Sing Sweet Nightingale (33 page)

“Is it over?” K.T. gasps. Her words are close to my head, but I can’t open my eyes to look at her. Not yet. “Is she okay? Why isn’t she moving?”

“Mari?” Hudson shakes me gently, and the mattress gives beneath us as he sits. “Mari, breathe, at least. You’re starting to scare me.”

Have I been holding my breath this whole time? As soon as I think about it, I realize my chest is burning, and it’s not just from the ache of Orane’s betrayal. I release my breath and gasp for another one, but breathing hurts more than I can bear. The tears I’ve been trying so hard to hold back break free, and I scream. I scream and scream and don’t make a sound.

Over my head, Hudson is giving K.T. instructions that make no sense. Something about a drawer and tumbled stones and glass.

Across my closed eyelids, the last week replays in bits and pieces in my head, jumping from one moment to another in no order that makes sense. Each one is more painful than the last.

I wanted Hudson to be wrong. I wanted him to be a liar or the enemy or anything that meant Orane was right all along. Instead, Orane reached into my chest with claws dipped in venom and tore out my heart. And took my voice with him, just for the hell of it. Or maybe Hudson was right, and that’s what he wanted all along. If Hudson was right about this much, why wouldn’t he be right about everything?

Each breath I take escapes out of a gaping hole in my chest. The deeper I breathe, the more it hurts. I try to grab on to something that will keep me from falling down a bottomless pit, and my mind latches on to the memory of Orane’s smile the moment I fell silent. That triumphant smile, and the fear in his eyes when Hudson said I had the power to tear his world apart.

It takes a moment to gather my energy, but I haul myself out of Hudson’s arms and prop myself against the headboard, my knees tucked into my chest and my eyes squeezed shut so tight it hurts. It takes a good deal longer to stop the tears running down my cheeks. It takes even more time before I can think about opening my eyes to face the people sitting on the other end of my bed. I can feel them watching me, waiting to see how far off the deep end I’ve fallen.

“You with us, Mari?” K.T. asks. Her voice is soft and gentle, but it makes me jump when it breaks the silence. She sighs and shifts, the bedframe creaking as she moves. “Sorry.”

My face hidden and my eyes shut, I try to ask them what happens next. I try to whisper the words and scream them. My throat aches the more I try, but the only sound I make is the rush of air leaving my lungs.

Without looking up, I lift my hands and sign, “Why can’t I talk?”

“Because you switched sides. You broke your promise, or you were going to.” Hudson moves closer, so close I feel the heat rolling off his body, but he doesn’t touch me. “Remember what I told you earlier? As soon as I decided to fight, I couldn’t. Calease locked that ability away, and I was left paralyzed. It’s the same thing now with your voice.”

Guilt nibbles at the lining of my stomach like a rodent, sharp and biting. I’m agonizing over not being able to speak when Hudson had to watch his baby brother bleed to death.

I try to sink into detachment. Maybe if I find an empty place in my head, I won’t have to deal with the pain. I don’t think I’m strong enough to survive it. But if I can’t face that, what can I possibly do against a being so powerful he can create entire worlds? How do I defeat someone who’s known me for ten years, who I spilled every single secret to?

Hudson thinks I can do it. He has faith in me for some reason. He’s been right about everything so far, but I’m not so sure he’s right about me.

Thirty-One

Hudson

Saturday, September 6 – 12:03 AM

I glance at K.T., and she mouths, “What else can I do?”

Looking around, I shrug.

She’s already hidden all of Mariella’s glass trinkets—cleared out the bottom drawer of Mari’s dresser, lined it with stones, and dumped every single figurine inside. The crystals and stones should keep her demon—Orane, I guess his name is—from reaching through and doing…anything. Whatever he’s planning on doing to us.

At least, I hope they will. It’s already helped Mari.

The orange light surrounding her is there, but it’s been nearly overtaken by the same cobalt-blue glow that surrounds me. Every so often, the energy surges higher, sparking around her like a fireworks show. I’m not sure if she can see it or not.

Mariella has been sobbing, her shoulders shaking and her hands locked into fists so tight her nails must be digging into her skin, but all I hear is her gasping breaths. Each time I’ve tried to comfort her, she pulls away, but the tears are finally slowing. Her breathing is evening out, and she’s shifting her weight like she’s ready to sit up and face us.

I’m already so close to Mari it’s hard to keep from bumping into her, but I shift a little closer anyway. To be there to comfort her or maybe to keep her from bolting, I’m not sure which. All I know is being close to her feels better. Safer. Especially now that she’s not wearing that stupid pendant.

She must have felt me move because when she brushes her hands over her hair and slowly lifts her head, her eyes instantly find mine. And she doesn’t look surprised to find me less than two feet from her face.

Mari blinks and leans closer, her eyes narrowing as she signs, “Why are you blue?”

I look down at myself. “You can see that now?”

When I glance at her, she nods, biting her lip. “It’s a side effect of surviving. When you make it through next week, you’ll be blue, too.”

“You’re
blue
?” K.T. whispers.

“It’s a good thing you can’t see it,” I mutter. “Be glad.”

“But Mari’s not blue?”

I shake my head. “Only half-blue.”

Mari looks down at herself and jumps. Holding her hands out in front of her, she stares at the light show I’ve been watching shift and change for a week. She’s more blue than orange now, but it’s an ever-changing balance between the two.

Exhaling heavily, Mariella drops her hands to her sides.

“Anything else you want to know?” I whisper. Locking my fingers around the comforter on her bed keeps me from reaching out and stroking her hair like I want to.

“How did you find me?”

Signing as much of it as I can, I tell her more about what happened after I fought Calease—the different ways I can see the world, the Wolverine-like healing power, and, most importantly, the dreams.

I try to make it sound as non-creepy or stalkerish as possible, but I don’t know if there is a non-creepy way to tell someone you moved across state lines because of a sign in a dream and then spent days scouring that town for them. No matter how I phrase it, I sound psycho.

Mariella barely reacts. Her forehead creases a little and her head tilts, but then she nods. Almost like this was the answer she was expecting. Or maybe I’ve already told her so much crazy shit this news doesn’t even register on the scale of one to weird.

“Do my parents know? About the dreamworld?” she signs, fingerspelling “dreamworld” and creating a new sign for it—the sign for “world” with her hands making a D instead of W.

Her face is too composed for me to guess if she’s hoping the answer is yes or no. I lock my hands around the fabric of the comforter again. The longer she sits there pretending she’s not on the verge of drowning, the harder it is to keep myself from taking her hand to remind her someone else is here with her.

“No, they don’t know,” I finally sign back.

“Do you want them to?” K.T. signs.

Mariella considers the question for a second before she shakes her head. “Only if…”

Her hands freeze, and her entire face crumples. A few tears fall from her eyes, and this time I can’t stop myself from touching her. My thumb wipes away the tears on her cheeks, and my fingers brush her hair behind her ear. Her skin is too cold, but it’s warmer than before she faced down Orane.

She doesn’t react to my hand at first. It’s almost like she doesn’t feel it at all. But then her eyes open, and she stares at me with more pain than a lot of people our age know exists in the world. For less than a breath, I wonder what might have happened if she hadn’t been targeted by the demons. If we’d met by chance instead of design. If I’d found her before she’d had her heart squeezed into pulp. What would we have been then?

I let myself imagine what the world might be like if I had a one-in-a-million shot at a girl like Mariella. Someone who wouldn’t see me as damaged or broken or freakish. Someone who’d fight
with
me instead of waiting for me to fix everything. Someone so gorgeous I could stare at her for days and never get tired of the sight—that part doesn’t hurt either.

But then she pulls away, and the moment is gone. Even if I don’t die pulling her through this, what are the chances she’ll want anything to do with me? I’m the person who pulled the weak stone out of the foundation of her life and brought her carefully constructed, fake love crashing down. Why would she want to stay around a reminder of one of the most painful nights of her life?

“Tell my parents the truth if I don’t make it past my birthday,” she signs.

“You’re going to be fine.” I don’t remember to sign. The words are out before I can lift my hands.

She looks at me, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me, doesn’t quite believe in herself. There are pieces of this picture missing, and I need to change the subject, so I sign, “What did you do, Mari? I mean, what did he want? Do you know?”

I watch her face, trying to decipher what it means when the lines around her eyes and across her forehead shift like that. After a couple seconds, she sighs and raises her hands, but when she signs, “I sing,” she doesn’t seem convinced that’s the right answer.

Because it isn’t.

“Not only that,” I sign. Slowly—reluctantly—pulling away, I search her room until I come up with what I need—a pencil and a blank piece of paper.

As I sketch, I explain how this ability works. I end up tripping over my own words, making the explanation hellishly convoluted, but I think Mari gets it.

“You see the reason they…” She pauses for a second before signing, “Target us?”

She understands. Warmth spreads through my chest, and I almost smile. “Yes. Exactly.”

Not wanting to freak her out more than necessary, I draw Mari’s second self as she should be, not as I saw her. I leave off the horrified expression and the burning chains. I soften the way her arms are folded and set the lyre at her feet instead of strapped to her back.

When I show the sketch to them, K.T. glances at it and smiles, nodding as though the symbolism makes perfect sense to her. Maybe it does. She knew Mari before Orane sunk his claws into her mind. Mariella, though, grabs the page and stares at it like I drew her as a clown or an alien or something. Her lips move slightly, like she’s muttering to herself, but when she looks up at me, she simply signs, “What?”

“You were always the best singer, Mari.” Mari and I both look at K.T. “It’s true. I mean, you’d give shows on the playground and people would stop a game of kickball to listen to you, but that wasn’t the only thing.”

Mari rubs her eyes and leans forward, setting her chin on her knees and watching K.T.

“It was like you were a magnet. People wanted to be around you, and you could always get people to follow your orders.” K.T.’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “Not that you were, like, ordering everyone around. Just…you had this way of getting people to listen to you. You were always the mediator when people fought and the judge when there was some stupid contest or game. People trusted you. If…Well, if you hadn’t met this demon, you probably would’ve been class president all four years. Whether you put yourself on the ballot or not.”

“You’re a leader,” I whisper. “That’s what he wanted. He wanted that magnetism that makes…” I stop, wondering if it’s too soon to say this. “That quality that makes people adore you.”

Even people like me, who so rarely find a reason to see the rest of humanity as more than tolerable. But did she pick up on that part? She’s sitting with her chin resting on her knees and her eyes closed, so I don’t think so. And I can’t tell if I’m relieved or disappointed.

“Will he come back?” Mari signs, her eyes still closed.

“I don’t know.” I keep my voice low. “He’s attacked me more than once, but he has to be careful with you. You’re awake, which means he doesn’t quite have what he wants yet. I think he was about to take it when I pulled you away. I think the stones are all that’s keeping him from taking it now.” I force a smile and try to make this less awful. “You’re about to become a very avid collector of semi-precious gemstones, Mari.”

She opens her eyes but doesn’t smile back. Looking at her nightstand, she reaches out and trails her fingers along the mane of the black jade horse I gave her last week. For a second, it almost looks like she’s about to smile, but it never appears. Mari draws her hand back and runs it over her hair, smoothing the bits pulled out of her braid. Then she sighs and lifts her hands.

“Tell me what to do,” she signs. “I’ll do it.”

I wish I could see anger or frustration or pain in her face, but there’s nothing. Nothing but the circles forming around her eyes and the way her head hangs. It’s a resignation and a weariness that makes me wish I could let her sleep and take care of this myself, but I can’t. Orane knows she has a chance of taking him down. It has to be her fight.

I have a week to make sure she’s ready for it. And to prepare myself to do whatever it takes to get her out alive.