Page 73 of Strange Lights

I try to warn them as the masked figure in the dark raises the weapon. I’m screaming inside my head, but only the faintest unnoticed whimper leaves my mouth.

Meredith’s and Zara’s screams are the last things I hear before sinking into the mud. I’m drowning in it⁠—but no⁠—strong hands are pulling me to the surface.

Luca, you came back; we have to help them.

No, you were the one who hurt them.

He points, and he’s right. The figure pulling off the mask is me, was me all along.

Zara is shaking me awake, urgently calling my name.

“It’s time to go!” she says. There’s no fear in her eyes, only a fierce excitement as the thunder crashes and the lightning flickers. Meredith appears in my doorway, already dressed, carrying her bag.

I bolt upright and throw on clothes and my mask, promising myself that this will be the last time I’ll wear it. After this, I’ll be Reggie. Not Regina. Not Kingsley. Not Adele’s pawn anymore.

“Get to the outer doorway and wait there until I can open the door from the outside,” I remind my sisters.

“Meredith is your responsibility now,” I say to Zara.

“Promise you’ll hurry?” Zara asks, a waver in her voice.

“I promise. As soon as I can, I’ll come for you. I love you both.”

The boy is awake when I arrive. “It’s time to go,” I say, unlocking the cage and handing him old baby clothes of Meredith’s. I leave the key in the lock. It’s the only goodbye I intend to give Adele. He follows me, lurking in shadows as we run to the hangar where the Winnebago waits.

“This is our getaway vehicle,” I say, and he looks between me and the Winnebago in surprise as I open the door. “Climb in.” I gesture, and he doesn’t hesitate, bounding up the steps and scurrying under the table.

“Regina Kingsley.”

Surely, this is only a nightmare. My blood turns to ice, as the one voice that always ruins my plans says my name. I turn slowly, blocking with my body the boy cowering inside the Winnebago.

Adele stands there, cooly surveying me. She’s alone, no weapons in sight, but that does little to reassure me.

“I’m leaving,” I say. “I’m done, I quit. You’re not stopping me anymore.” I rip off the mask and throw it at Adele’s feet.

“And what of your poor sisters? How do you think they’ll feel, with your abandoning them?”

The mask can’t save me this time, so I concentrate with all my might to keep my face blank. So she doesn’t know. If I can just escape now, I can still get to them.

“It will be easier without them.” It’s easy to hide the truth when it doesn’t feel like I’m lying.

Adele laughs softly. “You think I don’t know that you sent them to meet you? They will never make it out that door without my genetic code to unlock it.”

I don’t let the relief show⁠—she doesn’t know she’s made a mistake with the lock, doesn’t know that I, too, can unlock it. I just have to get to them. “Fine, keep them. But I’m leaving.”

“Not with my weapon you aren’t.”

The metal of the Gauntlet glints; the darkness of the void spaces in between eats the light that falls upon it. My stomach drops. But I can feel it, the Gauntlet moving of its own accord, pulling me forward as it reaches out for Adele. Then all I know is pain, ricocheting through me as I fight harder than I’ve ever fought before. My teeth ache, my bones are on fire. Suddenly cutting off my own arm to stop this pain seems like a viable option. An arm seems like a small thing to sacrifice. The thought slices through the pain like a knife. The way to destroy the Gauntlet, the way to keep it out of Adele’s clutches. Open that door in my head, throw myself into that void, take the Gauntlet with me. My sisters will have to fend for themselves, but I have to hope that taking myself and my weapon out of the equation will tip the scales. Luca, I think, I’m done being her weapon.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Adele says. Abruptly the pain ceases. My arm is mine again. She’s curled forward, breathing hard and pale faced, but she’s watching me carefully.

“Do what?” I gasp.

“I know what it looks like when you’ve given up. I’ve been to the depths of that dark place myself. If you’re going to jump, you want to hear what I have to tell you first. Don’t waste a sacrifice just to destroy that.”

Without the pain, my will to live, my fear of oblivion is clawing its way back under my skin. “I don’t want to hear anything else you have to say.”

“It’s about who you are. What you are.” She stoops to pick up the mask, turning it over in her hand and inspecting it.