There is a knock on the door. It takes me a minute to leave Raven and decide to open it. I don't make it quick enough, apparently. A fist pounds the door with three heavy strikes. The Authority Bureau stands on the other side.
"Raven?" he asks, cocking a brow.
"No, she's ins-," but before I can finish, a line of men streams into the dorm. They jump on top of Raven. A muffled scream escapes. They shackle handcuffs to her that negate her magic. She kicks and fits as two Authorities drag her out. They have their arms laced under her armpits, leaving her to face me. She cusses as they pull her, but she does not break eye contact with me. My eyes don't dare escape her lock.
"What're you doing?" I grill, pulling on an arm. He knocks me over.
"Her sins have caught up to her," he responds, "Raven, someone told us everything. They told us every name you used, every sin you committed."
Another Authority chuckles, "Raven Vandenberg, Raven Blackwood, and Raven Merseth. You were all of those devils, weren't you?"
"You tattled on me, didn't you?"she demands, kicking her boot in the air.
"No! Raven, I swear I didn't!" I testify.
"Liar!" she spouts, "no one else should've known! I really fucking trusted you, Helena, but I should've known? I lived for a hundred years, didn't I?" They tear her through the doorway.
"I didn't!" I swear.
"I promise to every star in the sky," she mutters, her voice low, lips moving so that I am the only one to understand, "I will come back and I will have my vengeance." Her hollow scream and cries follow down the hallway. Neighbors peak their heads to see the commotion. I wade in the doorway. Someone leans next to me against the wall, hidden by a potted plant.
"Cruel, aren't I?" a hauntingly familiar voice wades in my ear.
"Chris," I mutter.
He puts his finger to his lips, cooling his smile, "hush."
July 985
"Pickles make anything better," Holly triumphantly cheers as she plops a third pickle in her malt. The restaurant we decided on is fairly empty. The waitresses give her weird looks. My luggage is three suitcases stacked in a pile and my purse on top, with a train ticket sticking out. For our last meal as friends, we all wanted ice cream. I ordered butter pecan in a cone, Beckham ordered cherry in a cup, and Holly is working on her third malt.
"You're pregnant," I decide.
"Holly?" Beckham gasps.
"Helena?" she whines, "how could you have known!"
"You're pregnant?" Beckham exclaims.
"Helena!" she snaps.
"I'm sorry! I just notice things like that," I defend.
"I'm gonna miss your weird quirks like that," Holly pouts.
"You're pregnant," Beckham repeats, softly.
"So weird," Holly mutters, licking her spoon, "everything is changing. I'm having another baby! That's crazy and it's just all so weird!"
"Holly," I whimper.
"Raven is gone. Chris is gonna become the Master of Genesis. I'm pregnant!"
"Holly,"
"And you're leaving, too!" she cries out, "I'm pregnant and hormonal and you're making me sad!"
"Holly, I want to go back home," I tell her.
"And you should. I still want to be part of your life. Make sure I'm part of your wedding and I wanna see your kids and they better call me Auntie Holly or I'll be so pissed!" she whines.
"I'll never let you guys fade. I love you both," is my promise.
"Good luck to you out there, Helena," Beckham replies.
"And if I ever have a second daughter, I'll name her Helena!" Holly decides.
"What about your first?" I ask.
"No," she teases, "you're not that special!"
"You suck," I laugh, "good luck with this one, Beckham."
Holly bursts into tears, all the attention in the restaurant turns to her. "Please don't go!" she babbles.
"Holly! Stop! You're an adult," I remind her.
"I'm sorry," Beckham apologizes for her.
"Thanks guys, you've really made this the best years of my life. Write to me lots," I beg, "I have to go."
"It's not seven o'clock, already? It is!" Beckham stutters, licking his spoon with a tear dripping down his face.
"I made Beckham cry," I sniffle, "I really have to go now." I cram the rest of the cone into my mouth. Holly and Beckham pull me into a tight embrace. I catch a tear drop from my eyes. With some awkwardness, I drag my luggage from the restaurant, standing on the street in the hot, humid air. I pull two suitcases, have a duffel bag slung over my shoulders, and a purse beating against my stomach with every step I take. The train station isn't that far away, but it begins to rain. I swear and dig around my bag for a umbrella.
Once I board the train, I fall asleep watching the lightning strike and listen to the slow grumble of thunder.
Eventually, I make it home. Fairlon hasn't changed much. A few more impressive houses were built, the outdoor market was covered with a tent, the city is sleepy as the train chugs along the tracks. Tired lights glimmer, hollow sounds of metal clank. I rub my eyes and I realize how bad I smell. People run off the train and into people's arms. Women rejoice with husbands, sisters rejoice with brothers, mothers rejoice with their children. But, a certain blonde girl, now aged seventeen, pushes through a crowd. She finds herself back at the place she longed to be for utmost two years. He opens the door.
"Helena," he whispers, unable to contain his own disbelief. Laced in that disbelief was excitement.
"I was wondering if you needed an assistant, I know a girl," she approaches. She's still careful with her words and movements, for this was like befriending a beast. She did not see him for such a long time. In words, he does not answer her, but instead hugs her. In a fit of love, he swings his arms around her. She can't embrace him back because he holds her so tight. She drops her luggage from her achy fingers. Giving in, her head nestles to the crook of his shoulder. He smells exactly as she remembers: egg yolk and paper and clay.
