"Step into the circle, Lockwood. I think we can both agree that I've waited long enough."
Rachel's words seem to come from a distance, as if through a thick fog. When I give my head a slight shake to clear my thoughts, I realize that isn't far from the truth -- while we've been talking, tendrils of mist have gathered around us, obscuring Harper's BMW and the rest of the valley from view. It reminds me of the dense fog that would unfurl like a blanket across the water at Lightlake. Nothing about it is natural.
I'm starting to think that maybe this wasn't a good idea.
You might be asking, Wow, really? Offering to sacrifice your soul isn't a great back-up plan? And I'll admit I deserve that. This idea seemed a lot more solid when I first thought of it. That's okay. I've always worked better under pressure.
I step into the circle.
Rachel smiles at me, blood still dripping from the gash on her hand. "A wise choice."
But I don't feel wise. Or brave. I just feel tired.
Here's the deal: I don't want to die. Not particularly. Definitely not at the hands of a real estate agent whose only goal in life is getting back at her ex-husband. Sure, my life is a total shitshow right now, and I've fucked up everything good that has ever happened to me, but it doesn't have to be this way forever.
Right?
Rachel flips the knife over and offers it to me, handle first. "Your turn."
I swear the golden light in the skull eye sockets glows even brighter as I accept the knife. I resist the urge to wipe it clean on my shirt.
"So, what do you want me to do?" I ask, my voice raspy. I've been awake for way too long, and my body is starting to beg for sleep. Or coffee. Or a cigarette.
Her gray eyes flare with impatience. Good. Impatient people are more likely to make mistakes. "I just showed you want to do, silly boy. This sacrifice requires your blood."
I angle the point of the knife over my palm. "How much blood are we talking about? A drop? A pint?"
"It doesn't matter! Just get it over with, we're running out of time."
"Geez, lady, it's not like it's your soul on the line," I mutter. This is the part I'm not so confident about. When I think about everything Dolores told me, I feel somewhat reassured, and my plan doesn't seem so crazy after all. Then I remember that this is Rachel I'm dealing with, and it seems even more crazy that I could've imagined.
Despite all of my misgivings, I know there's only one way forward, and I can only hope it's the right one. I drag the knife over my palm and wince at the sudden sting of pain.
"The circle," Rachel reminds me. As if I could ever forget her creepy deer graveyard.
I'm about to open my hand over the circle of skulls when two bright lights cut through the fog, blinding me for the second time that night. Then I hear Harper exclaim, "I'm sorry, I don't know how they found --"
Her voice is drowned out by the sound of car tires grinding to a halt in the sand. When I open my eyes, blinking into the light, I see a neon-yellow Corvette neatly parked next to the Joshua tree, the heat of the engine burning away the mist.
Becca climbs out of the driver's seat, slamming the door shut behind her. Of course. (She's probably the only one in our group of friends who knows how to park.) Her expression is worried, but not surprised, and her steps are deliberate as she strides over to the circle.
She stops about five feet away from Rachel as if she ran into an invisible wall. Frustration flashes across her face as she tries and fails to take another step forward, the fog thickening around her tennis shoes.
"You're not supposed to be here," Rachel says calmly, as if Corvettes appearing randomly out of the mist is a common experience for her.
Two more people step out of the sports car. Kiran and Finn. Suddenly the bloody knife in my hand seems like the least of my problems. How the hell did they know I was here? I didn't tell anyone about my plan. If I had, I never would've gotten out of the house.
"And you're supposed to be dead," Becca replies.
Still trying to catch her breath from her sprint up the hill, Harper holds up a finger to indicate that she'd like to speak. "As you can see, the boy's friends are here."
"Evidently," says Rachel dryly.
Finn and Kiran make their way over to Becca's side, equally puzzled by the invisible barrier between us. The sun has just started to crest the horizon, so I'm not sure if the light is good enough for them to see the blood on my hands, but I don't want to take any chances. I feel too exposed. As subtle as possible, I curl my arm and the knife behind my back.
"What's going on?" Finn asks. His voice is strangely distorted, as if he's speaking underwater. The fog is thickening again. "Ronan, what's going on here?"
Blood trickles down the side of my hand. It's probably dripping all over the sand, but as Rachel demonstrated, that isn't enough. My blood needs to make contact with the skulls.
"He's making a deal," says Becca, her voice somewhat clearer.
For a brief moment, Rachel looks genuinely impressed. She smiles at Becca. "Ah, so our little psychic has finally discovered her true capabilities. Took you long enough. I could save your grandmother's life, you know. Dolores's, too. I could do so many wonderful things with the power of the ritual. Why the long face, Reyes? I just offered you the miracle you've been dreaming about for months."
"I don't want your miracle," Becca says. She looks briefly stricken, but recovers quickly. "My grandmother isn't a coward like you. She will let life run its course."
"She'll only last a few weeks without you. A month, at best. Think it over. One death, and so many more could be saved. Is that not a worthy sacrifice?"
"It's not worthy if someone has to die for it," Becca insists.
Finn steps out of the mist. I know I only saw him a few hours ago, but the sleepless half-moons under his eyes and worried creases between his eyebrows make him look years older. "I'll do it," he says. "Let me take his place."
Idiot. His good intentions are going to ruin everything.
I'm probably the only one who sees Rachel take a half-step away from him. Still wary from her encounter with the buzzards, I guess. "I don't think you understand," she says, enunciating each word with dagger-like precision. "Your friend already offered. He isn't leaving that circle."
The look on Finn's face is terrible enough to make me wish I'd already sacrificed my soul. "I don't believe you."
"I don't care if you believe me or not," Rachel snaps. Tension builds in the air, making my ears pop. "I'm not here to pander to the whims of whiny teenagers. I'm here to finish the job I started a hundred and fifty years ago. And nothing, especially not a group of insolent high schoolers, is going to stop me."
She clenches her fist, and the fog solidifies around us. Finn, Becca, Kiran, and Harper vanish into the gray. I can't even see the neon-yellow Corvette, and that's saying something.
"Finally, some peace and quiet." Rachel takes a deep, steadying breath, the mist bending around the crisp edges of her pantsuit. "Let's finish this."
Before I can wonder what the hell I've gotten myself into, the pressure skyrockets inside my skull, making me double over in pain. My hours of planning flee my mind like birds startled into flight by a shotgun blast. I forget where I am, who I am. The space inside my head that used to be me reshapes itself to fit Rachel's command.
Hold your hand over the circle.
My body moves on its own accord. From far away, so far away, I see myself stretch a hand out over the skulls. I open my palm to the rosy light of dawn. Nothing.
Rachel hisses in frustration. "Your other hand!"
My other hand. The one bleeding uselessly into the dirt. The one that doesn't want to do what it was told, but begins to move anyway, inch by inch, against my will. My will? No. There is no such thing. Hold your hand over the circle.
Rachel said I wasn't going to leave this circle. Why did I ever doubt her? Of course it would be easier to let go. Give in. Put my horse out to pasture. Everything is so quiet, so still. I don't mind it. I know what it's like to live with silence.
This isn't how it's supposed to be, this isn't how it's supposed to be --
Quiet. Don't think.
This isn't part of the plan --
What plan? There is no plan, only the steady drumbeat of Rachel's words in my head.
I hold out my hand.
"What the --"
The trance shatters. My thoughts are my own again. As I jerk my bleeding hand away from the circle, I see Rachel slapping senselessly at her sleeve, gasping in terror. The mist dissipates, and I'm able to make out a black dot crawling steadfastly up her arm. A spider.
A big spider, too. It dodges all of Rachel's attempt to smack it away and skitters up to her neck. Her face goes pale and it looks like it's taking all her self-control not to scream.
Then Harper appears and brushes the spider into the palm of her hand, releasing it carefully onto the ground. "Don't worry, boss, it's not going to --"
Rachel stomps on the spider, flattening it under her heel. "Get the gun out of the car," she snaps. When her assistant doesn't budge, she yells, "You think you can defy me? NOW!"
It doesn't matter. Rachel is too late. Whatever control she had over my mind is gone. Screw the plan; I've got to get out of this circle before Harper returns with the gun. My friends might have the worst timing ever, but they don't deserve to get shot for it.
I drop the knife in the sand by the Joshua tree and wrap my bleeding hand in my t-shirt. Finn starts towards me, moving dangerously close to the circle. I wave him away. "Get out of here!" I snap. "I've got everything under control."
Famous last words. As I step forward, preparing to cross the circle, a flash of motion catches my eye.
A drop of blood, falling from my hand to the deer skulls below.
I can only stare as the blood lands on the porcelain-white skull, rolling off the side and into the shadow of a malevolent eye socket. Bewildered, I glance down at my t-shirt, trying to figure out how such a small cut bled through the fabric so quickly. There's nothing there. Not even a trace. Is it possible that it wasn't mine?
Then I see my other hand. And the blood trailing from the freshly cracked scabs on my knuckles.
Well, shit, I think to myself, as the golden light flares for a third time, brighter than the Corvette's headlights, I really should not have punched that wall.
"Boss, I think it's starting!" Harper cries, hurrying back from the BMW. She's holding a gun in a way that tells me she knows how to use it, and fixes it without hesitation on my friends. None of them, not even Kiran, look very surprised. But they stop trying to get closer to the circle.
"It's starting," Rachel repeats, her voice no more than a breath. "It's ending. Finally, it's ending."
The pressure builds around me. I can feel my heart pounding in my ribcage.
"He still needs to say the words, boss," Harper says unwillingly.
"That's right." Rachel turns her gaze on me. "Ronan, you need to say, 'I complete the sacrifice.' Then this will all be over."
Easier said than done. It feels like Andy's huge dog is sitting on my chest; I can barely breathe, let alone speak. I press a hand against my sternum. My heartbeat is racing.
Rachel steps into the circle and picks up her switchblade, pointing it at my face. I don't know how she thinks she can threaten me into finishing her ritual when I'm just going to die anyway if I do; I guess we're both running low on options. "Say the words. Now."
The mist rushes back to form a wall around the circle before anyone can intervene. I can't even imagine what Finn and Becca must be thinking. Or feeling. For all they know, I'm already dead as a doornail. My chest squeezes even tighter with guilt.
This isn't how I wanted it to end.
"Say," Rachel grinds out, "the words."
She takes another step forward, and I flinch -- not because I'm scared of her or the knife, I left scared behind with the possessed deer skulls -- but because Rachel isn't the only person in the circle anymore. Standing at her side, illuminated by the rosy light of dawn, is her sister, Leigh Clairvaux. A ghostly desert mirage.
"Take it from a fellow sacrifice," Leigh says. "Your life is worth so much more than this, Ronan Lockwood."
Some of the pressure lifts from my lungs. "Took you long enough," I say hoarsely.
Confusion flickers across Rachel's face, and I realize that she can't see her sister's ghost. "What was that?" she demands.
"She doesn't know I'm here," Leigh continues, her gentle words no louder than a summer breeze. "I'm only here for you."
I wipe my bleeding knuckles thoughtlessly on my shirt. "Really?"
"Yes, you really do need to say the words," Rachel says impatiently. "I don't know why this is so complicated, I thought you were ready to..."
Her words fade away into nothing. Leigh shifts in front of her sister, her form just translucent enough that I can still see Rachel behind her. Their features blend together, eerily alike, two mirrors sharing the same reflection. I think about Rachel's choice to kill her sister to save herself and wonder how long she took to forgive herself. If she ever did.
"I know you think you're doing the right thing," Leigh tells me. "Saving your friends, saving the town, saving everyone except yourself."
"Yeah. I was hoping you could help me with that."
She looks sad. "I can't save you. I'm just a memory."
"I know. I'm sorry," I say, and I truly am. "I'm not asking you to save me. A friend once told me that we all have our paths we must follow. I think I'm finally figuring out my own."
"And where does your path lead, Ronan?"
I take off my sunglasses. Leigh looks at me, really looks at me, and I can pinpoint the exact moment when she finally understands. "With your help," I say, "hopefully, it leads out of this circle."
I always wondered why Rachel and Leigh don't have split-colored eyes like the rest of the psychics I've met. Like me. Now, as Leigh's eyes meet my own, I wonder if the answer is because she and her sister share two halves of the same whole -- one brown-eyed, the other gray-eyed; one with the ability to heal, the other to see the future.
"I see you've encountered my great-great-great granddaughter," Leigh says, a twinkle of humor in her eyes. It makes her look almost alive again.
"I did. It was an honor."
"And this was her idea?"
"I think so. The intelligent parts, at least."
Leigh graces me with a smile. Then her image abruptly flickers as Rachel takes a step forward, her switchblade inches away from my throat. "Who the hell are you talking to?" she asks. Her hand trembles with what I assume is either fury or fear. "Tell me!"
"Your sister sends her love," I say.
Rachel's entire body seems to freeze in place. "What?"
"Dolores told me that gifts are meant to be given," I continue, as if she hadn't spoken. I've heard enough from the real estate agent to last me a lifetime. "She gave me her gift. Now, I'm returning it to your sister. Leigh Clairvaux, do you accept my gift?"
"I do."
Something soft brushes against my shoulder. I can smell mint and lavender.
Go follow your path, I hear Leigh whisper, and the pressure behind my forehead lifts. The sense of impending doom vanishes. Most of it, anyway. I'm not sure if I'll ever forget what it was like having all the outcomes in the world taking up space in my head. The only thing I know for certain is this -- I never thought I'd be so relieved not to know my future.
"Hello, sister," Leigh says, the golden light of the deer skulls flickering in her hazel eyes. She looks more like a real person than a ghost now. "I think it's time we had a talk."
I'll never forget the expression on Rachel's face as she beheld her sister for the first time in over a century. It's terrified and guilty and haunted and relieved.
"There's something I've wanted to tell you. Years, I've waited." Leigh grabs Rachel by the wrist and pulls her into an embrace, looking for all the world like two sisters reunited after an eternity apart. She murmurs in her ear, "I complete the sacrifice."
Leigh drags her palm across Rachel's switchblade and presses their hands together.
Together, they withstand the explosion of dazzling golden light, tears running down both of their faces as the twisted limbs of the Joshua tree surround them.
Together, the two Clairvaux sisters vanish completely.
The glow in the deer skull eye-sockets winks out.
Darkness falls on the desert.