pasted together from an old lady’s dreams. Ugly—hideous—floral wallpaper is curling off the walls, mimicking the shape of the faded green vines. There are flowers sewn—embroidered—onto the pillows and samplers. The curtains are yellowed white lace, pooling onto the dusty rose-shaped carpet. A part of me wants to laugh at how ridiculous it is, but the bigger part wants to find Lucas.
I pass through the kitchen, carefully picking my way through the sticky black-and-white checkerboard of tiles, the shards of broken pink plates and glasses all brushed to the side under the lower cabinets. Somewhere a clock is ticking, keeping track of how many seconds I’m wasting.
There’s a bundle of blankets on the floor between the white sheet draped over the couch and the ancient TV set, and it’s so still, I look right past it at first. It shifts ever so slightly, like it’s being ruffled by a soft breeze from the nearby window. The room is dark, the whole house is, and it makes me feel like a shadow as I slip around the furniture and say, “Lucas?”
It would be wrong to say that his face is set in a blank expression—it’s not set at all, but soft, almost waxy, like it’s waiting for the right hands to carve a smile there. He is so still, it makes my insides bob up and down in my chest. Next to him is a bottle of water and a plate with a sandwich, both untouched. He’s wrapped the blankets around himself so many times, I don’t even know how to begin untangling him from them.
“Luc?”
His gaze is fixed on the floor, near the glow of a lantern flashlight. My brother doesn’t even look up as my feet pound across the floor and carpets. “Lucas?”
He must not recognize me—he’s probably so tired after everything he went through, and he just doesn’t—
“It’s me,” I manage to choke out, dropping to my knees in front of him. “Lucas…Luc, it’s Mia. It’s me.”
Nothing. A swift, jagged claw seems to cut me, neck to toes. He won’t look up, it’s like he doesn’t hear or see me, but that can’t be right. That can’t be. I’m right in front of him. It’s been years, and he needs to know that this is real.
“It’s me, Mia,” I say again, the words high, brittle. Don’t cry, you can’t cry. “Do you remember me?”
I think I hear Sam say my name, high and sharp, like she’s trying to slice through the air. But I’m already reaching toward him.
There are so many stories, you know, sweet little tales about princes and princesses who are turned to living stone, cast into eternal sleep. They breathe, they live, but their eyes never open. Until someone comes and breaks the curse.
Some stupid part of me thinks I’ve done it when his head jerks up the moment before I touch him. I don’t stop to think about the way his eyes harden as they fix on my face, like he’s taking aim.
I just hug him.
And I pay for it.
“Mia!”
Lucas throws me off him, knocking me back with the full force of his weight. The breath explodes out of me as sharp pain rips up my tailbone. He’s struggling to get his arms free from under the blankets—to, oh my God, hit me again? To hurt me worse than this? I scramble back. “Lucas! Lucas, stop!”
Sam limps over, coming to stand between us just as Lucas climbs up onto his knees and I catch the first hint of smoke coating the air.
“Stop!” she snaps. “M27, sit down!”
He fixes that same look of hatred on her, and I see her hands shake in the instant before she presses them flat against her baggy jeans. And apparently it is possible to hate her more than I do, because he listens. She treats him like he’s a dog, an animal, and he listens, settling back into his previous position.
Sam’s voice is thick as she says. “You didn’t eat. I told you to eat! Do you understand? Eat that. Drink that!”
“Shut up!” I yell. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! He’s not your pet! Don’t talk to him that way!”
“Mia—listen—”
I can’t. I won’t. Lucas has picked up his food and is eating it slowly, mechanically, just as she asked. I back up and even though Mia knows it’s a rotten thing to do, the monster shoves Sam with every ounce of strength in her, knowing it’ll be harder for her to get up and follow me with her