Page 19

But my gaze settles inevitably on Étienne. For once, he isn’t smiling. His expression looks just as grave as mine, and I realize that he’s dreading this, too.

Perhaps we are about to become enemies, after all.

HAD YOU BEEN at the bus stop on that snowy afternoon in Manhattan, you would have seen the fateful moment for yourself. The moment she became a Harbinger.

You would have thought, it’s those girls again, Rose and Laine, the same ones you’d seen several years earlier, waiting out the rain. Right before the moment happened, they were chatting animatedly about boys, about a date Laine had that night. Rose was laughing so hard that there were tears in her eyes. Laine was toying with a blue pendant around her neck, a birthday gift. They were talking about college, how they were scheming to live together off-campus to save money. They were laying out a blueprint for their lives, one they likely wouldn’t follow but would attempt anyway, in the way that hopeful young people do.

At the end of the block, they turned past a bodega where a man was sweeping the floor inside. You noticed Laine’s other hand fidgeting with her backpack strap, looping and unlooping it around her wrist.

You saw the young man emerge from the narrow alley behind them, a cap pulled low over his head, the bottom of his face obscured behind a thick scarf, his eyes turned down.

It happened so fast that you couldn’t even process it until his hands closed on Laine’s backpack.

He yanked hard enough to throw her off-balance. Then she was down on her knees in the snow, wrestling with him.

You shot up from the bus bench, wondering what to do. But you were on the other side of the street, and there was too much traffic to cross over.

Laine looked like she wanted to let go. The man seemed ready to escape, as if he just wanted her stuff, had no interest in the girls at all. But Laine’s wrist had tangled in the loop she’d made with her backpack strap, tying her to it momentarily, and with the sheer strength of his pulling, she couldn’t dislodge herself.

“No! Stop!” You heard her yell before she went down.

You didn’t know when Rose darted in, but suddenly she was there, hair flying and teeth clenched, her hands clawing at him as viciously as she could.

“Get off her!” she shouted.

Laine fought to free herself from the strap. “Rose!” she screamed. “Get back!”

You fumbled for your phone and started dialing 911.

At last, the backpack came free. The man jumped to his feet again, not daring a glance back as he sprinted down the narrow street with the blond girl’s belongings.

While you shouted at the 911 operator to send help, Rose hurried to where Laine was leaning against the wall.

“Laine!” Rose croaked out as her friend sat there, rigid, face white as a sheet. “Laine—are you okay?”

She didn’t answer. Her eyes darted up to Rose, wild and scared. Knowing. Full of regret.

Then Rose saw the way Laine was pressing instinctively against her side, and the dark red stain spreading rapidly against her coat. Scarlet threaded through the snow beneath her. A metallic stench hung in the air.

“He had a knife—” Laine stammered, blinking rapidly. Her lashes fluttered like a butterfly’s wings. One of her hands came away to tug harshly at her pendant necklace, and her fingers gleamed with blood.

How fast everything could happen. How quickly life could change.

“Oh. My god.” Rose pressed another hand helplessly against Laine’s, as if this might help keep her blood inside. “Help!” Her voice rose to a fever pitch as she glanced across the street to you. “Help! Someone help!”

You gestured that you were calling the police.

Laine shuddered violently under Rose’s hand and turned her head, as if she wanted to throw up.

“Laine—Laine—” Rose said, “—look at me.”

But Laine couldn’t focus on anything. Her eyes darted around in a panic. Her legs scrambled against the snow, as if she wanted to sit more upright. A soft gurgling rumbled in her throat, and her breathing turned irregular. Her eyes closed. The hand gripping her necklace loosened.

Rose was crying now. “Laine—Laine, please—”

And in that horrific moment, as a wail burst from Rose’s throat, time slowed down.

You wouldn’t know it; you were frozen, too. All around you, the buses and cabs had stopped in the street, the planes overhead had paused in place.