The Unbound

I shake my head. “No,” I say, turning toward the roof door. “But I wouldn’t go down without a fight.”

Owen follows me. “Where are we going?”

“There’s still one thing standing in our way,” I tell him.

His brow furrows. “What?”

“My mother.”

Bishop’s is busy. A flock of students from the public school take up half the seats and, judging by Mom’s frenetic pace, have been ordering a slew of things. Berk is on the patio, and Mom’s behind the counter making drinks. Owen follows me in, his steps slowing as he sees the rose pattern on the floor. He stands there, looking down at it as I head up to the counter.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, resting my elbows on the marble.

“You’re home early,” she says, and I’m kind of amazed she knows what time it is, considering how many orders she seems to be juggling.

“Yeah, it turns out the bus is a pretty efficient mode of transportation. Still dirty, but efficient.”

“Mm-hmm,” she says, clearly distracted.

“Hey, so, there’s a party at Hyde tonight, and I was wondering—”

And just like that, her head snaps up from her work. “You’re joking, right?”

“I just thought maybe I could—”

She shakes her head. “You know the answer to this—”

“I know,” I cut in, keeping my voice low, “and I wasn’t even going to bother asking, but Dallas said I should.” For how often she drops her therapist’s name, mine should carry some weight. And sure enough, Mom quiets. “I know it’s a long shot,” I say, hoping this doesn’t sound as rehearsed as it is. “It’s just…I want to feel normal. I want to feel okay, and this—the house arrest, the hovering—I know I’ve earned it, but it’s the constant reminder that I’m not. And I know I’m not. I haven’t been okay for a long time, and I know I have a long way to go before I get there, but for one night I just want to pretend I’m already there.”

I watch her begin to falter.

“Never mind,” I start to say, adding a small waver to my voice. “I understand—”

“Okay,” she cuts in. “You can go.”

Hook. Line. Sinker. My chest loosens even as my heart sinks. “Thank you,” I say, hoping my relief can pass for excitement. Then I do something that takes us both by surprise: I hug her. My head fills with tell her tell her you’re sorry can’t lose her was only trying to I can’t lose her too.

For once, instead of pulling away, I tighten my grip. “But you have to check in,” she adds when I finally let go. I nod. “I mean it, Mackenzie. No disappearing. No antics.”

“Promise,” I say, turning to go.

“A rousing performance,” says Owen as we head back upstairs. I don’t reply, because I don’t trust myself. Just a few more hours. A few more hours and I will return Owen to the Archive.

A few more hours and this will all be over.

“Not again.” Owen’s voice is a low growl as we reach the third floor, and I look up from the steps through the glass insert to see what he sees. Wesley is leaning back against my door, holding a box. My stomach twists. Why is he making it so hard to keep him safe?

“Send him away,” orders Owen.

I shake my head. “I can’t. He’ll suspect something is wrong. Just give me some time—”

“No,” says Owen. “You said you wanted to leave him out of this, so do it.”

“I’m not going to tell him anything. I just want…” I trail off. Owen’s eyes bore into mine, and I would give anything in this moment to be able to read his thoughts.

“How many good-byes did you get to say to Carmen?” I ask. “Please. Give me one.”

Owen’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and I can feel him reading me for defiance, but I’m learning how to bury it. I am not a History. I am a human, and my life is messy and loud. I focus on the truths instead of the lies.

Truth: I am scared for Wesley.

Truth: I do not want to hurt him.

Truth: This is not his fight.

Truth: I ca

Owen’s hand slides away. “Fine,” he says. And even if he can’t feel the relief in my skin, I’m sure he can see it in my face. “I have a few finishing touches to put on tonight. Have your time with him, but don’t be late. The party starts at seven. The show’s at eight.”

I nod and head out into the hall, feeling his eyes on me the whole way there. When Wesley sees me coming, he smiles.

“What’s with the box?” I ask.

“You have a Fall Fest to get ready for,” he says. “I’ve come to help.” He clicks a button on the box, and it opens to reveal a dazzling array of makeup.

“Does this make you my fairy godmother?” I ask as I let him in, locking the door behind us.

He considers the term. “Well, yes. In this case I guess that’s fair. But don’t tell Cash. My cred will go through the floor.”

“Where did you even get all this?” I ask, sca

“Stole it from Safia.” He sets the box on the kitchen table and starts searching through, then makes an aha sound and emerges with a handful of shadows and a silver liner. “Sit,” he says, patting the tabletop.

I climb up, leaning forward until my face is inches from his. His hair is still smoothed down and his eyes unlined, and at this distance, I can see the gold flecks in his hazel eyes. A strange panic fills me. I don’t know what’s going to happen; the only thing I know is that I want Wes as far away from it as possible.

“Skip it,” I whisper as he uncaps the liner.

“Skip what?”

“The dance,” I say. “Don’t go. Stay home.”

“With you?” he asks, smiling crookedly. I shake my head and the smile falters. “I don’t understand.”

“I just…” I start, but what can I say? What can I tell him without putting him in harm’s way? “Never mind.” I duck out from under his arms, feeling ill. I go into the bathroom and splash water on my face, then grip the counter and breathe.

“You okay?” calls Wes as I rifle through the medicine cabinet above the sink for some aspirin.

“My arm’s just sore,” I say, sca

But not that. He would never forgive me.

“Here.” Wes appears in the doorway with a small vial. “I keep some aspirin in my bag.”

I take the tube with shaking hands and rinse down two while Wes assesses himself in the mirror. He pulls a small disk-shaped container from his pocket and opens it, dabbing his finger in the gel. He starts to spike his hair when someone knocks on the door.

“Coming,” I call.

“Is it pizza?” asks Wes from the bathroom. “I would kill for some pizza.”

“Wouldn’t get your hopes up,” I say. “Mom probably forgot a key.”

I throw the lock, and the door’s barely open before a hand tangles in my collar and wrenches me forward into the hall hard enough that the door slams shut behind me. I’m shoved back against the wood as about time been waiting can’t wait has it coming little Keeper spills in through my head, and I hardly have time to register the noise as Sako’s before a key is driven into the door and I fall back and through.

I hit the antechamber floor hard enough to knock the breath out of me and roll to my feet to see Agatha standing there, smiling grimly.

“Seize her,” she says, and I feel the sentinels take hold from either side as she comes forward, holding a piece of paper in front of my face.

“Do you know what this is, Miss Bishop?” The page is written in Latin, with the Archive seal—three vertical gold bars—at the top. “It’s permission,” she tells me, setting the paper on the desk. I try to pull free as she begins to tug off her black gloves one at a time.