63Quinn
June 2011
The day of the fall
Robbie moves toward me, slowly, and I lean away, my backpack pressed against the closed door.
“You got off work early,” I say, trying to buy time, calculating how I can maneuver myself to block his view while I twist the door handle behind my back. I’m not looking at the knife in his hand. I’m looking right in his eyes.
He flashes a small smile, and then it’s gone. His eyes cast down to my feet. He almost looks repentant. “Did you know?”
I swallow, nod.
“After the deer sacrifice didn’t work, I realized it,” he says. “Bloodspell requires a human sacrifice. Someone with the magic in their veins.” Then he says, “I’m sorry,” and presses his lips together. He might be apologizing for showing up late for a date; that’s how casual he is. Behind me, I find the door handle and grip it. I attempt to turn it, but it’s stuck, and the backpack keeps me from getting a good purchase.
He sees. Pauses. Watches my hand with curiosity. My breathing is erratic, and I sense that I have no choice. I have to commit. I spin around and use both hands to try to unstick the handle. And then, Ihave it. It turns, and for a second—no, less than a second—I think I’ve done it. I imagine myself running through the house, throwing chairs and tables behind me, sprinting out the front door, my dad pulling up at that exact moment…
Instead, I feel Robbie’s arm hook around my neck and jerk me backward. And then, I feel the blinding sensation of something sharp piercing through skin. Then it sinks into me even deeper, through muscle, and the pain is like nothing I’ve ever known. I only have enough time to look down, to see a dark blot of blood forming on my favorite pink hoodie, and to hear him say, “There’s no other way.”
The pain comes again and again, and I want it to stop. I just want it to stop.
Until, finally, it does. Until, at last, there’s nothing.
64Sophie
Sophie dreamed of Quinn’s lifeless open eyes for years. Therapy eventually helped her detach herself from the dream, and slowly, over time, she learned how to change it or wake herself up before it could start.
Now, she’s struck with the hopeful thought that Elena will wake up, that she will stand and dab the blood out of her hair with a towel and tell them it was all for a movie. But Sophie also knows, of course, this isn’t going to happen. Elena is gone. Her complexion is pale. Her mouth is open, unnatural, and still. Her eyes are closed, but the lids aren’t fluttering or twitching like someone who’s asleep. They’re devoid of color. All of her is devoid of color.
Sophie swallows, trying to erase images of the vial he filled with Elena’s blood. The needle he shoved into his skin, like it was insulin. And then his face fills her imagination, and she doesn’t want it there, but she can’t help it.
Unwittingly, she’s transported to a cold evening curled up on her couch at home, her legs over Talia’s lap, and Talia’s mother, visiting their new baby, sitting on the chair. One of Cal Pierce’s recent films—for which he had just won an Oscar—was playing on the screen. Sophie’smother-in-law had gone on and on about howcutehe was, that Cal Pierce. Sophie was called to Leah’s bedroom by a shrieking monitor, so she didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. But she remembers his face filling the screen when she eventually came back into the room. Even Talia knows him and likes his movies. He’sthatfamous. He’s one of the most known faces in all of Hollywood, in the world, maybe.
Sophie vomits violently.
Rain spews in through the once floor-to-ceiling window that now lies in pieces on the floor. She wipes her mouth, eyeing the car that plowed through glass. If they had only done it sooner, they could have saved her. Guilt claws at her. She should have figured it out. They could have been here before he knocked her unconscious. Minutes would have been enough. She knows this now, but hindsight has never been her friend, only an antagonist reminding her of all the ways she’s fallen short.
“Sophie.” Joey is standing, and Sophie is reminded of when they found Quinn at the bottom of the crag. Sophie was all hands. She grabbed at Quinn and hugged her. She didn’t shy away from the nearness of death, and she’s doing the same thing now. She can’t help herself. She smooths down Elena’s hair, presses out a wrinkle on her shirt with her fingers, as if it matters. All the while, she is choking back the sob and the taste of her own vomit that nest together inside her throat. Dead friends. That’s what she collects. She has failed to save two people she loves from terrible ends.
“Sophie.” There’s an urgency in Joey’s voice that makes Sophie glance up. Joey doesn’t say anything else, but she’s staring at the smashed window. The car has disappeared. And the window is somehow being repaired. Before their eyes, it’s whole again, not a single scratch on it, and the car is parked outside. Inside, where just seconds ago, there was debris and rain splatter and jagged shards, there is now a spotless floor and a wall of glass, perfectly intact.
“What the fuck,” says Joey. Sophie tears her gaze away from thewindow. Elena’s body no longer lies across the couch. She’s splayed out on the floor as if she has fallen.
Sophie examines the scene, trying to understand. Is the horror of it all making her lose her mind? Streaks of red on the floor where Cal inadvertently smeared Elena’s blood—they dissolve. On his way out, he left a footprint, shiny from blood, but now it’s like it’s being mopped up by an invisible towel. Gone.
Shock and confusion drive Sophie to her feet. She stands next to Joey. The bowl of Elena’s blood vanishes. The scene before her is somehow cleaning itself up.
It’s a kind of optical illusion.That’s all she has time to think before the next strange thing happens. This time, it’s counterintuitive. A puddle of blood now halos Elena’s head and sticks her hair to the floor. Even the wound itself has shifted from the ankle to the left temple, and it’s gruesome. That’s where it appears the blood has come from. Sophie and Elena stand in silence, watching the world change shape before their eyes.No,she thinks.This is all wrong.
Sophie feels something heavy filling her right hand. She grips it instinctively, not wanting to drop whatever has appeared there. When she looks down, she sees a jagged glass sculpture. It looks like it’s supposed to be mountain peaks. It’s slimy with blood, and strands of long black hair stick to it.
“This is him,” Joey says quietly. “He has the book. He must have reached the spell circle.”
Sophie instantly knows what Joey is saying. It’s an illusion spell. He’s masked her murder with magic, like he has done before. Made it look like he’s had nothing to do with it. And in this particular case, he’s decided the best way to cover his tracks is to make it look like someone else’s fault.
“It’s fine,” says Joey in a voice that suggests it’s anything but. And honestly, Sophie feels like she can solve this. She feels like there is a wayout. There has to be. She doesn’t feel fear, not the going-to-jail kind, until she sees the blue light outside the window. Someone flings the car door open and hobbles through the rain, peering in through the glass window with a face like a ghost. It’s Marissa, in her police uniform, and she looks at Sophie, then down at Elena, then back at Sophie. Her face says only one thing:“I knew it.”
65Joey
