Page 137 of Find My Way Down to You

On the wall in front of me is a mirror. Gilded thorns circle smoked glass. Ice flows down my skin. It can’t be the same mirror from before, right? Have I really been going in circles this entire time?

Pain thrums from my scratched palms as I pull my legs to my chest. I don’t know where to go. How to start again. Definitely not in the direction that soul was just yanked. But the other way is just another left or right that will lead me back here.

The voices are louder in my head.

AugustAugustAugust.

Helpless, I look into the mirror. The reflection ripples like the tide at dawn. I’m too exhausted to prepare myself for what I’m about to see.

Will it be me from the car accident again? Maybe my parents in the hospital waiting room? Or London’s parents the moment the doctors tell them their son is dead?

Maybe it’ll be something worse:

Max in a coffin. Mom as she sobs over Dad’s headstone. Me, kneeling in front of my parents’ graves.

Every possible outcome swirls in my brain before the reflection even takes shape. Meli’s power seeps into my throat like smoke, choking me.

Still, I can’t look away.

When the glass solidifies again, a gasp rattles my entire body. It’s my worst nightmare come true:

A boy with wavy brown hair. Sunlit tan skin. White T-shirt and board shorts and slides with socks.

It’s London before a car smashed into us. Before I killed him.

He steps right through the glass to stand over me.

20

London ishere.

He blinks those aloe green eyes, staring at me, head tilted curiously.

The only thing my shuddering lips can say is “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, London.”

His weird smile slips into a disappointed frown.

I’m frozen on the ground. My wet eyes blink over and over. As if this might be an illusion. A dream that I’ll wake from at any moment and he’ll be gone again. Ripped from my life before I get to say goodbye.

But it’s not.

London kneels in front of me. He’s haloed in a pale white shimmer. The same Hasan and Yuri and Bernice were blanketed in.

“How?” I croak.

His nose scrunches, thinking. It’s absurd how much I’ve missed that one little gesture.

“I’m not completely sure,” he says. “A boy with dimples and really pretty hair brought me here.”

A piece clicks into place. It was Henri. He found London.

Look for what you need the most and it will be there.

My mouth slides into a wobbly, tear-soaked smile.

Tentatively, London reaches for my forearm. His hand doesn’t pass through me like it did in that memory Poppy showed me. This time, his palm rests coolly against my skin.

A sob racks my throat. “I’m so sor—”