“I’ve never hurt anyone,” I say. My voice is small. Pathetic. Meek. I’m in Margot’s class, but I’m a year younger. Right now, I feel years beneath them, too stupid to handle people like Harrison. “And I’m wearing the bands, Harrison.”
I’m shaking as I pull up my sleeves, revealing the golden bands clasped on either wrist. Harrison already knows I’m wearing them.Everyoneknows. They’re only reason I was allowed to live, to have asemi-normal life. With these bands, I can’t cast a simple spell, let alonehurtsomeone.
“Don’t talk to me, freak,” he snarls. “And don’t ever say my name again.”
He presses forward, yanking my arm, right above the golden band. With a movement too fast to track, he rotates, placing himself between me and my protector. I bump against the reptile booth, nearly knocking over the haphazard stack of fish bowls.
I suck in a tight breath, shrinking as small as I can, hating myself for it. Margot attempts to move around Harrison, but he shrugs her off. With a quick glance over his shoulder, as if remembering where we are, Harrison pulls me away from the table. He surges between the reptile booth and the palm reader’s, taking off down the narrow alleyway behind them.
I have to stumble to keep up, my short legs requiring twice as many steps. He keeps me in front of him, and Margot remains a breath behind, her fists pounding his shoulder blades. He ignores the strikes as if he doesn’t feel them.
“I haven’t hurt anyone,” I repeat. I’m crying and I hate it but I don’t know how to stop. “I didn’t?—”
He shoves me against the brick wall. The Ochre Autumnal Festival continues in the street, and though I catch more than one person’s eye, no one interferes. Even the reptile shop owner, who watched it all unravel, doesn’t say a word. He keeps his attention on the flourishing market, and he doesn’t look back once.
“Fucking vile,” Harrison tells me.
I’m not sure if he means the way I look or dress or simply the way Iam. Like Margot, I’m wearing a long-sleeve dress and a pair of tights, but we are not the same. Where everyone else here wears the color of their family season, I wear black. The color of mourning. The color of death.
I stand out in any crowd, surrounded by yellows and oranges andviolets and greens. A black spot of death in an otherwise vibrant field of flowers.
“I never hurt anyone,” I repeat. I’m not even sure if that’s true. Mama Perskey promised I didn’t. Margot’s mama says the same thing. Most people though…they think I did. They think I killed my parents. That I killed Mama Perskey too, even though that’s impossible.
“Take this off,” Harrison snarls.
I don’t know what he’s talking about until his hand fists my hair. With a vicious tug, he rips the elastic tie from my bun. It’s the loveliest shade of yellow, the same color as the tree leaves all through town.
“Stop!” Margot shrieks, but she suddenly seems so small. Thirty pounds below Harrison, if not more. She grabs his wrist, nearly falling when he easily releases the tie to her.
“It’s yours, Margot,” he says, that same gentle voice from before. “I wouldn’t keep it from you.”
“It’s Secora’s,” she argues. She presses the hair tie against my open palm, but I don’t dare grab it. It falls to the gravel between us. Now, she stares at me, the first time since Harrison attacked. “Secora, it’s yours. You can wear it.”
“No, she can’t,” Harrison says, glaring at me. He presses closer, until I can taste his rancid breath on my lips. “Right, stray? You can’t wear it, and you know it.”
I swallow. My throat feels tight, like I’ve taken poison and my entire body is swelling.
“Say it,” he barks. “Say it, freak.”
“I’ll never talk to you again,” Margot says. She’s crying now, but where my tears are silent, slow streaks down my face, hers are loud. Gasping. Panicked.
That’s how Margot is. Alive and bold and striking. Where I barely exist, barely matter.
“I can’t wear it,” I whisper.
“That’s right,” Harrison says. He’s so close our lips are almosttouching, and I turn my head, pressing it against the cold brick. I’d rather freeze my skin than feel his cruel touch.
“I hate you,” Margot cries. She punches Harrison’s arm again, then again. “I hate you, and I’m telling Mrs. Raekes.”
“Tell her,” Harrison says lazily. “See what she does.”
He grabs my throat then, hard and fast, like a viper striking. Margot is still crying, still trying uselessly to pull him away. Harrison ignores her, squeezing until I can’t breathe. My mouth bobs, searching desperately for air that won’t come.
He smirks.
Do something, I beg myself.Please, Secora. Do something. Do anything.
I don’t do anything but cry.
