“There have been many others who have known her for much longer than you,” said my mother. “If anything, they should have been the ones to see it, not you. You cannot blame yourself for something you could not have possibly known.”
“But I should have,” I said, my voice so strained I was afraid it might disappear. “I knew someone wanted to hurt me, and I should have tried to find out who it was, but I was so concerned about Henry, and I thought—I thought no one would dare when he was around. I thought I was safe.”
“You should have been.” I could see the moonlight reflected on her cheeks, a sure sign she was crying. “I should have done more.”
I hesitated. “What do you mean?”
Instead of answering me, she stood and crossed the boat, making it sway. I gripped onto the edges as hard as I could, but drowning was the least of my worries. If I wasn’t already dead, I would be soon enough. She sat beside me and enveloped me in her arms, and it was all I could do to keep my composure. One of us had to be strong.
I don’t know how long we sat there, listening to the boat bob up and down in the water. It could have been minutes or hours—time seemed to stop in this place, and her embrace was all the protection I needed against the cool night air. I ran through the events that had happened by the river, how one moment Calliope had been my friend and the next my killer. How had I not seen it? But looking back on it, what was there to see?
“Why do you think she did it?” I mumbled against my mother’s shoulder. “She said she loved Henry, but why kill everyone? Why risk his life like that, too?”
She ran her fingers through my hair. I was sure she meant to comfort me, but it only reminded me of what I was losing. What we both were losing. I’d failed her just as much as I’d failed Henry, but at least she forgave me for it. I wished I could forgive myself as well. “Why do you think?” she said gently, and I shrugged.
“I don’t know.” My mind wandered from Calliope to Henry to Ava, who had been so desperate to find love. “Maybe she was as lonely as he was. Maybe she thought she could save him. But—if she really did love him, how could she risk his existence like that? I mean, if I were her, I would’ve rather seen him with me than not see him at all.”
“There’s more than one kind of love,” said my mother. “Maybe that’s the difference between you and Calliope. Maybe that’s why you were chosen and she wasn’t.”
I closed my eyes as I tried to think about it, but nothing outside of the sway of the boat and the sound of my mother breathing made sense anymore. “I don’t want to go,” I whispered. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”
She buried her face in my hair. “You won’t have to.”
Before I could figure out what she meant, the boat glided toward the shore. When it came to a stop, I opened my eyes and saw a silhouette cast against the water, distorting as the water rippled. My mother’s slender arms were replaced with muscle, and I felt myself being lifted out of the boat. I wanted to struggle, to insist on staying with my mother, but my tongue felt heavy and my thoughts sluggish.
“I’ve got her,” said a pained voice. Henry.
“Thank you,” said my mother, her voice weighed down with something I didn’t understand. She brushed a hand against my cheek and leaned forward to kiss his. “Take care of her, Henry.”
“I will,” he said, but there was nothing beyond that. My mother bent down and pressed her lips to my forehead. I desperately wanted to take her hand, but she did it for me, and using the last of my strength, I managed a small squeeze.
“Mom?” Even to me my voice sounded foreign and twisted, as if I were only beginning to learn how to form words.
“It’s all right, sweetheart.” She pulled away, and I could see the tears in her eyes. “I love you, and I’m so proud of you. Don’t you ever forget it.”
Panic bubbled inside of me, but with no way of releasing it, I suffered through the heart-wrenching pain. She was leaving. This was the end. I was supposed to have weeks more with her, wasn’t that our deal?
Stupid me. How could I possibly spend time with her when I was dead and she wasn’t?
“Love you, too,” I said, and though it came out as more of a gurgle than anything, she smiled.
As Henry turned away from her and carried me into the inky blackness of the night, I turned my head enough to watch her grow smaller and smaller in the distance. Finally she seemed to fade, and she was gone. I clung to her last words, the glue that held me together as I struggled to resist the deep lull of sleep. I would see her again when she passed, and there would be no end of sunny summer days we could spend together in Central Park.
But even though I knew this, even though Henry was carrying me to my own death, I couldn’t help but form a single word on my lips, one I’d resisted saying for so many years. The one word I hoped I’d never have to say.
Goodbye.
I expected death to be cold. Instead the first thing I felt was warmth—incredible warmth that filled my body, or at least what was left of it, and spread through me like honey. Was this what Ava went through? Waking up warm? It seemed too easy.
And then the pain started. Overwhelming, agonizing pain in my chest and my side, exactly where Calliope had stabbed me. Gasping, I mentally kicked myself for thinking it’d be so simple. Ava hadn’t shown any signs of her head wound, after all, and my body had to heal before I could get up and walk around.
Whispers filled the air, and I couldn’t make them out. Other dead souls? Would my mother be there waiting for me already? Would I open my eyes and see grass and trees and sun, or was there more to it? I should’ve asked Henry when I’d had the chance.
It seemed like ages before I forced myself to look. At first the light burned, and I closed my eyes again, but when I took it slowly, they adjusted. This time my gasp had nothing to do with pain.
I was in my bedroom in the manor, surrounded by familiar faces. Ava and Ella, Sofia and Nicholas, even Walter was there, and they all looked worried. And out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. Henry.
My heart skipped a beat, but I was already too confused to wonder why it was still pumping in the first place. This wasn’t Central Park.
“Am I dead?” Or at least that’s what I’d meant to say. It came out more like a croak, and my throat was on fire—but what did it matter? Henry was there.
He grimaced, and a block of ice filled my stomach. I was dead, wasn’t I? He could barely even look at me. “No,” said Henry, staring down at my hands. He was holding mine. “You are alive.”