Authors: Brenna Yovanoff
The Replacement (36 page)
In the mirror, my reflection looked white and exhausted, half dead, but my eyes were brown instead of black, and half dead was still more than barely alive.
Emma was waiting in the hall when I opened the door. Her shirt was streaked with dirt and the dark plummy smears of my blood. For a second, we just stood in the upstairs hallway, looking at each other. Her face was exhausted.
"What did she say to you?" she asked, draping my arm around her shoulders so that I was hugging her.
I pulled her against my chest and thought about what my mom had said, this thing that was so mysterious and so rare. "That she was glad I came back. She hadn't thought I'd come back."
"What she meant is that she loves you."
"I know."
Emma smiled. "I do too. But you knew that."
That made me smile too and I squeezed her so hard she yelped. "Always, crazy. Always."
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ONE OF US
M
onday was as normal as it could be under the circumstances. Which is to say, pretty normal. The innate ability of Gentry was to let things go right back to the way they'd been.
onday was as normal as it could be under the circumstances. Which is to say, pretty normal. The innate ability of Gentry was to let things go right back to the way they'd been.
In the cafeteria, people were more subdued than usual, and Alice had the same raw look that Tate had had the day of Natalie's funeral. People didn't avoid Alice the way they'd avoided Tate, but her usual circle of friends wasn't so friendly. I got the feeling that it was mostly by choice. She and Stephanie clung to each other, like they could close the gap Jenna had left. Everyone else was outside it.
Jenna's funeral had been on Saturday. I hadn't gone, but for once, the idea didn't make me feel lonely or outside of things. I would go to the cemetery some time and stand in the unconsecrated corner and look at her grave because she was someone I'd known. She was part of the town and so was I.
As I watched, Tate came shoving her way toward me through the lunch crowd. It was cold out but sunny, and the light from the windows played on her face. It lit up her hair in a way that no one else could see, but that didn't matter because I could see it, and I liked it.
"What are you looking at?" Roswell said, turning to follow my gaze.
The lights were buzzing and the sound didn't really bother me. It was just the sound of the school, the sound I heard when I was knocking around out in the world.
I smiled and could feel myself going red. "Tate."
Roswell nodded, looking very serious. "Well, as far as forgiving you goes, saving her sister's got to help, but you'll probably have to spend some time together if you actually want to date her."
When Tate reached us, I took hold of her hand and she let me, looking stern and ferocious, like she was trying not to smile.
After school, she walked me home. I'd never been very comfortable inviting people over, and it was kind of novel to ask her if she wanted to come in. She let me take her jacket, and then we started up the stairs to my room.
"Keep your door open," said Emma, leaning out of the family room. She was giving Janice lessons in seed germination, which seemed a little misguided, considering that the House of Mayhem had no natural light.
I hadn't heard anything from the Morrigan, but Janice had been over every day, just like always, and I was tempted to admit that maybe she and Emma truly were friends, no strings attached.
I raised my eyebrows at Emma. "Are you serious?"
She smiled. "No. But I'm channeling Dad, and if he finds out you took a girl upstairs unchaperoned, he'll flip."
Tate followed me up to my room. She looked around at the scattered homework assignments and the clothes. "You're way messier than I thought you'd be."
My bass was on the floor in its open case. I'd been playing all weekend, trying to capture the sound of my thoughts, the things I'd felt when I lay in the crypt, cold and dazed and smiling. Sometimes I even got close, but after my show with Rasputin, it seemed weird to play alone. I still liked the feeling of the strings under my fingers, the deep tones easing out of my headphones, but the bass was only one sound, and the stories would be better with a band.
I shrugged and went over to the bed. "There's a whole array of skills I do not have, bedroom organization being one of them."
"At least you're not a time-waster," Tate said, raising her eyebrows and folding her arms over her chest. "Straight for the bed. Is this your way of saying I owe you a make-out session?"
I shook my head, leaning across the bed and pushing the window up.
After a second, Tate followed me out onto the roof. "I would have anyway. But not because I owe you."
We sat on the roof, looking out at the street, and I put my arm around her. "How is it, having Natalie back?"
Tate laughed, shaking her head. Then she stopped and took a deep breath. "It's wonderful, and it's scary. I never realized it, but I kind of got used to not having her. She changed, even in just a couple months."
I nodded, reminded eerily of my mother and of all the ways that life underground could change someone.
"It'll be okay," I told Tate, not because I thought Natalie would ever go back to exactly the same person she'd been before, but because whatever happened now, at least she would be herself.
Tate leaned over and kissed me. "You did good," she said. "I mean, I thought you were totally going to screw it up or else not even try."
"Because I was such a dick about it?"
She sighed and rested her head on my shoulder. "I just figured you'd do whatever it took not to get involved. I mean, it's what people do."
"I
did
try not to get involved."
did
try not to get involved."
"Maybe, but you came through in the end. When it counted."
There was a whole sprawling world underneath us, filled with ugly, vicious, beautiful people. The line between the two places was thin, hardly a separation, and both ran on pain and blood and fear and death and joy and music.
But for now, the sunset was enough.
I reached for Tate, feeling for the warmth of her hand, and linked my fingers through hers. The only thing that mattered was the weight of her head on my shoulder.
Our lives were limitless and unknowable, not perfect, but ours. This was life in Gentry.
This is just what we do.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There are a lot of people who made this book possible, and even more who made it better. I owe particular thanks to:
My agent, Sarah Davies, for her invaluable feedback and her unwavering conviction that what I'd written was, in fact, a story.
My editor, Lexa, who understood my book, then showed me how to fix it.
Ben Schrank and the Razorbill team, for making a mysterious process less mystifying.
My Merry Sisters, Tessa Gratton and Maggie Stiefvater--Tess keeps me honest and Maggie keeps me from rusting.
Gia for surprise candy-delivery. Also, driving me around when I was sleep-deprived, thereby keeping the roads much, much safer.
Little Sister Yovanoff for taking excellent pictures and writing down all the parts where she was confused.
My husband David, who believed unfailingly--even on days when I didn't.
And Syl, who has always been willing to read everything I write, and then tell me exactly what she thinks.
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