“O’Malley! It’s Em! Look at me!”
He turns his head, terror wrinkling his face. He sees me, recognizes me, then starts looking everywhere—up, left, right, down toward his feet. He cranes his head back, trying to see behind him.
“Em…are we in the Observatory?”
On the platform, one of the pedestals starts to glow.
“Pre-imprinting preparations complete,” Smith says. “We’re ready. Bring in Kevin.”
I’m confused for a moment—Kevin O’Malley is right next to me—then with a chest-ripping blast of horror I understand.
And so does he.
“No,” he says. “Don’t do this!”
Past our feet, I see Coyotl helping a masked Grownup walk toward the black X, a Grownup so old and withered he can barely move.
“Is it time?” the old one says. “Is it finally my time?”
The voice sounds ancient, like it’s made of dust and worm-eaten wood. And yet, I recognize it, instantly.
It is the voice of Kevin O’Malley.
In the coffin next to me, my friend starts to scream.
Behind the clear mask, Old O’Malley’s red eyes appear cloudy, unfocused.
Matilda pets my hair.
“Just watch, little one,” she says. “Your turn is coming soon.”
I shake my head, over and over. “Please, don’t kill him.”
O’Malley pulls at his restraints. His eyes blaze with animal panic. He grunts desperately, throws himself left and right.
Matilda is standing between my coffin and his. She turns, raises the red cane, snaps it down on his stomach. His back arches so suddenly and severely I wonder if his spine might snap. His throat grinds out a guh-guh-guh-guh sound that makes me scream in helpless rage.
She lifts the rod.
“You will not hurt your body, not now,” she says to him. “Struggle again, you get the rod again.”
Coyotl mostly drags Old O’Malley to the black X. Old Bishop comes over to help. Together, they raise the shriveled Grownup’s arms, lock the shackles around his wrists, then restrain his ankles.
Bishop removes Old O’Malley’s mask. Those disgusting folds of wet flesh—they either cover the Grownup’s mouth, or they are the mouth. Sickening to look at.
Coyotl slides the black crown onto the withered creature’s head. Rheumy red eyes stare out with a combination of confusion and excitement. The old monster starts to cough.
“Hard to breathe…I need my mask.”
Coyotl gives him a hard pat on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Kev…in a few minutes, the mask won’t matter.”
The old one’s red eyes seem to go clear for a moment. He stares at my O’Malley.
“By the gods,” the old thing says. “It’s…it’s me.”
The young and the ancient lock eyes.
A low growl starts in my O’Malley’s throat, builds to a scream as he starts to thrash against his restraints.
Matilda lowers the rod.
My O’Malley again goes rigid. He shudders and bucks, tries to beg her to stop but his mouth won’t form words.
“You horrible BITCH,” I roar. “Stop it or I’ll kill you!”
Matilda turns to me, smacks the rod down on my thigh. The charge sets my body ablaze. I try not to scream—I fail.
She lifts the rod.
“No cursing,” she says. “Children should know the rules.”
Old O’Malley is half giggling, half coughing.
“My shell is so strong,” he says. “So much vigor!”
Everything grows blurry as tears fill my eyes.
“Please, Matilda!” I’ll beg, I’ll plead, I’ll sacrifice myself, whatever it takes. “Let him go and I swear I’ll let you do it to me.”
My O’Malley’s head turns fast to face me, his features contorted with both fear and anger. “Em, no! Don’t promise them anything!”
Even now, with blood on his lips from where he bit through them, his cheeks streaked with tears, he is beautiful. How could I not have told this boy that I loved him? I am desperate for him to live, even if that means my own death.
I tear my eyes away from him, force myself to look at her.
“Matilda, please.” My voice is weak, subservient. “I swear, I’ll do whatever you want. I won’t fight.”
She pats my head, makes that tsk-tsk sound with her unseen mouth.
“Oh, my dear, you can fight all you like—it won’t make any difference.”
“Preparations complete,” Old Smith calls out. “Ometeotl?”
“Ready for instructions, Doctor,” the room answers.
“Perform transference power-up and preflight checks.”
The entire room hums, a long droning sound that makes my hair stand on end.
Coyotl walks over to my O’Malley. The overwritten circle-star leans close, the expression of gleeful hate something I would have never thought could exist on his face.
“This is going to hurt,” Coyotl says. His words ring with a sick joy. “So much.”
My O’Malley can’t fight anymore. He has nothing left. All he can do is cry.
“Em, please,” he says in a whisper. “Help me.”
Sobs rack my body. I can’t do anything—I am powerless. Leader, empress, monster, friend, enemy…when it matters most, I am none of those things.
I am nothing.