Chapter Twenty-Three
Lily cast a sideways glance at Chrysanthemum as she pulled into her family’s driveway. After an intense discussion on how to best wedge Chrysanthemum’s bike into the back of Lily’s car, they’d gotten in and fallen silent. It had continued that way the entire distance to the Allerton home.
Every few minutes, Lily wondered what Chrysanthemum was thinking. Then she figured she probably didn’t want to know. Had she lost her mind, to invite Chrysanthemum over? Desperate times called for desperate measures, and all that, but still.
Some part of Lily was terrified, and she didn’t know why.
But then … Chrysanthemum had seemed unexpectedly human today. Lily had anticipated scowls and snark and judgment, and she hadn’t been entirely disappointed. But Chrysanthemum had also struck her as nervous and awkward. (As nervous and as awkward as Lily herself had felt, perhaps.) She hadn’t been friendly, exactly, but she had been a lot less abrasive than normal. When Lily recalled the way Chrysanthemum had pulled her shirt tight around herself, burying her hands in the fabric like she needed comfort, Lily had felt … something.
Like maybe they weren’t as different as she’d always assumed. Like maybe there was something soft lurking beneath Chrysanthemum’s harsh exterior.
It was ridiculous, and yet it was as though something sharp had been poking her in the ribs for a long time, and talking to Chrysanthemum had blunted it.
Chrysanthemum sitting next to Lily, though—that kept her tense. Chrysanthemum’s closeness had every nerve in Lily’s body firing for absolutely no good reason. At least Chrysanthemum was wearing sunglasses, sparing Lily the queasy feeling in her gut whenever she accidentally met that electric gaze.
Lily would never admit to Chrysanthemum that her eyes made her nervous. And maybe a bit jealous—of their beauty, of the way they announced her power. They were such an unusual color, blue like a winter sky. Cold and untouchable, fey … beautiful.
Lily jammed on the brake to bring herself back to reality, jostling them both. “Sorry.”
Ten minutes later, and with a strong determination not to look at Chrysanthemum’s face, Lily led her to her room. It was best not to risk being overheard by her sister or her father, who was in his home office.
“Once we finish Ms. LaPlant’s assignment,”
Lily said.
“we can look at the books in the library.”
“You have your own library?”
Chrysanthemum paused outside Lily’s doorway.
Lily made the mistake of turning around, and she realized Chrysanthemum was staring at her, those gorgeously eerie blue eyes unblinking. Discomfort made her skin prickle.
“It’s just my brother’s old bedroom. My parents moved a bunch of stuff in there after he left for college.”
Chrysanthemum said nothing to that, but Lily got the distinct impression that she was thinking very hard.
Putting aside the question of what Chrysanthemum was thinking, for probably the hundredth time in the last hour, Lily opened her bedroom door the rest of the way. Her first priority on getting home was to let her rabbits out, and Chrysanthemum’s presence didn’t change that.
“You can dop your backpack anywhere.”
“Your walls are …”
Chrysanthemum was glancing around uncertainly.
“What?”
“Nothing. I was just …”
Chrysanthemum shrugged off her backpack, looking sheepish.
“I expected them to be pink.”
Lily had never worn pink since the day she’d been able to choose her own clothes, so she couldn’t fathom why Chrysanthemum would expect that. Though, to be fair, she’d made some strange assumptions about Chrysanthemum’s coffee.
And when did you decide to be fair? a voice in her head asked.
“I’m not a fan of pink,”
Lily said, since this was not the time to question herself.
A smirk teased the corners of Chrysanthemum’s lips.
“Let me guess—it clashes with your hair.”
It did. Lily turned her back so she wouldn’t be caught flushing.
“I was going to say your walls are almost the same color as mine,”
Chrysanthemum said.
How in the world was she going to avoid Chrysanthemum’s face all day? It was impossible.
“Really? I assumed your walls would be black.”
“My bedroom is too tiny. It would be like living in a cave.”
“Oh.”
For the first time, Lily wondered where Chrysanthemum lived. Most of the island’s year-round residents were clustered in one of two neighborhoods—Lily’s own, with its large colonial homes and abundant trees, or the other, which was farther from downtown and comprised of more modest Cape-style homes. There were also a few apartment complexes and a row of enormous mansions high on the cliff side of the island, overlooking the ocean.
“I hope you don’t mind them wandering around,”
she said as she knelt to open the rabbits’ cage. She stepped back as Ella and Cinder poked their noses out, and she rubbed their heads.
“Hey, sweeties. Did you have a good day? Do you need any water or food?”
Their responses came in flashes of insight, more emotion than words. Not thirsty. Raisins, please.
“One raisin each.”
Lily held up a single finger.
“You know too many will make you sick. Okay, fine—two, since you asked politely, but I swear if you make a mess, no more until next week.”
As if the rabbits understood the concept of a week. Her talent wasn’t great enough to convey that complex an idea.
She opened the bag on top of her dresser, and Ella and Cinder scurried to her feet. Lily held up one raisin in each hand, coaxing them to sit before they received their afternoon treats.
“I didn’t know rabbits could be trained like that,”
Chrysanthemum said, and Lily almost dropped the bag. She’d temporarily forgotten she had an audience.
“Oh, um, yeah.”
Only her rabbits could have distracted her enough to make her forget that Chrysanthemum was in her room. Well, anything cute and furry could have. Cats. Dogs. Horses. Birds. Fine, anything that wasn’t a fish.
“It’s my talent. I can communicate with them.”
Chrysanthemum’s face lit up, and the change was startling. Lily had never seen her look so absolutely delighted before. Smile sarcastically, laugh derisively—both, yes. But this was different, and the shock of it knocked something around inside Lily like a pinball was smacking into her organs.
This was alarming. Chrysanthemum looked entirely too human.
“Oh my god. You really are a Disney princess!”
Chrysanthemum covered her mouth with her hand and doubled over in laughter.
Lily felt her cheeks burn. She floundered for a retort, but it was hard to think of something witty.
“Sorry,”
Chrysanthemum said, pushing hair out of her face.
“I just wouldn’t have expected that to be your talent, although maybe I should have, since it fits you so well. What are their names?”
Oh. Oh no. Lily winced.
“That one’s Cinder, and this one”—she nudged the rabbit nipping at her sock—“is Ella.”
Chrysanthemum snorted.
“Fine. Laugh. Whatever.”
Lily willed the blood to leave her face.
“They even live in a castle,”
Chrysanthemum said. She was still grinning as she stepped over to the cage, box, and tube contraption.
Lily resealed the raisin bag and took a couple of deep breaths. Composure. She had to find some. But it was so unfair that Chrysanthemum always seemed to be the one getting the last laugh.
“My brother helped me build that for them. It gives them a lot of space to run around while I’m gone.”
“Did you paint it? Because if so, you’re holding out on your skills at the Historical Society. It looks like a van Gogh. Or a Monet? It’s one of those painters my mom loves. There’s a print hanging in our living room.”
“Van Gogh,”
Lily said, thankful she could sound intelligent finally. Composure was found in dignity, and dignity was found in knowing stuff Chrysanthemum didn’t.
“My brother painted that, not me. David’s talent is being able to replicate stuff he sees. He’d have made a great art forger, but he wants to go to medical school.”
“Boring, but I guess he’s less likely to have legal troubles that way.”
“Yeah, and it makes my mom happy to have another doctor in the family.”
Lily clamped her lips shut, not thrilled that had slipped out. The words were nothing special, but she was certain Chrysanthemum could taste the bitterness on her tongue.
Sure enough, Chrysanthemum’s eyes flashed, some of their iciness thawed, and Lily dropped her gaze.
“I take it you don’t want to be a doctor?”
Chrysanthemum asked.
“I do, but a veterinarian.”
Lily scooped up Cinder and buried her face in the rabbit’s fur. Right now, she wanted to be a rabbit, but she’d settle for being part of the furniture. For anything that didn’t feel like the center of Chrysanthemum’s attention. That didn’t have those eyes seeing inside her.
She startled, sensing Chrysanthemum’s closeness before noticing how she was tentatively holding up a hand to Cinder’s head. Of course Chrysanthemum wanted to pet the bunny. Everyone wanted to pet bunnies.
“She likes this spot on the back of her head,”
Lily said, showing Chrys.
It was extremely difficult not to twitch as Chrysanthemum brushed Cinder’s head. She stood so close, smelling faintly of incense. Power seemed to emanate from her skin, making Lily’s pulse quicken and her blood warm. Chrysanthemum must exude magic; it could be seen in her eyes and sensed in the aura around her. Lily could think of no other way to explain it.
And it put her on edge. Caused her gut to flutter with nerves, which was obnoxious of it because Lily was not—would not be—afraid of Chrysanthemum.
She wet her lips and focused on her breathing, hoping her reaction wasn’t obvious.
“I think being a veterinarian who can communicate with animals is the perfect use of your talent,”
Chrysanthemum said, smiling at Cinder.
“Much better than an artist who goes to medical school. That’s a waste of a gift.”
Lily waited a moment for the insult that had to be coming, but Chrysanthemum was cooing over Cinder, and Lily felt faint. “Thanks,”
she croaked out at last.
“It’s convenient that my talent aligns with what I like.”
“I think talents usually do that. We might not realize it at first, but they fit us. It’s just that people try to force themselves into being something they don’t really want to be.”
Chrys scowled slightly at that, but didn’t elaborate.
Lily longed to ask what she was thinking, or simply what Chrysanthemum’s talent was, but Chrysanthemum’s magical aura was interfering with her brain. Words were a struggle, and her head didn’t clear until Chrysanthemum took a step back. Even then, Lily felt slightly dizzy.
Chrysanthemum, too, seemed disconcerted, but that much Lily understood. The rabbits had gotten to her. She was right to have guessed there was something soft in Chrysanthemum, and Chrysanthemum was clearly displeased to have revealed it. It should have felt good to find this weakness, but Lily was merely confused.
“Let’s start homework,”
Chrysanthemum said. An edge was back in her voice, but Lily didn’t miss the way she wrapped her fingers around her shirtsleeves.
“We have a lot to do.”
Lily couldn’t agree fast enough.
They both had to deal with a history paper and an English group project, but Ms. LaPlant’s AP Calculus homework was the most pressing and easiest to knock out together. Lily wasn’t bad at math, but it wasn’t her best subject. Working with Chrysanthemum, though, made it possible to fly through their assignment. In the time it took Lily to work out how to solve an equation, Chrysanthemum had already finished it. Lily was simultaneously impressed, annoyed, jealous, and concerned for her future valedictorian status, knowing this was what she was up against.
Still, in a much shorter time than she’d anticipated, Lily slid her chair back from her desk and stretched her arms. It wasn’t a bad thing to have extra time to research hexes. Plus, seeing Chrysanthemum work was a good reminder to not to slack off academically because of everything going on. They were allies, but only temporarily and in this one task.
“If only all classes could be as easy as math,”
Chrysanthemum muttered with a yawn.
“Tests and homework. No papers.”
“I thought you liked books?”
“I like reading. I don’t like writing papers about what I read.”
Lily didn’t mind papers. She rather liked organizing information and planning out arguments to prove a point. This was another Chrysanthemum weakness.
“Papers give you time to think about what you learn.”
Chrysanthemum shook her head, but her lips were doing that half smile again.
“We are total opposites in everything. Just as I expected.”
“Except paint color,”
Lily pointed out.
Chrysanthemum nodded, a little V between her eyebrows.
“True. What’s your history paper on?”
Lily didn’t see the harm in sharing, and even if she had, Chrysanthemum smiling—even if it was a weak smile—was so disconcerting that she’d have blurted out the topic anyway.
“What about you?”
“I’m researching my ancestors on Thornhaven.”
Chrysanthemum’s tone was casual, but her smile slipped.
“Your ancestors? But you just moved here.”
“My mom was born here.”
She stuck her chin out, as though daring Lily to challenge her.
“Anyway, hex time. Lead on to the library, princess.”
“What did you call me?”
Lily glared at her, but it was no use.
“Oh, come on. You talk to animals. You live in a palace.”
Chrysanthemum waved her arms around.
“You probably have a tiara hidden in your closet.”
She did. From her failed attempt at ballet, but no way would she admit it.
“Ugh. I hate you.”
The words came out limp and lifeless despite her frustration. The worst part of this day was that Lily couldn’t generate the emotion behind the sentiment, even while she listened to Chrysanthemum laugh at her.