Page 155 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

What just happened?

“Here,” she hands me a piece of paper—she’s still holding a pen. Whatever Wendy just said to me is written down. “It’s a prophecy.”

The one who leaves returns alone.

Mom.

She’s told me about prophecies before. Supposedly, they’re set in stone unless something big happens to change the future that was shown by Zola—and that’s only a guess.

I shove the paper in my pocket and look at Aralia. “Just because you declared your apologies in a hallway of twenty people,” who are all still looking at us, “doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“You still wear my clothes.” Aralia arches an eyebrow. “And use my blusher. I don’t know how many Folk share their clothes with people they don’t consider friends.”

She’s right. “Then I’ll stop wearing your clothes.”

I’m walking down the hall, fast, when she whines, “Des.”

“Save it!” My voice echoes around me.

Temptation takes its roots and takes me to Headmistress Constance. “She’s not in,” her secretary tells me.

“Do you know when she will be?”

“I’ll have her contact you. Desdemona?” She says my name like she’s unsure, but she must remember those two days and the not-dream, must know more than she lets on.

“Yeah,” I say. “Desdemona Marquees.”

It’s only half a day later when I get my invitation from the headmistress. I go immediately. Nothing left to lose.

“Fair to see you again, dear,” she says to me.

“You know why I’m here.” Before I can react, there’s a letter opener being lodged in my bicep. I can feel every cell in my body electrifying, the heat building everywhere. I grab the hilt, ready to pull it from my skin.“What is wrong with?—”

I stop.

“Go on.” She gestures to the letter opener, both in my arm and in my hand, and smiles. “Heal.”

The heat is dizzying as I try to think up another convincing lie. Oh, whatever. “I don’t heal.” I pull her bloody and bedazzled letter opener from me with a stifled whimper and drop it on her desk. Blue looks good with blood. “My body burns the wound shut, but trust me, it hurts like a bitch for a long time after.”

“Fascinating,” she whispers slowly.

“Got any more blades you wanna poke me with?”

I think of Leiholan, his warnings about the woman across from me. There’s lying to everyone else, but there’s no lying to myself. I still trust me, and I think I do believe that he wants the best for me.

“If that’s an invitation.” She wipes my blood on a small, white handkerchief. “But no.” The letter opener is being held by the tip of its blade, and the hilt is facing me. “I want you to melt it.”

Jermoine. I took his arms. What will happen to me if I do it again?

What will happen if I can do it again, whenever I please, to whomever I wish?

“Fine.” I grab it from her hastily and close my palm around the blade, just like the last time. I think of the adrenaline, fighting for my life and being so close to losing it that the last attempt my instincts could manage was grabbing a sword that was coming for my head. My heart races just thinking of all the ways I could’ve died.

That heat overwhelms me. I feel it in my nose, singing my nostrils and behind my eyes, burning my vision. I grip the blade tighter, pulling blood, and when the heat rushes to my palm to cauterize the wound, the metal crunches like a leaf in my hand right before it melts.

I can barely contain the laugh that rumbles deep within me, forcing its way out. Damn, does this feel good. Every cell in my body is electrified, and not from pain—but from power.

I meet the headmistress’s icy blue eyes, where I see her smile before her mouth does.

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