Daphne knits her brow. “What do you mean? Your father hasn’t noticed anything—I can tell. He’ll be glad to have had a little more time with you.”
“Not him.” My lungs clench against the admission, but she clearly won’t listen to reason unless I spell it out in detail. “I told you that in my world, I’ve sparked my matches. Obviously your Elodie never did. But the fact that I’ve had that connection with another version of them—I can’t help seeing them at school—it seems like my being there is affecting them. Making them do things they wouldn’t do otherwise. And who knows how many other things are changing because they’re acting differently?”
Daphne perks up with a widening of her eyes—and a gleam of what looks like scientific interest. Not the reaction I was going for.
Her voice turns breathless. “I should have anticipated… Of course there’d be an effect.” She grazes her fingers over my hair. “You’re like a butterfly, changing the currents of the air with every flap of your wings. Glide in a new direction, and there’s a whole tornado.”
Is that supposed to be comforting?
I manage not to glare at her, but it’s a near thing. “I’d rather not set off any tornados.”
She has the nerve to laugh at me. “What are these matches of yours doing that you think would be disruptive?”
“They’re notmymatches,” I have to say, and rub my face. “There’s some kind of draw between us. I feel a bodily pull toward them—which I’ve been resisting—but they must feel it too, because we keep ending up around each other. They seem more… worked up by the things I say and do than they ever werebefore we sparked our bond in my world. We’re messing withfate. I don’t see how that can lead anywhere good.”
Daphne hums to herself. “A butterfly can’t help being drawn to the most verdant blooms. And whatever effect you’re having on them, it isn’t your fault.”
No, it’shers.
I firm my tone as much as I can. “Blame doesn’t matter. What matters is we don’t know what consequences—tornados or whatever—my presence will cause. I might already have messed up way more than we know. Isn’t that worse than anything I could accomplish?”
Which isn’t much, it seems like.
To my dismay, Daphne stands up with a gentle shake of her head. “Your matches won’t be safe with a murderer on the loose. When we catch that villain, everything will be fine. The rest will fall into place.”
“But—”
For just an instant, her gaze turns grim. “We have to work with what we have, Elodie. Keep looking. That’s the only way.”
She walks out without a backward glance.
A wave of despair rolls over me, even heavier than before. I sag back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
She wouldn’t listen at all. She doesn’t care about anyone, not even me. Only her dead niece who was tangled up in so many threads I feel like they’re digging into my flesh.
How can I ever pick them all apart—and without flaying myself raw?
How many more people are going to get hurt if this keeps going?
I close my eyes, and dark, scarlet-smeared fragments of the past dart behind my eyelids. My throat seizes up.
I can almost smell the damp asphalt, taste the mingled blood and rain trickling through my mouth. Feel Asher’s limp shoulder beneath my grasp…
It could happen again, almost like that, with any of them. If my doppelganger’s murderer makes another attempt—if I’m not prepared enough—if the guys who would have been Other Elodie’s matches happen to be nearby?—
And that’s only the most horrific possible outcome. Even if we escape that dark fate, what other dire paths am I inadvertently leading them down?
They’re focused on me now. Compelled to talk to me, to get close to me, to feelsomethingeven if so far it mostly doesn’t appear to have been good.
I’m like an unwilling siren, singing them to their doom no matter how I try to silence the call.
How far am I leading them astray, away from whatever they were meant to be doing in this reality? Isn’t it going to be a thousand times more painful when I disappearafterthey’re fixated on me than if the possible bond had ended with Other Elodie’s death on the street nine days ago?
How many more tornados might I be setting in motion just byexistinghere?
My heart thumps so hard I think it might crack my ribs. I push myself off the bed and pace the room that isn’t mine. The anguish only squeezes tighter around me.
Haven’t I ruined enough lives already? Maybe even my matches back in my own reality will be better off without me. Once they accept that I’m gone, Byron and Salvatore could reconnect with their families and reclaim their legacies on their own terms. Cole would be free of the constant reminder of his brother’s death.
