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Grabbing some bills from my wallet, I throw them on the table. Standing up, I push in my chair without even biting the food.
As I pass by Marie's side, her hand grabs my elbow. “Wait, it’s not too late.” That same lustful stare rakes up my body. “I can still have my fun. I will try dating you. But I have conditions. If either of us ever feels like it’s not worth it, we end things, we—"
I’ve heard enough nonsense for the night. I rip my arm free.
“We’re better as friends, Marie. I’m sorry.”
I can’t lie. I am sorry.
Chapter8
We Know Who You Are
ELVA
Istare at the flimsy printer paper in my hand, running my fingers over the words as though it will somehow change the message.
We know who you are.
Five chilling words and no signature. There isn't a whiff of magic on it. My heart beats faster, and I try breathing it back to normal.
Ten minutes ago, I found the piece of paper resting on the tile floor of my apartment, as though someone had slipped it under the door and run away.
Bits of the mug Helena had given me as a going-away present are still scattered across the ground from my shock. Green tea seeps into the cracks between the stick-on vinyl tiles.
My heart pounds like a racehorse, and my calming breaths turn ragged.
“It’s fine,” I say aloud, trying to convince myself. “Pack your things, get out of the city, and find a new place to live. You’ve done this before.”
The tone of my voice isn’t helping anything. My insides rear up at my lie.
It’s not fine.
Nothing is fine.
My eyes keep going back to those two words.
We know.
I don't move. I barely breathe. No one had ever come to my house before.
Silky strands of ice mix in with my blood. Delicate white lace forms on the windows and crystallizes over the furniture. The temperature in the room plummets as the words reel through my mind.
We know who you are.
Solid chunks of ice form all around me as panic takes over. My hands tremble, and blackness edges out my vision.
We know.
Who are they? I think of every being I’ve killed. There isn’t a single job that comes to mind where I didn’t take every precaution with my identity. Thoughts stick in my brain as if they’re also affected by my magic. With every second that passes, destruction takes over my apartment. Panic becomes my reality as I lose my tight grip on my magic.
Within a few minutes, every piece of my shabby furniture is locked in an icy, frigid embrace. Icicles form on the peeling paint, and frost crawls over the ceiling tiles.
The lights flicker, darkening as ice encases the hot bulbs. They sizzle before a series ofpopsfill the air, leaving me in darkness.
Jerry, my cactus, is surrounded by frost on his windowsill. Ice is creeping up the sides of his brown clay pot. He's observing the destruction, his silent disapproval clear.
But I can't stop.
