They have me cornered, so that no matter what I do I’ll be responsible for the next gust of tragedy. Can I truly abandon Xand to them? In the initial shock of the false Ksenia’s death, he stayed with me constantly, rocked me in his arms for hours. I haven’t forgotten how sweet he was when I needed him most. And even when we fought, even when I left him, he was trying, just trying in the wrong way. But on the other hand, they’re so clearly determined to divert me from reaching Ksenia; they’ll play any trick to twist my steps away from her. And that can only mean one thing: they’re afraid. Of me, and of what I could do once I find her again.
I hesitate in the midst of the sidewalk. Dawn like saffron paint spatters the gray cement. Ksenia has been the focus of my grief, of all my longing to mend the fissures running through our world. But isn’t Xand’s danger more urgent than hers?
For all I know, they could blockade my way through to her, if I don’t go right now. They must realize that I’ve been heading for the cemetery; they must grasp what that means.
All around me, mouths with curling lips still gibber from the tree trunks. The spring foliage nods with somnolent heaviness, and my ears echo with their taunts. “Oh, Alexandra, whatever will you do now? Do you really think it will make the slightest difference either way? We’ll take them all from you, take whomever we like, and grind them down into one blur, one boiling formlessness: the raw matter of our reality. Alexandra, even dreams consume, and children such as you are their food. Is that what you want for Alexander, or would you rather watch him die? Run, run and you’ll arrive in time. Maybe we’ll be generous, maybe we’ll let you choose. Hurry, now. We’ll wait for you.”
Whatever these creatures are, they’re made out of lies; they’re built of deceit and illusions as surely as I’m composed of living cells. And yet they might still mix in fragments of the truth, if only to make our pain and confusion even worse.
I finally turn right, to run the mile to Xand’s house—I’m still in my satin pajamas, still barefoot with my soles stinging from how I raced up here, but there’s no way I can risk going home for my phone. I’m not even choosing him over Ksenia because I want to, but because it seems like the only decent thing I can do. I’ll have to take the chance that, by the time I can return to the cemetery, the passage Kay told me about will be sealed.
I’ve gone a block downhill when I notice that someone else is keeping pace with me on the opposite side of the street. I should have known, I should have anticipated that this would be a gesture that Josh’s new friends would find especially amusing, but I still swerve and nearly smack a lamppost.
Because, of course, it’s me.
They’ve made no effort to simulate my outfit, my torn pajamas with trails of dark grit where I shimmied down the tree; far from it. She’s dressed beautifully, that imitation Lexi, in a flowing, wine-red sundress that billows at her ankles as she runs, clings sinuously to the curves of her legs. Delicate gold gladiator sandals wind up her dark calves. And she’s wearing more makeup than I typically would, unless I was going to a party. Her eyelids shimmer with blue-violet iridescence and her lips are ruby-bright with gloss.
She glances at me from the corners of her almond eyes, not bothering to turn her head, and smiles as if her mouth were filled with secrets as plump as cherries. A blue shadow longer than a night streams behind her heels.
“Alexandra,” she calls, with venomous sweetness, “wasn’t it such a terrible mistake I made, leaving Alexander? Oh, but now I understand; the two of us just can’t keep away from each other. Do you think he’ll take me back? I’ll shower him with kisses, I’ll wrap myself around him like a vine. And then … I’ll do whatever I decide.”
“Stay away from him,” I shout back, my voice thinned by breathlessness. We’re both running at a pace I know I can’t sustain much longer, a near sprint. I can’t help hearing the contrast with how she sounded, her tones oily and insinuating and not even faintly winded.
She grins at me and leaps forward with unnatural grace; her sandals snap at the pavement. Then, while I stare in disbelief, she doubles her speed, her wine-colored dress whipping behind her. She’s me, but also not; a sheen of beauty, of killing sensuality, highlights her strong swimmer’s arms and the nape of her neck.
She’s me as I might appear in Xand’s fantasies, at the moments when his longing sharpens its teeth: absurdly alluring, more goddess than girl. I drive myself faster, even knowing how impossible it is that I could outpace her, and for a while I can still watch the garnet and brown of her diminishing under the trees. I’d like to tell myself that Xand won’t be fooled, that he’ll notice at once that there’s something wrong, something exaggerated, in the Lexi writhing against him—and at the same time I recognize how little faith I have, that he can tell the false me from the real.
If I could trust Xand to see through her, then maybe I wouldn’t have had to break up with him. I can’t see her anymore, and pain radiates through my chest. I slow down, my legs weakening with the knowledge that I’ll never get there in time to prevent whatever it is she’s going to do. Then I stop completely, breathing hard.
They’re going after Xand because of me. I can’t ignore the responsibility implied by that. But if I have no realistic chance of saving him, then wouldn’t it be best if I reversed course and tried to reach Ksenia?
Then I remember what the tree mouths said: they’ll wait for me. I’m the audience they require, and until I get there, they’ll linger, drag out the preliminaries. Only once I arrive will they raise the curtain.
Unless they know I’m not coming. In that case, I have to assume they’ll slaughter him offhandedly, if only to get back at me for their disappointment.
I’ve returned to the same conclusion, that I have no choice but to go on, to seize whatever chance I can, however slim, that I can stop the worst from happening.
I gather my strength and take off down the hill again, the cold pavement scraping my feet.
There’s a loud snap, a cracking and creaking, and a snapped-off pole supporting a power line crashes inches behind me. The ground vibrates like a drum against my naked soles. I spin around instinctively and see that the sky at my back is full of those horses, a cavalcade of steam gnarled and spun into rearing bodies, lashing manes. Even their whinnying sounds different, like moaning wind. And on their backs are riders: ghastly and beautiful, dressed in concoctions of scales and impossibly colored silk, their faces with odd tweaks, unusual ridges and planes, that suggest just how inhuman they must be. They prance and swirl above me and I can see their colors shining through their half-transparent steeds.
Some of the horses have a different kind of rider, I see it now: what appear to be ordinary people but which are certainly replicas instead, in band T-shirts and jeans, or tweed blazers and slacks. I recognize a few faces from around town, and they look both drab and surreal scattered among those horribly lovely beings.
But it’s the dull, false humans who are doing all the damage.
A man I’ve seen at the gas station rounds back and darts at the branch of a tree just above my head, splintering it with a single kick. The branch plummets and I barely sidestep in time. Above me, the unearthly riders leap. An inhuman girl pivots in midair to catch my eye, her long pink dreadlocks whipping at her shoulders, and gives me a confiding smile. As if their attempt to kill me were a friendly gesture, something that might bring us closer.
In their world, I had the impression that these creatures were incapable of physical violence, and maybe that’s why they’ve brought this legion of imitation humans with them; it seems that the same restrictions don’t apply to these mimics. They’re like weapons made all the worse by the bland familiarity of their faces.
I leave the sidewalk and sprint instead down the center of the street, to be as far as possible from falling wreckage. The rising sun throbs in the leaves, and around me the town is waking; I race through the whirr of coffee grinders, the twittering of alarm clocks.
What kind of world are all those people waking up to?
Not one they’ve ever seen before. Not one they have the faintest idea how to cope with. The cloudy procession runs in midair behind me, heels smashing windshields, snagging laundry lines; a woman steps outside in her bathrobe to see what’s causing the tumult.
Before I can yell to her, two fake-human riders blow by, a cable tangled around their feet. It catches the woman by the neck and drags her a dozen yards before she’s smashed headfirst against a truck. Even from a distance, I can see how her head is at an angle, which can only signify one thing. She’s not stirring even faintly, and I know there’s no point in trying to help her.
She didn’t have time enough to scream. How deluded must I be, or how arrogant, to imagine that I can defeat this madness? Pausing, even long enough to glance at the murdered woman, gives them time to launch another branch at me. This one catches the edge of my shoulder and sends me staggering; it’s pure luck that it missed smashing my skull.
The riders laugh. As for me, I run, run through a fragmenting town. The serene morning sounds of frying eggs and rushing showers are now mixed with scattered shrieks and the shrill tinkle of falling glass.
As I race at least a dozen of the riders stay close behind me, now and then lobbing projectiles just behind my heels. As if they’re herding me, because the course I’m on was their choice all along.
I hope to God my mom has given up searching for me by now, and made the decision to get Marissa and my father out of town. As long as my family is safe, I’ll face whatever comes next with all the courage I have.