That was real. Was that real? Oh God, what am I doing?
Fifteen
A secret. There’s only one secret. Deirdre was the only one who knew.
In my room I shove the sword out of sight under my bed, drop the necklace into an empty pot, and push it into a space between the plants on the shelves. And then I don’t know what to do with myself, with the hissing, laughing voices replaying in my head. I stand paralyzed in the cool, broadening light, listening to my breath rattling in my ears. Overhead, ordinary footsteps creak into the kitchen.
Denying it is a reflex, well-honed. It can’t have happened. I won’t think about it. It made about as much sense as nightmares ever do. And anyway, what they’re asking is impossible. I’m not throwing away everything I’ve built here because of some sort of fever dream. But it nags at me, belief—and fear—taking root, mushrooming up no matter how many times I try to cut it down.
I don’t have any choice. They have Deirdre. I’m the only one who can save her.
It takes me a couple of tries to make my fingers cooperate enough to manage a Google search on my phone. It’s three days until the full moon. I should have guessed. I have three days to burn everything down.
I want to tell myself I don’t know what they mean, that they’re messing with me. I keep looking for a loophole, some alternate interpretation. But I always knew that the Skye I’d started to create was a sunny falsehood, one I’d have to cut down. Make them understand. Make them hate you.
Some things you just can’t escape. Deirdre’s dragging me down into the mud again, like she always does, even from wherever they’re keeping her. It’s not fair.
I watch my parents moving like robots through the day, staring out the windows, fielding sad phone calls. They argue, once, dispiritedly, over Dad opening a can of beer. After that, Mom doesn’t stop him, and the empties clank into the recycling one by one. The police mill in and out of the driveway. None of it is as real as the certainty perched on my shoulders, digging in its claws. I know exactly what I have to do.
But day one bleeds into day two as I pace around my room, as I stare into the inane abyss of my notifications, as I clutch my phone with the contacts pulled up. But eventually I have to admit that I’m just procrastinating. Why would texts or a post even count? It’s not like the monsters follow me on Twitter. No, I have to do it face-to-face. March up the hill and start knocking on doors.
And I can’t.
* * *
I drag myself up the stairs in answer to Mom’s summons, and I almost jump when I find Sophie waiting for me in the foyer.
“Get your coat,” she says, with determined good cheer. “We’re going to Kevin’s place.”
“We’re—but I can’t,” I stammer, looking from her to Mom, but Mom turns an indifferent hand out and trudges wearily back up the stairs. Sophie’s perky tone only falters a little.
“It’s okay. Really. I cleared it with her already. I thought maybe you could use some company. While you wait. It’s a good night for a fire. I told William to bring some stuff for s’mores.”
“You thought—” The words lodge in my throat.
“You don’t have to. I mean, maybe you’d rather stay with your family. I don’t want to—God, I’m sorry, I’m being so awkward about this. I just thought…I’d want my friends with me, if it were me. You know?”
My friends.
It levels all my defenses in a single strike. TKO. I have to turn away with a hand over my mouth. Sophie puts a hesitant arm around my shoulders as I gulp for control.
“I’m sorry. I’ll go if you want. The last thing I want to do is make things worse.”
“No, no, it’s okay. I just—nobody’s ever—”
I’m making it worse. I press the heels of my hands to my eyes, fight for a breath that’s not a sob.
“Here.” She pulls my coat from the closet and tosses it to me. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
The last of the light is seeping from the sky, leaving the woods a silent, ragged silhouette. The silver peal of a bell twinkles somewhere at the feet of the trees.
“Is that your cat?” Sophie asks, looking around for its source. I shake my head and walk as fast as I can, not looking into the gathering dark.
After that, she’s silent, stealing worried glances at me as I struggle to collect the scattered pieces of my armor. I don’t want her to care. It’ll eat me alive. It’s like she’s poisoned me. The gleaming, untouchable gossip queen I’ve always envied is shrinking at my side, turning into something I can hardly bear to look at: a girl who told me a secret. Who will never forgive me for mine.
“This is…this is really nice of you.” I scrub at my eyes with the sleeve of my coat. “Sorry I’m such a mess.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s your sister.”
I can’t explain. But I’ll have to. And soon.
We find them on the weedy patio just behind Kevin’s house: William crouched in front of a round-bellied decorative stove, poking at a smoking heap of kindling, with Kevin offering helpful commentary. “Seriously, how can you suck so bad at this?”
“Shut up and wait thirty seconds,” William says equably, not looking up.
“I thought we were going out to the party rock,” Sophie says.
“We were.” William sets a couple of logs against the kindling, knocking some of it over. A tongue of flame smolders reluctantly to life, then flickers out again. “It’s just—I don’t know, it’s creepy out there tonight.”
Kevin rolls his eyes. “Just as well, since we’re apparently doomed to freeze to death in the dark.”
William gives him a look, and he actually winces.
“And also, I’m an idiot,” Kevin says to the paving stones. “Sorry.”
“I’m used to you.” I meant it as a joke, but it comes out weird and harsh. Too awkward to take back. I swallow.
“Anyway,” William says, after a painful silence, “his dad’s out on a date, so it’s not like we’re going to bother anyone if we stay close to the house.”
Perfect. “Is there anything to drink?”
“Hot chocolate?” William offers.
“No. I mean, is there anything to drink?”
“On a school night?” A few days ago that tone from Sophie—skeptical, but light enough not to invite confrontation—would have had me backpedaling. Tonight, I ignore it.
“I don’t have school tomorrow.” If I drink enough, maybe I can tell them. If I drink enough, maybe I won’t care. Anesthesia. “Seriously. I could really use a drink. Please?”
They exchange glances. Kevin shrugs and disappears into the house.
“I just don’t want us to get in trouble with your parents,” Sophie says. She actually sounds anxious.
“Don’t worry.” I sweep the leaves off one of the long lounge chairs, sink down into it. “It’s not like they’ll notice.”
Kevin emerges with a thermos and a stack of plastic cups, pours me one full of something dark and fizzy that smells faintly like lighter fluid. It’s pop, but mixed with something fiery and medicinal tasting. I take a long drink, as long as I can, and surface coughing and grimacing. Kevin lifts his own cup in salute, eyebrows raised, and takes a more conservative swallow. William pours himself one too. Sophie reluctantly accepts another.
“Well—fine, I guess,” she sighs. “Just one, though.”
The kindling in the stove collapses, letting out a fresh billow of smoke.
“Okay, this is pathetic,” Kevin declares, setting his drink aside. He disappears around the corner of the house and returns carting a leaf blower. “Out of the way, peons. Let’s get this party started.”
He aims the leaf blower at the bottom of the stove and switches it on. Flames gutter into life, flicker higher and higher, lashing in the onslaught, until fire spouts out of the top by two feet, and we’re a
ll laughing and cheering.
“See?” He sets the machine aside, lifts his cup. “That’s how it’s done.”
“You’re a genuine man of the woods, Kev,” William snorts.
“Hashtag zombie apocalypse skills,” Kevin returns, and holds the cup out for a toast.
We knock our cups together, and I toss the rest of my drink back, pour another before anyone can object. I still have time, a little bit of time. I can forget for a while. Pretend it’s not real. For a while, I can pretend everything is normal, here in the firelight with warmth stealing through my veins. With my friends, laughing under the gibbous moon.
The lounge chair becomes a gravity well. Soon, I’m flattened into it, my head fuzzy and sloshing, the stars reeling overhead in a slow waltz.
“You guys didn’t have to do this,” I tell them.
“Shut up with that already.” Sophie swats my arm. “Of course we did.”
“I’m serious,” I protest. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.” I take a deep breath. “I never had friends before. There’s a reason.”
Sophie talks over me. “Look, Skye, who cares? Seriously. That was then. It doesn’t matter. Now matters. And now, you’re a total badass. C’mon.”
I heave a sigh, look out into the dark. The firelight spills over the grass in a wide semicircle that doesn’t reach the woods. “You don’t understand.”
“We like you,” Sophie insists. “Just deal.”
She hauls herself out of her seat before I can argue, heads into the house. I hide my face behind my cup to find it empty. Again. I have to tell them. This was supposed to make it easier. I thought it was working. The hurt was melting, turning blunt and shapeless, but now it’s rising all around me. Overflowing.
“It was okay that I didn’t have friends before,” I say, “when there was Deirdre. When there was just me and Deirdre.”
William watches me, and Kevin studies the ground, both silent. The fire snaps and settles. The trees loom over us, slicing across the moon.
“I didn’t think you guys really got along,” William says eventually.
“You don’t understand,” I repeat, and laugh brokenly at my own slurring syllables. You donunnerstan. My lips feel numb. “She wasn’t always like that. Not with me. She was…she could be magic. You know? She could halfway convince you anything was real because she believed it so hard.” And now my voice is going wobbly. I don’t care. “Deirdre wasn’t the problem. It was everyone else. We’d have been fine if they could have just left her alone.”
“You need some water,” William says firmly, and takes my cup, disappears with it inside. That leaves me and Kevin, which means the end of conversation for a little while. Just as well. I settle back in my chair, stuffing my icy hands in my pockets, marshaling my courage. But Kevin breaks the silence.
“I don’t get you.”
I let my head drop back against the cushion.
“Whatever, Kevin. I’m an open book.”
“What you are is kind of mean,” he says, startling me into looking around at him. He’s watching me, frowning, his knuckles at his mouth. “And, I don’t know—judgy.”
“Aw.” I make it a sneer, but I’m stung despite myself. “What, are you saying I hurt your feelings?”
“Look, I don’t like you either,” he shoots back. “But my friends are telling you all their secrets for some reason, so I’m at least trying. And you take a shot at me every chance you get. Like, what the hell? Am I missing something?”
“And what kind of friend are you?” I snap. “A friend wouldn’t talk about Sophie like she’s a piece of meat. William doesn’t.”
“That was one time! See? Judgy!”
“Yeah, maybe people might judge you when you spout bullshit! What a concept! Do you ever mean anything you say?”
“Do you?” he challenges. “Your whole voice changes when you talk to Sophie! It’s so fake, it’s fucking creepy! And I know William’s all dazzled by your Wonder Woman act, but—”
“And you’re interrogating me about this now.” Playing this card feels like losing, but suddenly I don’t care anymore. Whatever will shut this conversation down. “Tonight. God, they keep telling me you’re not an asshole.”
It works; he falls silent and sits back a little, frowning. I glare at the fire so I won’t have to look at him. He thinks he sees right through me, does he? Well, the joke’s on him. Mean and judgy barely scratches the surface.
“Look,” he says finally, “I didn’t mean to—” He stops, tries again. “Look. I’m drunk. So’re you. This is a good time to call a truce, isn’t it? Live and let live? I mean, maybe they’re right about both of us. You know?”
Above me the moon goes blurry. The moon that’s almost full. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the misery closes over my head.
“Yeah,” I manage. “And maybe they’re wrong.”
“Here,” William says, pulling the patio door closed behind him. “Rehydrate. You’re going to have a hell of a morning tomorrow otherwise.” I put my hands over my face, turn away, trying to hold the pieces together. “Skye?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Forget it.” This was a mistake. I flounder off the deck chair, hear my knees collide with the patio stones before the pain sparks reluctantly through to my swimming head. William leans over the chair, trying to help me up.
I pull away, stumble to my feet. Sophie’s voice rises behind me.
“Skye? What’s wrong? Kevin, what the hell?”
“Don’t look at me,” Kevin protests. “She’s the one who—”
“Honestly, you guys, I was inside for five minutes!” She sounds like my mom. “Skye, where are you going?”
I don’t answer, pushing forward into the dark, away from them. The night dissolves into fragments: footsteps catching up with me halfway down the driveway. William’s hand on my arm, his arm around my shoulders, half holding me up as we stumble down the hill. The moon glaring down at us, watching. The windows of the house swimming up out of the night, bright and empty. The pale tiles of my bedroom floor, blue in the moonlight, cold against my cheek. The shadow of the sword waiting under my bed, the one thing that seems to stand unmoved as the room spins around me, rocks me to sleep.
A hand on my shoulder drags me back to the surface with a rough shake.
“Skye. Skye! Wake up!”
The spinning hasn’t stopped, but it’s turned nauseating, keeping time with a stabbing pulse in my head. Dad is a silhouette above me, framed by golden light spilling in through the door. I pull away from his hand and curl up on my side with a groan.
“You scared me,” he says. And then, more sharply, “You’ve been drinking.”
“Leave me alone,” I mutter. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Yeah, I bet,” he says darkly. “You’re practically giving off fumes.”
“Leave me alone.” I cover my face with my hands.
“I thought you were more responsible than this, Skye! We can’t deal with you acting out now, with your sister—”
“I just wanted to forget for a while,” I cry. “Isn’t that why you do this? To forget?”
There’s a silence.
“Let’s get you into bed,” he says gruffly. “We’ll discuss this in the morning.”
He helps me to my feet, tucks me fully dressed under the covers. A few minutes later, he returns with a couple of Tylenols and a tall glass of water.
“Let’s not mention this to your mother,” he says. “Okay?”
I swallow the pills, set the rest of the water down on the night table. The clock says it’s 1:07. I close my eyes and turn away from it, bracing myself against the sickening merry-go-round swoop of the darkness around me.
This is it. When I get up again, it will be the last day. And I still have to tell.
Sixteen
The di
scussion Dad promised, predictably, doesn’t happen. When I wake up, close to noon, the nausea has dulled to a dizzy, hollow feeling that’s almost hunger. But eating seems like an idea from another lifetime. I stay in bed the whole day, and my parents, mercifully, don’t intrude.
When William texts—asking how I’m doing, offering to come over and watch a movie after school—I type sure without letting myself think about it. This time I’ll do it, I tell myself. It will be easier if it’s just William, if I don’t have to face all of them at once. I can tell him. I’ll work up to it. If it’s the end of the world, it doesn’t make any difference if I watch a movie first. I can take two or three more hours for myself, can’t I, before letting the nukes fly?
When I open the door, he steps inside, sets down the grocery bag he’s carrying—a bag of chips crinkles at the top—and wraps his arms around me in a careful, gentle hug, as if I’m any of the normal people he cares about, as if it’s natural as breathing. And I hug him back, because why the hell not. It shouldn’t be comforting, the breadth of his shoulders under my arms, the warm fabric of his shirt against my nose. He smells good—like his kitchen, that morning a million years ago. Sun. Vanilla.
Two or three hours. I can do this.
“You look terrible,” he says.
“Thanks,” I return, and his mouth tilts into an embarrassed smile.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. Rough morning.”
“Well, cheese fries are supposed to be the best hangover food, so I brought the closest I could get.” He empties the bag onto the couch: potato chips and shrink-wrapped cheese sticks.
I make him pick the movie. He shuffles through Netflix for a few minutes before starting Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. “It reminds me of you,” he explains, “with your ninja skills and everything.”
We sit side by side in silence, watching busty Regency ladies trade haughty dialogue and whip swords from improbable hiding places to splatter zombie blood across the battlefield. I crunch through a handful of chips to be polite. The screen burns into my eyes. When I look away, I find him watching me instead of the movie; he gives me a little smile, guileless.
Here There Are Monsters Page 14
