Beautiful Darkness(104)

Ridley bolted upright and screamed, her pain echoing through the forest. Then it was gone — the fallen trees, the fire, Sarafine — everything. The forest was just as it had been a few minutes before. Green and dark, full of pines and oaks and black mud. Every tree, every branch, was back in place, as if nothing had happened.

Liv was pouring water from a plastic bottle into Ridley's mouth. Liv's face was still muddy and bleeding, but she seemed okay. Ridley, on the other hand, was as white as a ghost.

“That was incredibly powerful magic. An apparition able to possess a Dark Caster.” Liv shook her head. I touched the blood above her eye, and she winced. “And Cast at the same time, if what she said about Ridley's powers is true.” I looked at Ridley doubtfully. It was hard to imagine Ridley without her Power of Persuasion. “In any event, Ridley won't be quite right, not for some time.” Liv doused part of her sweatshirt with water and wiped Ridley's face. “I didn't realize the chance she was taking by coming here. She must really care about all of you.”

“Not all of us,” I said, trying to help Liv prop Ridley up. Ridley coughed out the water and pulled her hand across her mouth, smearing her pink lipstick. She looked like a cheerleader who had been dunked at the school fair one too many times. She tried to speak. “Link. Is he …?”

I was kneeling next to him. The tree limb that had fallen on him had disappeared, but Link was still moaning in pain. It seemed impossible that he was hurt, that any of us were, since there was no sign of what had happened here — no fallen trees, not a twig out of place. But Link's arm was purple and about twice its normal size, and his pants were ripped.

“Ridley?” Link opened his eyes.

“She's fine. We're all fine.” I ripped open his pant leg even more. His knee was bleeding.

Link tried to laugh. “What're you lookin’ at?”

“Your ugly face.” I leaned over him, watching to see if his eyes could focus. He was going to be okay.

“You're not gonna kiss me, are you?”

Right then, I was so relieved I almost could have.

“Pucker up.”





6.19





No One Special


That night, we slept in the forest between the roots of an enormous tree, the biggest I'd ever seen. Link's knee was bandaged in my spare T-shirt, and his arm was in a sling made from part of my Jackson sweatshirt. Ridley lay on the opposite side of the tree with her eyes wide open, staring up at the sky. I wondered if she was staring at the Mortal sky now. She looked exhausted, but I didn't think she was going to get any sleep.

I wondered what she was thinking, if she regretted helping us. Had Ridley really lost her powers?

How would it feel to be Mortal when you had always been something else, something more? When you had never felt the “powerlessness of human existence,” as Mrs. English had said in class last year. She had been talking about H. G. Wells’ The Invisible Man, but right now Ridley seemed just as invisible.

Could you be happy if you woke up and suddenly you were no one special?

Could Lena? Is that what life with me would feel like? Hadn't Lena suffered enough for me already?

Like Ridley, I couldn't fall asleep, but I didn't want to stare at the sky. I wanted to see what was in Lena's notebook. A part of me knew it was an invasion of her privacy, but I also knew there might be something in those crumpled pages that could help us. After about an hour, I convinced myself reading her notebook was for the greater good, and I opened it.

At first it was hard to read, since my cell phone was my only light source. After my eyes adjusted, Lena's handwriting stared back at me from between the blue lines. I had seen the familiar print often enough in the months since her birthday, but I didn't think I would ever get used to it. It was such a sharp contrast to the girly script she wrote in before that night. It surprised me even more to see actual writing, after so many months of headstone photographs and black designs. Dark Caster designs, like the ones on her hands, were scribbled in the margins. But the first few entries were dated only days after Macon's death, when she was still writing.

emptycrowded daynights all the same (more or less) fear (less and more) afraid waiting for truth to strangle me in my sleep / if i ever slept



Fear (less and more) afraid. I understood the words, because that's how she had acted. Fearless and more afraid. Like she had nothing to lose but was afraid to lose it.

I flipped ahead and stopped when a date caught my eye. June 12th. The last day of school.

darkness hides and i think i can hold her / smother her in the palm of my hand but when i look my hands are empty quiet as her fingers fold around me



I read it over and over. She was describing the day at the lake, the day she had taken things too far. The day she could have killed me. Who was the “her”? Sarafine?

How long had she been fighting it? When did it start? The night Macon died? When she started wearing his clothes?

I knew I should close the notebook, but I couldn't. Reading her words was almost like hearing her thoughts again. I hadn't known them in such a long time, and I wanted to so badly. I turned each page, looking for the days that haunted me.

Like the day of the fair —

mortal hearts and mortal fears / something they can share i untie him like a sparrow