My arrangements of bones were equally pointless. Too fragile to be weapons, dysfunctional as creatures, the only thing they could be was art. Like the device I’d found hidden in Dewitt, full of rocket fuel and phosphorous, too spectacular and imprecise for Morton use.
But at least I knew what to do with that.
I aced my Psych and Econ finals, made the dean’s list, and received a High Distinction in Disruptive Anatomy at the cost of reopening my stitches twice a week. When I bled, Uncle William bowed to me, quoting the class motto:
“Pain is power, to inflict and to endure.”
The last week of finals, I invited Sebastian to join me in the clear-cut beneath the power pylons, to tell him the truth at last.
We sat on the edge of a maintenance shed roof, warding off the downpour with the largest umbrella I could find in the Lavernick lost and found. I’d also brought a flask.
“Bourbon, Braulio, bitters. A Black Manhattan, in honor of my internship.”
Sebastian took a drink, grimaced. “If you’re going to drag me out in the rain, I have to start making my own drinks.”
“Sometimes the rain matches the situation, cousin.”
“Are you not looking forward to working with Garrett? Because the weather sucks and this cocktail tastes like a cry for help.”
“On the contrary.” I took back the flask. “I’m beginning to appreciate the art world, now that I’ve seen the financials.”
“Never change, Jess.” He leaned into my warmth, until his other shoulder was out of the rain.
“Are you excited about Albany?” I asked.
“Has anyone ever been excited about Albany?” Sebastian was interning at the State Assembly—the family’s latest attempt to cure him of political ambition. He looked up at the power lines, which hummed in the wet air. “Are we really here to discuss summer plans?”
“No.” I checked the time. “We’re here to talk about Hefnd.”
“Told you, not my cup of tea.” He took over umbrella-holding duty. “Though there is this sophomore in my Latin class. Her translations are criminal.”
Sebastian learned his languages socially—by sleeping with them, as the French say. But he took Latin and Greek to get his roots in order.
“Latin issues?” I asked. “Isn’t the Hefnd supposed to be about anger and revenge?”
“Trust me, this is pure rage. Our textbook complicates the easy stuff. Like,immortalisis defined as ‘not subject to death.’ ”
“Ugh,” I said.
“Bad enough in print, but the other day, this sophomore uttered the words, ‘Caesar lies dead before us, but his deeds shall be not subject to death.’ ”
“Is she trying to be funny?”
“She’s trying to becorrect.”
“Can I help you kill her?” I asked.
“We could stab her twenty-three times. I’ve already got a wrap line: ‘Who’s subject to deathnow, motherfucker?’ ”
“Insufficiently iambic,” I said. A breeze passed through the treetops, blowing a spindrift of rain beneath the umbrella. A shiver went through me, and I pressed closer to Sebastian, wondering when I would be this close to him again.
I was wearing my mother’s silk jacket under my raincoat.
“Perhaps the Hefnd is more me than you,” I said.
“Wait.” He pulled away. “Isthatwhy we’re huddled in the rain? There’s someone you want to kill? Bianca’s going tolovethis!”
“Not murder, cousin. But I do want revenge. For Peter.”
