“Why weren’t you in Physiology?” asks Amber.
“Doctor’s appointment,” I lie.
“We were just talking about the cops on campus,” says Wesley. “Did you see them?” He’s asking another question underneath the words: Do you know why they’re here?
I shake my head. “No. Amber, do you know what’s up?”
“No idea,” she says with a groan. “Dad’s not giving me anything.”
“The elusive Mackenzie Bishop!” calls Cash as we reach the Court. “No lunch?”
“Not hungry,” I say. Owen wanders over to the Alchemist and watches the scene unfold, and it’s all I can do to keep from looking at him.
“Missed you again in gym,” he says. “Another meeting?”
I’m about to go with “doctor’s appointment” again, but Saf cuts in.
“Gee, what kind of meeting forces you to miss gym multiple days in a row?”
“Don’t be an ass, Saf,” shoots her brother. “You were sent to Dallas, like, seven times last year.”
“It was three, jerk.”
Cash turns his attention to me. “Point is, no big deal. We’ve all been there. Eventually your parents come up with an excuse, or the school does.”
“What did they send you for?” I ask, eager to turn the attention on someone else.
“Hyperactivity,” he announces proudly.
“Perfectionism,” says Saf.
“Stress-induced anxiety,” adds Amber.
“Antisocial tendencies,” says Gavin.
All eyes go to Wesley. “Depression,” he says, twisting a straw absently around his fingers. My heart aches at the thought of Wes suffering. I imagine us in bed, imagine myself pulling him in against me, wrapping my arms around him and warding off his demons. He’s worth it, I think. And I will not—cannot—drag him into this mess.
“And you, Mackenzie?” asks Cash, drawing my attention back. “What have you done to land yourself in Dallas’s office?”
My eyes flick toward Owen. “Apparently I have a problem with authority.” I say.
“Is that why you can’t go to the dance?” asks Gavin. Owen frowns.
“Actually,” I say lightly, “I’ll be there after all.”
Wesley’s eyes light up. “Really?” he asks with a smile. It breaks my heart.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing myself to echo his happiness. “Really.”
I’m relieved as the conversation turns toward the more innocuous topics of whether Saf and Cash will put gold streaks in their hair and what color glasses Gavin will wear. I’m no longer looking at Owen or Wes, but I can’t shake the feeling that both pairs of eyes are still studying me. Wesley’s pretending to listen to something Amber says, but every time I look up, I notice him glancing my way, and Owen’s watching me like a hawk. And then Wesley’s attention starts drifting away from me toward the Alchemist, and it occurs to me for the first time that even though he can’t see Owen, he might be able to sense him. Owen seems to be realizing this, too. He stays quiet and still against the statue, his eyes narrowed in Wesley’s direction. Wes returns the gaze without seeing. They both frown.
Mercifully, the bell rings.
I practically spring to my feet. But as I turn toward class, I feel Wes come up beside me. He knocks his shoulder against mine, but instead of his usual noise I’m hit with something’s off what’s going on did I do something distant pulling back does she know how much I missed her noise couldn’t sleep before I can put space between us. I keep my ringless finger carefully out of his line of sight.
“Are you really coming tonight?” he asks as Owen appears at my other side.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” whispers Owen.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I echo, stomach twisting.
“I can’t believe the watch and the warden gave in.”
“Yeah, well”—they haven’t yet—“I can be very persuasive.”
A pair of students calls to Wes across the quad. He hesitates. “Go on,” I say. “I’ll see you tonight?”
“Can’t wait,” he says with a smile before taking off across the grass.
“What’s going to happen tonight, Owen?” I ask when we’re alone.
“Why?” he challenges. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“No,” I say before doubt can weaken the word. “As long as my friends don’t get hurt.” Before he can reach out and read the questions in my skin, I turn and walk away, telling myself I will stop this before it goes too far.
But how far am I willing to go? And how can I possibly stop it when I don’t know what it is?
Owen shadows me all afternoon. I focus on the clock instead of his pacing form, and as soon as the last bell rings, I make my way toward the door in the shed, thinking that maybe, if I can get him to follow me into the Narrows, then—
“This way,” he says, changing course when we’re halfway there. My heart sinks as I follow him toward a copse of trees, where he stops and draws a key from a hidden pocket in his sleeve. His Crew key. It takes everything I have not to lunge for it. But we are nowhere near a real door, and I now know that sending him into the void isn’t a permanent solution. I have to shelve him, and only one key is going to let me do that, so I still myself as he lifts it to a spot in the air and the teeth vanish into nothing.
No, not nothing. A shortcut. Right here, at the edge of Hyde. Another reminder that this was Owen’s campus long before it was mine.
He turns the key and offers me his hand, and I do my best to clear my mind before I let him take it and lead me through.
My shoe hits the ground on the other side, and my heart lurches when I look up and see them. Gargoyles. We are standing on the Coronado roof. I suppress a shudder. How many of my nightmares have started like this?
But if Owen sees the strange poetry of our being here again, he doesn’t mention it—only looks out over the edge of the roof and down.
“The day I died,” he says, “it was Agatha who gave the order. Alteration. I remember running, thinking for a second how strange it was to be on the other side of the chase. And then I got to the roof and knew what I had to do.” He looks back at me. “Would you do it?” he asks. “To stay whole?”
I shake my head. “No,” I say, turning toward the roof door. “But I wouldn’t go down without a fight.”
Owen follows me. “Where are we going?”
“There’s still one thing standing in our way,” I tell him.
His brow furrows. “What?”
“My mother.”
Bishop’s is busy. A flock of students from the public school take up half the seats and, judging by Mom’s frenetic pace, have been ordering a slew of things. Berk is on the patio, and Mom’s behind the counter making drinks. Owen follows me in, his steps slowing as he sees the rose pattern on the floor. He stands there, looking down at it as I head up to the counter.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, resting my elbows on the marble.
“You’re home early,” she says, and I’m kind of amazed she knows what time it is, considering how many orders she seems to be juggling.
“Yeah, it turns out the bus is a pretty efficient mode of transportation. Still dirty, but efficient.”
“Mm-hmm,” she says, clearly distracted.
“Hey, so, there’s a party at Hyde tonight, and I was wondering—”
And just like that, her head snaps up from her work. “You’re joking, right?”
“I just thought maybe I could—”
She shakes her head. “You know the answer to this—”
“I know,” I cut in, keeping my voice low, “and I wasn’t even going to bother asking, but Dallas said I should.” For how often she drops her therapist’s name, mine should carry some weight. And sure enough, Mom quiets. “I know it’s a long shot,” I say, hoping this doesn’t sound as rehearsed as it is. “It’s just…I want to feel normal. I want to feel okay, and this—the house arrest, the hovering—I know I’ve earned it, but it’s the constant reminder that I’m not. And I know I’m not. I haven’t been okay for a long time, and I know I have a long way to go before I get there, but for one night I just want to pretend I’m already there.”