But I couldn’t move. Link read my face. He knew what I was afraid of. He had stood next to me at my mom’s funeral, passing out all those white carnations for folks to put on her coffin, while my dad and I stared at the grave like we were dead, too.
“What if… what if he’s already jumped?”
“No way. I left Rid with him. She’d never let that happen.” The floor felt like it dropped out from under me.
If she used her power on you, and she told you to jump off a cliff—you’d jump.
I pushed past Link, up the stairs, and scanned the hallway. All the doors were shut, except one.
Moonlight spilled onto the perfectly stained pine floorboards.
“He’s in there,” Link said, but I already knew that.
When I entered the room, it was like going back in time. The DAR had really done their job in here.
There was a huge stone fireplace at one end, with a long wooden mantel, lined with tapered wax candles, dripping as they burned. The eyes of fallen Confederates stared back from the sepia portraits hanging on the wall, and across from the fireplace was an antique four-poster bed. But something was out of place, disrupting the authenticity. It was a smell, musky and sweet. Too sweet. A mix of danger and innocence, even though Ridley was anything but innocent.
Ridley was standing next to the open balcony doors, her blond hair twisting in the wind. The doors were thrown open, and the dusty, billowy drapes were blowing into the room, like they had been forced inside by a rush of air. Like he had already jumped.
“I found him,” Link called to Ridley, catching his breath again.
“I can see that. How’s it goin’, Short Straw?” Ridley smiled her sickly sweet smile. It made me want to simultaneously smile back and throw up.
I walked over to the doors slowly, afraid he might not be out there. But he was. Standing on the narrow ledge, on the wrong side of railing, in his flannel pajamas and bare feet. “Dad! Don’t move.”
Ducks. There were mallard ducks on his pajamas, which seemed out of place, considering he might be about to jump off of a building.
“Don’t come any closer, Ethan. Or I’ll jump.” He sounded lucid, determined, and clearer than he had in months. He almost sounded like my dad again. That’s how I knew it wasn’t really him talking, at least, not on his own. This was all Ridley, the Power of Persuasion in overdrive.
“Dad, you don’t want to do that. Let me help you.” I took a few steps toward him.
“Stop right there!” he shouted, holding his hand out in front of him to make his point.
“You don’t want his help, do you, Mitchell? You just want some peace. You just want to see Lila again.” Ridley was leaning against the wall, her lollipop poised and ready.
“Don’t you say my mother’s name, witch!”
“Rid, what are you doin’?” Link was standing in the doorway.
“Stay out of this, Shrinky Dink. You’re way out of your league here.”
I stepped in front of Ridley, putting myself between her and my dad as if my body could somehow deflect her power. “Ridley, why are you doing this? He has nothing to do with Lena or me. If you want to hurt me, hurt me. Just leave my dad out of it.”
She threw her head back and laughed, a sultry and wicked sound. “I could care less about hurting you, Short Straw. I’m just doing my job. It’s nothing personal.”
My blood ran cold.
Her job.
“You’re doing this for Sarafine.”
“Come on, Short Straw, what did you expect? You saw how my uncle treats me. The whole family thing, not really an option for me right now.”
“Rid, what are you talkin’ about? Who’s Sarafine?” Link walked toward her. She looked at him. For a second, I thought I saw something pass across Ridley’s face, just a flicker, but something real.
Something that looked almost like genuine emotion.
But Ridley shook it off, and as quickly as it came, it was gone. “I think you want to go back to the party, don’t you, Shrinky Dink? The band is warming up for the second set. Remember, we’re recording this show for your new demo. I’m going to take it around to some of the labels in New York myself,” she purred, staring intently at him. Link looked uncertain, like maybe he did want to go back to the party, but he wasn’t sure.
“Dad, listen to me. You don’t want to do this. She’s controlling you. She can influence people, it’s what she does. Mom would never want you to do this.” I watched for some sign that my words were registering, that he was listening. But there was nothing. He just stared into the darkness. You could hear the sound of bayonets clashing and the battle cries of middle-aged men in the distance.
“Mitchell, you have nothing to live for anymore. You’ve lost your wife, you can’t write anymore, and Ethan will be going to college in a few years. Why don’t you ask him about the shoebox full of college brochures under his bed? You’ll be all alone.”
“Shut up!”
Ridley turned to face me, unwrapping a cherry lollipop. “I’m sorry about this, Short Straw. I really am.