Page 81 of The Narrow

He stands half turned, his shoulder to me, his head bowed. His hands are in his pockets. “This is for the best, Eden. Go back to your friends. You’re done with Abigail House.”

“Why?” I demand, turning on him. “Just tell me why.”

But he can’t. He won’t. He walks away without another word.

I sink down on the steps and wait. For what, I’m not sure. For Madelyn Fournier to come out and explain herself to me, or to tell me there’s been a mistake.

Finally I get up. With one last glance behind me, I walk back to Westmore.

27

THE NIGHT IScold and crisp, no clouds to conceal the plentiful stars or the harsh crescent of the moon. I lie in bed and send another message.

What’s going on? Please talk to me.

It’s the latest in a long string of plaintive messages to Del that have gone unanswered. Did her mom take her phone?

Or could it be that Del is the one who wants me gone?

No. That’s just my depressed, paranoid brain coming up with the worst explanation. “Nobody loves me, everybody hates me,I’m going to go eat worms”—level emotional sophistication. Good job, depression brain.

Having a word for the pattern my brain has fallen into—not just afeeling, but a sprawling web of thoughts and beliefs—doesn’t fix things, but it feels like a start.

Miss you, I write simply, and make myself set the phone down.

It’s entirely possible that Oster and Madelyn Fournier decided to kick me out because of me and Del. At least for Madelyn, I doubt it has anything to do with my gender. If she wants to break us up, it’s because she’s too protective of Del when it comes toanyone, male, female, or nonbinary.

It doesn’t make it suck any less, though. And the other possible explanations are more worrying.

Like that Oster somehow knew we were onto him.

That he knows about the Drowning Girl, maybe.

Maeve must have lain in bed like this so many times. Knowing that Oster and others like him were doing everything they could to keep her away from Grace. Wanting to talk to her, to touch her.

I roll out of bed. The dorm is silent. It’s past midnight, and even insomniac Zoya is fast asleep. I pad out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. I pull the trash can out from under the sink, not sure that I’ll find what I need. But there it is.

The bottle of river water. I fish it out of the trash, glance around guiltily, and hurry back to my room, easing the door shut behind me.

“This is stupid,” I say, because it feels like someone should say it, and I’m the only one around. Then I unscrew the cap and tip a few drops of water over my upturned palm. It gathers in the creases. I sit on the edge of the bed, the liquid cold against my skin and my heartbeat swift.

“Maeve?” I call softly. “Can you hear me? Can you come?”

I feel the moment before she arrives. A shift in the air, a tension. And then there she is.

“Eden,” she says, a smile on her lips. Water drips from the cuffsof her pants and the tips of her hair, but the crimson star in her eye is gone and her limbs are straight and whole. She steps close to me and brushes the hair back from my face. I wait for the spark of pain that always follows her touch, but it’s hardly a whisper.

“You’re getting better,” I say.

“It’s easier to remember who I am,” she says. “To keep from hurting you. I’m sorry, Eden. I never mean to.”

“I know,” I say. Her palm cups my cheek. She feels so solid—cold but solid. She feels real. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“When I’m in the water, it’s hard to hear,” Maeve says. She trails her fingertips along the shell of my ear as she speaks, sending a shiver down my spine. “It’s all darkness down there. And we’re alone, all of us.”

“There are others?” I ask.

“The Narrow drowns all it takes, and holds them fast,” she says. “Haven’t you heard that? We’re all down there. The damned and the drowned. It will never, ever let us go.”

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