“AH, PARIS.” BELLE WINCED AT Lake’s affected French accent, wincing again when Lake twirled, her double-breasted red coat and polka-dot skirt swirling with her. “How I’ve missed you!”
I couldn’t blame Lake for the enthusiasm. It was probably all in my excitable little tourist head, but even the air was different in France. The moment we touched down, I felt it, relishing the foreign air that slipped down my throat as we traveled through the chilled airport terminal.
A van took us through the narrow, twisting streets of Paris. I rolled down my window, the late-afternoon sun a delight on my face. There was a different energy here. A nervous kind of excitement settled in my bones despite the lingering jet lag. I could hear wisps of French spoken by the women and children strolling down the sidewalks, by the waiters scribbling new menus on the chalkboards outside their cafés, and by the men who threw smoking cigar butts into the gutters outside bars.
The narrow street emptied into the wider avenues of central Paris, tall buildings zipping in and out of our view. Taking out my cell phone, I leaned through my window and snapped a shot of the rolling river sparkling under the sun: La Seine, or so my guidebook told me. As we passed, a white ferry pulled at least a hundred tourists underneath a magnificent bridge carved in gaping arches.
My lips parted. The bridge. The bridge itself was an antiphantom device. It must have been Paris’s equivalent of a Needle. Though the design was very different, I could tell it was an APD by the engine core cutting through the center. Electrical sparks flew from the motor’s heart, gliding down the tracks along the bridge as the core’s clockwork gears clinked and shifted.
I checked my guidebook. The Pont Saint-Michel was outfitted as an antiphantom device in the early sixties, shortly after the Paris massacre of 1961. Maybe it was more a cathartic move than anything else—turning a site that had seen so much death into a monument to the protection of life.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” whispered Lake next to me. “Ugh, wouldn’t it just be the perfect place to have the photo shoot?”
Chae Rin scoffed behind her. “The shoot’s tomorrow, right? Personally, I don’t really care where they take the pictures, just as long as they don’t put me in anything stupid.”
Said the circus performer.
We reached the hotel and went up to the seventh floor, once again bought out by the Sect for privacy. Thankfully, no one knew we were in town, and our hotel, being one frequented by the international elite, was well versed in the principles of discretion, so we didn’t need to worry about getting mobbed by the press.
At any rate, now that we were in France, we were a step closer to fulfilling the plan, but there was one key part that still needed to be sorted: Belle. Steeling our nerves, Chae Rin, Lake, and I traveled down the hall and knocked on her door.
“Belle?”
Belle opened the door and let us in. In a white tank top and yoga pants, she looked ready to hit the gym, which probably explained the pair of little weights on the table next to the television.
“What is it?” Belle flipped her ponytail out of her shirt and headed to the windows.
Chae Rin pushed me forward a little too hard; I hopped three steps and nearly crashed into the bedpost.
“Oh, I was just wondering.” I shifted my back painfully. “You grew up near Paris, didn’t you?”
Without looking back, Belle stretched out her neck. “Why?”
I darted a quick glance to Lake, who not-so-discreetly spurred me on. Damn, why was I the one who had to do it? “Since we’re close by,” I said, “I thought it might be . . . uh, k-kind of nice to visit your old foster home!”
I giggled nervously as Belle stared at me. Clearly, this was going to be a tough sell, but I also knew it’d be much easier to get into a stranger’s home if we could use the old I used to live here, and I was just wondering if I could have a look around again con.
“Visit my old home,” Belle repeated in a toneless voice. “All four of us.”
I glanced at the other girls again before nodding. “Why not? We’re close by.”
Belle rolled her eyes with a quiet sigh before turning her back to us.
“Might be a good opportunity for a bit of Effigy bonding,” Lake tried as Belle began stretching her arms above her head. “I mean, since we’re all here?”
Belle went very quiet, which meant that she was either really pissed off or lost in thought. Hopefully, it wasn’t the former. “And you’re all just so interested in my childhood.”
“Not really,” Chae Rin mumbled under her breath before getting a sharp nudge in the ribs from Lake.
“Maia wanting to go, I would have bought, but you two? Please.” Belle’s hands found her hips as she turned and leaned back against the eggshell-white curtains veiling her window. “You three should have thought this through a bit more, yes?”
I deflated. She was right, of course, but the lie was worth a shot. So plan A was a bust. The alternative was definitely riskier, but we didn’t really have a choice now. We needed to get inside that house.
I’d have to word this very carefully.
“Look,” I said. “I know you didn’t want to hear about . . . about Natalya’s memories.”
Belle’s hands slowly slid off her hips.
“But,” I continued quickly, “we think she left something for you in your old foster home. I dreamed about it. We just want to know what it is. It seemed really important.”
“She . . . she left something for me?” Confusion passed over Belle’s flushed face.
I nodded. “In secret. Trust me, she really wanted you to find it.”
Belle lowered her head but didn’t say a word.
“Come on, Belle,” said Chae Rin. “I get that the whole Natalya thing is a sore spot for you, but do you really think you should ignore this?”
Belle looked up and locked eyes with me. “Tell me the whole dream.”
I did, explaining it in as much detail as I could recall. By the end, Belle was sitting at the foot of the bed, hunched over with her arms propped up against her knees.
“The Castor Volumes,” she whispered.
Lake cocked her head. “What?”
“One of the last conversations I had with Natalya before she . . .” With a sharp gasp, Belle swallowed the next word. “A month ago, I planned on visiting the National Museum in Prague. It’s where the original Castor Volumes are kept. I know what’s in them, for the most part, but I’ve never had a chance to actually read them. There was one volume in particular I was interested in. I told Natalya I was planning to go during the last three days of March, but I never ended up doing it.”
“So Natalya hid that message for you thinking you’d be there,” said Chae Rin.
“Why not just meet me and tell me in person?”
I remembered rushing through the museum in Natalya’s body, navigating the halls with a single focus. I remembered the rush of relief after leaving the note for Belle in the book, the kind of relief you got after crossing an item off of a very long, very important to-do list. And through it all, Natalya had known she was being followed.
“It’s not that she didn’t want to,” I said quietly. “Maybe she couldn’t.”
I hesitated. Chae Rin was right: We still had no idea how Belle would react if we told her about Natalya’s death. Belle’s pain was still too raw; it was there clear as day, darkening the confusion creasing her beautiful face. For now we had to focus on getting inside Belle’s old room, but convincing her was easier said than done.
“I just don’t understand,” Belle said. “Why that house? Why there?” It was hard not to notice the slight tremor of Belle’s hand as she ran her fingers through her hair. “Why would she want me to go back there knowing . . . ?”
Belle’s lips snapped shut. She shook her head and said nothing more.
“Belle.” With cautious steps, I walked up to her. “I know there are a lot of questions right now. Let’s just go there first, and we can figure it out later.”
“Who knows,” Lake added with a calming, sweet smile. “It could turn out to be nothing. But it’s worth a quick look, isn’t it?”
Belle looked at the three of us for a long time. Finally, she straightened up. “Yes.” Sucking in a deep breath, she nodded. “It’s . . . it’s worth a look.”
I would have felt a bit easier if I’d heard even the slightest bit of conviction in her voice. But maybe it didn’t matter. Now that we had Belle’s consent, all the pieces were in place.
The plan was a go.
• • •
The sun was already dying. With the photo shoot scheduled for tomorrow morning, the clock was ticking. We had to go now, but Rhys wouldn’t be left behind.
“Sorry, but Agent Langley asked me to look after you guys.” He zipped up his coat before shutting the door to his room. “Or did you guys think you could give me the slip?”
“Never,” mumbled Chae Rin.
“Hey, I’m giving up a decent night alone with my pay-per-view for this,” he said as he passed her. He sighed. “Why is it that every time I have a chance to watch Godzilla vs. Hedorah in French, it slips away? Am I cursed?”
“Godzilla vs. Hedorah?” I whipped around. “Oh my god, I love that movie!”
“Really?”
“It’s literally a masterpiece!”
“Right?” Rhys’s full lips quirked into a silly, boyish grin. “And people say it’s one of the worst ones!”
“Fools.”
“Excuse me, geek squad?” Chae Rin waved a hand to get our attention. “Save it for the car ride.”
As Rhys turned around with a chuckle and left for the elevators, Chae Rin poked me.
“Sect Boy coming along makes things a bit dicey,” she whispered. “We’re gonna have to keep him distracted somehow. Remember, we still don’t know where this is all gonna lead. The fewer people who know about this, especially Sect personnel, the better.”
My smile disappeared. Not like I forgot my first disastrous attempt to broach the Natalya topic with Rhys. I knew he didn’t mean any ill, but I had to see where this went first before going to Rhys again . . . if I did at all.
I responded with a solemn nod.
We drove over to Gisors, a satellite town of Paris protected by the bridge. The Pont’s antiphantom signal wasn’t as strong out here. The town probably had a lower-level APD picking up the slack, not to mention a few Sect field agents living in town just in case.
Belle’s foster home was one of the many town houses at the center of the community. I didn’t know what to expect when Belle knocked on the door, but I had assumed that Belle would at the very least say something once it opened to the emotional face of a middle-aged woman.
“Belle?” The woman reached for Belle’s face, tears budding on her lashes.
“Madame Duval.” Flinching at her touch, Belle said a few more words I couldn’t understand, but then I didn’t really need to; even in French, her greeting felt cold and emotionless. The woman smiled nonetheless.
“These are my colleagues,” Belle said in English, gesturing to the rest of the group.
Colleague. I hid a smile. Definitely an upgrade from internet stalker.
Luckily, the woman’s enthusiasm extended to us, too. She stepped back with a welcoming sweep of her arms. “Please, please come in!”
The house carried the faint smell of mildew. I could see its age in the worn plaster. Duval obviously hadn’t been expecting company—there were still filthy dinner plates in the sink, a dirty kitchen table, and a floor littered with broken toys.
“I’m so sorry about the mess.” She dried her hands on the apron tied around her long waist. Her skirt swished as she scurried through the kitchen in old slippers. “And the noise,” she added because the television was blaring from the living room.
“Madame Duval,” Belle started, but Duval was too excited to let her finish.
“I cannot believe you’ve come back, Belle.” She cleared the kitchen table. “It has been so long. Please, all of you sit down. Let me make you something to eat.”
As Belle stepped carefully across the rug, her gaze followed the framed pictures on the wall, all of them of children. I scanned them too, looking for Belle, but I didn’t find her.
“Where is Madame Bisette?” Belle asked, her voice strained.
In the living room, an old man watched television from his wheelchair. At the sound of the name, he gave a quick grunt, but didn’t turn. Duval, on the other hand, dropped the cloth in her hand and looked up, shocked. “You didn’t know? Belle, she died almost two years ago.”
“Who’s that?” Lake asked as she unbuttoned her coat.
“A friend of mine. She used to take care of the children here.” After stooping down to pick up the cloth she’d dropped, Duval went to the cupboards for plates. “Years ago, when I was still living in Paris, I would visit from time to time. When she died, Papa and I moved here. Oh, Belle, it would have been so wonderful if you could have seen her one last time. She always spoke so fondly of you!”
Belle’s lips curled, and for a second I thought she might snarl a response. Anyone who could refer to her old foster home as “shit” probably wouldn’t have nice things to say about the lady who used to run things. Luckily, Belle followed the old dictum and said nothing at all, but she couldn’t disguise her anger; her stone grimace had already given it away.
I heard soft footsteps coming down a flight of steps behind the wall. Three small children rounded the corner. As soon as they saw Belle, they latched on to Duval’s long skirt, speaking excitedly in French. Duval laughed brightly.
“Ah, this is Charlotte, Claudine, and Jean. They’ve heard so much about you, Belle!”
One of the two girls ran up to Belle and, grabbing her hand, began babbling in French. I didn’t have to know the language to understand that the girl was utterly starstruck. Her little body looked as if it would burst from the excitement.
I grinned. The girl’s bright eyes spoke volumes.
“Claudine is just saying that she sleeps in Belle’s room now,” said Duval. Chae Rin nudged me. “She collects everything about Belle! She is very happy to see her.”
Despite the little girl’s zeal, Belle stood there awkwardly, listening but responding only with curt nods. She must have made a point to spend her entire life steering clear of the presence of children, because she seemed thoroughly unable to relate to the one in front of her.
“This is a tad awkward,” Rhys said. He really didn’t have to. He checked his watch before tapping my shoulder. “How long are you guys planning on staying again?”
The sun was swiftly retreating. We needed to get up to Belle’s room fast.
“Madame Duval,” Belle said.
“Oui?” Duval asked slowly, her voice vexed with apprehension. “Belle?”
Belle stayed silent for too long. Then, finally: “Are you hurting this girl?”
A sudden silence followed Belle’s shocking question. Duval almost dropped her cup.
“Pardon?” sputtered the woman.
Belle didn’t have to ask again.
“I am not!” Duval looked utterly gutted. “I would never!”
Belle knelt in front of the girl and asked her something in French. When the girl shook her head, Belle repeated the question to Charlotte and Jean, who responded the same. Each child looked genuinely surprised and confused, which made Belle and Duval’s elderly father, wholly uninterested in the world outside his TV, the only ones inside the house who weren’t.
“Belle,” said Duval, frozen in shock. “Why? Why would you—”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Belle faced her. “Madame Duval, do you really not know? But then, Bisette never missed a chance to sell her lies. . . . I suppose you simply bought them.”
Duval carefully set her cup down on the counter. “Belle, what . . . what do you mean?”
Despite every interview Bisette had given the French media, Belle had never even mentioned the woman, even when asked. Her silence spoke volumes, but I never imagined it would be this bad. And Belle still had so much anger stored up inside her. She shook with it.
“Wayward,” “angry”—the words Belle had used to describe her pre-Effigy self. And now that she was here in this house again, she could barely stand the sight of the pictures on the wall: pictures of children happier than she ever was.
Belle shut her eyes and turned from us. “I’m sorry. I . . . It was a mistake coming here.” Without a second glance to the children, she started toward the door.
“Belle, wait!” I tried to grab her shoulder, but she evaded me with a quick shift of her body.
“I’m sorry,” Belle repeated, more softly this time. “Whatever you need to do, I’m sure you can do it without me.”
“That’s not what I . . .”
“Need to do?” Rhys repeated.
Chae Rin, Lake, and I exchanged a glance. We’d already made it inside the house. We couldn’t make our grand exit now, not before checking Belle’s old floorboards. As concerned as I was for her, I couldn’t get caught up in her pain right now.
“We still want to have a look around, if that’s okay with you,” said Lake quickly.
Rhys raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Belle lowered her head. “I’ll . . . be in town. Call me when you’re finished.”
And then, to Duval and the children’s utter devastation, she strode out the door.
As they stood there, stunned into silence, Rhys nudged me. “You really want to stay?”
I thought fast. “We can’t just leave them like this.” Then, to Duval, “I’m sorry about Belle.” I walked up to her. “I guess she’s still working stuff out. It has nothing to do with you.”
The woman nodded, but shakily.
“We’ll stay for dinner!” Lake turned to me and Chae Rin. “Right?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
Rhys looked baffled when Chae Rin nodded too. “I’m game.”
“Also . . .” Lake bent over as she spoke to Claudine, her hands on her knees. “It would be really cool if you guys could show us around. You said you sleep in Belle’s old room, right?”
Claudine blinked.
• • •
Claudine, like the little fangirl-in-training she was, absolutely jumped at the chance to give a group of Effigies a tour of her house while Duval cooked dinner. Belle’s old room was behind the staircase at the end of the hall, third door on the left. I eyed the wooden floorboards as we walked in.
“Claudine?” Lake bent over again, smiling. “Why don’t you come into the kitchen with me?”
Claudine couldn’t understand, so Lake offered the little girl her hand instead. She took it. “I can buy you two some time,” Lake told me and Chae Rin, “but you’ll have to hurry.”
I nodded. “Thanks. But what about Rhys?” He’d chosen to stay with Duval to smooth things over, and before he knew it, he was helping her cook.
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep them all busy. Didn’t I ever tell you about that time I was positively assaulted by French paparazzi? It’s quite a long story.” Winking, Lake pulled Claudine along.
“Okay, let’s do this,” said Chae Rin.
But just as I started to close the door, I stopped and looked around the door frame. It was quiet, but I was sure I’d heard it: a soft, almost indecipherable thump coming from the next room. Jean and Charlotte were with Duval in the kitchen. Were there more kids in there?
“What are you doing?” Chae Rin waved me over. “Come on. Let’s just get this over with.”
Hesitantly, I shut the door. “I feel so dirty doing this.”
“No point getting cold feet now.” Chae Rin knelt on the ground and put her ear close to the floor. “Besides, we’ll put everything back the way it was.” She began tapping the wood. “If Natalya really did put something in the floor, that spot should be hollow. Quit standing around like a moron and get down here.”
Stifling a few choice insults, I followed suit, getting on my knees. “Ugh, I feel like I’m in an old spy movie.”
Chae Rin looked me up and down. “Not in that basic-ass sweatshirt, you don’t.”
“What’s wrong with my sweatshirt?”
“Just keep looking.”
Chae Rin and I moved along the floorboards, tapping and listening.
“Man,” I complained, “where is it?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you go ask—wait!” By the window, on the other side of Claudine’s bed, Chae Rin lifted the rug and tapped again. Hollow.
“Be careful,” I warned. “At the end of this we have to put it all back.”
Chae Rin rolled her eyes. “I know, I know.”
It was one of those rare moments I was actually thankful for Chae Rin’s violent strength. She had to restrain herself to keep from ruining the floor, but she managed to yank out two boards cleanly, setting them aside behind her.
“Holy crap,” Chae Rin said, peering inside. “You were totally right.”
Nestled deep in a hollow hole was what looked like a cigar box.
“It looks like an antique,” I said. Handcrafted, too, as evidenced by the beautiful carvings. But it was also dirty. Soil clung to the dark wood, trickling off when I turned it on its side. I ran my hand along the top over the engraving of a serpent curled in a circle, long enough to eat its own tail. But I couldn’t open it. The box was fastened by a brass keyhole.
Keyhole.
“I can’t believe it.” I reached inside my sweatshirt and lifted the necklace over my head to reveal the skeleton key. “No way.”
It was a perfect fit. My heart raced as I lifted the box’s lid, but the moment it came off I yelped; a beetle crawled out of the box, scurrying across my fingers until I flung it off. Chae Rin squashed it with her hand.
“Let’s not infest the poor girl’s room,” she said before grabbing a tissue off of Claudine’s desk and wiping her hand. “So . . .” She leaned over. “What’s in the box?”
A lot of things, and unfortunately, none of them made any sense. An old pocket watch, its rusted chain long since broken. A pair of dice. Some silk ribbons and pearl buttons. Just random stuff.
“Wait, is that a doll?” Chae Rin plucked it out of the box and grimaced.
Dry mud caked its face so thoroughly that I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been done on purpose. Threads stuck out of its simple maid dress at odd angles, its black hair of yarn ravaged and disheveled. Its eyes had been torn out of the fabric, but stranger still were its arms, both tied behind its back with black string.
“Creepy.” Chae Rin shook her head.
Definitely. I couldn’t even begin to fathom why Natalya would have wanted Belle to find this. There had to be more to it.
It was finally dark out. The rustling trees outside the sliding glass door veiled parts of the sky. The smell of roast beef wafted through the ventilation. That was our ticking clock. We didn’t have to understand everything now. We had the box. Now we just had to take it back to the hotel and figure it out from there.
“Wait.”
Chae Rin drew her face closer to the box, squinting as she spied something beneath all the strange paraphernalia. It was an old sheet of paper, perfectly folded. Because of the dirt covering it, I’d almost missed it entirely. Chae Rin dusted it off and unfolded it.
“It’s a letter!” she said.
“Let me see.” Setting the box down, I took the letter. Thankfully, it was in English. Long, looping handwriting scrawled across the brittle, off-white paper. After sharing an uneasy glance with Chae Rin, I read the contents:
“March the first, 1872
My Dear Poupée:”
I stopped. “Poupée . . .”
Chae Rin nudged me. “If you’re going to read, then read. We’re running out of time here.”
“Okay, okay.”
“My Dear Poupée:
I am writing this letter knowing that you shall never read it. Indeed it pains me greatly to know that we will never converse again until I join you in hell, though I’m afraid you will have to wait longer than even I had initially expected.
Two years, my dear friend, my sister, since you passed away, and I find my thoughts are still attached to you, to Patricia, to Emilia, and yes, even Abigail. Perhaps it is guilt.
You would say, I suppose, that I should feel guilty. It was I who showed the gift to you, who began the game. It was I who started you all down your accursed paths. I’m sure you regret it. I’m sure you regret having ever come to my estate, but you see, that is why I am writing this letter.
I do not feel guilty. I regret none of it.
This is the freedom I have longed for. I will not turn away from this opportunity for the sake of appeasing whatever ghost of yours still walks these lands, troubling my sleep night after night with your judging eyes. I alone will use the power that has been given to me to its fullest. I will achieve what even you could not. This is the promise I make to you, that I give unto your grave with the hopes that your soul will finally let me go.
I will do wondrous things, Marian, together with Nicholas. I will fulfill all my dirty wishes. I will reshape the world.
I hope you’ll watch me fondly.
Yours for the last time,
Alice”
I lowered the letter. “Alice . . .” My lips parted in a half gasp. “Marian . . . and Nicholas . . . ?”
There was a knock on the door behind us. Chae Rin dropped the doll and straightened up. “Hurry and put the damn letter back in the box. Hey, what are you doing?”
I couldn’t move. The letter trembled in my grip. “Alice . . . Alice wrote this to Marian. That Marian. Saul’s Marian.”
Another knock.
“Poupée. Saul kept calling me that, right from the beginning. Even during the investigation, but only when he wasn’t Nick anymore.”
I thought back to the first time I’d scried, back to Marian’s memory of a girl alone in her study, her long blond hair spiraling to the floor as she rested her head on a pile of books, like a fairy tale immortalized in painting.
“Saul’s two personalities.” My lips went dry. “Nick . . . and Alice. I think Alice is the other personality. But this was dated 1872.”
“Maia!”
“Saul’s—no, Nick’s brother died in the late 1800s.” I got to my feet. “What if—”
Someone kicked the door open. I turned just in time to see Chae Rin crumple to the ground. A hard rock had hit its mark, right at the back of her head, knocking her out cold before she’d even seen who’d thrown it.
The man’s face was hidden behind a ski mask. A robber? Where had he come from? Where were the others? I could still hear the television, undercut occasionally by Lake’s bright laughter. They didn’t know. And they weren’t going to. The man shut the door and stopped it with a chair.
Frantic, I stuffed the letter back into the box and slid it underneath the bed with my foot. I prepared a scream, but fear snatched it as the assailant launched at me, grabbing my arm.
In his other hand was a device like the one I’d used on Saul in Argentina. Pushing me against the window, he tried to stab me in the neck with it, but I blocked his arm with mine. After a short struggle, I grabbed at his face and, with a feral tug, wrenched off his mask.
No.
“Vasily?”
He grinned.
I tried to pass him, but he grabbed me and shoved me back against the sliding glass door. That was when I found my voice again, loud and screeching, but I couldn’t wait for help, and I didn’t have time to think. Pushing him away, I slid open the door and ran out into the night.
I was in a tiny backyard lined by a fence too tall to scale. I’d have to go around to the front. My adrenaline wouldn’t let my feet stop, but Vasily was faster than I was. I felt his hand around my sweatshirt collar, yanking me back before pushing me to the grass. The moment I turned onto my back, he was on top of me.
“Get off me!” I fought against him as he climbed on top of me. “What are you doing?
“I could ask the same thing to you.” Vasily’s ice-blond hair slipped its bond and fell over his face, strands of it clinging to the blood on his cheek from a wound I must have given him. “I was told to keep an eye on you, but to think you were digging into something like this . . . It’s too bad. I really liked you.”
He gripped my neck.
“No, don’t!” I sputtered, my right palm planted on his face as I tried to push him back.
My hand was too sweaty. He flung it off with a jerk of his head.
“Sorry,” he said, “but it’s just easier if I get rid of you. Don’t worry, it’ll be quick.” Blowing his hair out of his face, Vasily leaned in close. “Some things really should stay buried. Natalya made the same mistake.”
The pain in my chest was almost too much to bear. It was a pain I’d never felt before. The world grew dimmer with each frantic beat of my heart, but my eyes were still wide-open, staring blankly at the night sky.
Was this what it felt like? For Mom, Dad, and June? Did it hurt this much when they felt their last breaths being torn from their bodies? No, I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to think about them dying, and I didn’t want to die.
But I was. I was dying. I could feel myself dying.
Mom . . . Dad . . . June . . . Tears leaked from my eyes, but I couldn’t feel them at all against my skin. No . . . no, no, no! No!
With a guttural yell, Rhys threw Vasily off me. I flopped onto my stomach, clawing the ground, soil clumping in my fingernails.
“What the hell are you doing?” Rhys. “I’m gonna fucking kill you!”
I heard Rhys’s scream, but I couldn’t see them. I could only see the blades of grass, the chunks of dirt I’d ripped from the ground. I could see my dirty hands shaking.
Vasily laughed. “Would you really kill me for her?”
They were struggling, I could tell, but my mind was blank. As my heart thrashed against my chest, something pure and terrible began to shudder inside me. Anger? No. I didn’t know, but it hurt, it burned, it tore me from the inside. Shutting my eyes, I pressed my forehead against the ground, tears leaking as I pictured their faces: Mom, Dad, June. Since their deaths, I’d refused to think about it: what it must have been like to burn up in flames, the skin peeling off your flesh, the breath squeezing out of your throat for the last time. But now I couldn’t stop. Over and over again I saw them dying in my mind’s eye. I couldn’t stop.
“I’m following orders, Aidan!”
“You’re out of control!” Rhys must have punched him, because Vasily grunted. “You always have been!”
“I learned to survive just like you. Wasn’t that the whole point of the Devil’s Hole?”
“No! I’m not like that anymore!”
“Yes, you are. If you weren’t, then why did y—”
More punches. More noises deep from the gut. Off in the distance, I could hear children screaming . . . or was it June? I couldn’t tell anymore. I closed my eyes.
The pure and terrible thing stirring inside me rumbled louder the faster the world spun. If I was safe, my body didn’t know it; I could still feel myself dying. I was still gasping for air. I could still see my parents, still imagine them suffocating and crying out for me. And Natalya—I could see her, too, clutching the rug, struggling to stay alive. It was too much. It was too much.
The dam broke. I screamed and screamed. And when I opened my eyes—
Fire. There was fire everywhere. Fire sprawling across the grass, crawling up the trees, licking the house.
The house. The house was in flames. My house was on fire again.
“Stop.” I gripped my head. “Stop! Please! Mom! Daddy!”
I was incoherent now, between the screaming, crying, and pleading. Somewhere, deep within the hell I’d created, I heard Rhys’s voice.
“Maia! Maia, stop! You can stop it!”
I couldn’t hear him. I could only hear my family crying the way I’d always imagined they had when the fire took them.
“Maia, please! Calm down! Breathe! You can do it!”
“I can’t.” I covered my mouth against my meager, ragged breaths. “I can’t. I can’t!”
It happened quickly. An ice-cold torrent of wind with the fury of a tornado swept through the backyard, taking the fire with it. The trees, the grass, the side of the house. By the time I had lowered my hands, all of it was covered in sleet and snow. The ashes turned to wintry flakes caught in the fine hairs of my skin. It was the last thing I saw before passing out.