Her body grows anxious, fidgety. Allowing me a small seed of hope that she might not go through with it. That she’s plagued by doubt.
But no sooner have I thought it, when she turns to me and says, “Turns out my memory wasn’t safe either.” She dismisses my life—the state of my soul—with a casual tilt of her shoulders. “It’s tarnished by the current reality.” The moment she says it, the outer crusting of ice holding the rope in place begins to give way. Prompting the stake to drop until its red-hot tip is dangling a mere foot from the top of the diamond sculpture, a foot and a half from my soul.
“You can’t tarnish a memory,” I say, speaking the first words that pop into my head. I slide another foot forward, knowing it may well be my last. Won’t be long before my knees refuse to hold me. “A memory stands on its own.” The words come out mumbled, gruff, but still she meets me with a wistful look.
“I wish that were true. I wish things were different. I wish I didn’t have to do this.”
“You don’t have to. Really, you don’t—”
“You’re wrong! I do. I mean, sheesh, Dace. We’ve already been through this! I procrastinated in the beginning, but then, the day I watched your soul drift free—”
“You were there?” I gasp. “That night—on Christmas Eve?” I had no sense of her. Had no idea she was with us. Watching.
She tilts her head toward me, causing a spray of curls to bounce into her eyes in that naturally charismatic and flirtatious way that she has. In another life, with other parents, she would’ve been a model, a movie star, or maybe even a politician. But instead, she ended up with Suriel, and he turned her into a killer.
“I wasn’t there when you lost it. But later, when I saw this glorious orb soaring above me, I knew that very instant it was yours. And the funny thing is, I was down here looking for you. And look, I found you. Or at least the real and true essence of you.” She gazes at it admiringly. As though she enjoys seeing it so vulnerable and exposed. “Wanna know how I knew it was yours?” She casts her gaze my way, as though daring me to say no.
But I’ve grown so weak I can no longer speak.
“I knew by the way it shined so bright. It was the brightest thing in the sky. Except for this ugly little dark spot right here.” She motions toward it with the torch, and my heart, barely beating, seems to leap into my throat. “That part’s kinda blemished, and icky. How’d you get that, anyway?”
I made a soul jump into my brother and took a piece of his darkness as a souvenir.
I try to force another step forward, but end up stooped over with my hands desperately gripping my knees. My head hanging forward, breath panting, coming too fast—like a dog after a very long run, thirsting for a hit of oxygen, a fresh bowl of water.
“Guess you and Cade aren’t as polar as I thought. You clearly contain a piece of him. I wonder, does he contain a piece of you too?”
I drop to my knees, swaying precariously toward the cold ground before me. Aware of Daire’s agitated presence beside me, and Phyre’s increasingly uninterested gaze.
“Well, it’ll be interesting to find out,” she hums. “So amazing to have this opportunity to get an inside peek at you both. Chance of a lifetime, when you think about it.”
She lowers the torch once again, and I use my last surge of strength to say, “Phyre, stop!”
She turns toward me with widened eyes.
“This is not who you are.”
“You don’t even know me.” She turns away.
“You’re the girl who found the abandoned nest of baby sparrows and opened the makeshift orphanage in order to house them, raise them—remember?”
Her body goes rigid, she rubs her lips together, and I know that I’ve managed to reach her.
“You took them in, fed them with an eye dropper. Tried to teach them to fly with the paper airplane I made.”
“Two of those birds died.”
“But the other two survived.”
She licks her lips, loosens her grip on the torch.
“You did that, Phyre. You saved those birds. Because you cared. Because you valued life for the wonderful gift that it is. You still do. You know you do. You haven’t changed as much as you pretend to.”
Her cheeks glisten with tears, her lips lift at the sides, as her sad glittering eyes meet mine. “You truly believe that?” she asks, her voice soft, her will fading.
“Of course I do,” I whisper, dragging myself toward her. “C’mon.” I reach a tired hand toward hers. And when she lets me, when she doesn’t push me away, I use the last rem
aining bit of my strength to wrench the torch away. “You don’t have to do this.” I drop the torch just behind me where it sizzles in protest until it’s snuffed out by the snow.