Beautiful Chaos (Caster Chronicles 3)

Link stopped dribbling and held the ball under his arm. “Hey, Eth

an.”

“Yeah?”

“Remember the Twinkie on the bus? The one I gave you in second grade, the day we met?”

“The one you found on the floor and gave me without telling me? Nice.”

He grinned and shot the ball. “It never really fell on the floor. I made that part up.”

The basketball hit the rim and bounced into the street.

We let it go.

I found Marian and Liv in the archive, back together where they belonged.

“Aunt Marian!” I was so relieved to see her that I almost knocked her out cold as I hugged her. When I finally let go, I could tell she was waiting for me to say it. Something, anything—about the reason they let her go.

So I waded in, slowly. Giving them bits and pieces of the story that didn’t quite fit together. At first, they were both relieved to hear some good news. Gatlin, and the Mortal world, wasn’t going to be destroyed in a supernatural apocalypse. Casters weren’t going to lose their powers or accidently set themselves on fire, although in Sarafine’s case it had saved our lives. They heard what I wanted them to hear: Everything was going to be okay.

It had to be.

I was trading my life for it—that’s the part I left out.

But they were both too smart to let the story end there. And the more pieces I gave them, the quicker their minds fit the pieces together to create the twisted truth of it all. I knew exactly when the last piece slid into place.

There was the terrible moment when I saw their faces change and the smiles fade. Liv wouldn’t look at me. She was winding her selenometer compulsively and twisting the strings she always wore around her wrist. “We’ll figure something out. We always do. There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t.” I didn’t need to say it; she already knew.

Without a word, Liv untied one of the frayed strings and tied it onto my wrist. Tears were running down her cheeks, but she didn’t look at me. I tried to imagine myself in her place, but I couldn’t. It was too hard.

I remembered losing my mom, staring at my suit laid out on the chair in the corner of my room, waiting for me to put it on and admit she was dead. I remembered Lena kneeling in the mud, sobbing, the day of Macon’s funeral. The Sisters staring glassy-eyed at Aunt Prue’s casket, handkerchiefs wadded in their hands. Who would boss them around and take care of them now?

That’s what no one tells you. It’s harder to be the one left behind.

I thought about Aunt Prue stepping through the Last Door so calmly. She was at peace. Where was the peace for the rest of us?

Marian didn’t say a word. She stared at me like she was trying to memorize my face and freeze this moment so she could never forget it. Marian knew the truth. I think she knew something like this was coming the moment the Council of the Keep let her come back.

Nothing came without a price.

And if it had been her, she would have done the same thing to protect the people she loved.

I was sure Liv would’ve, too. In her own way, that’s exactly what she did for Macon. What John tried to do for her on the water tower. Maybe she felt guilty that it was me instead of him.

I hoped she knew the truth—that it wasn’t her fault, or my fault, or even his fault. No matter how many times I wanted to believe it was.

This was my life, and this was how it was ending.

I was the Wayward. And this was my great and terrible purpose.

It was always in the cards, the ones Amma was so desperate to change.

It was always me.

But they didn’t make me say any of that. Marian gathered me up in her arms, and Liv wrapped her arms around us both. It reminded me of the way my mom always hugged me, like she would never let go if she had a choice. Finally, Marian whispered something softly. It was Winston Churchill. And I hoped I would remember it, wherever I was going.