Page 122 of Fractured Fates

Tristan shakes his head. “No, look closer.” He reaches out his hand and I flinch away.

“Don’t,” I warn him.

“It’s like … it’s like she’s torn back a layer of your skin …”

I shake my head. That’s the other thing that reveals itself when he drops the bored act. He has a fucking poetic way with words. It left me captivated as a kid, now it pisses me off.

“What do you mean?”

I gaze down at the wound. And I see. I see what he means.

It’s like she’s torn back my skin to reveal the darkness lurking within.

34

Rhi

It’s officiallythe end of our month of punishment and our first evening of freedom. The sun is warm and low in the sky so after dinner Winnie and I lay out on our patch of grass, Pip snuffling around our feet, and let the rays fall across our faces.

“If I never see another saucepan in my life, it will be too soon,” Winnie grumbles.

“And I never understood the appeal of sports but now I can tell you I officially hate them all. And what is it about boys? Do you know how bad they smell? And the state they leave the toilets in?” I gag.

“So you’re off boys then?”

“I was never ‘on’ boys.”

“Your crush?”

“Just a stupid phase. I’m over it.”

“Hmm,” Winnie says, picking the petals off a daisy. “So you won’t be asking anyone to Founders’ Night.”

I rest up on my elbow. “What is Founders’ Night? Is it a school dance, because I’ve seen how those things play out in movies? Either you end up heartbroken by a douchebag or you’re one of the ones who’s slaughtered in the zombie massacre.”

“There have been no zombie sightings in centuries.” I gape at my friend. “Not since they banned the use of resurrection spells in the 18th century.”

“You’re kidding me? We can use our magic to resurrect the dead?”

“Yes, if you want to spark a plague of zombies and/or land yourself in the Northern Labor camps for the rest of your life.”

“I assume you’d be safe from zombies up in the North, though,” I muse.

“Anyway, Founders’ Night is nothing like that. It’s actually a lot of fun.”

“Fun like you saidPretty Womanwould be fun.”

“I love that movie, it’s one of my favorites.”

“The love interest is an asshole.”

“I thought that was your thing.”

“I haven’t decided what my thing is yet … and is it me? Or do a lot of men appear to be assholes? Even the ones who seem nice,” I say, thinking of Andrew.

Winnie sighs. “Not all of them are assholes,” she says wistfully and I know she’s thinking of Trent.

“So what’s fun about this Founders’ Night?”