Her face falls. “What? Oh, you probably want to go shopping with Leyla. I get it.”
I stand up. “Mom, I’m not going to the dance. I don’t have anyone to go with.” I try to keep my tone light.
“So?” She smiles. “Bryan’s taking Leyla, why don’t you just go with them?”
“It doesn’t work that way. I don’t think they’d appreciate me tagging along on their date.”
“They’re your best friend and your brother. They love you. Why wouldn’t they want you to come?” She frowns, like she’s honestly puzzled.
“Look, I know you’re worried about me. But you don’t have to be. Really.” From the floor, Luna meows, as if echoing Mrs. Morgan’s concern.
“But you’re on the committee,” she protests. “It doesn’t seem right for you to miss the actual event.”
“I’ll help with the decorations, but that’s it. I’m not going.” My voice sounds sharper than I intended.
“It’s up to you,” Mrs. Morgan says, putting her hand on my shoulder and pulling me toward her. “But just . . . think about it. All your friends will be there.” She hugs me. “I’m going to play the I’m-your-mother card here, Kailey. You don’t want to miss out on memories like this. When you’re my age, you’ll realize how fast time goes by. How years pass by in an instant, and how happy you are to have these
memories of being together with your friends. You’re only sixteen once.”
I inhale, smelling her rosemary-mint shampoo, and am surprised to feel my eyes pricking with tears.
You’re only sixteen once, unless you’re me.
TWENTY-FIVE
“Interesting technique, Kailey,” Madison says drily the next day, nodding toward the drawing I’m working on. When Mrs. Swan assigned us a still-life sketch of flowers today, my stomach immediately tied up in knots. This was the only solution I could think of on short notice.
Kailey would have faithfully reproduced the lilies, irises, and silver-hued roses in the angular glass vase, deftly shading their petals and stems. She had a real talent for making a drawing that looked almost like a photograph—except, knowing her, she would have added fairies or angels or other winged creatures, little bits of magic darting through reality.
I can’t begin to approximate her style, so I refuse to even try. Instead, I’ve covered my sketchpad in an abstract design, just the barest suggestion of leaves rendered geometrically off the harsh, slashing lines that pass for stems. “Yeah, I’m trying something different,” I inform Madison in what I hope is a confident tone. “Realism isn’t everything, you know.”
“Mm-hmm,” she responds, sounding unconvinced, and returns to the clipboard in front of her, covered with notes and checkboxes. Apparently she’s not interested in this assignment, either. She’s been covertly working on dance committee business for the whole class period, quickly sliding her sketchbook on top of her clipboard whenever Mrs. Swan walks by.
“I like it,” Reed says, standing to get a better view of my drawing. “Very Russian avant-garde.” I just smile sweetly and wait for him to sit back down. I let my hand drift to my boot and run my finger over the reassuring hardness of the knife tucked inside.
Mrs. Swan saunters by, and Madison quickly switches her attention to her sketch, sighing dramatically once our teacher moves on. “This class is such a waste of time,” she complains. “I mean, really: flowers? I have more important things to be thinking about.”
I stifle a smile at how seriously she’s taking her job, but
I know how she feels. I can’t wait for this day to be over, either, so I can finally put my plan for Cyrus’s book into motion. I just need to make sure I keep the entire thing anonymous. Luckily, I know just the person who can help with that. Lucia, who helped erase the police records from the night I became Kailey Morgan.
I think of Taryn again and wonder how she’s doing. This morning, I finally caved and called the hospital from a pay phone. I can’t let myself be connected with her, but I needed to know what happened. The receptionist told me she’s in a coma. She hasn’t woken since they brought her in.
“That reminds me,” says Madison, sticking her pencil behind one ear, where it pokes through her shaggy hair like an oddly limbless tree. “Can you make a dance committee meeting on Friday? There are so many details we need to work out.”
I pause. I looked forward to having the long weekend to myself, to concentrate on trapping Cyrus. “I’ll have to check with my parents,” I say. “Since it’s a holiday weekend and all. I’m not sure what they have planned.”
“Oh, Thanksgiving. Right. Well, Bryan already said he’ll come. So I assume that means you’re off the hook.” She smiles sweetly.
“In that case, I wouldn’t miss it,” I reply.
“Kailey, you’re not fooling me. I can tell you don’t want
to go. And I know why.” I turn to meet her gaze, noticing for the first time that her eyes aren’t completely brown. The tiniest flecks of blue hover around her iris, catching the light that streams in through the classroom’s tall windows.
“What do you mean?” I stammer, feeling like she caught me doing something wrong.
She cocks her head, the tiny piercing below her lip glinting in the sun. “I heard about you and Noah. The breakup. He tried to get out of the meeting too.”
Through the barrier of flowers, I can feel Reed’s eyes on me. He doesn’t speak. The sound of Noah’s name sends a bolt of pain through me, but I will my face to remain impassive. The more emotion Cyrus sees from me about Noah, the greater danger he’s in.
“Oh,
that
.” I wave my hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about me and Noah. We’re friends.” I plaster a big fake smile on my face. “We just weren’t meant to be more than that.”
“You don’t have to lie to me, Kailey.” Madison’s voice is warm, caring.
Across the table, I can
feel
Reed and Echo eavesdropping.
“I mean it,” I answer. “Noah’s great as a friend. But that’s it. For me, at least.”
“So you wouldn’t care if he went out with another girl?” she presses. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”
“Nope,” I say, perversely proud of how casually I’m able to get the words out. “I want him to be happy.”
“That’s very mature of you,” Madison says. “I wouldn’t be able to stand it.”
I open my mouth, about to spill forth another batch of lies, but Echo speaks instead. “If you love somebody, set them free,” she opines in her high-pitched, breathy voice.
“That’s a famous poem, right?” asks Reed, scrunching up his forehead.
“It’s a Sting song,” Madison, the resident rock music expert, informs him. “From
Dream of the Blue Turtles
. Nineteen eighty-five.”
Echo clasps her hands together, obviously pleased that Madison caught her reference. She’s wearing grubby overalls with a fitted blouse underneath that reveals two smooth reaches of skin at each hip. Her hair appears to have gained a few more colors of yarn since I last studied it, violet and golden threads added to the rest. It’s pulled up in a dramatic bun at her crown, the better to show off her enormous silver earrings. They’re easily three inches in diameter and bearing what I assume to be her astrological sign: Aquarius.
“I never understood that concept,” Reed replies, dropping his eyes to his drawing. “If you always set the ones you love free, you’re doomed to be alone.”
“Agreed,” says Madison. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
Echo scoffs. “It makes complete sense. If you set the person free, but they come back to you, well,
that’s
love.” Reed swivels his head to stare at her, but she doesn’t look at him.
“Excuse me, class.” Mrs. Swan claps her hands at the front of the room, and I’m grateful for the interruption. “I have some inspiration for you. Our next project is a personal favorite of mine. We’re going to partner up for this one.”
I feel Reed’s eyes on me and know without a doubt that he’ll ask me to be his partner. I refuse to look at him, keeping my eyes trained on Mrs. Swan, who’s reaching into a cardboard box that lies on her desk.
The class collectively
oohs
at the object she thrusts into the air. But not me. My breath is caught in my throat.
It’s an antique Venetian mask; an exquisite one, bone-colored leather molded into the shape of a bird’s beak and intricately painted. When I look at the two dark circles meant for the eyes, I shiver. They remind me of a skull’s eye sockets.
I’m sure I’m as pale as the mask. To the rest of the class, this is nothing more than a costume, a work of art, a remnant of an elegant past.
But to me, that mask brings back a torrent of memories. The masquerade ball where Cyrus made me immortal. The plague-ravaged London where I came to terms with my fate.
The young girl in the garden whose body I took, my first true victim as an Incarnate.
Madison’s posture is stiff, her cheeks flushed. “Those things give me the creeps,” she admits. “They’re almost as bad as clowns.”
“Masks are a very powerful archetype,” Echo agrees.
“I think they’re fantastic,” says Reed. “Perfect for a masquerade ball.”
“Have you ever been to one?” Madison asks.
“Maybe in another life,” he says, and smiles. Inside my boots, my toes curl up. “I suppose we should pick our partners? Kailey, do you—”
“Kailey’s with me,” Echo interrupts, catching my eye. I nod, sending her a silent
thank you
.
“Oh, well then, Madison, I guess that leaves us?”
She shrugs nonchalantly. I doubt she’s even paying attention to us anymore.
The bell’s shrill tone precludes anything further he may have said. Finally. I affect great absorption in the packing up of my belongings, grateful that our conversation is apparently over. When I look up, I realize that Echo’s already left.
I hurry out into the hallway and quickly spot her wildly colored hair up ahead, rising above most of the other girls. Her platform clogs add at least four inches to her already impressive height.
I slip through the crowd and catch up to her. She whirls around when I tap her on the shoulder. “Well, hello,” she smiles. “It’s you.”
“It’s me,” I agree, tilting my head upward to meet her eyes. “I wanted to thank you. How did you know I wanted to be your partner?”
“Body language,” she says, shifting her army green canvas backpack. “You turned gray when Reed started to ask you. I don’t know why, though—I think he’s kind of sweet.” I just stare at her in shock.
“There you go again,” she laughs.
“Am I that easy to read?”
“Only to me. So, do you want to start today? On our project?” I hesitate. I meant to spend the afternoon putting Cyrus’s book for sale online.
Echo seems to read my silence as agreement. “Let’s go to my house,” she offers. “Did you know my dad’s a medieval literature professor, and my mom’s an artist? She actually works with leather a lot. We’d have reference material and supplies all ready to go.”
“And I just so happen to be an expert on the history of masks,” I say archly.
“Now we’re talking,” she says, rubbing her hands together.
Have I said too much? I try to backpedal. “I’m just kidding.”
“No, you’re not,” she deadpans. “So, are we on?”
I haven’t technically crossed Echo off my suspect list, but I feel like I can trust her implicitly. And I like spending time with her, I realize. For the first time, I have a friend who wasn’t friends with Kailey—someone I can talk to without the burden of a shared history. It’s a relief not to be constantly worrying about saying or doing the wrong thing, giving myself away in some way I can’t even anticipate. “Okay,” I relent. “I’ll meet you at your car?”
“Sounds like fate,” she replies in her musical voice, as she walks away.
TWENTY-SIX
I run into Leyla in the parking lot on my way to meet Echo. “Open it,” she says, thrusting a folded-up piece of paper in my hands. “This is a historic occasion. Excuse me,
an
historic occasion, which is what literary people say.”
“So you’re literary now?” I ask, unfolding the paper, already knowing what it’s going to be.
“I think someone who gets a
poem
named after them counts as literary,” she replies with a grin.
“ ‘Lady Leyla Ladybug,’ ” I read. “Wow.”
“I know, right? I’m going to have to wear more red to live up to my reputation.” She’s obviously delighted. I’m happy
for her, even if I’m not in the best state of mind to tolerate loving couples.
“Come on,” she says, grabbing my hand. “Let’s go find Bryan and get out of here. And don’t you dare breathe a word about this to him.”
“I wouldn’t,” I swear. “But actually, I’m meeting Echo. We’re working on an art project together.”
“Oh,” she replies. “Okay. Have fun with Echo. But let’s hang out soon. I miss you, Kailes.”
I nod and depart, averting my eyes as she catches up with Bryan and throws her arms around him. I quickly spot Echo’s car, a vintage teal Karmann Ghia covered with bumper stickers.
GOT MAGIC?
reads one of them.
MY OTHER CAR IS A PUMPKIN,
reads another. Its charm didn’t quite register with me the other night, when she drove me home from The Wasteland.
“Nice car, by the way,” I say.
“Thanks. My parents hate it,” she tells me, when I’m seated in the front seat next to her. “It’s not very fuel-efficient, I’m afraid.” The dashboard is strewn with dried flowers, crystals, and lollipops. “Want one?” she asks, handing me a cherry-flavored sucker.
I start to unwrap the lollipop and look out the windshield when I see Noah standing next to his car. He’s talking to Officer Spaulding.
“Why is he talking to Noah?” I muse, only realizing seconds later that I spoke out loud.
Echo shrugs. “I think he’s questioning everybody. Your friend Chantal said a police officer showed up at her house this morning, too. I hope it helps them find Eli.”
I shiver, suddenly anxious to leave. After everything that happened at Taryn’s apartment last night, being questioned by Officer Spaulding is the last thing I want. “Shall we?” I prod Echo, hoping my voice doesn’t give away the pounding of my heart.
“We shall,” she agrees, pressing the key into the ignition.
I feel better as soon as Echo directs the car out into traffic. She drives us to West Berkeley, expertly parallel-parking on a street that’s an incongruous combination of industrial warehouses and gingerbread Victorians. The architecture is similar to Taryn’s neighborhood but minus the security bars covering most windows. I follow her to the unmarked doorway of one of the warehouses, where she pulls out her keys and lets us into a hallway. She turns right, then left, down another hallway, and finally unlocks the door to her loft.