Eternity (20 page)

And now, clearly, Ty had gotten there first. And everyone thought she was Em.

It was time for major damage control.

Sean Wagner was the first person she saw as she approached the front door. He was smoking a cigarette on the front stoop, his signature baseball cap worn backward. His eyes lit up when he saw her. There was a bottle of whiskey on the step next to him.

“Back for more, huh?” He curled her in for a one-armed hug and she ducked her head automatically to avoid the smell of smoke. “I thought this was going to be a tame night, but you never fail to surprise me, Winters. Although I gotta say, I preferred your clothes from before. Way sexier.”

Em looked down at her outfit—the same one she’d been wearing earlier—and wondered what the hell Ty had changed into. “Sorry to disappoint,” she said. But really, even Sean’s typical asshole comments, the way he scanned her body up and down (and the different ways in which she planned to subtly reject him . . .) they all felt sad in their familiarity. In their everyday-ness. This was just one more thing she would never experience again, one more thing to say good-bye to.

She leaned down and grabbed the whiskey, blindly hoping that alcohol might diffuse her rising panic. The glass felt slick against her lips, and the whiskey burned as it slid down her throat. She clamped her lips shut to keep from coughing.

“That was far from disappointing,” he said with a laugh.
Then he stubbed out his cigarette and opened the door, ushering her inside and to the basement, where jam-band music came from the speakers and Ascensionites lounged and leaned on every available surface.

Em didn’t know what kind of welcome she’d expected, but this wasn’t it. As she stood at the bottom of the staircase, scanning the room for Gabby and the rest of her friends, she felt a million eyes on her, and not in a good way. The room seemed to tilt ever so slightly to the left, and she shook her head to clear it. The drink must have gone straight to her head.

There were some snickers coming from the makeshift “bar”—a card table with bottles on it—and a weird wink from a senior named Jack who she’d spoken to maybe once in her life. She tried to keep a smile on her face, but her insides were rattling with discomfort, like there was nothing in her stomach but splinters of wood.

Someone passed her by and handed her a red cup sloshing with beer. She took a long sip. It was cold and harsh and flavorless. She shifted on her feet, dancing like she had to pee. Suddenly, her shirt was too revealing; her body was on display. Dizziness gripped her and the music danced curlicues behind her eyes. She realized with horror that she was swaying with the music now, that she was putting on a show.

Stop,
she willed herself.
Stop it.

“I thought you’d left,” Jenna said, coming up behind her and
placing a hand on Em’s lower back. “You were so drunk! What’d you do, take a cold shower or something?”

Em offered a weak smile. Her searchlight finally found Gabby, in a gray silk romper and leggings, perched atop a bar stool in the corner near Noah’s pool table. They made eye contact and Gabby’s eyes widened. She hopped down from the stool and quickly came to Em’s side.

“A little much for a Wednesday night, don’t you think, Em?” Gabby whispered, pulling her out of the line of fire into a quiet alcove that held the house furnace and water heater. Jenna crowded in behind them, and suddenly Fiona was there too, wanting to be in on the action. This part of the basement was muggy. Em didn’t like it.

“I’m fine,” Em said, casting a look back over her shoulder. Couldn’t her friends tell who she was? Couldn’t they tell the difference?

The girls looked back and forth at each other knowingly.

“Don’t worry, Em,” Fiona said. “Everyone gets wasted sometimes. . . . ”

Jenna giggled. “Maybe not
that
wasted. By the time we got here, you were pole-dancing half-naked around the basketball hoop in Noah’s driveway.”

“You acted like you barely knew us,” Gabby said, unamused.

“No, guys, really,” Em said. “I just got here. It must have been someone who . . . ”

Someone who looked just like me.

A chill slithered down Em’s spine. She had that feeling again, the one like flickering. The one like smoke. “I wasn’t here,” she said again, more forcefully this time. “I’m here
now
.” She dug her fingernails into her own palm, proving it to herself.

“Whatever, Em,” Gabby said. “It’s okay. We can talk about it later. I’m just glad you’re okay. You just took off . . . like a total madwoman.” She hooked her arm through Em’s.

“God,” Fiona said, looking at Em wonderingly. “You look good. . . . I mean, you sober up quick. I wish we could trade places. Whenever I get that messed up I look like a mug shot.”

Em wobbled slightly and let herself lean on Gabby. With dread that loomed like shadows on a cave wall, she began to acknowledge exactly what type of bargain she’d made with Ty. From the hair to the sharpened senses to the cases of mistaken identity, a horrifying truth was starting to take shape. It wasn’t only that Em was becoming a Fury. Ty was trying to take over her life at the same time.

They were going to switch places.

• • •

Em lied. She told her friends that her mom was coming to pick her up and that she was going to wait outside. Really, she just started walking. She stumbled through the basement toward the stairs, trying to keep her blinders on and see nothing but the path in front of her.

“You wanna show us again how you blow those smoke rings?” Alex got right in her face, but she pushed him away, hearing the thud as he hit the wall behind him. She’d pushed too hard. She’d forgotten how strong she was now, how powerful.

“What the hell . . . ,” he snarled at her as he brushed himself off.

“Somebody’s gotta get Winters into a ring,” someone called out.

She shook her head, a frantic apology. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m didn’t mean to.” She pitched up the staircase, twisting and turning her body to fit it through the spaces between people.

She kept walking when she got outside. Walking away. Down Main Street, away from Noah’s house in the middle of town, past the library and the gourmet food store and the dusty old copy shop that had been open forever. Tears swelled somewhere at the back of her eyes.

She didn’t have much time. Not much longer until she joined the ranks of the Furies. What did that even mean? She would seek vengeance for other people’s crimes. She would grow bloodthirsty, drunk on the feeling of making the guilty pay. So intoxicated, in fact, that she would keep torturing them long after they’d paid for their sins.

No. That wasn’t who she was. It would never be.

She looked up at the sky, not watching where she was going,
half-wishing she would fall into a hole and not be able to make her way out. Lost and not found.

Swish-swish-swish.
The whirring of bicycle tires sounded behind her and Em moved over to make way on the sidewalk. But rather than passing her by, the cyclist skidded to a stop right next to her. Em looked over and saw Skylar, panting from exertion.

“I’m fine,” Em said with an edge, wondering if Skylar had been sent to check on her. “Everyone can call off the rescue mission.”

Skylar swung her leg over the bike seat to dismount. “I’m just coming home from the movies,” she said. “Late show.” She looked up at Em through long, light brown lashes; without heels on, she seemed tiny.

“Sorry.” Em crossed her arms. She felt bad that Skylar was the innocent bystander caught in the crossfire of Em’s foul mood. “I just had a bit of an . . . incident over at Noah Handran’s house. It seems I have a doppelgänger. And she’s ruining my life.” She found herself choking a little on the words.

There was a moment of silence. The moonlight on Skylar’s scars created white stripes on her cheekbones and forehead. Skylar shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Then she pointed down the road. “Well, we’re right by my house. Want to come in for a minute?”

It was true; Nora’s house was just down the block.  And while
it felt strange for Em to be accepting offers of comfort from Skylar McVoy, her options seemed pretty limited right now. Plus, if Nora was home, maybe Em could tell her about these symptoms and see if she had any advice. . . .

“I—I don’t know who else to talk to,” Em admitted, and they started walking, Skylar wheeling her bike alongside Em’s steps. Their footfalls echoed on the empty street. Em focused on taking deep breaths to ease the tightness in her chest.

“You can survive very terrible things,” Skylar said quietly.

Em didn’t answer. She didn’t know if she could—not anymore.

Aunt Nora’s driveway was lined on both sides by well-maintained hedges and planters that would soon be full of flowers. Skylar stood hesitantly there, as if she was reconsidering bringing Em inside.

“There’s something you should know,” she said finally.

“Yeah?” Em asked.

“I’ve done stuff I regret too.” Skylar hugged herself. “I—don’t think I’m a good person.”

Em looked up, sniffling. “We all do things we regret, Skylar,” she said quietly. “That doesn’t make us bad.”

Skylar nodded and led Em to the front door of the big Victorian house. “We have to be kind of quiet,” she said apologetically. “My aunt’s probably asleep by now. She goes to bed at, like, eight.”

Em didn’t blame her. She would have slept through the darkness, if she could have.

The door was heavy, old, and squeaky, and the foyer was dim. Em didn’t know how Skylar could stand living here—not after what she’d been through and seen. The very first thing Em saw when she entered was a long ivory-colored robe. It was just hanging there on a coat tree in the foyer. Gossamer and gauzy, billowing in the gust of wind they’d created just by coming in the door.

What had Crow said?
A robe—long and white and flowing.

She pointed at it shakily, letting the door close behind her. “What’s that?”

“That?” Skylar asked as she shrugged off her coat and hung it on a hook. “That’s my costume for the play.” She walked over and took it off its hanger. “I have to remember to bring it to dress rehearsal tomorrow.” When she held it up to her body, it practically engulfed her. Its creases and shimmering ripples had the odd effect of mimicking Skylar’s still-healing face. It probably looked incredible under the stage lights. Em wondered if Gabby was planning to put makeup on Skylar’s scars. . . .

No. It couldn’t be.
Em stood there dumbstruck. The robe . . . the striped scars . . . This was her—the tiger-faced woman.

“Skylar,” she said nervously, trying to recall the rest of Crow’s vision, “have you ever heard the phrase, ‘Someone is plotting vengeance’?”

“Of course,” Skylar replied. Her voice got slightly deeper.
“ ‘For this I declare—someone is plotting vengeance.’ It’s one of Cassandra’s lines in the play.”

“The play . . . ” Em could barely speak. “When does the play start?” Em asked.

Skylar nodded. “Tuesday night—one night only. Just a reading. Do you want some water or tea or something?”

Tuesday. Three days away. Crow had seen Em consumed by fire just after hearing those words. Was it possible that Crow’s vision did mean something? That it meant a
when
, a final date when Em’s transformation would be complete? If so, Em would die in three days. She would be swallowed into the Fury world after Skylar’s play on Tuesday night.

A pounding drumbeat began to thunder through her body. She hadn’t taken one step since they’d been in Skylar’s house; she knew Skylar had asked her a question but she couldn’t remember what it was.

“Are—are you okay?” Skylar reached out tentatively to touch her arm.

Em’s head felt uncomfortably light, and there were flashbulbs popping in her peripheral vision. She thought she might faint. And then, a momentary distraction—Em heard a faint, tuneless humming coming from another part of the house. She looked at Skylar, whose mouth was set in a grim line.

“What’s that?” Em asked. “I thought you said your aunt was asleep.”

Skylar opened and closed her mouth twice without saying anything. Then she said flatly, “It’s . . . my sister.”

“Your
sister
? I thought you were an only child.” Back when Skylar was following Gabby everywhere like a lost puppy, she’d never once mentioned a sister. The humming started again, and Em sensed it was coming from upstairs.  All of a sudden this place seemed more like a haunted house than ever before. She took a step or two away from the staircase, toward the hallway that led to the kitchen.

“Well, I’m not,” Skylar snapped. “And she’s none of your business.”

Em caught the thread of a few words. She
wasn’t
just humming. The girl was saying something that Em could hear only faintly. If she listened closely, she could even pick out a word here and there.

They’ll never stop,
she heard.
She’s here.

“I’m sorry,” Em said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s fine. She’s just . . . She’s visiting, and she’s sick, and I’m not used to talking about her.” Skylar looked anxiously toward the stairs. The barely intelligible monologue continued from somewhere on the second floor.

“She’s sick?” Em felt the strangest sensation that the girl was talking
to
her. The words she could hear stayed stuck in her head like wisps of cotton candy on a child’s fingers. It was sticky-sweet and unsettling. Hypnotic even.

“It’s brain damage. From a fall . . . ” Skylar’s fragile voice broke through the spell and pulled Em back.

“Oh.”

“And it was my fault,” Skylar’s continued. She was shaking. “Her name is Lucy, and it’s my fault she’s like this.”

So that’s your mistake.
Em turned to look at Skylar. She looked so young.  And so sorry.  That more than anything else.

“Is that why the Furies came after you?” Em asked. Skylar had babbled something along these lines when Em visited her in the hospital after her accident, but this was the first time she’d truly come clean.

Skylar was shaking. She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Then she nodded. “And they made me . . . They brought out the worst in me,” Skylar whispered. “You would hate me if you knew.”