“Nope! No!” Miss Beverly shouts. “You two get inside. I catch you feeding another varmint and you are OUT, you hear me? Out!”
I nuzzle Snuff quickly and we scramble inside, Miss Beverly slamming and locking the door behind us. But oddly, Spirit shows me a stuffed toy bear, instead of the grizzly I’d expect to see.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The next morning, the four of us are on a train to the Battery. From the window, I glimpse Lady Liberty Enlightening the World. She stands on Bedloe’s Island, and as I look at her crown, her torch, my vision burns at the edges, darkening into shadows and ash. Then they appear: the pirates they used to hang on that island, a hundred years or so ago. Their limp forms sway from tree branches, dragging the boughs into steep arcs, and I fear the limbs might break.
And then—SNAP!One of the dark figures’ head twitches off his chest, and his black-abyss eyes lock on mine. Even from this distance on a slow rolling train, I can see a toothless grin smear his face. He is the man in the wide-brimmed hat. He throws his head back and laughs, his neck lolling in an unnatural way. As he does, I feel the burn of the noose digging into my throat, my breath getting shallow, quick, the thin thread of it spooling ever away. A jolt of pain shoots from the knot of my neck down my spine, and for a moment, I am immobile. I am falling, falling… and I hear a voice, breathy and eerie and close:
This is what happens when you invite darkness in, Stella.
This is what revenge looks like.
“I need air.” I stumble to the small passageway between cars, close my eyes, and try to steady my breath.
Moments later the vestibule door opens and shuts. When I flutter my eyes, Pax is there. He doesn’t say anything at first, just checks to make sure I’m okay. We stand, swaying, in the small, creaking space between train cars. It’s like this tiny space was made for two bodies.
At last he speaks over the roar of the train. “Are you happy?” Pax asks. He must shout to be heard. It sounds odd and sarcastic, that question, being shouted at high volume.
I blink. “Does that matter?”
“Of course it matters.” How is it that I canfeelhis gaze? “You don’t believe your happiness matters to me?”
I cock my head. Study him. He’s serious. I want to scream.
“No,” I say at last. “I thought you a more shrewd businessman than that.”
This comment stings Pax. His eyes, shiny silver mirrors—they reflect his every emotion. He’s truly not good at hiding what he feels. Or he’sverygood at showing the precise emotion he wishes to show. Likely the latter.
“Business?” he says. “Is that all I am to you?”
“Isn’t that all I am to YOU? You recruited me for a Bureau. You found me because of what I can do, not because of who I am. We are business partners, no? Bandits?Thieves?”
And then, drat you, gravity! The train lurches around a corner, and Pax and I are thrown against each other. Pax wraps his left arm around my waist, firm, tight. He throws his right palm against the door, stabilizing us both.
We are inches apart. I exhale. Pax inhales. Pax gently places his thumb in the dimple on my chin and tilts my faceup. He stares at my mouth. “Like raspberries,” he whispers.
I bite my bottom lip.
“Stella,” he whispers, his voice urgent. “It’s us against the world, don’t you feel it? My sister, yours: Our destiny is intertwined.”
His lips are inches from mine, his breath on my lips.
This is what I was afraid of: our lust for revenge being misinterpreted as lust for each other. This isexactlywhat I was afraid of.
“Get the hell outta here!” The conductor swings open the door and scowls at our public indecency. He takes his baton and wedges it between us, like a crowbar. “Kids,” he mutters, and continues his patrol of the train.
“Well,partner,” Pax says in that voice that makes me picture dark, rich coffee. He runs his fingers through his thick hair. “If you’re feeling better, let’s return to our seats.”
He pauses, gripping the door handle. His silver eyes meet mine, and they are clear with honesty. “You mystify me, Stella Bohdan. Youandyour abilities—I find them both so enticing.”
He leaves.
Enticing?
My psychic abilities areenticingto him? He finds themalluring, somehow?
I understand, of course, that heneedsme. He’s using me. But it’s odd that this thing that others say makes me a witch—a sorceress, a sinner—is something that Pax Princip truly seems to love and admire.
