Only him, and if hedidhug me for whatever reason, I wouldn’t want to forsake my skin and run away, either. His touch was…something else. Not like Russ’s. Not like anyone’s.
“Whichever way we go from here will be the proper way,” Anika sang.
“Whichever way we go, we’ve already unwon twice today.” Mimi.
“The clocks are back, the hour unmade.” Seth.
“Wrinkle-free, no longer afraid.” Levana.
“We’ve—”
“GUYS!”
The sound of Reggie’s voice irritated me—guys, guys, guys!Still, it was impossible not to recognize his panic, and not to stop together with the rest of the Hands, to turn.
To find Reggie was still by the table, his hands on the edge of it as he was trying to pull himself forward but couldn’t.
He looked even more terrified than before.
“Reggie, come on,” said Mimi from my side. “What are you waiting for, we’re?—”
“Ican’t!” Reggie cried out, his face wet with tears, his whole body shaking.
“He can’t.” Redundant words, but they slipped out of me anyway because I was stuck on how white his hands were, how hard he was trying to move himself forward but couldn’t.
He was a big guy, bigger than March, and it seemed impossible that the table wasn’t moving or at least groaning from his grip, but…
“It’s all right. We’ll carry you. You don’t have to walk,” said Seth, and he was already moving back toward the table, toward Reggie.
March followed him. “I can carry him by myself.” And he didn’t even hesitate.
Why?
Why did all the other Hands look so…concerned?
Why weren’t they irritated by the crying and the shaking of Reggie?
Or was the better question,why was I?
My brain worked—had I always been like this, or had I been like them? What wasthe beforelike?
What was beforebefore?
“The host!” A scream. “The-the-the host!”
Reggie hit the ground on his knees, right there by the table, his hands raised now, palms bloody where the edge of the table had cut into his skin.
Seth and March stopped. The others huddled closer to me, whispering, hands over their mouths, terrified. I stepped to the side as casually as I could—too close.And Reggie fell on the ground with another cry.
“Reggie!” Seth and March ran forward. I watched, stunned and frozen, as the ground came alive, and vines and tree roots slipped out from underneath, and wrapped themselves like rope all around Reggie’s body.
It was as horrifying to watch him wail and scream—the host, the host!—as the ground consumed him, as it had been to look a clockbeast in the face while it tried to eat me.
And March and Seth tried. The others joined—they tried to get those vines and roots off him. It wouldn’t work—of course it wouldn’t. He’d known, hadn’t he?
All along, Reggie had known that he was going to die. He’d told me so himself.
Yet they tried and they pulled and they failed and theycried when all of Reggie’s body was covered by those vines. The weapons they had with them, knives and swords, couldn’t cut through them at all. You couldn’t see a single inch on him—he was completely covered.
