windows nearby shifted impossibly, framing her in its glow.
“It’s Alexandria,” she hissed, and I braced myself. Stupid stupid wrong get it right next time don’t ever forget stupid wrong apologize.
“I need to talk to you,” I said through clenched teeth. Alexandria hesitated, debating whether to obey or dismiss me. Which girl would she be today? Was she the PI’s best source, the cooperative young achiever who just wants to help in the pursuit of justice? Or was she the queen of this school, not to be trifled with, answerable to no one?
She chose something neatly between the two. It was a lucky thing for me: I didn’t think I could stand another wave of disdain. I held the door to Tabitha’s classroom open for her, and she sat at a lab table before I could tell her to take a seat.
“Tabitha, do you mind if we use your classroom? This shouldn’t take long,” I said, and Tabitha pursed her lips.
“I’d like to stay, if you don’t mind,” she said, looking between me and Alexandria.
“Fine,” I said, shrugging. Trying to be as casual as possible. “No worries. Alexandria, you’re not in any trouble.”
She fake-pouted at me, honey-sweet. “Why would I be in trouble?”
I sat across the table from her and reached into my bag, pulling out a file folder brimming with papers. Almost all of them were related to this case, and at least half of them were relevant. While my hand was in my bag, I bumped the RECORD button on my little digital recorder, praying that it wasn’t full yet. “Like I said, you’re not in trouble. Certainly not for helping your friend,” I said, dropping the files on the lab table. Alexandria startled, her eyes on the top file. I looked down.
A picture of Sylvia’s body had slipped about halfway out of the folder. Her bare calf, just a trickle of blood caught in the creases along the back of her knee. No shoes. No stockings. I hurried to tuck it back into the folder—let Alexandria see me hurry. She pressed her lips together and stared at me with hard, wary eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “That must have been very disturbing to see.”
“It’s fine.”
“I’d like to talk about Courtney.” I slid it into the conversation as gently as a fillet knife between two ribs. Alexandria blinked, then lifted her shoulders in a cool shrug.
“What about her?” She didn’t sound confused at all. No, she wanted to know what I knew. She wasn’t about to give anything up for free.
“The abortion,” I said. I thought I heard something—a low swear, from the far corner near the window—but when I looked, no one was there. I glanced over at Tabitha, but she didn’t appear to have heard anything.
“I wouldn’t know anything about an abortion.” I returned my attention to Alexandria, and fought back a smile. I had her. She was playing hardball, but she was playing—I could see it in the set of her face, the raised eyebrows and the who-cares angle of her neck. She was putting on a display, something she’d seen on television a thousand times: You won’t crack me. She wanted me to make her talk. To weasel it out of her.
She wanted to feel like she’d almost gotten away with it.
“Oh, come on, Alexandria,” I said, flipping idly through the file folder. I dripped with honey, luring her out. “You know everything that goes on around here. Don’t tell me you didn’t even know about your best friend’s secret pregnancy. Or about the abortion potions she got from Sylvia?”
Another noise from the far corner. I looked out of the corner of my eye—something flickered there, but when I turned my whole head, it was just a poster falling from the wall. Tabitha cleared her throat.
“I don’t know if this is strictly—”
“Fine,” Alexandria snapped, and again I looked back to her. She was glancing at the far corner too, trying to see what had pulled my attention away from her. “So maybe I knew Courtney was pregnant. So what?”
“So, she’s not anymore, is she?” I said smoothly. “You helped her with that. You’re such a good friend. She’s lucky to have you.”
Alexandria let out a short, sharp laugh and folded her arms. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?”
I shrugged at her, leaned back in my chair. “You caught me. Sorry. Should I just get to the point?”
She leaned back in her own chair, mirroring me. She tilted her head too. Considering. I waited, and finally, finally, she nodded.
“Okay,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I know what you did, Alexandria. I know all about it.”
“And what exactly is it that I supposedly did?” She asked it in the same even, low tone that I’d taken on. I couldn’t tell if she was trapped, or if she was playing with me.
That probably means she’s playing with you, a voice whispered from somewhere near the base of my skull. I wondered if the voice was mine or hers.
“You helped your friend,” I repeated. I had my eyes locked onto hers, and the rest of the room dimmed in my peripheral vision. “Courtney needed the abortion. She was scared. There are no clinics around here, none where she could trust that a visit wouldn’t get back to her father. But you knew where to go, because you know everything that goes on around here.” I kept the syrup out of my voice this time—I said it like a fact, the same way I might have told the president that he was in charge of the executive branch. Alexandria nodded, once, not confirming anything but not denying it, either. “You sent her to Sylvia for an abortion potion. But Sylvia wouldn’t give it to her.” Alexandria’s eyes flicked to Tabitha, then back to me. I continued, keeping my voice low and even. “So you went to take it from her. And in the end, you got it, didn’t you?”
The silence
in the classroom thickened around us. The only sound was the clock on the wall, ticking down the minutes until third period ended, and Alexandria swallowing hard. She glanced at Tabitha. “I’m kind of thirsty,” she said. “Could I have a glass of water?”
Tabitha pointed to her backpack. “You’ve got a bottle sticking out of your bag, there,” she said. She was almost whispering. Trying so hard, I thought, not to scare the girl.
I didn’t know if I could have been so kind to the person who’d murdered my girlfriend. My sister is a better woman than I am. As Alexandria uncapped her water bottle to take a sip, I thought I saw her hands tremble. But as soon as I noticed it, the tremor was gone.
Alexandria shifted in her chair, settling herself, and put the uncapped water bottle on the table in front of her. In the corner of the room, another poster fluttered to the floor. Alexandria fidgeted with the bottle cap, her composure slowly washing away. “So, what? You think I stole it?”
“I don’t think you wanted to,” I said, giving her an encouraging shake of my head. “I don’t think you meant to. I think you asked her for it nicely. Maybe you begged her for it. Maybe not, maybe you wouldn’t stoop to begging. And then…” I spread my hands. “Then you blackmailed her for it.”
Alexandria’s eyes flashed up to meet mine, and I rocked back in my chair. Wrongwrongwrongwrong she didn’t do that you’re wrong look somewhere else look somewhere else. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tabitha flinch. It was the first time I’d seen someone else react to what Alexandria did—the emotional manipulation that her friends described as power and that the staff described as charisma, because they couldn’t imagine that it was anything more than that.
I took a deep breath. “You blackmailed her for it, and maybe you tried that little trick, too.”
Alexandria’s brow knit, and triumph burned in my chest. Her confusion wasn’t of the What are you talking about? variety. No—that face was How do you know?