“You called me back,” she said.
Chapter 12 
I built a fire for her in the middle of the road, scavenging what wood I could, repeating over and over, “I'm sorry, so sorry, I'm sorry….”
Allie huddled by the flames with a blanket around her shoulders and Tallow curled in her lap. Matthew stretched out beside her. Wolf and cat both smelled of damp fur. For once they didn't seem to mind each other. “You called me,” Allie said. There was awe in her voice. “I didn't know anyone could call so far.”
I heard, didn't hear. “If Brianna hadn't taught me— how to pump the air back—I'm sorry—”
“It wasn't the pumping.” Allie stroked Tallow's fur. I looked at them, looked away. “Listen, Liza.” Allie's voice was low, not a child's voice. “You don't understand. I drowned there, and I died.” I shook my head, but Allie went on, “No, I did. I'm a healer. I know when things are over, when there's nothing left to do. It's like falling through dark water and realizing you're too far down to ever get back out again. So dark—but I wasn't even angry, because I was too far down, though I was awfully sad. And then …” Allie looked up at me. Matthew laid his paw on her ankle, as if for comfort. “Then you called me, Liza. And I had to listen. It was a long way out, but you kept calling, so I came. I was scared, I was tired, but I came.”
The fire crackled and popped, but I felt as cold as Allie looked. I couldn't have called her back. No one could do that. Because if I could have called her, I also could have called—I also should have called…
I felt colder still. I turned from Allie and the fire back to the river. The sun was high, the water bright. Across that water, at the end of the road, a dark shadow lay puddled in the light. It flowed toward me, then stopped, as if an invisible wall rose out of the river. A sound started up: a low, frightened cry.
A baby's cry.
Matthew moved to my side. His ears went back. He regarded the shadow across the water and squeaked softly, as if asking some question. The shadow just kept crying.
“Who is she?” Allie whispered. “Did you—did you call her, too?”
“I didn't call anyone.” But the shadow kept crying, the sort of short choking sobs babies make when they know something's wrong but they can't tell you what. I wanted to run, to hide—but I knew I couldn't escape that sound any more than I could escape the memory of bones on a moonlit hillside.
I felt Allie's hand on my shoulder and flinched as if burned. “You can't leave her there,” Allie said.
“Go away,” I told her.
“She's just a baby, she doesn't understand—”
“Go away !”
Allie scuttled backward as I turned, her eyes wide, and I realized I'd put command into the word, the same command I'd used to call her back. I felt as if something dark were coiled inside me behind that command. A wrong word, a wrong gesture, and I would set it loose, free to destroy as the faerie folk had destroyed. I clenched my hands into fists, forcing the tension inward. Allie sighed and stopped backing away.
She was the one who didn't understand. My sister was dead. I'd seen Father take her away. I'd seen the cracked, bloody bones that were her only remains. Even those bones were likely gone now, eaten or buried by some wild creature. No one could call anyone back after that. No one had that kind of power, not the faerie folk, not humans—no one.
Yet the shadow cried on. My fingernails dug into my palms, drawing blood. The pain released the coiled tension, giving it somewhere to go. I thought of the knife at my belt. For just a moment, I wished Father were here— to take that blade, to put an end to me and my magic, to keep me from having to face the shadow that waited on the other side of the river. I moved my hand to the hilt, taking comfort in its familiar grip.
A wet nose nudged my hand away. I looked up, into gray wolf eyes. I reached out, meaning to shove Matthew away.
Instead I found myself grabbing him, holding him. I fell to my knees, clutching his fur like Allie had clutched the ropes, not daring to let go. “It's not my fault,” I whispered. Then, louder, “It's not my fault!” My screams drowned out the choking baby cries behind me. “There was nothing I could do once Father decided! You know that, you were there!” My fingers dug into his fur, surely causing pain, but the wolf remained silent, steady.
“Matthew.” I spoke his name aloud, thinking of the gray wolf, the quiet boy, knowing that they were the same. “You were there, Matthew.” I shivered as I spoke, feeling the power beneath the words, understanding them for the call they were.
Fur shrank from my grasp. My fingers dug into Matthew's bare shoulders as he knelt before me. Still he didn't draw away. Human arms reached out and held me. My trembling subsided. “It's not your fault,” Matthew repeated gently. “It's his fault, Liza, not yours.”
I remembered running from the hillside where Rebecca had died, screaming her name as I did. I'd called her as surely as I'd called Allie. “But I was too late.” My voice was flat and cold, the truth of the fact seeping into my bones. I could have called Rebecca back, if only I'd gone sooner. I even could have carried her back without magic, if only I'd arrived in time.
Matthew looked at me, but there was no blame in his human eyes. Sunlight shone on his skin and loose hair. I drew back and stood, feeling a faint flush through everything else as I thought of how I'd held him, unashamed. Allie got the raincloak from my pack and draped it over his shoulders. He pulled it absently around himself as he stood. “You didn't know,” he said.
But I knew now. Knew that I'd been too late but had called Rebecca back anyway. Knew that she'd answered that call, as much as she was able. Knew that I was responsible for the shadow that had followed me from home, touched Kimi, and forced Allie across the river.
I walked to the river's edge and knelt to gaze at the patch of darkness on the other side. The cries gave way to gasping, troubled breaths.
“Rebecca,” I whispered, and she fell silent at my voice.
Allie was right. I couldn't leave her there. “Rebecca,” I called, louder, putting command into the word. “Rebecca!” My throat tightened around that call.
The shadow surged forward, drew back. Then it shuddered, rose up, and flew across the water, gliding toward me like a small dark bird. I opened my arms. The shadow flew into them, and I drew it close. Shadow overflowed my arms like an old blanket.
It was only a shadow. It had no weight, but it felt cold as ice. The cold didn't chill me, though, not like it had Kimi. This was my magic, I realized. I could handle it, as surely as Jared could handle his glowing stones.
Jared's stones had burned him. I remembered Karin saying that.
Still I carried the shadow to the fire. As I knelt by the flames it took shape, bits of gray resolving into misty legs that kicked at the air and misty fingers that flailed for something to grasp. Downy hair covered the shadow's head, not faerie pale now but cast in shades of gray. Dark eyes blinked up at me. The baby scrunched her face and began to cry again, even as her weight settled into my arms. Somehow I knew that no one else would feel that weight—their hands would pass right through her. This was my magic. It was my responsibility.
I rocked Rebecca in my arms. I could see right through her scrunched-up face to where my hand cradled her head. A warm breeze blew. I wrapped Rebecca in my jacket and shifted her to my shoulder. She was larger than I remembered but not by much.
“I can't heal this,” Allie said. “Caleb told me some things I couldn't heal, but I didn't understand. What do we do with her, Liza?”