“Well, maybe I do!” Her tone is defiant, and it wounds me. I close my eyes and try not to think of them together. After all, she’s right; I might never be coming back. But that doesn’t mean my best friend has to go out with the guy I’ve liked forever.
“Meredith—” I begin, trying to sound calm.
But she cuts me off. “You don’t get to call dibs on someone if you’re not here.”
She hangs up without another word. I try calling her back, but it goes right to voice mail. Finally, I settle for texting Drew. Your band was awesome, I tell him. Did you and Liv have fun? But there’s no reply.
When my phone stays silent, I head up to bed, feeling more alone than ever.
I wake up the next morning to a return text from Drew.
Thanks again for coming, he writes. And yeah, Liv is cool.
I grab my phone and text back, Anything happen with you guys?
Nah. We just talked about music and stuff. There’s a pause, then he writes, So I hear you went home with Caleb Shaw??
My cheeks heat up as I text back, He only gave me a ride cuz I was on his way. But even over text, I can sense Drew’s jealousy. I feel like adding, Caleb acts like the very thought of me is offensive, so you don’t have to worry, but instead, I settle for, Call me later, before I head down to the kitchen.
Aunt Bea is sitting at the table, sipping a cup of coffee, when I round the corner.
“Morning,” she says. Her eyes flick up to meet mine, and I realize they’re bloodshot and underlined in deep blue half moons.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I didn’t sleep too well last night,” she says. “A lot on my mind.” That’s when I notice a small purple jewelry box and a yellowed envelope on the table in front of her. She follows my gaze. “I picked this up yesterday while you were at school,” she says.
“What is it?”
Aunt Bea just shakes her head. “Sit down,” she says, sliding the envelope and box over to me. “They were left in a safe-deposit box for you many years ago. Your mom wrote the letter the year you were born, in case anything ever happened and she wasn’t here when you turned seventeen.”
She pauses and looks down at the table. “I should have given them to you on your birthday, but I was hoping to prolong the sense that our lives are normal. Now that zandara has found you, though . . .” Her voice trails off, and there are tears in her eyes when she looks up again.
“You knew it would when you brought me back here, didn’t you?” I ask, turning the box over in my hands.
“I was doing what I had to do.” She nods at the envelope, and with shaky hands I open it carefully. A dried rose flutters out first, and I recognize it as one of my mother’s gold-tipped Rose of Life blooms. There’s also a single piece of thick paper, yellowed at the edges. I unfold it shakily and begin to read.
My dearest Eveny, my mother writes.
Happy seventeenth birthday. If you’re reading this, it means I am no longer with you, and for that, I am sorrier than I can ever say.
As I’m sure you’ve realized by now, Carrefour is full of secrets, and only you can make the decision about what’s right for your future—although I suspect others around you will have opinions of their own. Remember that zandara can be used for good or evil, selfishly or selflessly. But one thing remains true: it exists always in balance with the universe.
Dark times are coming, and in order to survive, you’ll have to tap into everything inside of you. You have the chance to become the greatest queen the world has ever known.
I have always loved you, Eveny, and I always will. I hope that one day, you’ll understand everything.
Then, in verse form, she has printed the poem from the front hallway:
For each ray of light, there’s a stroke of dark.
For each possibility, one has gone.
For each action, a reaction.
Ever in balance, the world spins on.
But there’s a second verse too.
Blood of my blood, in dreams I will come
To show you the way, soul to soul.
The pieces are shattered, a puzzle undone.
You must piece them together to make it whole.
Beneath the second verse, the letter is signed simply, Love forever, Mom.
When I finish reading, tears cloud my vision. I slide the letter over to Aunt Bea. “I don’t understand. Why would she write all this if she was going to kill herself?”
Aunt Bea doesn’t reply. Instead, she looks up from the letter a moment later with tear-filled eyes and pushes the box toward me. “Open it,” she says.
I take the top off gently. Inside, a smooth black stone with one jagged edge hangs from a long, thin gold chain. I pick it up, and as my fingers touch the stone, a jolt of electricity shoots through me. “It’s just like the necklaces Chloe and Peregrine have,” I say.