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She fluttered the blank pages, and now they were covered with line upon line of tiny scribbled words, crossed out again and again, revised and rewritten and revisited a thousand times.
“You Charmed it?”
“I Shifted the words out of Mortal reality. Unless I choose to show them to someone, only a Caster can read them.”
“That’s brilliant. Since Reece, the person most likely to read it, happens to be one.” Reece was as nosy as she was bossy.
“She doesn’t need to. She can read everything in my face.” It was true. As a Sybil, Reece could see your thoughts and secrets, even things you were planning to do, just by looking you in the eye. Which was why I generally avoided her.
“So, what’s with all the secrecy?” I flopped down on Lena’s futon. She sat next to me, balancing on her crisscrossed legs. Things were less comfortable than I was pretending they were.
“I don’t know. I still feel like writing all the time. Maybe I just feel less like being understood, or less like I can be.”
My jaw tightened. “By me.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What other Mortals would be reading your notebook?”
“You don’t understand.”
“I think I do.”
“Some of it, maybe.”
“I would understand all of it if you’d let me.”
“There’s no letting, Ethan. I can’t explain it.”
“Let me see it.” I held out my hand for her notebook.
She raised an eyebrow, handing it to me. “You won’t be able to read it.”
I opened it and looked at it. I didn’t know if it was Lena, or the book itself, but the words appeared on the page in front of me slowly, one at a time. It wasn’t one of Lena’s poems, and it wasn’t song lyrics. There weren’t many words, just strange drawings, shapes and swirls snaking up and down the page like some collection of tribal designs.
At the bottom of the page, there was a list.
what i remember
mother
ethan
macon
hunting
the fire
the wind
the rain
the crypt
the me who is not me
the me who would kill
