“It’s true . . . ask any—”
“You think you’re so sly,” Spencer sneered as he stalked toward me. “But I can smell my bastard son all over you. Katia won’t stand for it. You know what must be done.”
I felt the ribbon stir against my neck and a familiar dark feeling took over. I didn’t even try to suppress it this time, I used it. I charged him, slamming him up against the wall. “If you tell anyone . . . or if you lay a finger on Dane, God help you.” The ribbon slithered free of the bow to coil around his neck. As it cinched tighter and tighter, power surged in my bloodstream like a drug. And I didn’t want to stop it. I wanted to kill him.
Spencer grunted, bubbles of saliva speckling the corners of his mouth as he fumbled for something in his breast pocket. A flash of steel. He lashed out at me, swiping the blade across my throat—the sharp pain stunned me. I staggered back. The black silk ribbon went slack as the rage poured out of me along with my life.
38
FERVOR
GRASPING AT MY THROAT, I clawed for air, but it was slit wide open.
Blind with terror, I heard Spencer moving around me, digging through my mother’s belongings.
Reaching out for anything to grab hold of—my hand grazed Spencer’s pant leg, but my hands were too slick with blood, my body too weak to hang on.
As I lay there dying, a tingling warmth spread throughout my body. My skin began to pulse, but it wasn’t my skin, it was something deeper than that. I felt raw energy rising inside of me like a powerful wave gaining strength. I wasn’t sure if it was real or if I was having an out-of-body experience, so when my lungs filled with air, I reached for my throat, feeling smooth wet skin. Exhaling a ragged breath, I got to my feet, strong and very much alive.
Spencer’s eyes went wide as he pressed himself against the wall. He was holding something behind his back. “How? It’s not possible . . . it can’t be . . . it’s you . . .”
“Ash?” Rhys called from the top of the stairs.
As Spencer took off running down the hall, I bolted into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Panicked, I stripped off Brennon’s blood-soaked shirt and pumped water into the tub.
I couldn’t let my brother see me like this.
Rhys banged on the door.
“I’ll be right out,” I said, getting into the tub.
“Ash, are you okay? What happened down here? There’s blood everywhere.”
“It’s nothing.” I said, frantically soaking the shirt and using it to scrub away the evidence on my body. I wanted to scrub it all away—the symbols, Katia’s touch, her scent, Marie’s heartache, Teresa’s haunting words. And what did Spencer mean when he said, “It’s you”?
Feeling dizzy, I crouched down, clutching the sides of the white cast-iron tub. I stuck my head under the water, feeling it beat down against my back, trailing into my eyes, my nose, and my mouth, then lifted my chin to the ceiling, heaving for air.
“Ash, you need to open this door, now.”
“Just a minute.” I clamored out of the tub to face the full-length mirror.
I ran my hands over my throat. My heart thrummed like a sick bird in my hollow chest. He’d severed my jugular. I’d felt myself bleeding out, but there was nothing there. It wasn’t just my throat that was left unmarred—there were no marks or blemishes on my entire body. Even the birthmark under my right arm had vanished. Every bit of me . . . erased.
I racked my brain for answers, but none of this made sense. And then it occurred to me—what if none of this was really happening—what if it was all in my head? Or a vision?
I held my head in my hands, pressing my skull as if I could squeeze out the craziness, but it only seemed to make things worse. I threw on a pair of shorts and a blouse that were hanging from the drying rack. I glanced at myself in the mirror, my hair wild, my eyes pinned with shock—I looked just like Marie on the night she died.
I burst out of the bathroom, nearly knocking my brother off his feet. “I need to be alone,” I said as I ran up the stairs and out the front door.
Longing for fresh air, I took in a deep breath, but the smell of burning hair and flesh filled my lungs. I couldn’t help thinking maybe Henry was the lucky one.
As promised, Dane was waiting for me at the edge of the corn.
“Thank God you’re here,” I said as I ran into his arms. But as soon as my feet hit the soil, I felt the memories rising up inside of me. I felt myself falling. I didn’t have the strength to fight anymore. I dove into the sickness with an almost religious fervor, letting the memories infect every cell in my body.
It felt as if everything were leading me to this moment.
The wave overtook me in one fell swoop . . . and I was gone.
39
BLUE