Page 59 of Strange Lights

Adele puts her face in her hands, and for one shocking moment, I think she’s sobbing. But she’s laughing. In one fluid movement, she’s on her feet, gripping the front of my shirt, pushing me backward. I take two steps in shock before remembering the cliff edge, stopping just short of stepping into open air. The meteorite fragment bites into my fingers, drawing blood; then it slips from my grasp and clatters as it falls, down, down, down.

My stomach swoops and I flail before my hands find Adele, and I instinctively cling to her so hard my knuckles turn white.

“Stop, stop!” I plead.

“I could do it; I could push you in, you know. I don’t know if it would count as a sacrifice,” she says. Any trace of weakness is erased from her face.

“I’d pull you in with me,” I say. I couldn’t let go if I tried. “Please, don’t let me go. Please hold on. Mother, please!”

With a snarl she pulls me back, throws me to the ground.

“Go,” she says. My blood has soaked into her shirt.

I don’t know if it would count as a sacrifice, she’d said.

I run.

The shipment is dead bodies. I stare into a bloodless face, the body bag unzipped enough for me to be sure of its contents. The delivery is a refrigerator truck full of them, at least a dozen. I attempt some quick mental math as I glance at the cargo. It could fit what, fifty of them? What the fuck. What grand scheme does Adele have? I’m not sure if it’s the cold or the unsettling knowledge that I’m surrounded by death that raises goose bumps on my skin, and I rezip the bag and slink away.

When Zara emerges from her sulk, I ban her from my project entirely. No dungeon, no lab, no looking at my notes. She seems more shocked than hurt when I refuse to budge. The look on her face when she discovers I’ve gone above her head and spoken with her tutor about keeping her away from the werewolf project is one I’m familiar with. It’s the look she wears around Adele. Wariness. She’s unsure of her footing with me, and it kills me. But it’s for her own good.

I spend as much of the next month as I can in the dungeon, procrastinating, barely remembering I have sisters. Adele lets me get away with it for weeks. Maybe she feels guilty for the cliff incident. But finally, I’m required to show progress.

Adele corners me during one of the rare moments I’m not down in the dungeon. It’s late; my sisters are probably sleeping already. The sun slipped away when I was too far down in the earth to notice. The guilty thought that Luca must be missing the sun by now is flitting across my mind when Adele materializes out of the darkness of the hall before I quite reach my room.

“Where have you been?” she asks, her eyes unreadable, arms crossed like I’m a teenager sneaking back into the house after a forbidden outing. Thankfully, I haven’t yet removed my mask, so she can’t read my face.

“Working on the werewolf project,” I say quickly.

“Not much to show for it, considering how often you’ve been . . . working on it.”

“Brilliance takes time,” I say loftily. Adele is like a piranha. If she smells blood, you’re as good as done, so I clutch my arrogance around me like a raincoat in a tropical downpour.

“Well, make it take less time, or I’ll find someone else to do the job. Or perhaps a new test subject would be helpful if this one isn’t satisfactory. The specimen can be disposed of, if it isn’t working for you. Say the word, Regina, and I’ll do it. Anything for my eldest,” she says sweetly, and reaches up a hand to stroke where the side of my face would be if I weren’t wearing a mask.

An icy chill creeps down the back of my spine as her meaning sinks in.

“I’m nearing a breakthrough.” I shrug nonchalantly. “A new test subject would be detrimental at this point. I’m used to this one’s magic, and I’ve done all the background work that would take weeks to re-create.”

“Hmm,” Adele says, eyeing me. “Are you sure you’re committed to making the werewolf project work? Or are you planning on trying to run out on me again?”

“No, I want to finish the project you assigned,” I say stubbornly.

“You misunderstand me. I’m asking if you’re invested. Or if you’re checking out because you don’t want to be part of this family and all that entails. Are you willing to make necessary sacrifices?”

“My entire life is here; I’m nothing but invested. My work, my family, my life are here.” It comes out too woodenly to be quite believable.

She eyes me critically. “There are things I’m not sure if I should tell you, Regina. If hearing them would motivate you.”

Tell you, listen, hear.

I stand stiffly, refusing to rise to her bait. Refusing to listen to the quiet little voice in my head that desperately wants me to know what she has to say. She won’t make me beg for her approval, her attention.

“We have one thing in common, you and I, our devotion to family. You won’t leave. I will kill your sisters before I let you take them with you.”

A sharp gasp and click of a door latch. Zara was spying, listening. I’m used to veiled threats disguised as warnings, but it’s rare Adele’s so explicit with her threats around Zara. I find I can only nod in reply, my throat as dry as the desert outside.

“You have one more month. That should be more than enough time.” She doesn’t wait for me to respond before turning on her heel and stalking off.