Page 6 of Realm of the Wicked

‘I’m not a miracle worker.’ His unwavering gaze held mine. ‘Well? What would you do?’

Strangely enough, baring my soul to this man had brought me out of my spiral. Surely, I could embarrass myself a little more. Besides, the answer was simple. ‘Anything.’

His drumming fingers paused on his thigh. ‘Are you sure?’

I ignored the electricity vibrating beneath my skin, and the way my hands wanted to tremble. This was just a silly conversation, a way to take my mind off the situation at hand. Nothing but silence surrounded us. I stopped wondering if I could outrun him because I was fairly certain I couldn’t. ‘Absolutely.’

‘A million dollars?’

‘More than, if it came to it.’

‘Your soul?’

I paused. A silly conversation. That’s all this was. Even so, it didn’t change my answer. ‘Without a doubt.’

A heavy silence stretched between us, as if even the air recognized the weight of the conversation. Then, the stranger lifted his hand off his lap, holding it out to me. Even his hand was elegant, large, with a bunch of silver rings adorning his fingers. His gaze snapped to mine, demanding my complete attention. I was more than happy to give it, to take my mind off everything else circling in my mind.

‘Your soul for your sister’s life. It doesn’t seem like a fair trade to me.’

I smiled, shaking my hair out of my face. ‘Grace would do the same for me in a heartbeat.’ I looked down at his outstretched hand, unsure what he was trying to do.

‘Well, are you going to shake my hand or what?’

‘Umm…’ If the day hadn’t already gone the way it had, I think I would’ve been more weirded out by our entire interaction. But our conversation had already gone on for far too long, and I needed to get back to Grace. If a handshake was going to get me out of here sooner, then so be it. I reached out and took his hand.

A shock ricocheted through my palm when our skin connected, and I moved to pull my hand away, thinking Mrs Mullins had texted me about Grace. Before I could, the man clasped me tighter, squeezing his cool hand all around mine. Just static, I told myself. He stared at me, through me, his cool, calculating gaze searching mine.

Whatever he was looking for, he found, as the man released my hand. I got to my feet, wiping my palms on my pants. ‘Well, I better be getting back. Thanks so much for listening, and, uh, have a nice evening. Thanks.’ I offered an awkward smile, backing away slowly until I reached the trail again.

‘My pleasure. I’ll be seeing you around, I’m sure.’ He got to his feet, stepping out of the warm glow of light once more.

I hurried down the trail back to my apartment, but not before taking one last look over my shoulder, just to make sure he wasn’t following me home. Except when I turned around, the trail was completely empty. No sign of the strange man. When I pulled out my phone, there was no message from Mrs Mullins, either.

Had it all just been a figment of my imagination?

I was exhausted, so it wasn’t entirely out of the question.

As I exited the trail, rubbing my hand that still vibrated from the shock of our handshake, I knew that wasn’t the case.

Maybe it would’ve been better if I was crazy.

3

STELLA

We did our best to make the most of the time we had left, however much that ended up being.

Or however little.

The constant ticking of a clock lingered, tainting any memories we tried to make.

I made Grace’s favorite foods, even though she barely touched them. We watched movies, cuddled up together on the couch.

In quiet moments, Grace lay on the couch, sketching pictures of our life together that I kept neatly in a pile, a constant reminder of maybe one day, that would be the last one I’d add to the stack. Portraits of the lazy way Archie sprawled out in front of the living-room window. Pictures of me, cooking in our small kitchen, or sitting at the tiny table, a crease of worry across my forehead. The ficus that had quickly outgrown its pot, its roots sprawling every which way.

Grace’s self-portraits were my favorite. She didn’t look at herself while she drew them, she just sketched from memory, and because of this, I had dozens of portraits of Grace the way I wanted to remember her. Thoughtful, serene, with eyes full of life.

When she felt well enough, we’d go for walks, strolling down the quiet riverside trail until she grew tired. No matter how many times we walked the trail, I never saw the strange man again.