Don’t you dare think about that, Caroline.
Chamomile has appeared between me and the lantern. She doesn’t know what I witnessed. What has changed. Or has she, as part of me?
“They need help,” I say, advancing. “I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t try.”
They aren’t worth your life. You won’t survive out there.
“There could be”—I don’t know how many people fit on a ship—“a hundred? More? They aren’t worth saving?”
This isn’t your business. Let Elle save them.
“You sound like her.” I’m tired of this babying. She doesn’t know better; she’s just a manifestation of my cowardice. “Since when have you cared about what isn’t my business?”
It’s your safety, Caroline. I want—
“What’sbestfor me?” Enough. I pass through her form. She splutters behind me, but I don’t stop until I scoop up the lantern. “This morning you told me to swim, now I’m too delicate to walk outside?”
This is madness. The storm is too strong. You’ll be dashed on the rocks.
A quake nearly makes me lose my footing. It must be anotherlightning strike. We aren’t in an area with seismic activity. Glass clatters in the cupboards. The ship must be running aground, scraping against the shallows. It may already be too late for the vessel itself, but I could lead survivors to safety.
I won’t allow you to be so reckless.She places herself in front of the door. No longer a girl of mirth. She appears more solid now. The lantern reflects off her satin dress and perfect hair. One long curl by her ear dangles in rhythm with the tremors.
“You don’tallowordisallowanything,” I say, voice shaking but forceful. “You are afigmentof myimagination.”
A manifestation of my guilt, my fear, my need for attention. Every bratty, self-serving impulse—it’s all her. No more. I can’t stay here while others are in danger, my sister is doing God knows what upstairs, and I can be ofuse.
Now, Liney—
“Donotcall me that!” I snap. I set the lantern down beside myself. “Only Elle calls me that. I think you need to leave.”
How do you destroy a fiction? She may come from my mind, but she does not come from my heart. If she did, she’d never have tried to stop me.
Chamomile begins to speak. I lunge forward. I’ve got no plan, only to reach the door.
But it’s not the wood of the door my fingers grip. It’s her arms. My chest presses against her satin gown. I’ve pinned her. How? I’ve never been able to touch her before. Have I completely lost it? The fabric in my hands is as real as my own nightgown. She is no longer a being of make-believe comfort.
“What are you?” My jaw shakes with the words as another tremor threatens my footing. “What in God’s name are you, Chamomile?”
She struggles against me. Did I surprise her? I can’t outrun her, but here I have the advantage. She’s taller, but she can’t get her footing in all her layers of skirts to fight back.
“You have one chance,” I warn.
Or what?Her voice is venom wishing to sink its fangs into me.Save yourself, Caroline.
It wasn’t an hour ago that we were lying in bed together. I saw someone I cared for. But rosy dreams and sand-surf laughter were a facade. Who am I when I stare at my villain?
I can’t let her intuit my next move or allow my icy heart to stall me. Instinct must reign, not thought. I push back from her to give myself room, and I throw a punch directly at her face.
My knuckles meet her cheek. The force slams her head back into the door. Whatever ethereal being Chamomile used to be, she’s real now. And the bloom of pain spreading through my knuckles and into my wrist is real too.
She wheezes out a cough while another shudder moves beneath us through the floorboards. Her eyes flash fear. It’s gone just as quick, but it’s as though something lifted from her for half a second. I can’t hesitate. There’s little time to save anyone in the storm. I grab her shoulders, ignoring the spikes of pain that radiate from my punching hand and into my arm.
They’re lost already, stupid child,she says, then spits what might be a tooth at my feet.
I push her aside with all my strength. She collides with the edge of the kitchen counter. When she looks up at me, her hazel eyes shine. Not fire, like Elle’s—thank the Lord—but a white-hot light that burns into my eyes.
I need the lantern. My overdriven heart may not last much longer. I pause, breath ragged.
