Where Uncle Nik found me before the rest of my matches did.
“Let go of him. Come away and get a hold of yourself.”
“But I— But he— Look at him!”
A scream building in my lungs. A sob clogging my throat.
The unfamiliar voice is firm and brusque. “There’s nothing you can do for him now. You have to focus on yourself. Do you wantyourlife to end here too?”
Near-black eyes bore into mine while the chill of the drizzle flecks my face and seeps through my torn clothes. The lone security lamp beyond the man haloes his blunt features.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he says, his tone still urgent but softening slightly. “Someone was going to die here tonight no matter what. Look at your palm. You have three other matches who still need you. Do you want to make this right? I can help you. But you have to do exactly what I say.”
His words form a tiny strand of hope that threads through the horror and hopelessness that’s drowning me. My heart lurches.
I snatch at the thread like a lifeline. “Okay. Yes. Please.”
A bus rattles by, jarring me out of the memory. I swallow hard.
I had no idea how many new horrors Uncle Nik would lead me into. They’re all waiting for me back in my own reality along with my matches.
How can I regret the choice I made, though? I wouldn’t have kept any of my matches if not for him guiding the story of that night, spinning me into a traumatized victim instead of the girl who murdered her mate.
I owe every happiness in my life to him.
No more breaking down. No more letting the way the menheretreat me hurt so much. Remembering how I nearly burst into tears at school, how Byron nearly caught me at it, brings a scalding flush to my cheeks.
I’m stronger than that, aren’t I? I have to get this awful job done, and then I’ll be back with my real matches. Their love will melt away all the harsh words their alternate selves have thrown at me.
Even if they’re only offering that love because they don’t know what I really am.
I hurry back to where the storefronts get brighter and glossier and call Maurice to take me home.
When the chauffeur parks in the curved drive outside the house, Aunt Daphne is poking around the rose bushes, her tawny hair billowing even more than usual with the warm spring breeze. She clicks her tongue to herself, her hands flitting from one blossom to another before seeming to find one satisfactory. She snips it partway down the stem and turns to share her smile with me.
No one else may have realized that I’m not the right Elodie for this world, but my aunt’s the one who brought me here. The second our gazes meet, the corners of her mouth tighten. A shadow of sadness passes through her bright eyes.
She’s acting a part as much as I am. Has she figured out what to tell the rest of the family about Other Elodie’s death yet?
Maybe she’s waiting for me to provide better intel.
I’ve barely talked to Daphne since this past weekend when she helped fill in my knowledge of Other Elodie’s life and fixedmy hair. Her frenetic presence and the fact that she so casually yanked me out of my world rattles my nerves.
She is the only person here I can talk to openly though, without putting on an act of my own. At least, not as much of one.
If she knew exactly what kind of person she invited into her home, she might have preferred I got hit by a car too.
“Hey,” I say, trying on a smile of my own. “Can I talk with you about something?”
Daphne’s expression relaxes again. She motions me to the house with a swing of her skinny arm. “Of course. Let’s go inside.”
In the living room, she sets the rose in a crystal vase she’d already set out and tugs off her gardening gloves. I catch a glimpse of her bond mark, stark pink on her pale palm, with three spires jutting from the darker center.
She was the core of her union, her fated partners all gravitating toward her but not necessarily each other, although sometimes affections are more spread around. I haven’t seen any sign of her matches, but it’d be rude to ask where they are.
I’m not sure I want to hear the story that explains their absence anyway. There can’t be many happy reasons she’d be living without them.
It’s also generally considered impolite to ask about someone’s glim if they haven’t volunteered the information. I’m guessing hers must have an aspect that helped her wrench me here from my own reality, because I can’t imagine how anyone could accomplish something that incredible with ephemera power alone.
