After a few more unsuccessful attempts, my fight dwindles. I glance at Olivia over my shoulder. This is my fault. I should never have let her goto a school full of mages, knowing she didn’t belong there. I should have fought harder, spoken louder. I should have told someone, anyone, that the cursed one with magic was me. And now, she is dead because of a cuff she was never supposed to wear. My silence killed Olivia.
The crowd has quadrupled, and it takes us a while to push through the wall of sympathy. I try my best to return the teary nods, but my heart sears with anger. Everyone loved Olivia. How could someone do this to her?
Our last conversation replays in my head. From her joke about curfew to her insistence that I wear my relic to help quell my magic. It was almost like Olivia was warning me, preparing me for her inevitable fate. I let her down too many times before. I can’t let her down again. Even if it means betraying myself, I will wear Nan’s cuff.
For Olivia, I will stop at nothing until I find her killer.
Mara walks with me until we reach our gate. She promises to take care of Olivia two more times before she leaves, and I don’t even thank her. Instead of stepping into our house, I head straight into the back garden and sit on the dirt. I don’t know how long I stay here, only that I fall asleep.
When I wake up, it’s well into the afternoon and my clothes are wet. Cursing myself for wasting precious time that I could’ve used to speak to my sister’s ghost, I drag myself to the house and head straight to my bathroom. Mother is not here, although I wish she was. Right now, I want to be around someone who knew and loved my sister.
I tear off my wet clothes and step into the shower. The water scalds my hands as I wash the mud off them. I scrub my skin until it’s raw, but nothing will scrub away the guilt that’s eating me from the inside.
After getting dressed in a sweater and jogger pants, I pull my mattress up, sliding it out of the frame. In the center lies a small, wooden box with a bronze latch. I haven’t touched it since Olivia gave it to me a week after she started at Gorhail. She said Nan’s cuff wouldn’t open for her, and she’d managed to get a counterfeit relic from someone at school. For the longest time, she spoke about wanting to wear a real relic, wanting tofeelmagical. I hate the Gods, for they grant wishes with poisoned gifts. If Olivia hadn’t insisted on getting a real relic, would someone have killed her?Killed. That word feels so wrong.
My hands shake as I flip open the bronze latch. I’ve had twelve years to bring Olivia back from Gorhail, and I did nothing. Pushing the box openwith my thumbs, I hold my breath. On a bed of folded black silk cloth lies a single brass cuff. Nan’s cuff. And behind it, a yellowing note from Olivia: “Tell me if ghosts are real when you put it on.”
My eyes sting, and I blink away the tears. I have to speak to my sister’s ghost, beg for her forgiveness, and hope she remembers enough from her final moments to tell me who killed her.
I gingerly pick up the cuff, feeling the weight of the cool metal. Letting out a quick exhale, I slide the relic underneath my sweater. In one motion, it snaps around my arm. I flinch, anticipating it to be as cold as snow, but it molds to my arm, soft and warm, sitting comfortably against my skin like it had been waiting for me all these years.
“Olivia,” I try.
Nothing.
“Ole,” I try again.
The chirp of birds grows louder outside my window, but I still don’t hear her. Is my magic gone when I need it the most? I begin to panic. But then I remember reading that ghosts tend to linger around their bodies for a while. By now, the sheriff’s office should’ve moved her to Dearly Departed, so I turn on my heels, ready to find my sister.
“I should’ve known.” Mother stands in the doorway, face puffy, eyes bloodshot. She looks wild. “Why did you lie?” The usual dismissal in her eyes has morphed into loathing. She knows. She knows Olivia doesn’t… didn’t have magic.
“I didn’t,” I mumble. But by not correcting Olivia, I was complicit in the lie.
“It all makes sense now, you working at that funeral home.” She laughs without moving her mouth, but her eyes aren’t on me. They’re on the box that held Nan’s cuff.Mycuff.
“What did she say?” Mother asks, approaching me like she’s gone mad. “What were Olivia’s last words?”
“Nothing.” I blink at her.
“Don’t lie to me again, Viola.” She grips my arm, and it hurts. “I know how your wretched magic works. What were her last words?”
Tears brim my eyes. The only person whom I shared the last words of the dead with is now dead. “She said nothing.” I double down. Nothing I want to share with Mother anyway.
Mother releases my hand, and I hold my breath, waiting for the slapto come. Instead, she backs off. “Olivia is dead,” she spits. “Her blood is on your hands.”
My head lowers at my upturned palms. Her bloodison my hands.
Mother has a way of pulling to the surface everything that’s wrong with me, every flaw, every misstep. Looking at her, standing like a shell two steps away from me, I realize that she is but a mother who’s lost a child. Selfishly, a part of me wonders if she’d be as distressed if I were the one killed. I shake my head. Why am I so desperate for a love that will never come?
“I’m going to the funeral home,” I say, pausing at the door, expecting more vitriol. But she doesn’t say anything, and she doesn’t stop me as I walk down the stairs.
The kitchen feels bigger than usual, as if it knows Olivia is no longer here. I linger behind the chair she sat in on Monday, hot tears prickling my eyes again. I reach to wipe them away. We never even had one last cup of tea together. I never even gave her the letters from DOTS. Now, none of it matters.
The light dims and I glance outside, through the small kitchen window. Daylight is nearly gone, and with it, my sister will have been dead for more than half a day. Not dead, killed. I have to force myself to be acquainted with the word, no matter how much it churns my stomach. Killed. Suddenly, my throat is closing, and my body sweats despite the cold. I need to get out of here.
I run toward the front door, desperate for fresh air. As I’m about to reach for the knob, it turns. My gaze shoots up, limbs frozen. The door creaks open slowly, and between the outstretched seconds, I realize for the first time that Olivia may have been killed by mistake. That they could have been after Nan’s cuff. And now, they’re after me.
The first aspiers were sacred, a gift from Haal, the God of War, to mages who were brave enough to stand by his side during the Battle of the Gods. Now, relicsmiths from the province of Iserine forge them with a single hair from the family line.