Cackle(74)

Oskar starts to laugh. It’s an icy, annihilating laugh.

“What?” Rose asks. “Our crops, our property, our health. Our entire way of life here in Rowan is possible because of Sophie. Deirdre?”

“Mm, yes,” Deirdre says. “We do have something special here. It’s not like this everywhere.”

There’s a branch poking me somewhere very inconvenient, but I’m too afraid to move, to make any sound.

“I’m tired of living like this. Under her thumb,” Oskar says. “It’s on us. We let it happen, and we’re letting it happen again. We have a moral obligation to do something. If not for our sakes, for Annie’s.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Rose says. “To interfere.”

“I hear what you’re saying, Oskar. I do,” Alex says. “But ya know, I have to agree with Rose. I don’t think there’s anything we can really do here. We’ve all heard the stories.”

“They’re not just stories,” Oskar says. “It’s history. Our ancestors. Many of whom died under mysterious circumstances after making enemies with Sophie. Anyone who moves against her suffers or ends up dead. That’s not a coincidence. Come on, Rose. How can you defend her? She curses people. Makes tonics out of their bones!”

My heart plummets. I’m nauseous.

“We don’t know that for certain. And even if those things did happen, they happened a long, long time ago,” she says. “You know as well as I do, Oskar, there is no Rowan without Sophie.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” he says. “You’re all terrified of her. Just admit it. Alex?”

“She is an . . . imposing figure. She can be a bit intimidating. But I don’t dislike her,” Alex says.

“Yes. I don’t dislike her,” Deirdre echoes.

“Tom?” Oskar asks. “Back me up here.”

“I’ve learned to live with the old bitch,” Tom says. “But there can’t be two.”

This unleashes something ugly from the depths of me. I experience a sudden and lawless swell of anger. It ignites like a match meeting a pool of gasoline.

The window shatters above me, sending shards of glass hurtling in every direction. There’s a symphony of clinking, followed by profound silence.

For a moment, I’m too shaken to do anything. A tear sizzles on my hot cheek.

“Hello?” Rose says.

I take off running.

The air is freezing. I swallow big gulps of it as I book it down Main Street. Violent shivers rattle my whole body. Panic combs my veins.

I don’t stop to look behind me, to check if anyone came out and is now watching me flail into the night. I keep going until I’m home. I lock my doors.

There’s so much anxiety rioting inside me I’m afraid my body can’t contain it. I pace around the apartment. I peek into the bedroom. Ralph is there asleep, snoring lightly under his washcloth blanket.

I go into the kitchen and get a glass with trembling hands. I fill it from the tap.

I take a sip, wishing it were whiskey.

And it is. Suddenly, it is.

I wish it wasn’t just a glass. I wish I had a bottle.

And suddenly, I do. It’s there, just chilling on the counter. A full bottle.

I take it into the living room. I sit down on the couch, where I promptly begin stress-eating the chocolate cake and drinking the magic whiskey and wondering what the hell I should do.

What did Tom mean, there can’t be two? Are he and Oskar going to try to run me out of town? Would Sophie allow it?

And on the subject of Sophie, what did Oskar mean when he said that thing about her enemies ending up dead? About making tonics out of bones?

I wish I had some evidence to exonerate her from these accusations, but I don’t. Because who are those ghosts in her cellar?

Because what if . . . ?

What if the people aren’t wrong to fear her? What if I’m wrong to trust her?

I mean, she’s magic. She has power. So far, she’s used it only for me, I think, but she could just as easily use it against me, couldn’t she? How have I overlooked that?

Could Oskar be right? Could Sophie be manipulating me? Corrupting me?

Am I just an oblivious idiot? Someone who will buy into anything that provides her with an ephemeral hope, a respite from her pain. Someone who will throw herself at anyone who pays her any attention. Someone so desperate for acceptance that it doesn’t matter who’s doing the accepting. Am I someone who would enjoy their time in the socialist utopia before ending up dead with a Kool-Aid mustache?

Yeah, probably.

But I’m also the kind of person who lets fear conquer her thoughts, her actions, rule her life like a callous boy king. My whole life, fear has made me cautious and small. It was only when I met Sophie that I started to feel like I could be brave. Like I didn’t have to sit on my hands all the time being polite, swallowing my own needs and desires so as not to bother or inconvenience anyone else. That I felt like I didn’t have to tolerate a flat, unobtrusive paper doll existence. That I could want more and not feel wrong to want it.

I remember what she told me in the ballroom on the solstice: Surrender everything for everything.

I’m too scared to get bangs. How am I supposed to surrender everything for everything?