The Grace Year(84)

The girls are huddled outside of the lodging house, screaming and crying.

Running across the clearing, I find Becca sheltered in the mass, her eyes wide, her body trembling.

“I was going to the privy … and I saw it…,” she snivels. “A ghost hovering near the larder door.”

“Has anyone seen Dovey?” Helen asks.

Ravenna pushes her out of the way. “Was it Ami or Meg?”

“No. It wasn’t like that…”

“Dovey, where are you?” Helen calls out.

Everyone shushes her.

“I didn’t see arms or legs,” Becca continues. “I only saw eyes. Dark gleaming eyes staring at me from the shadows. I don’t know how to explain it, but whatever it was … it felt evil.”

Poacher. My skin erupts in goosebumps. Could Anders be here in the camp?

I know I was late crossing over. I might have forgotten to put the shrouds on the other side of the fence, but I did what he asked. I left Ryker, the only real chance I had at happiness. Wasn’t that enough?

While the others settle back in the lodging house to sleep, I sit on one of the logs around the fire. I don’t face the flames, staring at what could’ve been. I stare out into the woods, at what will be.

For months, I’ve felt something building, moving in shadows all around me; as much as I’ve tried to reason it away, hold it at bay, it’s come knocking at my door. No more hiding. No more denial.

“If you want me, come and get me,” I whisper to the woods.

The only reply is the ribbon grating against my very last nerve.

Whether it’s Anders or a ghost, I’m finally ready to face the truth.

All of it.





Long strands of hair tickle my arms.

At first, I think I’m dreaming of home, that it’s Clara and Penny crawling under the covers to wake me, but the weight is too heavy, the breath too foul. I open my eyes to find Kiersten crouched over me, the hatchet to my throat, her eyes shining like sapphires in the early-morning light.

“Why did you come back here?” she hisses in my ear.

“T-to get rid of my magic,” I stammer. “Just like you.”

As the other girls begin to gather around, Kiersten pulls the blade back, but I can almost see the wheels turning in her head—she’s grasping at memories, trying to make sense of things. She studies me in a way that makes me think she’s one tick away from remembering everything.

Getting off of me, she walks back toward the lodging house and slams the door behind her.

As I sit there, dusting off my elbows, I’m looking around trying to figure out what went wrong. They’re pretty much clean of the hemlock silt. I can see it in their eyes, and yet they’re still behaving like wild animals.

Gertie rushes over. “Here, let me help y—” Her breath halts as she stares down at me.

“My cloak,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around my threadbare chemise, trying to cover myself the best I can.

“You can borrow mine,” she says, backing away from me, like she’s just seen a ghost.

“If you’re looking for Helen,” Vivi says, creeping along the perimeter, “I saw her just before dawn. She was out searching for Dovey. If you ask me, it’s about time that bird flew away. Her wing’s been fixed for months now.” She drags her hand along the branches of an evergreen, tearing off a sprig. “I don’t know why you’re always wearing that ratty thing anyways, even when it was hot as hades.”

“None of your business,” I snap. But as soon as she skitters away, I feel bad.

“Helen’s probably out by the western fence,” Gertie says as she hands me her cloak. I put it on. It’s too small for me, but it’ll do. “If you want, I can go ou—”

“I don’t have time for this,” I say as I head for the perimeter.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I try to assure her, but inside I’m screaming. “I just want to get the last of the summer berries on the far south end of the encampment. I’ll camp in the woods tonight … be back first thing in the morning,” I say as I cross into the forest, desperate to escape her sympathetic gaze. I’m afraid I’ve already said too much … that she knows too much, but I can’t worry about that. I have bigger problems right now.





As I’m walking toward the brook, there are light quick steps behind me. My first instinct is to turn around, try to catch them in the act, but maybe that’s exactly what they want me to do. Up to this point, all I’ve done is react, and they’ve played me like an expert at marbles, sending me crashing all over the place, but I need to be smart about this.

So instead, I take a deep breath and think about where I can lead them. Where I can get an advantage. There’s a giant oak up ahead that I took refuge behind many times last winter.

Being as sly as possible, I reach down and grab a fist-sized rock. It makes me think of Laura, slipping rocks into the hems of her skirts on the way to the encampment. That was so long ago, and yet the image of her sinking to the bottom of the lake seems to be etched into the back of my eyelids. One good swing, for Laura. That’s all I need.

As I near the oak, I have to force myself not to speed up, not to let my breath get away from me. Ducking around the girth of the tree, I press my spine against the bark, waiting … hoping they take the bait.