Miss Mayhem (Rebel Belle #2)(47)

I reached out, but instead of grabbing my parents, my hands hit hard, cold glass. One of the mirrors. Confused, I stumbled back, only to watch Mom and Dad vanish, my own reflection staring back at me. I looked as gray and panicked as they had, my hair coming loose from its braid, my lips parted with the force of my breathing.

Another movement, and I spun again, this time seeing Bee across the room, still in her T-shirt and jeans. Even though I’d told her to leave, I practically sagged with relief when I saw she was there. “It’s some kind of illusion thing,” I told her. “Making me see things, and—”

My words broke off in a shriek as something suddenly thrust through Bee’s right side. I saw the glint of light on metal, the circle of red that began to spread across her shirt, her mouth open in a silent scream.

“Bee!” I practically threw myself across the room, only to come up hard against another mirror. Now Bee was gone, and I could only see myself again.

Panting, I turned in a circle, looking all around me. Earlier it had seemed like there were two mirrors, but now it was like the entire room was lined in them, reflecting dozens of me, all terrified, all confused. And then I wasn’t in the glass anymore. It was my parents again, crying out for me even though I couldn’t hear them. It was Bee, a sword through her back; Ryan, lying in a pool of blood like Saylor at Magnolia House; my aunts, their eyes blank, their minds not their own. Even Leigh-Anne was there, dressed the same as she was that night we’d gone through the Fun House all those years ago. She was pale, but smiling like she always had been, and for some reason, that hurt the most.

Swirling pictures of people I loved, scared or hurt or dead, appeared over and over again until I wanted to put my hands over my eyes and curl up on the floor. I’d been prepared to fight someone, but this? This was more than anyone could handle, superpowers or not. The room seemed to have gotten colder, so cold I was shaking, and I felt like my mind was going to snap.

A glow filled the room, coming from somewhere at the end of the corridor, and when I made myself open my eyes, I saw that there was one more horrible vision for me to take in.

David floated a few feet ahead of me, but I knew it wasn’t actually David. It was another illusion. But it didn’t feel fake. It felt entirely too real, watching him as he looked down at me, his face blank, his eyes nothing but glowing orbs.

Then suddenly I stood in front of me. I wasn’t dressed like I was tonight—jeans, T-shirt, cardigan—but in a dress. A white one that looked like my Cotillion dress, but couldn’t be, since I’d burned that thing. It had still had splashes of blood on it, and every time I’d looked at it, I’d remembered what happened to Saylor, how although I’d saved David that night, I’d lost so much else.

The me in the mirror was standing right behind David, and she was crying. Of course, the me not in the mirror was crying now, too, because I’d seen what was in the other me’s hand.

A knife.

Not any knife, but a dagger, the blade shiny and bright, the hilt intricately carved. Somehow I knew that this was a ceremonial dagger, something special.

Something only used on one occasion.

I watched golden light spill from David’s fingertips, his eyes, his mouth. I watched the me in the mirror step closer to him, one hand going to his hair, the hair that he always tugged and pulled when he was nervous.

The Harper in the mirror was tugging his hair now, too, but only to pull his head back.

The blade caught the light, almost sparkling and looking strangely beautiful.

It came to rest under David’s chin, and I looked at myself in the mirror, feeling a jolt as the other Harper’s gaze met mine. Her eyes were bloodshot and wet, but her expression was firm as she watched me.

“Choose,” she said and, with one quick jerk of her arm, drew the dagger across David’s throat.





Chapter 23


JUST LIKE that first night, the door to Alexander’s house swung open the second I was on the porch, and I walked right in, making my way down the hall and toward his office.

Alexander sat behind his desk, a steaming cup at his elbow, a huge book spread out in front of him. Music was playing in the background, something soft and vaguely sad on piano that I thought might be Chopin. Even though it was past eight o’clock, and he was the only one here, Alexander was wearing another one of those beautiful gray suits, his tie cinched in a tight Windsor knot at his throat.

He glanced up when I came in but didn’t seem particularly surprised to see me. “Ah, Miss Price.” Gesturing to the teapot at the edge of his desk, he raised his golden eyebrows. “I’m assuming the latest stage of the Peirasmos went well, then. Tea?”

“He’ll die, won’t he?” I asked, and Alexander blinked once. Twice. Then, sitting back in his chair, he laced his fingers over his chest. The ring he wore on his pinky glimmered in the lamplight.

“Everyone dies, Miss Price,” he said mildly. “I know American schools are said to be woefully lacking, but it seems this is a fact you would have learned at some point in your educational career.”

I was seriously not in the mood for this tonight, so I folded my arms and glared at him.

Finally, with a sigh, Alexander sat back up, the chair creaking slightly. “It’s true that Oracles seem to have a short shelf life.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” I said, coming to sit in the chair across from the desk. The music switched to something full of violins, the sound scratching over my frazzled nerves. “I mean that if he fully does the Oracle thing, he won’t be David anymore. The Oracle part of him might keep going forever, but the David part, the part I . . . care about. Know. That part will be gone, won’t it?”