“I don’t trust you and you’re wrong. We aren’t too different.”
“Mortals. I envy you. You think you can change things. Stop the universe. Undo what was done long before you came along. You are such beautiful creatures.” He was talking to me, but it didn’t feel like he was talking about me anymore. “I apologize for the intrusion. I’ll leave you to your sleep.”
“Just stay out of my room, Mr. Ravenwood. And out of my head.”
He turned toward the door, which surprised me. I expected him to leave the way he had arrived.
“One more thing. Does Lena know what you are?”
He smiled. “Of course. We have no secrets between us.”
I didn’t smile back. There were more than a few secrets between them, even if this wasn’t one of them, and both Macon and I knew it.
He turned away from me with a swirl of his overcoat, and was gone.
Just like that.
2.05
The Battle of Honey Hill
The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache. I did not, as so often happens in stories, think that the whole thing had never happened. I did not believe that Macon Ravenwood appearing and disappearing in my bedroom the night before had been a dream. Every morning for months after my mom’s accident, I had woken up believing it had all been a bad dream. I would never make that mistake again.
This time around, I knew if it seemed like everything had changed, it was because it had. If it seemed like things were getting weirder and weirder, it was because they were. If it seemed like Lena and I were running out of time, it was because we were.
Six days and counting. Things didn’t look good for us. That was all there was to say. So of course, we didn’t say it. At school, we did what we always did. We held hands in the hallway. We kissed by the back lockers until our lips ached and I felt close to being electrocuted. We stayed in our bubble, enjoyed what we tried to pretend were our ordinary lives, or what little we had left of them. And we talked, all day long, through every minute of every class, even the ones we didn’t have together.
Lena told me about Barbados, where the water and the sky met in a thin blue line until you couldn’t tell which was which, while I was supposed to be making a clay rope bowl in ceramics.
Lena told me about her Gramma, who let her drink 7-Up using red licorice as a straw, while we wrote our in-class Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde essays in English, and Savannah Snow smacked her gum.
Lena told me about Macon, who, despite everything, had been there for every birthday, wherever she’d been, since she could remember.
That night, after staying up for hour after hour with The Book of Moons, we watched the sun rise—even though she was at Ravenwood, and I was at home.
Ethan?
I’m here.
I’m scared.
I know. You should try to get some sleep, L.
I don’t want to waste time sleeping.
Me neither.
But we both knew that wasn’t it. Neither one of us felt much like dreaming.
“THE NYGHT OF THE CLAYMYNG BEING THE NYGHT OF GREATESTE WEAKNESSE, WHENNE THE
DARKENESSE WITHINNE ENJOINS THE DARKENESSE WITHOUTE & THE PERSONNE OF POWERE OPENNES
TO THE GREATE DARKNESSE, SO STRIPPED OF PROTECTIONS, BINDINGS & CASTS OF SHIELDE & IMMUNITIE. DEATH, AT THE HOURE OF CLAYMING, IS MOST FINALE & ETERNALLE…”
Lena shut the Book. “I can’t read any more of this.”
“No kidding. No wonder your uncle is so worried all the time.”
“It’s not enough that I could turn into some kind of evil demon. I could also suffer eternal death. Add that to the list under impending doom.”
“Got it. Demon. Death. Doom.”
We were in the garden at Greenbrier again. Lena handed me the Book and flopped on her back, staring up at the sky. I hoped she was playing with the clouds instead of thinking about how little we had figured out during these afternoons with the Book. But I didn’t ask her to help me as I paged through it, wearing Amma’s old garden gloves that were way too small.
There were thousands of pages in The Book of Moons, and some pages contained more than one Cast.
There was no rhyme or reason to the way it was organized, at least none that I could see. The Table of Contents had turned out to be some kind of hoax that only loosely corresponded to some of what could actually be found inside. I turned the pages, hoping I would stumble across something. But most of the pages just looked like gibberish. I stared at the words I couldn’t understand.
I DDARGANFOD YR HYN SYDD AR GOLL
DATODWCH Y CWLWM, TROELLWCH A THROWCH EF
BWRIWCH Y RHWYMYN HWN
FEL Y CAF GANFOD
YR HYN RWY’N DYHEU AMDANO
YR HYN RWY’N EI GEISIO.
Something jumped out at me, a word I recognized from a quote tacked on the wall of my parents’
study: “Pete et invenies.” Seek and you shall find. “Invenies.” Find.
UT INVENIAS QUOD ABEST
EXPEDI NODUM, TORQUE ET CONVOLVE
ELICE HOC VINCULUM
UT INVENIAM
QUOD DESIDERO
QUOD PETO.