Chapter 35—Buried
She was always making that stupid face.
Part bewildered, part horrified; her mouth wide open in a silent, ugly scream. That stupid face. She was looking at me like I was fucking crazy.
Maybe I am.
Who am I kidding? Deranged, demented, unhinged, batty, mad as a hatter...call it what you want, but yup, I am nutty as a fucking fruitcake and I know it .
She had looked at me like that the first time I'd hit her. I'd just woken up on the cold tiled floor of the Merryweather Cube, and she thought it would be a good idea to lean over me. Sweet girl, but Ava's always been lacking some brain cells.
She'd been prodding me, her swollen mouth saying things, but seeing as I wasn't fully awake yet, it had all just sounded like nonsense; words blurring and bleeding together like ice cream melting down a cone. When I'd finally opened my eyes, the first thing I saw were hers—green as my mother's jade earrings around the pupil, washing out into grey along the edges.
And then I noticed the bruises, and quickly put two and two together.
Well, at least that's what I thought I was doing. Could anyone have really blamed me? Last thing I remembered was getting the piss beaten out of me in a London parking lot at 1am by someone whose face I couldn't recall. Next thing I know, I'm waking up on my back with someone equally as fucked up leaning over me. I hadn't remembered fighting back that well, but shit, for a brief moment, I believed that I had.
Ergo my first reaction—my arm, formerly splayed out beside me and limp like a strand of plain cooked spaghetti—I swung it upwards, my hand already curled into a fist. I wasn't even aiming, but I still managed to make contact with her face. Ava had yelped like a stray dog that had been kicked, and flew backwards, scurrying away quickly. Even in my half-awake stupor, my pride had grown: Aw yes, first I had beaten the crap out of my kidnapper out in the parking lot, and now I was kicking her ass again.
Truthfully, all 4-feet-11-inches of me felt like a total badass.
That was before I sat up, and I'll never forget the look on the boy's face behind the other side of the glass. His square jaw was hard and he was looking at me like I was...
Like I was crazy.
Ava was crouched in the corner of the glass cube, holding the side of her face where I'd hit her, a thin trickle of blood escaping from her bottom lip. And her face was doing it, too—the silent scream, the look of outrage, of disgust, like I was a cockroach that had been hit with a flame thrower and still refused to die.
'What the fuck?' she'd gasped, and spit out an impressive blood clot on the stark white floor.
I'd told her I didn't know I had hit her that hard. She countered by saying I hadn't, she had just been beaten up the day before and I'd lolloped her right where she'd had a tooth knocked out.
I remember my first reaction being quickly running my tongue over all of my teeth and making sure they were still there. Now that I think about it, I never actually apologized to Ava, or to the boy on the other side of the glass, who I'd come to know as Callaghan. I'd punched the girl and then immediately became concerned about my own pearly whites.
Sigh. I guess I had always been a selfish bitch.
Ironic though, wasn't it? We were the first three in and the last three out.
AHEM. Correction: the last three remaining. I had my freedoms, but I wouldn't quite call myself 'out' just yet, and Callaghan...well, that was a whole other story. Ava was the only special snowflake who got 'out'.
As for me and Cal? Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.
I remember Ava's face from that night so clearly, even though she'd been crouched by the door and surrounded by thick smoke. The mist had passed her face for only a second, but in that moment of clarity, she'd been looking right at me as I was dragged away from her. She'd made that stupid fucking horrified face. And then she looked contemplative. Like she was weighing her options.
Bitch.
I hadn't known if we'd ever see each other again.
Yet here we are, together once more. Peanut butter and jelly, whipped cream and sprinkles, the mac to my cheese.
Ha! Sike. Ava and me, we'd always been more like...oil and water. Maybe it was my fault; maybe socking her right in her toothless jaw had set some kind of precedent for our relationship. Either way, we weren't friends, never had been, and never would be, even in some alternate dimension.
I'd last seen her nine months ago on Christmas night, and then again two months ago enjoying island life. Both times she'd stared at me like that, and she was staring at me like that again now.
Every damn time I saw the girl. She was always making that stupid fucking face.
There's no saving me.
It's over.
Although this time, I guess I don't blame her. Slitting someone's throat before your very eyes would push anyone to make that face.
As soon as I feel the hot blood gushing over my wrist, my arm holding the lifeless body in a chokehold, Ava starts screaming. She's absolutely hysterical. She's unraveling.
She's going to need therapy, this girl.
I'm suddenly disinterested in the whole affair. I could practically feel my eyes glazing over as I stare past Ava, my gaze transfixed on the brick wall of the alley way behind her. I drop the body and it falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
This is how I know I'm completely bonkers. Who slits someone's throat and then just loses interest? Shrug. Me, I guess. I find myself just letting my feet do the work for me; I walk off, away from the chaos, off to find something else to play with.
There's a sudden rush of intense heat behind me, followed by more shrieking.
I'm brought back to my last track meet before I graduated high school. It was something like this. Intense heat beating down on my shoulders, people screaming. But that's because it was June and the crowd was cheering for me. Not because I'd just murdered someone and now there were flames streaming out of people's hands.
It's a crazy world out here, I tell ya.
Who wants pizza?
Twenty minutes earlier
What was it that was giving Ava the desire to climb down and meet Fox that night? It certainly wasn't hate. Hate would have made things so much easier.
"You know, if you were moving any slower, I think you'd be moving backwards," Fox drawled from the ground below. Ava could hear her tapping her fingernails on the metal bin lid.
"Shut...up!" Ava hissed back over her shoulder. Fox chortled in response; sounding lightheartedly amused as though she was watching a small dog do tricks.
The wind whipped Ava's long blonde hair around her face, tickling her chin and neck. She furiously scrunched up her features, trying to satisfy the itch without her hands. Her toes strained and cramped as she teetered on the minuscule ledges of brick that jutted out from the building in an alternating pattern. Her arms were stretched out to the right, desperately grasping on to the gutter beside her. They shook from the effort.
If this was about hate, Ava could have dashed away from the window and charged out of the flat and down the stairs; through the shop and down the side alley to face her. Or she may have even recklessly swung out the window; haphazardly gripping on the outside sill before dropping from the third story—a sprained ankle here, a broken wrist there, what would it have mattered if it meant finally facing the girl she hated?
But she didn't. She couldn't.
Yes, hate would have made things so much easier.
But did Ava truly hate Fox? No, not really. She hated who Fox had turned into, she hated the way Fox made her feel, and she hated what Fox reminded her of—Callaghan's fallen, crumpled form, blue overhead sirens shrieking, pleading not to be left behind while her shoes squealed against the tile as she was dragged away...Ava wasn't sure if she would ever shake the feeling that attacked her gut every time she thought about it all, but even Ava knew guilt wasn't to be confused with hate.
"You didn't even have the decency to throw on a pair of socks before coming down?" Fox called up as Ava lowered a shaking foot down to the next brick ledge. "Rude. What do I look like, some kind of savage? Maybe I should leave! No shoes, no service, babe!"
It was true; the silt of the bricks grinding against Ava's bare feet wasn't exactly preferable, but she'd made the call in fear of losing her nerve—if she'd turned away from the window and went to pull on some shoes, she would have given herself time to consider how stupid all of this was. Climbing down the side of the building...well, it was the epitome of an asinine 'now or never' moment.
"I thought my corns could use some grinding down, actually," Ava growled in response, lowering down to another brick and sliding her hands down the gutter.
Fox snickered. "So you're still making jokes, huh?"
"That's right."
"Hey spider monkey, now that I think of it, why didn't you tell your boy toy I was here? You know, the one I gave the one-sided haircut to?"
Fred. Ava, white-knuckled on the gutter, leaned the smallest fraction of an inch away from the wall. It was just enough to tilt her head up and peer at the bedroom windows of the flat.
There was no sign of any disturbance inside—the windows remained still and dark.
"Because," Ava said through gritted teeth, frustrated as her left foot fruitlessly swung beneath her, failing to find another brick to step on. "I come down here like you want, and you leave him alone. You leave them all alone. That's the deal."
Fox whistled. "I don't remember making that deal. I mean, let's be fucking honest, my brain is scrambled eggs so I don't remember a lot of shit, but I don't think I ever said that. Plus, I don't wanna leave him alone! Don't be such a selfish bitch, Ava. Didn't anyone ever teach you to share your toys?"
Ava had heard just about enough—Fox could continue acting as batshit crazy as she'd like, but it was clear she was only carrying on at this point for pure irritation. And it was working—Ava was ridden with anxiety (as though scaling down the side of a building wasn't enough) that any moment now, one of the twins would hear Fox's chattering and throw open the window.
After all, she was trying to protect Fred...not get him a spinning dagger stuck between the eyes.
With a slow, wary glance over her shoulder, Ava looked down at the ground below and instantly felt a smidge of relief—she had made more progress than she thought she had. Her foot hadn't been missing anything, in fact, the alternating jutted-out brick pattern that she was using to climb started about six or seven feet off the ground. She could easily make the jump.
"You can do it!" Fox cheered obnoxiously, moving forward to stand beneath Ava. "Come on, I'll catch you!"
Ava stared at her skeptically for only a second before Fox couldn't contain herself; she burst out laughing.
"Just kidding. No I fucking won't." She turned on her heel and retreated back into the thin side alley, sighing and leaning her shoulder against the white brick.
That was the remainder of the motivation Ava needed. She couldn't keep hanging here, showing such apprehension and cowardice while Fox stood below her jeering, practically munching on popcorn.
She bent her knees in her cramped stance as best she could, and pushed backwards off the wall, attempting a mid-air turn so she could land facing forward. It was incredibly clumsy, but it worked; Ava's bare feet slammed down on the cold cobblestone—off balance, but landed nonetheless.
A sudden wave of intense vertigo passed over her; it felt as though the ground beneath her was tilting and sliding her backwards. Ava nearly lost her footing, squeezing her eyes shut and teetering around with her arms outstretched like a blind man until her hands made contact with the wall. She steadied herself against it until the sensation passed; her stomach churning, bile rising in her throat.
Fox snorted. "Someone's out of shape. You're total weak sauce!"
With her balance returning and the nausea fluttering away, Ava took a shaky step away from the wall, bearing down to lean her palms on her knees and catch her breath.
"I would've thought you'd be more fit, thinking of all the cardiovascular activity you do while running away from everything. I mean, you've still got the body of an eight year old boy. What are they calling it nowadays, The Two-Faced Bitch Fitness Plan?"
With a final deep exhale, Ava finally straightened up, wiping her hand across her mouth, and eyeing Fox like she was some kind of bizarre creature in a zoo.
"You're crazy, Fox," she whispered, shaking her head. As soon as she said it, a pang of instant regret flitted about in her chest; it was common sense to never call an actual crazy person 'crazy'.
Surprisingly enough, Fox limited her reaction; only biting her lip while grinning in apparent glee. "Baby," she said softly, and leaned forward, resting her hands on the rubbish bin. "You just scaled a building to come meet a person who threw a knife at you eight weeks ago." She chuckled. "I may be crazy, but you...you're something special." As her hands left the bin while she straightened back up, something on her wrist flashed in the street torch's light—the glass face of a rather large wristwatch.
"What's that for?" Ava asked suspiciously, nodding at the watch. She'd never seen Fox wear it before.
"To tell time," Fox said shortly. She suddenly busied herself with moving the rubbish bins to the side, against the wall of the side alley. "Now get your ass over here."
With a last glance over her shoulder at the dark upstairs windows of the flat, Ava cautiously went forward, her stare trained on Fox the whole time. She was really regretting not bringing a weapon of some sort with her as her gaze drifted to the various daggers Fox had strapped to herself.
"So when did you become an assassin?" Ava asked coolly. "Don't try and tell me you were secretly some kind of ninja the entire time we were locked up together."
Fox burst out laughing. "Ninja? Is it because I'm Asian?"
"You know what I meant," Ava replied. "I saw you fight once, if you could call it fighting. You jumped on that soldier's back and got your little ass kicked. So what's with all of...this?" She gestured to Fox's getup: her black cargo pants, black fingerless leather gloves, a harness around her chest and belly holding rows of tiny knives, and thigh straps on each leg holding larger ones. "Are you heading to culinary school or was this a job perk?"
Fox's almond shaped eyes narrowed further. "You probably shouldn't be such a smartass to someone with a knife. Were you absent that day in school?"
"I'm serious, Fox," Ava said. "You wanted to talk, let's talk. What happened to you?"
Fox paused, staring at her for a few seconds before she spoke. "If I tell you...you have to promise to be a good girl."
Ava had to consciously stop herself from grimacing; the infantilizing way Fox was speaking to her made her skin crawl. But she wasn't sure how sound of mind Fox was at the moment. She couldn't begin to fathom what being a 'good girl' amounted to in Fox's book, but she had a funny feeling her psyche was beyond the realm of questioning at the moment.
Ava humored her. "Fine."
Fox's face relaxed slightly. It was then that Ava noticed her pupils were unevenly dilated again, like they were on the island, but not as severe this time.
"Once you skidaddled, it was time for Plan B," she started, her voice soft but dangerous. "After that night, Merryweather didn't stand a chance. The guards...they were always pricks, but they weren't as hard as they'd like everyone to think. Gridgeon tried his damnedest and a half to remain in control, but what's a dictator without followers?" Fox let out a single bark of laughter. "Wrestling us around, pulling our hair, watching us all get ourselves killed one by one...it entertained them. But that night...when one of their own got killed...fantastic shooting, by the way...and then how they shot Cal? Watched him crumple and listened to me scream for mercy?" She shook her head slowly, her uneven pupils dead-set on Ava's. "I can't even tell you the amount of times I heard the guards talk about revolting. The phrase 'I didn't sign up for this' got tossed around more than 'hello'."
Ava was immediately brought back to the night in the Treehouse's top level when they first spoke to Dakota.
'I did not sign up for this shit...I don't even know what the hell to call it anymore.'
And then there was the change in location and the rumors of rioting. Ava had seen it for herself: the abandoned, ruined compound with the massive MW sculpture crashed to the floor and the bottom floors caved in...
"There was an uprising, wasn't there?" Ava whispered. "Merryweather...it's crumbled, hasn't it?"
It was suddenly all starting to make so much sense. At the moment, their attacks had seemed so brutal, so organized, but in hindsight, they were completely ragtag...if Merryweather had truly been as powerful as it had originally started as, why not eliminate the Order from the beginning, one big bang and call it over? But they'd never done anything of the sort, never even come close...the attack on the shop had been Gridgeon and an aimless, uneven number of soldiers without a plan. And the assault on the island bungalows, exploding one by one just to herd them out and chase them around...now that Ava thought about it, it seemed so...unofficial. Disjointed. Like it was some kind of game.
Fox nodded once. "On paper...Project Merryweather is over."
"And not on paper?"
"Gridgeon's having too much fun to stop. Now that he's had his taste of what it's like to have powers, to not be a Squib, why should he give that up? Our government filed the paperwork, the compound is shut down...it's out of their hands now. As far as the United States sees it, Gridgeon and the mess they left behind is no longer their problem. And Gridgeon's really enjoying that mess, you see. Like letting a toddler splash around in the mud. Why do you think he didn't have much trouble scraping up the remainder of the team and continuing their bloody work? And by bloody, I mean that literally."
"If Merryweather's truly done, that's what I'm having a hard time believing," Ava admitted. "If their mission was disbanded, why stick with Gridgeon, of all people? He's not powerful, he's not a leader—"
"You don't need me to even tell you this. Come on, dumbass, think. Why do you think some of the soldiers stuck with him, even after their mission was over and they were summoned back home? People would really have to believe in HIS mission in order to follow him. He'd have to give them some really good motivation to join his team. To make them feel it was worth it. Think!"
They remained in complete silence for another moment before something clicked inside Ava's head. She blinked and shook her head.
"They're...Squibs. And families of Squibs, and Half-Bloods...it's all of them, that were targeted in the war before."
Fox grinned, strongly reminding Ava of the Cheshire Cat. "And Bingo was his name-o," she whispered. "Are you surprised it was so easy for him? The Department of the Unnatural knew exactly how to play the game. I bet you've asked yourself a thousand times—why here? Why not conduct their research back in the land of the free, the home of the brave?" Her grin widened. "They knew exactly who to recruit for their little science experiment. After the war, there were a lot of pissed off magic folk around here. Tired of being bullied and having their loved ones killed because they weren't magical enough. Well just imagine their delight when they received an invitation to join an-" she paused to hold up her fingers and curl them into quotations "-'elite faction dedicated to both magical and scientific research, committed to make the gift of magic equal and unlocked to all'." Fox threw her head back to laugh. "I've seen the original invitation letter, that's how The Department of the Unnatural rounded up all the pathetic lost souls to recruit them into Merryweather. Isn't that the richest bullshit you ever did hear?"
"So, on Christmas, when we...when I left," Ava amended quickly as Fox's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, "The revolt began...the official Merryweather was officially shut down...and then..."
"It transformed," Fox whispered in an overly dreamy voice, crossing her wrists and interlocking her thumbs to turn her conjoined hands into a fluttering puppet. "Like a beautiful, magnificent butterfly. Merryweather, The Sequel. Directed by Gridgeon Zonko. Starring angry magic-less half-breeds, with a supporting cast of American college students locked in glass cages."
"I'm getting the idea you know what we were there for in the first place," Ava said quietly. "We knew we had to be guinea pigs for something, we just thought it was for United States FBI or CIA or whatever to learn how to invade minds and find a space to practice. But you know something, don't you?"
"They were never trying to give themselves powers, darling," Fox drawled, batting her eyelashes. "They were trying to give them to us. Trying to see if they could. Generous, right?"
"Do you know why?" Ava pressed. "Why us, I mean. You can't tell me we were randomly picked, we all had too much in common. All Americans, all college students around the same age—"
"All with very interesting family allegiances," Fox interjected, her mouth twitching absurdly. She pressed her lips together; she was fiercely holding back from bursting out with a gleeful secret and not doing a very subtle job.
Ava furrowed her eyebrows. "What?"
"Your father was in the Marine Corps, wasn't he? Did you know mine was in the Air Force? And Cal, both of his parents were in the Army. Met in basic Training, as a matter of fact."
"Fox, what does this have to do with anything?" Ava asked impatiently.
But Fox continued determinedly. It was apparent that now she had started her roll, she had no intention of stopping. "I'm going to ask you a question. I'm going to make you think about the shit you don't want to think about." She took a few steps forward slowly and tilted her head up, until she was at eye level with Ava. She was disturbingly close; their chests were nearly touching and Ava could feel the warmth of her breath on her neck.
"Who started it all? Who brought you to Merryweather?"
"Gridgeon."
"Nope-ity nope, nope, nope," Fox sing-songed back to her, bouncing back and forth on her toes and heels. "Gridgeon was the middle man, babe. Our reservations were made and confirmed when we were only just twinkles in our Daddy's eyes."
"Stop it, Fox," she said, shaking her head vigorously. She was regretting coming down here more and more with every passing moment of this wretched conversation.
"Who do you think landed you in Merryweather, huh?! Who do you think basically sent in your damn application?! You think Daddy offed himself because he missed you? It's called guilt! WHY THE FUCK DO YOU THINK DADDY TOOK A NAP HE NEVER WOKE UP FROM?!" With that, Fox swung around abruptly to kick one of the tin rubbish bins as hard as she could. It exploded with noise, echoing throughout the alley and falling on its side, crashing into the other cans and rolling away.
Foregoing all sense of caution, all sense of discretion, Ava stomped over to Fox, fire brewing in her belly.
"Don't you dare speak about my father like that!" Ava snarled. "You're crazy, Fox! Fucking crazy! My father never would have sent me there! Never!" She was fuming; the breath heaving out of her nose was practically burning her nostrils.
Fox stared at her, moving her jaw from side to side with her eyes squinted as though she was considering something. Perhaps considering whether or not to hit her. But then, she released her tension, taking a step back away from Ava and letting out a small, humorless chuckle. "Relax, sweet pea. He didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. Only crime he committed was choosing to reproduce. Project Merryweather needed volunteers to come work for them, not to participate."
Ava was suddenly remembering something: Dakota's memory, from the day Taylor was taken. And what the soldier had said: 'Your daughter will be coming with us. It's a government mandated program.' But Dakota's parents weren't in the military, and Taylor was chosen for being a witch. What was Fox getting at?
"Your father made a pretty big mistake, joining the military the way he was. All of ours did. They should've known Big Brother would be on them like white on rice." Fox shrugged. "Who knows what the hell they were all thinking. Maybe they thought joining the military was a good move; like they'd be recruited into some kind of kick-ass special forces league." She laughed. "Or maybe they thought it was the easiest way to blend in. Like they could hide it or something. Silly gooses." She flapped her arms at her sides like wings. "Honk, honk."
Ava paused. "Hide it?"
Fox scoffed. "Yeah, I know. Stupid, right? If I was running around with magical powers, I think joining the military would be the last thing I'd do." She paused before breaking out into a grin. "I'd be afraid of ending up in some kind of wacko experiment. Being locked in a cage or something. Ha! How about them apples, Ava? What's that they say about apples? When life hands you apples, make apple pie? Or is that one lemons? But lemon pie sounds so sour..."
Fox continued prattling on as Ava stood there stupidly, listening to the blood pumping in her ears. Her mind was reeling, yet felt oddly blank, like a cassette tape left in the player after all the songs had run out...
And then Fox came back to Earth, her attention suddenly whipping back to the scene before her.
"Have you ever done it? Magic, real-life abra-cadabra, bippity boppity bullshit. Like you've seen your boy toy do. You have, haven't you? I'm right—I can feel you about to piss your pants from here." She glared at her smugly.
"I'm not...I'm not..." Ava could barely speak. Her tongue felt like sandpaper in her mouth.
"Spit it out, sugar plum."
"I'm not a witch," she finally forced out. Everything about this meeting was suddenly starting to feel very dreamlike, like she had floated out of her body and was watching from above. She extended a shaking hand behind her until it gripped the edge of the brick wall, relishing in the sensation of the silt under her fingertips. Anchoring her to something.
Fox arched a single black eyebrow. "Of course you're not a witch. But your father was. That's why you were taken for the Merryweather Project. It's why we were all taken. I already told you their little manifesto-they were 'committed to make the gift of magic equal and unlocked to all'. Why else do you think you were picked, ya big fat Squib?"
The world stood still for a moment. And then a cat went swiftly trotting across the alley. And then Fox and Ava were still standing there, facing each other, waiting for the moment to be over.
Squib.
Why did it sound like such an ugly word to her ears?
It made her think of Gridgeon. She thought of the ghostly prisoners that would pass by her Cube occasionally, dragging IV stands along with them. They were Gridgeon's steady source of blood for drinking; magical blood coursing through his Squib veins and letting him do magic.
How could she be anything like him?
But Fox was right—she'd done magic, real magic once.
George had asked her in the Treehouse: What had happened after Ava had shot the soldier on the island? What had caused everything to float, all those bits of nature, levitating above their heads? She'd told him Dakota had burst in on the scene, yelling something.
'GAH, woman, you'd do best to wipe your face! Lookin' like the Grim Reaper, bringer of death!'
She had shot the soldier, the wizard...and felt his warm blood splatter against her. She'd been in shock.
With her mouth hanging open.
Was it so unreasonable to say that a drop or two had made its way to her tongue?
"Oh...oh my good golly gosh. Butter my butt and call me a biscuit." Through her nonsense, Fox actually sounded genuinely surprised. "You really didn't know, did you?"
"Why are you telling me this?" Ava's voice was barely a whisper as her head sunk until her chin touched her chest. She couldn't summon the strength to look up, willing for more than anything in the world not to let Fox see her cry. And there were pools of tears brimming and vibrating on her bottom lid, threatening to escape down her cheeks. Right now, all she wanted to do was dissolve into the very brick behind her and disappear.
"You asked me to tell you what happened. You asked me where I learned to be such a fucking ninja. You asked me to tell you about Plan B."
"So what is it, Annie?" Ava spat, her voice rising louder than she meant it to, finally lifting her head and addressing Fox by her real name. Hot tears finally made their escape and splashed down her face and neck. "What about your magic? You deflected that spell on the island with your hand, I saw you. We all saw you. Are you drinking blood, like Gridgeon did? What's your Plan B? Why are you teamed up with them? Give me a good reason. Go ahead. I'd love to hear it."
Fox opened her mouth like she was about to speak, and then abruptly closed it. Then, in a very business-like manner, she crooked her arm and peered down at her large wristwatch, even passing her thumb over the glass face to clear away smudges.
"Ah," she said hastily. "I'd love to chat more, but see, we have a prior appointment." She cupped her hand around her ear. "Do you hear that? Right on time!" She tapped her watch.
There was a beat of silence, and that was when Ava heard it: the sound of high-heeled shoes click-clacking against the cobblestone. They were coming from the direction of the shop.
Ava jumped out from behind the side alley to squint through the darkness for the source of the noise. Her heart was pounding hard; she was half expecting Gridgeon to appear wearing stilettos.
"That's right, over here!" Fox called out to the direction of the footsteps.
The illuminated lamp on the corner suddenly welcomed a rippling shadow into its circle of golden light upon the ground. The footsteps were revealed to be coming from none other than Rita Skeeter, wearing an offensive shade of fuchsia and clutching her acid-green quill in one hand, and a generous roll of parchment in the other.
"What is this?" Ava asked quickly. Her heart was beating very fast. "What's going on?"
Fox lolled her head over her shoulder, grinning at her crookedly, maniacally. "I've always wanted to see my name in lights," she whispered.
It was then that something inside Ava snapped. She had not even a clue where Fox was heading with this—why the hell was Rita Skeeter here, it had obviously been planned—but something horrible was brewing in her chest again. And that horrible thing told her she didn't want to find out.
Ava lunged for the first loose thing she laid her eyes upon—the metal rubbish bin lid. She straightened up, the lid already crooked in her arm against her ribs, and took a couple swift steps back. Then, with all her might, she released it, spinning it into the air like a Frisbee until it crashed straight into hers and Fred's bedroom window: right on target.
The relative quietness of the night fractured as the sound of shattering glass filled the air. Some of the glass rained down upon the cobblestone, and some of it fell back into the gaping hole the lid had created, into the apartment.
Fox whirled around, enraged. "You said you'd be a good girl!" she hissed, and she lunged forward.
Ava jumped to the side, dancing out of her way, clumsily backing up again and again, making Fox circle her like a wolf closing in on its prey. For a split second, she saw Rita out of the corner of her eye, watching the scene with rapt attention. Her quill was magically balancing itself on her parchment and was skating across excitedly.
"Two girls, light and dark, yin and yang, face each other outside the once beloved Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," she was whispering to it rapidly. "You may recall the shop was at the epicenter of controversy not long ago, after residents of Diagon Alley reported hearing Muggle gunshots coming from the place in the dead of the night."
"Rita," Ava called out, still backing away from Fox, "get out of here. Go. It's a trap, leave!"
But Rita continued seamlessly as though she hadn't even heard her. "Your trusted reporter is watching the scene unfold live, after receiving an anonymous invitation to step foot on the scene at this exact time, knowing I'd be the one to finally expose the truth—"
"AVA!" Fred's voice screamed.
All three of them, Rita, Fox, and Ava, whipped their heads up to investigate where the voice was coming from. Ava nearly collapsed with relief; Fred was leaning out the broken window, and George could be seen over his shoulder.
"Get Rita out of here!" Ava shrieked up to him, gesturing wildly to the very confused reporter.
"Hang in there, we're coming!" he yelled back, but his voice was already fading as both he and George dashed away from the window.
Fox abruptly stopped pursuing Ava. She straightened up and blinked, hard, like she'd just experienced some sort of clarity.
"You know what?" she asked aloud. "I'm not even mad. Let them come down. Let them see the scoop I've got in store for Miss—what'd you say your name was, again? Forgive me, my short term memory is a little...addled." She sauntered over to Rita while shooting Ava a wicked grin over her shoulder.
Rita perked up, like she was being called upon in school. "Rita Skeeter, special reporter," she said crisply. She nudged her floating parchment so it went ahead of her a few paces, and she walked along behind it, staying close. "And what's your name, dear?"
Fox batted her eyelashes, as though she was incredibly surprised and flattered the reporter had taken an interest in her. "Well, my name is You're Shit Outta."
"Come on, come on," Ava muttered to herself, clenching and unclenching her fists nervously, watching the corner where the shop's storefront was.
Rita Skeeter furrowed her eyebrows and leaned towards Fox. "Come again?"
"You're Shit Outta," Fox repeated.
Rita raised a penciled-in eyebrow. "Shit Outta, what?"
Fox grinned and bent her knees. "Luck!You're shit outta luck!"
And then she pounced.
Rita released an uneven, bloodcurdling scream as Fox jumped on her, wrapping her arms around her waist and dragging her a few paces to the side, towards Miss Teeley's Muggle Trinkets and Toys. Her parchment and quill fell to the ground, and she attempted to wrestle against Fox. But it was hopeless-for being so small, Fox appeared incredibly strong; she was now standing behind Rita with an arm tightly wrapped around her shoulders in a strong chokehold.
"Stop it, Fox, stop it, let her go! You don't want her, you want me!" Ava jogged forward towards them just at the exact second Fred and George appeared on the corner under the lamp light, their hair blown back as they ran wildly against the wind. Their wands were already out and clutched in their hands.
"Nobody fucking move!" Fox declared. In one swift motion, she used her free hand to touch her own belly, releasing a knife from its strap. She brought it up to join her other arm, still choking Rita, holding the flat side of the blade against the side of Rita's head.
"Nobody fucking move or she dies!" she yelled. "That includes you two jackholes behind me," she added, her dark pupils looking out the corners of her eyes as though she could see out the back of her own head.
Fred and George, who'd slowed down their sprinting in an attempt to stealthily advance, taking wide, tip-toeing strides, stopped dead in their tracks. Ava could see their lips minutely moving as they whispered to one another.
Rita Skeeter attempted to whip herself around, thrashing, to which Fox only tightened her forearm on her throat further. She sputtered, choking, and her magenta cat-eye glasses went tumbling to the cobblestone ground beneath her feet.
Fox's eyes drifted over to Ava's lazily. "Do you feel it?"
Ava continued watching her for a few more seconds, her chest rising and falling rapidly with every quickened breath. "Feel what?" she whispered back.
Fox blinked a few times. "Freedom. Being free. That's what they always say about the truth, right? Setting you free?" Rita continued to whimper and continued her pathetic attempts at freeing herself as Fox stood as still as a statue behind her, her chin barely touching Rita's padded shoulder. Although her left eye remained dry, unmoving, her right eye suddenly flooded with tears.
"Tell me you feel it, Ava," she whispered back harshly. The skin on her already pale arm turned an even ghostlier white as she pressed it harder to Rita's neck. "Tell me you feel it. Tell me what freedom feels like."
Fred and George were waving their arms in the air behind Fox and Rita, but Ava found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the horrible scene before her. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
The tear came tumbling out of Fox's eye. "Does it smell like wildflowers?" she whispered.
And she moved the blade from the side of Rita's head to against her throat. Her eyes left Ava, veering to the side and adopting a glazed-over look. Like she was remembering something. Like she was focusing hard on something in the distance, yet seeing nothing at all.
"Let her go," Ava begged, her voice cracking. "You can stop all of this right now. Let us help you. Let her go, Fox...Annie. Please. Just..." She trailed off, breathing rapidly, not taking her eyes away from Fox's face. All she wanted her to do was look at her. Meet her eyes. But Fox was absentmindedly staring over her shoulder. Wherever her mind was, it wasn't here.
"I missed my opportunity once," Ava whispered, tears biting at her eyes. She blinked, and she saw the cobalt blue sirens behind her eyelids. "Don't let me miss it again. Let me save you."
There were a couple beats of silence as Ava waited for her to say something back. Her gaze flashed briefly to Fred and George watching desperately from down the alley, practically poised on their tiptoes, ready to bolt over at any second.
"Please." Rita let out a squeaking, shuddering plea, breaking the silence. Her feet danced beneath her for a moment, losing her balance in her hysteria, and there came a crunching noise as her heeled shoe landed on her fallen glasses.
Fox's lips parted like she was about to speak, but it was a few more moments before she said anything.
"There's no saving me." Her voice was completely monotone. For just a second, her wrist must have twitched, because the blade glinted in the light.
"It's over."
Her eyes were still distant and out of focus as she dragged the knife across Rita's pale throat. The blade cut the thin chain of a silver necklace she was wearing, which went tumbling down into her shirt before the blood erupted from her neck.
There came an awful choking noise from Rita's mouth as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Then came the crimson waterfall, pouring from her throat, splashing over Fox's forearm, obscuring the face of her watch...
Shrieking noises filled the air; so loud and piercing they rose an instant ringing in Ava's ears. But the screams were coming from her. She'd completely lost control at the sight before her; she was doubled over, she was ripping her own hair out as her scalp exploded with painful protest, her vision was blurring, her legs were failing...
"Fox, what did you do?" she wailed. More hair popping from her scalp. "What did you do, what did you do?!"
It was Fox's reaction...or lack thereof, really...that was scarier than anything she'd said or contorted her face into that night. There was no maniacal grin, there was no mindless quip, there was no threat that Ava was next.
There was nothing. Complete and utter blankness. Rita continued bleeding over Fox's arm, her legs wilting under her as the life left her body, and Fox continued fixating on something in the distance with that glazed look in her eyes.
Then, she released Rita's body, letting her fall to the ground in a heavy heap, her body crumpling and flopping like a ragdoll.
"Nooooo!" Ava was screaming. The heat in her belly had returned, as had the smoky feeling in her nostrils. Every inch of her skin felt like it was on fire. "Nooooooo!"
Fox didn't flinch, and didn't look back as she began walking away, deeper down the side alley they stood in. Strolling. Her arm dripping thickly with blood. Casual.
Ava whirled around to face her back as she walked away. There were screeching, animalistic noises emitting from her mouth, her entire face soaked in a mixture of tears and snot streaming from her nose. She watched as Fox's long black hair swayed as she walked, gently...
She wanted to jump on her. She wanted to stop her. Wanted to hurt her, wanted to kill her—
"Ava! No! Stop!" Fred's voice came from over her shoulder. His and George's shoes pounded on the cobblestone as they ran.
And then, the fire in her gut was spreading, up to her heart, into her shoulders, down her arms, touching her very fingertips; it was transcendent of anger, of disgust, of hatred, it was more than that, eons more, the smell of blood had already filled the air—
Someone dropped a match into gasoline.
At least, that's what it seemed like. A rapid wall of flames suddenly shot up in front of Ava, rippling and dancing wildly in the night time breeze. Fox had somehow set her on fire. She gasped sharply, choking on her own tears and snot, and stumbled backwards, but the fire was following her...
"Ava! Ava! Aguamenti! Aguamenti!" Fred's voice was screaming. He was screaming. He was hysterical.
He leapt forward as he brandished his wand, and Ava felt thick streams of cold water hitting her palms. But the fire wasn't going away; it was searing, blinding, the air had turned into a putrid cloud of black smoke...
"Your hands, Ava! Your hands! It's coming from your hands!" George's voice. "Aguamenti!"
The smoke was strangling her; she doubled over, hacking and retching. She went to clutch at her chest and the fire narrowly missed her face. She smelled burning hair.
"Ava, I'm sorry!" Fred called out in a pleading voice. Through the cloud of smoke and ripples of heat making the scene shimmer before her, Ava could see him pointing his wand to her head.
"DO IT!" she screamed, the fire projecting from her fingertips licking the cobblestone ground, the glare from the blaze nearly blinding her.
The last thing Ava saw before she lost consciousness was a blast of red light emitting from Fred's wand, the last thing she heard was his quick shuffle of footsteps as he darted forward to her side, and the last thing she felt was his arm scooping around her lower back, catching her before she hit the ground.
Hate was a heap of dry desert brush, sitting out in the afternoon sun.
Hate was a single thread of smoke, a single flicker of a flame.
It was under control.
Nothing will happen. Nothing will happen.
Everything happened.
Hate was a wildfire. It flickers in the distance before closing in on you. Before consuming you. Before burning everything and everyone down.
Hate makes nothing easier.
Nothing.
Rita Skeeter was buried four days later.
Although the skies opened and poured so hard it seemed that the Earth was flooding, witches and wizards showed up to the funeral in heavy droves. Even the Hogwarts memorial hadn't seen crowds like this—the cemetery looked as though it was holding a convention of some sort. The sea of darkly robed people expanded across the grounds so thickly, the sight of tombstones were mostly obscured.
Ava, Fred, George, and Angelina stood in the receiving line together. They neared the burial site, where a witch was solemnly passing out red roses to each visitor as they approached the grave. Each time she gave a flower, the basket on her arm appeared empty, and then another one, just as full and lush as the one before, would appear with a soft pop.
"I didn't think this many would show," said a wizard in a hushed voice to his companion. They were just before George and Angelina in the receiving line. Ava, clutching to Fred's arm tightly, buried her face into his shoulder.
"Merlin knows she made enough enemies in her lifetime," the other wizard murmured back. "She had talent, that woman. She could cause a murderous rage with just one printed word."
They chuckled lightly, rain dripping from the wide brims of their hats.
The receiving line began moving forward again, and Ava tightened her grip on Fred.
"Please don't let go," she whispered.
He turned his head, resting his chin on his shoulder to look down at her.
"Not a chance," he whispered back.
The line moved again, and they took their roses from the solemn witch. Just a couple more steps, and then they were under the tent, quaking in the storm but doing its damnedest to keep the burial site dry.
"Fred—" Ava started.
"Come on," he urged. "I've got you."
They reached the edge of the rectangular hole. Ava hung her head like she was gazing down into it like the others, but her eyes were squeezed shut. She wasn't sure what she was expecting to see—Rita's body, her crimson blood indistinguishable from her fuchsia suit?
Warm lips suddenly touched her earlobe, and Ava smelled Fred's hair.
"You're not weak."
She opened her eyes. He was staring at her, expectantly but patiently, as were George and Angelina. Their arms were outstretched over the grave, their roses dangling from their fingertips.
She exhaled, deeply, and raised her arm with them. They let their roses drop together—not simultaneously. But almost.
Fred was tugging on her hand, attempting to pull her away from the grave, but Ava's feet remained rooted to the ground. She could see the silvery sheets of rain coming down around her, she could hear the wind whistling and the drops of water patting down on the tent above her, and when the wind blew sideways, she could feel the water dribbling down her head, plastering her hair to her scalp and gluing the fabric of her clothes to her arms. She knew she should feel absolutely soaked, absolutely freezing.
But she didn't. Instead, she felt nothing.
Because that's how she had to feel, at this second, in this moment. Numb. Cold. Anesthetized.
Because she couldn't say what she needed to say if she let herself feel anything right now.
"I know what we need to do," Ava said suddenly amidst the silence. She couldn't stop staring at the image below her, the mountain of scarlet roses resting atop the gleaming coffin.
Fred suddenly relaxed, stopped pulling on her, and George and Angelina leaned around the side to look, still huddling together beneath the umbrella and staring at her.
"I know what we need to do," she repeated, her voice trembling just a bit, but getting stronger by the second. "I didn't want to say it. I didn't want to think about it, either. There's been so much fucking death I can't even believe I want to think about more." She paused, only for a moment, to inhale and exhale deeply. A strong wind rippled through the tent, the spokes planted in the mud threatening to uproot. "But after what Fox told me...after what she did...after this..." She gulped, the unpleasant sensation of a golfball being lodged in her throat apparent. The crowd of black-robed strangers must have given up on waiting for them to move. They pressed in around the four of them, swarming around Rita's grave.
"What are you saying, Ava?" Fred asked softly. But his eyes, those golden brown, maple syrup eyes, were trained on hers, and they said he already knew.
Behind him, George and Angelina continued staring at her intently. No one said a word. They wanted to hear her say it.
In the fraction of a second that it took for Ava to blink, she saw it again: Fox's blade being dragged across Rita's throat and Rita's eyes, rolling into the back of her head as her blood poured out on to Fox's arm, the light in them going out like a candle's flame being extinguished.
Fox's voice—flat, emotionless—echoed in her head.
"There's no saving me...it's over."
She took a deep breath, the air cold in her mouth.
"We're going to kill Fox."