I shook my head with the lip of the bottle in my mouth and pointed to the back door, signaling to take this conversation outside. If Jolie happened to wake, she didn’t need to hear anything that would cause her more grief or worry. And Jolie would worry because that was who my little sister was. She had always cared more about the coven and Heathens than herself, defended us, stood up for us, fought for us, even when we begged her to stop. It had only made it worse for her.
With a snap of my finger, the fire pit rekindled, and the two of us sat in the large chairs Phoenix and I had built from the wood of fallen birch trees. Beck stretched out his legs and dropped his head back, his bandana covering his nose and mouth, his blue eyes looking up at the cloud-filled sky.
The curse affected us as well, never being allowed to see each other or our own faces.
“Why were you called into the Chamber? Did it have to do with Jury?” Beck finally asked, keeping his gaze above.
“No. They wouldn’t have proof it was me either way.” But if I told him it was about Fallon, he’d see right through me and know of these … feelings that were violating me. Feelings that were strange and intruding and unlawful and could pull my attention from our priorities. But he’d never use it against me.
Beck was loyal, compassionate, understanding, but also a maelstrom of emotions. The sensitive one, and when prodded or backed into a wall, he’d either unleash an emotional storm from hell or withdraw into himself.
From day one, Beck had taken on everyone’s pain and suffering as if it were his own. But next to his ability to feel so deeply, he was also psychic, which was both a blessing and a curse of his own, like the rest of us. Being born with magic in our bones had come with a price. A downside. And each one of us had one. Mine was my shadow-blood. Beck’s was his psychic abilities. Our downside was a curse that could never be broken.
And Beck had spoken of Fallon’s existence long before she arrived.
It had been a late-night drunken conversation years ago when he’d lost himself in a trance and talked about a girl with white hair and the moons in her eyes, how she’d one day fall from the night sky and bring me down with her. I knew she was coming. We both had been expecting the moon girl, but Beck had never mentioned this feeling I’d been feeling since first seeing Fallon standing over the cliffs above the sea, as if she summoned the waves. If Beck knew what Fallon’s return meant for us, he didn’t voice it. He only told me what I needed to hear.
“The Order wanted to hear my side of the story of what happened at Voodoos,” I replied, tapping the talisman on my finger against the glass bottle. “I got them off my back, but she now belongs to Kane. Augustine didn’t have to say the word compel, but everyone in the Chamber knew what he meant by it,” I gritted out, annoyed with myself for wanting to talk about her. “Basically, do whatever it takes, and my mother sat there and did nothing. I don’t understand why she needs protection.” I would never intentionally hurt her.
“Stop bullshitting me, man,” Beck dropped his chin to his fingers, studying me. “This is bothering you, just admit the real reason why.”
“You already know why.” He wanted to hear me say it, to admit she meant something to me. It would be the only rational explanation as to why I, Julian Blackwell, had jumped across the bar to catch her in front of everyone. But I looked into the woods instead and drank from my beer.
Yes, I trusted Beck, but the feelings were hard enough to confront within the safety of my skull. I couldn’t imagine saying them aloud and giving them to the world, to the ever-listening woods.
“E pur si muove,” Beck uttered, then drank from his bottle beneath the flap of his bandana.
I looked over at him. “Excuse me?”
“It still moves,” he said after swallowing, grazing his palm over his buzzed head. “Galileo was forced by torture to take back his theory that the earth orbited the sun. Do you know what he stated afterward? After all the ridicule and abuse, everyone telling him he was wrong?”
I arched a brow, and he continued, “E pur si muove. It still moves.” Beck leaned forward and dropped his elbows onto his knees, locking his blue eyes with mine. “No amount of beating, bashing, or threats could take away the truth that the earth still is the one to orbit the sun and not the other way around. Despite what you were taught to believe your entire life, this tame person you’ve tried so hard to become, your virtues, your morals, the Order, or our pact, you can’t ignore or run away from your truth, Jules. The ravens will still haunt you, death will still come, and you will still have feelings for this girl, and these feelings aren’t going to just go away because you demand it.” He sat back and dragged in a long and depressing breath. “Regardless, it still fucking moves, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
After Beck left, I stood before the mirror.
I slid the mask off my face. I took a deep breath. I lifted my head and stared into my face.
In an instant, I was standing atop the Ferris Wheel of the grounds, looking down. Winds yanked my coat, punched my skin, wanting to take me down. Bile rose in my throat. My palms slammed over the edge of the sink.
“Fight through it!” I shouted, sweat dripping down my spine. But I became dizzy. Nauseous. “I’m not afraid,” I chanted, over and over.
The wheel car rocked back and forth. I was too high. Too far off the ground. Too out of control. I forced my eyes to stay open, to fight through the heights.
Until fighting became unbearable.
Vomit burned in my throat, and I lurched forward and heaved into the sink. Tears stung the corners of my eyes and ran down the face I could never look into—a smoking mirror. My knuckles on the sink’s edge turned white, and I screamed, throwing my fist into the reflection that held my fears.
Blood spilled from my knuckles as I tried to catch an honest breath. One that could hold me. One that was gentle and quiet. One that tasted like revival and felt like Fallon.
I had to see her again—just one more time.
Chapter 15
Fallon
Fable licked the foam from the rim of her Styrofoam coffee cup as we sat in the corner table at The Bean, waiting for the rest of them to arrive: Monday, the other two Sullivan sisters, Kane, and his friends.
The sun descended, gradually burying the little light remaining over Town Square. Defy Day had arrived, and I watched from inside the coffee shop as venders set out booths around the gazebo, decorating the town for the night ahead.
Three weeks had passed without talking to Julian. Our last night together was the one under the stars at the basketball court. I couldn’t stop thinking about him—couldn’t stop my eyes from searching up and down the streets for him. I took another sip of my pumpkin spiced latte and returned my eyes to Fable when she repeated my name.
“Milo told me Jury died of a heart attack, but I don’t believe it,” she went on. “It has to be Beck or Drunk Earl’s fault. It’s a conspiracy. Officer Stoker’s probably in on it, won’t even bother investigating.”
The truth was, Jury Smith had gone into the Parish home with a knife, and he had no idea why, or at least that was what Jury had told me. Jury had difficulty remembering anything aside from being ambushed from behind. After seeing Pennywise, his heart had burst inside his chest. It could have been Beck. It could have been Drunk Earl. It could have been Julian.