My sophomore year at Avernia.
“How much do you remember from the night Death’s Teeth…marked you as Incarnate?” she asks softly.
“Nothing, really,” I say, although that’s not entirely true. The bits and pieces I do recall are scattered though. Just dangerous enough to keep me uncomfortable and haunted without showingme any full pictures. “It’s fuzzy, and I’ve purposely blocked a lot of it out, I think. Or at least… I haven’t tried to remember.”
She remains quiet as I pull the journal forward, turning to the first page and skimming the neat, half-cursive writing. It’s mostly the ramblings of a past Pythia, nothing I haven’t seen or heard before.
Life and death are the ruling principles of Death’s Teeth, so it makes sense they’d have an obsession with cause and effect, karma, and symbiosis. Even their selection process is bound by that school of thought—which leads into the first real journal entry.
The day of that party.
The last time I ever saw Bellamy alive.
I speed-read through the next entries, horror mounting in my stomach like an abyss of darkness as I relive the events through someone else’s eyes.
Someone was watching the entire time and did nothing to stop it?
My fingers tremble as I get to the final page of that night’s entry—when one of the figures falls into the lake while someone else stands there, watching.
Doingnothing.
The words start to blur as tension threads through my forehead, a sudden agonizing sensation splitting my face in half. Nausea pulses at the base of my throat, and I lean over my chair, dragging the wastebasket close as bile rises, spewing from my lips before I have a chance to stop it.
There’s no doubt in my mind that this is detailing what occurred with me and Bellamy that night. Down to the description of how the other members shifted their attention to me, using my body?—
More vomit pours out of me. Elle slides from my lap, retrieving a cold water bottle from the minifridge. When shepresses it against the back of my neck, I suck in a sharp breath, something unsettling swimming through my veins.
I close my eyes, placing the wastebasket in its spot, and reach into my desk for a stick of spearmint gum. Without me asking, she walks to the door and uses the dimmer switch on the wall to lower the overhead lights.
Dropping my head into my hands, I take a sip of the water she offers, shaking my head. “Where did you find this journal?”
“A librarian brought it to me at my cousin’s request.”
“Your cousin specifically asked for this book? How did they even know it existed? This is the first I’ve seen or heard of anything like it, and it’s…” I trail off, at a loss for words.
What in the hell is this book, and why is it only just coming to light?
“It’s about you, right?” Elle asks, folding her arms over her chest. “The stuff they did to you…”
I don’t answer, staring at my hands. They tremble beneath the weight of the memories, disgust twining tight around them until it feels like I can’t move.
“The person who showed up. Do you remember anything about them?”
“No.” It’s barely a word, whispered through disbelief.
She pauses for a long time. “You opened your eyes at one point. You don’t remember what you saw?”
“It’s all so hazy that I—” Abruptly, I cut myself off, swinging my gaze to hers. She’s pressed against the bookcase across from me, wearing a hole in the corner of my desk with her laser focus. “That isn’t mentioned in the book.”
Confusion makes a volatile cocktail in my throat, choking off my air supply.
“Elle?”
Tears pool beneath her hazel irises. One spills down her cheek.
She won’t look at me.
The Andersons are cursed.
