Mercifully, the bell rings.
I practically spring to my feet. But as I turn toward class, I feel Wes come up beside me. He knocks his shoulder against mine, but instead of his usual noise I’m hit with something’s off what’s going on did I do something distant pulling back does she know how much I missed her noise couldn’t sleep before I can put space between us. I keep my ringless finger carefully out of his line of sight.
“Are you really coming tonight?” he asks as Owen appears at my other side.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” whispers Owen.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I echo, stomach twisting.
“I can’t believe the watch and the warden gave in.”
“Yeah, well”—they haven’t yet—“I can be very persuasive.”
A pair of students calls to Wes across the quad. He hesitates. “Go on,” I say. “I’ll see you tonight?”
“Can’t wait,” he says with a smile before taking off across the grass.
“What’s going to happen tonight, Owen?” I ask when we’re alone.
“Why?” he challenges. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“No,” I say before doubt can weaken the word. “As long as my friends don’t get hurt.” Before he can reach out and read the questions in my skin, I turn and walk away, telling myself I will stop this before it goes too far.
But how far am I willing to go? And how can I possibly stop it when I don’t know what it is?
Owen shadows me all afternoon. I focus on the clock instead of his pacing form, and as soon as the last bell rings, I make my way toward the door in the shed, thinking that maybe, if I can get him to follow me into the Narrows, then—
“This way,” he says, changing course when we’re halfway there. My heart sinks as I follow him toward a copse of trees, where he stops and draws a key from a hidden pocket in his sleeve. His Crew key. It takes everything I have not to lunge for it. But we are nowhere near a real door, and I now know that sending him into the void isn’t a permanent solution. I have to shelve him, and only one key is going to let me do that, so I still myself as he lifts it to a spot in the air and the teeth vanish into nothing.
No, not nothing. A shortcut. Right here, at the edge of Hyde. Another reminder that this was Owen’s campus long before it was mine.
He turns the key and offers me his hand, and I do my best to clear my mind before I let him take it and lead me through.
My shoe hits the ground on the other side, and my heart lurches when I look up and see them. Gargoyles. We are standing on the Coronado roof. I suppress a shudder. How many of my nightmares have started like this?
But if Owen sees the strange poetry of our being here again, he doesn’t mention it—only looks out over the edge of the roof and down.
“The day I died,” he says, “it was Agatha who gave the order. Alteration. I remember running, thinking for a second how strange it was to be on the other side of the chase. And then I got to the roof and knew what I had to do.” He looks back at me. “Would you do it?” he asks. “To stay whole?”
I shake my head. “No,” I say, turning toward the roof door. “But I wouldn’t go down without a fight.”
Owen follows me. “Where are we going?”
“There’s still one thing standing in our way,” I tell him.
His brow furrows. “What?”
“My mother.”
Bishop’s is busy. A flock of students from the public school take up half the seats and, judging by Mom’s frenetic pace, have been ordering a slew of things. Berk is on the patio, and Mom’s behind the counter making drinks. Owen follows me in, his steps slowing as he sees the rose pattern on the floor. He stands there, looking down at it as I head up to the counter.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, resting my elbows on the marble.
“You’re home early,” she says, and I’m kind of amazed she knows what time it is, considering how many orders she seems to be juggling.
“Yeah, it turns out the bus is a pretty efficient mode of transportation. Still dirty, but efficient.”
“Mm-hmm,” she says, clearly distracted.
“Hey, so, there’s a party at Hyde tonight, and I was wondering—”
And just like that, her head snaps up from her work. “You’re joking, right?”
“I just thought maybe I could—”
She shakes her head. “You know the answer to this—”
“I know,” I cut in, keeping my voice low, “and I wasn’t even going to bother asking, but Dallas said I should.” For how often she drops her therapist’s name, mine should carry some weight. And sure enough, Mom quiets. “I know it’s a long shot,” I say, hoping this doesn’t sound as rehearsed as it is. “It’s just…I want to feel normal. I want to feel okay, and this—the house arrest, the hovering—I know I’ve earned it, but it’s the constant reminder that I’m not. And I know I’m not. I haven’t been okay for a long time, and I know I have a long way to go before I get there, but for one night I just want to pretend I’m already there.”
I watch her begin to falter.
“Never mind,” I start to say, adding a small waver to my voice. “I understand—”
“Okay,” she cuts in. “You can go.”
Hook. Line. Sinker. My chest loosens even as my heart sinks. “Thank you,” I say, hoping my relief can pass for excitement. Then I do something that takes us both by surprise: I hug her. My head fills with tell her tell her you’re sorry can’t lose her was only trying to I can’t lose her too.
For once, instead of pulling away, I tighten my grip. “But you have to check in,” she adds when I finally let go. I nod. “I mean it, Mackenzie. No disappearing. No antics.”
“Promise,” I say, turning to go.
“A rousing performance,” says Owen as we head back upstairs. I don’t reply, because I don’t trust myself. Just a few more hours. A few more hours and I will return Owen to the Archive.
A few more hours and this will all be over.
“Not again.” Owen’s voice is a low growl as we reach the third floor, and I look up from the steps through the glass insert to see what he sees. Wesley is leaning back against my door, holding a box. My stomach twists. Why is he making it so hard to keep him safe?
“Send him away,” orders Owen.
I shake my head. “I can’t. He’ll suspect something is wrong. Just give me some time—”
“No,” says Owen. “You said you wanted to leave him out of this, so do it.”
“I’m not going to tell him anything. I just want…” I trail off. Owen’s eyes bore into mine, and I would give anything in this moment to be able to read his thoughts.
“How many good-byes did you get to say to Carmen?” I ask. “Please. Give me one.”
Owen’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and I can feel him reading me for defiance, but I’m learning how to bury it. I am not a History. I am a human, and my life is messy and loud. I focus on the truths instead of the lies.
Truth: I am scared for Wesley.
Truth: I do not want to hurt him.