The darkness swallows up her form. I hustle after her, easing off the path onto the grassy ground between the trees. She’s definitely up to something.
And so is someone else, I think. As I stride along, torn between staying discreet and keeping Elodie in sight, another form flickers into view on the path between her and me.
It’s only a split-second impression, a filmy figure with a hood hiding its hair, there and gone.
Narrowing my eyes, I push a little magic toward that spot.
I can’t see them anymore, can’t tell anything about them, but there’s a patch of condensed energy following Elodie just like I am. Someone whose concealment spell isn’t quite as stable as mine.
A flare of protective fury rushes through my body, tensing my muscles. Who does this fucker think he—or she—is, stalking my girl?
Every urge in me roars to jump the stalker, shatter their magic, and pummel all the shady intentions out of them. I push myself a little faster… and then clench my jaw against the blaring impulses.
Elodie’s other follower is sticking too close to her for me to tackle him without her noticing. I still want to find out what she’s doing.
And if she knows I followed her here, she’ll be much more careful if she comes again. I might not catch her.
Who knows what danger she’d encounter then, without me to watch over her?
She didn’t seem to like me jumping in the last couple of times someone or something threatened her. I’ve seen her fight. I have to give her credit—she can handle herself.
I should probably give her a chance to handle this scalder too.
In a setting like this, she’ll be on guard. Whatever this prick’s intentions are, he won’t take her by surprise.
And if it turns out she can’t handle him on her own, I’ll be right here to leap in and make him pay.
Forty-Two
Elodie
It’s easy enough to find a pair of black leggings in Other Elodie’s massive wardrobe. A suitable dark and casual shirt takes longer. I don’t want ruffles, laces, or ruching getting in the way of my movements.
Finally, I unearth a simple black long-sleeved tee mixed in with a drawer of workout clothes. It has a big white logo on the front, so I simply turn it inside out before pulling it on.
I assess myself in the mirror and smile with a twisted sense of satisfaction. I look almost like I’m outfitted for one of my missions for Uncle Nik.
While I’m in this reality, I’ll never have to carry out another of his operations. Never activate my glim and all the carnage that comes with it. That’s one small relief.
Now I just have to survive long enough to appreciate the reprieve.
I’m gathering my hair with an elastic when someone raps on my bedroom door. Aunt Daphne’s voice follows a moment later. “Elodie—can I come in?”
My pulse hiccups. If she sees me dressed like this, she’ll definitely have questions. I want her to believe I’ve gone to bed in the next half hour.
I snatch a satin dressing gown and throw it on over my stealth clothes, wrapping it tight so it covers me up to my neck. Then I hustle out and flop onto the sofa near the picture window as if I’ve been up to nothing but a little lounging before bedtime.
“Sure,” I call, hoping I sound reasonably relaxed.
Daphne eases inside and walks across the room when she sees me, halting several feet away. I do my best impression of someone who definitely doesn’t have any secret schemes up her sleeve.
What I’m planning tonight could give my aunt the closure she wants, but I don’t think she’d approve of me sticking my neck out quite this far. She might be a lunatic, but if what she said before is true… she was hoping I’d be happy here, not end up as dead as my double.
Daphne hesitates and then takes another step forward, as if debating how much personal space she should give me. She looks down at her hands, skinny fingers twined awkwardly together, and then back at me.
“I wanted to apologize, properly. When I made the decision I did the night Ellie died… I didn’t consider all the consequences. I tried to make sure I wouldn’t be disrupting a life you wanted to keep, but of course every life matters to the person living it.”
The apology doesn’t give me back what I lost or soften the pain of my grief, but a little new warmth forms in my chest at her words. She’s not a total lunatic.
