Violet Grenade(37)

And it's. All. Mercy's. Fault.

I stand slowly, rising behind Mercy like a demon shadowing the sun.

Poppet's bottom lip falls open. She says one word though Mercy explicitly told her not to. "Please."

Mercy slaps her.

It isn't hard.

It's hard enough.

I'm on her in a heartbeat. Take her to the floor like an animal and shove my fists into her face.

Wilson springs to his feet. Oh, damn! It's on! Want my help?

Yes, I respond. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Wilson takes my hand, and I am him and he is me. Mercy's screams slip down my throat, thick and foul like cough syrup. Blood covers my hands. The girl beneath me knows how to earn bronze coins. Fine. She can intimidate the other Carnations into following her. Fine.

But she doesn't know what I know, what Wilson knows.

She doesn't know how to inflict fear like this.

I stop hitting her because now I have her attention. This isn't all about pain, after all. My lips graze her ear, and she freezes.

"Listen to me, you sweet, naïve girl. You've had your turn. Now it's my time to reign. And don't think for one second that it's your throne I want. I don't want that. I don't want your status either. I want you. And I'll have you, too. Your mind is mine to hold. Your body belongs to me. Even your soul, Mercy, is gone. I've eaten it. I'VE EATEN IT!"

I scream, and Mercy panics and shoots up. I slide off her chest. She's bigger than me, but she's not bigger than Wilson. I place my hand over her face and shove. Her head snaps backward.

"Give me your crown!" My cries grow louder, more hysterical. "Let it fall from evil and sit upon a head of righteousness!" I don't know what I'm saying. Wilson speaks through me now, and that's fine and dandy.

Two arms grab me and drag me off the girl. Soon, two more join the mission to free Mercy from the crazed Minnow. Four arms against my two. Not very fair, if you ask me.

"Let me go." My chest rises and falls fast, but I've regained some control.

It's the calmness that scares them most, remember? Wilson says.

I remember.

Raquel is hollering in my face and snapping her fingers. She's background noise. All I can think about is Mercy on the ground. Mercy wiping away the red river beneath her nose. Mercy still breathing. Mercy still alive.

My eyes are on Mercy when I say, "You're next, Raquel. When you least expect it, I'll have your head, too."

The girl with blue toenail polish is hollering. Yelling at me and throwing her arms around her head. But all I can think about are three things.

First, that Dizzy doesn't care.

Second, that Candy said it would take $1,200 to get a place of my own.

Third, that a place of my own means I'll never have to rely on anyone again.

Mercy's voice rings above the rest, and everyone turns to look at her. She's screaming something but Wilson is too loud inside my head, and I can't hear her. I clench my eyes shut and push Wilson down far enough so that I can listen to Mercy run her mouth.

Why do you care what she has to say? Hit her again! Wilson is jumping around inside my head, unable to contain his excitement though he was just reminding me to act calm.

Hush!

Mercy's voice rushes in. " … out of here. Just leave, you freak! Get out!"

"What?" I ask dumbly, because I've missed her rant.



       
         
       
        

Mercy shakes her head like I'm crazy.

She has no idea.

"I said, get out of this house. No one wants you here. Leave right now and never come back!"

The girls look at me. Poppet looks at me. Somewhere in the distance, I hear the sound of heavy footsteps. Maybe Mr. Hodge or Cain coming to see what the uproar is all about.

Dizzy's abandonment.

Madam Karina's affection.

Poppet's kindness.

Twelve hundred dollars.

A place of my own.

I meet Mercy's icy glare. "No," I tell her. "I think I'll stay a while."





PART III

DOMINO'S RULES

FOR DRINKING THE KOOL-AID

Strategize.

Find favor with the queen.

Get out of your comfort zone.

Become ruthless in your pursuit of victory.

Keep your eyes off the boy who could wreck you.





Chapter Twenty-Two

My, How They Shine

I sometimes do this thing called lucid dreaming. It's where I fully comprehend that I'm dreaming, but the dream marches on anyway, fumbling around like a great ogre. I don't always recognize when I'm dreaming. And sometimes, like now, it's worse when I do.

I'm in my parents' home. I know because the moon shines in a funny pattern through our beveled windows. A cuckoo clock chimes the time, twelve o'clock a.m., though there's never been a clock like this in our house before.

I hear the sound of heavy footsteps, and a door opening and closing down the hallway. A man appears with a bag slung over his shoulder. He's fleeing like a criminal. Or like we're the criminals and the only chance he has to save his own life lies in these few seconds.