But not because Millie seems more intent on getting to her destination than making sure her sole pupil, and maybe the only other spellseeker still alive, is along for the trip. I can’t help but notice that the distance between us is growing. Where people keep stepping in front of me and Laurie, slowing us even more, the crowd adjusts itself to accommodate Millie’s determined stride.
Part of me doesn’t blame her for not caring if I get left behind now. I haven’t exactly been a model student. Instead of letting the people who could help me get close, I’ve been pushing them out. As much as I’ve justified my choices and rogue spellseeking as necessities, as part of trying to solve the puzzle that is Stephen’s curse, I know that’s a lie too. Just another excuse to avoid the thing more frightening than magic or curses: trusting someone else. Loving someone else. Needing someone else.
The lies we tell ourselves are the worst ones.
The mass of bodies inhabiting Central Park West’s sidewalk has become a gridlock. Everywhere around me people are stopping, gawking across the street. Phones come out of pockets to shoot out a rapid fire of texts or take videos. Alarm throws an electric charge into the air, so palpable I can almost see it. I wonder if it means we’re all cursed now.
“Keep your eye on Millie,” I tell Laurie. “Don’t lose sight of her.”
Trusting that he’s heard me, I lift to my tiptoes, peering over the crowd—and I don’t blame them for staring.
I must tense up, because Laurie gives my hand a gentle tug.
“Still watching the target, I swear,” he says. “But what’s wrong?”
“They’re closing the park.” I’m watching squad cars line up, lights flashing. The NYPD is setting up barricades, cutting off all traffic—including pedestrian—into Central Park. The iron-clad hoofbeats of police mounts clatter on the pavement as more officers arrive, blocking the paths of any observers whose curiosity brings them too close.
Laurie is guiding me forward. My ears are open, my chest cramping as I hear the rising tide of panic in the voices of the other watchers.
“The whole park? No. That can’t be right. Seriously? The whole thing?”
“Six people? I heard twenty!”
“Please, not another attack. Not another.”
“Damn right they should shut her down. Can’t let the bastards get out of there. Probably hiding in the woods.”
“Bioterrorism? Oh my God. Should we get out of the city?”
“Is it over? Did they get everyone out?”
A much closer voice pulls me from the din. “Thank God.”
“Thank God for what?” I ask Laurie, who’s pulling me sharply left.
“Millie turned,” he answers. “I couldn’t handle that sidewalk a second longer.”
I don’t know if he means the tangle of bodies that impede our progress or the infectious terror that’s infusing the crowd. My stomach is a hornet’s nest, alive and stinging me.
Me and Stephen. Me and Stephen.
Since I met him, even before I learned he was the invisible, cursed boy, this summer had been about us. Nothing else. We two. As if we existed outside of the rest of the world. Exceptional. Enviable for the space we’d been given to discover each other.
When Mr. Swinton explained the cause of the curse and Millie explained curses to me, I’d been drawn back into the world—albeit a somewhat altered one. But deep down all that happened still meant one plus one equals us. Other details remained peripheral.
Maxwell Arbus has in the space of hours relocated the periphery to center stage. And he’s bringing Manhattan—and once the news hits the national wires, likely the whole country—along for the ride. He doesn’t mind tormenting strangers to advance his petty agenda. Maybe terrorist is a fitting label.
Laurie is thinking about it too. “He’s crazy. Shutting down Central Park. Who does that?”
“The bad guy,” I mutter.
Free of the still-growing mob on Central Park West, Laurie drops my hand as we break into a run. I follow his gaze and see Millie waiting to cross Columbus again.
The light changes and Millie hurries into the street. Laurie and I sprint to make the light.
We get to the other side of Columbus with only one taxi blaring its horn at us, and I call it a win. Millie walks just a few yards ahead now. She pauses to look up at a blue awning. Her shoulders rise and fall, as though she’s taken a deep breath. Then she returns and enters the blue-awninged business.
“It’s a coffee shop,” Laurie tells me when we reach the door.
“I can read,” I snap, but don’t object when he flicks my forehead in punishment. He hasn’t earned my irritation, so I say, “Sorry.”
“Forgiven.”
I lead the way into the café. It’s a space that even the best real estate agent would have a hard time selling as cozy, since it’s crammed with four tables that barely afford walking space to the counter. It doesn’t help that one of the tables is occupied by a giant man whose bulk spills onto two dainty chairs. Millie is standing beside Saul, who sits staring straight ahead. His large hands are wrapped around a white mug, filled to the brim with black coffee.
“Approach with caution,” Laurie murmurs from behind me.
“Duly noted,” I answer.
When I get closer, I notice there isn’t steam rising from Saul’s cup. I wonder if he’s been here the whole time. Sitting. Waiting. For what?
Millie’s voice rattles at Saul. “You don’t know that he’ll come here. Stop being such a mule about it.”
Rather than answer her, Saul looks at my brother. “So that’s how you got out.”
Millie glances at us, pursing her lips and giving me a short nod.
“It was wrong of you to trap us, Saul.” Millie returns her attention to him, speaking as though she’s scolding a toddler. “You should apologize to me and to Elizabeth.”
“I know my business,” Saul tells her. “It’s going to happen here. And here’s the last place you should be.”
“Why are we here, anyway?” I ask Millie.
“This establishment was my office and my home.” Millie takes a seat, her back straight with pride as she speaks. “Before Arbus found me here and drove me underground. The hexatorium once showed its face to the public.”