“This isn’t a sexcapade with a bayou boy.”
“Really?” Cat’s face darkened. “I could have sworn this was Lafayette and we were in the alley by the daiquiri store. How stupid do you think I am? That’s an actual question. I left my family to run away with you and some nut job you barely know. Then you, the girl I thought was my best friend, turn out to be the real nut job I barely know.”
“Cat, we have to go.”
“You act like you don’t even care about all the horrible things happening.”
“I care. That’s why I’m here.”
“But you can’t cry about it, right? You have a great excuse to pretend that nothing matters, so you don’t have to feel it. I left everything, lost everything, just like you. Guess what? I found freshwater. You’re not the only person in the world who can help.”
“Stay away from that water. It’s dangerous. It isn’t even water.”
“Don’t say anything else.” Cat stopped Eureka. “I don’t want to discover what new way you’ve found to underestimate me.”
Eureka tried to pull her friend farther from the water. “I’ll explain once we get far away from here.”
“Go home.” Cat snapped her arm free. It was the closest either of them had come to admitting that they weren’t just temporarily at odds. Their real homes were gone. Eureka had destroyed them. This place, this night, that evil ten feet up in the tree, was all they had.
“Please come with me, Cat.”
The purple light had disappeared. Eureka wondered if she’d imagined her encounter with Esme. The spring bubbled innocently.
“Girls”—the Poet raised one of the jugs—“let’s all just rock the boat, there is nothing to be afraid of. See.…”
“Don’t!” Eureka called after him. “Your reflection—”
The Poet turned to face the water. He stood at the Glimmering’s edge. He lowered the jug toward the surface—then he stopped. He shook his head like he was trying to erase the vision before him. He dropped the jug.
Ten feet away and holding Cat back, Eureka couldn’t see what the Poet saw in his reflection. He cried out something in his native tongue. His legs wobbled unsteadily. He reached into his cargo pockets and withdrew a can of spray paint.
“What’s he doing?” Cat said.
Eureka held her tighter as the Poet sprayed a cloud of black paint above the Glimmering. He wanted to paint over what he saw, to change the canvas. But he couldn’t. And he couldn’t turn away. His cloud-lit profile revealed a boy in agony, but strangely, the Poet’s hands reached forward, grasping for something ahead of him.
Esme’s words returned to Eureka: Mortals can face many things, but they cannot face their true identities. She glanced back at the pine tree, at the still shadow she knew was watching.
“He’ll fall in,” Cat said.
“No matter what happens,” Eureka said to Cat, “promise you’ll stay away from that water.”
The Poet reached for his reflection in the pond, entranced. Then he tumbled into the water without a splash.
“Poet!” Cat shouted, dragging Eureka a few steps toward the water.
Eureka shivered as water spooled around the place where the boy had fallen. His arm shot out, straining toward the sky, still clutching the can of black spray paint.
“He’s messing with us,” Cat said, relieved. “Isn’t he?”
When the can fell from the Poet’s fingers, Eureka saw that the water was viscous, almost tar-like.
“Don’t go down there, Cat.”
“He needs help—” Cat said, but she didn’t move.
“The witch warned me. That water is enchanted. Its reflection is lethal. It shows the darkest parts of people.”