by Sarah Tobias
I wasn’t this anymore. I wasn’t her.
After I set my late-night take-out, lemongrass chicken, on the cracked countertop, I shrugged out of my jacket and kicked off my shoes. The bed called to me and I listened, splaying out on my back, then stared at the pebbled ceiling.
It was almost three in the morning, yet there was no chance of sleep. Too many bloody images took over for any hope of rest. Sighing, I sat up, padded to my kitchenette and threw my Thai food in the microwave for a quick nuke. I hadn’t eaten all day other than Ettie’s meatloaf, and I should try to ingest something. Plus, eating my chicken and sitting cross-legged in bed, watching crap reality shows, seemed like the perfect escape to my mind-blowing heck of a day.
If today was even real. The more time that passed since talking with Derek, the farther into denial I went. It couldn’t be true. None of this could be my actual life.
The microwave dinged, and I grabbed the container. My fingers clutched the hot plastic, and I didn’t wince.
I thought wryly, Guess it’s still real.
I fell into bed, balancing the food on my thighs as I turned on the TV and prepared to transform my mind into much-needed sludge.
I settled in, scooping up chicken on autopilot as I became engrossed in the show. The food tasted bland and had the texture of gum. I slowed down my chewing, wondering why it felt like gloppy glue in my mouth. This meal was from my favorite Thai place around the corner. They rarely screwed up orders.
Glancing down, I saw only tasty-looking chicken, vegetables and rice, still steaming.
“Ladies, this is the final rose of the evening.”
My attention went back to the host’s declaration, forgetting about the taste of glue as I watched who got the final rose.
And when the Bachelor decided, I opened my mouth to vomit.
Eyes bulging from my head, my food rose into my throat, the bile burning as my stomach made clear its hatred of my late-night snack.
I bolted out of bed, chicken and rice scattering across the floor, one hand covering my mouth to prevent any escape. I fell over my toilet bowl, retching, heaving out my stomach contents with such force that I thought for sure I’d burst blood vessels.
I clutched both sides of the toilet, my elbows pointed up to the ceiling as I lowered my head even further and waited for my bowl of horrors to stop filling.
When my stomach finished convulsing, I raised my head, gasping, my face damp with the effort of heaving. I heard crying behind me, the hollow-television voice of a girl weeping. I let that sound ground me, my hands still hanging onto the toilet as I reminded myself that I was okay.
As my body calmed, I finally felt strong enough to stand. Rising, I kept my hands on the toilet for balance, but made the mistake of looking down.
I heaved again, not because my stomach needed more emptying. It was from disgust.
Streaks of red coated the inside of the toilet, clotted blood mixing in with my food as it sank into the water.
“Oh my … oh my g—”
I toppled to the right, collapsing against my sink as I forced my eyes away from the sight and into the mirror.
It’s all real.
A scared, bloodless face stared back. My hair was mussed and damp, my lower lip trembling and my skin so, so pale. Who was this girl?
A monster.
My knees gave out after one wretched sob, the cold tiles providing no relief to my heated, slicked skin.
I killed someone. The evidence was right there, in the toilet. I murdered that girl. I—I ate some of that girl.
Gagging again, I pulled at the lever to flush at the same time I bowed back over the toilet. There was no relief. This time I felt like I was heaving up my heart as nothing but dry rasps came out of my throat.
I’m a monster, and I’m alone.
I curled up on the floor, trembling as the nightmare took over.
* * *
I fell asleep on the bathroom tiles, weak and shivering, but because my destiny has become a fickle beast, I woke up strong, supple and refreshed.
That relentless dream clouded my thoughts. The woman caving in with sorrow; the man shutting down his heart.
For an instant, when I was half-awake but still in the dream, I felt her pain as if it were my own. It clawed at me, begging me to stop the torture, the heartache. I sobbed in answer, wanting so badly to help ease what consumed her so horrifically. But then I opened my eyes.
Obviously, this was a weird fae-dream I’d inherited. I made a mental note to ask Derek about it, but the woman’s emotions were so raw and real, I almost didn’t want to betray her. She felt human to me. I was certain I’d turn into her traitor if I gave her over to Derek, but what other option was there? How could I figure her out without him?
My mind played catch-up with my vision as I lifted myself from the floor. I smelled stale, the scent of my dried sweat and old breath mixing unpleasantly in my unventilated bathroom. The scent was so strong that I breathed through my mouth as I balanced against the sink.
Catching my reflection in the mirror, it wasn't a scared, horrified girl with red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips that said hello. No ghostly white face wanted to scream her nightmares back at me. It was just a girl—me—with cascading golden waves for hair, bright, shining eyes, and sweet, flushed cheeks. I traced the planes of my face, as if I could feel the shifting of cells underneath my skin.
Through the awe, my rational self reminded, this beauty comes with a price…
Guilt rose to the surface as the images of last night dipped their tendrils into my consciousness. I side-eyed the toilet. To my relief, I’d remembered to flush last night. It would've been sickening to come face to face with that bloody mess again. If only I could flush my memories down some plumbing, too.
I couldn’t change what I’d done. Unless Derek informed me I possessed time-warping abilities, and how to use them, I couldn’t prevent Rob or the girl’s fate. But what I could control, what I would change, were my future actions. I wouldn’t go straight to killing every monster that came at me. If Derek couldn’t tell me how, I would search within myself. I would dissect my very being if it meant figuring out how to zap the terrible creatures without taking the soul of a human along with it.
My body zinged with invincibility, the cells in my blood snapping and bursting like cherry bombs. It was a thicker sensation than before. My body was more accepting of the acquired power.
After a blessedly fragrant shower, I threw my hair up and wandered through the kitchen and into the main room in my towel, when the sight of cold chicken and rice strewn across my bed and floor caught my eye.
Grimacing, I tripped back a step. Ugh, food.
I tied the towel tighter around me as I gathered the mess with paper towels and dumped it into the trash, throwing the congealed slop away as if it were live, writhing snakes.
My phone dinged when I had one leg through my jeans. I flipped it open. Unlike the rest of the modern population, I still worked with a flip-phone—at least until I could afford a smart one.
Macy: Dude, breakfast? Where you at?
“Crap,” I said.
It was already ten. Not only was I late for breakfast, but my shift at Cream started in two hours. I had to get myself together, act normal, and pretend like yesterday never happened.
I could deal with fae and gore later. Now, I had to deal with friends and bills.
I made it to the diner next to Cream in record time. Macy was waiting at our regular booth, sipping what was likely her third skinny hot chocolate of the morning and engrossed in her phone.
“Holy crap,” she said as soon as she caught sight of me. “What have you been using on your face? Give me some. Is it La Mer? Did you buy some of that stuff without telling me?”
I laughed. “You think I’d buy five hundred dollar face cream without telling you?”
“Then what’d you do? Who’d you see? Vitamin C concentrate? I’ve been told that does wonders for your complexion. Did you get the
powder or the gel form?”
I shook my head. “I can’t translate the language you’re speaking. I’ve just been … sleeping more.”
“Sleep?” She rolled the word off her tongue as if it tasted like seaweed. “Sleep did this to you?”
She motioned up and down my body as I sat across from her. “I’ve been sleeping eight hours a night every night that I can remember and I do not wake up looking like that.”
I laughed, this time uncomfortably. “Enough with the flattery. You look gorgeous as usual. New hair mask?”
Directing attention away from me and onto Macy would do the trick. She jabbered on as we gave the waitress our orders, and I only half listened. I tried to tune out the sounds of the other voices surrounding us and the scents of fried food and burned coffee, but it was all so much.
“So, after I finished my argon oil treatment, I threw a feather boa around my neck and did naked jumping jacks in a cemetery.”
I sipped from my coffee and said distractedly, “That was fun of you.”
“Uh-huh, because that’s totally something your best friend would do,” Macy said, rolling her eyes. “What’s with the vacant stare? First you’re late—which I don’t really care about, but you’re never late for anything—and now you’re all in the clouds. And not the fluffy white ones, by the look on your face.”
I set the mug down. “Sorry. I’ve just been feeling weird.”
“No kidding. You look great, though. Amazing.” Macy’s gaze raked over me. “It’s hard to reconcile not feeling great with the fact that you’re looking stellar.”
I smiled, unused to the attention, even from my best friend, but our breakfast arrived, saving me from further scrutiny—or should I say, Macy’s food arrived. I nursed a refill of black coffee, the one substance that my stomach didn’t seem to want to vomit out.
Macy grinned over her pancakes, a smile I knew all too well. She asked, “Are you looking great because of you-know-who?”
“Who's you-know-who?”
“Don't play dumb. It only looks cute on me.”
My lips twisted. “You think I’m making some sort of effort to impress Asher?”
She smiled wider. “You remembered his name.”
“Mace! I may never see the guy again. Why would I even care?”
“Says the girl who looks like she just stepped off a cover shoot.”
I flicked a sugar packet at her. “Oh, be quiet, already.”
“What? I need to live vicariously through this. A guy like that doesn’t come around that often. Dark, mysterious, broody…”
“Yeah, I get it. He’s in your world, not mine.” I threw a few bills in the middle of the table. “I gotta go. Gonna be late.”
Macy glanced at her phone. “No you’re not. You’ve got twenty minutes.”
I blew her a quick kiss before standing up and heading to the door.
“You can’t escape me!” she cried.
Waving, I pushed through the doors, glad that I could at least count on Macy to make my life super annoying and normal.
Chapter 15
My afternoon shift went by in a blur. I kept alert, taking orders and preparing gourmet coffee like it was my job (ha), but it was on autopilot. My morning energy faded, with faint twinges of hunger prodding for attention as I wiped down the pick-up area.
That was the worst part—the hunger, the cold sweats, the trembling—almost as if I were an addict in dire need of another hit.
Was that where my sickness stemmed from? These things I’ve killed, the souls I’ve taken in, are they acting like a drug on my system? I made a mental note to ask Derek when I tracked him down after work.
“Crap,” I said for the second time that day. Because I had no idea how to find that obnoxious, smart-talking fae-guy.
Lost in thought, I wasn’t paying attention to the caramel sauce I’d been pouring. When I eventually looked down, I stiffened when I saw what I had written on the metal countertop:
DANGER
Before anyone could notice, I swiped my hand over the sticky words, peering over at the man waiting for his drink to see if he’d noticed my Ouija moment with the caramel drizzle.
The man had zero reaction. He was busy scrolling through his phone, his fingers tapping against the screen as he waited.
Good. I counted myself lucky. Squeezing the caramel into his coffee with surprisingly stable hands, I added a little extra because I felt I should, and handed it to him with a bright, fake smile. “Have a great day!”
He mumbled something before he took his coffee and left. I went back to the pending orders, this time focusing and refusing to daydream. I couldn’t be writing stuff like that in syrups. Next thing I knew, I’d be throwing sugar in people’s faces, purging them from evil.
Which, to be honest, wasn’t so far from the truth. Any of them could be fae.
When I went over to the espresso machine, a tickle started at the top of my head, the sensation human instinct recognized as someone staring. Frowning, I turned and halted mid-spin by the cold, unblinking metallic eyes meeting mine from across the counter.
My cup overfilled with scalding espresso. I reacted fast enough, removing the cup before it spilled everywhere.
But … it wasn’t Asher.
It was the girl. The figure who walked beside Asher on that rainy night in the street when he entered Cream for the first time. It felt like years ago now.
She wouldn't stop staring, so I stared back. Raven curls framed her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were cat-like, tipping up at the outside corners, but housing the color of smooth stone, just like Asher’s. Her face, flawless as porcelain, was just as pale.
Yet, there was a hardness to her. I would have described her to Macy as graceful, with quiet beauty, almost like a delicate black dahlia flower. But there was something calm and patient rippling underneath, waiting for its moment to pounce.
A now-familiar buzz drifted through my body, and I couldn’t shake it off as easily as I did with Asher.
Her mouth tightened into a smile.
“Miss? Are you making my iced green tea with extra honey or what?” another voice asked.
I startled and faced the register. “It’s right here. Sorry.”
Properly chastised, I prepared the other orders, refusing to lift my head, though I remained uncomfortably aware of the girl’s continued gaze on my back.
I heard her give her order and felt more than watched her approach.
“Hey.”
Her voice was both smooth and raspy, and I envied it.
At my answering silence, she prompted, “You’re Emily, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, aware of the silence between us, mostly my fault because I couldn’t stop gawking at her. “How'd you know?”
“I’m Gwyn. Well, Gwynevere, but everybody calls me Gwyn.” She held out her hand.
The same instinctual warning that told me not to touch Asher prevented me from raising my own. I couldn’t say why, exactly. They didn’t seem to be fae—it wasn't like when they touched me they would burn. Right?
Instead, I gestured to the pot of milk I was steaming, smiling apologetically.
“Nice to meet you,” I said instead. Then, to remain polite, I added, “So, how do you know me again?”
Gwyn tilted her head. “Asher.”
I shifted, unsure if I had just pissed her off or not. “Oh, okay. I’ve only met him once. Well, maybe twice.” I turned the milk steamer on high, the sound loud, and I winced. “He’s nice. Macy introduced me to him. She’s my best friend…”
I clamped my jaw shut to keep from saying more. Usually I wasn't so open, especially with information where people would think me mentally unbalanced. Like, say, hey Gwyn, Asher sends electricity through me, and so do you kinda, and also I’ve been killing people, but don’t worry about that, would you prefer milk or cream?
Gwyn continued her assessment with her unblinking gaze. When it was clear I wasn’t saying anything more, she turned her attention aw
ay. Instantly, my need to tell her everything and anything to ever happen in my life disappeared, so much so that my body deflated from the sudden release.
“All right, then. Thanks,” she said when I set her coffee down.
“Um, how do you know Asher?” I asked, not sure why I wanted to keep this conversation going.
“He’s my brother,” she replied, as if it were obvious. Well, I guess it was kind of obvious. “We’re twins.”
“Oh! Wow.”
Her expression shuttered. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around. Maybe we can have lunch or something.”
“Sure. Yeah,” I said, though her open invitation caught me by surprise. It didn’t appear she liked me very much. “I’ll catch you later.”
Even to me, my smile seemed forced.
As she left, I moved on to the next order, but I was distracted, uneasy. Was I really going to regard everyone with suspicion? I had enough difficulty making friends. I didn’t need to actively start isolating people from talking to me. Gwyn’s thoughts probably strayed to awkward weirdo as soon as she left my presence.
Which, if I were really to be honest with myself, was exactly what I was.
If you added killer to it.
Chapter 16
After my shift, I stopped at Washington Square Park, a place where Macy sometimes hung out before class. I urgently needed to see her and feel normal. Relieved, I spotted her sitting on a blanket in the grass with Liz and another friend, Amanda Roberts. The three of them whispered with their heads close together.
I made my way over, navigating benches occupied by various students and clusters of people sitting on the grass, but froze the instant my periphery registered Gwyn and Asher a few seats away.
No freaking way. Again?
They sat underneath a sycamore tree, just to the left of the marble Washington Arch in deep discussion. But, unlike the trio of girls in front of me, it was clear they weren’t debating the latest hook-up in college or other scholastic dreams.
Asher’s eyes strayed over to me. My eyes connected with his, the familiar zing creeping up my neck.