17
Ash stood over the creek bend. This time she refused to kneel. The waters clicked along, reflecting her normal, everyday self. That would change once Dad killed the cameras. Then her big moment would come. She would make a counteroffer. Since Snare needed her, Ash deserved a signing bonus upfront. The bonus would be her hand. Only when she had five fretboard-ready fingers would she gather Snare’s requested parts. There would be no deal otherwise.
“Ashlee, you’re set!” Dad yelled from behind the thicket. “Careful now.”
Below, her reflection changed. Average-Ash rippled away, revealing her stunning, ideal self. Once again, the sight mesmerized her. If she could look like that, her face would dominate every music website and magazine in existence. Goddess-level looks to match goddess-level talent. But she didn’t need looks. Just her hand.
This is it. Showtime.
“Snare,” she said. “Let’s talk.”
Ash waited for the mist to take her tongue. None came. She parted her lips but felt nothing. The silence irritated her. She didn’t buy the idea that Snare was too weak for conversation.
“Talk.”
No answer.
The muscles in her neck tightened. Her heart galloped. She wondered if Snare’s mist had limited range. Though she didn’t want to kneel like a beggar, she might have to. Lowering herself to one knee, she repeated her demand and got the same result. She leaned closer, nose-to-nose with her reflection. Dirty vapor clogged her nostrils, but no magic mist.
“Wake up!” Ash called, growing impatient. The creek remained silent. She worried that Snare might’ve decided their previous conversation was final. If that were the case, she’d be stuck with the original offer. But she reminded herself of one thing—Snare needed her help. And where there was need, there was negotiation. “Listen, I want to help you, but my hand is killing me. If you replace it now, I’ll have an easier time gathering Traders.”
The creek flowed by.
“Snare? You listening? I want my hand upfront. It’s only fair.”
No response.
“Do you want to complete your collection or not? I’m here to help, but you gotta give me my hand upfront. Also, I want extra eyes for my brother’s kid.”
Still nothing.
As the silence flowed on, dark mounds of fear filled her stomach. Ash couldn’t tell if Snare was playing games or genuinely couldn’t speak. And if Snare couldn’t speak, did that mean the ghost couldn’t hear Ash’s offer?
“Snare! Are you listening?”
Wind shook the pines. The November sun paled as clouds crept across the sky. It made her wonder if Snare controlled anything beyond this creek curve. The only thing Snare controlled for sure was this conversation, and that needed to change.
“If you’re not talking, I’m out. The way things are going, I’m better off rehabbing my hand.”
Mist tickled her lips. Finally.
“There you are,” Ash said, masking her anxiety with a calm tone. “Why so quiet?”
“Weak.”
“You’re weak? If you can’t hold a conversation, how are you supposed to make me a new hand?”
The mist dropped from Ash’s mouth, leaving dryness behind.
Along the water’s surface a whirlpool the size of a drink coaster stirred. It lined up evenly with her left arm, which she guessed was an invitation.
Her pulse thrumming in her ears, Ash stretched her busted hand over the water. Below, her reflected fingers looked healthy. Incredible. She never thought much about her hand, at least not aesthetically, but now it resembled something sculpted by Michelangelo. She couldn’t wait to wrap those fingers around a fretboard.
With a nervous breath, she slid her hand through the water.
The cold jolted her. At first the pain intensified. It felt like each finger was suffocating to death. Then the pain faded. Outright vanished. By the light of the late-morning sun, she watched her busted fingers shed their bruises. The ugly reds and purples became flesh-toned again. The swelling subsided. Skin hugged bone. All remaining discomfort flushed out with a euphoric whoosh.
Ash exhaled.
Shutting her eyes, she slowly withdrew her hand. The water level inside her cast dipped. It bubbled down to her wrist. Her next move would decide it. Either her hand would leave the water painlessly or the agony would surge back like last time.
With a deep breath, she mentally braced herself.
Then pulled her arm free.
And felt nothing.
No pain.
No fucking pain!
Laughing, she opened her eyes. Tears flushed from their sockets. Her right hand trembled with excitement as she wiped the tears, trying to clear her vision.
She was still rubbing her eyes when something struck her as odd. She tried wiggling the fingers on her left hand but couldn’t. Her thumb wasn’t responding either. Then she noticed the weight of her arm felt strange—floaty.
Heart racing, she lifted the cast.
She couldn’t believe it.
No. Impossible.
She wiped her eyes again to be sure, but nothing changed.
Her cast contained only darkness.
The pain was gone. So was her hand.
18
Screaming, Ash twisted away from the creek and ripped her cast off like a loose glove. At first she didn’t comprehend what she saw. Her forearm ended at the wrist—no hand, fingers, nothing. Just a rounded bulge covered in seamless skin. Reluctantly she reached toward it. Her fingertips brushed the smooth surface. The flesh tingled as if touched by a stranger.
She squirmed as her gorge rose.
“Ashlee, what’s wrong?” Dad burst through the thicket, slowing when he saw her. “Good God…”
She looked at him, her eyes pleading, as if he could somehow help her.
Kneeling beside her, he rubbed the empty wrist. “It’s like when Mr. Simmons left the zone. Except that was his foot.”
“Wh-what’re you talking about?” Her thoughts ricocheted wildly. “Dad, what the hell just happened?”
“This,” he said, brushing her unbroken skin, “is how it looks when someone trades a limb and leaves the zone.”
“But I didn’t leave! I didn’t even get anything!” A sense of betrayal took over. She lunged toward the creek and screamed at the surface, “Give me back my hand, you bitch! I swear, if you don’t, I’ll dam this creek dry! You’ll be nothing!”
The waters bubbled, trembling like a bully facing an unprecedented threat. She asked Dad to close his eyes. When he did, her ideal reflection shimmered, complete with a left hand.
“You stole my hand!” She shook her empty wrist over the water. “This wasn’t our deal. Do you honestly expect my help after this?”
The creek flowed on.
Ash hung her head. She couldn’t believe she’d let herself get duped. She shut her eyes, which moments ago had been leaking tears of triumph. Now they stung with powerlessness. Much as she hated to accept it, Snare had her by the ass.
“Look,” she said, swallowing her pride. “We need each other, right? I feel like you’re too smart to rob me upfront. Please tell me you did this for a reason—a good one.”
Vapor tickled her lips, barely grazing her tongue, and only for a second. Long enough for one word.