Noah’s father knew he would never be able to convince Noah to kill me. This display was for me, so that I could prove to Noah why I should die. No one else could do that for me.

I didn’t want to die, but maybe I should. Maybe the world would be a better place if I did.

“No,” Noah said, in response to the question I hadn’t asked out loud. I wondered for a moment if he could somehow hear my thoughts, but then I realized that he didn’t have to; he could read my face.

“I can’t let Daniel go,” I said, fighting vainly to stay calm. “I can’t let what happened to me happen to Joseph. They’ve done nothing, nothing wrong. I’ve done everything wrong.”

“Not everything.”

“You haven’t been here.” I could tell that my words stung him. “You haven’t seen—” I tipped my head in the direction of the pictures of Dr. Kells and Wayne and Mr. Ernst. “Your father isn’t lying. I did those things. All of them.”

“I’m sure they deserved it,” Noah said, a tiny smile lifting the corner of his mouth. I couldn’t smile back.

David Shaw was sick and awful, but he was right about me too. Nothing good would ever come from me. Nothing ever did. But Daniel, Joseph—they were different. They would do good. They were good. And I could save them.

All I had to give was my life. My life for my brother’s. It would be worth it. It could never not be worth it.

Leaving Miami with Jamie and Stella had felt like good-bye. It felt like good-bye because it was good-bye. Something in me had always known it.

I pulled myself up onto my elbows—my feet still felt numb—and reached for Noah’s hand, the one with the gun in it. It had jammed once, for Noah, but I knew it wouldn’t for me.

A shiver rolled through him when my skin met his. He looked like he might be sick.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking me.”

“Yes, I do. Come closer.”

He held the gun limply, so I lifted the barrel of it for him and pressed it against my forehead. We were beaten, and I was decided.

“Do it,” I said softly.

He was tortured, and I hated to be the one to torture him. I hated that it had to be him, that he had to watch me die and live with the guilt for the rest of his life. I hated that just as my hope of finding him had been rewarded, I was being forced to throw it into the fire, and myself along with it. I hated leaving my family. I hated leaving him.

“Mara,” he whispered. His finger was on the trigger. He was shaking.

“I’m begging you. I don’t want to be this person.” It wasn’t true, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was what Noah needed to hear. “This is my choice. Help me.”

His eyebrows drew together, and for a fraction of a second, I thought he would do it.

“I can’t.” His arm went slack, his face twisted with disgust. Then immediately he raised his arm again, but not at me. He shot a mannequin instead.

No more bullets. I looked at David; there was no surprise in his expression, no shock. He’d been expecting it.

“We’re going to figure this out,” Noah went on, his voice firm, strong, determined. “I’ll call the police. We’ll find Daniel. I’ll heal him. You’ll get better—”

“Stop it!” My words battered the walls of the factory. They seemed to echo forever. “This is not something you can fix.” And I couldn’t risk letting him try.

“You always think the worst of yourself,” he said with bitterness.

“And you always think the best.” It was true, which made me smile. “You can’t see me objectively because you love me. But I’ve done things. How am I any different from him?” I flicked my eyes to Jude, who lowered his to the floor. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have said he looked guilty.

Jude was sicker than me and crazier than me and crueler than me, but he’d loved his sister, his only family. Deborah and David had used that love to control him. I didn’t forgive him for the things he’d done—I would never do that. But I understood them.

“It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. It only matters why,” Noah said. “He uses his ability to hurt people. You use yours to protect people.”

Not always, I thought, and said so. “The villain is the hero of her own story. No one thinks they’re a bad person. Everyone has reasons for doing what they do. Jude and I are not as different as you think.”

Those words did something to him, lit a spark in him. He looked alive, really alive, for the first time since he’d been back. His hands cupped my face as he said, “Never say that again. You’ve been lied to. Manipulated. Tortured. It’s not your fault.”

I shuddered, from his words or the contact, I didn’t know.

“It’s not your fault, Mara. Say it.”

“Noah,” David said. There was a note of urgency in his voice and I began to panic.

“There’s no time, Noah.”

“Say it and I’ll—I’ll give you the shot.”

“What?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard what I thought I’d heard.

“I can’t with the—the knife. I’ll see it forever,” Noah said. His voice sounded different. Like something had broken inside of him. I wanted to smooth the crease between his brows, take his face in my hands, kiss him, make it better. But I was the one hurting him.

I swallowed my sadness, for him, for myself.

“It’ll just look like I’m going to sleep.” I glanced at the laptop. Jamie’s eyes were wide with horror. My brother’s were closed. I realized I’d never see them open again, and that was the moment I started to cry.

“Jamie,” I said, catching my breath, “Tell my brother—tell him I love him.”

Jamie nodded silently. Tears streamed down his face.

“Tell him I’m sorry.”

“Mara,” my friend said.

“Tell him he’s my hero. And, Jamie?”

He sniffed. “Yeah?”

“Make him forget what he knows about me. Make him forget all of this. Can you do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you try?”

His chin trembled. “God, you’re so demanding.”

A laugh escaped from my mouth.

“I’ll try,” he said. “You know I’ll try.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“I know,” he said back. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Yes I am.”

“Mara,” David said. “You should hurry.” He didn’t say it unkindly.

I hated him, but it was a cold, distant kind of hate. I would see him in hell, someday, and punish him there. But right now I just wanted to love Noah. I wanted to leave the world feeling that.

I looked at the boy I loved, the one who saved me, every day. He was so hurt. I didn’t know what to say to him, but he seemed to know what I needed.

He scooped me up from the table and carried me, the way a groom would carry a bride. We walked a little bit, but not far; I needed to be able to see my brother. I wasn’t ready to leave him yet.

David and Jude gave us space. They knew we weren’t going anywhere. There was nowhere else to go.

Noah unfolded me into his half-kneeling lap. He wrapped one hand around my stomach and the other over my chest. My soft cheek was against his rougher one, his mouth pressed against my shoulder. Once upon a time his lips on my skin would have made me forget myself. I could laugh and joke and pretend with him, and his voice would drown out the thoughts inside me that no one should ever hear. But he couldn’t change me. No one could. I was still poison, and even Noah couldn’t make me forget it anymore.

My chin trembled as I said what Noah needed to hear. “It’s not—it’s not my fault,” I whispered.

“Again.”

“It’s not my fault,” I lied, louder this time.

Noah uncapped the syringe, his face ashen, and I held out my arm.

I think that was when I knew, for real, that there would be no SWAT team barging in to save us. No epic battles would be fought in some cinematic cl**ax. There would be no screaming, no explosions. It was just us. Two people and a choice.

“I won’t even feel it,” I said, trying not to imagine all of the conversations we would never have. That was what I would miss most, I realized. Just being able to tell him things. There was still so much to say.

“I love you,” I whispered against his neck. Noah held me tighter, not saying it back—I knew he couldn’t speak. Then, without warning, I felt a tiny prick in my arm, which deepened into a burning sting. I managed a crappy smile as Noah plunged the contents of the syringe into my veins. “Thank you,” I said when he was done. He held his fingers over the puncture wound. His breath caught, trapping a silent sob. He was so brave.

“If Daniel’s still—” My chest felt tight, and I opened my mouth, trying to swallow more air. “If he’s still sick when I’m—and your father doesn’t—”

“I will,” Noah said hoarsely. He looked so fierce and beautiful. I would miss that face.

“Find him,” I said. My words slurred, and my eyelids drooped. My breath was too shallow. “Fix him,” I said with my last one, and then the world went dark.

60

BEFORE

Laurelton, Rhode Island

Naomi gave birth to a healthy baby boy that day. You have just been born.

When your mother was pregnant with Daniel, I spent countless nights wondering if he would be Afflicted, like me. But within hours of his birth, the professor declared him safe and healthy. The second I saw you, I knew you would not be so blessed.

The professor told me about the Shaw child, what he would become, but not the consequences of it—that you would become something too.

I’ve discovered what actually happened on that night when I believed I seduced the professor.

He had known it would happen. He knew that your mother would be born, that you would someday as well. I’d thought I was his partner, but I was only a tool.

I raged at him for what he had allowed to happen. For what would someday happen to you. He lied, said he couldn’t have changed it. Said, “She cannot become other than what she is.”

He is right about that.

You will make a difference in this world, child, whether you want to or not. Most people are like sand, the impact of their lives washed away by years. They cause no lasting damage, no lasting benefit.

You are not most people.

You are like fire; you will burn wherever you go. If contained, channeled, you can bring light, but you will also always cast a shadow. You can choose to end life or choose to give it, but punishment will follow every reward. And if your fire is unchecked, you will burn through lives and history. The closer anyone gets to you, the more at risk they are of falling under your shadow, or being consumed by your flame. You will have to pretend to be other than what you are. You must wear enough armor so that no one can see or touch you. It isn’t your fault. It’s nothing you did. You cannot change who you are, any more than you can change black eyes to blue. You can only accept it. If you fight yourself, you will lose, and fighting leaves scars. But you will survive them. I have survived many. You will do good things you will regret, and bad things you won’t, but you must keep going, for my daughter’s sake if not your own. She loves you so much already.

I want you to know that I would have wished for a different life for you, and for my beloved daughter, who will never know about any of this if I can prevent it. Sometimes I wonder, if I had chosen a different name for myself, might I have grown into a different person? Might I have become someone else? There were days when I felt that a dragon slept inside me, and exhaled poison with every breath. I flirted with suicide more times than I can count. But I know now why I never did it. I was saving that day for you.

There is a chance, however slim, that if I die before you manifest, the cycle for my bloodline might end with my sacrifice. I don’t know what the odds are, but I’m willing to take them for my daughter; I can’t change the past, but I can choose my future.

I should warn you, though, that the professor will find you someday, as your fate is tied to the boy’s. He might ask you to help him, to join him, to make a difference. He picks at history like a child at a scab, and might offer you the same opportunity. But know this: He has more knowledge than anyone else alive, but it has not brought him happiness. It hasn’t brought me much, either. I’ve known many people over many lifetimes, and the ignorant ones seem more content.

But you must decide for yourself. If you wear this, he will know of your choice.

I don’t know where to leave this for you so that you’ll find it, when you’re ready, without your mother seeing. If I shared the professor’s Affliction, perhaps I’d have some idea. But I will make the best choice I can with the knowledge that I have, and hope.

Letter in one hand, doll in the other, I made my way to the kitchen for a knife. I slit Sister’s doll open from groin to chin, then slipped my letter inside. I stuffed the doll back up, and began to sew before I remembered the necklace. I carried it back to the doll in my closed fist, then pushed it inside with one finger. I sewed it closed.

There. Done. I would wait three days, and then I would leave the world as I’d entered it—alone.

61

NOAH

I HOLD MARA IN MY shaking arms as her pulse fades to nothing. My father doesn’t even wait until she’s dead before he soils the air with words.