Stunned, I stumbled over my words. “Calliope, I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—whoever it is, I’m sure I can talk to them and figure it out and—”

“Are you really that dense?”

I fell silent. Apparently I was. “Your Henry,” she spat. “I’ve been watching him weed through girls like you for decades. He doesn’t care about me—all I am to him is someone to take care of his guests.” Her eyes were bright with tears. “I told him once, you know, the first time he invited a girl here. Told him I’d be perfect for it, that I would love him and treat him a thousand times better than Persephone ever did. And you know what he did? He walked away and never said a damn thing to me again unless it had something to do with one of his spoiled girlfriends.”

I didn’t know what to say or think—what was I supposed to do? Was this why she was mad at me? Because I’d slept with him while under the influence of some stupid aphrodisiac?

“I’m sorry,” I said, fighting to keep my voice under control. “I didn’t choose this. Maybe if Henry never noticed you…maybe it was never meant to be.”

“Of course it was meant to be!” she exploded. “How could it not be? I love him. I’ve loved him for longer than you’ve been alive.”

Her expression flattened, and for a frightening moment, her eyes looked as dead as she was.

“And I will love him long after you’re gone.”

From the picnic basket, she withdrew something sharp and metallic. I didn’t have time to run. She moved so fast that the knife was a blur, and I tried to move, to kick her legs out from under her and scramble away, but she grabbed my hair and yanked my head back so hard I was afraid my neck would snap.

“Nicholas!” I cried, but it was too late.

I felt the pressure first, a strange pushing against my side. The pain didn’t blossom until she yanked the knife out, and that was when I screamed. Instinctively I thrust my elbow at her, feeling something crack as it found purchase, but that only gave her another opening. I gasped as she thrust the knife into my belly, the wound instantly white-hot. Already I could taste blood.

“How disappointing,” she said, wiping the stream of blood from her broken nose. “Is that really the best you can do?”

With one last burst of adrenaline, I lunged at her, my hands closing around her throat. But I was losing blood rapidly, and I didn’t have the strength to do the damage I wanted to do. Helpless, I squeezed my eyes shut as she delivered her final blow, stabbing me in the center of my chest. This time she didn’t bother pulling the knife out.

She pried my hands from her neck and lifted me with ease. I could hear Pogo barking, the sound of it muffled and far away, and I tried to call out, but all I could manage was a sickening gurgle. Pain burned through me like fire. I grew dizzy, as if I were falling through a tunnel, but there was nothing I could do to hold on.

The splash of freezing water roused me enough to open my eyes. My vision was blurry, but I could see Calliope looming over me. Her body moved away from me, but she stood still. With my mind so sluggish, it took me several seconds to understand that I was in the river and floating away.

This was it. This was what death felt like. Cold and wet and numb and fire as I struggled to breathe, but no air filled my lungs. Instead of being scared, I was relieved. I wouldn’t have to say goodbye to my mother after all. If Henry had any mercy in him, he would let her go the instant he realized I was dead.

Henry.

After letting him lower his guard and get his hopes up, I’d managed to get myself killed. And if I was dead, he would be, too. He hadn’t given up on me, so what right did I have to give up on him?

I struggled weakly against the current, but it was futile. I could barely move, let alone try to swim to shore. The river would take me, and if I were lucky, eventually they’d find my body washed up on the riverbank somewhere nearby.

Above me the sun streamed through the bare branches, and I let myself drift down into the darkness, no longer cold. Instead I felt warm, as if Henry was embracing me, and I imagined him pulling me to shore. The cool air would hit my wet skin, and I would shiver. He would heal me, and in the end, everything would be all right again.

But it was too late for happy endings. I was already dead.

CHAPTER 17

DEATH

When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but my mother wasn’t it. Except there she was, looking as whole and healthy as she did every night when I fell asleep. Instead of greeting me with her usual smile, her expression was grim, and she stared at something in the distance.

“Mom?” I said, and when she looked at me, her eyes were so red and hollow that they couldn’t have possibly been hers. Even in the worst days of her illness, she hadn’t looked so empty. There had still been something inside of her, a spark or a smile or something that reminded me she was still my mother. Not this time.

I tried to take her hand, but the ground was unsteady, and I fell back down onto the bench. It was dark outside, nothing like the usual bright days we spent together, but the full moon and twinkling stars above us gave off enough light for me to make out where we were. We were still in Central Park, but for the first time since my dreams had begun, we weren’t in Sheep Meadow. We were in a boat floating in the middle of the lake.

I froze. This was exactly how I’d nearly drowned when I was a kid.

“Mom, I—” My voice cracked, weaker than usual. I was exhausted and badly wanted to close my eyes and forget about all of this. To let it fade away with the rest of my life. “I’m sorry.”