Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Elodie
I’m lying on the most luxurious bed I’ve ever had the pleasure of touching, my head on a cloud-like pillow. A delicate gauze canopy frames my view of the sprawling yet cozy bedroom. Birds are chirping in lilting melodies beyond the bay window.
Every moment is torture.
I stifle a groan and press my hand over my eyes. Shutting off the view only brings the images inside my head into starker relief.
Byron calling me a “fucking terror.” Gazing at me from across a card table, which he must have felt compelled to invite me to without even being able to see who I am.
Cole glowering at me from behind his desk, looming over me in the hall. Every word from his mouth like a little knife, as penetrating as the flickers of heat in his gaze.
Salvatore with his provocative nicknames and teasing hands. Heckling me even as he pulls me close, dangling promises he’d enjoy yanking away just to embarrass me.
And Asher. Racing to my rescue even when I’ve done everything I can to avoid him. Worrying about me…
The memories condense into a ten-ton weight pressing down on my chest. Every breath strains my lungs. I don’t know how to peel myself out from under it.
I shove myself into a sitting position and cross my legs. Inhale slowly, exhale slowly. Let my thoughts flow with the peaceful rhythm. Float above the worldly conflicts.
I have all I need. I have all I need.
The ache in my chest won’t release.
No, I don’t have all I need. I need my actual matches. I need the reality I belong in.
A knock sounds on my bedroom door. Or rather, Other Elodie’s bedroom door. Not mine—none of this is mine.
I force myself to answer. “Yeah?”
Aunt Daphne’s bright voice carries through. “Can I come in?”
I press my lips against a groan. I don’t really want to deal with her unsettling mix of manic energy and barely suppressed grief on top of everything else.
But maybe…
She’s the only person who can send me home. She’s the only person I can talk to at least somewhat openly. If she’s smart enough to figure out how to yank a person across parallel universes, she’s got to be able to recognize the problems her decision caused… right?
I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and brace my hands beside them. “Sure.”
Daphne slips inside, her airy sundress drifting around her as if she’s floating. Between that, her spindly arms, and the cloud of her tawny hair, she looks like an overgrown pixie.
She clasps her freckled hands in front of her, her big eyes intent on me. “You seemed rather… down when you joined us for breakfast and lunch. And you haven’t left the house today, after you’ve been so active… I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”
A bitter laugh snags in the back of my throat.
Am I all right, after she’s kidnapped me from the only people who actually care about me, just to stick me as bait in front of a still-unknown murderer? Is the fancy house supposed to make up for that violation?
The trace of desperation in her voice stops me from letting out my bitterness.
It’s not as if I haven’t done plenty of awful things with equally selfish reasons.
All the same, I’d rather not risk driving her to a potentially worse decision if I outright demand to leave. I suspect my chances are much better if she comes up with the idea herself.
I lift my chin to meet her gaze. “I don’t think this is working out the way you wanted. You know I’ve been trying, looking into every avenue I can, but I still haven’t been able to give you any answers.”
Not any she wants to hear, at least. Nothing solid enough that she’d have to listen.
“Oh, honey.” Daphne perches on the bed next to me and pats my hand, oblivious to my urge to squirm away.
“You’ve been giving it your best. I’m sure the trail will become clear soon.
Her attacker must be laying low right now, but they’ll slip up.
Just stay on your guard. I don’t want anything happening to you too. ”
How long does she think she can keep saying that before it’s impossible to believe it? She knows how much I left behind when she tore me from my real home. Hasn’t she had enough time to come up with a story to hold the Devine family together?
I ease my hand out of her reach and dredge up the bigger problem that’s weighing on me. “It’s not just the investigations. I think… I think my being here might cause more problems in the long run. I’m not supposed to be in this reality. I’m throwing off other people’s lives.”
Daphne knits her brow. “What do you mean? Your father hasn’t noticed anything—I can tell. He’ll be glad to have had a little more time with you.”
“Not him.” My lungs clench against the admission, but she clearly won’t listen to reason unless I spell it out in detail.
“I told you that in my world, I’ve sparked my matches.
Obviously your Elodie never did. But the fact that I’ve had that connection with another version of them—I can’t help seeing them at school—it seems like my being there is affecting them.
Making them do things they wouldn’t do otherwise.
And who knows how many other things are changing because they’re acting differently? ”
Daphne perks up with a widening of her eyes—and a gleam of what looks like scientific interest. Not the reaction I was going for.
Her voice turns breathless. “I should have anticipated… Of course there’d be an effect.” She grazes her fingers over my hair. “You’re like a butterfly, changing the currents of the air with every flap of your wings. Glide in a new direction, and there’s a whole tornado.”
Is that supposed to be comforting?
I manage not to glare at her, but it’s a near thing. “I’d rather not set off any tornados.”
She has the nerve to laugh at me. “What are these matches of yours doing that you think would be disruptive?”
“They’re not my matches,” I have to say, and rub my face.
“There’s some kind of draw between us. I feel a bodily pull toward them—which I’ve been resisting—but they must feel it too, because we keep ending up around each other.
They seem more… worked up by the things I say and do than they ever were before we sparked our bond in my world.
We’re messing with fate. I don’t see how that can lead anywhere good. ”
Daphne hums to herself. “A butterfly can’t help being drawn to the most verdant blooms. And whatever effect you’re having on them, it isn’t your fault.”
No, it’s hers.
I firm my tone as much as I can. “Blame doesn’t matter. What matters is we don’t know what consequences—tornados or whatever—my presence will cause. I might already have messed up way more than we know. Isn’t that worse than anything I could accomplish?”
Which isn’t much, it seems like.
To my dismay, Daphne stands up with a gentle shake of her head. “Your matches won’t be safe with a murderer on the loose. When we catch that villain, everything will be fine. The rest will fall into place.”
“But—”
For just an instant, her gaze turns grim. “We have to work with what we have, Elodie. Keep looking. That’s the only way.”
She walks out without a backward glance.
A wave of despair rolls over me, even heavier than before. I sag back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
She wouldn’t listen at all. She doesn’t care about anyone, not even me. Only her dead niece who was tangled up in so many threads I feel like they’re digging into my flesh.
How can I ever pick them all apart—and without flaying myself raw?
How many more people are going to get hurt if this keeps going?
I close my eyes, and dark, scarlet-smeared fragments of the past dart behind my eyelids. My throat seizes up.
I can almost smell the damp asphalt, taste the mingled blood and rain trickling through my mouth. Feel Asher’s limp shoulder beneath my grasp…
It could happen again, almost like that, with any of them. If my doppelganger’s murderer makes another attempt—if I’m not prepared enough—if the guys who would have been Other Elodie’s matches happen to be nearby—
And that’s only the most horrific possible outcome. Even if we escape that dark fate, what other dire paths am I inadvertently leading them down?
They’re focused on me now. Compelled to talk to me, to get close to me, to feel something even if so far it mostly doesn’t appear to have been good.
I’m like an unwilling siren, singing them to their doom no matter how I try to silence the call.
How far am I leading them astray, away from whatever they were meant to be doing in this reality? Isn’t it going to be a thousand times more painful when I disappear after they’re fixated on me than if the possible bond had ended with Other Elodie’s death on the street nine days ago?
How many more tornados might I be setting in motion just by existing here?
My heart thumps so hard I think it might crack my ribs. I push myself off the bed and pace the room that isn’t mine. The anguish only squeezes tighter around me.
Haven’t I ruined enough lives already? Maybe even my matches back in my own reality will be better off without me.
Once they accept that I’m gone, Byron and Salvatore could reconnect with their families and reclaim their legacies on their own terms. Cole would be free of the constant reminder of his brother’s death.
The only one benefitting from me keeping up the charade of being Other Elodie is me. How can I be so selfish that I don’t care about the damage I’m doing—that I’ve already done?
I’m a lying liar who lies… but I never wanted to be.
I should just go. Go far, far away where I won’t interfere with any more lives, where I can pretend I was never here, and find peace in knowing I saved the rest of them.