Chapter Eighteen #2
Even cuffed, even on his knees, his leg sweeps out and catches Amos in the head. The gun goes off—the sound is deafening in the narrow space, ricocheting off stone—
I grab the scissors as Amos staggers.
I turn to Amos just as he bumps into me, and somehow—
He stares at me in shock. “YOU—”
The scissors in my hands ends up buried deep in his stomach.
“Y-YOU—”
The blood gushing out of his middle is...
I don’t even know how to describe it.
I don’t even know how this happened.
And as Amos crumples to the stone floor, blood spreading beneath him like a dark halo, and a rusty pair of scissors sticking out of his stomach like a grotesque version of Excalibur waiting to return to its master—
Which is not me!
Because I...
I didn’t mean—
I wasn’t planning to—
“Bailey?”
I think...I think that’s my king’s voice.
“Bailey, look at me.”
I think that’s him walking toward me—
But I can’t be sure.
My vision is going blurry again.
Because I’m not really...
I’ve never been good with blood, and so...
I close my eyes in relief as the world goes blessedly dark.
WELL DONE, FAITHFUL one.
The gently spoken words are what slowly draw me out of my slumber, and I find myself warmly cocooned in a velvet armchair, and my nose tickled by the cozy scent of old books, peppermint...and garlic cream cheese buns.
Yum.
That’s...the English translation for the nth growl that my stomach releases as I sit up, now wide awake, mostly confused, and absolutely starving.
I’m back in Hewhay’s reading nook, with a blanket draped over my legs that I don’t remember pulling on. My mind plays back the words I heard earlier—
Well done, faithful one.
Because I did hear them. Right?
I look around, trying to determine where that voice could have come from...and that’s when I see it.
A book on the windowside table. Ancient-looking. Covers that look as if it were made of jade.
But most importantly of all, it’s sparkling, and so I nearly trip over my own feet in my haste to get it.
I open the book, and words scribbled in gold ink—I’m thinking fountain pen, with a really fine nib—start appearing, one letter at a time.
You defeated one of the others.
“You’re talking about Amos?” I ask shakily.
Yes.
“Why did he kill Abigail the first time? In...my world, he was only conning people out of money—”
Because that is how evil works.
It makes the darkness grow darker.
You do not even realize what is happening until it is too late.
You become evil, and evil has become you.
There is no longer rhyme or reason to what the others do.
I remember Amos touching me and his various attempts to seduce me. It didn’t make sense at that time. But now I get it. The fact that it didn’t make sense...now explains it all.
They destroy for the sake of destroying.
They cannot help it.
And if there is nothing left to destroy—
Then they will destroy themselves.
A silver arrow in the bottom right corner shows up, and I take that as my cue to turn to the next page.
For your courage, you are offered a reward. Choose one:
A) A magical talent of your own
B) A surprise
I stare at the options.
No mention of Devyn.
No mention of Abigail.
No mention of what happens next, of whether the timeline resets, of whether I’ll wake up back in my tiny apartment in Providence with nothing but memories of a man who looked at me like I was worth keeping.
I want to ask. The question burns in my throat—what about him, what about us, what about—
But I’m too scared.
Too scared that the answer will be nothing. He marries Abigail. You go home. The end.
Trust the process, Bailey.
Hewhay hasn’t ever failed me, and the chance to have a magical talent is, like, a one-in-a-million offer. So, really...this is a no-brainer.
Run your fingers over the words of the choice you have selected.
That should be easy.
Or...it should have been for most people.
But for a klutz like me?
I don’t know why, but I suddenly have it in my mind to head back to the armchair before making my choice. But as soon as I take a step forward, my foot catches on the blanket that I didn’t realize I still have half-draped over my shoulders—
Oh no.
I lurch forward, hand flailing, and my fingers land squarely on—
Option B.
New text blooms across the page.
As always, Bailey sabotages herself.
I make an indignant sound. “That’s not fair! I tripped!”
Surprise it is.
“Wait—can I get a redo? That wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—”
Your groom is waiting, ma reine.
When I open my eyes, I just want to cry.
No no no no no no no no.
Because the last time I read a page from my book about weddings, the groom Heywhay’s chosen for me was not Devyn.
I don’t care if this is the reward Heywhay’s chosen for me.
There’s only one man I intend to marry, and so...
I pick my skirts up and make a run for it.
Faster, Bailey!
Because if the Paul in this world is like Paul in the books, he for sure has the power to stop me if he realizes I’m trying to escape.
Faster!
My heart thuds against my chest as I run down a hallway that’s painfully familiar.
Is this world completely new? Because this looks exactly like the hallway I first found myself in, only that time it was Abigail who was the bride.
This time it’s me, but the groom is all wrong.
Is it possible that Heywhay’s likes to use the same setting over and over, and it’s only the master of the house that changes in each world? Does that mean—
Focus, Bailey!
Now is the worst possible time to figure out how Heywhay’s works and what I can do to get back to a world where mafia kings rule and all that’s white has become—aah!
Tears burn my eyes when I crash into something hard. Has Paul caught up to me? Will he listen to me if I tell him that I’m the wrong girl in the wrong book—
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Or maybe I’m the one who has it all wrong because that voice—
My eyes flies up.
Devyn.
“H-How—” I don’t understand what’s happening. “Y-You—”
“—need to explain yourself.” Devyn cups my chin. “Where,” he says again, “do you think you’re going?”
“You don’t understand—”
“Our wedding—” He nods at the hallway behind me. “—is that way.”
“I have to—”
Wait.
Did he say our wedding?
Devyn’s gaze narrows. “Did you just come from Heywhay’s?”
I start to nod...when memories start trickling in. Of things that happened in the days past...but I seemed to have temporarily forgotten while I was in Heywhay’s. Me, fainting. Amos, crumpling to the floor. Me again, waking up at the hospital, and asking Devyn about—
“Abigail?” I croak out.
“She doesn’t remember anything that’s happened. She was never engaged to me.”
Oh yes. I mean no. I mean—I don’t know how I’m supposed to process that.
“Should I feel guilty about that?” Because honestly, I feel the opposite—
“Don’t be. I was never Abigail’s greatest wish.”
Oh.
Oh!
I remember all the things I read about her online, the things I read in her diary, and the things she told me herself, and—
“She’s now the much cherished daughter of the Baron of Greenwhich.”
Oh, thank goodness!
But as wonderful as that is—
“Amos?”
I have to force myself to say his name.
“Never existed in this world either, but...he’s behind bars in yours.”
Oh, Heywhay.
I still have no idea how that place works, but somehow...everything’s turned out perfectly.
“How much do you remember now?” Devyn asks softly.
“I think it will take some time...before I remember everything. Some memories are still fuzzy—”
“I asked you something, when you first woke up at the hospital.”
Oh!
“If it’s about marrying you, then of course—”
“I asked if you can find it your heart to forgive me...and give me the chance to love you and make it up to you.”
Oh, this man is absolutely the sweetest!
“I know I messed up,” he says grimly. “And I can’t even promise not to mess up again. But what I can promise is that I will love you for the rest—”
I throw myself into his arms.
Just launch myself at him like something out of a drama, arms around his neck, face buried in his shoulder, probably wrinkling my wedding dress beyond all repair and not caring even a little bit.
“I love you!”
His arms come around me. Tight. Fierce. Like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
“I love you,” I say again, because I can, because it’s true, because the words taste like honey and freedom and everything I thought I’d lost. “I love you and I forgive you, and no matter which world we end up in, I’ll always love you—”
I think I’m rambling, and I don’t know if I can stop.
“Always choose you, always marry—”
And it seems he’s realized this as well, with his hands cupping my face, his mouth cutting the rest of my words as his lips cover mine—
His kiss makes everything inside of me still.
His kiss makes me feel I’m safe. I’m loved. And I’ve finally found where I belong.