“Not like what? I’m younger than you, Lo. If you still care, you know I must. We’re the only ones left here who give a damn, who want to go back—”
“I don’t want to go back,” I say suddenly. “I mean, I do. But…”
“But what?”
“That’s not why I’m seeing him. I lied to Key.” I inhale, pause. “I’m not going to take his soul. I just…”
Molly’s eyes widen, but not with anything resembling understanding—it’s more like horror. “You love him?”
“No, that’s stupid.”
“Then you won’t mind if I make him love me,” she says, turning her head to the side.
“No!” I almost shout. “No, I don’t know if I love him. I don’t… I just like seeing him. I like talking to him. But Molly, I don’t want to go back. I’m not Naida anymore—”
“Naida. You remember your name.”
“I remember her name. She’s not me. Not anymore. I’m Lo.”
“Lo isn’t real,” Molly says, voice dangerous. “She’s just a shell. It isn’t fair for you to do this, to go to the surface, to have a boy right there for the taking and not help me.”
“It’s never fair—”
“It could be!” Molly shouts, shrieks almost. I’m sure it woke some of my sisters. I look up at the Glasgow’s railing nervously.
“He wouldn’t love you, anyway, Molly!” I answer, patience snapping. “You remember being human so well, you remember your name, but you don’t remember how love works? You can’t just make them fall for you, and even with time, they might love someone else. They might love another girl….” I drift off, realize there’s a thickness in the back of my throat that accompanies a mental picture of Celia. Celia and Jude, kissing, holding hands, walking on the shore without pain or blood…
“You’re right about that. I remember everything,” Molly whispers, hate lacing her voice. “I remember more than you. You have a boy on the shore, you have a chance to go back, and yet I’m the one who remembers what really happened the day we changed. I’m the only one who can still remember, so I’m all alone. I’m stuck down here like I’m being punished when all I did was watch my sister get torn to shreds and—” her voice grows louder until the moment she stops short, and I realize she’s crying, sobbing, even, though the rage in her eyes is still clear.
“You remember what happened?” I say softly. I look up to see one of my sisters peering over the railing; I smile and wave her off. There will be more, though. They’ll all be curious. I have to talk fast—
“Of course,” she says. “I don’t know how the rest of you could forget.”
The screaming in my head—Molly knows. As hard as I have to fight Naida at times, I still have to know what happened to her. “Tell me, Molly.”
“Ha,” Molly says darkly. “You won’t help me. Why should I help you?”
“Because then you won’t be alone.”
Molly studies me for a moment, hair floating in the current—she’s stopped braiding hers, and it’s messy and tangled. “Do you remember your sister?”
“Yes,” I say. “A little. She was older—”
“No. Your twin sister.”
I pause. “I don’t remember a twin.” Even as I say it, though, I remember something Celia said once—“It feels like there are two, but I never see the other’s face, never see any sign of her.” Maybe that’s who she saw—a twin? But what does it matter—
Molly flinches at me, like I horrify her. “You had one. She was just like you. She was just like you, and she was killed. It could have been you, it could have been me, they didn’t care. It’s just one had to die so the other could come here.” She speaks fast, angrily, bitterly, and it becomes clear her words aren’t really meant for me. They aren’t really meant for anyone. “They murdered her. They tore her to pieces like a doll. They didn’t listen when I begged and screamed—”
“Who?” I finally interrupt. Molly looks up at me like I’ve startled her.
“Your angels,” she hisses, then turns and swims away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Celia
I stay away from my sisters as much as possible. Come in late, leave early. I don’t want to talk to them. I don’t want to see them. Is this what it felt like for my mother, when she left her family behind to marry my dad? Becoming more like her isn’t quite what I expected.
They aren’t even sorry. They still see it as something that had to be done. As much as I’ve come to appreciate my power over the past few weeks, I can’t help but wish it was something more along the lines of shooting lightning from my fingertips. I know exactly who I’d strike.
I spend most of my time at Jude’s place, even when he’s away at work. The apartment he shares with his roommates is a dive. A clean dive, but a dive. The furniture is beaten, none of the plates or cups match, and bills with PAST DUE are categorized on the table—a pile for things that are serious when they say PAST DUE and a pile from companies that won’t be serious for another few months, according to Jude.
None of that bothers me—and it doesn’t seem to bother Jude, either, really. We sit on a blanket-covered couch, windows open and box fans blasting, watching DVDs of eighties cartoons. They’re funny and stupid and clever, entertaining enough that between the shows and a box of banana Popsicles we’re able to forget the blazing heat. And I’m able to sometimes forget, at least temporarily, that my sisters betrayed my trust. That I don’t know how to help Naida. That I don’t know how to banish Lo. How is it that I’m here with Jude, growing happier, while Naida can’t even leave the shore?
“You look worried,” Jude says. It startles me; I jump, then shrug.
“I’m fine. I’m just… I don’t know. I’m mad at my sisters, but I hate being mad at them. And I have this friend Naida who I’m sort of worried about. I just…”
Jude nods, drums his fingers against my shoulder—it’s getting easier and easier to stop his memories from filtering through to my mind, a fact that makes me smile despite everything. “Why are you staying mad at them, then? Why are you worrying about your friend?”