The Girl Who Would Be King(130)

“Bryce is dead,” I say. The air comes right out of Liesel and she sits on the bed, her cheeks visibly paling.

“No,” she breathes, her eyes fill with tears and then spill freely over her cheeks.

“Yes,” I say. “It turns out there is someone else like me out there – but she’s not a good guy. Her name is Lola LeFever and she killed Bryce right in front of me in Central Park. Broke her back, nearly broke her in half.”

“Oh my god,” she says again. “I read about the thing in the park, they haven’t identified Bryce to the public, just listed her as a Jane Doe. I, I can’t believe she’s dead.

“I’m sorry Liesel, it’s my fault. Lola did it to get to me, if she hadn’t been with me-” I can’t finish the sentence.

Liesel raises her hand to stop me. “It’s not your fault. It’s Lola’s fault, I just, you know, it’s a lot,” She’s quiet for a moment and then after a deep breath, looks at me, “That was almost a week ago, where have you been since then?”

“She killed me too. Drowned me in the Hudson, a bunch of times actually. I woke up several days later, but I’d lost my memory.” Liesel sighs and covers her face with her hands, she’s overwhelmed. I know how she feels. I tell her the rest and we end up in the kitchen drinking tea and arguing about whether or not I can stay with them at the apartment. “I can’t do it, Liesel.”

“You have to stay Bonnie – I won’t have it any other way.”

“No. It’s too dangerous. If I’m not putting Clark in danger by staying with him then I’m not putting you and Ben in danger either.”

“Bonnie. This is what friends are for, to help in times of trouble, what is more trouble than this?”

“I won’t pretend it’s not tempting, but I just can’t. We’re not playing games, here. Bryce is already dead,” I say firmly.

“I know. I know,” she says, rubbing her forehead. “But it doesn’t matter, I couldn’t live with myself if I left you alone at a time like this.”

“And I can’t live with myself if I get you both killed!” I shout.

“But it’s not your choice, it’s mine.”

“You’re so goddamn stubborn,” I hiss.

“Yes, I am. Equaled maybe only by you,” she says, crossing her arms. I sit back in my chair, stretching out my legs.

“Fine,” I say. Not intending to actually stay, but at least not willing to argue the point anymore.

“Nice boots,” she offers, and then adds lightly, “I didn’t really think you’d have time for a shopping spree what with all you’ve got going on.”

I smile back at her across the table. “Aren’t they amazing? They were my mother’s,” I say, rubbing a finger across the smooth leather.

“I guess that’s why they look like they belong to you,” she says kindly, her eyes shifting to the large duffel bag. “What else did you get, anything that will help?” I open the bag and pull out the book. Liesel’s eyes light up.

“Do you mind if I look at it?” Liesel asks, reaching for it with her delicate hands.

“Of course not,” I say, watching her crack open the old leather binding.

“We’ll have to get it translated. What is this? Celtic?” she asks, her fingers running over the words. I look up from the bag and turn to her.

“What do you mean ‘translated’?” I say, shaking my head in confusion. She opens up the page and points to the wall of text.

“Wait, you can’t – can you read this?” she asks incredulously.

“Of course, what are you-” I pause and look at the page and realize that it’s in another language. I hadn’t even noticed because for some reason I can read it as if it was written in a language I’ve read my whole life.

Liesel whistles long and low. “Wow. That’s incredible.” She turns more pages and runs her hands over the beautifully shaped words. I sit down next to her.

“I didn’t even notice it,” I say quietly. “What language is it?”

“I’m not sure, it looks kind of Celtic to me, or maybe Irish Gaelic? I really don’t know. I can’t believe you can read this. I mean, if it’s Celtic, that’s like a dead language at this point, it’s been hundreds, I think, maybe even a thousand years since it was used.”

“And I know it as well as I know English? That makes no sense,” I say, shaking my head.

“A lot of stuff about you doesn’t make sense,” Liesel says. “I think we just have to accept that premise and move forward.”