I feel like I'm floating in space, in a timeline of things that can't possibly be real. The trip, the island, the girls, the church. The shivering form of the archimandrite. Alexei Moroslav's eyes flashing and then going dull as Kai buried his sword in his chest. The fierce wind on the tarmac, Kingston and Luther. The blood on the snow, the blood on their faces, the blood on my lips.
“Different question,” Morgan interrupts, as if she can sense that I'm going down a bad path. “Look to the future. What are you going to do now? I mean, what's the plan with them? With their whole...” She gestures in the air. “With you.”
I swallow hard. Give my head a slow shake.
“It sounds like they're still figuring that out, right? Likewe'refiguring that out," I amend. "Kingston is--"
"Traumatized?" Morgan offers.
I breathe out. I wouldn't have used that word, but now that she's said it...she's not wrong.
“Yeah,” I agree.
“And so are you.” Morgan takes my hands into her own. “Listen,” she says intently. “I did a ton of research--as best as I could, anyway. All of this stuff about magical rites and fertility goddesses and the ties to pagan rituals across the world and?—”
“Thanks.” I cut her off, sharper and harsher than I mean to, and Morgan's face falls. I clench my fingers inside hers.
“No, I mean it. Really, thank you,” I rattle off. “I just don't want to think about that now? Right this instant?” I say it like a question, wincing. I extract a hand to press to my temple, eyes closed. “It's just, I don't want to have to be any of that right now." My voice is small, hesitant. "I think I just I want to, I don't know. Be here. Study. Other than that, I want everyone to leave me alone.” I open my eyes. “Except you, I mean," I add quickly.
Morgan purses her lips, the tiniest bit of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “And of the four of them downstairs.”
My face heats up thinking about what Kingston and I were doing barely over an hour ago.
“Right,” I agree.
Because the thing about the four of them is, I realize, they do leave me alone. Or it feels like they do. They're nottherein a way that feels imposing, don't intrude on me in the way that the rest of the world does. They're around me and beside meand...complementing me. A frame that fits the artwork perfectly. I don't feel that usual need to be hidden or not looked at. Because if they're looking at me, I usually want to be seen. To be caught in the heat of their gaze. And if I don't, it's like they know enough not to interfere.
I don't know what that is. Don't know what to call it. But it seems incredible that I've ever found it at all.
“I just want to do…normal girl talk stuff right now,” I finish, “if that's okay. I missed you, Morgan.”
“I missed you too.” Morgan flops along the bed. “Are we normal girl talk girls? What does that even mean?”
“Beats me,” I say, falling back on the pillows next to her. “Aren't you supposed to tell me all about your fabulous tropical vacation, how you went cliff diving and skinny dipping and did ayahuasca with dumb jocks from other schools?”
“I presume you mean in the part of my vacation before I heard that my stepfather had mysteriously and suddenly died in a foreign country,” Morgan says dryly. “But sure, yeah." She lifts her chin, thinking. "My mom and I had a whole double act going. There was one night where we pulled a father-son pair.” She frowns. “At least I'm pretty sure they were father-son. There's an outside chance they were a couple, but--"
“You did not,” I gasp, pretending to be scandalized, and Morgan cackles.
“You have so little faith in my abilities? Let alone my mother's. She's a cougar if ever there was one. Positively bewitching.”
“Are you trying to tell me you use some kind of magic?” I say. “I thought you said that was unethical.”
Morgan rolls her eyes. “Listen, on spring break, there are no ethics.”
She goes on to spin out the whole story involving a swim-up bar, hijacking a DJ booth, a midnight moped ride with noheadlights, and swimming with sea turtles at sunrise. It sounds made up. It probablyismade up. I don't care. We're both pretending to be normal, both telling ourselves a little fairy tale for the moment, transported from the bleary and bleak Caliburn campus to a fantasy land we can giggle about and cackle over like best friends do.
By the time she's done, we're gasping with laughter, and my cheeks actually hurt from smiling so much.
And it occurs to me: of all the things that have happened to me, of all the improbable and fantastical and downright unbelievable events that I've witnessed or suffered through or barely survived, this one might be the most incredible of all.
That I have a friend like Morgan. Smart and funny and fiercely loyal andcool.
"I would never have survived this year without you," I say quietly as Morgan yawns mightily next to me. "You know that, right?"
"Me?" Morgan murmurs. "I'm not the one who literally killed to save you, Gwenna."
I ignore the shudder those words send through me. "C'mon. I'm serious. You were there for me before...any of this."
