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She scoffed. “Because you’re a beta. You don’t get the same choices as Stella. It’s better that you accept that now. Hair like this will only get you noticed, and that’s the last thing a beta needs.”
It’s not until this very second that I fully understood what she meant by that.
After the blast on Spruce Street and the ensuing plume of dust and smoke that enveloped Dogwood Street, there was pandemonium.
Right away, Isolde pulled me and Stella back, pressing against the door to town hall while Marcus stood on the steps, yelling words that no one in the scattering crowd bothered to hear.
The dust cloud had extinguished the torches, and it was initially very hard to see. Everyone reacted spastically, running in all different directions. Alphas yelled out conflicting orders, and children separated from their parents bawled pathetically.
Now, the panic is settling down, but I’ve barely paid attention to any of it. No, all I can see is Joanna Catmint kneeling in front of me. Her long, butter-blonde braid swinging over her shoulder as she works the ties at my ankles with a blunt knife.
With my bound hands, I finger the end of my dirty, damp hair and hold it up next to hers, so bright and shiny. True, mine needs a good washing after my recent activities, but otherwise, it’s the same.
Why didn’t I notice it that day in Arabica? Or when I followed her around Goldenrod afterward?
Because obviously, I didn’t have any reason to. There’s no doubt she’s an omega—a huge one with wide hips and huge breasts. Other than our hair, we’re nothing alike.
But she’s my sister. Right? Isn’t that what I deduced from what Isolde said earlier?
Tears burn the backs of my eyes. It seems silly to get emotional about something like this right now—we’re under attack, after all. There are people here who want to kill us. For all I know, Marcus will still try to kill me.
But all I can see through my hot, teary emotion is Joanna Catmint’s fat blonde braid swinging back and forth as she fruitlessly saws at my bindings.
The blunt knife slips, hitting against her thumb, and she curses loudly, bringing it up to her mouth and whimpering pathetically. That’s when Marcus turns around, noticing what she’s doing.
“What are you doing, Joanna?” He pulls her up by her shoulders. She sways before breaking away from his grip.
“Let her go, Father,” she bites out angrily, pointing down at me. “Now.”
“No, you don’t understand.” He holds her shoulders, shaking her slightly. “Isolde Sage is a witch. She’s lying. I was there when your mother died, and there was only you.”
Joanna glances down at me, fat tears falling down her cheeks. “No, I can tell,” she whispers irately. “She’s my sister.”
She doesn’t sound too happy about it, but I guess I can’t blame her for that.
“You should listen to your daughter, Marcus,” Isolde says calmly. Her tears are all dried up, and she’s fallen back into her calm, dignified persona. Apparently, the scent of impending death has a soothing influence on her.
But Marcus ignores her. “We need to show them how well we’ve been following the Order, Joanna,” he insists, pulling her away from Isolde. “And how we punish those who don’t, then they’ll see, and then—and then everything will go back to normal.”
Joanna shakes her head slowly, her eyes wide. “No, Father. Can’t you see what’s happening? Look! Open your eyes!”
She lifts her hands in the air, motioning toward the disarray still peppering Dogwood Street.
The smoke and dust have cleared a bit, but despite the dirty early morning light, there’s no doubt that Goldenrod has changed. It looks dirty and tampered with, and the scent of fear permeates the air. Most of the people have dispersed—probably returning to their homes to hunker down—but there are still a few stragglers. Random lone alphas and tearful elderly omegas.
“The Order is over,” Joanna murmurs, her eyes flicking to me. “You tried to save it, but it didn’t work.”
I open my mouth to agree with her when my eyes catch on a movement far down Dogwood Street. An alpha running down the street. Covered in blood and dirt, he looks wild and dangerous.
Noah.
Finally.
Struggling to my feet, the tears I’ve been holding back escape hot and fast down my cheeks. “Noah! I’m here!”
When his face connects with mine, he runs faster.
I hop forward, holding my bound hands toward him so he can reach me as soon as possible.
