smoke, and I was coughing, choking.
Ethan!
I could hear her voice, but it was distant and faraway.
The air around me was hot. It smelled like ash and death.
Ethan, no!
I saw the glint of a knife, over my head, and I heard the sinister laughter. Sarafine. Only I couldn't see her face.
As the knife plunged into my stomach, I knew where I was.
I was at Greenbrier, on top of the crypt, and I was about to die.
I tried to scream, but I couldn't make a sound. Sarafine threw back her head and laughed, her hands on the knife in mystomach. I was dying, and she was laughing. The blood was running all around me, rushing into my ears, my nostrils, my mouth. It had a distinct taste, like copper or salt.
My lungs felt like two heaving sacks of cement. When the rush of blood in my ears drowned out her voice, I was overwhelmed with the familiar feeling of loss. Green and gold. Lemons and rosemary. I could smell it through the blood, the smoke, and the ashes. Lena.
I always thought I couldn't live without her. Now I wasn't going to have to.
“Ethan Wate! Why don't I hear that shower runnin’ yet?” I bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat. I ran my hand under my T-shirt, over my skin. There was no blood, but I could feel the raised impression where the knife had cut me in the dream. I pulled up my shirt and stared at the jagged pink line. A scar cut across my lower abdomen, like a stab wound. It had appeared out of nowhere, an injury from a dream.
Only it was real, and it hurt. I hadn't had one of the dreams since Lena's birthday, and I didn't know why they were coming back now, like this. I was used to waking up with mud in my bed or smoke in my lungs, but this was the first time I had ever woken up in pain. I tried to shake it off, telling myself it didn't really happen. But my stomach throbbed. I stared at my open window, wishing Macon was around to steal the end of this dream. I wished he was around for a lot of reasons.
I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate, to see if Lena was there. But I already knew she wouldn't be. I could feel when she had pulled away, which was most of the time, lately.
Amma called up the stairs again. “If you're fixin’ to be late for your last examination, you'll be sittin’ on your sweet corncakes in that room a yours all summer. That's a promise.”
Lucille Ball was staring at me from the foot of my bed, the way she did most mornings now. After Lucille showed up on our porch, I took her back home to Aunt Mercy, but the next day she was sitting on our porch again. After that, Aunt Prue convinced her sisters that Lucille was a deserter, and the cat moved in with us. I was pretty surprised when Amma opened the door and let Lucille wander in, but she had her reasons. “Nothin’ wrong with havin’ a cat in the house. They can see what most people can't, like the folks in the Otherworld when they cross back over — the good ones and the bad. And they get rid a mice.” I guess you could say Lucille was the animal kingdom's version of Amma.
By the time I made it into the shower, the hot water rolled off me, pushing everything away. Everything except the scar. I turned it up even hotter, but I couldn't keep my mind in the shower. It was tangled up in the dreams, the knife, the laughter —
My English final.
Crap.
I'd fallen asleep before I finished studying. If I failed the test, I would fail the class, Good-Eye Side or not. My grades were not stellar this semester, and by that I mean I was running neck and neck with Link. I wasn't my usual don't-study-and-get-by self. I was already close to failing history, since Lena and I had ditched the mandatory Reenactment of the Battle of Honey Hill on her birthday. If I failed English, I'd be spending all summer in a school so old it didn't even have air conditioning, or I'd be looking at sophomore year all over again. It was the particularlypenetrating problem a person with a pulse should be prepared to ponder today. Assonance, right? Or
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