the middle of a giant illusion. The fact that it feels real is enough for me right now.
We don’t talk as we make our way up the beach to the slowly rolling waves.
“If you want your mind and body back, my darling—” She stops to stare out over the vast ocean for what feels like an eternity before turning to face me, her eyes swirling that eerie electric green again. “It’s going to require sacrifice. Probably more than you’re willing to give.”
I swallow. “What does that mean exactly?”
But she pats my hand and simply says, “That’s something for you to learn another day. For now, why don’t you take a moment and feel the water?”
I look down and realize we’re near where the ocean should be kissing my toes if I were to move just a few more inches to the side.
“But it’s not real,” I tell her. “There’s nothing there.”
“‘Real’ is in the eye of the beholder,” she answers. “Feel the water.”
“How are you doing this?” I gasp as I let the water run through my fingers. The feel of it gets me in the gut, even though I try not to let it. But how can I not when it reminds me of all the times I was there with my parents or Heather?
“A good illusion covers all the bases,” she tells me. “A great illusion makes it impossible to tell where reality leaves off and deception begins.”
She waves her hand, and just like that, we’re in the middle of the desert, sand where there was only ocean before.
I swallow my instinctive protest, my urge to beg her to bring the water back. To bring my home back. And instead plunge my hand into the sand right in front of me.
I come away with a handful of it, just as I knew I would, and when I let it leak through my fist back onto the ground, some of it sticks on the wetness of my fingers so that I have to brush it off against my ski pants.
“I don’t understand what’s happening here.”
“Because you don’t believe what you see,” she snaps.
“But I can’t believe it. It’s not real.”
“It’s as real as you want it to be, Grace.” Another wave of her hand and a sandstorm kicks up, hard and fast. Grains of sand whip against my face, fill my nose and my mouth until I can barely breathe.
“Enough,” I manage to wheeze out between coughs.
“Is it enough?” the Bloodletter asks in a voice as cold as the Alaskan wilderness she has made her home. “Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
No, I don’t. Not even a little bit. But I’m afraid if I tell her that, I’m going to end up buried under a thousand pounds of sand, so I just nod.
But I do try to focus, not just on what she’s saying but on the deeper meaning of what she wants me to understand.
Her gaze holds mine, her green eyes urging me to think beyond my simple understanding of the world. To recognize that some things have to be believed to be understood instead of the other way around.
It’s a leap of faith, one I’m not sure I’m comfortable making after everything that’s already happened. But what other choice do I have? I can believe or I can get swept away—not just by the sand she is continuing to blow my way but by Hudson’s dark and overwhelming will.
I swallow, knowing there really is no other option for me. And so I close my eyes, lower my defenses just a little, and let her words swirl in my mind, settle in my bones, become my reality.
The moment I do, the illusion of this world fades into something that feels even more right. Something that feels like coming home.
Suddenly, there’s another voice in my head, and it’s not the one I’m used to, the one that warns me of bad things to come. No, this voice is low and sardonic. It’s also familiar—really familiar.
“Well, it’s about time.”
“Oh shit.” My stomach bottoms out. “Did you hear him?” I demand of the Bloodletter. “Tell me you heard him.”
“It’s okay, Grace,” she answers. And if she says any more, I don’t know because—just like that—the world around me goes completely black.
33
It’s Hard to Pick
My Battles When
My Battles Keep
Picking Me
Something isn’t right.
It’s the first thought I have as I slowly open my eyes. My head hurts and my stomach is roiling like I’m going to throw up. I