“Giovanni!” My voice goes hoarse as smoke rushes into my mouth, coating my tongue and throat. Choking, I try again, “Gio—”
My cry subsides into a fit of hacking coughs. Francesca and the others have surrounded Giovanni. I can just make out the shadowy circle of their bodies, kicking something curled on the ground. I hear the sound of their feet thumping into his body, his low, desperate grunts.
I have to help him. I curl my toes into the twigs and use the leverage to press my back into the stake, trying to create as much distance between the fire and my skin as possible. It shoots higher, red flames dancing wildly against the night sky.
Giovanni reaches for Francesca, trying to pull himself to his feet. She stomps down, and I think I hear something crack.
“Giovanni!”
I lunge forward without thinking, so desperate to get to Giovanni that I momentarily forget about the ropes binding my wrists and the fire crackling beneath me. A spark of red jumps from the woodpile to my knee, and I feel a sudden, sharp singe of heat. I scream, but the flame dies the second it comes into contact with my skin. Then an ember pops, leaping to the spare bit of lace near my shoulder. A curl of orange licks the ropes binding my arms.
I feel the sizzle of heat, followed by a sudden hiss that tells me the flames have died.
I’m still wet from the lake, I realize. I can feel the flames pressing against my skin, but they can’t light, not like they would if I were dry.
I blink a few times, trying to gather my wits despite the black wall of smoke surrounding me. My wet skin might win me a few more minutes, but I already feel the moisture being burned off me as the fire creeps closer. I don’t have much longer. If I’m going to get to Giovanni, I need to act fast.
I wriggle in place, testing my restraints. The only spot on my body where the flames feel dangerously hot is around my wrists.
I twist around. A red spark flickers from the ropes binding my hands together. That flame didn’t go out. The ropes are the only things besides the twigs that are still dry.
I turn back around, swallowing. The smoke is thick, and it instantly makes me feel dizzy and stupid. I focus on the sound of my heart thudding in my ears, willing my brain to work.
If the fire eats through the ropes at my wrists, I might be able to pull myself free. It’s a long shot, but it’s my only hope at escape.
I lean forward as far as I can go, releasing all my weight so that the burning ropes are the only things holding me upright. I’m close to the flames now. I feel their heat on my nose and cheeks, instantly drying the last of the lake water and turning the mud on my face into a hard, crusty clay. I flex my fingers, testing the ropes at my wrists. They still hold tight.
“Come on,” I mutter. I lunge, and a shudder moves down my arms and vibrates through the burning ropes. I cringe, feeling the heat eat into the skin at my wrists. My hands are behind my back, so I can’t see what’s happening, but I feel my skin tearing, the burning ropes rubbing them raw. Tears spring to my eyes.
It’s a game, I tell myself. Like when you’re little and the mean older kids give you a rope burn by holding your wrists with two hands and twisting the skin in opposite directions. Just a game.
I’m almost able to believe that. The burns at my wrists sort of feel like a rope burn, only a million times worse. I twist my arms apart, tugging, pulling, until—
The ropes give, and I fly forward, stumbling face-first into the growing fire.
My skin isn’t damp anymore. I can feel the fire finding my flesh, eating into it hungrily. A scream rips from my throat. I let it loose, howling into the night as I tear through the burning twigs and branches and collapse onto the ground in front of one of the girls—Angelica. I roll around like a dog, twitching and screaming as the dirt begins to suffocate the flames crawling over my body.
Dimly, I’m aware that Angelica is backing away.
“Diavolina,” she whispers, crossing herself.
Good, I think, trembling as I push myself to my feet. I probably look just like the devil right now, with the crusty layer of mud covering my face and flames erupting from my arms and legs. A smile splits my lips—not a real one, but a deranged, desperate smile that cracks the mask of mud on my skin. My fingers curl into claws.
Let her think I’m evil. I hope she never forgets the way I look right now. I hope my muddy face and burning body follow her into her dreams.
Giovanni, Elyse, and Francesca are a few feet away, still fighting. Giovanni’s on his knees, trying to stand, while Francesca hangs from his shoulders. She’s howling, digging into his face with her fingernails, doing everything she can to keep him down. Elyse stands in front of them both, knife clenched in one hand. She’s close enough to stab him, but she hesitates, eyes shifting up to Francesca.
Giovanni’s strong, but he can’t take both of them on at once. I lurch forward, arms outstretched. The darkness beyond pulses, promising escape—but I can’t leave Giovanni behind.
I manage a single step toward them before a body slams into me at full force, pushing me into the dirt so hard that the air leaves my chest in a whoosh. My forehead snaps into the ground, coming into contact with something hard and sharp. I feel blood well up beneath my skin.
“You cannot walk away from this.” Angelica’s normally timid voice has lowered to a growl. She digs her fingernails into my skin, squeezing so hard that fresh tears gather in the corners of my eyes. She rolls me onto my back, pressing down on my shoulders with both hands. “You must burn. Our village needs you.”
She spits as she talks. A fleck of it lands on my cheek. I grit my teeth, hating her. I don’t know if it’s the fire or the fact that I came so close to death, but I no longer feel weak and ready to give up. Now I want to fight.
I grab Angelica by the arms and dig my own nails into her skin. She must not have expected this, because surprise leaps across her face. I throw the entire weight of my body into her, forcing her off me. She slams into the ground with a smack, her head whacking against the packed dirt.
Her face twists. She fumbles for something in her pocket, her movements clumsy. A switchblade.
Using every last ounce of strength in my body, I rip the knife out of her hand and plunge it down. It sinks into something soft and warm. Angelica releases a tiny gasp, her mouth forming a perfect O of surprise. Her chin trembles.
I freeze. Cold oxygen burns through my lungs, making my chest heave. Blood pumps in my ears. I try hard to ignore the feeling of something warm and sticky gathering beneath my fingers.
Then a voice inside my head screams: What did you do?
I look down.
The knife is still lodged between Angelica’s breasts, the handle slick and red. Blood pumps out of the wound, coming faster than I expect it to, like water from a faucet. Angelica’s fingers fumble and clench, trying to hold it in.
“You . . .” Her eyes go wide. Her mouth hangs open for a long moment, struggling to find the words. “You . . . are a sick girl . . .”
Sick girl. The words slither through my head. I grab Angelica by the shoulders, shaking her limp body.
“I didn’t want this!” My voice sounds shrill—crazy. Sick girl, I think, and feel my fingers dig deeper into the sleeves of Angelica’s white dress, bruising her skin. My hands are coated with her blood. It seeps into the cracks of my knuckles and pools beneath my fingernails, staining them red. “Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?”
Fingers brush against my arm, and I jerk back, heart pounding. It’s Giovanni. Three long scratch marks trail down his cheek, glistening with blood.
“Bella,” he says, casting a glance over his shoulder. I follow his gaze and see Francesca and Elyse collapsed in a heap on the ground. “We have to go. Now.”
For a long moment, I can’t make myself move. Elyse’s foot twitches. Francesca groans. I don’t know what Giovanni did to them, but they won’t be down for long.
Angelica lowers a hand to her chest, curling her fingers around the blade still lodged in her body. Her eyes find mine, eyelids flickering.
“Sick girl,” she says again. Her eyes go dull.
She’s dead. I killed her.
A hand jostles my arm. “Bella!”
I release my fingers one by one. Then, still trembling, I take Giovanni’s arm, and the two of us start to run.