The rest of the drive was quiet, everyone exhausted and filthy. I’m now on Oaklyn’s couch while she showers. I’ll stay the night again.
Honestly, unless she’s a very good actor, she seems to have no idea I’m Katie’s friend.
This means two things:
1. It’s possible she wasn’t just using me and really does like me. (Verdict TBD.)
2. I can be a spy as planned.
I should feel victorious about infiltrating the Madsens, but…
I don’t know. I feel sick.
What’ll happen when Oaklyn finds out who I am? I don’t doubt what Sophia would do to me, but I can’t be sure about Oaklyn. Does she really care about me, or am I just a distraction?
Every time I look into her eyes, the guilt of lying twists deeper. These are the same eyes as before, soft and blue and full of affection. The only difference is that now I know the truth. I know she tried to kill Katie, and those scars on Katie’s ankle are from Wyatt, and Sophia has spent decades murdering people in pursuit of magic.
But I’ve seen the hurt in Oaklyn’s eyes when she talked about losing Freddie and her dad, and I’ve felt her arms around me at night, holding me like I’m something precious she’s afraid to lose. When I wake up beside her and look over to see the sun catching on her eyelashes, on the curve of her cheek, on her bare, pink lips, all I see is a normal girl. She has layers Katie doesn’t see. Do they count for something?
I hate this. I have critical information I could give the witches right now—Oaklyn’s whereabouts. But if I tell them where she lives, they’ll come for her, and I’m too confused to know how I feel about that.
Well, the witches also need Sophia’s address, so I can work on getting that info first. Sophia is clearly the more dangerous one, so she should be the primary target anyway.
The shower just turned off.
My heart is pounding.
I’m about to look into Oaklyn’s blue eyes and ask about her mom, knowing her answers will bring me closer to the moment I betray her.
Note to self: Get serious about keeping this journal a secret. No writing in it while I’m with Oaklyn. Keep it buried deep inside my backpack among my schoolwork. I might consider going to therapy to process my feelings instead of writing about it, but given the subject matter, here we are.
It’ll be fine. I’ll be careful.
Chapter 16
The Truth in the Cove
Ipullonblackjeansand a hoodie, getting ready for what might be the most dangerous decision of my life. My gaze keeps snagging on my phone on Natalie’s bed, where my text to Hazel sits unanswered.
Katie
You ok? Send me your location.
My stomach churns with worry. First Lucy soars back into my life as a griffin and speaks to me inside my head, then Hazel literally throws herself into the Madsens’ arms, and now I’m about to sneak out to meet a chimera in the dark.
After taking Sky to the infirmary, Natalie left to neutralize a curse at a thrift store—which feels absurdly normal after recent events. Her absence gives me the window I need to get to Lighthouse Park.
Imagining how angry and hurt she’ll be when she finds out makes me hesitate with one shoe on. We just said “I love you,” and is this how I show it? By sneaking out behind her back?
But if she knew, she’d either stop me or insist on coming along. And something tells me Lucy won’t show if I bring a witch with me—especially one who’s determined to trap her.
I put on my other shoe with a sigh. The chimeras’ pleas have been haunting me since I first heard that voice in White Rock. Why can I hear them when no one else can, and what are they trying to tell me? I can’t keep hunting them knowing I might be ignoring something crucial.
The coven has made it clear from day one that they’re not about to answer any of my questions about magic. But if Lucy is offering answers—possibly beyond anything these witches understand about chimeras—I have to go.
When the moon meets the sea…I look at my moon-phases tee crumpled on the bed. Waxing crescent tonight, which means the moon should set at about 9 P.M. I need to leave now if I want to make it in time. I’ve left a buffer in case it takes me a while to convince a witch to escort me out through the steam clock with them.
Ethel watches me from the pillows, judgment plain on her furry face, like she disapproves of me listening to a disembodied voice.
