Nelle chokes on tears. “Please.Just let me go.”
“You could’ve waited for me to show you, butno. It has to be him, doesn’t it? You know he will leave you.”
Something crashes inside the room, and Nelle cries. An animalistic surge rises in James, and he slams his shoulder against the door, but that only shoots tooth-gritting pain through his collarbone.
“Don’t do this,” she pleads.
Quill’s voice is thunderous.“Don’tdothis? I have no choice!”
James jerks the knob side to side and shoves with his shoulder again, but the door stands firm. Maybe he should’ve listened to Jessie when she told him to stay out of Nelle’s life, but all summer, he has stood at a crossroads. Now it is time to take the road less traveled. To bury the old James and introduce the world to someone evenhehasn’t met yet.
Someone who fights for what he wants.
He finds the vial of ink tied to his neck.
Trembling, he empties it on the floor. It forms a small black mirror that reflects his hardened face. He drags his finger through the ink, harnessing the writer in his soul. On his arm, he writes a command in Nelle’s ink, Nelle’sblood. The black letters shimmer over his veins.
James waits and prays that it works.
The match between Father’s fingers teases its final wink when Nelle feels his control lift from her body. Her bones release like unlocked manacles. Like a tucked-in-blanket stripped off a mattress. There one second, gone the next.
In its place, there is a burning need to fight.
James, she thinks. If he has written for her, then every ounce of her that fills the pages of this room can be destroyed, and she will still be here. She will live.
If he has written for her, and it isworking, then she is free.
“Burn it all,” Nelle says quietly.
She wants to laugh, to fly. For twenty-one years, she was unable to defy Father. Twenty-onegruelingyears of pressure swelling. She was a star, working up to a supernova.
“I would rather die than live in this house with you.” The words leave her lips drenched in fire. “Burn itall.”
“I ...” The match burns out. Father drops it. “You want me to ...”
“Burn it!” Nelle screams. His dumbfounded expression gives her immense satisfaction. She chuckles lowly and glares at him. “Burn it, you miserable little man.”
A quiet calm falls over him. He strikes another match, and it spits, catching fire. Without hesitation, he flicks it toward the circular wall of books, which ignites in a stinging blast. Nelle covers her face as white fire races around her, suffocatingly hot.
After the initial explosion, the fire calms and crackles along the shelves. It snakes across all of her journals until every wall in the room is up in flames. Her skin sizzles, hair floating with the billowing heat and smoke.
Seeing the pages that have made up her life flutter to ash should feel disheartening, devastating. Instead it’s freeing. Nothing tethers her to Lincoln, to this house, toQuillanymore.
Father’s heaving chest slows as he watches her, his coal eyes softening. He opens a drawer and slaps a manila folder on the desk.
“This is yours.” He slides it to her. “I never intended to keep you here forever.”
Nelle’s immediate reaction is to reject it, but after a moment of consideration, she picks the folder up and holds it close to her stomach.
“Why don’t I believe you?” she asks.
Then her mind, her body, herbones, feel an overwhelming need to leave. She walks backward, hits the door, and unlocks the knob. Facing Father, never turning away.
His gaunt face is splashed with shadows and firelight, a droopiness to his shoulders, a crack of defeat in his stature.
Nelle steps into the hall, hesitating before she shuts the study door. Father watches her go, and despite the fire wreathing him, no warmth touches his face. For a heartbeat, she considers saying goodbye. Then, on second thought, she slams the door shut.
James is already by her side, holding a chair. He wedges it underneath the handle, as if that will stop Father. Though he may not try to escape. Without her, what does he have to live for? She feels no remorse for leaving him to burn, instead relishing the idea of him melting while the pages of his precious Nellie crumble to ash.
