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hands. He'd told me I had a choice to make. I ran up the stairs to my bedroom and pulled open my desk drawer--the book was gone. My heart hammered into my throat. I pushed things off my desk, hoping the book was in among my schoolwork. I threw the pillows and blankets off my bed. It had to be here somewhere! Then I felt ultimately stupid and grabbed my backpack. The book had been in there since I went to the library. I pulled it out, more brittle bits of pages sprinkling from the binding. I carefully turned to the last letter I'd read. Half of it was missing--disintegrated in the hostile environment of my school bag. My dad and that priest were so going to kill me. I flipped to the second to last marked letter, one I hadn't read yet. Katharine's brother had come up with the idea of the moonstones. Had he found one in time to stop himself from going after his sister? Had he bought himself enough time to find the cure? 295 Oh, Katharine, I am lost. The wolf has me in its clutches My fingers curled around the hook. I wanted to throw I smell the rage and the blood wafting from the city and I feel drawn to it. What has repulsed me in the past now whets my appetite. The wolf preys on my love for thee. It tells me to return home. I am enclosing this letter with a silver dagger. If I come to thee as a wolf, I as that Saint Moon try to kill me. I do not have the courage to dispatch myself. But Simon must not hesitate. He must thrust the dagger straight and true into the wolf's heart. It is the only way to keep thee safe. Saint Moon must protect our people from this curse. Oh, Katharine! I know I should not ask, but alas, I must. If thou hast the courage, then let it be thee who plunges the knife into my wolf's heart. For I have learned from the blind prophet that the only way to free my soul from the demon's clutches is to be killed by thee. My inner wolf seeks to destroy the one I love for reasons of self-preservation. For the only cure to free my soul is to be killed, in an act of true love, by the one who loves me most 296 And there it was--scrawled in faded brown ink across a yellowed page--the reason that, everything had changed when I told Daniel I loved him. It was the thing Daniel said he could never ask. The reason he said all those awful things the way he had--the reason he'd tried to scare me away. He'd known the truth that night under the walnut tree. My father must have told him that afternoon. It's why Daniel was so distraught. He feared that there was no cure for him because he thought no one could love him. But I think what he really feared was that I did. I was the one. And he could never ask me to kill him. 297 Chapter Twenty-Three Truth THIRTY MINUTES LATER I sat with the book open in my lap until a small brown spicier crawled across the brittle yellow pages. The spider paused for a moment and then climbed up onto the back of my hand. I didn't flinch. I didn't brush it away. Its tiny legs pricked my skin as I let it wind up my arm. The spider perched on my shoulder--only inches from my face. I scooped it up and cupped it in my hand. It would only take a slight flexing of my fist to smash it. I imagined it squished in my palm: all brown and gooey and warm. I shuddered and opened my hand a bit. The spider tried to scurry out of my grasp. I cupped it again, blocking its escape. Killing was wrong. Isn't that one of those basic 298 truths? Thou shall not kill, and all that commandment stuff. But that only pertained to people, right? I thought of Mr. MacArthur and his spaniel's spring litter. I thought of Daisy, all runty with only three legs. She'd been so tiny, so helpless. Mr. MacArthur had wanted to put her down--for her own good. That had seemed so wrong to me. But maybe he was right. Maybe she would have been better off going out that way. Better than being ripped to pieces by my next-door neighbor. By the Markham Street Monster. But then she wouldn't have been my Daisy. The spider twitched inside my hand. Wasn't it okay to kill a pest? To kill something dangerous? A beast? A monster? That was the real difference here, wasn't it? Daniel had a demon inside of him. And the only way to kill the monster was to kill him. It was the only way to save his soul. But would I be the one who went to hell instead? Would I lose myself? I shook my head. Katharine's brother wouldn't have asked his sister to do such a thing if that were the case. He wouldn't trade her soul for his. At least, I wouldn't think. I walked to the window and pushed it open with one hand. I pulled out the loose screen, climbed through the window, and crouched on the eave of the roof in the bitter night wind. The spider was restless in my hand, twitching and 299 fluttering its legs against my skin. I felt a sudden sting in the middle of my palm. My fingers flinched inward. I wanted to smash it. But then I hesitated and opened my hand and dropped the spider. I watched it scuttle across the shingles and out of my reach. A small red lump rose in the middle of my hand. The stinging was only slight compared to what I felt inside. I loved Daniel. I was probably the only person who had ever loved him so much. And that made me the only person who could save him. But what he needed me to do was impossible. I'd lived without him before, and I thought I was prepared to do it again when I told him to leave town. But how could I let him die? How could I be the one who killed him? I looked up at the almost-full moon that hung over the walnut tree. Through my blurry eyes, it seemed too bright and strangely colored--a blood-red moon. I wished on it then like I had when I was kid. I wished this responsibility could pass to someone else. I wished for another way. I wished for a world free of darkness. But I knew those wishes couldn't come true. So I wished for something different. I wished for time. 300 Chapter Twenty-four Always THURSDAY As terrible as the truth was, there was something restful about it. Like knowing the answers finally calmed my brain enough for me to sleep peacefully for the first time in weeks. I woke up to a rustling sound. I assumed it was the wind and rolled over on my blanket less bed and saw the book lying open next to me, I wondered why, if the clock said it was only 2:00 a.m., it was so fight out. I got out of bed and pulled my blinds open. The sun glinted off the walnut tree, and I realized it was afternoon. Something rested inside my windowsill--a white cardboard box, like something you'd put a present in. My name was written across the top. I picked it up and was surprised by its weight. I [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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