Read Online The Unbound by Victoria Schwab - Free Book Online Page B

swing it up into my grip and slide the teeth into the lock on the door that leads back to the third floor. It opens, the hall beyond nothing but shadow from this side, and my shoe is halfway through when I hear a familiar voice on the other side and jerk back sharply, heart hammering in my chest.
    Stupid, stupid mistake.
    The doorway isn’t visible to normal people. If I’d passed through into the Coronado, I would have walked straight through the wall itself—at least it would have appeared that way—and into my mother.
    “It’s going well, I think.…” The Coronado may be lost from sight, but her voice reaches through the veiled space, muffled, yet audible. “Right, it takes time, I know.”
    I can hear her coming down the hall, nearing the Narrows door as she talks, the long pauses making it clear she’s on the phone. And then her footsteps stop right in front of me. Maybe she’s looking in the mirror across from the invisible door. I think of the schoolbag stashed behind the table under the mirror, and hope she hasn’t discovered it.
    “Oh, Mackenzie?”
    I stiffen, until I realize she’s answering the person on the line.
    “I don’t know, Colleen,” she says.
    I roll my eyes. Her therapist. Mom’s been seeing Colleen since Ben died last year. I’d hoped the sessions would end with the move. Apparently, they haven’t. Now I brace my hands on either side of the doorway and listen to one half of the conversation. I know I shouldn’t leave the Narrows door open, but my list is clear and my curiosity is piqued.
    “It hasn’t come up,” says Mom. “Yes, okay, I haven’t brought it up. But she seemed better. Seems. Seemed. It’s so hard to tell with her. I’m her mother. I should be able to tell, and I can’t. I can tell something’s wrong. I can tell she’s wearing this mask, but I can’t see past it.” My chest tightens at the pain in her voice. “No. It’s not drugs.”
    I clench my teeth against a curse. I hate Colleen. Colleen’s the one who told Mom to throw out Ben’s things. The one time we met face-to-face, she saw a scratch on my wrist from a pissed-off History and was convinced I did it to myself to feel things .
    “I know the symptoms,” says Mom, ticking off a list that pretty well sums up my current behavior—evasion, moodiness, troubled sleep, being withdrawn, inexplicable disappearances…though in my defense, I do my best to explain them. Just not using the truth. “But it’s not. Yes, I’m sure.” I’m glad she’s sticking up for me, at least on this front. “Okay,” she says after a long pause, starting down the hall again. “I will. I promise.” I listen to her trail off, wait for the jingling sound of her keys, the apartment door opening and closing, and then I sigh and step out into the hall.
    The Narrows door dissolves behind me as I slide my ring back on. The skirt and the bag seem undisturbed behind the table, and in a few short steps I’ve transformed back into an ordinary Hyde School junior. My reflection stares back at me, unconvinced.
    I can tell something’s wrong. I can tell she’s wearing this mask, but I can’t see past it.
    I practice my smile a few times, checking my mask to make sure it’s free of cracks before I turn down the hall and head home.
    That evening, I put on a show.
    I picture Da clapping in his slow, lazy way as I tell Mom and Dad about my day, injecting as much enthusiasm into my voice as I can without tipping my parents from pleasant surprise to suspicion.
    “Hyde’s pretty incredible,” I say.
    Dad lights up. “I want to hear all about it.”
    So I tell him. I’m basically feeding the pamphlet propaganda back to him, line by line, but while I may be amping up the excitement, the sentiment isn’t a total lie. I did enjoy it. And it feels good to tell something that even vaguely resembles the truth.
    “And you’ll never guess who goes there!” I say, stealing a carrot as Mom chops them.
    “You can tell us during