“I’ve learned patience in this long life, Alexandra. I didn’t know what Sophie was when I met her, but when I consumed her soul? It was wild and gamey, bitter as yew, lightning in the blood. It sustained me for over fifty years. Then, just as I was beginning to weaken and age, Colina appeared. This time, I recognized the smell of her power. I scented her in a church parking lot and followed her for blocks.”
Their deaths had been the foundations of the tombs for St. Elmo’s and Manuscript.
What was the word Belbalm had used? “They were Wheelwalkers.”
“It was as if they were drawn here to feed me. Just like you.”
That was why the killings had paused in 1902. Girls had died in rapid succession through the late 1800s as Daisy fed on ordinary girls to stay alive. But then she’d found
her first Wheelwalker, Sophie Mishkan, a girl with a power just like hers. That soul had
kept her sated until 1958, when Belbalm had murdered Colina Tillman, another gifted girl.
And now it was Alex’s turn.
This town. Did New Haven draw Wheelwalkers here? Daisy. Sophie. Colina. Had Alex
always been on a collision course with this place and this monster? Magic feeding magic?
“When did you know what I was?” Alex asked.
“From the moment we met. I wanted to let you ripen for a while. Wash the stink of the
common from you. But …” Belbalm gave a profound shrug. She threw out her hand.
Alex felt a sudden sharp pain in her chest, as if a hook had lodged beneath her sternum,
notched into her heart. Around her, she saw blue flames ignite, a ring of fire surrounding
her and Belbalm. A wheel. She felt herself falling.
Hellie had been sunlight. North had been cold and coal smoke. Belbalm was teeth.
Alex was swaying next to the grill on the tiny balcony at Ground Zero, the smell of charcoal thick in the air, smog smeared across the hills in the distance. She could feel the
bass track thumping through her bare feet. She held up her thumb, blotting out the rising
moon, then making it reappear.
A woman leaned over her crib, reaching for her again and again, her hands passing through Alex’s body. She wept, silver tears that fell on Alex’s chubby arms and vanished
through her skin.
Hellie had hold of Alex’s hand. She was pulling her along the Venice boardwalk. She
slid the Nine of Wands from a tarot deck. Alex already had a card in her hands. No way
I’m getting that inked on me, said Hellie. Let me draw again.
Len took one of the leather bracelets from his arm and fastened it around Alex’s wrist.
Don’t tell Mosh, he whispered. His breath smelled like sour bread, but Alex had never been so happy, never felt so good.
Her grandmother stood in front of the stove. Alex smelled cumin, meat roasting in the
oven, tasted honey and walnuts on her tongue. We’re eating vegetarian now, Mira said. At your own house, said her grandmother. When she comes here I feed her strength.
In the garden, a man lingered, pruning the hedges that never changed, squinting at the
sun even on cloudy days. He tried to talk to Alex, but she couldn’t hear a word.
One by one, Alex felt the memories plucked away like threads, caught on the spikes of
Belbalm’s teeth, unraveling her bit by bit. Belbalm—Daisy—wanted them all, the good and the bad, the sad and the sweet, all equally delicious.
There was nowhere to run. Alex tried to remember the smell of her mother’s perfume, the color of the couch in the common room, anything that would help her hold on to herself as Daisy swallowed her down.
She needed Hellie. She needed Darlington. She needed … what was her name? She
couldn’t recall, a girl with red hair, headphones around her neck. Pammie?
Alex was curled up on a bed. She was surrounded by monarchs that became moths. A
boy was behind her, nestled against her. He said, I will serve you ’til the end of days.
Belbalm’s teeth sank deeper. Alex couldn’t remember her body, her arms. She’d be
gone soon. Was there some relief along with the fear? Each sadness and loss and mistake
would be wiped away. She’d be nothing at all.