Lili Crow - Wayfarer

Ellie had reached the garden path. The Strep crooned something else, seeing her, but Ellie bolted in Rita’s wake. “ Stop! ” she yelled, her throat full of sludge-terror. “ Don’t go down there! ”

Rita’s sobs were harsh and clear between her hitching screams. She was getting tired. How long had she been evading Laurissa? That sharp metallic gleam in the Strep’s hand, that was troubling, because—

The other girl skidded to a stop, pinwheeling her arms. She’d reached the slick concrete edge of the pool, grown over with moss—no more blue sky-reflecting eye and scrubbed-clean pavement. The garden was heavy with storm-rain, still dripping and fresh but with that rotten green undertone, a nasty smell lurking under the goodness of grass and trees. The reek reached down into Ellie’s empty stomach, and bile whipped the back of her throat.

I am never going to eat again.

Ellie dug in her heels. The borrowed slippers squeaked through moss and dug against concrete, and she grabbed Rita’s arm. Threw herself backward and they both fell, Rita’s elbow whopping Ellie a good one between the eyes. A starburst of pain, but at least they fell on a soft squidgy carpet of moss.

Crashing in the bushes. Had the Strep blundered off the path? Where was Avery? If he got in her way . . .

If he’s part fey, will he Twist? Oh, God, don’t let anything happen to him—

Rita swore at her, and Ellie swore back, both using filthy anatomically impossible terms that would have been hilarious if it had been Ruby or Cami.

I never told them I was sorry . The thought was gone in a flash. “Get up ,” she panted. “We can run. Come on.”

“She’s . . .” Rita gulped, lunging to hands and knees like a primary-school kid playing horse. Her hair fell in her face, and it wasn’t as thin and fine as it used to be. It was plastered down with the damp, and the mineral copper tang of blood filled Ellie’s nose. Wet slickness coated Rita’s upper lip. “She’ll kill me. Kill us both.” Hopeless, as if it was a done deal. “She’s always . . . she wants to, she always wanted to. Always. ”

Don’t I know it. Ellie thrashed, trying to rise. Every inch of her was worn through, rubbed bare. Avery’s sweatshirt was covered in moss and guck, and a brief flare of regret went through her, as well as a burst of bright red relief.

They’d made it in time, right? Rita was still alive.

Amazingly, Rita hauled herself up and glanced at the path. “God,” she muttered. “God.” She leaned down, offering Ellie her hand. It was a quick, instinctive gesture, and Ellie grabbed before Rita could change her mind. “You’ve got to get out of here. If she—”

“I’m not leaving you,” Ellie informed her. “You’re a bitch, but I’m not leaving you.”

“Why?” Rita cast another quick glance at the path. “Look, just get out of here.”

Ellie clamped her fingers down, and the other girl flinched.

That’s why. It passed through her in a scalding flood, every single reason.

Because the other girl knew . She knew what it was like to live with Laurissa, and she had it even worse than Ellie had. Because Ellie had Cami and Ruby, and even Avery, even though she hadn’t known it. They were willing to come into a dangerous place for her, and even Rube hadn’t said a single angry word. They just treated it like it was no big deal.

Like she was worth it.

Who did Rita have?

Nobody except Ellie. Laurissa had made damn sure of that. Where had Rita been stashed in New Avalon? Imagine just being left somewhere like a broken toy, by your own mother , the same mother who had stolen your Potential, scraped out the very core of what made you a charmer. The Strep had sent for her, probably when Dad died . . . why? What had she been planning?

Who cares? She tightened her fingers again, her entire arm cramping. “We will. The pool—”

“ There you are.” Heavy and misshapen, the words slurred, and Laurissa blundered through a screen of overgrown azaleas. The metal in her fist was a butcher knife, one of Antonia’s beautifully sharpened pieces of steel. “Naughty girls. Little sluts .” Her eyes had become bulbous smears, and shimmering ribbons of thick reddish ectoplasm were beginning to rise on a corkscrew-draft of Potential. The throbbing dual swelling on her forehead had sprouted into tiny cancer-black spikes, and they twitched, thickening with scary speed.

Rita’s mouth was loose and wet with terror. She yanked back, and her fingers slipped through Ellie’s.

No—

Ellie faced Laurissa squarely. “Back off!” she yelled. Where’s Avery, Mithrus Christ, did she get him, what am I DOING?

There was nowhere to go but into the swimming pool. Ellie’s fingers flicked and relaxed, and Potential flashed. Her head ached, and she doubted her ability to even throw a popcharm.

She wet her lips, or tried to. Her tongue was still dry, and her stomach was ragingly empty. “You wanted to steal my Potential too, didn’t you.” Her own voice surprised her, and the tone—soft but clear, almost adult—stopped the Strep in her tracks. “You couldn’t figure out a way. Did you ever have any charm of your own? You must have, because you Sigiled. But then you thought of an easier way. You’re a black charmer, and now everyone knows.”

Rita sucked in a deep hopeless breath, panting. To hear someone else tell a secret you’d been holding like a spike in your chest, was it a relief for her too? Did it lift the awful burden to know someone else knew?

Laurissa lifted the knife. “Little rich girl.” Her shoulders pulsed, swollen, and clear fluid dripped upward from her skin, riding the updraft of a minotaur’s rage. “What do you know? Rich girl with her rich daddy.”

You leave my dad out of this. “You’re Twisted.” The words stung her mouth. “You always were, but now everyone can see it.” Another deep breath, and a massive wrecked scream filled her throat. “You’re ugly!”

The Strep actually rocked back, on both her good foot and her clubbed one, and her mouth fell open, a grotesque caricature of surprise. Rita actually laughed, a high, shocked sound.

Gray dawn light strengthened. There was a plink, plink of water droplets falling, and later, Ellie could have sworn she heard a bird sing somewhere on Perrault Street.

The dark is broken , she thought, right before Laurissa, her distorted face suffusing with an angry brick-red, horns widening from her dropping, bone-thickening head, spat a curse that arrowed for them both.

IT WAS A STREAK OF BLACKNESS, BOILING WITH RED AT the edges. This wasn’t just a nastiness to bring some bad luck or a prank-curse to sting your target. No, this was pure black charming, meant to do more than hurt.

Meant to kill . It corkscrew-hissed through the wet air. Rita let out a little cry and stumbled back. Ellie stepped forward , directly into its path, and she lifted her hands.

This is going to hurt . She didn’t care. Her head was full of sunlight and the buzzing of bees, and she heard Auntie’s voice. Not the hungry howling of the thing on the stairs, but the patient teacher.

A mirror does not Twist. Impossible.

The space inside her head opened, only now it wasn’t empty. Instead, it was brimful of liquid light, a humming, and her hands were loose and open. She caught the channeled Potential, her fingers tingle-stinging with pins and needles. It fought, heavy and slippery like an armored eel, and there was a horrific thick splash behind her.