Twenty-Three

The Truth

For a few moments, all Fin could hear was the rasp of her own breathing. The air sliced into her lungs, sharp and cold and too close. The darkness crowded in on her, and then her eyes adjusted. There were cracks around the door, a few in the walls. Enough to let in a little light. She could see shelves and a few pieces of broken equipment. The black scorch marks were deep enough that she could see them even in the low light. They ran up the wall, to the ceiling.

And in the dim light, Fin saw Teafin.

The creature stood a few feet away, her arms crossed. Fin was trapped in here with her, no way to escape. Fin backed up until her shoulders hit the door. With shaking hands, she pulled a new match from the matchbox and held it up, unlit but at the ready. “S-stay back.”

“Oh, stop that.” Teafin’s voice was sharp with irritation. “We don’t have time.”

Fin tried to slow her own breathing. Then she could think clearly. “Time?”

“He’s going after the tea shop,” said Teafin. “Again. Except this time he knows what he needs, because he heard you talking to Cedar.”

None of this made sense. Fin found her arm lowering, the match quivering between thumb and forefinger. “What are you talking about?”

“The tea,” said Teafin. “The stolen tea!”

“That was you,” said Fin. She swallowed; her throat was dry, her tongue clicking as she spoke. “You did that.”

“I haven’t been stealing the tea,” snarled Teafin. “When I left the big house that first night, I came across Mr. Madeira’s home and saw Ben sneaking out of it. Then he grabbed that raven and threw her against a tree. She must have tried to warn the Madeiras. I managed to find her.”

“That can’t be right,” said Fin. “You stole the key to the tea shop. You injured the raven so I wouldn’t follow you after you stole the tea.”

“I wanted someone to help the raven,” said Teafin. “But I couldn’t deliver her to Nick myself because he’s beyond the town borders. So I kept her until I could give her to you. And anyways, I’ve been kind of busy following Ben everywhere. He was the one who stole the key—the town council meeting was the perfect cover to break into your cottage, then the tea shop.”

A few times at the playgrounds in the city, Fin had gotten into a swing and twisted the chain around and around. Then she’d let it spin free, laughing as her legs swung out. She remembered staggering off the swing, the world still whirling.

That’s what this felt like. The world was spinning and she didn’t know how to make it stop.

“Mrs. Brackenbury,” Fin said, feeling numb. “She was mugged—before you were . . .”

“Born?” said Teafin, with a wry twist to her mouth. “Created?”

“Whatever,” said Fin.

Teafin nodded. “Yeah. I tried to stop him after I saw him break into the Madeiras’ place—he’s been storing the stolen tea in here. I thought if I could burn it down, make the magic go away . . .”

“The fire,” said Fin. “That was you. He saw you.”

“I had trouble starting it,” said Teafin. “It’s hard to set something on fire when fire can destroy me. I had to find an illegal barbecue lighter at some tourist’s cabin.”

“What about Mom’s office door?” asked Fin desperately. “You pried off the nameplate! You could have lost Mom somewhere.”

“I was trying to keep Ben from going into her office again.” Teafin scowled. “I saw him digging through her things—I think that’s how he managed to break into the cottage. Mom usually puts her key chain in the top drawer.”

“I ended up in a water tower,” said Fin angrily. “I was looking for you. Trying to stop you.”

“And I was trying to stop Ben,” said Teafin, sounding exasperated. “You’ve been so fixated on me, you didn’t realize that there was someone else running around.”

Fin gazed at the girl that looked so much like her. “Why?” she said. “Why would Ben do this?”

“How should I know?” said Teafin. “You’ve talked to him more than I have.”

Fin remembered her last conversation with Ben. “He was talking about people getting laid off at the inn,” she said. “He—he must have found out he was going to be one of them.” She thought of the cookies, of Ben saying that there had to be another way to lure tourists to Aldermere. Of his quiet desperation when he’d said he couldn’t afford to leave Aldermere.

A chill settled in her stomach. “He’s going to try and sell the magic,” said Fin quietly. “He wants to sell it to tourists.”

Teafin rocked back. “You think?”

“That’s the only reason he’d rob the entire tea shop,” said Fin. “If he wanted to use it on himself, all he’d need was a little.” Even as she said the words, Fin felt the full weight of them settle on her shoulders. “But if the tourists find out the magic is real, everything would change,” she said quietly.

A whole new future opened up in front of Fin: one in which Aldermere was swarmed with people. Some would be tourists, yes, but others would want to stay. She imagined the town crowded, its original occupants being shoved aside. It wouldn’t be a few newcomers a year, like Fin and Mom or Cedar and her family. It would be everyone who’d ever dreamed of magic. Every Bigfoot hunter, every scientist looking to disprove magic, every person who had a flaw they wanted to change about themselves. It would be exactly what Nick had warned her about.

A shudder rolled through her.

“He didn’t know about the mortar,” Fin said. “Until he heard me talking to Cedar. He’s going after it. That’s why he locked us in here.”

Teafin snorted. “Does he think a lock is gonna stop me?”

Fin glared at the other girl. “You’re snarky for a soggy clump of tea and fears.”

“I’m not only your fears,” said Teafin. “I’m—well, everything you traded away. Those memories, I still have those. I tried to show you in the forest, but you were being stubborn.”

Fin gaped at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be evil?”

“You’re the one who called me evil,” said Teafin tartly. “I prefer ‘spirited.’” She spread her hands, gesturing at herself. “I’m you, don’t you get it? I’m those pieces you tried to get rid of. The memories, the sadness, the fear, the anger. And maybe I’m wilder than you are—”

“You’re an arsonist.”

“You’re the one running around with matches,” said Teafin. “Stolen matches.”

Fin considered, then said, “Fair.”

Teafin took a step closer until Fin’s back was to the door. “Don’t you want to know? All of those things you’re afraid of, there’s reasons. You buried them. But I remember.”

The match was still in Fin’s hand; she glanced down at it, then at Teafin.

“What did I forget?” she asked, voice quiet.

Teafin held out a hand. “Let me show you.”

Fin didn’t want to touch that hand. She must have chosen to forget all of those memories for a reason. If Fin was bad, if she was truly bad enough that Mom had to keep moving her, then maybe it was better she didn’t know.

But another part of her yearned to reach out.

Be brave.

Fin took a deep breath. When she released it, she acted on impulse. With her free hand, she seized Teafin’s wrist.

The moment she touched the other girl, the images flooded into her.

And she was no longer in the darkened shed.

She was in a room, pressed tightly into a corner, hands around her ears. There was shouting from the next room. She had to be quiet. Mom had told her to be quiet, but the phone had rung and woken him up and now there was shouting.

The scene shifted and changed and—

She smelled something stale and burning: cigarette-stained fingers reaching into a pocket and coming up with a lighter. The shadow of beard against a jaw as someone looked over at her and said, “Thought you were at kindergarten.”

Then everything blurred again and—

A goldfish. Her goldfish that she’d fed every day for months because Mom said they couldn’t get a dog.

It was flopping on the floor, surrounded by shattered glass, water spreading out across the linoleum. The fishbowl had been smashed in an argument. She scooped the fish up, trying to find a glass of water—

Another shift.

Mom in the bathroom, putting makeup over a bruise on her cheek.

Fin listening at her bedroom door, trying to see if he was awake, if she needed to stay hidden—

Again, a new memory.

She was outside school, waiting near the line of cars where parents picked up kids. Mom was late again. Only then a security guard wearing an orange vest was there, taking Fin by the hand and saying that she was going to wait inside. As Fin glanced over her shoulder, she caught sight of a tall man staring after her.

And then—

Hands on her, rousing her in the middle of the night. “Come on, sweetie,” said Mom, and she was younger, with less gray in her hair and fewer lines around her eyes. “We’re going for a ride in the car, okay?”

“It’s bedtime,” Fin said sleepily.

“I know, but we’re going.”

They had gone.

No, Fin realized. They had run. They’d been running for years. From apartment to apartment, never in the same city for longer than a year. At least until—

They’d come to Aldermere.

Fin jerked her hand free. She drew in ragged breaths of air, so hard her chest hurt. She looked at Teafin. The other girl was still and calm, her silver eyes on Fin.

“You remember now, don’t you?” she asked quietly.

Fin’s hands were shaking. She put them in her lap. “Dad.” And it only now occurred to her that it was strange she’d never said the word aloud, never even thought it. “He used to yell,” said Fin numbly. “He used to break things. I learned how to be quiet, but it wasn’t enough, and Mom—she took me and ran.”

“Yes,” said Teafin. “And after we came here, when the fear didn’t go away, we decided to trade those memories for a cure. If the magic didn’t work, then maybe forgetting them altogether would. But it didn’t. Because even if our mind forgot, the rest of us didn’t.”

“All those little habits,” Fin said.

She couldn’t help but think of her list of fears and how all of them matched up with the memories she had glimpsed. For the longest time, she had been afraid. It wasn’t until now that she realized there might have been a reason for it. “Avoiding the phone, not answering doors, not wanting to draw attention to myself—I thought it was because there was something wrong with me.”

“No,” said the other girl. “That was how you survived.”

It was a revelation, like seeing herself clearly for the first time. Fin examined old memories, turning them over for new details. This was why she’d never had a pet, why she’d changed schools so many times, why Mom had always looked over her shoulder, as if expecting someone to be following them. Maybe he had been.

“That’s who Aunt Myrtle didn’t want to come to Aldermere,” said Fin, remembering that first night. “And that day outside the school . . .”

Teafin nodded. “Dad came to find us at school. And that night Mom brought us here.”

“How?” said Fin. “How did I never talk about this? How did Mom . . .”

Teafin shrugged. “She started running from Dad when we were really young. That’s why we never stayed in one place too long—because she was afraid he’d find us. She works hard so that we can stay here. But I think . . . I mean, adults are people, too. They’re not perfect. I think she hoped that our problems would go away.”

Fin took one shuddering breath after another. Suddenly it all made sense—why Mom looked at Fin with those half-sad, half-fearful glances. She was probably wondering how much Fin remembered of those early years.

“Listen, we’ll talk more about this later,” said Teafin. “But right now, we’ve got to stop Ben.”

Fin shook her head despairingly. “He’ll already be at the tea shop. We can’t get there in time.”

“Not if the ravens found him first,” said Teafin cheerily. “I told our raven to keep an eye out for him.”

Fin blinked at her. “You talked to our raven?”

“Yup,” said Teafin. “And I can get us out of here. But you’re going to have to trust me.”

Fin looked at Teafin—at the girl made of all the parts of herself she had tried to discard. She still had the matches in her hand. She could use fire on Teafin; the flame would destroy her. Fin could try to destroy her fear and memories. All it would take was a single match.

But hadn’t she already done that? Hadn’t she spent years trying to forget, to be someone else? And what had it gotten her?

In the end, she was alone with herself. All of herself. Even the pieces she didn’t like.

Especially those pieces.

And now . . . she could use them to do some good.

Fin drew in a sharp little breath. “Okay.” She lowered the matchbox. Her thumb ached where it had been pressed into the cardboard. It was like she’d put down a heavy burden. “What do we have to do?”

Teafin nodded at the door. “Move. I can get through there.”

Fin glanced down at the scant space between the door and the floor—it could only have been a quarter of an inch.

“Nothing could fit through there,” she said uncertainly.

Teafin just raised her crooked eyebrows. “You saw me crawl out of a sink and you still think I can’t fit through there?”

“Good point,” Fin admitted, and stepped aside. Teafin rolled her shoulders, and it reminded Fin of a diver taking her place over a high pool jump. She stretched and considered, then lowered herself into a crouch.

Teafin changed.

She became formless, a shifting mass of damp tea leaves. A few of them fell away, spattering wetly to the floor. But most slipped under the door, leaving a slick trail behind. Fin watched in amazement as Teafin slid through that small space and vanished from sight.

Then there was nothing.

Fin’s heart pounded. She’d made the wrong decision. She’d trusted Teafin and she shouldn’t have—not when the girl was made of bad memories and fears. She was made of everything monsters were made of, and Fin should have known better, should have—

The doorknob rattled, then shook. As if something heavy was being bashed against the lock. Then a click, and the door swung open.

Teafin stood there, a smirk tugging at her mouth.

“Ready to finish this?” she said.

Fin nodded.