72 Elena
Elena
Joey and Sophie hike down to the spell circle while Elena waits with the body, just to make sure it all goes to plan.
And it does, for the most part. It’s a strong illusion spell.
She watches the mountain sculpture reappear, sparkling and pristine, on the shelf by the books.
She watches the pool of blood collapse in on itself like it’s being sucked up with a straw.
She checks to make sure Cal’s wound has closed up.
Elena looks at his smug face. It’s still handsome, ghastly but undeniably good-looking.
Brain aneurysm. That’s what they’re making it look like, and it is—to Elena’s inexperienced eye—pretty fucking realistic.
He is lifeless, but there’s no blood, no trace of what really happened.
No trace whatsoever. Elena stands over him for too long.
She didn’t realize she’d enjoy seeing him lying there.
Never mind that he tried to kill her. That he did kill her, according to Joey.
But he took Quinn from them, and that was what Elena keeps thinking as she watches his corpse.
Surprisingly, she thinks of her mother at this moment, and wonders, for once, if some of what she said was actually true.
Elena hopes to god that hell is real. And that Cal Pierce is in it.
She walks down the mountain, this time boots not at all a hindrance. She observes her own footprints scrubbed away behind her, though she can’t tell if it’s the rain or the spell that’s doing it. That inexplicability, she thinks, is the magic of magic.
Eventually, she meets Sophie and Joey at the spell circle, where they’re pacing, the spell work long finished. Sophie’s face is twisted with nerves, and Joey is stoic. Elena nods—“job done”—and they return the nod. A collective breath moves between them, between the trees, between the mountains.
They walk, single file, and head—of all places—to Tom Winter’s.
Gael is waiting with Barbara and Tom. He looks shell-shocked when she walks into the kitchen, and she pulls him close to her.
She smells him. She feels his skinny body in her arms. And she lets herself cry, something that shocks them both because he has never seen her do it.
Barbara must have told him some things, but not all, because he has no questions.
She is sure there will be, but not tonight.
Tom’s house isn’t perfectly clean, but it’s clear Barbara’s been at work because it’s not at all like the last time they were here.
Four steaming mugs sit on the tidied table—one for each of them and one for Gael.
It’s like she knew exactly when they were coming.
Hot chocolate, because of course it’s hot chocolate.
She’s a hot chocolate kind of mom and always will be.
Barbara agrees to be their alibi right then and there, so if anyone is curious about their whereabouts, they’ll be cleared.
Gael nods along, as if to say he’ll vouch for her too.
Elena should be worried that he is caught up in a lie now that he knows nothing about.
But she is not worried. In fact, she is certain the spell is so good it will fool everyone.
This town has been duped by an illusion spell before, and no one, except Joey, ever gave it a second thought. It is perfect magic.
Tom is here too. He sits in a corner with a splotchy face.
He hiccups a thank-you through his tears because Barbara has told him what happened to Quinn—glossing over some of the more inexplicable elements.
It hits Elena that they still don’t really know exactly how Quinn died. They’ll probably never know.
At some point, Barbara drives them to her house, where Gael dives into his sofa and passes out.
Elena, Joey, and Sophie trudge into Quinn’s room.
They chat for hours. Around two, Elena sneaks chocolate chip cookies and a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen.
Then, much later than they should, they squeeze into Quinn’s bed and under her covers.
Their bodies curl into each other. Their breaths in sync and steady, and eventually, eventually, they fall asleep.