✓ | The Crown of the Dead

Blue Cookies, My Beloved

I woke up for the second time that week to Charlie Jackson leaning over me. This time, she was crying. There was a scrape on her face. Her brown hair was out of her ponytail, and it fell in billows around her shoulders.

At first, I had no idea what was going on. My eyelids felt extremely heavy, and my limbs were weak. I couldn't move. When I finally managed to drag my eyes open, I was met with Charlie's shaking frame. Her face was completely red and tear-streaked.

I don't think she noticed that I was awake. I tried to speak to grab her attention, but my mouth was completely dry, and my lips felt chapped. It gave me a bit of time to look around at my surroundings. My ears were being bombarded with what sounded like city happenings-- but that was impossible. The actual city was far from where we had been.

Charlie brought her hands up to her face, wiping at her eyes vigorously. When she brought them down again, she made direct eye contact with me. "Bianca!" She choked out, her voice raspy from all the crying she'd been doing.

I blinked at her, running my tongue along the insides of my mouth. I tried to shift my position, but my body felt heavy.

"Are you okay?" She asked. "Can you speak?"

I tried to lift my head.

You stupid, useless idiot! You're always a burden to everyone else! Just lift your dumb head already!

Using all of the will-power that I had left in me, I managed to pick up my head and slide my arms under me. I pushed myself up and onto my bottom, my arms shaking in the process.

Charlie was sitting on her knees in front of me, looking all scuffed up and dirty. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot.

"Bianca, be careful," she said, reaching out to help me sit up.

I shied away from her touch. I'd already been enough of a problem. I wasn't going to make Charlie's job harder.

"Where are we," I said. My voice sounded like that of a seventy year old smoker who you'd meet in Atlantic City. "Where are... where are the others?"

Charlie's lip trembled. She looked to the right, then to the left. We were both situated in a small alleyway, a fire escape climbing up the wall behind her, and large green dumpsters decorating the ground.

To the left of us was the opening of the alley-- leading out onto a sidewalk, and from there, a bustling city street. Cars and buses sped by, honking loudly. Bikers and walkers made their way across the sidewalk, their figures weighed down by bags, earbuds carefully shoved in their ears.

We were in New York City. I was positive.

"We're in the city," I said stupidly. "Where... where in..."

"Manhattan," Charlie answered before I could get the question out.

We both stared at each other.

After a moment, she reached out towards my face, and her fingers dusted my cheek. She took a lock of my hair in her hand. "More of it turned black."

She was so close to me that I could point out the light freckles dusted along the bridge of her nose. I swallowed.

"There's nothing I can do about it," I replied.

She let go of the hair, and it fell back into place.

"We got separated," she said finally. "I don't know what happened, exactly." She ran a hand across her face, wiping away the smeared dirt that had accumulated there. "I just remember you teleporting us out of there, and then I lost grip of Luke's hand. When I woke up... you were knocked out, and I couldn't find them."