Victoria Schwab

“Let them think you a demon or a god,” she said. “Let them fear you. It does not matter.”“It matters a great deal to me,” he snapped.”

“He guided her back against a hedge, and kissed her breathless. The wind sang through the garden, tangling in her dress and his cloak, whipping around them both as his hands, more smoke than skin, wrapped around her waist and her hands, flesh and bone, wrapped around his back and––”

“And the boy whose temper seemed tethered to the air itself…they didn’t know what to make of him.”

“It was a hard thing, to vanish, especially when the people parted for him. Most of them didn’t stare. No, in fact, they did the opposite of staring, averting their eyes and granting him too wide a berth for such a crowded place. It only drew more attention. Still, Will did his best to enjoy the apple and the blue-sky day and the fresh air as he made his way to the steps of the Great House.”

“Everything seems different at night. Defined. Beyond the window, the world is full of shadows, all pressed together in harsh relief, somehow sharper than they ever were in daylight.Sounds seem sharper,too, at night. A whistle. A crack. A child's whisper.”

“I want the things most people don’t notice. The ring and the key and the way you have of wearing everything on the inside.”

“We’re a team, Mac,” he says. “We’ll get through this.” “Which part?” I ask. He smiles. “All of it.” And I smile back, because I want him to be right.”

“But once you know, you can’t go back. Not really. You can carve out someone’s memories, but they won’t be who they were before. They’ll just be full of holes. Given the choice, I’d rather learn to live with what I know.”

“Agatha has a dangerous ease about her. She’s the kind of person you want to like you.”

“I will set you free,” he says just before he buries the knife in my chest, and I wake up.”

“There’s an empty shelf here with your name and dates?” “There is. And it was beginning to sound nice. But then I got called in to this meeting. An induction ceremony. Some crazy old man and his granddaughter.” He stands, guides me up beside him. “And I don’t regret it. Now, go home.”

“The Archive makes us monsters. And then it breaks the ones who get too strong, and buries the ones who know too much.”

“What a mess. Truths are messy and lies are messy, and I don’t care what Da said, it’s impossible to cut a person into pielike pieces, neat and tidy.”

“And that’s when I realize how tired I am, of lies and omissions and half-truths. I put Wes in danger, but he’s still here—and if he’s willing to brave this chaos with me, then he deserves to know what I know. And I’m about to speak, about to tell him that, tell him everything, when he brings his hand to the back of my neck, pulls me forward, and kisses me. The noise floods in. I don’t push back, don’t block it out, and for one moment, all I can think is that he tastes like summer rain. His lips linger on mine, urgent and warm. Lasting.”

“Scary, how easy it is to forget bad things.”

“What do schools do that for?” he grumbles. “What’s the point of summer if they give you homework?” “Exactly!”

“I am blotting out pieces of my life. I am blotting out everything but this. But him. I exhale as he brushes against me, my body beginning to uncurl, to loosen at his fingertips. I am letting him wash over me, drown every part of me that I don’t need in order to kiss or to listen or to smile or to want. This is what I want. This is my drug. The pain, both skin-deep and deeper, is finally gone. Everything is gone but the quiet. And the quiet is wonderful.”

“Things only hurt more when you can see them.”

“We make a good team, Mackenzie Bishop.” “We do.” We do, and that is the thing that tempers the heat beneath my skin, checks the flutter of girlish nerves. This is Wesley. My friend. My partner. Maybe one day my Crew. The fear of losing that keeps me in check.”

“I watch him fight back a smile and lose. What comes through isn’t smug, or even crooked. It’s proud. And I can’t help it. I smile a little too.”

“Aunt Joan broke her hip a few years back. Don’t get me wrong, she’s still pretty damn fierce. Lightning fast with her cane, in fact. I’ve got the scars to prove it.”

“But if you weren’t a Keeper…if you lost someone and you thought they were gone forever, and then you learned you could get them back, you’d be there with the rest of them, clawing at the walls to get through.”

“Why did you take this job?” I ask. “It doesn’t make sense. You’re so young—” “It was an honor to be promoted,” she says, but the words have a hollow ring. I can see her drawing back into herself, into her role. “Who did you lose?” I ask. Carmen flashes a smile that is at once dazzling and sad. “I’m a Librarian, Miss Bishop. I’ve lost everyone.”

“If you mean a few little things—the exact sound of his voice, the shade of his hair, then okay, yeah. You’re going to forget. But Ben isn’t those things, you know? He’s your brother. He’s made up of every moment in his life. You’ll never forget all of that.”

“There is a mirror across from me, and I check my reflection in it before heading home. Despite the bone-deep fatigue and the growing fear and frustration, I look…fine. Da always said he’d teach me to play cards. Said I’d take the bank, the way things never reach my eyes. There should be something—a tell, a crease between my eyes, or a tightness in my jaw. I’m too good at this. Behind my reflection I see the painting of the sea, slanting as if the waves crashing on the rocks have hit with enough force to tip the picture. I turn and straighten it. The frame makes a faint rattling sound when I do. Everything in this place seems to be falling apart.”

“I am a horrible hollow kind of tired; all I want is quiet and rest.”

“As nice as his touch was, it’s not what lingers with me while I work. It’s his words. Two words I tried to shut out, but they cling to me. What if echoes in my head as I hunt. What if haunts me through the Narrows. What if follows me home.”

“It wouldn’t bring her back.” “I know. Trust me, I do. And I would have done far worse,” he says, “if I’d thought there was a way to bring Regina back. I would have traded places. I would have sold souls. I would have torn this world apart. I would have done anything, broken any rule, just to bring her back.”

“A death is traumatic. Vivid enough to mark any surface, to burn in like light on photo paper.”

“More of a cookie person, myself. No offense to the other baked goods. I just like cookies.”

“You, Mackenzie Bishop,” he says as we hit the landing, “have been a very bad girl.” “How so?” He rounds the banister at the base of the staircase. “You involved me in a lie! Don’t think I didn’t catch it.”

“I just want to know if you’re okay,” he says, so soft I barely hear it through the static. I’m not, not at all; but his worry gives me the strength I need to lie. To pull back and smile and tell him I’m fine.”

“My heart sinks. I guess I should be glad he doesn’t care, but I’m not. He’s supposed to care. Mom cares so much, it’s smothering; but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to do this, to check out. And suddenly I need him to care. I need him to give me something so I know he’s still here, still Dad.”

“Four years of service, and the Archive is still so full of secrets—some big, like altering; some small, like this. The more of them I learn, the more I realize how little I know, and the more I wonder about the things I have been told. The rules I have been taught.”

“You know,” he says, “for someone who doesn’t like touching people, you keep finding ways to put your hands on me.”

“A confession: I am not a good friend. Lyndsey writes letters, Lyndsey makes calls. Lyndsey makes plans. Everything I do is in reaction to everything she does, and I’m terrified of the day she decides not to pick up the phone, not to take the first step. I’m terrified of the day Lyndsey outgrows my secrets, my ways. Outgrows me.”

“It takes at least three assassination attempts to scare me off. And even then, if there are baked goods involved, I might come back.”

“He manages a sad smile. “An omission is not the same thing as a lie, Miss Bishop. It’s a manipulation.”

“Everything about Wesley Ayers is messy. My three worlds are kept apart by walls and doors and locks, and yet here he is, tracking the Archive into my life like mud. I know what Da would say, I know, I know, I know. But the strange new overlap is scary and messy and welcome. I can be careful.”

“It’s a shame they do that,” he says, thumbing through the pages. “Requirement ruins even the best of books.”

“I’ve been thinking.” “A dangerous pursuit.” “Indeed.”

“Home. The word still tastes like sandpaper in my mouth. But it makes Mom smile—a tired, true smile—so it’s worth it.”

“Her eyes register the darkness beyond the windows, then travel back to the neglected groceries. Something in her sags. And for a moment, I see her. Not the watts-too-bright, smile-till-it-hurts her, but the real one. The mother who lost her little boy.”

“Lisa folds her hands. “The world tests us for reasons, Miss Bishop,” she says sweetly. “Don’t you want to be Crew?” I hate that line. I hate it because it is the Librarians’ way of saying deal with it.”

“And then I get why Wes can’t stop smiling, even though it looks silly with his eyeliner and jet-black hair and hard jaw and scars. I am not alone. The words dance in my mind and in his eyes and against our rings and our keys, and now I smile too.”

“I am still frozen when he reaches out and brushes a finger over the three lines etched into the surface of my ring, then twists one of his own rings to reveal a cleaner but identical set of lines. The Archive’s insignia. When I don’t react—because no fluid lie came to me and now it’s too late—he closes the gap between us, close enough that I can almost hear the bass again, radiating off his skin. His thumb hooks under the cord around my throat and guides my key out from under my shirt. It glints in the twilight. Then he fetches the key from around his own neck. “There,” he says cheerfully. “Now we’re on the same page.”

“Lying is easy. But it’s lonely.”

“I want to be oblivious to the hurt written on her face. I want to be selfish and young and normal. M would be that way. She would need space to grieve. She would rebel because her parents were simply uncool, not because one was wearing a horrifying happy mask and the other was a living ghost. She’d be distant because she was preoccupied with boys or school, not because she’s tired from hunting down the Histories of the dead, or distracted by her new hotel-turned-apartment, where the walls are filled with crimes.”

“I do want it. I want you to stay. Time and disease are taking you from me. You’ve told me, made it clear, this is the only way I can keep you close. I will not lose that.”

“I pull the key from around my neck and slip it into the hole beneath my brother’s card. It doesn’t turn. It never turns. But I never stop trying.”