“Really?” he rasps. He’s working hard to be calm, to act like he’s not a breathing dead man. “Is this your grand plan, Elliot? Make me feel weak? Show me how it feels? Do you want me to beg for mercy like she did? Would that make you feel better?”
I stare down at him. I’m straddling his waist, holding him down by the wrists. If he tried, he could probably shove me off him and make a run for it. But we both know he wouldn’t make it far.
“Did it make you feel better?” I ask. I study the golden bands onhis wrists. Imagine him doing the same to Secora. My Secora. “Did you feel like a man when you hurt her?”
“What, are you going to rape me?” he screams. “Will that make us even? Are you going to rape me so you can tell your whore that I suffered like she did?”
He’s screaming so hard he’s spitting, his face a mask of red. My blood, mixed with his fury.
“No,” I say quietly. “Only a monster would rape someone.”
His face relaxes. He tries to hide his relief, tries to replace it with forced nonchalance, like he’s not still chained.
“All right,” he says. Scoffs. “Then will you get off me? We can figure this out. Take these stupid things…”
He trails off. He moves slowly, turning his head with almost comical delay. His eyebrows furrow as he studies the skin of his right wrist. There’s nothing visible, but he must feel it.
I stare at his arm too, at the space just above where I hold him. Where I send my magic through his skin in droves.
“What are you doing?” he asks. It’s a horrified whisper that instantly pitches. “Elliot, what the fuck are you doing?”
His wrist splits open. I’m pulling so violently at the blood in his veins, I’ve broken through his flesh. Blood sprays from his wrist, and Harrison screams. He thrashes against me, tries to break free, but it’s far, far too late. I concentrate only on my magic and the weight of his blood. I pull and pull and pull, coating us so heavily in his blood it’s impossible to know what’s his and what’s mine.
Beneath his shoulder, a pool of blood seeps into the hardwoods. He thrashes until he’s lost too much blood, until he’s barely conscious. Only as he falls still do his blue eyes return to mine.
“Please,” he cries. “Please. I’m sorry. Please, Ell?—”
I look away from Harrison as he dies. I stare at his wrist, at the blood running thin, until I am certain his evil has left this world.
“You deserved worse,” I whisper.
I don’t really register what I’ve done until I’ve left the augurhouse. Until I’ve hit the main streets of Ochre, where weeks ago, Harrison and I debated which classes we’d take at university. Then, all at once, reality sets in.
I just murdered my best friend.
Harrison is dead.
I’m hurt. Badly.
I look down at my chest and my stomach. The cuts are deep. I don’t think it’s enough to kill me, so long as I get to a healing center. But there’s somewhere I need to go first.
Secora deserves to hear this from me. I need to warn her what might happen, but assure her that I’ll never regret killing him. I need to tell her how much I love her—how much I will always love her—and that I only want her to be safe and free and happy.
Keeping a hand on my stomach, I limp toward the Blake house.
24
HAVE MERCY ON ME
ELLIOT
Secora comes into focus slowly. I don’t know if she left the memory sooner than I did, but she doesn’t look half as ruined as I feel. I blink and focus all my energy on her features until they sharpen to their finest details. The tiny freckle next to her ear. The strand of hair that’s fallen from her ponytail. The cracks in her lips from this dry weather, or perhaps from being kissed too much in the past twelve hours.
“Secora,” I say. My voice sounds too loud and too quiet at the same time.
She doesn’t look at me. She’s focused on the memory stone, extracting the neon yellow memory with her fingers. It thrashes as it leaves the warm stone.
It should be red, I think.
