Vengeful (Villains #2)(22)

Cold rippled through her as she searched the darkness for a thread, a filament, a wisp of light. It was there somewhere, so faint she couldn’t see it, not yet. She had to go by feel instead. Her lungs ached, but she kept reaching, knew she was almost, almost— Sydney felt the bird twitch under her palm.

Flutter, like a pulse.

And then—

Sydney’s eyes flew open, a faint plume of cold brushing her lips as the bird was rising on unsteady wings. Buffeting itself up into the branches of the tree.

Syd rocked back on her heels and let out a shaky breath.

“Well, that was quite a trick.”

Her head snapped up, and for a second—just a second—she found herself staring at a ghost. White-blond hair, and ice blue eyes, a dazzling smile set into a heart-shaped face.

But it wasn’t Serena.

Up close, the girl had higher cheeks than her sister, a broader chin, eyes that danced with a mischievous light. Dol’s lip curled a little, flashing teeth, but when the stranger held out her hand, the dog sniffed it cautiously, and then calmed.

“Good boy,” said the girl who wasn’t Serena. There was a lilt in her voice, a kind of music. Her eyes flicked up to Sydney. “Did I scare you?”

“No,” she managed, her throat constricting. “You just looked—like someone else.”

The stranger flashed her a wistful grin. “Someone nice, I hope.” She pointed up to the branches. “I saw what you did there, with the bird.”

Sydney’s heart quickened. “I didn’t do anything.”

The girl laughed, a light, airy sound. And then she crossed behind the trunk of the tree. When she reappeared on the other side, she was someone else. Only a second had passed, a step, but the blond girl was gone, and Sydney found herself staring into Mitch’s familiar face.

“It’s a big world, kiddo,” he said. “You’re not the only one with talents.”

She knew it wasn’t really him. Not just because the real Mitch was still reading across the field, but because of the accent that ran beneath his voice, even now.

The stranger took a step toward Sydney, and as she did, her body changed again. Mitch disappeared, replaced by a lanky young woman in a peasant skirt, her loose blond curls pulled up in a messy bun.

The girl looked down at herself. “This one’s my favorite,” she said, half to herself.

“How did you do that?” asked Syd.

The stranger raised a brow. “I didn’t do anything,” she said, echoing Syd’s words. And then she broke into a smile. “See? Isn’t it silly to lie when we both know the truth?”

Sydney swallowed. “You’re an EO.”

“EO?”

“ExtraOrdinary. That’s what they call—us.”

The girl mused. “ExtraOrdinary. I like that.” She looked down, and chirped in delight. “Here,” she said, retrieving a tiny bird’s skull from the grass. “You’ve seen my trick. Show me yours again.”

Sydney took the skull, which was no bigger than a ring. It was unbroken, unblemished—but not enough.

“I can’t,” she said, handing it back. “There’s too much missing.”

“Syd?” called Mitch.

The stranger drew a folded bookmark from her back pocket, and a pen from her curls. She scribbled something down the side, and held it out.

“In case you ever need a friend.” She leaned in close. “Girls like us got to stick together,” she added with a wink.

Mitch called Sydney’s name again.

“Better go,” said the stranger. “Wouldn’t want the big guy to worry.” She ran her fingers over Dol’s muzzle. “You look after our girl,” she told the dog.

“See ya,” said Syd.

“You bet.”

Mitch was waiting for her across the field. “Who were you talking to?” he asked.

Sydney shrugged. “Just some girl,” she said, realizing she hadn’t asked for a name. She glanced over her shoulder, and saw the stranger still leaning back against the tree, holding the little white skull up to the light.

That night, Sydney put the number in her phone.

The next, she sent the girl a text.

I forgot to tell you. My name is Sydney.

She held her breath and waited.

The reply came a few seconds later.

Nice to meet you, Sydney, it said.

I’m June.





XIV





FOUR WEEKS AGO


HALLOWAY


SYD was helping Mitch clear the cake when she felt the phone buzz in her back pocket.

She excused herself, slipped into her room and shut the door behind her before reading the text.

June: Happy birthday, Syd xoxo She felt herself smile.

June: Get anything good?

Syd sent her a photo of the bomber jacket.

Syd: Doesn’t fit.

June: Good thing vintage never goes out of style ;) Sydney turned toward the closet mirror, studying her reflection.

Eighteen.

Officially an adult, even if she didn’t look it.

She considered the boots. The blue hair. The bomber jacket—it really was too big for her. How long before it fit? Ten years? Twenty?

Victor thought Sydney’s aging—the lack of it—had something to do with the way she’d died, the icy water that froze her limbs and stopped her pulse. All this time, and her vitals were still slow, her skin still cold to the touch. Everyone else was changing—Victor getting leaner and harder by the year, the lines around Mitch’s eyes, Dol’s muzzle edging white.