Page 81 of Tracking Snow

This time it’s half squawk, half animal whimper of pain that comes from teenage Snow’s throat as she backs out of the bed onto unsteady legs. Silent tears stream down her face.

A strong breeze whips through the open window, the white curtains flapping and waving into the room with more energy.

I was wrong. Only moments ago, I watched Snow, believing her spirit could never be broken, and now I’m watching it happen in real time. The way she dulls, darkens, like a part of her soul is dying to lay alongside her friend. A void forms inside me as I feel her grief. Heavy, hollowing.

"She was the only thing I cared about," adult Snow says next to me. Her cheeks are also wet. I want to wrap my arm around her. Comfort her. Take her to a different part of her mind, but as I watch, delicate thin strands of opalescence criss-cross every which way around the scene.

This moment is precious. Subconscious defining.

"And she died." Adult Snow practically chokes on the words. "Maybe if we’d left earlier, we wouldn’t have gotten sick at the stupid home along with the other kids."

Even as adult Snow speaks, teenage Snow walks over to the bedside table by Rosie and picks up the unicorn pencil case I saw in the living room.

The moment Snow’s fingers close around it, the room pulses. Not the whole room. Just the pencil case.

A soft, pearly light slips between her fingers, thin as thread, winding once around her wrist before sinking under her skin. It pulses, like a heartbeat, the light seeping into her chest.

Teenage Snow doesn’t look down.

Both teenage and adult Snow are too shattered to notice anything except the girl in the bed. She clutches it to her chest as she backs away toward the window.

"She didn’t want to strike out on our own, but I should have made her. Forced her to go with me, and she’d still be alive."

Teenage Snow finally breaks her horrified stare and turns to the open window. The curtains still whip about in the strong breeze. One moment she’s standing there, the next moment she’s gone.

"I left. There was nothing left for me. But the world wasn’t what I thought it was. Without Rosie, I became smaller, and smaller until I felt like I was a timid little smudge on the floor."

More opalescent strands criss-cross over the room as the curtains elongate and flap until the beds are no longer in view.

"You could never be," I say, then reach out and take hold of Snow’s hand. It’s warm and firm in mine, but I feel her shudder. For a moment, I fear it’s in revulsion, but then I realize I unlocked a sob with my touch.

I don’t want her to be sad. The feeling hooks under my ribs and pulls until there’s nowhere in me it doesn’t hurt.

Cupping her face with my hand, I swipe my thumb along her cheek, brushing away her tears.

Then slowly I lean in. My lips touch hers, careful, testing. I pull back from the kiss and search her face. Her eyes are wet, her mouth parted, her breath catching like she’s waiting for me to decide whether she gets more.

So I kiss her again.

Chapter 25

A Hot HAM Potluck

SNOW

"You don’t ever, and I mean ever go home alone. Not unless Ryder or I are there to take you," I say to Ariel as I wipe the bar so hard, I’m close to stripping the varnish. "Do you understand?"

"Not even if I’m packing an Uzi?"

I look up at Ariel who gives me her round innocent eye look. But I’m not in any mood.

"No. Not even an Uzi."

"Pfft, you only have daggers. I think if I had an Uzi, I’d be just fine."

I stop, my arms giving under the weight of the invisible pressure pushing down on my body. Tears catch in my throat.

"Ariel. Cinder is gone." My voice is scratchy. My heart is caving in from the grief and fear that’s driving me out of my mind. Cinder disappeared the same way Goldie did. In Boston, without a single trace or clue left behind. Another mage friend just vanished.