I shook my head. “Maybe it’s enough that he made it out. That he got to her.”
She spat in the grass. “I hope it was worth it.”
Mama Celeste turned at the gate, eyes glistening, and called back, “You did what you had to. That’s all any of us can do.”
The sun started to rise for real, gold fingers crawling over the stones. The light caught the ring and turned it to silver. I stood, felt the wet chill in my jeans, and realized I’d have to be the one to carry the next part. Whatever that was.
Scarlette climbed to her feet, wiped her nose on her sleeve, and glared at the circle. “Let’s get them out of here,” she said, nodding at the sisters, still tangled together on the grass.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
We packed up. No one said a word about the broken tools or the blood on our hands. Maeve and Nora followed, slow, like they were afraid the ground would open and swallow them, too. We left the ring behind, the circle scarred into the cemetery like a warning or a gravestone.
I didn’t look back. Not until we reached the end of the lane, and the mist started to lift for good. Then I turned, just once, and imagined I could see Toolie and the girl standing in the circle, hand in hand, watching us leave.
Maybe they were. Maybe that’s what love was—wanting someone to make it out, even if you couldn’t follow.
I squared my shoulders, put a hand on Maeve’s back to steady her, and we walked on.
Maeve made it three steps before her knees gave out. She fell hard, hands digging into the grass, the sound of it small but final. She didn’t move, just stayed doubled over, face hidden, the breath coming out of her in little shudders. Then the scream started—long and raw, scraping up from somewhere deep. Itbounced off the stones and the trees, then faded out, leaving nothing but the wet slap of her palms on the ground.
Nora was on her a second later. She wrapped herself around Maeve, cheek pressed to the back of her head, arms tight as bands of wire. Maeve tried to push her off, at first—just a reflex, the old big-sister violence—but Nora wouldn’t let go. They knelt there together, a heap of tangled limbs, shaking in sync.
I wanted to turn away, to give them the privacy of their grief, but my boots wouldn’t move. I just stood there, fists clenched, jaw tight enough I thought it might crack. I tried to swallow it all, to stay upright, but the edges of the world kept curling in, blurring at the corners.
Scarlette made herself busy. Mama Celeste stood off to the side.
It was up to me to move things forward. It always was.
I crossed to the sisters, squatted low, and put a hand on each of their backs. I could feel the shudders through my palm—hot, then cold, then just numb. Maeve wouldn’t look at me, but Nora did. Her eyes were red, skin raw, but she nodded, like she understood this was all that kept her upright.
I waited until the noise in Maeve ran out. Then I said, “The Royal Bastards will take care of you both.” My voice came out gravelly, tight. “You have my word.”
Maeve shuddered, sucked in a breath, and finally looked up. The green in her eyes was sharp, alive, full of hate—but it was aimed at the world, not at me.
“I don’t want your word,” she spat, but the fight was gone from it. “I want my sister back.”
I nodded. “Yeah.” Sometimes you just have to agree.
Nora patted Maeve’s arm, like she was soothing a stray dog. “We can go,” she whispered, soft but steady. “We can go now.”
I helped them both to their feet. Maeve was deadweight, but I was used to carrying more than my share. Nora barely cameto my chest, but she stuck to my side the whole time, one hand wrapped in the hem of my jacket.
We walked out slow, like a funeral, but without the dignity. Maeve and Nora were a pair of wraiths on either side of me, Scarlette just behind, head down. Mama Celeste brought up the rear, her steps even, never hurrying.
The sun was full up now, the light making the grass look fake, too green to be real. The ring stood out like a bruise in the middle of it all—a scar in the earth. I looked back once, caught the glare of it, and felt something twist inside my ribs. I wanted to rip it out, to leave all the pain there in the dirt, but I knew better.
We hit the gates and paused, the chill of the iron seeping through my shirt. I watched the sky for a minute, half-expecting to see the rift open again, Toolie’s ugly mug laughing down at me. Nothing. Just crows circling, and the city waking up beyond the fence.
I turned to the girls, made sure they were steady. Maeve’s hands were fists, knuckles white, but she stood. Nora leaned into her, letting herself be held. Scarlette kept her eyes fixed on the ground, jaw set.
I looked at Mama Celeste, and she nodded. That was enough.
We stepped through the gate, into whatever came next. I kept a hand on each sister, held them upright. For Toolie, for the girl, for everyone who didn’t make it out.
At the edge of the walk, I paused, let the rest go ahead. I turned to look at the ring of dead grass.
“See you around, brother,” I said. My throat worked, but I didn’t let it break. Not yet. Then I set my jaw, squared my shoulders, and followed the girls into the bright, empty morning.
