I broke into a cold sweat approaching it. I needed to be certain my pin hit its mark, not too low in the liver or too high in the crop. No suffering, only instant death. I’d studied anatomy charts. I’d examined the downy white bird this morning, mustering a clinical indifference that made me cruel. Necessary so the initiates drove their pins into a corpse.
The flutter of the dove’s tiny heart thrummed under my fingertips. It knew. Goldilocks likely hadn’t been given an instant, painless death. Not a skewer through the heart. You won’t suffer. I set the pin’s point in the spot between its ribs.
Graham whispered, barely moving his lips, “It’ll be over soon.” Whether it was meant for me or the dove, I didn’t know. I applied pressure, steadily slid the needle in, and felt the last throb of the bird’s fragile body.
“I pledge my blood, secrets, and rites to the Mistress of Rebellion and Secrets. Seven Hills will be judged by her.” A cry swelled in my throat; I choked it down.
The hat pin stayed piercing the dove’s heart, a compass to those following. I felt for the flask tucked inside Graham’s vest and brushed past the others. The wind beat the trees, and I tried to hear only the creaking branches. Let them all break apart. Let all of Seven Hills hear the wind’s reckoning. Their oaths rose above the wind, spiraling into the sky, threatening menace.
I drank steadily.
Out of the corner of my eye there were blood-striped hands. With each delivered pin, another initiate descended on the crate of cider. The first sip freed them of guilt, enchanted the rock, welcomed them to dance, sing, and howl as if it were all a play.
Viv and Amanda channeled Lady Macbeth.
“Out damned spot,” Viv crowed.
“Who would have thought the bird had so much blood in him,” Amanda answered with a depraved giggle.
I turned my back to the sacrifice. To the green goblin bottles working their magic. To the last oath given.
“Hey,” Harry whispered. His eyes were careful on mine.
I offered him the flask. “It tastes like lighter fluid.”
Harry smiled crookedly. “That’s okay.”
We stood in silence. My limbs seemed to be melting away, along with the sensation of the dove’s heartbeat in my fingers. I took another sip.
Graham came between us with his arms slung around our shoulders. “Why aren’t you two celebrating?” He took the flask from my hand and drank, his arm tightening around me. He hissed with an open mouth. “Stepdad Number Three had crap taste in libations.”
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the stars turning as neon as the stickers in my closet.
“We have six more to help us,” Graham murmured into my ear. “The bird had to be done. It convinced them we’re serious.”
Graham’s head was bent watching me, Harry’s at a sharper angle beyond his. They looked slightly scared and I thought it was because they were waiting to hear if we’d crossed a line killing the bird.
Maybe, I thought—optimistic drunk that I was—we hadn’t crossed the line but kicked it so it stayed out in front of us. It still existed. A limit. A threshold for escalating mischief.
I took the flask back, raised it, and said, “For Goldilocks.”
23
The following morning Harry and I buried the dove in a grave under an apple tree. The fabric of my dress was a stiff shell from spilled cider, smoke of the bonfire, and sleeping on the barn floor. I navigated over the irregularities of the orchard with tenuous steps, searching for just the right spot.
I withdrew each hat pin from the bird’s breast. Harry made a strange sound over my shoulder. I thought he was trying to keep from crying, but when I looked, his eyes sparked with anger.
Shovel braced on his shoulders, arms hooked over it, Harry walked in front of me on the way back to the barn. I had trouble finding words. We had our army. At a cost. I took comfort in sketching the next rebellion in my mind.
Viv knocked on my front door at midday. Cheery sun splashed on the porch, a lip gloss smile behind her chai, its twin with my name in barista’s scrawl. Her scarlet rain boots shrieked in the foyer and up the stairs.
In my bedroom, “Graham thinks it’s going to rain” was the first thing out of her mouth. “It’ll rain and everything we’re planning—the blood, the fire, will be ruined.”
She practically smelled of sunshine. “He’s paranoid,” I said. She chewed a lock of hair, unconvinced. “Vivy, the universe wouldn’t let it rain this week of all weeks. The universe wants us to have our rebellions.”
Her gray eyes cleared and she nodded adamantly. “Yeah. The Order of IV needs it to be dry. The Mistress of Rebellion and Secrets won’t let it rain.”
She threw herself onto my bed, piling the lavender throw pillows under her back. I removed the lid to my chai and took a big gulp. “Yum. So. How’s revenge going?” She furrowed her brows at me. “On Amanda. I can help, if you want.”
Her top lip twitched. “I haven’t decided on the how or when yet.”
“Ideas?”
She tipped her head, meaning anything.
“We could bribe someone in yearbook to delete her name under senior portraits. Oh.” I hopped up from the desk and sat on the bed. “We could get them to change her senior quote. Make it a really stupid one.”
A jaded smile. “Haunting. I’m sure Amanda will need years of therapy after that.”
“The whole initiates thing, us bossing them around, making them our pawns, isn’t that sort of like revenge?”
Viv’s smile spasmed. “That’s ordinary comeuppance for her being a brat—that’s Amanda’s whole group’s punishment.”
“You sound like Graham,” I said, meaning it lightly.
She crossed her arms at her chest, one hand toying with her hair as she frowned. “I sound like me. If I were Graham, you’d be going along with everything I said.”
Taken aback, I abandoned my chai on the bedside table. “I understand why you’re angry with Amanda.”
“Not angry, Izzie.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Hate. I hate Amanda Schultz.” She stomped a boot. “I’m used to it. You and Graham. Brain twins. Partners in adventure and crime. You act like I wasn’t always your audience. You guys had your wild adventures and I was the one who carried bandages in her pockets for when you got hurt. Or a water bottle because we’d randomly have to disappear into the hills. Do you know I always had a granola bar in my purse in case you made me miss dinner—what eleven-year-old thinks that far ahead?
“All those stupid stunts. You never, ever told Graham they weren’t good ideas.” She was rigid, her knees reddening to match her boots. “But I can tell that you don’t really think I should go after Amanda. I see you,” she said emphatically. “I know you like Harry. I know part of you likes Graham. I know that finding Goldilocks messed you up. I know you look through pictures of missing girls. I know you have a sketch pad in your desk full of drawings of her. I know you think I’m a drama queen. But don’t you know that I’m that way because I’ve been competing with you and Graham? I want to take up as much space as you two do. I want you to notice me as much as you notice each other.”
Viv’s chest heaved. Her words upended what I thought of myself as a friend. How hadn’t I shown Viv what she meant to me? I stepped up on the mattress.