Slade’s tongues slithers across her lips. “Recruit Juniper?”
I lean toward Ophelia. “You okay?” I whisper, which has got to be the most inept question ever.
Ophelia returns from whatever refuge beckoned beyond her eyes. It’s like someone has switched on an automaton. She blinks a few times, her lips forming into a smile. “Too bad I didn’t have one of those porthole things in my cabin to see where we were going, though.” She cocks her head toward me and a conspiring hand cups the side of her mouth. “Not that I’d have any idea anyway.” Another anxious giggle. “But it was nice having some stew. I can’t remember the last time I ate something other than a ration bar. Thank you so much!”
The grin on Slade’s face stretches so wide I’m expecting her lips to tear apart. “Actually, I wanted to thank you!”
My stomach muscles clench.
Ophelia presses the tips of her fingers to her chest. “Thank me? For what?”
An invisible hand wipes away the grin on Slade’s face. “For providing a lesson on the importance of punctuality.”
The hand caressing Ophelia’s curls balls into a fist.
“Owwww!!” Ophelia’s hands reach up to grasp Slade’s, but the Imp is too strong for her. “Please, stop! You’re hurting me! Ah!”
“Am I, dear? I’ve got just the remedy to ease your pain.” Slade’s free hand digs into her tunic pocket, producing a flash of silver.
The sight of the blade glues me in place. This can’t be happening. This pathetic girl hasn’t done a thing except get lost.
Slade holds the knife directly in front of Ophelia’s horrified face, allowing her to memorize every single notch on its cutting edge. Then, dragging Ophelia by the hair, Slade dumps her at Cypress’s feet. “Will you try to prevent me from teaching this slacker a lesson, Recruit Goslin?”
Ophelia reaches out and wraps a hand around Cypress’s ankle. “Please! Don’t let her … please … help …!”
Cypress never looks at her. Instead, she just kicks Ophelia’s hand away as if she’s a pesky rat. “I will not try and help her, Sir!” Her reply is almost drowned out by Ophelia’s shrieks.
Slade smiles. “Very good, Goslin!” Then she grips Ophelia’s hair once again, yanks her to her feet, and pulls her in front of Digory. “What about you, Tycho? Are you going to try and help her?”
Digory stares straight ahead, but unlike Cypress, his face is twitching. His forehead looks slick, his eyes squeezing shut with each piercing shriek.
“I … I … ” He bows his head.
“Help … me … ” Ophelia is squealing now.
“Speak up, Tycho!” Slade hisses. “Are you going to try to stop me from meting out justice, or not?”
His looks up, taking her in.
Ophelia reaches out to him. “Please … ”
“I … I … can’t.” He turns away.
“I’ll take that as a no, Recruit.” Slade grins. “Interesting that you had no qualms about coming to Spark’s assistance.” Ignoring the bloody claw marks on her hand, Slade heaves Ophelia to Gideon’s feet.
“I won’t help her, Sir!” Gideon practically screams before Slade can even pose the question. He’s obviously trying to get this torment over with as soon as possible, not that I blame him. Except now it shifts the terrible burden onto me.
Slade hauls Ophelia right in front of me. Her feet drop out from under her, but Slade still holds her aloft by the hair. “No! Please … no!” Her legs flail, her body racked by sobs. Her eyes meet mine, pleading. “Help me. Please don’t let her kill me!”
Then it’s not her face but the guy in that alley, screaming as he was being torn apart while I did nothing. Nothing except turn away and flee.
My foot inches forward.
“Are you going to help her, Recruit Spark?” Slade bellows at the top of her lungs.
Ophelia reaches out a bloodied hand. “I know you won’t let me die. You’re not like the others. You’re good … ”
“Please. Don’t say that,” I whisper, more to myself.
Slade presses the glistening blade to the girl’s throat. “Answer, Recruit Spark! Help or not?”
My eyes trace the tears streaming down Ophelia’s face. “Don’t make me do this … ”
The point of the blade pricks the girl’s skin, drawing a drop of blood that knits like a poisoned thread across her throat.
“I beg you!” Ophelia’s voice quivers.
Spasms wrack my body. Could I be quick enough to knock the knife out of Slade’s hand before it finds its mark?
The blade digs in deeper …
“I don’t want to die,” Ophelia blubbers. “I want to see my mama … ”
And now it’s Cole’s face I see, reaching out to me, crying, begging me to save his life …
There’s only one thing I can do.
“No!” I shriek, drowning out Ophelia’s screams. “I won’t help you! I won’t help you!” I scream the words over and over again, my hands over my ears, my eyes closed, snuffing out any trace of this girl before she tempts me into sending my brother to his doom.
My throat starts to burn, and I think Slade’s blade has turned on me until I realize it’s just the strain I’ve inflicted on my vocal cords. I stop yelling, clearing my throat. Before I can stop myself, my eyes flicker open.
Just in time to see Slade’s hand slicing the blade-across Ophelia’s hair. She saws into the curls, pulling, ripping the hair away, hacking away at the girl’s scalp until there’s nothing left but ragged patches clumped unevenly around the skull. When she’s done with the last cluster, she throws Ophelia to the ground.
The girl’s cheek smacks the floor, her face buried in a cushion of her former curls that barely deadened the sound of the impact. She reaches out a blood-smeared hand, groping the deforestation of hair surrounding her. Grabbing a cluster, she examines it with her one visible eye, as if trying to make sense of why it’s no longer on her head. Then that eye turns to me. But it might as well be an index finger pointing right at me, rigid, unforgiving.
I try to look away but I can’t, held captive by the unspoken questions that Ophelia stares at me. There’s one that hammers into my brain, over and over again, as if her lips are pressed to my ear and she’s screaming it at the top of her lungs.
Why?
“Cole,” I whisper. I can’t tell if she hears me, but if she does, it’s an answer that doesn’t satisfy that unblinking eye. Stop staring at me. There was nothing I could do, I think at her desperately. My fists curl, but I still can’t break contact with that loathsome eye. All I want to do is gouge it out of its socket and grind it to pulp beneath my boot, anything to make it stop. Anything to smother the evidence of my cowardice.
I breathe in deep. I have to keep myself together. If this is how unraveled I’m feeling now, before the Trials have even begun, I can’t imagine what it’ll be like when we’re forced-when we have to choose which one of the people we love-
Slade stoops and pulls Ophelia to her feet, breaking the eye’s hold on me. She’s not as brutal as she was a few minutes ago, brushing some strands from Ophelia’s face and shoulders. Does the monster have an ounce of compassion? No. This must be just another one of her sick games, designed to keep us off balance.
“A valuable lesson has been learned here,” Slade says smoothly. She prods Ophelia toward the center of the line so she can get a better look at all of us. “Take a good look at these four faces, Recruit Juniper. Not one chose to come to your aid. During the Trials, remember that when the time comes-these four are all prepared to let you and your kin die.”
After how I fared under the scrutiny of the one eye, I know I’ll be completely defenseless against two. My gaze drops to the floor.
“And you four Recruits,” Slade continues. “Take a good look at Recruit Juniper. Remember that she could be any one of you.”