Chapter 8
Innocence is dead.
The wind blew past, feathering my hair and pushing the acrid smoke and Furtig blood smell free from my clothes. I swung my legs over the cold gray boulder and let them hang free, kicking them out over the East River.
The blue-brown water was flowing quickly this morning, but at the edge of Wards Island, it slowed and spun, trapped in dizzying eddies.
There were a dozen tiny whirlpools spinning around muddy river grass and the smooth, wet rocks that stuck out of the water.
Mist rose where the spinning water met the sloping, rocky ground.
It spread toward me and then shied away.
I’d kicked off my shoes and padded through the cool, dew-covered grass. Now I dipped my toes into the spinning current. The water tugged at and tickled my feet. The wind rushed at me again.
Innocence is—
I frowned, brushing back my hair, as the wind tugged it free from my braid.
Last night, I’d tried to stop the moon from rising. Now the moon had set, and the sun pushed free of the river and broke through the cotton-wool fog veiling Queens. The sky was the not-quite-gray of night and the almost yellow-gold of morning.
The gray-orange reminded me of the Night Den burning.
The grassy park, the misty river, and the soccer field behind me were quiet, save for the early-morning mockingbirds mimicking car alarms and sirens. There was the wind rushing through the river grass, murmuring its wind warnings, but it was too quiet for me to hear.
I didn’t know why I’d come to this flat rock at the river’s edge.
Wards Island was where the Wards had once lived.
Centuries ago, they’d had a stone mansion here that was also an asylum.
This peaceful, quiet island was home to history’s madness.
There were a few figments on the island.
They were a loop, replaying for infinity a single moment in time.
There was a woman in a Victorian gown who picked a daisy and held it out.
The daisy disappeared, and so she picked it again.
And again. There was a boy who fell into the water and was swept away.
He fell again. And again. There was a woman missing an eye who stood in the shadow of where the asylum had once blocked the sun.
She stood unmoving, staring at the missing edifice.
Mostly, though, the island was empty and quiet, except for picnickers, families, and joggers. But this early, I was alone.
Maybe when I was gone, a figment of me being shot by Luvic would replay over and over again. I looked over at the grass where I’d fallen, expecting to see blood, but of course, there wasn’t any.
There was a spiderweb next to me though.
It hung between the rock and a stick jutting out of the river mud.
There was no spider. The web was slightly larger than my hand, with dew strung over the silk, little golden pearls reflecting the sun.
Compelled, I reached out and gently set my hand against the web.
It looked like the universe caught on a string.
It looked like a hundred golden knots of illusion.
The dew wicked over my skin, and the web vibrated and shivered under my fingers.
It wasn’t illusion; it was as real as me.
I gently pulled free, leaving the web to its spider. Who knew? Maybe it would come back.
I wiped my wet hand on my pant leg. The sun was higher, burning through the mist. Time to go home. When I’d parked the motorcycle at Hell Gate, I’d heard the last rumbling moans and screeches of celebration. That was two hours ago. I hadn’t wanted to step inside. I’d felt raw. Battered.
Years ago, when Griff’s dad came and left Griff at Hell Gate, I’d watched him eat.
I’d hid behind a door and peered through the crack.
Jagger gave the Jersey Devil a slipshot to eat.
Jagger tore the slipshot apart with his clawed hands and his sharp teeth, rending him into pieces the Jersey Devil devoured.
That was how I felt. Torn, rent, and bleeding.
My own blood was the vicious predator, and it tore through me with sharp nails.
Finn is alive.
I stared into the shrouded sun, my eyes tearing from the light.
Jagger had claimed he’d feel this—that he’d know. But Jagger had lied. He lied so often his truth was lie. Still, I needed to be careful. I needed to tuck these feelings away before I stepped through the iron bars of Hell Gate.
The celebration would end with the sunrise, when everyone would pass out in the hall, sleeping under tables, on chairs, or in doorways. Once that happened, Jagger would want a report. But until then . . . I wiggled my toes in the water.
Would Finn come for me?
Now he knew what I was, would he come?
I’d asked him to when I’d sent the wind. Would he listen?
I didn’t turn at the soft pad of feet across the grass. I knew the cadence of that stride. I pulled my knife free and held it lightly.
“You’re alive,” I said, still staring at the cloaked sun.
Justice smoothly dropped to the rock and settled next to me. “I’m alive.”
He smiled down at the knife and then untied one shoe at a time, carefully placing them on the rock. He peeled his socks off, stuck them in the shoes, and then rolled up his pant legs. Finally, he dipped his toes in the water.
“Cold,” he said, surprised. He wrinkled his nose.
I sighed and flipped the knife, spinning it, letting the blade catch the sunlight. “Did he send you for me?”
Justice turned, frowning. “No.”
I shoved the knife into the soil. It gave more easily than flesh. I watched the handle vibrate and then still. We had so many things to say, but neither of us could say them.
“I can’t trust you, can I?” I asked, although it wasn’t really a question. I couldn’t trust Justice the moment he became a mine. Anything I said could be repeated to Jagger. Anything Jagger asked, he would do.
Justice sighed.
“And now you can’t trust me,” I added.
He scooted closer. I held still, the cold rock warming beneath the rising sun. Slowly, he lifted his arm, wincing a little from the wounds on his chest and his shoulder. He dropped his arm over me and then tugged me close. I was frozen. I didn’t want to pull away, but I couldn’t move closer.
“Mari,” he said.
That’s all. But in my name, I heard a thousand words left unsaid. The tight ache inside me loosened, and I leaned into him. He exhaled softly as I dropped my head to his shoulder.
“All right?” I asked, worried I was hurting him.
“It’s fine.”
“Did you know Jagger’d put a clock on your coffin?”
I felt a quick grin flash through him. “Tacked a timer to my tombstone?”
“Did you know he was going to use you as my test? Is that why you wouldn’t look at me or talk to me? Were you hiding it from me?”
His fingers stroked lazily over my shoulder, brushing through my hair. “The amount of things I’m hiding from you could fill a hundred books.”
He sounded so matter-of-fact saying it. I curled my fingers into my hand, forming a fist.
I’m going to save him. I want so badly to save him. Griff too.
“We have to protect Griff.”
Justice shrugged. “I wouldn’t go down that road.”
“He’s not like us—”
“You protect him, Jagger’ll have you kill Griff just for fun. I can’t tell you what to do, but I can tell you what not to do. I know more about what not to do than practically anyone else alive. By the way, you shouldn’t have let me live. You should’ve killed me, Mari.”
I peered up at him, catching a slight smile on his face. “Why?”
He kicked his foot, splashing water through the mist. “Because you think I’m guarding your back, but really, the people guarding your back are the ones who are in the best position to thrust a knife into it.”
I laughed. It wrenched out of me in a painful, surprised punch. Justice raised his eyebrows and then let out a low chuckle. His freckles were painted with the sun—they stood out on his pale face, paler from his blood loss.
“You killed me,” I said, tilting my head toward the sky. “You killed me.”
“I love your laugh,” he said, his voice quiet. “You don’t hate me. I thought you would. You probably will eventually, but you don’t yet. It feels good, but it hurts more. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. I knew exactly what he meant. I reached over and took his hand, tapping my finger against him. Tap tap. Tap tap.
He tapped back, and we both sat quietly, staring at the water. The mist had evaporated. The wind was gone. Above, the ghost train clattered over Hell Gate’s bridge.
I stared after its faint outline until the train cars faded and disappeared.
“I’m scared,” I finally said, “that the things I’ll do . . . that I’ll be known as the Nightmare of Hell Gate.” I knew I shouldn’t have admitted it out loud. Not to Justice. He could go right back and tell Jagger.
He looked over at me and smiled, his eyes solemn and tired. He shrugged. “What’s a name? I’m the Knife. The Butcher.”
“You aren’t—”
“I am.”
We both knew it was true.
He held me tightly against him, his fingers stroking comfortingly over my back. How many times had he held me like this? How many years had we sat side by side? I could count the years, but I couldn’t count the moments.
“You’ve been a mine for years,” I said, remembering the morning he died and the weeks after. “How have you survived?”
His hand stilled, his fingers caught in the slow, silky fall of my hair. “By being ruthlessly brutal.”
“And?”
“That’s all. By being ruthless with myself.”
“It’s funny. I can always tell when you’re lying to me.”
He laughed. “Maybe I don’t want you to know the things I’ve had to do to survive.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I think it’s because you have a bit of light left. Something you’re hanging onto. Something keeping your heart alive.”
“I do what Jagger asks. If you’re smart, you won’t fight it. He lets me fight, but I think he’ll kill you if you fight him. I really do.”
“I don’t want to see a rag man with the face of your dreams. So don’t let your light die. Don’t let your hope—”
“I’m sorry.” He gripped my hand and stared at me, his gray eyes intent. “Mari. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t know if he wanted to grab the knife from the soil and stab me or if he wanted to kiss me again. His expression held both futures in equal measure.
I tensed.
Justice didn’t know about Finn.
He didn’t know about my other life.
He’d never known, and maybe he never would.
It all depended on whether or not I could break free.
“It hurts,” he whispered, but he wasn’t talking to me.
Last night, I’d thought Jagger had slotted me as Justice’s executioner.
But in that strained, breath-held moment, I’d realized I probably had it wrong.
I think Jagger had set us up. While I was meant to kill Justice if Jagger asked, Justice was probably meant to kill me.
He was warning me, wasn’t he? If I said something, did something, gave some sort of indication, Justice had likely been told to send me to my final death.
We were two loaded guns, permanently pointing at each other.
Jagger’s leash was always short, but now, the leash had been shortened to a choke chain.
I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around Justice, holding him in a tight hug. “It’s all right,” I whispered.
“It’s not,” he said, “but that’s okay.”
I looked up, my arms around Justice, to find Roumelade stalking across the grass.
“You two,” she called, “what are you doing? Justice, you need to be in bed. Mari, Jagger’s sent me after you because you can’t manage to come home when you’re supposed to.
Breakfast is delayed because you wanted to kick around in the river.
Which I appreciate, I do, but it’s a new day, and Jagger has plans.
Plans, Mari. By the way, Griff’s gone and died.
Fool child.” She sighed and wiped her hands on her flour-dusted apron.
It was then I remembered the wind’s warning.
Innocence is dead.
Griff died?
I sprinted toward Hell Gate.