Wink Poppy Midnight

by April Genevieve Tucholke

  And Thomas shook his head and then I got up and went around the circle, I whispered in all their ears, I whispered all their secrets, and they watched and stared and I sashayed around them and let my hips flick side to side, let my long spine arch and my hair swing, I was the Queen, I was the villain, I ruled them all. I let their worship wash right over me like a cool rain, like the rain outside, cooling down the sky, and it felt so good I wanted to scream scream scream with joy, keep staring, you fools, keep staring, soak it up, soak it up, soak me up, like rays of sunshine after a storm, there’ll never be anyone like me again, never ever ever ever.

  Midnight was last, I went around the circle and saved him for last, I sat in his lap and gripped his hair in my fingers and he looked horrified, beautifully and genuinely horrified and my red hair fell around his cheeks and I pushed my chest into his and whispered in his ear, I’m sorry I teased you about the magic tricks that one time, I felt bad about it afterward, I really did, I’m sorry I teased you about everything, Midnight, all of this, the letters and the séance, all of it was for you, just so I could say I miss you, god, how I miss you, time goes slower where I am, it feels like years since I last crawled into your bed, years and years, I just wanted to see you one last time, Midnight, I needed to say I’m sorry, I—

  He pushed me off of him, right off, like I burned, like I was poison.

  And my foot hit a candle and the candle hit the blanket and then . . .

  Fire.

  WINK MADE US all hold hands. I took hers in my right, Buttercup’s in my left.

  Jasmine. That was first.

  The smells of the Roman Luck house, the smells of dust and rot and woods and mold . . . gone, all gone.

  And the air filled with jasmine.

  The Yellows smelled it too. Their eyes went wide. I saw it. They knew what it meant. The smell was thick, sickly, and I wanted to cover my nose with my hand but Wink had warned us not to let go.

  Wink.

  “Poppy, are you here?” she said. Her voice was calm and clear and soft.

  Silence.

  I squeezed her hand.

  “I’m listening, Poppy. I’m ready.”

  Silence.

  It started small. Wink’s eyes closed, and her lips drew tight, tight, as if her face was trying to swallow her mouth. Her cheeks sunk in. Hard, dark, hollow bruises.

  The Yellows stopped turning their heads and sniffing the air. We all froze.

  Wink’s head tilted back, so far her hair touched the floor, and her body went rigid, it snapped, like a rope pulled tight, like the rope that we used to tie up Poppy, snap, her wrists to the piano.

  The things that came out of her mouth . . .

  Gibberish and swearing and moaning. Guttural groans and sobs. On and on. Wink jerked and strained against my fingers but I didn’t let go, I didn’t let go. Her head whipped sideways and her back arched and tears streamed from her green eyes . . .

  What should I do? I wanted to stop it, I had to stop it, but I was scared, so scared, was this what Poppy had wanted? For Wink to come to the Roman Luck house and let the unforgivables in, let them destroy her too? Wink said bad things would happen if we let go, but I wanted to let go of her hand, I wanted to shake her, shake the unforgivables out of her, god, it was horrible, no wonder Poppy had died, left alone with them, how could we have done it?

  Wink started screaming and I screamed with her and Zoe and Buttercup screamed too and Briggs shouted and Thomas was silent and . . .

  And, suddenly, it stopped.

  Wink hushed. Everything, her voice, her arms, her hair, hush.

  Her fingers went limp.

  She straightened, and opened her eyes.

  The thunderstorm hit, right then, right that very second. Rain slapped the broken shards of the bay window, plop, plop, and then faster and faster. Thunder cracked so hard the ground started shaking, or maybe it was just me, shaking and shaking. I couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

  Wink yanked her hand away. Her fingers slipped right through mine. I let out a little groan as it happened. I’d been so sure that if I just held on to her everything would be okay in the end.

  She stood up. She flipped her red curly hair behind her shoulders, and put her hands on her tiny hips.

  “God, you’re all such losers,” she said.

  And it wasn’t Wink’s voice, small and whispery and soft. It was arrogant. Sultry.

  Wink touched her hair, and looked at her arms, and her legs, smooth and graceful twists, eyebrows raised, lips pressed together in a pout.

  “Can you believe this shit? Feral Bell. Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.”

  The chill started in my heart and shuddered through the rest of me. My scalp stung and my skin itched.

  I still held Buttercup’s hand in my left. I’d forgotten all about it until she was suddenly squeezing my fingers so hard it took my breath away.

  “Poppy . . . Poppy, where are you? Are you okay? What happened to you?” Thomas had tears coming down his face, fast, like the rain outside.

  “I’m dead.” And she laughed. And it wasn’t Wink’s laugh, it didn’t remotely sound like Wink’s laugh, whispers and chinkling toy piano keys. It was cold and hard and sneering and Poppy, all Poppy.

  “Dead. I’m dead and this house is my tomb and I want you to burn it down, I want you to burn the Roman Luck house to the ground.”

  None of us moved, none.

  “Where are you? Can we help you? We’re so sorry, we didn’t believe it, didn’t believe you’d really do it . . .” Buttercup’s voice fluttered, in and out, like the candle flames.

  “Wink and Midnight tied me up and left me here, but the unforgivables did their part too. Freckle-faced Feral was right about them.” And she laughed again, hollow and mean and cold. “They’re here right now, breathing down your necks . . . except you can’t even see them, you fools. They won’t hurt me anymore, I’m beyond all that, they’ve got their evil focused on you now.”

  “Who’s here? What are the unforgivables?” Briggs, voice strong and quivering at the same time.

  Wink sighed . . .

  I mean Poppy . . .

  I mean Wink . . .

  “This is so boring. I’m tired of answering questions. Just shut up, all of you, and let me do what I came here to do.”

  She climbed on Thomas then, cuddled right up to him, knees on each side of his hips.

  She kissed him.

  He kissed back.

  It was Wink’s red hair and Wink’s skinny spine, but it was Poppy’s lips and Poppy’s gestures and it was horrifying. Horrifying.

  She put her mouth by Thomas’s ear and began to whisper and whisper. His eyes filled with tears again and his mouth parted and he looked so sad . . . and so filled with joy . . .

  Then she was up and onto the next person.

  Zoe.

  Buttercup.

  Whispers and stricken looks and horrifying, horrifying.

  Briggs, she kissed him too, freckled hands on his cheeks. My heart broke watching it. Split in two. And I didn’t know if it was because Wink was kissing him, or Poppy, or both.

  She sat in my lap last. She grabbed my hair in her fingers and her curls burrowed into my neck and her chest pressed into mine.

  And the things she said, the things she said, Poppy’s voice coming out of Wink’s lips. She said she was sorry. She said it over and over.

  But Poppy never said she was sorry, not ever.

  Not ever.

  I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand one more second of it.

  I pushed her away from me.

  The blanket moved, and her foot knocked over the candle, and then flames, flames and fire.

  I WAS ME again, and the blanket was on fire, and then the edge of Zoe’s dress.

  Midnight jumped to his feet and starte
d stomping out the flames and Zoe rolled on the ground and Buttercup screamed.

  The fire flew across the floor and up the curtains and over the piano. Thomas and Briggs tore off their shirts and whacked at the burning orange waves, but the smoke just grew and grew, like magic beanstalks up into the sky. I couldn’t see, the smoke, tears running down my face. I stumbled, hit the piano stool, hands helped me up, I stumbled again, where was the window? I couldn’t see, couldn’t see, someone pulled on my arm, and then it was there, the bay window, right in front of me. I pushed through, coughing, coughing, and I fell down onto the dirt, right next to Buttercup. Zoe helped us up, my eyes burned and I blinked and blinked but still couldn’t see. I grabbed Zoe’s hand and Buttercup grabbed mine and we ran toward the forest.

  I smelled pine and knew I’d reached the trees. I let go of the girls’ fingers and started rubbing my eyes, streaks of blood across my cheeks, palms cut by the jagged window glass. Buttercup and Zoe scattered in the dark. They didn’t wait. They ran like thieves, like the twelve girls in Between the Dragon and the Wrath, not even glancing over their shoulders as they disappeared in the dark. Briggs and Thomas ran past me next, scared white faces and panting open mouths.

  I looked back, back at the Roman Luck house, the smoke crawling up and up like it was trying to touch the moon, it didn’t care about the rain, the storm couldn’t touch the fire at all . . .

  Crash.

  The roof caved in.

  Crash, crash, crash.

  I looked around, I wanted to take his hand . . .

  But he wasn’t there.

  Midnight wasn’t there.

  THE SMOKE WAS everywhere, I coughed and coughed, I counted the shapes, one, two, three, four, five, they were all through the window, they were safe, I grabbed the sill, careful of the broken glass . . .

  And then I heard it. Thunder.

  Except it wasn’t thunder, it was the roof.

  I saw the crack. The ceiling. I was conscious long enough to see it split in two . . . plaster loosening, falling . . . then dust . . . smoke . . . my lungs . . . dark.

  I WAS THERE, watching. I hated hated hated the Roman Luck house, but I was there anyway. I moved with the shadows, and no one saw me. No one ever saw me anymore.

  I watched it all, I laughed when Wink laughed and winced when Midnight winced.

  Fire.

  I was there when the roof caved in. I was there when everyone crawled out of the window, everyone but Midnight. I was there when he hit the floor. I grabbed him, I didn’t even think about it, I just grabbed him and pulled him down the hall and out the back door, wooden beams plummeting all around us.

  I OPENED MY eyes. Forest floor. Earth and pine needles.

  The sun was rising, I could see the light . . .

  I turned my head. It wasn’t the sun. It was the fire. The Roman Luck fire. Fifty yards away, through the trees. I tried to sit up, but my bones felt so heavy, so damn heavy. My lungs burned. It hurt to breathe.

  I smelled jasmine.

  Smoke, and jasmine.

  And then she was there, face in front of mine, blond hair tickling my throat.

  “Midnight,” she said.

  Her voice sounded different. Hollow, and sad.

  “Poppy.”

  I reached up to touch her, fingertips stretching toward her cheek . . .

  But my hand hit air.

  She was already gone.

  I FOUND WINK in the forest. She gave a little cry when she saw me. I put my arms around her. We both reeked of smoke, but it smelled good on her.

  “I couldn’t find you after we all crawled out the window,” Wink whispered into my neck. “What happened, Midnight? Where did you go?”

  Sirens in the distance, sharp and shrill.

  “I passed out from the smoke, just as the roof caved in.”

  I felt her arms tighten around me, elbows locking in.

  “Someone pulled me out the back door, Wink. Into the forest.”

  “Who?” Soft breath on my neck.

  But I didn’t answer her.

  “DO YOU REMEMBER anything?” I asked, a half hour later in the hayloft. “Do you remember what you did? What happened, before the blanket caught on fire?”

  Wink shook her head. “One second I was taking your hand, and the next I woke up to screaming, and flames.”

  “You don’t remember the unforgivables?”

  She shook her head again.

  Dawn was coming. I could feel it more than see it. The air was snappy and crystal cold, and it smelled good, after all the smoke.

  “You were her, Wink. Her voice, her gestures, her expressions, everything.”

  She didn’t say anything for a while. We were leaning against a hay bale and her head was on my stomach. I ran my thumb down the inside of her skinny arm and stopped at her wrist, so I could feel her pulse. Tick, tick, tick. She’d cut her palms on the bay window glass, and there were jagged streaks of dried blood running across her hands. I kissed one of the cuts, and she flinched.

  “Did you like me being her?” she asked, soft, soft.

  “No,” I said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  She turned and pulled my shirt up, and kissed my stomach, right above my belly button, her hands on my waist.

  “Are you sure?”

  Her lips on my ribs, across my chest . . .

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Her fingernails up my sides, gently, gently . . .

  Her red curls, everywhere. . .

  And then she sat up and kissed me on the mouth, lips full on mine, deep, deeper. It went on and on.

  She slid her left leg over me, squeezed up her knees, right into my hips, one on each side . . .

  She flipped her hair and arched her back, just the once, just in the exact right way.

  And I knew.

  I knew.

  I pulled away, just as the first stroke of sun hit the hayloft. I pulled away and looked straight at her.

  She didn’t have to say it. I read it right there in her green sunrise gaze, read it like a page in a book.

  “Poppy’s not dead,” I whispered.

  “Of course not,” Wink whispered back.

  I WENT HOME. I showered and crawled into bed. My pillow still smelled like jasmine.

  I got up in a few hours. I made tea for my dad, and brought it to him in the attic.

  “You hear the sirens last night?” he asked, nose buried in an ancient copy of Don Quixote.

  “Yeah. The Roman Luck house burned.”

  He didn’t ask me how I knew. “Must have been the lightning.”

  “Must have been.”

  He nodded but didn’t look up. He knew I was lying. He didn’t say anything, though, didn’t grill me or force a confession. And he never would. For better or worse, that was my dad.

  I went down to the kitchen and grabbed a map out of the drawer.

  The Bell farm was quiet as I walked on by, all the animals asleep, and the humans too. The farm seemed different. It was still peaceful, and magical . . . but it had a small darkness to it now, like a black cloud on the horizon, like when Thief walks through the Forest of Sighs and hears the far-off howling of the Witch Wolves beneath the singing of the birds and the rustling of the green leaves and the murmuring of the River Red.

  I turned and went down the neglected gravel road. Left, then right, then over the hill.

  To the Gold Apple Mine.

  I WATCHED MIDNIGHT walk down the road, and I knew where he was going.

  He didn’t see me. I was good at hiding. I’d learned how, from the book Sneaks and Shadows.

  I taught Poppy how to hide too. She was a quick learner.

  The Wolf first came to our door on the arm of my brother Leaf. She liked him for his being
so savage and wild. She had that in her too, though mostly it was all buttoned up and locked in like the drugged woman in Blood Red and White. The Wolf was younger then. She was still just Poppy. She was still just a girl, like the rest of us. And Leaf could handle Poppy. He knew what he was up against. He didn’t have a big, soft heart like Midnight, with all its wide-open windows and doors and easy ways of entering. Leaf’s heart had barbed wire and alarms and vicious, barking dogs. He was safe from her teeth.

  Outside the hayloft, I was invisible. I was a ghost.

  But inside the hayloft, it was different.

  The first time Poppy found me up there, reading to the Orphans, she was with Leaf. Later she started coming up there just to find me. She said she wanted to hear my stories. She said she liked the way I read. And the way my hair curled. And the way my freckles reminded her of my brother.

  The Wolf called me Feral outside the hayloft, but inside she called me Wink. She taught me how to keep my lips soft when I kissed. She taught me how to stroke skin with my fingertips, until the goose bumps came.

  The White Witch gave Edmund Turkish Delight and convinced him to betray his brother and sisters. The Wolf kissed me and asked to be my friend. But unlike Edmund, I knew there were strings attached. I knew all the time. I knew what she wanted. I didn’t fall under her spell, like the rest, like magic words and a wand waved over a head.

  I JUMPED IN the Blue Twist. I thought I might want to drown, like Virginia Woolf, even though that wasn’t the plan, had never been the plan. But I didn’t fill my pockets with stones, so maybe I wasn’t truly committed. The water turned me round and round and just when I was about to open my mouth and let it fill my lungs, the river threw me against a dead old tree and I came to a stop.

  I crawled out, black dress sticking to my body like glue. I fell on the riverbank and looked up, and never felt so alive.

  After that it was just me and the Bell horses and the old Gold Apple Mine by Gold Apple Creek. I slept on hay and ate wild plums. I sang my heart out in the woods, all alone, like Leaf did that one day.