Part 34 (1/2)

I paused. ”Not exactly like you. You'd have gone mad first, but when you died your soul would have lived on. But a Dark Muse has no soul. When she dies, she'll turn to dust and blow about for all eternity.”

I couldn't stop thinking about Halloween, when I would reveal what I really was. I'd turn witchy in front of everyone, in front of Eldric. I couldn't stop thinking of how his fingers would go stiff, how the light would leave his eyes. How he'd say, Why didn't you tell me?

”I've been wanting to tell you something for a long time.”

”So have I,” said Eldric. ”What's yours?”

”You first,” I said.

”Guests first, my father always says.”

”I'm not a guest.”

”Girls first, then,” said Eldric.

”Mine is not an easy thing to say.”

”Mine's harder,” said Eldric. But he smiled for the first time that night.

I'd promised Stepmother never to tell. My tongue curled over on itself, protecting its soft belly. But the alternative was worse: Eldric finding out along with everyone else, and I, never knowing what he thought, going into the future, never knowing.

There came a swallowing-up kind of silence. ”I'm a witch.”

There, it was done. I'd ruined everything. Snap! went my elastic insides.

”You don't look like a witch.”

I wished I could see his face better.

”Witches don't look like anything. Witches are. Witches do.”

It was so quiet, I heard the candlewick collapse. The flame turned into a blue corpse of itself. I watched it struggle. I watched it drown in its own spit.

The dark blot of Eldric came at me.

”Prove it. Prove you're a witch!”

There we stood, fire snapping at my wicked left hand, the tumble of Eldric's underthings grinning at my virtuous right.

”Prove it!”

”You don't believe me?”

”I need proof,” said Eldric. ”Why should I believe anything you say?”

My spit turned to powdered gla.s.s.

”If you were a game,” said Eldric, ”you'd be a puzzle. If you were a piece of writing, you'd be a code.”

”But I can't prove it.” I snapped my fingers. ”Not just like that!”

”Can't you? How peculiar!” Eldric laughed, a horrid splat of a laugh. ”Show me the most wicked thing you can do.”

How dare he be angry!

I'd walked my own anger on a leash all these years, but it was always just a spark away. I'd work myself into a rhapsody of witchiness. I'd spark into fire.

Fire!

I thought about fire. I thought of the library-the burst of flame, my hand, the smell of burning flesh.

There came no fire.

I thought of the piano burning, cras.h.i.+ng to its knees, like a camel. I thought of all my stories. How long it had taken me to write them, how quickly they had burnt.

There came no fire.

”You can't prove it.” Eldric's eyes were hollows of darkness.

The taste of sulfur clawed at my throat. Let my words strike sparks!

Nothing. I needed the Brownie to explode my powers into sparks. I needed Mucky Face.

There we stood, on the divide of dark and more dark. Eldric pressed his cheek into my silence.

”I'll tell you something that will make you believe,” I said. ”Have you never wondered how Rose got to be the way she is?”

I'd never told anyone about Rose.

”I did it myself, with witchcraft.”

I'd never thought to say those words.

”I don't believe you,” said Eldric.

”I meant to hurt her. It's only hatred. A Dark Muse feeds on artistry. A witch feeds on hatred. Hatred is easy.”

”But you love Rose!” said Eldric. ”I know you do.”

Quiet, Briony. Don't say any more. Don't tell him you don't love anyone.

”Then prove you hurt Rose,” said Eldric.

I shrugged. ”I remember lots of it. I remember Rose falling from the swing and screaming. Stepmother told me the things I can't remember.”

”d.a.m.n your stepmother! Maybe she's the witch.”