Lucas is on the ground, groaning. Everything but his feet is tangled in thorns. My stomach rolls at his pained cries. I did that. But he’s still alive, and she can’t get to him in there.
Ms. Brighton snags one of his boots, and I shove her with everything I’ve got. “Leave him alone!” She recoils, and I kick at his boots, tears streaming. “Pull your feet in! Pull them in!” I yell at Lucas.
Ms. Brighton turns on me. Chills steamroll my insides. It’s my turn now.
“I waited for the one who led you away, darling,” she says, knife raised, her eyes darting so that I’m not sure what she’s aiming for—me or Lucas? “You will be safe from him now.”
She lunges for the thorns, stabs at his leg. I don’t know who screams louder, me or him.
I plow into her with everything I’ve got. She flies backward, and I go down hard on my knees. The rain is sending rivers of mud down the ground beneath me. Ms. Brighton struggles to her feet, but her knife has spun backward. Closer to the cliff.
Ms. Brighton rushes for it. “Let go of your desire for this boy! He is what ruined you!”
My desire for this boy?
Oh God. She thinks he’s guilty because I kissed him? My desire did this. I followed my heart, and it might kill him.
No. Ms. Brighton might kill him.
She has the knife. She’s on the edge of the cliff and rising like the sea.
I run at her like a crazy person. If I keep her away from Lucas, there is a chance. Someone might come. With the flares and the emergency call, someone will come.
Ms. Brighton tries to push past me, but I snag a fistful of her hair and haul her back. We both stumble. I slam into the side wall, and she scrabbles backward. Closer to the cliff.
Everything is slick. I slide down onto one hip, but she skitters back, trying to hold her footing, searching for something to grab. She’s dangerously close to the edge.
Please. Please.
For one second, one breathless instant, I think she’ll go over. Then her good hand catches a tree. Her eyes meet mine, and I can already see the smile spreading on her lips. She’s found an opening in the thorns.
I scramble up, elbows and butt and feet, and nothing works right. I am cold and wet and shaking so badly. She’s four feet away from him. Lifting the knife—
“Help me!” I cry to her, stretching out my hand. Pleading with my eyes. This plan is as crazy as my last, just a random impulse to keep her away. To keep Lucas safe.
I make sure she can see me because my face is my only weapon—the face that reminds her of her long-dead sister and me of my absent mother. Right now, I hope I look like them both. I plead with my eyes and soften my mouth and hope.
She turns to me, so I twist onto my side, clutching a hip that doesn’t hurt at all. “I can’t get up. My leg. It won’t move.”
“Hannah?” Her voice warbles, part cold and part madness.
“Sera!” Lucas twists, and I can hear the thornbushes crack. “Run!”
I’m not going to run. Not this time.
She takes a step toward me, and I swing my foot around fast, swiping her legs. I fling myself to a crouch. She goes down hard, but she scrambles right back up. She’s not quite to her feet when I launch myself into her.
If I can trap Lucas in the thorns, I can trap her too.
Ms. Brighton dodges the worst of my blow. She spins to avoid the briars, and Lucas is shouting again as I lurch to my feet. This time, when she lifts her knife, she’s not aiming for Lucas. She’s coming for me. Lucas is shouting, but it’s his words from earlier that float through my overloaded mind.
Some hits go bad.
Yeah, they do. Ms. Brighton stabs, and I duck, feeling the flash of sharp metal nick my ear before I lower my head and plow into her stomach. We both slam into the ground, and half her body is sprawled over mine.
I struggle underneath her, squirm and wrestle to get away from her heavy body. I manage to push my head and arms free, and the rain feels warm on my arms.
And then I see the crimson line rushing over my wrist. It isn’t rain. It’s blood.
I writhe like a fish on the bank of a creek, flopping and gasping until I kick myself free of Ms. Brighton’s body. I don’t know where she got me. There’s no pain. I can’t see the knife. I search my arms, my face—find nothing.
Heart still pounding insanely, my hands go still on my back, and my gaze turns to Ms. Brighton. My body is still ready for a fight, but it’s over.
Ms. Brighton is curling in on herself, twitching quietly on the ground. It’s her blood. I can see the handle of her knife from where she landed all wrong. Where her plan fell to pieces.
There is one instant where her face clears, where the insanity recedes and I see my teacher, with her recycling campaigns and indie music and her terrible ghost stories. And then it’s gone. And so is she.
Chapter 34
My insides churn as I stare at her body. The forest is the same. Leaves shiver, dirt settles, and the world keeps turning.
I close my eyes and feel my heart slow even as my stomach rolls. A mourning dove coos softly. Sadly. Rain drips. My hand burns. Nothing is different, and nothing is the same either.