Beautiful Chaos - Chapter 12

The Devil You Know
I was dreaming. Not in a dream—so real I could feel the wind as I fell, or smell the metallic stench of blood in the Santee—but actually dreaming. I
watched as whole scenes played out in my mind, only something was wrong. The dream felt wrong—or didn’t, because I couldn’t feel anything. I
might as well have been sitting on the curb watching everything as it passed by….
The night Sarafine had called the Seventeenth Moon.
The moon splitting in the sky above Lena, its two halves forming the wings of a butterfly—one green, one gold.
John Breed on his Harley, Lena’s arms wrapped around him.
Macon’s empty grave in the cemetery.
Ridley holding a black bundle, light escaping from beneath the fabric.
The Arclight resting on the muddy ground.
A single silver button, lost in the front seat of the Beater, one night in the rain.
The images floated on the periphery of my mind, just out of reach. The dream was soothing. Maybe my every subconscious thought wasn’t a
prophecy, a warped piece of the puzzle that would form my destiny as a Wayward. Maybe that was the dream. I relaxed into the gentle tug-of-war as
I drifted on the edge of sleep and wakefulness. My mind groped for more concrete thoughts, trying to sift through the haze the way Amma sifted flour
for a cake. Again and again, I kept coming back to the image of the Arclight.
The Arclight in my hands.
The Arclight in the grave.
The Arclight and Macon, in the sea cave at the Great Barrier.
Macon turning to look at me. “Ethan, this isn’t a dream. Wake up. Now!”
Then Macon caught fire and my mind seized up and I couldn’t see anything, because the pain was so intense I couldn’t think or dream anymore.
A shrill sound cut through the rhythmic buzz of the lubbers outside my window. I bolted upright, and the sound intensified as I fought myself awake.
It was Lucille. She was on my bed hissing, the hair on her arched back standing up in a stiff line. Her ears were flattened against her head, and
for a second I thought she was hissing at me. I followed her eyes across my room, through the darkness. There was someone standing at the foot of
my bed. The polished handle of his cane caught the light.
My mind hadn’t been groping for concrete thoughts.
Abraham Ravenwood had.
“Holy crap!”
I scrambled backward, slamming into the wooden headboard behind me. There was nowhere to go, but all I wanted to do was get away. Instinct
took over—fight or flight. And there was no way I was going to try to fight Abraham Ravenwood.
“Get out. Now.” I pressed my hands against my temples, as if he could still reach me through the dull ache in my head.
He watched me intently, measuring my reactions. “Evening, boy. I see, like my grandson, you haven’t learned your place yet.” Abraham shook his
head. “Little Macon Ravenwood. Always such a disappointing child.” Involuntarily, my hands slid into fists. Abraham looked amused and flicked his
finger.
I dropped to the floor in front of him, gasping. My face smashed against rough floorboards, and all I could see were his cracked leather boots. I
struggled to raise my head.
“That’s better.” Abraham smiled, his white beard framing even whiter canines. He looked different from the last time I’d seen him, at the Great
Barrier. His white Sunday suit was gone, replaced by a darker, more imposing one, his signature black string tie fastened neatly under his shirt
collar. The illusion of the friendly Southern gentleman was gone. This thing standing in front of me was nothing like a man, and even less like
Macon. Abraham Ravenwood, father of every Ravenwood Incubus who came after, was a monster.
“I wouldn’t say monster. But then, I don’t see as how it matters much what you think of me, boy.”
Lucille hissed more loudly.
I tried to push myself up from the floor and keep my voice from shaking. “What the hell were you doing in my head?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Ah, you sensed me feeding. Not bad for a Mortal.” He leaned forward. “Tell me, what does it feel like? I’ve always
wondered. Is it more like a blade or a bite? When I cut loose the thoughts you hold most dear? Your secrets and your dreams?”
I staggered to my feet slowly, but I could barely carry my own weight. “It feels like you should stay out of my mind, Psycho.”
Abraham laughed. “I would be happy to. There’s not much to see in there. Seventeen years and you’ve barely lived. Aside from a few
meaningless trysts with trifling Caster trash.”
I flinched. I wanted to grab him by the collar and hurl him out my window. Which I would’ve, if I could have moved my arms.
“Yeah? If my brain’s so useless, why are you creeping into my room fishing around in it?” My whole body was shaking. I could talk a good game,
but I was concentrating on trying not to pass out in front of the most powerful Incubus any of us had ever known.
Abraham walked over to the window and ran his finger along the ledge and the trail of salt Amma had dutifully left there. He licked the crystals off
his finger. “I can never get enough salt. Gives the blood a savory note.” He paused, looking out my window at the scorched lawn. “But I do have a
question for you. Something of mine has been taken from me. And I think you know where to find it.”
He flicked his finger against the window, and the glass shattered in the panes.
I took a slow step toward him. It was like dragging my feet through cement. “What makes you think I’d tell you anything?”
“Let’s see. Fear, for starters. Take a look.” He leaned out the window, looking down into my front yard. “Hunting and his dogs didn’t come all this
way for nothing. They love a midnight snack.”
My heart pounded in my ears. They were outside—Hunting and his Blood Pack.
Abraham turned back to face me, his black eyes shining. “Enough talk, boy. Where is John? I know my worthless grandson didn’t kill him. Where
is Macon hiding him?”
There it was. Someone had finally said it. John was alive.
I knew it was true. I felt like I’d known all along. We had never found John’s body. All this time he had probably been in the Caster Tunnels,
hanging out at some club like Exile, waiting.
The anger welled up inside me, and I could barely force the words out. “The last time I saw him, he was in the cave at the Great Barrier, helping
you and Sarafine destroy the world.”
When he wasn’t busy running away with my girlfriend.
Abraham looked smug. “I’m not sure you understand the gravity of the situation, so let me enlighten you. The Mortal world—your world, including
this pathetic little town—is being destroyed, thanks to Macon’s niece and her ridiculous behavior, not me.”
I fell back onto my bed as if Abraham had punched me. It felt like he did. “Lena did what she had to do. She Claimed herself.”
“She destroyed the Order, boy. And she made the wrong choice when she chose to walk away from us.”
“Why do you care? You don’t seem like you’re concerned about anyone but yourself.”
He laughed, once. “A good point. Although we find ourselves in a dangerous state, it does provide me with certain opportunities.”
Aside from John Breed, I couldn’t imagine what he meant, and I didn’t want to. But I tried not to let him see how scared I really was. “I don’t care if
John has something to do with your opportunities. I told you, I don’t know where he is.”
Abraham watched me carefully, like a Sybil who could read every line in my face. “Imagine a crack that runs deeper than the Tunnels. A crack that
runs into the Underground, where only the darkest of Demons dwell. Your girlfriend’s youthful rebelliousness and her gifts have created such a
crack.” He paused, flipping casually through the World History textbook on my desk. “I am not young, but with age comes power. And I have gifts of
my own. I can call Demons and creatures of Darkness, even without The Book of Moons. If you don’t tell me where John is, I’ll show you.” He
smiled, in his own deranged way.
Why was John Breed so important to him? I remembered the way Macon and Liv had talked about John in Macon’s study. John was the key. The
question was—to what?
“I told you—”
Abraham didn’t let me finish. He ripped, reappearing at the foot of my bed. I could see the hate in his black eyes. “Don’t lie to me, boy!”
Lucille hissed again, and I heard another rip.
I didn’t have time to see who it was.
Something heavy fell on top of me, slamming down onto the bed like a bag of bricks dropped from the ceiling. My head hit the wooden frame
behind me, and I bit through my bottom lip. The sickening metallic taste of blood from the dream filled my mouth.
Over Lucille’s gnarled cries, I heard the sound of the hundred-year-old mahogany splintering beneath me. I felt an elbow jab me in the ribs, and I
knew. A bag of bricks hadn’t dropped on me.
It was a person.
There was a loud crack as the bed frame broke and the mattress crashed to the floor. I tried to throw them off. But I was pinned.
Please don’t let it be Hunting.
An arm flew out in front of me, the way my mom’s always did when I was a kid and she hit the brakes of the car unexpectedly. “Dude, chill!”
I stopped fighting. “Link?”
“Who else would risk disintegratin’ into a million pieces to save your sorry ass?”
I almost laughed. Link had never Traveled before, and now I knew why. Ripping must be harder than it looked, and he sucked at it.
Abraham’s voice cut through the darkness. “Save him? You? I think it’s a little late for that.” Link almost jumped out of the broken pile of bed at the
sound of Abraham’s voice. Before I could answer, my bedroom door flew open so hard it almost came off the hinges. I heard the click of the light
switch, and black splotches blurred everything as my eyes adjusted to the light.
“Holy—”
“What the devil is goin’ on in here!” Amma was standing in the doorway, wearing the rose-patterned bathrobe I bought her for Mother’s Day, with
her hair wrapped in rollers and her hand wrapped around her old wooden rolling pin.
“—hell,” Link whispered. I realized he was practically sitting in my lap.
But Amma didn’t notice. Her eyes zeroed in on Abraham Ravenwood.
She pointed the rolling pin at him, her eyes narrowing. She circled him like a wild animal, only I couldn’t tell who was the predator and who was
the prey.
“What are you doin’ in this house?” Her voice was angry and low. If she was afraid, she sure didn’t show it.
Abraham laughed. “Do you actually think you can chase me off with a rolling pin, like a lame dog? You can do better than that, Miss Treadeau.”
“You get outta my house or, the Good Lord as my witness, you’ll wish you were a lame dog.” Abraham’s face hardened. Amma turned the rolling
pin so that it pointed at Abraham’s chest, like the tip of a sword. “Nobody messes with my boy. Not Abraham Ravenwood, not the Serpent or Old
Scratch himself, you hear?”
Now the rolling pin was pushing into Abraham’s jacket. With every inch, the thread of tension between the two of them pulled tighter. Link and I
moved closer to Amma on either side.
“This is the last time I’m going to ask,” Abraham said, his eyes bearing down on Amma. “And if the boy doesn’t answer me, your Lucifer will
seem like a welcome reprieve from the hell I will rain down on this town.”
He paused and looked at me. “Where is John?”
I recognized the look in his eye. It was the same look I had seen in the visions, when Abraham killed his own brother and fed from him. It was
vicious and sadistic, and for a second I considered naming a random place so I could get this monster out of my house.
But I couldn’t think fast enough. “I swear to God, I don’t—”
The wind blew in through the broken window, hard, whipping around us and scattering papers all over the room. Amma staggered back, and her
rolling pin went flying. Abraham didn’t move, the wind blowing past him without so much as rustling his jacket, as if it was as terrified of him as the
rest of us.
“I wouldn’t swear, boy.” He smiled, a terrible, lifeless smile. “I would pray.”

Categories: Beautiful Chaos

Beautiful Chaos - Chapter 9

The City That Care Forgot
I looked down at my sneakers in the darkness. I could feel the moisture seeping through the canvas, then my socks, until my skin was numb with
cold. I was standing in some kind of water. I could hear it moving, not so much rushing as rippling. Something brushed against my ankle and then
moved away. A leaf. A twig.
A river.
I could smell the rot, mixed with mud. Maybe I was in the swamp near Wader’s Creek. The dark fringe in the distance could be swamp grass, and
the tall forms, cypress trees. I reached up with one hand. Fluttering feathers, tickling long and light. Spanish moss. This was definitely the swamp.
I crouched low and felt the water with my hand. It felt thick and heavy. I scooped a handful and held it to my nose, letting it trickle through my
fingers. I listened.
It didn’t sound right.
Despite everything I knew about pond rot and bacteria and larvae, I stuck one of my fingers in my mouth.
I knew the taste. I’d know it anywhere. Like sucking on the handful of coins I’d stolen from the fountain in Forsyth Park when I was nine.
It wasn’t water.
It was blood.
Then I heard the familiar whispering and felt the pressure of another body knocking into mine.
It was him again. The me who wasn’t me.
I’M WAITING.
I heard the words as I fell. I tried to respond, but when I opened my mouth, I began to choke on the river. So I thought the words, though I could
barely even think.
What are you waiting for?
I felt myself sinking to the bottom. Only there was no bottom, and I kept falling and falling—
I woke up thrashing. I could still feel his hands around my neck, and the dizziness—the overwhelming feeling that the room was closing in on me. I
tried to catch my breath, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. My sheets were smeared with blood, and my mouth still tasted like dirty pennies. I
wadded up the top sheet and hid it under my bed. I’d have to throw it away. I couldn’t let Amma find a blood-soaked sheet in my hamper.
Lucille jumped onto the bed, her head cocked to one side. Siamese cats had a way of looking at you like they were disappointed. Lucille had it
down.
“What are you staring at?” I pushed my sweaty hair out of my eyes, the salt from my sweat mixing with the salt from the blood.
I couldn’t make sense of the dreams, but I wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep.
So I called the one person I knew who would be awake.
Link climbed through my window twenty minutes later. He hadn’t worked up the nerve to try Traveling yet, ripping through space and materializing
wherever he wanted, but he was still pretty stealth.
“Man, what’s with all the salt?” A trail of white crystals fell from the windowsill as Link swung his leg over. He scratched his hands. “Is that
supposed to hurt me or somethin’? ’Cause it’s really annoyin’.”
“Amma’s been crazier than usual.” An understatement. The last time I found this many bundles of herbs and tiny handmade dolls around, she was
trying to keep Macon out of my room. I wondered who she was trying to keep out this time.
“Everyone’s crazier than usual. My mom started talkin’ about buildin’ a bunker again. She’s buyin’ up every can at the Stop & Steal, like we’re
gonna hole up in the basement until the Devil gives up or somethin’.” He dropped into the swivel chair next to my desk. “I’m glad you called. I usually
run outta stuff to do by one or two in the morning.”
“What do you do all night?” I’d never asked him before.
Link shrugged. “Read comics, watch movies on my computer, hang out in Savannah’s room. But tonight I sat around listenin’ to my mom on the
phone with the pastor and Mrs. Snow all night.”
“Is your mom really upset about what happened to Savannah?”
Link shook his head. “Not as upset as she is about the lake dryin’ up. She’s been cryin’ and prayin’ and tyin’ up the phone lines tellin’ everyone
it’s one a the seven signs. I’ll be in church all day after this.”
I thought about the dream and the bloody sheets. “What do you mean, the lake dried up?”
“Lake Moultrie. Dean Wilks went out there to go fishin’ this afternoon, and the lake was dry. He said it looked like a crater, and he walked right
out to the middle.”
I grabbed a T-shirt. “Lakes don’t just dry up.” It was getting worse—the heat and bugs and crazy Caster power surges. And now this. What was
next?
“I know, dude. But I can’t tell my mom that your girlfriend broke the whole universe.” He picked up an empty bottle of unsweetened tea that was
sitting on my desk. “Since when do you drink tea? And where did you get the unsweet kind?”
He was right. I had been drinking my weight in chocolate milk since sixth grade. But over the last few months, everything seemed sweeter, and I
could barely stand more than a sip of chocolate milk. “The Stop & Steal orders it for Mrs. Honeycutt because she’s diabetic. I just can’t drink
anything too sweet. Something’s going on with my taste buds.”
“You’re not lyin’. First you’re eatin’ the sloppy joes at school, and now you’re drinkin’ tea. Maybe the lake dryin’ up isn’t that crazy.”
“It’s not a—”
Lucille jumped off the bed, and Link spun the chair toward the door. “Shh. Someone’s up.”
I listened, but I didn’t hear anything. “It’s probably my dad. He has a new project.”
Link shook his head. “No. It’s comin’ from downstairs. Amma’s awake.” Hybrid Incubus or not, his hearing was pretty impressive.
“Is she in the kitchen?”
Link held up his hand so I would be quiet. “Yeah, stuff’s rattlin’ around in there.” He paused for a minute. “Now she’s by the back door. I can hear
that squeaky hinge on the screen door.” What squeaky hinge?
I rubbed the rest of the blood off my arm and climbed out of bed. The last time Amma left the house in the middle of the night, it was to meet
Macon and talk about Lena and me. Were they meeting again?
“I need to see where she’s going.” I put on my jeans and grabbed my sneakers. I followed Link down the stairs, hitting every creaky board. He
didn’t make a sound.
The kitchen lights were off, but I could see Amma standing by the curb in the moonlight. She was wearing her pale yellow church dress and white
gloves. She was definitely headed for the swamp. Just like my dream.
“She’s going to Wader’s Creek.” I looked for the keys to the Volvo, in the dish on the counter. “We have to follow her.”
“We can take the Beater.”
“We have to drive with the headlights off. It’s harder than you think.”
“Dude, I practically have X-ray vision. Let’s roll.”
We waited for the 1950s Studebaker to pull up to the curb, like I knew it would. Sure enough, five minutes later, Carlton Eaton’s truck drove down
Cotton Bend.
“Why is Mr. Eaton pickin’ up Amma?” Link let the Beater roll in neutral before he turned the ignition.
“He drives her out to Wader’s Creek in the middle of the night sometimes. That’s all I know. Maybe she bakes him pies or something.”
“That’s the only thing I miss eatin’. Amma’s pie.”
Link wasn’t joking about not needing headlights. He left a few car lengths between the Beater and the pickup, but it wasn’t because he was
concentrating on the road. He spent most of the ride complaining about Ridley, who he couldn’t seem to stop talking about, or playing me songs
from his band’s new demo. The Holy Rollers sounded as bad as ever, but even way out here, the hum of the lubbers drowned them out. I couldn’t
stand the hum.
The Holy Rollers hadn’t finished their fourth song when the truck reached the unmarked path that led to Wader’s Creek. It was the spot where Mr.
Eaton had dropped Amma off the last time I had followed them. But tonight the truck didn’t stop.
“Dude, where’s he goin’?”
I had no idea, but it didn’t take long to figure it out.
Carlton Eaton’s truck practically coasted onto the mile-wide stretch of dust that had served as a parking lot only a few months before. The dusty
expanse backed up to an enormous field, probably as dead and scorched as the grass in the rest of the county. But even without the heat wave, the
grass here wouldn’t have recovered yet—from the carts and tent poles, cigarette butts, and the weight of the metal structures that had left black
scars in the earth.
“The fairgrounds? Why’s he bringin’ Amma here?” Link pulled over near a clump of dead bushes.
“Why do you think?” There was only one thing out here now that the fair was gone. An Outer Door to the Caster Tunnels.
“I don’t get it. Why would Mr. Eaton take Amma into the Tunnels?”
“I don’t know.”
Mr. Eaton killed the engine and walked around to the passenger side to open the door for Amma. She swatted at him as he tried to help her
down. He should’ve known better. Amma was barely five feet tall and a hundred pounds, but there was nothing frail about her. She followed him
toward the field and the Outer Door, her white gloves glowing in the darkness.
I opened the door to the Beater as quietly as I could. “Hurry up, or we’ll lose them.”
“Are you kiddin’? I can hear them yappin’ all the way from here.”
“Seriously?” I knew Link had powers, but I guess I didn’t expect them to be so powerful.
“I’m not one a those lame superheroes like Aquaman.” Link wasn’t impressed with my abilities as a Wayward. Aside from being pretty good with
a map and the Arclight, it wasn’t too clear what I could do, or why. So, yeah, Aquaman was about right.
Link was still talking. “I’m thinkin’ Magneto or Wolverine.”
“Had any luck bending metal with your mind or shooting knives out of your knuckles?”
“No. But I’m workin’ on it.” Link stopped walking. “Hold on. They’re talkin’.”
“What are they saying?”
“Mr. Eaton’s lookin’ for his Caster key to open the door, and Amma’s givin’ him an earful about misplacin’ his stuff.” That sounded like Amma.
“Wait. He found his key, and he’s openin’ the door. Now he’s helpin’ Amma down.” Link paused.
“What’s happening?”
Link took a few steps forward. “Mr. Eaton’s leavin’. Amma went down alone.”
I shouldn’t have been worried. Amma had been in the Tunnels by herself lots of times, usually to find me. But I had a bad feeling. We waited until
Mr. Eaton was headed back to his truck, and then we bolted for the Outer Door.
Link was there first, which was hard not to notice, because he gave new meaning to fast. I bent down next to him, studying the outline of the door
—one you’d never notice unless you were looking for it. “So, how do we get in? I’m guessing you don’t have your garden shears with you.” The last
time we were here, Link had pried the door open with a gigantic pair of garden shears he’d stolen from the Jackson bio lab.
“Don’t need ’em. I’ve got a key.” I stared at the crescent-shaped key. Even Lena didn’t have one.
“Where did you steal that?”
Link punched me in the shoulder, lightly. I flew backward and landed in the dirt.
“Sorry, man. I don’t know my own strength.” He pulled me back up and worked the key into the lock. “Lena’s uncle gave it to me so I can meet him
in his creepy study and learn how to be the good kind a Incubus.” It sounded like Macon, who had spent years teaching himself the restraint
necessary to feed off Mortal dreams instead of blood.
I couldn’t help but think of the alternative—Hunting and his Blood Pack, and Abraham.
The key worked, and Link heaved the round door open proudly. “See—Magneto. Told you.”
Usually I would’ve made a joke, but tonight I didn’t. Link was a whole lot closer to being Magneto then I was.
This Tunnel reminded me of a dungeon in an old castle. The ceiling was low, and the rough rock walls were wet. The sound of dripping water
echoed through the passageway, although there was no sign of the source. I had been in this Tunnel before, but somehow it felt different tonight—or
maybe it was me that had changed. Either way, the walls felt close, and I wanted to get to the end.
“Hurry up or we’ll lose her.” I was actually the one slowing us down, tripping in the darkness.
“Relax. She sounds like a horse walkin’ through gravel. There’s no way we’ll lose her.” It wasn’t an analogy Amma would appreciate.
“You can really hear her footsteps?” I couldn’t even hear his.
“Yeah. I can smell her, too. Follow the pencil lead and Red Hots.”
So Link followed the smell of Amma’s crossword puzzles and her favorite candy, and I followed him until he stopped at the base of a crude set of
stairs that led back up to the Mortal world. He inhaled deeply, the way he used to when one of Amma’s peach cobblers was baking in the oven.
“She went up there.”
“You sure?”
Link lifted an eyebrow. “Can my mom preach to a preacher?”
Link pushed open the heavy stone door, and light flooded into the Tunnel. We were behind some old building, the door etched into the chipped
brick. The air was thick and sticky with the distinct stench of beer and sweat. “Where the hell are we?”
Nothing looked familiar. “No clue.”
Link walked around to the front of the building. The smell of beer was even stronger. He peered into the window. “This place is some kind of pub.”
There was a cast-iron placard next to the door: LA FIT T E ’S B LA CK S MIT H S HOP .
“This doesn’t look like a blacksmith’s shop.”
“That’s because it isn’t.” An elderly man in a Panama hat, like the one Aunt Prue’s last husband used to wear, walked up behind Link. He leaned
heavily on his cane. “You are standin’ in front a one a Bourbon Street’s most infamous buildin’s, and the hist’ry a this place is as famous as the
Quarter itself.”
Bourbon Street. The French Quarter. “We’re in New Orleans.”
“Right. Of course we are.” After this summer, Link and I knew the Tunnels could lead anywhere, and time and distance didn’t operate the same
way within them. Amma knew it, too.
The old man was still talking. “Folks say Jean and Pierre Lafitte opened a smithy here in the late seventeen hundreds as a front for their
smugglin’ operation. They were pirates who looted Spanish galleons and smuggled what they stole into N’awlins, sellin’ everything from spices and
furniture to flesh and blood. But these days, most folks come for the ale.”
I cringed. The man smiled and tipped his hat. “You kids pass a good time in the City That Care Forgot.”
I wasn’t betting on it.
The old man bent further over his cane. Now he was holding his hat out in front of us, shaking it expectantly.
“Oh, sure. Okay.” I fumbled in my pocket, but all I had was a quarter. I looked at Link, who shrugged.
I leaned closer to drop the coin into the hat, and a bony hand grabbed my wrist. “Smart boy like you. I’d be gettin’ myself outta this town and back
down into that Tunnel.” I pulled my arm free. He smiled big, pulling his lips wide over yellowed, uneven teeth. “Be seein’ you.”
I rubbed my wrist, and when I looked up, he was gone.
It didn’t take long for Link to pick up Amma’s trail. He was like a bloodhound. Now I understood why it had been so easy for Hunting and his Pack to
find us when we were searching for Lena and the Great Barrier. We walked through the French Quarter toward the river. I could smell the murky
brown water mixed with sweat and the scent of spices from nearby restaurants. Even at night, the humidity hung in the air, heavy and wet, a jacket
you couldn’t take off, no matter how badly you wanted to.
“Are you sure we’re going the right—?”
Link threw his arm out in front of me, and I stopped. “Shh. Red Hots.”
I searched the sidewalk ahead of us. Amma was standing under a streetlamp, in front of a Creole woman sitting on a plastic milk crate. We
walked to the edge of the building with our heads down, hoping Amma wouldn’t notice us. We stuck to the shadows close to the wall, where the
streetlamp threw out a pale circle of light.
The Creole woman was selling beignets on the sidewalk, her hair styled in hundreds of tiny braids. She reminded me of Twyla.
“Te te beignets? You buy?” The woman held out a small bundle of red cloth. “You buy. Lagniappe.”
“Lan-yap what?” Link mumbled, confused.
I pointed at the bundle, whispering back, “I think that woman’s offering to give Amma something if she buys some beignets.”
“Some what?”
“They’re like doughnuts.”
Amma handed the woman a few dollars, accepting the beignets and the red bundle in her white-gloved hand. The woman looked around, her
braids swinging over her shoulder. When she seemed satisfied no one was listening, she whispered something quickly in what sounded like
French Creole. Amma nodded and put the bundle in her pocketbook.
I elbowed Link. “What did she say?”
“How should I know? I may have supersonic hearin’, but I don’t speak French.”
It didn’t matter. Amma was already walking back in the opposite direction, her expression unreadable. But something was wrong.
This night was wrong. I wasn’t following Amma out to the swamp in Wader’s Creek to meet Macon. What would send her a thousand miles from
home in the middle of the night? Who did she know in New Orleans?
Link had a different question. “Where’s she goin’?”
I didn’t have an answer to that one either.
By the time we caught up with Amma on St. Louis Street, it was deserted. Which made sense, considering where we were standing. I stared at the
tall wrought iron gates of St. Louis Cemetery No. 1.
“It’s a bad sign when there are so many cemeteries they’ve gotta number ’em.” Even though he was part Incubus, Link didn’t look crazy about
wandering around the cemetery at night. It was the seventeen years of God-fearing Southern Baptist in him.
I pushed open the gate. “Let’s get this over with.”
St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 was unlike any cemetery I’d ever seen. There were no sprawling lawns dotted with headstones and bent oaks. This
place was a city for the dead. The narrow alleyways were lined with ornate mausoleums in various stages of decay, some as tall as two-story
houses. The more impressive mausoleums were surrounded by black wrought iron fences, with enormous statues of saints and angels staring
down from the rooftops. This was a place where people honored their dead. The proof was carved into the face of every statue, every worn name
that had been touched hundreds of times.
“This place makes His Garden of Perpetual Peace look like a landfill.” For a minute, I thought of my mom. I understood wanting to build a marble
house for someone you loved, which was exactly what this whole place seemed like.
Link was unimpressed. “Whatever. When I die, just throw some dirt over me. Save your money.”
“Right. Remind me of that in a few hundred years when I’m at your funeral.”
“Well, then I guess I’ll be throwin’ some dirt on you—”
“Shh! Did you hear that?” I heard the sound of gravel cracking. We weren’t the only ones here.
“Of course—” Link’s voiced faded into the background as a shadow blurred past me. It had the same hazy quality as a Sheer, but it was darker
and lacked the features that made Sheers look almost human. As it moved around me, even through me, I felt the familiar panic from my dreams
crushing me. I was cornered in my own body, unable to move.
Who are you?
I tried to focus on the shadow, to see something more than the blur of dark air, but I couldn’t.
What do you want?
“Hey, man. You okay?” I heard Link’s voice, and the pressure dissipated, as if someone had been kneeling on my chest and suddenly got up.
Link was staring at me. I wondered how long he’d been talking.
“I’m okay.” I wasn’t, but I didn’t want to tell him that I was—what? Seeing things? Having nightmares about rivers of blood and falling off water
towers?
As we made our way deeper into the cemetery, the intricately detailed tombs and the sparse, crumbling ones gave way to alleys lined with
mausoleums in complete disrepair. Some were actually made of wood, like the dilapidated shacks that lined parts of the swamp in Wader’s Creek.
I read the surnames that were still visible: Delassixe, Labasiliere, Rousseau, Navarro. They were Creole names. The last one in the row stood apart
from the rest, a narrow stone structure, not more than a few feet wide. It was a Greek Revival, like Ravenwood. But while Macon’s house was like a
picture you’d find in a South Carolina photography book, this tomb was nothing much to look at. Until I stepped closer.
Strands of beads, knotted with crosses and red silk roses, hung next to the door, and the stone itself was etched with hundreds of crude Xs in
various shapes and sizes. There were other strange drawings, clearly made by visitors. The ground was littered with gifts and mementos: Mardi
Gras dolls and religious candles with the faces of saints painted on the glass, empty bottles of rum and faded photographs, tarot cards, and more
strands of brightly colored beads.
Link bent down and flipped one of the dirty cards between his fingers. The Tower. I didn’t know what it meant, but any card with people falling out
of the windows probably wasn’t good. “We’re here. This is it.”
I looked around. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing here.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He pointed at the door of the mausoleum with the water-stained card. “Amma went in there.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Dude, would I joke about goin’ into a creepy tomb at night, in the most haunted city in the South?” Link shook his head. “ ’Cause I know that’s
what you’re about to tell me we’re gonna do.” I didn’t want to go in there either.
Link tossed the card back into the pile, and I noticed a brass placard at the base of the door. I bent down and read what I could make out in the
moonlight: MA RIE LA V E A U. T HIS GRE E K RE V IV A L T OMB IS RE P UT E D B URIA L P LA CE OF T HIS NOT ORIOUS “V OODOO QUE E N.”
Link took a step back. “A voodoo queen? Like we don’t have enough problems.”
I was only half listening. “What would Amma be doing here?”
“I don’t know, man. Amma’s dolls are one thing, but I don’t know if my Incubus powers work on dead voodoo queens. Let’s bail.”
“Don’t be an idiot. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Voodoo is just another religion.”
Link looked around nervously. “Yeah, one where people make dolls and stab them with pins.” It was probably something he’d heard from his
mom.
But I had spent enough time with Amma to know better. Voodoo was part of her heritage, the mix of religions and mysticism that was as unique
as Amma’s cooking. “Those are people who are trying to use dark power. That’s not what it’s about.”
“I hope you’re right. Because I don’t like needles.”
I put my hand on the door and pushed. Nothing. “Maybe it’s Charmed, like a Caster door.”
Link slammed his shoulder against it, and the door scratched across the stone floor as it opened into the tomb. “Or maybe not.”
I stepped inside cautiously, hoping to see Amma bent over some chicken bones. But the tomb was dark and empty except for the raised cement
casement that held the coffin, and the dirt and cobwebs. “There’s nothing here.”
Link walked to the back of the small crypt. “I’m not so sure about that.” He ran his fingers along the floor. There was a square carved into the
stone, with a metal ring in the center. “Check this out. Looks like some kinda trapdoor.”
It was a trapdoor, leading under a cemetery—in the tomb of a dead voodoo queen. This was beyond going dark, even for Amma.
Link had his hand on the metal ring. “Are we doin’ this or what?” I nodded, and he lifted the door open.

Categories: Beautiful Chaos

Beautiful Chaos - Chapter 10

Wheel of Fate
When I saw the rotting wooden stairs, illuminated by a dim yellow light from below, I knew they didn’t lead to a Caster Tunnel. I had stepped onto
my share of stairs that twisted down from the Mortal world into those Tunnels, and rarely saw them when I did. They were usually veiled with
protective Casts, so it looked like you could fall to your death if you dared to make the leap.
This was a different kind of leap, and somehow it felt more dangerous. The stairway was crooked, the railing nothing more than a few boards
haphazardly nailed together. I could’ve been staring down into the Sisters’ dusty basement, which was always dark because they never let me
replace the exposed bulb above the door. Except this wasn’t a basement, and it didn’t smell dusty. Something was burning down there, and it gave
off a thick, noxious odor.
“What’s that smell?”
Link inhaled, then coughed. “Licorice and gasoline.” Yeah, that was a combination you encountered every day.
I reached out for the railing. “You think these stairs will hold?”
He shrugged. “They held Amma.”
“She weighs a hundred pounds.”
“Only one way to find out.”
I went first, each board groaning beneath my weight. My hand tightened on the railing, tiny splinters digging into my skin. There was a huge room
off to the side of the staircase, the source of both the light and the nauseating fumes.
“Where the hell are we?” Link whispered.
“I don’t know.” But I knew this was a dark place, a place Amma would never ordinarily go. It stank of more than gas and licorice. There was death
in the air, and when we entered the room, I understood why.
It was some kind of shop, the walls lined with shelves that housed cracked leather volumes and glass jars filled with both dead and living things.
One jar held bat wings, fully intact but no longer attached to the bodies. Another container was brimming with animal teeth; others, claws and
snakeskin. Smaller, unlabeled bottles held murky liquids and dark powders. But the living creatures imprisoned here were even more disturbing.
Huge toads pushed themselves against the walls of glass jars, desperate to get out. Snakes slid over one another, piled inside terrariums coated
with thick layers of dust. Live bats hung from the tops of rusty wire cages.
There was something more than wrong about this place—from the scratched steel table in the center of the room to the strange altar in the
corner, surrounded by candles, carvings, and a stick of black incense that reeked of licorice and gasoline.
Link elbowed me, pointing at a dead frog floating in a jar. “This place is worse than summer school in the bio lab.”
“Are you sure Amma’s down here?” I couldn’t imagine her in this twisted version of my great-aunts’ basement.
Link nodded toward the back of the room, where a yellow light flickered. “Red Hots.”
We walked between the rows of shelves, and within seconds I could hear Amma’s voice. At the end of the aisle, two low bookcases flanked a
narrow walkway into the back of the store—or whatever this place was called. We dropped down onto our hands and knees and hid behind the
bookcases. Chicken feet floated in a bottle next to my shoulder.
“I need to see the langiappe.” It was a man’s voice, gravelly and heavily accented. “You would be surprised how many people find their way here
and are not who they claim to be.”
I dropped down onto my stomach and pulled myself forward so I could see around the side of the bookcase. Link was right. Amma was standing
in front of a black wooden table, clutching her pocketbook with both hands. The legs of the table formed the feet of a bird, its talons inches from
Amma’s tiny orthopedic shoes. She was in profile, her dark skin glowing in the yellow light, her bun tucked neatly beneath her flowered church hat,
her chin up and her back straight. If she was afraid, I couldn’t tell. Amma’s pride was as much a part of who she was as her riddles, biscuits, and
crossword puzzles.
“I imagine so.” She opened her purse and took out the red bundle the Creole woman had given her.
Link was on his stomach, too. “Is that the thing the lady with the doughnuts gave her?” he whispered. I nodded, and gestured for him to be quiet.
The man behind the table leaned into the light. His skin was ebony, darker and smoother than Amma’s. His hair was twisted into rough, careless
braids tied together at the base of his neck. String and tiny objects I couldn’t see clearly were woven into the braids. He traced the line of his goatee
as he watched Amma intently.
“Give it to me.” He reached out his hand, the cuff of his dark tunic sliding down his arm. His wrist was bound in thin strands of string and leather,
laden with charms. His hand was scarred—the skin warped and shiny, as if it had been burned more than once.
Amma dropped the bundle into his hand without touching him.
He noticed her caution and smiled. “You island women are all the same, practicin’ the art to ward against my magic. But your herbs and powders
are no match for the hand of a bokor.”
The art. Voodoo. I’d heard it called that before. And if women like Amma provided protection from his magic, that could mean only one thing. He
performed black magic.
He opened the bundle and held up a single feather. He examined it closely, turning it over in his hands. “I see you’re not a trespasser, so what do
you require?”
Amma tossed a handkerchief onto the desk. “I’m not a trespasser, or one a the island women you’re used to seein’.”
The bokor lifted the delicate fabric, examining the embroidery. I knew what the design was, even though I couldn’t see it from here—a sparrow.
The bokor looked at the handkerchief, then back at Amma. “The mark a Sulla the Prophet. So you’re a Seer, one a her descendants?” He smiled
broadly, his white teeth gleaming in the darkness. “Now, that makes this little visit even more unexpected. What would bring a Seer to my
workshop?”
Amma watched him closely, as if he was one of the snakes slithering around in the shop’s terrarium. “This was a mistake. Got no business with
your kind. I’ll be seein’ myself out.” She shoved her purse into the crook of her arm and turned on her heel to go.
“Leaving so soon? Don’t you want to know how to change the cards?” His menacing laughter echoed through the room.
Amma stopped in her tracks. “I do.” Her voice was quiet.
“Yet you know the answer yourself, Seer. That’s why you’re here.”
She spun around to face him. “You think this is a social visit?”
“You can’t change the cards once they’re dealt. Not the cards we’re talkin’ about. Fate is a wheel that turns without our hand.”
Amma slammed her hand down on the table. “Don’t try to sell me the silver linin’ from a cloud as black as your soul. I know it can be done.”
The bokor tapped on a bottle of crushed eggshells near the edge of the table. Again, his white teeth shone in the darkness. “Anything can be
done for a price, Seer. Question is, what are you willin’ to pay?”
“Whatever it takes.”
I shuddered. There was something about the way Amma said it, even the shifting sound of her voice, that made it seem like an invisible line
between the two of them was disappearing. I wondered if that line ran deeper than the one she crossed the night of the Sixteenth Moon, when she
and Lena used The Book of Moons to bring me back from the dead. I shook my head. We had all crossed too many lines already.
The bokor watched Amma intently. “Let me see the cards. I need to know what we’re dealin’ with.”
Amma took a stack of what looked like tarot cards out of her purse, but the images on the cards weren’t right. They weren’t tarot cards—these
were something else. She arranged them on the table carefully, re-creating a spread. The bokor watched, flipping the feather between his fingers.
Amma dropped the last card. “There it is.”
He balked, muttering in a language I didn’t understand. But I could tell he wasn’t happy. The bokor swept clean his rickety wooden table, bottles
and vials shattering on the ground. He leaned as close to Amma as I’d ever seen anyone dare to get. “The Angry Queen. The Unbalanced Scale.
The Child of Darkness. The Storm. The Sacrifice. The Split Twins. The Bleeding Blade. The Fractured Soul.”
He spit, shaking the feather at her, his version of the One-Eyed Menace. “A Seer from the line a Sulla the Prophet is smart enough to know this is
not just any spread.”
“Are you sayin’ you can’t do it?” It was a challenge. “That I’ve come all this way for cracked eggshells and dead swamp frogs? Can get those from
any fortune-teller.”
“I’m sayin’ you can’t pay the price, old woman!” His voice rose, and I stiffened. Amma was the only mother I had left. I couldn’t stand to hear
anyone talk to her that way.
Amma looked up at the ceiling, muttering. I was willing to bet she was talking to the Greats. “Not a bone in my body wanted to come to this
godforsaken nest a evil—”
The bokor picked up a long staff wrapped in the crisp skin of a snake, and circled Amma like an animal waiting to strike. “And yet you came.
Because your little dolls and herbs can’t save the ti-bon-age. Can they?”
Amma stared at him defiantly. “Someone is gonna die if you don’t help me.”
“And someone will die if I do.”
“That’s a discussion for another day.” She tapped one of the cards. “This here is the death I care about.”
He examined the card, stroking it with his feather. “Interestin’ you would choose the one who is already lost. Even more interestin’ you would
come to me instead a your precious Casters. This concerns them, does it not?”
The Casters.
My stomach dropped. Who was already lost? Was he talking about Lena?
Amma drew a heavy breath. “The Casters can’t help me. They can barely help themselves.”
Link looked at me, confused. But I didn’t understand any more than he did. How could the bokor help Amma with something the Casters couldn’t?
The images crashed down on me before I could stop them. The unbearable heat. The plague of insects infesting every inch of town. The
nightmares and the panic. Casters who couldn’t control their powers, or use them all. A river of blood. Abraham’s voice echoing through the cavern
after Lena Claimed herself.
There will be consequences.
The bokor circled around to face Amma, measuring her expression. “You mean the Light Casters can’t.”
“No other kind I’d ask for help.”
He seemed pleased with her answer, but not for the reason I thought. “Yet you came to me. Because I can do something they can’t—the old
magic our people carried across the ocean with us. Magic that can be controlled by Mortals and Casters alike.” He was talking about voodoo, a
religion born in Africa and the Caribbean. “They don’t understand the ti-bon-age.”
Amma stared at him like she wished she could turn him to stone, but she didn’t leave.
She needed him, even if I didn’t know why.
“Name your price.” Her voice wavered.
I watched as he calculated the cost of both Amma’s request and her integrity. They were opposing forces, working the extremes of a shared
mysticism that was as black and white as the Light and Darkness in the Caster world. “Where is it now? Do you know where they’ve hidden it?”
“Hidden what?” Link mouthed silently. I shook my head. I had no idea what they were talking about.
“It’s not hidden.” For the first time, Amma met his eyes. “It’s free.”
At first he didn’t react, as if she might have misspoken. But when the bokor realized Amma was serious, he circled back to the table and pored
over the spread. I could hear broken bits of French Creole in his gnarled voice. “If what you say is true, old woman, there is only one price.”
Amma ran her hand over the cards, pushing them into a pile. “I know. I’ll pay it.”
“You understand, there is no turnin’ back? No way to undo what will be done. If you tamper with the Wheel a Fate, it will continue to turn until it
crushes you in its path.”
Amma stacked the cards and put them back in her purse. I could see her hand shaking, jerking in and out of shadow.
“Do what you need to do, and I’ll do the same.” She snapped shut her purse and turned to go. “In the end, the Wheel crushes us all.”

Categories: Beautiful Chaos

Beautiful Chaos - Chapter 7

Adam and Eve
Lena stopped in front of a black lacquered door. A handmade flyer for the Holy Rollers— W HAT ’S ROCK W IT HOUT T HE ROLL?—hung skewed to one side. She
knocked on Ridley’s door. “Rid?”
“Why are we looking for Ridley?” I had seen enough of her today.
“We aren’t. There’s a shortcut to the Tunnels in her room. Uncle Macon’s secret passageway, remember?”
“Right. Because now his bedroom is…” I looked at the door, trying to imagine how Ridley had massacred Macon’s old room. I hadn’t been in it
since the day Lena and I broke up.
Lena shrugged. “He didn’t want to keep his old room. And he sleeps in his study in the Tunnels most of the time, anyway.”
“Good choice for Ridley’s room. Because she’s not the kind of girl who would sneak out a secret passageway in the middle of the night,” I said.
Lena paused, her hand on the doorway. “Ethan. She’s the least magical person in the house. She’s got more to be afraid of going down there
than any of—”
Before she could finish her sentence, I heard an unmistakable sound. The sound of the sky ripping, and an Incubus slipping out of sight.
Traveling.
“Did you hear that?”
Lena frowned at me. “What?”
“It sounded like someone was ripping.”
“Uncle Macon doesn’t rip anymore. And Ravenwood is completely Bound. There’s no way any Incubus, no matter how powerful, could get in
here.” She looked worried, though, even as she said the words.
“It must have been something else. Maybe Kitchen is experimenting again.” I touched her hand on the door, my breath catching. “Open up.”
Lena pushed, but nothing happened. She pushed again. “That’s weird. The handle’s jammed.”
“Let me try.” I threw my weight against the door. It didn’t budge, which was kind of humiliating, so I tried it again, even harder. “It’s not jammed. It’s
—you know.”
“What?”
“Whatever the Latin is for using magic to lock your door.”
“You mean a Cast? That’s not possible. Ridley couldn’t use an Obex Cast, even if she found one in a book. They’re too difficult.”
“Are you kidding me? After the stunt she pulled with the cheer squad?”
Lena looked at the door, her green eye glowing and her gold eye darkening. Her black curls began to blow around her shoulders, and before I
heard her speak the Cast, the door blew open with such force it went flying off the hinges and into Ridley’s bedroom. Which seemed like the Caster
way of saying “Screw you.”
I flipped on the lights inside Ridley’s room.
Lena wrinkled her nose as I picked up a pink lollipop stuck to the long blond hairs wrapped around a giant hot roller. There was a mess of clothes
and shoes and nail polish and makeup and candy—on every surface, in the sheets, hidden in the pink retro shag carpet.
“Make sure you put that back where you found it. She’ll have a fit if she finds out we were in here. She’s been really weird about her room lately.”
Lena nudged an open bottle of nail polish that was oozing onto the dresser. “But there are no signs of Casting. No books or charms.”
I flipped back the pink carpet to reveal the smooth lines of the hidden Caster door in the floor.
“Nothing except—” Lena held up a nearly empty bag of Doritos. “Ridley hates Doritos. She likes sweet, not salty.”
I stared down into the darkness at the stairs I only half believed were there. “I’m looking at an invisible stairwell, and you’re telling me the chips are
weird?”
Lena held up a second bag, a full one. “Pretty much. Yes.”
I held out my foot, feeling around until I found the solid footing in the air. “I used to like chocolate milk. Now it makes me sick. Does that mean I
have magic powers, too?”
I stepped into the darkness before I could hear her answer.
At the base of the stairs that led into Macon’s private study, we could see him standing at a desk, staring at the pages of an enormous book. Lena
took a step—
“Seven.” A girl’s voice.
We froze at the sound of the familiar voice. I put my hand on Lena’s arm.
Wait.
So we stood in the shadows of the passage, at the edge of the door. They hadn’t seen us.
“Seven what, Miss Durand?” Macon asked.
Liv appeared in the doorway, holding a stack of books. Her blond hair spilled over her favorite Pink Floyd T-shirt, her blue eyes catching the light.
In the darkness of the underground, Liv looked like she was made of sunshine.
Marian’s former assistant, my former friend. But that wasn’t quite right, and we all knew it. She had felt like more than a friend. While Lena was
gone, that had been one thing. But Lena wasn’t gone anymore, which left us where? Liv would always be my friend, even if she couldn’t be. She had
helped me find my way back to Lena, and to the Great Barrier, the seat of both Dark and Light power. She had given up her future as a Keeper for
me and Lena. We both knew we would always owe Liv for that.
There was more than one kind of way to be Bound to a person. I had learned that myself, the hard way.
Liv let the books drop onto the desk in front of Macon. Dust rose from the ancient bindings. “There are only five instances of mixed Caster
bloodlines powerful enough to result in this combination. I’ve been cross-referencing every Caster family tree I can find on both sides of the Atlantic,
including your own.”
Mixed supernatural blood. Ethan, they’re looking for John.
Lena could barely stand to Kelt it. Even her thoughts were quiet.
Macon was mumbling into his book. “Ah, yes. Well. All in the interest of science, of course.”
“Of course.” Liv opened her familiar red notebook.
“And? Have you found anything like him in any of the Kept family records? Anything that could explain the existence of our mysterious hybrid, the
elusive John Breed?”
I guess you’re right.
Liv spread out two sheets of parchment that I recognized immediately. The Duchannes and Ravenwood Family Trees. “There are only four likely
occurrences—at least, according to the Council of the Far Keep.”
The council of what?
Later, Ethan.
Liv was still talking. “One of which is Sarafine Duchannes’ parents: Emmaline Duchannes, a Light Caster, and your father, Silas Ravenwood, a
Blood Incubus. Lena’s grandparents.” Liv looked up, her cheeks reddening.
Macon dismissed the possibility. “Emmaline is an Empath, a Caster gift certainly not capable of resulting in a hybrid Incubus that can walk in the
daylight. And obviously our hybrid is too young to be a result of that particular union.”
Lena shuddered, and I squeezed her hand.
They’re looking at all those crazy family trees, L. None of it means anything.
Not yet.
Lena rested her head against my shoulder, and I leaned closer to the door to listen.


“That leaves three possible candidates for producing a Dark Caster-Incubus hybrid. There is no Light and Light pairing, of course, since there
are no…”
“Light Incubuses, as I was in my previous form? That is correct. Incubuses are Dark by nature. I know that perhaps better than anyone, Miss
Durand.” Liv closed her notebook, looking uncomfortable, but Macon waved her off. “Don’t worry. I don’t bite. Never took to human blood. I found it
all a bit distasteful.”
Liv continued. “If John Breed was some sort of mixed-blood Supernatural, it’s not by accident. It’s unprecedented, unrecorded, and as far as Dr.
Ashcroft’s Keeping archives date back, unKept. It’s as if the record of any such birth has been completely struck from the Lunae Libri altogether.”
“Which proves what we already suspected. This boy is more than just an Incubus who can walk in the sunlight. No one would go to this much
trouble to hide his lineage otherwise.” Macon rubbed his head with one hand. His green eyes were red, and it occurred to me that I had no idea
whether or not he slept now that he was a Caster. For the first time, it looked like he needed to. “Five pairings. That’s progress, Miss Durand. Well
done.”
Liv was frustrated. I recognized the look. “Hardly. We still haven’t found the genetic match. Without that information, it will be impossible to
determine John’s abilities. Or how he fits into all this.”
“A valid point. But we have to focus on what we do know. John Breed is important to Abraham, which means the boy has a significant role in
whatever he is planning.”
Liv held out her arm, the dials of her strange-looking homemade watch spinning on her wrist. Her selenometer, which gave her the only answers
she trusted. “Truthfully, sir, I don’t know how much time we have to figure that out. I’ve never seen readings like these. I hate to say it—but it’s like the
moon is about to come crashing down on Gatlin.”
Macon stood, clasping a heavy hand on her shoulder. I’d felt that pressure—a part of me could feel it now. “Never be afraid to speak the truth,
Miss Durand. We’re a little past the point of pleasantries. We must simply press on. It’s all we can do.”
She straightened under his hand. “I’m not sure I know the protocol when facing the potential annihilation of the Mortal world.”
“I believe, dear girl, that’s entirely the point.”
“What?”
“Look at the facts. It appears that since the Claiming the Mortal world has been altered. Or, as you said yourself, the sky is falling. Hell on Earth,
our charming Mrs. Lincoln might say. And the Caster world has been presented with a new species of Caster-Incubus we’ve never seen before. An
Adam of sorts. Whatever purpose the hybrid boy serves, it’s not an accident. The timing is too perfect. It’s all part of a grand design—or,
considering Abraham is undoubtedly involved, a grandiose design.”
Lena looked pale, and I grabbed her arm, propping her up next to me.
Let’s go.
She held her finger to her lips.
He’s the Adam?
L—
Ethan. If he’s the Adam…
Liv stared at Macon, her eyes wide. “You think Abraham somehow engineered this?”
Macon scoffed. “Hunting certainly doesn’t have the intellect for this sort of endeavor, and Sarafine alone doesn’t have the power. The boy,
however indeterminate his origin, is Lena’s age? A little older?”
I don’t want to be the Eve.
You’re not.
You don’t know that, Ethan. I think I am.
You’re not, L.
I pulled her into my arms, and I could feel the heat of her cheek through the thin cotton of my shirt.
I think I was supposed to be.
Macon continued, but he seemed farther and farther away with every word. “Unless John Breed was pulled out of some other realm, he evolved
here in the Mortal or Caster world. Which necessitates more than a decade and a half of ruthless cunning, at which Abraham excels.” Macon fell
silent.
“Are you saying John was born in a Caster laboratory? Like some kind of supernatural test-tube baby?”
“In broad terms, yes. Perhaps not so much born as bred, one assumes. Which would explain why he is so important to Abraham.” Macon
paused. “That sort of dull wit I would expect from my brother, not Abraham. I’m disappointed.”
“John Breed,” Liv said slowly. “Oh my God. It was right there in front of us, all along.” Liv sunk onto the ottoman across from Macon’s desk.
I held Lena tighter. When her thoughts came, they were a whisper.
It’s sick. He’s sick.
I didn’t know if she meant John or Abraham, but it didn’t matter. She was right. It was all sick.
Abraham’s gone, L.
Even as I thought the words, I knew I was lying. John might have been gone, but Abraham wasn’t.
“So we’re left with two questions, Miss Durand. How and, more important, why?”
“If John Breed is gone, it doesn’t matter.” Liv’s face was pale, and it occurred to me that she looked as exhausted as Macon did.
“Is he? I’m not entirely willing to make assumptions without a body.”
“Shouldn’t we turn our research to the more pressing issues—the infestations, the climate change? How to stop these plagues that Lena’s
Seventeenth Moon seems to have brought on the Mortal world?”
Macon leaned forward in his chair. “Olivia, do you have any idea how old this library is?”
She shook her head doubtfully.
“Do you know how old any of the Caster libraries are? Across the pond and beyond? In London? Prague? Madrid? Istanbul? Cairo?”
“No. I suppose not.”
“In any of these libraries, many of which I’ve visited myself in the past few weeks, do you imagine there is one reference to how to restore the
Order of Things?”
“Of course. There has to be. This must have happened at least once before.”
He closed his eyes.
“Never?” She was trying to say the word, but from where we stood, we almost couldn’t hear it.
“Our only clue is the boy. How did he come to be, and for what purpose?”
“Or the girl?” Liv asked.
“Olivia. That’s enough.”
But Liv wasn’t deterred that easily. “Perhaps you already know? How did she come to be, and for what purpose? Scientifically speaking, it would
be relevant.”
Lena shut me out, willing her mind apart from mine, until I was alone in the passageway even as we clung to each other.
Macon shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was harsh. “Don’t say anything to the others. I want to be absolutely certain.”
“Before you tell Lena what she’s done,” Liv said flatly. It was a fact, but somehow she didn’t say it that way.
Macon’s green eyes held all the emotion his black ones never had. Fear. Anger. Resentment. “Before I tell her what she has to do.”
“You might not be able to stop this.” She looked down at her selenometer out of habit.
“Olivia, it’s not only the universe that could be destroyed. It’s my niece. Who is, as far as I am concerned, more important than a thousand lost
universes.”
“Believe me, I know.” If Liv was bitter, she didn’t let on.
It felt like my heart stopped beating. Lena slipped out of my arms before I even realized she was gone.
I found Lena in her room. She didn’t cry, and I didn’t try to console her. We sat in silence, holding hands until it hurt, until the sun fell away—behind
the words, behind the glass and the trees and the river. The night slid across her bed, and I waited for the darkness to erase everything.

Categories: Beautiful Chaos

Beautiful Chaos - Chapter 8

Izabel
Are you sure we’re going the right way?” We had turned off the highway, south of Charleston. But the houses had changed from traditional
Victorians with wraparound porches and white turrets stretching toward the clouds to—nothing. The houses were gone, replaced with miles of
tobacco fields and an occasional weather-beaten barn.
Lena glanced at the sheet of notebook paper in her lap. “This is the way. Gramma said there weren’t a lot of other houses near my old… where
my house used to be.” When Lena told me she wanted to see the house where she was born, it made sense—for about ten seconds. Because it
wasn’t just the house where she took her first steps and scribbled on the walls with crayon. It was also the place where her father died. Where Lena
could have died, when her mother set fire to the house, right before Lena’s first birthday.
But Lena insisted, and there was no talking her out of it. We hadn’t said a word to each other about what we’d overheard in Macon’s study, but I
knew this had to be another piece of the puzzle. Macon thought Lena’s and John’s pasts held some kind of key to what was happening in the
Caster and Mortal worlds. Which was the reason we were driving through the backwoods right now.
Aunt Del leaned forward from the backseat of the Volvo. Lucille was sitting in her lap. “It doesn’t look familiar to me, but I could be wrong.” That
was an understatement. Aunt Del was the last person I would ask for directions, unless we were in the Tunnels. And lately I wasn’t sure if she could
find her way around down there either. If visiting the charred remains of Lena’s birthplace had been a bad idea, bringing Aunt Del with us was an
even worse one. Since Lena’s Claiming, no one seemed to be turned inside out as much as Lena’s aunt.
Lena pointed at my window. “I think it’s up here. Uncle M said to look for a driveway on the left.” A fence, with white paint peeling down the sides,
guarded the road. There was a break in the fence a few yards ahead. “That’s it.”
As I turned between the crooked posts, I heard Lena’s breath catch. I took her hand, and my pulse quickened.
Are you sure you want to do this?
No. But I need to know what happened.
L, you know what happened.
This is where it all started. Where my mother held me as a baby. Where she decided to hate me.
She was a Dark Caster. She wasn’t capable of love.
Lena leaned against my shoulder as I drove down the dusty driveway.
Part of me is Dark, too, Ethan. And I love you.
I stiffened. Lena wasn’t Dark, not like her mother.
It’s not the same. You’re also Light.
I know. But Sarafine isn’t gone. She’s out there somewhere, with Abraham, waiting. And the more I know about her, the more prepared I’ll be to
fight her.
I wasn’t sure if that’s what this trip was really about. But it didn’t matter. Because when I pulled up to what was left of the house, it was suddenly
about something different.
Reality.
“My stars,” Aunt Del whispered.
It was worse than the yellowed photos in my mom’s archive—the ones that captured what was left of the plantations after the Great Burning—
black skeletons of enormous homes reduced to nothing but charred framework, as empty and hollow as the towns the Union soldiers left in their
wake.
This house, Lena’s old house, was nothing more than a cracked foundation floating in a sea of blackened earth. Nothing had grown back. It was
as if the ground itself had been scarred by what happened here.
How could Sarafine have done this to her family?
We didn’t matter to her. This proves it.
Lena dropped my hand and walked toward the rubble.
Let’s go, L. You don’t have to do this.
She looked back at me, green and gold eyes determined.
Yes, I do.
Lena turned to Aunt Del. “I need to see what happened here. Before… this.” She wanted her aunt to use her powers to peel away the layers of the
past so Lena could see the house that once stood here—and, more important, see inside it.
Aunt Del looked more nervous than usual, her hair coming loose from her bun as we walked over to Lena. “My powers have been misfiring a bit. I
may not be able to find exactly the moment you’re looking for, sweetheart.” What moment was that? The fire? I didn’t know if I could stand to see it—
if Lena could. “They may not even work at all.”
I put my hand on the back of Lena’s neck gently. Her skin was hot.
“Can you try?”
Her face pained, Aunt Del looked at the burnt wood scattered around the base of the house. She nodded and held out her hand. The three of us
sat on the black ground and joined hands, the heat beating down on us like a fire of its own.
“All right.” Aunt Del stared at the crumbling foundation intently, preparing to use her powers as a Palimpsest to show us the history of what was
left of this place.
The air began to shift around us, slowly at first. Just as the world started to spin around me—I saw it for a split second. The shadow that always
moved too fast for me to see. The one I felt in English class, the one following me. The one I couldn’t escape. It was watching, as if somehow it
could see whatever we saw in the layers of Aunt Del’s perception.
Then a door opened into the past, and I was looking into a bedroom—
The walls are painted a pale, shimmering silver, and strands of white lights hang across the ceiling like stars in a magical sky. A girl with long
black curls is standing by the window, staring out at the real sky. I know those curls and that beautiful profile—it’s Lena. But the girl turns, holding a
bundle in her arms, and I realize it isn’t Lena. It’s Sarafine, her golden eyes shining. She stares at the baby, whose tiny hands are reaching.
Sarafine holds out her finger, and the baby grabs it. She looks down at the baby, smiling. “You are such a special girl, and I will always take care of
you—”
The door slams shut.
I waited for another to open, the way the doors always did, opening and closing like a chain reaction. But there was no point. The sky swirled
back into view, and for a minute I was seeing double. Both Aunt Dels looked flustered.
“I—I’m sorry. Nothing like this has ever happened before. It doesn’t make sense.” Only it did. Aunt Del’s powers were out of whack, like everyone
else’s. Usually, she could stand anywhere and see the pieces of the past, present, and future, like the pages of a flip-book. Now there were pages
missing, and she had only caught a single glimpse of the past.
Aunt Del was visibly shaken and looked more confused than ever. I took her arm to help her up. “Don’t worry, Aunt Del. Macon’s going to figure
out how to… fix the Order.” Which seemed like the right thing to say, even though it was clear that Gatlin—maybe the whole world—was pretty
broken.
Lena looked broken, too. She pushed herself up and walked closer to what was left of the house, as if she could still see the bedroom. Rain
pelted down without warning, and heat lightning flashed across the sky. The grasshoppers scattered, and within seconds I was drenched.
L?
Standing there in the rain reminded me of the first night we met, in the middle of Route 9. She looked almost the same, and yet so different.
Am I crazy, or did it look like Sarafine cared about me?
You’re not crazy.
But, Ethan, that’s not possible.
I pushed the wet hair out of my eyes.
Maybe it is.
The rain stopped instantly, from a downpour back to sunshine in the span of a few seconds. It happened all the time now—Lena’s powers
fluctuating between extremes she couldn’t control.
“What are you doing?” I jogged to catch up with her.
“I want to see what’s left.” She wasn’t talking about the stones and burnt wood. Lena wanted a feeling to hold on to, proof of the one happy
moment she had experienced here.
I followed her to the edge of the foundation, which was more of a wall now. I don’t know if it was my imagination, but the closer we got to the
charred remains, the more it smelled like ash. You could see where the steps that led up to the porch had burned away. I was tall enough to see
over the side of the wall. There was nothing but a hole filled with cracked concrete, splintered pieces of rotted black wood littering the ground.
Lena was kneeling in the mud. She reached for something about the size of a shoe box.
“What is it?” Even when I got closer, it was hard to tell.
“I’m not sure.” She wiped the mud off with her hand, revealing rust and dented metal. There was a melted keyhole on one side. “It’s a lockbox.”
Lena handed me the box. It was heavier than it looked.
“The lock is melted, but I think I can open it.” I looked around and picked up a piece of broken rock. I lifted the rock to get some leverage, when
suddenly the metal hinges scraped open. “What the—?” I looked up at Lena, and she shrugged.
“Sometimes my powers still work the way I want them to.” She kicked at a puddle. “Other times, not so much.”
Even though the box was burnt and dented on the outside, it had protected the contents: a silver bracelet with an intricate design, a worn
paperback copy of Great Expectations, a photo of Sarafine in a blue dress, with a dark-haired boy at a school dance. There was a cheesy
backdrop behind them, like the one Lena and I had posed in front of at the winter formal. There was another photo, tucked under the bracelet—a
baby picture of a little girl. I knew it was Lena because the child looked exactly like the baby Sarafine had been holding in her arms.
Lena touched the edge of the baby picture and lifted it above the box. The world around us started to fade, the sunlight quickly turning to
darkness. I knew what was happening, but this time it wasn’t happening to me. I was following Lena into the vision, the way she had followed me the
day I sat in church with the Sisters. Within seconds the muddy ground turned to grass—
Izabel was shaking violently. She knew what was happening, and it had to be a mistake. It was her deepest fear, the nightmares that had
haunted her since she was a child. This wasn’t supposed to happen to her—she was Light, not Dark. She had tried so hard to do the right
things, to be the person everyone wanted her to be. How could she be anything but Light, after all that? But as the devastating cold tore
through her veins, Izabel knew she was wrong; it wasn’t a mistake. She was going Dark.
The moon, her Sixteenth Moon, was full and luminous now. As she stared at it, Izabel could feel the rare gifts her family was so sure she
possessed—the powers of a Natural—being twisted into something else. Soon her thoughts and heart would not be her own. Sorrow,
destruction, and hate would force everything else out. Everything good.
Izabel’s thoughts tortured her, but the physical pain was unbearable, as if her body was tearing itself to shreds from the inside. But she
forced herself to her feet and ran. There was only one place she could go. She blinked hard, her vision clouded by a golden haze. Tears
burned her skin. It couldn’t be true.
By the time she made it to her mother’s house, her breath was ragged. Izabel reached above the door and touched the lintel. But for the
first time it didn’t open. She pounded on the door until her hands were cut and bleeding, then she slid to the ground, her cheek resting
against the wood.
When the door opened, Izabel fell, her face slamming against the marble floor of the hallway. Even that didn’t compare to the pain raging
through her body. A pair of black lace-up boots was barely inches from her face. Izabel clutched at her mother’s legs frantically.
Emmaline pulled her daughter up from the floor. “What happened? What is it?”
Izabel tried to hide her eyes, but it was impossible. “It’s a mistake, Mamma. I know how it looks, but I’m still the same. I’m still me.”
“No. It can’t be.” Emmaline grabbed Izabel’s chin so she could see her daughter’s eyes. They were as yellow as the sun.
A girl not much older than Izabel came down the winding staircase, taking the steps two at a time. “Mamma, what’s going on?”
Emmaline whirled around, pushing Izabel behind her. “Go back upstairs, Delphine!”
But there was no way to hide Izabel’s glowing yellow eyes. Delphine froze. “Mamma?”
“I said go upstairs! There’s nothing you can do for your sister!” Their mother’s voice was defeated. “It’s too late.”
Too late? Her mother didn’t mean that—she couldn’t. Izabel wrapped her arms around her mother, and Emmaline jumped as if she’d
been stung. Izabel’s skin was as cold as ice.
Emmaline turned, holding Izabel by the shoulders. Tears already marked the woman’s face. “I can’t help you. There’s nothing I can do.”
Lightning streaked across the black sky. A bolt tore down, splitting the huge oak that shaded their house. The splintered trunk crashed
down, taking out part of the roof with it. A window shattered upstairs, and the sound of glass breaking echoed through the house.
Izabel recognized the unfamiliar look on her mother’s face.
Fear.
“It’s a mistake. I’m not—” Dark. Izabel couldn’t bring herself to say the word.
“There are no mistakes, not where the curse is concerned. You are Claimed Light or Dark; there is no in between.”
“But Mamma—”
Emmaline shook her head, pushing Izabel across the threshold. “You can’t stay here. Not now.”
Izabel’s eyes went wild. “Gramma Katherine isn’t going to let me live there anymore. I have nowhere else to go.” She was sobbing
uncontrollably. “Mamma, please help me. We can fight this together. I’m your daughter!”
“Not anymore.”
Delphine had been silent, but she couldn’t believe what her mother was saying. She couldn’t turn her sister away. “Mamma, it’s Izabel! We
have to help her!”
Emmaline looked at Izabel, remembering the day she was born. The day Emmaline had silently chosen her child’s true name. She had
imagined the moment she would share it with Izabel—staring into her daughter’s green eyes and tucking her black curls behind her ear as
she whispered the name.
Emmaline stared into her daughter’s glowing yellow eyes, then turned away.
“Her name isn’t Izabel anymore. It’s Sarafine.”
The real world came into focus slowly. Lena was standing a few feet away, still holding the box. I could see it shaking in her hands, her eyes wet with
tears. I couldn’t imagine what she was feeling.
In the vision, Sarafine was just a girl whose fate was decided for her. There wasn’t a trace of the monster she was now. Was that how it
happened? You opened your eyes and your whole life changed?
L? Are you okay?
Our eyes met, and for a second she didn’t answer. When she did, her voice was quiet in my mind.
She was just like me.

Categories: Beautiful Chaos

Beautiful Chaos - Chapter 6

Glass Houses and Stones
A whole catfish stared at me with glassy eyes, its tail giving a final flop. On one side of the fish was a massive plate piled with slabs of fatty,
uncooked bacon. A platter of raw shrimp, translucent and gray, sat on the other side, next to a bowl of dry instant grits. A plate of runny eggs, with
bleeding yolks in thick white sauce, was the best of the worst. It was weird, even for Ravenwood, where I sat across from Lena in the formal dining
room. Half the food looked like it was ready to get up and run or swim its way off the table. And there wasn’t one thing on the table that anyone in
Gatlin would ever eat for breakfast. Especially not me.
I looked back at my empty plate, where chocolate milk had appeared in a tall crystal glass. Sitting next to the runny eggs, the milk wasn’t
appealing.
Lena made a face. “Kitchen? Seriously? Again?” I heard an indignant clanging from the other room. Lena had irritated Ravenwood’s mysterious
cook, who I’d still never seen. Lena shrugged, looking at me. “I told you. Everything is out of whack around here. It gets worse every day.”
“Come on. We can grab a sticky bun at the Stop & Steal.” I’d lost my appetite around the time I saw the uncooked bacon.
“Kitchen’s doing her best. Life is hard enough lately, I’m afraid. Last night Delphine was pounding on my door in the middle of the night, insisting
the British were coming.” A familiar voice, the soft shuffling of slippers, a scraping chair—and there he was. Macon Ravenwood, holding an armful
of rolled newspapers, lifting a teacup that was suddenly full of what probably was supposed to be tea but looked like some kind of soupy green
muck. Boo stalked in after him and curled up at his master’s feet.
Lena sighed. “Ryan’s crying. She won’t admit it, but she’s afraid she’ll never completely come into her powers now. Uncle Barclay can’t Shift
anymore. Aunt Del says he can’t even turn a frown into a smile.”
Macon raised his cup, nodding in my direction. “That can all wait until after breakfast. ‘How do you rate the morning sun,’ Mr. Wate?”
“Excuse me, sir?” It sounded like a trick question.
“Robbie Williams. Quite the songwriter, don’t you think? And quite a relevant question as of late.” He glanced down at his tea before taking a sip,
and put the cup down. “My way of saying good morning, I suppose.”
“Morning, sir.” I tried not to stare. He was wearing a black satin robe. At least I thought it was a robe. I’d never seen a robe with a handkerchief
sticking out of the chest pocket. It didn’t look anything like my dad’s ratty checkered bathrobe.
Macon caught me staring. “I believe the term you’re searching for is smoking jacket. I find, now that I have whole days of sunshine ahead of me,
I’ve discovered there is more to life than formal haberdashery.”
“Huh?”
“Uncle M likes to lounge around in his pajamas. That’s what he means.” Lena gave him a kiss on the cheek. “We have to get going or we’ll miss
out on the sticky buns. Be nice and I’ll bring you one.”
He sighed. “Hunger is such an incredible inconvenience.”
Lena picked up her backpack. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Macon ignored her, smoothing open the first of his newspapers. “Earthquakes in Paraguay.” He snapped open the next, which appeared to be
written in French. “The Seine is drying up.” Another. “The polar ice cap is melting at ten times the predicted rate. If one is to believe the Helsinki
press.” A fourth paper. “And the entire southeastern coast of the United States appears to be afflicted by a curious plague of pestilence.”
Lena closed his newspaper, revealing a plate of white bread sitting directly in front of him. “Eat. The world will still be on the brink of disaster
when you finish your breakfast. Even in your smoking jacket.”
The darkness in Macon’s expression lifted, the green eyes of an Incubus-turned-Light-Caster blazing a bit lighter at her touch. Lena gave him a
smile, the one she saved only for him. The smile that said she had noticed all of it—every minute of their life together. What they had, they knew.
Since Macon had basically come back to her from the dead, Lena hadn’t taken a minute they shared for granted. I never doubted that, though I
envied it.
It was what I’d had with my mom—and now I didn’t. I wondered if I had smiled differently when I looked at her. I wondered if she’d known that I had
noticed it all, too. That I knew she’d read every book I was reading, just so we could talk about it over dinner at our old oak table. That I knew she’d
spent hours at the Blue Bicycle bookstore in Charleston, trying to find the right book for me.
“Come on!” Lena motioned, and I shook loose the memory and picked up my backpack. She gave her uncle a quick hug. “Ridley!” she called up
the stairs. A muffled groan floated down from one of the bedrooms. “Now!”
“Sir.” I folded my napkin and stood up.
Macon’s relaxed expression vanished. “Be careful out there.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wate. I know you will.” He lowered his cup. “But you be careful yourself. Things are a bit more complicated than they might seem.”
The town was falling apart, and we’d pretty much broken the whole world. I wasn’t sure how things could get any more complicated than that.
“Careful of what, sir?” The table was quiet between us, even though I could hear Lena and Gramma arguing with Ridley in the hallway.
Macon looked down at his pile of newspapers, smoothing open the last one, in a language I’d never seen and yet somehow recognized.
“I wish I knew.”
After breakfast at Ravenwood, if you could call it that, the day only got weirder. We were late for school because when we got to Link’s house to
pick him up, his mom caught him dumping his breakfast in the trash and made him sit through a second one. Then, when we drove by the Stop &
Steal, Fatty, Jackson’s faithful truant officer, wasn’t sitting in his car eating a sticky bun and reading the paper. And there were half a dozen buns left
in the bakery section. That had to be the first sign of the apocalypse. But even more unbelievable, we walked into the administration building twenty
minutes late, and Miss Hester wasn’t at the front desk to give us detention. Her purple nail polish sat in front of her office chair, unopened. Like the
whole world had somehow rotated five degrees in the wrong direction.
“This is our lucky day.” Link put up his fist, and I tapped his knuckles against mine. I would have gone with freaky.
It was confirmed when I caught a glimpse of Ridley wandering toward the bathroom. I could’ve sworn she had changed into a regular girl, wearing
weirdly regular-girl clothes. And finally, when I slid into my seat next to Lena, on what should have been Mrs. English’s Good-Eye Side, I found
myself in the Twilight Zone of classroom seating charts.
I was sitting where I always did. It was the room that had changed, or Mrs. English, who spent the whole period grilling students on the wrong side
of the room.
“ ‘This is a sharp time, now, a precise time—we live no longer in the dusky afternoon when evil mixed itself with good and befuddled the world.’ ”
Mrs. English looked up. “Miss Asher? How dusky a time would Arthur Miller think we live in today?”
Emily stared at her, shocked. “Ma’am? Don’t you mean to be asking—them?” Emily looked over at Abby Porter, Lena, and me, the only people
who ever sat on the Good-Eye Side.
“I mean to be asking anyone who expects to pass my class, Miss Asher. Now answer the question.”
Maybe she put her glass eye in the wrong side this morning.
Lena smiled without looking up from her paper.
Maybe.
“Um, I think Arthur Miller would be majorly psyched that we aren’t all so messed up anymore.”
I peeked over my copy of The Crucible. And as Emily stammered to condemn a witch hunt not much different from the one she had all but led
herself, that glass eye was staring straight at me.
As if it could not only see me but see right through me.
By the time school let out, things were starting to feel more normal. Ethan-Hating Emily hissed when I walked by, trailed by Eden and Charlotte, third
and fourth in command, like the good old days. Ridley figured out that Lena had Cast a Facies Celata on her, Charming her Siren clothes so they
appeared to be regular clothes. Now Ridley was back to her old self, black leather and pink stripes—revenge, vendettas, and all. Worse, as soon
as the bell rang, she dragged both of us to basketball practice to watch Link’s scrimmage.
This time there was no hanging out in the doorway of the gym. Ridley wasn’t happy until we were sitting front and center. It was painful. Link
wasn’t even on the court, and I had to watch my old teammates screwing up plays I used to run. But Lena and Ridley were bickering like sisters, and
there was more going on in the stands than on the court. At least, until I saw Link get up from the bench.
“You Cast a Facies on me? Like I was some kind of Mortal?” Ridley was practically shrieking. “Like I wouldn’t know? So now you think I’m not
only powerless but stupid?”
“It wasn’t my idea. Gramma told me to do it after she saw what you were wearing at the house.” Lena looked embarrassed.
Ridley’s face was as pink as the streaks in her hair. “It’s a free world. At least, it is outside of Gat-Dung. You can’t use your powers to dress
people however you want. Especially not like that.” She shuddered. “I’m not one of Savannah Snow’s Barbie dolls.”
“Rid. You don’t have to be like them. But you don’t have to try so hard to be so different.”
“Same thing,” Ridley snapped.
“It’s not.”
“Look at that herd and tell me why I should care what those people think of me.”
Ridley had a point. As Link moved up and down the court, the eyes of the entire cheer squad were glued to him as if they were one person.
Which, basically, they were. I didn’t even watch the court after a while. I already knew Link could probably hit a jumper from the stands, with his
superstrength.
Ethan, he’s jumping too high.
By about three feet. Lena was stressing, but I knew Link had been fantasizing about this moment his entire life.
Yep.
And running too fast.
Yep.
Aren’t you going to say something?
Nope.
Nothing was going to stop him. Word had gotten around that Link had kicked up his game over the summer, and it seemed like half the school
had shown up at practice to see for themselves. I couldn’t decide if it was further proof of how boring life was in Gatlin, or how bad our new Linkubus
was at Mortal camouflage.
Savannah had the cheerleaders up and moving. To be fair, it was their practice, too. But to be fair to the rest of us, we weren’t exactly expecting
Savannah’s new routines. From the looks of it, Emily, Eden, and Charlotte weren’t expecting them either. Emily didn’t even get off the bench.
From the sidelines, Savannah was jumping almost as high as Link. “Give me an L!”
“You’re not serious.” Lena almost spit out her soda.
You could hear Savannah across the gym. “Give me an I!”
I shook my head. “Oh, she’s serious. There’s nothing ironic about Savannah Snow.”
“Give me an N!”
“We are never going to hear the end of this.” Lena looked at Ridley. She was chewing gum like Ronnie Weeks slapping on nicotine patches
when he quit smoking. The more Savannah jumped, the harder Ridley chewed.
“Give me a K!”
“Give me a break.” Ridley spit out her gum and stuck it underneath the bench. Before we could stop her, she was climbing over the aluminum
bleachers, down to the court—superhigh sandals, pink-striped hair, black miniskirt, and all.
“Oh no.” Lena started to get up, but I pulled her back down.
“You can’t stop it from happening, L.”
“What is she doing?” Lena couldn’t bear to look.
Ridley was talking to Savannah, tightening the low-slung belt with the poisonous insect trapped in it, like a gladiator gearing up for battle. At first I
strained to listen, but within seconds they were shouting.
“What’s your problem?” Savannah snapped.
Ridley grinned. “Nothing. Oh, wait… you.”
Savannah dropped her pom-poms on the gym floor. “You’re a skank. If you want to lure some other guy into your skanky trap, be my guest. But
Link is one of us.”
“Here’s the thing, Barbie. I’ve already trapped him, and since I’m trying to play nice, this is me giving you fair warning. Back off before you get
hurt.”
Savannah crossed her arms over her chest. “Make me.”
It looked like they needed a ref.
Lena covered her eyes. “Are they fighting?”
“Uh—more like cheering, I think.” I pulled Lena’s hand from her eyes. “You have to see this for yourself.”
Ridley had one thumb hooked over her belt, the other shaking a lone, borrowed pom-pom like it was a dead skunk. The squad was next to her,
climbing into their standard pyramid formation—Savannah leading the way.
Link stopped running down the court. Everyone did.
L, I don’t know if this is the right time for payback.
Lena didn’t take her eyes off Ridley.
I’m not doing anything. But someone is.
Savannah was smiling from the base. Emily scowled as she climbed to the top. The other girls followed almost mechanically.
Ridley waved a drooping pom-pom over her head.
Link dribbled the ball in place. Waiting, like the rest of us who knew Ridley, for the terrible thing that hadn’t happened yet but would any second
now.
L, you think Ridley—?
It’s impossible. She’s not a Caster anymore. She doesn’t have any powers.
“Give me an”—Ridley shook her pom-pom halfheartedly—“R.”
Emily wobbled at the top of the pyramid.
Ridley called out again. “Um, and an I?”
A shudder went through the team, like they were doing the wave in pyramid formation.
“And then, let’s go with a D.” Ridley dropped the pom-pom. Emily’s eyes widened. Link held the ball in one hand. “What does it spell,
Cheerlosers?” Ridley winked.
Lena—
I started to move before I saw it happen.
“Rid?” Link shouted at her, but she didn’t look back at him.
Lena was halfway over the bench, on her way down to the court.
Ridley, no!
I was right behind her, but there was no way to stop it.
It was too late.
The pyramid collapsed on top of Savannah.
Everything happened really quickly after that, like Gatlin wanted to fast-forward the whole story from breaking news to ancient history. An ambulance
picked up Savannah and took her to the hospital, over in Summerville. People were saying it was a miracle Emily hadn’t been killed, falling all the
way from the top. Half the school kept repeating the words spinal injury, which was only a rumor, because Emily seemed about as full of backbone
as ever. Apparently Savannah cushioned her fall, as if she had selflessly martyred herself for the greater good of the team. That was the story,
anyway.
Link went to the hospital to check on her. I think he felt as guilty as if he’d beaten Savannah up himself. But the official diagnosis, according to
Link’s call from the lobby, was “good an’ banged up,” and by the time Savannah sent her mom home for her makeup, everyone involved was feeling
better. It probably helped that, the way Link told it, the whole cheer squad was there asking him who he thought had been friends with Savannah the
longest.
Link was still relaying the details. “The girls’ll be all right. They’ve sorta been takin’ turns sittin’ on my lap.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, everyone’s pretty upset. So I’m doin’ my part to comfort the squad.”
“How’s that going?”
I had a feeling both Link and Savannah were enjoying the afternoon, in their own ways. Ridley was nowhere to be found, but when she figured out
where Link had gone, things would probably get even worse. Maybe it was a good thing Link was familiarizing himself with the county hospital.
By the time Link hung up, Lena and I were back in her room, and Ridley was moping around downstairs. Lena’s bedroom was about as far as
you could get from Jackson High, and being there made everything that happened in town seem about a million miles away. Her room had changed
since she came back from the Great Barrier. Lena said it was because she needed to see the world through her gold and green eyes. And
Ravenwood had changed to mirror her feelings, the way it had always changed for her and Macon.
Her room was now entirely transparent, like some kind of weird tree house made of glass. From the outside it still looked exactly the same, with
its weather-beaten shutters covered in vines. I could see remnants of her old room. There were still windows where there had been windows, doors
where there had been doors. But the ceiling was open, with sliding panels of glass shoved to one side to let in the night air. In the afternoon, the
wind scattered leaves across her bed. Her floor was a mirror that reflected the changing sky. When the sun beat down on us—as it always did now
—the light refracted and broke and scattered over so many different surfaces, it was impossible to tell which sun was the real one. They all burned
equally, with a blinding glare.
I lay back on her bed, closing my eyes and letting the breeze roll over me. I knew it wasn’t real, just another version of Lena’s Casting Breeze, but
I didn’t care. My body felt like it was breathing for the first time today. I pulled my damp shirt off and tossed it onto the floor. Better.
I opened an eye. Lena was writing on the glass wall closest to her bed, and the words hung in the air like spoken sentences. Inked in Sharpie.
no light no dark no you no me know light know dark know you know me
It made me feel better, seeing the handwriting I remembered from before the Sixteenth Moon.
so goes the hard way—the (fall a)part way—the (break a)heart day
I rolled onto my side. “Hey. What does that mean, ‘the break a heart day’?” I didn’t like the sound of that one.
She looked over at me and smiled. “It’s not today.”
I pulled her down on the bed next to me, my hand on the back of her neck. My fingers tangled in her long hair, and I ran my thumb down her
collarbone. I loved the way her skin felt, even if it burned. I pressed my lips against hers, and I heard Lena’s breath catch. I was losing mine, but I
didn’t care.
Lena ran her hand down my back, her fingers trailing along my bare skin.
“I love you,” I whispered into her ear.
She held my face in her hands and leaned back so she could look at me. “I don’t think I could ever love anything the way I love you.”
“I know I couldn’t.”
Lena’s hand rested on my chest. I knew she could feel my heartbeat thudding beneath it. She sat up, grabbing my shirt off the floor. “You’d better
put this back on, or you’re going to get me grounded for the rest of my life. It’s not like Uncle M sleeps all day. He’s probably down in the Tunnels
with—” She caught herself, which is how I knew who she was talking about. “He’s in his study, and he’ll expect to see me any minute now.”
I sat up, holding my shirt in my hands.
“Anyway, I don’t know why I write the things I do. They sort of come into my head.”
“Like my father and his new bestseller, The Eighteenth Moon?” I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, and Amma was avoiding me. Maybe
Macon would have the answer.
“Like Savannah and her supercool new Link cheer.” Lena leaned against me. “It’s a mess.”
“Give me an M. Give me an E-S-S.”
“Shut up,” Lena said, kissing my cheek. “Shirt on.”
I pulled my shirt back over my shoulders, pausing midway. “You sure about that?” She bent to kiss my stomach, yanking my shirt back down over
it. I felt the stabbing pain disappear as quickly as it came—but I reached for her anyway.
She ducked out of my arms. “We should tell Uncle Macon about what happened today.”
“Tell him what? That Ridley’s starting fights? And even though she’s completely powerless, bad things happen to cheerleaders when she’s
around?”
“Just in case. She could be up to something. Maybe you should tell him about your dad’s new book.” Lena held out her hand, and I took it, the
energy draining out of me slowly.
“You mean, because the last book turned out so well? We don’t even know if there is a book.” I didn’t want to think about my dad and his books
any more than I wanted to think about Ridley and Savannah Snow.
We were halfway down the hall before I realized we had stopped talking. The closer we got, the more I sensed Lena’s pace slowing. She didn’t
mind going back down into the Tunnels. She just didn’t want me going down there.
Which had nothing to do with the actual Tunnels and everything to do with Macon’s favorite exchange student.

Categories: Beautiful Chaos